The Convent (22 page)

‘That makes twelve, Mother.' Jane Francis frowned. ‘Will there be room in the hospital?'

‘We'll have to make room, Sister.' Mother shook her head impatiently. ‘You'd think girls that age would be able to ward off a few germs. They get so miserable when they're ill.' She smiled around at them in a kindly way. ‘So, my dears, you must look after yourselves. Eat well and keep warm.'

‘Yes, Mother.'

The eating well was taken care of. It was mandatory to attend every meal and eat everything on their plates. As a consequence, most of the novices had put on weight. Keeping warm was more problematic, in spite of the layers of clothing, because the heating was so inadequate.

‘Well well.' The Provincial pulled her little silver watch out from under her guimpe and checked the time. ‘Almost time.' She smiled at them all. ‘And some of you look very tired. Sister Beatrice, have you been getting enough rest?'

‘Yes, Mother,' Beatrice admitted guardedly. Beatrice had come into the order having almost completed her degree, and she had special permission to finish it so long as it didn't interfere with any other activities. Which meant she had to study when everyone else was asleep.

‘Nothing is worth your health, my dear,' the Provincial said severely.

‘Yes, Mother.'

‘Oh Mother, I was wondering,' Breda said suddenly, her face pink, ‘if I might …
ask
something?'

‘Yes, Sister Perpetua.' Reverend Mother smiled warily.

‘That old court down near St Mary's?'

‘Yes, dear?'

Breda hesitated. ‘I was wondering …' She looked around at the rest of the group. ‘
We
were wondering if we might play tennis on it?'

There was a collective sigh of release and anticipation. It was out now.

‘Tennis?' the Reverend Mother repeated, and everyone nodded enthusiastically.

‘Yes, Mother.'

‘You mean … with
racquets
?'

‘And a ball, Mother,' Breda said brightly, and Cecilia almost burst out laughing.

‘But when would …' The Provincial seemed mystified rather than dismissive, which was a good sign.

‘Saturday afternoon before Benediction
,
Mother,' Breda chirped, quite as though it was a normal request. ‘For an hour.'

‘But, my dear,' the Reverend Mother smiled as though the silly idea could be put to rest quickly, ‘
clothing
?'

‘We could tuck the outer layers up a little, Mother. Into our belts like this.' Breda stood up and demonstrated. The various petticoats were shorter than the outer garments. The Reverend Mother watched her, nodding thoughtfully.

‘No one will see us, Mother.'

The Reverend Mother opened her mouth but nothing came out.

Breda went on excitedly. ‘It would be
exercise
, Mother.'

‘Exercise?'

‘Exercise is good for our health, Mother.'

‘Is it now?' Mother smiled. ‘And have you spoken to your Novice Mistress about this?'

‘No, Mother.' Breda hesitated and then grinned. ‘We thought we'd have more luck with you!'

The other novices held their breath. Playing one of their superiors off against another would surely go against their cause. But Mother Superior seemed not to have heard. If she had, she pretended otherwise.

‘Well,' she sighed, shaking her head as though in exasperation. ‘I really don't see why not. As you say, it's exercise and a little enjoyment for you.'

‘Oh thank you, Mother!' they chorused. ‘Thank you.'

‘With the exception of Lent, of course, or any other …' ‘Of course, Mother.'

The Provincial stood up. Her tall, angular frame was elegant in all the heavy robes. ‘Besides, tennis might use up a little of the energy that was on display this morning.'

‘Yes, Mother.' The novices tried to look ashamed, but they all noted that Mother's eyes were twinkling.

‘Believe it or not, we were all young once,' she said suddenly. ‘I remember being caught in a fit of giggling that had me going without supper for a week!'

They stared at her dumbfounded, trying to imagine it.

‘Really, Mother?'

‘Oh yes!' She was laughing. ‘Good evening, and God bless you, my dears.'

‘Good evening and God bless you, Mother.'

So every Saturday afternoon for an hour, except in Lent or on Holy Days, they would play tennis. The novices and postulants running around the court in their black lace-up shoes, voluminous skirts and veils, falling over, laughing and yelling as they tried to hit the ball over the frayed net, taking it in turns to join the onlookers on the sidelines, who would call out encouragement and keep a tally of the scores.

But now the bell rang and the Great Silence descended.

‘Ask and you shall receive,' Breda whispered to Cecilia as they made their way to chapel behind the other sisters.

Breda now lived in a little house in North Fitzroy, right near the Merri Creek, in walking distance of St Georges Road. Inside, the house was as small and quirky as its owner. There were three bedrooms and a bathroom off a central hallway.

‘The man of the house is out on business,' Breda said wryly, pointing at one half-open door. Cecilia grinned at the unmitigated adolescent mess.

She was shown into the bedroom opposite, a small, simply furnished room with an old wood-framed window looking out onto the street. She dumped her luggage and they made their way down to the kitchen.

The back of the house was lovely. It had been renovated into a light-filled kitchen and dining area leading onto a lounge with a built-in computer space and bookshelves along one wall. Glass doors led out onto a small back garden.

‘You hungry?'

‘I could eat something,' Cecilia admitted.

Breda pulled out cheese and bread and sliced a tomato and poured them both a wine. ‘I'll let you sleep after this.'

