The Convent (24 page)

‘Honestly, I do.'

‘Then I'd like to call her Perpetua.'

Cecilia waited for the nurse to raise an eyebrow and maybe comment that it was old-fashioned and that maybe such a strange name wouldn't go down so well with the parents.

But she gave no such reaction. She simply smiled. ‘Do you have a second name?'

‘No no, let them choose that. Tell them if they hate Perpetua, they should feel free to change it. It's just that I …' She looked away and said softly, ‘I will always think of her as Perpetua.'

‘I'll tell them that.'

Peach

Cassie is in a stink. She barely nods when I front up at exactly five to seven. No smile, no little chuckle when I try to make a joke. Nothing. Luckily Sam is there to take the ice off.

‘Welcome.' He looks at the time and grins. ‘Good start.'

I know what Cassie's mood is about, of course, but it still isn't pleasant, especially on my first day in a new job. Thankfully I'm so busy that it doesn't matter too much at first. I'm put to work on the coffee machine, and it takes all my concentration to remember how to hold the jug so the milk doesn't froth over and when exactly to start each coffee. Luckily there are not many customers until about half-past seven, but after that we're hit with a steady stream of people wanting coffees and pastries on their way to work. By eight, all the people working at the convent site are around too. Whenever I have to ask Cassie something about where things are, or tell her that a coffee is ready, she nods coldly and studiously avoids my eyes. After a while her coolness starts to get to me and I lose concentration.

‘Where is the flat white?' she snaps.

I've just put six perfect lattes on the tray and forgotten the flat white. ‘Oh God, sorry! I'll have it in a jiffy,' I say.

She sniffs as though I've made an unforgivable blunder. I'm being paid back for not coming along to tell Det what to do. Normally I'd be the one to broach the subject and we'd have it out in the open, but apart from not having the opportunity, I don't much feel like doing that.

Just when I start to feel like I'm going to snap, Nick walks in on the dot of nine o'clock.

‘Hey hey hey!' He high-fives me as he comes behind the counter, ‘The two babes!'

I smile in relief. ‘You look wrecked.'

‘Yeah, well,' he groans and starts piling the fresh bread into the baskets at the back of the counter. ‘What about you, young Cass?'

‘What about me?' she says curtly.

Nick takes a moment to look at her again, and then at me. ‘Just asking if the universe is treating you kindly,' he says.

‘Not particularly,' Cass snaps.

‘What's with her?' he says under his breath when I next pass.

I shrug and smile. She might be driving me crazy, but there is no way I'm going to backbite her.

So we work on for another couple of hours and I begin to forget about her. I stay at the coffee machine, and Nick is right alongside taking the orders. Cass is serving the cakes and baguettes and running the coffees outside when she isn't busy.

‘Two lattes and a weak long black, thanks.' The suited businessman is smiling at me.

‘Okay.' I smile back. ‘Where are you sitting?'

‘Outside.'

So far so good. Four hours into the job and I've more or less got the hang of it. I'm starting to calm down.

There is a lull in proceedings, so I go outside and bring in two armfuls of dishes and pack them into the dishwasher.

Suddenly Cassie is standing over me with her hands on her hips, glowering.

‘So you don't want to know what happened with Det?' she asks. I look up. ‘She wouldn't listen to me,' she says. ‘Honestly, it didn't matter what I said, she just wouldn't listen.'

‘Well, it's her decision,' I say calmly, trying to concentrate on getting as many cups and mugs into the washer as I can.

‘But we'll be the ones doing everything!'

‘How can you be so sure, Cass?' I say.

‘Have you forgotten?'

‘It was depression last time.'

‘You think she's not going to get depressed with a
kid
?'

‘Well, I don't know, do I?' I sigh. ‘
And nor do you
.'

‘Yes, I
do
know!'

A sudden flare of anger catches alight in my head. How come she thinks she can tell everyone what to do? How come because her life is all set up with the perfect family and perfect boyfriend she thinks she has everything sewn up?

