The Convent (34 page)

‘Yes.'

‘I know your face too,' the woman said after a while.‘You were one of the young Sisters, weren't you? Forgive me. Some of the nuns … were kind enough. They did their best, anyway. It's just the shock of being here and remembering it all.'

Cecilia took her hand and held it. ‘Don't apologise.'

‘It is just that all the horrible stuff stands out,' the woman whispered, ‘the hard work and the lack of love. No schooling. That's what you remember.'

‘Yes.'

‘You know that lovely garden out the front?'

Cecilia nodded.

‘We never saw it. We never even knew it was there!' The women gave a loud harsh laugh. ‘Can you believe that?' She stared intently at Cecilia. ‘Did any of the nuns ever talk about why we weren't allowed to go and walk around in the lovely garden?'

Cecilia shook her head.

‘Remember Mother Bernard?'

‘Yes'.

‘She cut off my hair … that bitch.'

‘I remember,' Cecilia sighed.

1965

Cecilia knew something was up when the girls were called together before breakfast. All two hundred and forty of them lined up in rows, sullen and silent.

Mother Mary Bernard was out the front.

‘Someone brought these items into Sacred Heart, and I want to know who it was,' she huffed, holding up a cheap compact, some rouge, two lipsticks and some black mascara. ‘This was found in the dormitory, and I want to know who brought it in. Right now.'

No one spoke. No one said a word. The auxiliaries walked around the edges of the group looking out for any note of insubordination.

‘It would do you all well to remember that you weren't asked to come here. You were put here because no one else would have you. And so you will abide by the rules. If I don't have an answer by the end of the day, then every single one of you will be punished.'

The day went on. Mass and then work and then prayers, and Cecilia forgot about the incident. It wasn't her night on dormitory duty, so it was quite by accident that she came upon the scene.

She'd been asked by Mother Holy Angels to find Mother Bernard to ask about something completely unrelated, and she planned to catch the nun before she retired to her quarters. But when she got to the dormitory she stopped in the doorway. All the girls were standing mute, watching three girls who were kneeling on the floor in front of Mother Bernard, who was walking up and down in front of them.

‘At last!' Particles of spit were flying from the woman's mouth. ‘At long last you've seen fit to own up –' she looked dramatically at her watch, ‘– twelve hours later!' She grabbed the nearest girl by the scruff of the neck. ‘And what have you to say to the rest of us who have been waiting all day for your confession?'

‘Sorry, Mother,' the girl whimpered.

‘Are you sure now?'

‘Yes, Mother.'

‘You do realise that you're going to have to learn a lesson, don't you?'

‘Yes, Mother.'

The nun motioned to the two nearest auxiliaries, who came forward with the scissors. One held the girl tightly by the shoulders while the other chopped off her hair. Mother Bernard moved along to the next kneeling girl.

‘And what do you have to say for yourself?'

‘Sorry, Mother.'

Many of the onlooking girls sobbed as the auxiliaries methodically chopped off the hair of the next girl. The hair piled up on the polished floorboards, massing like clouds, all shades of brown, clumps of it, tumbling soft and curly, some of it dead straight, all around the kneeling girls.

‘There are consequences when we deliberately flout rules.' Mother Bernard was puffing, two bright spots burning like angry flames on her cheeks by the time she got to the third girl, who was
not crying
.

‘And what do you have to say for yourself?' the nun huffed.

The pretty girl said nothing.

‘Well?'

The girl looked up slowly, straight up at the nun and …
laughed.

Sister Bernard reared back in shock for a couple of moments and everyone, including Cecilia, stopped breathing. The crying stopped. Not one of them was brave enough to smile, but it was there in their eyes anyway, a sort of pride that one of their number had dared to be so outrageous.
To laugh in Mother Bernard's face …
Oh that was …
That sudden laugh had opened a skylight inside every head, bringing with it a sudden gust of elation. Hope crackled recklessly about the dormitory.
One day … one day … one day this
would be over. One day they would be free.

That kind of laughter was dangerous. Along with the pride came a new level of dread.
What would happen now?

‘I'll ask again,' Mother Bernard said very quietly. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?'

‘Nothing,' the girl said.

‘I beg your pardon.' Mother Bernard was incredulous.

‘Nothing,' she said again.

‘You still have nothing to say?' The nun's voice was quieter now.

The girl nodded.

‘Then we'd better help you find your voice.'

The nun's hand shot out and grabbed the girl by the ponytail. She pulled her roughly to her feet, then motioned to one of the auxiliaries who immediately went to work with her thick leather belt. The girl's dressing-gown flew open and her nightie became tangled up around her knees and thighs as time after time the leather cracked sharply on the soft skin of her legs and bottom. She screamed and cried and then collapsed to the floor as the other girls looked on, terrified. But the beating went on. Cecilia, too, watched in horror.

‘Have you anything to say now?' The nun pulled the girl up to her feet again by the ponytail.

The girl's eyes were wide with pain and terror, but she shook her head defiantly. ‘No,' she said loudly in her deep voice.

It was at that point that the older nun caught sight of Cecilia watching from the doorway. ‘Sister?'

Cecilia gulped and hurried forward with the note.