‘This is so nice, Breda. I can't tell you. I'm so grateful.'

‘Be not grateful but be
glad
.' Breda laughed. ‘I'm so glad you're here.'

‘Oh Breda. So am I.'

‘Did you sleep on the plane?'

‘I never sleep on planes.' She was buzzing with excitement as well as exhaustion.

‘So you'll go see your mum?' Breda asked, after they'd had a drink and a snack.

Cecilia nodded.

‘You said you haven't had anything to do with her for years?'

‘Nothing,' Cecilia said without emotion. ‘I … I can't explain it. I hardly know why myself.'

‘The brothers?'

‘Nothing.' She looked at Breda, but there was no sign of judgement or shock.

‘It's good you've come, then,' was all she said.

‘What if she's dead?' Cecilia bit her lip.

‘She's not,' Breda said. ‘I made a few inquiries when you said you were coming home.'

‘Is she … Is she still out on the farm?' How weird. She was asking the whereabouts of her own mother.

‘No. The farm is sold. She's moved into Castlemaine. Don't worry, she doesn't know anything about you coming.' Breda grinned. ‘I was very discreet in my inquiries. But maybe you should write first … let her know you're around before you just turn up.'

Cecilia nodded. She didn't have the energy to ask any more questions.

‘You go have a shower and get into bed,' Breda ordered. ‘I'll bring you a drink and one of my little pills for special occasions. We'll talk in the morning.'

‘Okay,' Cecilia laughed.

There was such comfort in having someone else take charge and tell her what to do. When Cecilia had cleaned her teeth and showered, Breda came in with a mug of hot cocoa.

‘I always have one of these to help me sleep.'

‘I can't thank you enough.'

At the door Breda hesitated and turned.

‘And the child?' she said quietly. ‘Will you make contact with … the child?'

So Breda knew. But how?

Cecilia shrugged.

‘Well, good night then. Sleep tight.'

‘I will.'

Some time later Cecilia woke with a start, her heart galloping.
Where am I?
Then it came to her and the panic slowly abated. But in its place dread loomed. She'd been having the same dream that had plagued her night after night during the last winter in London. Oh the relief when it wore itself out and other dreams took over. Now it was back, the same and yet always so
raw
and fresh.

It started off so realistically. Here she is again on her first day in the convent, standing in the dormitory inside the calico curtain, feeling nervous, trying to work out what to do first. The Mistress of Novices has told them that they have ten minutes to wash themselves and change into the new clothes lying on their beds. Then they are to walk in silence down to the chapel. Cecilia isn't quite sure where the chapel is, and she isn't sure if she is to wash just her face and hands or … Warm water, a thin towel and washcloth have been left for her.

And so she climbs out of her street clothes and stands semi-naked, rubbing at herself, washing away the world and her former life. She puts on the ugly plain underpants, the cotton bodice thing, the petticoat and the black dress, the cape and the small veil with pleasure. Then, just as she is fitting the leather belt and cross around her waist it comes to her:
I've lost the baby
.

She pulls aside the curtains and runs down the long corridor towards the door screaming,
My baby! My baby!

The other novices are filing out, backs to her, heads bowed. She screams for them to stop and wait, that they all must help her find her baby. But they don't turn around. One by one they disappear out the door. It slams shut, the heavy bolts slide into place, and she realises that she has been left behind, alone in the dormitory with no baby. She runs for the door and beats her fists on the wood.
Don't leave me. Please don't leave me
.

Cecilia looked at the little clock on Breda's side table. How amazing. She'd been asleep for six hours and it had felt like ten minutes. She lay in the dark thinking about the dream … and her baby.

1980

One more hurdle and it would be over.
Over.
Cecilia sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She'd had enough! Enough of questions, and red tape, and people who knew best. She'd had enough of strangers, with their anxious looks and clichés. She'd had enough of ‘working through the issues' and ‘letting go of the grief '. Where did these people get off? If they bothered to read a good book, go to a concert or to the art gallery once in a while, they might realise that the tedious language they used had the
opposite
effect to what was intended. It made her want to run a thousand miles.

Why did she have to explain herself over and over again? She was perfectly sane, a thirty-six-year-old woman with a university education.

In a few weeks she'd be in London. She'd have a couple of weeks catching up with people and then it was over to Paris – forever, if she could wrangle a work visa out of someone. A whole new life was out there and she couldn't wait.

The door opened quietly and a nurse came in carrying the swaddled infant in her arms.

Cecilia stood quickly.

‘Well, here we are then,' the nurse said breezily. ‘How are you?'

‘Very well, thank you,' Cecilia said.

The nurse handed her the baby. ‘I'll leave you alone a while.'

‘Just as you like.'

‘Why don't I come back in half an hour?'

‘Okay.' Cecilia read the name tag on the woman's chest.‘Thanks, Helen.'

‘A pleasure.' The nurse smiled. ‘She's just been fed and changed, so I doubt she'll wake.'

‘Good.'

‘I'll see you soon.'

The nurse was almost out of the room when Cecilia thought to ask, ‘Have they come yet?'

‘They'll be here within the hour.' The nurse hesitated and turned back. ‘Would you like to meet them?'