‘No, you
don't
actually, Cass,' I say, straightening up. The dishwasher is full so I switch it on and look around for something else to do, because I sure don't want to stand here arguing with her. But Nick is serving the only two customers.

‘So you're on her side?'

‘I didn't realise there were sides,' I say.

‘But it's so irresponsible,' she says furiously.

‘When has Det ever been
responsible
?'

Cassie stares at me. The devil lands on my shoulder. All thought of reining myself in disappears. I want to pay Cassie back for the last couple of hours, when I needed a bit of help getting used to the job.

‘I'm glad, actually,' I say angrily.

‘What?'

‘Yeah. I am. I'm glad she's having a baby.'

‘
What?
' Cassie is looking at me as though I've gone crazy. ‘She doesn't even want it. You heard her!'

‘Words, Cassie, just words! Some part of her obviously
does
want it, don't you think?'

There is a stand-off for about five seconds. I pick up a dishcloth and start wiping down the benches; she stands there looking at me.

‘Well,
I
think it's a disaster,' she says coldly, turning her back, ‘for her and the kid.' I keep on wiping down the bench.‘And also for us.'

‘Not everyone can live an ultra-neat life, Cassie,' I spit back.

She turns around and gives me a sharp look. She knows I'm having a shot at her. She has already confided to me that she thinks that she and Stephano will probably get married.

‘Not everybody meets Mr Right and settles down in a big house full of stuff and has their kids at the perfect time,' I add for good measure.
Whoa!
I tell myself to pull back. I'm really twisting the knife now, and I'm ashamed even as I want to say more.

‘Try to imagine not being wanted!' she shoots back. ‘Imagine having a mother who doesn't want you! Could anything be worse than that?'

‘
What?
' I say furiously. Did I hear right?
Could anything be worse
than that?

‘I'm asking you to imagine what it would be like
not
to be wanted!'

‘I heard you the first time!' I shoot back.

She stares at me uncomprehendingly and then the
click
moment happens. I see it. Her face falls. She knows she has trespassed into dangerous territory, and I see that she is sorry about the turn the conversation has taken, but I'm in no mood for forgiveness.

‘Your birth mother is dead,' she says defensively, trying to climb out of the hole she's just dug herself. ‘I remember you said once that your mother was probably dead.'

‘I would, wouldn't I?'

‘What is that supposed to mean?'

‘Well,' I say viciously, ‘since yesterday I know that my birth mother is alive and well, and that she gave me away because she didn't want me.'

‘
How …
how do you know that?' Cassie's face has drained. She really looks as if she might be sick. But what do I care about that?

‘I got a letter.'

‘From who?'

‘Her mother … my grandmother.' I laugh but it comes out hard, more like a bark. I feel like crying.

Cassie's mouth falls open. ‘God! What did she say?'

I shrug, because a crowd of people have come in and are standing by the glass counter looking in at the cakes.

‘Hey, that is big news. I'm sorry,' Cass says before turning away to serve them.

My shift is longer, so when Cassie finishes up at midday I still have a couple of hours to go.

Stephano arrives on the dot to pick her up. He stands by the door, smiling at both of us as he waits for Cassie to get her things together. She hesitates before walking out the door and comes back to face me. I'm behind the coffee machine making three lattes.

‘Peach, I'm sorry about today.'

‘Okay,' I say, ‘me too.' But I'm not really. It's too raw.

‘So when can I talk to you about all this?'

‘Later … whenever.'

Cassie flushes. ‘I'll ring you later.'

‘Okay.' I shrug.

I take the coffees outside to the waiting people and watch Cassie and Stephano walking hand in hand out those huge gates, and a flash of bitterness unfurls inside me like a horrible worm.
How come she gets everything she wants?

At the end of my shift I walk out along the path into the enclosure and look up; all those windows that used to be nuns' bedrooms are now little studios. I walk over to the big tree in the centre, wondering which one would have been hers. I shut my eyes and breathe in.

‘Cecilia,' I say under my breath. ‘Annunciata.'