‘Thank you, Sister.' Mother Bernard's heavy face was red with exertion as she read the note. She handed it back without looking at Cecilia. ‘Tell Mother I'll be there when I'm finished here.'

‘Yes, Mother.' Cecilia looked over to where Marie was now kneeling alongside the other two, shuddering and shocked.

‘Open defiance cannot be tolerated, Sister,' Mother Bernard muttered.

‘Yes, Mother.'

Peach

Unlike the rest of us, Cassie has never been one for sidestepping issues. There's just the four of us – Stella, Det, Cassie and me – and we're not long into the meal, which I have to say is fantastic even though I cooked it, but I can feel that Cassie is on the verge.

‘Okay, I have something to say.' Cassie puts down her knife and fork and waits for the rest of us to go quiet. ‘All three of you have me deeply concerned.'

I laugh and wait for the blast.

‘So lay it on the line then.' Det serves herself a third helping of potatoes. ‘By the way, Peach,' she raises one eyebrow at me, ‘these potatoes are awesome. What's on the top?'

‘Just parmesan.' I grin back. ‘Glad you like them.'

‘You, for starters,' Cassie cuts in sharply, looking hard at Det.

‘What about me?'

‘You have done nothing about finding the father of this … kid you are about to have.'

Everyone stops and waits for Det to say something.

‘Well, have you?'

‘No,' Det says.

‘Also, you have no … long-term plans for housing.'

‘She does!' Stella snaps. ‘Here.'

‘I mean
long
term.'

‘My name is on the list for—'

‘Get real, Det! People are on those housing lists for years!'

‘So she stays here,' I bluster nervously, wondering how long Mum and Dad meant her to go on living in the bungalow.

Cassie ignores me. ‘And Stella, you know I think you're fantastic, but you've got to do something about your weight. You don't want to go into Year Twelve looking like an elephant.'

‘I know.' Stella squirms.

‘And Peach,' Cassie hardly hesitates, ‘you've got to deal with the mother issue. I can tell it's eating you up.'

‘I couldn't agree more,' Stella says quietly.

‘For both of your information.' I try to sound dry and worldly but it comes out more defensive than anything. ‘My mother is overseas looking after her dying mother-in-law.'

‘You know what I mean!' Cassie is exasperated. ‘All right, so let's consider each situation in turn.'

‘Hey, let's
not
,' Det cuts in through a mouthful of potatoes. She swings a fork in Cassie's direction. ‘We really appreciate your insightful analysis on how fucked up we are, Cass. But I, for one, don't feel like hearing it right now. Chill out and enjoy the food, eh?'

‘
Chill out?
' Cassie counters furiously. ‘That's all you can say these days, Det. Well, I can tell you that in a few months' time you won't be
chilling out
!'

‘Everything is under control.'

‘I know for a fact it isn't.'

‘Listen, Cassie, just …'

‘Have you organised
anything
yet?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Any clothes, for example?'

‘What?'

Det looks genuinely perplexed and I have this weird flash – which, if true, is too scary to be funny – that she might have actually forgotten about being pregnant.

‘For the kid!'

‘Well … er … not really?'

‘So what is it going to wear?' Cassie snaps.

‘Well …'

‘You have to dress a baby, Det. In clean clothes. Every day. Sometimes a few times a day because it vomits and shits
all the time
.'

‘I know that.'

‘And where's it going to sleep?'

Det looks uncharacteristically flustered. ‘Once the paintings for my show are finished I'll get onto all that … kind of stuff. Shouldn't be too difficult.'

‘Oh, right,' Cassie sings sarcastically. ‘So easy to get a million difficult things sorted in about two days. So very easy.'

‘Listen, don't worry,' Det mumbles. ‘I'm going to be okay.'

‘And if it comes early?'

‘Shit! I don't know, Cass.'

‘You've got to get sensible before then or …' ‘Or what?'

Cassie gives a deep sigh and shakes her head. ‘You should contact your family. Your mother in particular.'

‘
What?
'

‘Your mother.'

‘Cass!' I say warningly.
Please don't go there.

Det is staring down at her plate looking totally mutinous
.
Det's family in Mildura has barely ever been mentioned, much less been on the agenda for a round-table discussion.

‘You're having a baby, Det,' Cassie continues in a softer tone. ‘You should have someone with experience to help you.'

‘I've got you guys,' Det mumbles, her eyes still downcast.

Stella and I both nod vigorously.

‘But none of us knows about babies,' Cassie persists. ‘You need your family.'

‘I need my fucking family like a hole in the head,' Det seethes. ‘Can we please talk about something else?'

After dinner, I walk Cassie out to her car.

‘I know you think I'm being hard,' she begins defensively. ‘I am pushy. I'm a bull in a china shop, but it's because I'm worried and … I love you all.'

‘Yeah, I know.' I smile at her.

‘Someone has got to be practical.'

‘If it makes you feel any better, Cassie, I did write to… to the old woman in the country.'

‘Your grandmother?' Cassie's eyes light up. ‘Why didn't you say so?'

‘I dunno.' I shrug.‘I just don't want to make it into a big deal.'

‘Has she written back?'

‘Not yet. I don't care if she doesn't.'