The Convent (20 page)

‘Okay,' I say.

‘Just okay?' She grins.

‘Yeah,' I say. ‘Okay.' I can see her determination. It's the same as when I first met her. She told me then that, yes, she had a family, but she sincerely hoped she'd never see them again. It was there when she insisted on doing Fine Art against the wishes and advice of everyone. Det is so tough that it's scary. Maybe I'm still a bit drunk, but I am suddenly genuinely glad for her. One way or another, she will pull this off. I take her by both shoulders and shake her gently.

‘Good for you,' I say.

‘Yeah?' She searches my face for any hint of sarcasm or dishonesty and when she sees none her face relaxes. ‘I'll probably be a terrible mother!'

‘Yeah,' I agree. I'm not going to start lying to her just because she's got a kid on board. ‘But I reckon if you can just keep it alive for, say, three or four years, maybe till it gets to school, then I think you'll be okay.'

‘
Really?
'

‘Yeah.'

‘So … have you got any hints?'

‘Hints?'

‘On how to keep it alive until I get it to school?'

And that's when we both crack up laughing. Giggling and snorting, we continue along the wet footpath towards my home.

‘Sorry, Det. I failed Babies 101 first year uni. Forgot to turn up for the exam. Hey, where did you go for
your
examination?'

‘The Women's.'

‘And what did they say?'

‘Just to look after myself. Try to eat and all the rest of it.'

‘Fags, drugs, alcohol?' I say softly.

She shrugs ruefully. ‘I told them everything.'

‘And?'

‘They were so nice. No sermons. Just told me to do the best I can. So I will …' Her voice catches in her throat. ‘I really appreciate how nice those nurses were. They did preliminary tests, but it's still too early to tell if something is wrong. They'll do more tests later.'

‘What will you do if … they find something wrong?'

‘Have it anyway.' She shrugs.

‘Yeah?'

‘Yeah. I don't care if it's got flippers. I'm having it!'

‘
Flippers!
' I burst out laughing again. Trust Det to think of flippers. She gives me a dark look.

‘Don't tell anyone yet, okay? It might decide to check out early when it realises who it's got as a mother.'

‘But if it does manage to hang in there it will have a good mum,' I say quietly.

The one thing Det hates more than bullshit is sentimentality. But I know my words have touched her because she goes quiet. Then she pulls a hanky from her pocket and blows her nose. It's very dark, but it's actually nice walking along in the day's leftover heat. I feel like we might be in Singapore or Bali.

We turn the corner into my street and walk in silence, arm in arm.

A baby!

There is a note from Stella on the table when we get home.

Oh Sister Peach!

Queen of my heart, mistress of my soul! I'm in bed pining but
where are you, luscious one? (Please accord me absolution. I have
seen the error of my ways. I promise. As proof of this I hearby
swear to clean out the cupboard under the stairs tomorrow morning.
Notice that it smells of rats! I kid you not.)

You missed Mum and Dad, you total absolute wanker! They
hung on for as long as they could but when you didn't turn up …
they had to go. Anyway, they send their love and lots of kisses
and will try again in a couple of days.

But I need to know if it happened! Tell me!

Oh pleeeese, Peach, don't leave me in the dark, you blonde
goddess! I know you've got to leave in the morning for your job so
tick the box below, else I'll come and haunt you in your sleep. I'll
pester you in your new job.

With love from your biggest fan,
Sister Mary Stella of the fat Arses! XXX

There are two crudely drawn boxes under her name with
yes
under one and
no
under the other.

Det reads the note over my shoulder. ‘What the hell is she talking about?'

I shrug dismissively and go out into the hall to grab bedding from the cupboard. Det is already pulling out the sofa bed.

‘There's a spare toothbrush in the downstairs bathroom. You want a nightie or something?'

‘No, I'll sleep in my undies.'

While she is brushing her teeth I run upstairs and grab the envelope from my wardrobe. Then holding it carefully as if it might contaminate my fingers I rip it in half and take the two halves out the back and dump them into one of the big green recycling bins. The council rubbish truck will take it soon and then it will be gone for good. Not very nice, I know, but I can't let it happen. I won't let my life be blown apart.

Det looks at me from the open bathroom door, her mouth full of toothpaste.

‘So tell me what Stella was on about,' she mumbles.

‘She said something momentous was going to happen to me today.'

‘And did it?'

I straighten the freshly made bed

‘What do you think?' I wave at the same old room, and Det gives me her famous raised eyebrow which tells me that she knows something else is up but that she is deciding not to push it. She climbs into the bed.

‘You want a drink?' I ask. ‘Hot milk or something?'

She bursts out laughing. ‘Yeah, hot milk and a water bottle and fluffy slippers!'

‘Really?'

‘On the double!'

I go to the door and we smile at each other before I switch the light out. Then I remember Stella's note. So I sneak back into the room and pinch her note and take it upstairs with me. Once in my room I take a pen and tick the
yes
square and then slip the note under her door.

That night I dream that I am lost in the convent. I am hurrying along dim corridors and pushing open doors into dusty, empty rooms, trying not to panic, desperate to find someone who can tell me the way out, but there is no one. Occasionally I hear the faint sound of furniture being moved, occasionally the soft murmuring of female voices and then a telephone ringing. But as soon as I turn towards the sound it fades.

I come to a wide wooden staircase leading down. At the bottom is a huge stained-glass window of Jesus holding a small lamb. It frightens me for some reason, but I descend slowly. I am aware that I do not belong and the longer I stay the more afraid I am that I will be caught here. When I'm halfway down the stairs there is a sudden loud, terrible scream.