It's ridiculous but I can't help it, so I say it again and again. It's as if I want to roll the name around in my mouth and sort of feel it. Cecilia Madden who became Sister Annunciata.
Where are you
now?
What made her come here to lock herself away? All I've ever heard about the sixties is that it was a time of change and social upheaval and music. Nothing about …
nuns!
Cecilia became a nun here while the rest of her generation were rocking out to the Stones, Jimi Hendrix and Janice Joplin and getting high on acid and grass. Why did she join and why did she leave? I close my eyes and try to imagine what it would be like to believe in God. What kind of God did
Annunciata
believe in?

But I can't get my head around it. I have no idea. The only image that I can summon is a solemn-faced old man with a long beard looking down through the clouds. What about Jesus? But my image of him is hardly any clearer and feels almost as crazy, the tortured body writhing on the cross. Why would you pray to
that
? He died and then came alive again.
Oh come on!
None of it makes any sense. But I'm intrigued anyway. Deeply intrigued.

‘Hey, up here, fatso!'

I open my eyes and look up, and there is Det hanging out the window on the top floor waving her arms.

I laugh.

‘What the hell are you doing?' she screams out for all to hear.‘I've been looking down at you standing there like a post for ages.'

‘Contemplating my navel.' I laugh.

‘Seriously, what were you thinking about?'

‘My mother,' I say.

‘She okay?'

‘The other one,' I say.

Det takes a moment to process this. ‘No shit?' she says more carefully.

‘She was a nun here apparently,' I call up as though it's nothing. ‘Her name was Mother Mary Annunciata.'

‘
What?
' Det begins to laugh.

‘I found out yesterday.'

‘Goddammit girl, get up here!' she shouts.

I give Det the letter, slump down onto the unmade tangle of her bedclothes in the corner of the studio and close my eyes. She stands by the window, frowning as she reads. Finished at last, she drops the letter to the floor, sits down on her chair and props her legs up on the desk.

I look over at her for a sign of what's going through her head, but Det remains silent, her head thrown back, eyes closed, arms crossed over her chest.

‘I know what you're thinking,' I say after a while.

‘Oh yeah?' Det sighs without opening her eyes.

‘That I've got to write back to her. Go see her. Make her my new best friend. Hold her hand when she's dying and tell her I'm so glad I found my
real
grandmother at last. Then they'll do a show about us on television. And then my
real
mother, the nun, will come on at the end and hug us and cry.'

Det smiles and raises an eyebrow. Then she gets up and plonks herself down next to me.

‘Wrong.' She grins at me.

‘Really?'

‘Do nothing. Sit tight.'

‘But …'

‘Stuff like this can blow up and become completely shitty,' she says wryly, ‘as we both know.'

‘Yeah.'

We're both thinking of Stella.

‘Any word from the
spiritual mother
?' Det asks sarcastically.

I shake my head.

‘No one needs two mothers, Peach.'

‘Couldn't agree more. So how should I proceed?'

‘Don't,' Det says.

‘You think I should just ignore it?'

‘She doesn't even know where your mother is.' Det shrugs. ‘So why bother?'

Hearing her say ‘your mother' in relation to someone other than the mother who brought me up is sort of shocking.
My mother is
in Paris.
I want to put her right but I don't.

Det gets up to make us both a coffee in the machine that she bought from the Salvos. She stretches and sighs and stares hard at her painting.

‘She might die soon,' I say weakly, wanting her to keep her mind on my problems.

‘Hopefully,' Det mumbles.

‘Det!' I laugh.

‘She's in her eighties and she wants to die, so … let her die.'

‘But not without seeing me.' I pick up the letter and put it carefully back in my bag. ‘You can be very mean, you know.'

‘Mean?' Det sniffs dismissively. ‘Yeah well, mean works. Take it from me.
Mean
is exactly the way to go when families are involved.'

I remember her physical state. ‘So, how are you?' I bluster. ‘How you feeling?' She's so thin still.

‘Good,' she says matter-of-factly.