I wake up terrified, my heart beating like crazy, my pillow damp with sweat.

Sadie, Ellen, Cecilia.

They are uninvited guests trying to set up camp in my head. Strangers. Why should I care about any of them? Stella's words from the morning come back to me, sending an eerie tingle down my spine.

Things can be one way in the morning, and by evening they're another.

I climb out of bed and creep downstairs, past the still-sleeping Det, and out the back door. I retrieve the letter from the recycling bin. I find sticky tape in the kitchen and join the pages together again. Then I take the letter upstairs and lie on the bed and I read it again.

My mother was a nun for ten years.

I have a grandmother who is desperate to see me.

Sadie, Ellen, Cecilia… and me.

Cecilia

Cecilia came through the sliding door into the crowded airport lobby and looked around. It was like every other such place in the world. Loose groups of people were lined up with expectant faces, waiting to connect eyes with loved ones coming in on the evening flight. There were a few welcome-home placards, and someone had a string of pink balloons. Children, some in pyjamas and propped on their parents' hips, were looking around sleepily. One by one they found each other and the tired, anxious faces broke open in relief. The couples and little family groups moved away from the strangers to embrace each other in a little huddle, to kiss and laugh and talk excitedly.

Cecilia moved through the crowd towards the doors, dragging her luggage behind her, telling herself she was lucky. She had Breda's address in the pocket of her coat. She would catch a taxi straight there. The key would be under the clay pot on the right of the front door. She was to go inside and make herself comfortable. There would be bread on the table, fruit and cheese and even wine in the fridge if she felt like it. She could go to bed in the spare room if she wished – everything would be ready for her – and Breda would get home from work just as soon as she could. All would be well.
And yet …

And yet, after all this time, not one person to meet her. She had told no one but Breda that she was coming home, and yet the terrible feeling persisted as she made her way outside.
I am alone
in this world.
The same feeling that had dogged her in those last difficult years of being a nun, struggling with her faith and having nowhere to turn.
I am alone, so alone, and it is terrible.

It didn't matter that she was the one who'd burnt all the bridges with family and friends. If she'd taken a risk, lifted the phone and rung one of her brothers before she left London, there might well be a contingent to meet her.
Maybe not.
Maybe she'd have been met with silence, coldness and accusations. She took her place at the end of the long taxi queue.

‘Hey!'

Cecilia turned around. Some crazy person was bounding towards the line of tired, patient travellers, waving frantically. As she got nearer, Cecilia saw it was a stocky, badly dressed woman with grey hair.

‘Hey! It's me. I made it, kid!'

Cecilia dropped out of the taxi line and stood looking down at the small, excited woman in dazed wonder.

‘I couldn't stand the idea of you catching a taxi!' The bright eyes shone exactly the same.

‘Oh, Breda.' Cecilia fell into her arms. ‘Thank you. Thank you! You shouldn't have, but … thank you.'

‘Come on.' Breda was laughing. She grabbed the big case. ‘Let's get out of here.'

Once in the car, with Cecilia's luggage in the boot, they turned to each other again.

‘You're the same.' Cecilia smiled. ‘Exactly.'

‘You too!

In fact, Breda's face was lined and her dark hair was streaked with grey. She'd put on a bit of weight and her clothes were very ill-fitting and ordinary, but the essential her was very much there. The liveliness of her mouth, the quick smiles and wonderful eyes, dancing under the black lashes, were as bright as ever.

‘How are your boys?'

Breda groaned and started the car. ‘Don't ask! They drive me bonkers.' She grinned at Cecilia. ‘Mad as cut snakes but, you know, they're fine.'

‘Youngest still sleeping all day?'

‘And partying all night! And Sean told me today that he was going to spend the money he'd saved for a car on a
luxury
holiday. Luxury, if you don't mind! At twenty! Backpacking isn't good enough for him.
Excuse me
, I said,
but …
' She laughed at herself. ‘Sorry, I'm raving.'

‘It's okay!'

They'd exchanged basic information by email, but had agreed to leave the past for when they met. After leaving the convent, Breda had retrained as an intensive care nurse. She'd married but had recently been left a widow with four boys. Three of the boys were in their early twenties and had left home, were at university and were doing well. The fourth one was in his last year at school.

About to reverse out of the parking space, Breda suddenly flipped the car back into neutral, clasped the steering wheel with both hands and began to squeal with laughter.

‘Oh, God, I just can't believe this!'

‘Me either!'

‘Do you remember us, Nuncie?
Do
you?'

‘I do. I do.' Cecilia smiled with delight. ‘Of course I do.'

‘Remember how clean our shoes were?'

‘Oh yes!'

‘Remember sneaking the extra bath when we knew Holy Angels had gone to that conference?'

‘Yes!'

‘Remember us going together to ask permission to say our final vows in English instead of Latin?'

Cecilia threw her head back and began to laugh properly.

‘Remember what she said?'

‘
How dare you!
' Cecilia mimicked the Novice Mistress.

‘That's right!' Breda chortled. ‘
How dare you!

' They were both rocking with laughter now inside the car in the airport car park, harsh fluorescent light blasting from the cement ceilings.

‘It was you who asked,' Breda gasped.

‘Me? No! No. It was you. I would never have dared'

‘
You
said, “Mother, I
think
Rome has just recently given official approval for the vows to be said in English.”'

‘Did I?' Cecilia squealed.

‘And she said …' Breda had tears running down her face. ‘She said, “You are not here to
think,
Sister Annunciata.”'