The Convent (41 page)

Cecilia took a deep breath. This was not an appropriate conversation to be having. ‘You're going back to the Philippines tomorrow?'

He smiled. ‘I am.' He slowed his pace and sighed, ‘And you?'

‘I'm going home.'

‘Do you think you'll stick it?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘The convent?'

Cecilia opened her mouth but nothing came out. She clasped the silver heart in her hands and thought of the solemn vows rolled up inside, how dear they were to her.

‘Why do you ask?'

‘Because I have my doubts that you will,' he said simply.

‘Why do you say that?' Cecilia was stunned.

‘There is too much going on in here.' He pointed to her head. ‘There is only so much bullshit a smart person can take.'

She was shocked, completely unused to anyone swearing in her presence, much less a priest. But she was flattered too, in an odd way. He was treating her like an equal. No one had called her smart for a long time.

‘What about you?' she managed.

‘I'm in the right place.'

Cecilia laughed nervously. ‘And I'm not?'

He shrugged. ‘Far be it from me to tell anyone where their place is.'

She said nothing, just walked along stiffly beside him, but tears came to her eyes. He was right. And yet … he wasn't. The convent was changing. It was more inclusive and more open. The Magdalen laundry was going to be phased out. When Cecilia got home she'd be part of all that. Things were changing. ‘How do you know you are in the right place?' she asked suddenly.

‘You know, Sister, I thought when I was first ordained that I knew something.' He stopped and touched her hand briefly before going on. ‘I had a couple of degrees under my belt, and I was ready to take on the world. Then I got sent first to that little remote mountain parish and I consoled myself with the idea that I would be bringing God's word to the ignorant poor, the illiterates. But … I was so wrong.'

‘How so?'

‘They taught me.'

‘What did they teach you?'

‘That I knew
nothing
…'

Her skin was burning from the brief touch of his hand.

‘My first job as a priest was to bury a newborn baby. The young couple didn't have money for a coffin, so they decorated an old shoebox with Christmas paper that someone else had found and the whole village came to that Mass. We carried that tiny box three miles up the mountain to where the hole had been dug in the hard soil, and as I looked around at those patient, weathered faces who'd known nothing but injustice all their lives … I don't know how to explain it, but I knew I was in the right place.'

‘Because they needed you.'

‘They needed someone on their side. Why should their lives be blighted by sorrow and hardship for want of food and medicines and all kinds of rights that we take for granted?'

She shook her head and sighed and wished that she could sink down onto the pavement. That they both might just sit there all night and talk, talk through it all so that she would understand and by morning … by morning she'd have it all worked out.

He put his hand up to ring the bell but stopped and turned back to her.

‘I'm going to miss you, Sister,' he said quietly.

Cecilia was glad for the dark night, because her face was hot with a rush of conflicting emotion.

‘I'll miss you too, Father.'

‘I'll pray for you,' he said seriously.

They shook hands formally.

‘Good luck with all your work, Father,' Cecilia said.

‘Thank you, Sister. You get home safely now.'

‘I will. Thank you.'

That night Cecilia hardly slept. The turmoil inside felt like some kind of build-up to an explosion. At three a.m. she took a small torch from out of the broom cupboard, and although it was against the rules to read at night, pulled the Holy Bible from the shelf near her bed. She closed her eyes and let the book open anywhere. It fell open at St Matthew's Gospel.

Enter by the narrow gate, since the gate that leads to perdition is
wide, and the road spacious, and many take it. But it is a narrow
gate and a hard road that leads to life, and only a few find it.
Matthew 7:13-14

She had her answer; had known it all along.
There would be no easy way for her.

Peach

‘What a complete and total piss off,' Det snarls under her breath, walking into the kitchen where I'm at the stove cooking paella. She has paint all over her hands, and her boots are completely inappropriate for the summer and her belly is protruding like a beach ball, but she looks well, better than I've ever seen her, in fact. The pink in her cheeks makes her look pretty, but if I told her that she'd probably tell me to go stand under a cold shower.

‘Well, hello, Det,' I say. ‘How come you're so happy?'

She leans up against the fridge and looks at me. ‘It's just plain shit behaviour,' she spits out, glowering across the room at Cassie, who's sitting at the dining-room table looking fabulous in red with dangling gold earrings, watching Nick and Dicko making up the granita.

‘Are we still going to go?'

‘How can we go now?'

‘Do you
want
to go?'

‘I dunno,' I mutter.

Det groans, wanders over to the small sofa under the window and slumps down to watch the others make the drink.

I've never made paella before so I thought I'd give it a go and invite Cassie and Stephano along with Nick and Dicko and Screwloose to come try it out. I suppose I was imagining a nice relaxed night, kicking back before the visit with the old lady in the country the next day. Nick and Dicko volunteered to make granitas and Det offered to grab a big tub of the best ice-cream from Carlton on her way home from the city. Cass has brought guacamole and bread. Screwloose said he was definitely coming but wasn't bringing anything because he was broke.

I'd gone to the market in the morning and bought up big. Seafood and greens and spices. Then Cassie rang to say that she had to pull out of the trip to my grandmother's tomorrow because Stephano wanted her at some big family do for his grandparents. She's the only one with a car, and from the beginning the plan had been that she drive us up there. It was extra annoying given that she'd been the one to convince me to finally see my birth grandmother.
Peach, if we all go together it will be fine.
All along Cassie was much keener than Det about the whole enterprise and now she'd decided to pike out the day before we're due to go.

‘Sorry, kiddo,' she'd said, ‘you're going to have to find someone else with a car.'

‘But who?'

‘Well … if you can't find someone to drive you, then you'll have to go by train.'

‘She lives too far out.'

‘You can catch a local taxi out to where she lives.'

‘I'm not going by train,' I said.

‘Why not?'

‘I don't want to be caught there.'

‘What do you mean,
caught
there?'

‘I mean hanging around for hours waiting for the train back.'

Cassie gave a deep sigh as though I was being obdurate and childish. ‘Then you're going to have to hire a car.'

‘I need a full licence for that, Cass.'

‘Det has a licence.'

‘Okay, but … she is almost eight months pregnant.'

‘Pregnant women still drive,' Cassie snapped.

But it turned out that Det only had a P-plate licence, too, so neither of us could legally hire a car anyway.

Without a driver or a car I figured I was going to have to call the visit off, and I was not looking forward to ringing that poor old lady with the news. She'd already written twice to say how much she was looking forward to it. Apart from that, underneath I was curious to meet her too.

As I shelled the prawns, made the stock and chopped up vegetables I racked my brains trying to come up with some way of getting there. But neither Stella nor I could think of anyone.

By the time everyone had arrived for dinner and the food preparations were more or less done I was in a bit of a state, furious with Cassie and wishing like crazy that I'd never agreed to go see the old lady in the first place. The whole enterprise had become one big headache.

‘You feeling okay, Det?' Cassie calls, but the edge in her voice gives her away. She knows we're both pissed off with her.

‘Fine,' Det calls back coldly. She puts her feet up and, with both hands on her belly, closes her eyes. The edginess between them tells me that this dinner that I have been working on all bloody afternoon is going to self-destruct. Probably within the next ten minutes.

‘So where's the boyfriend?' Screwloose asks Cassie.

‘Can't come,' she explains defensively. ‘He's got a big job on.'

‘Cooking this meal was a big job, too,' Det yells from the couch without opening her eyes. ‘Ask Peach.'

Cassie ignores Det and looks at me. ‘He's really sorry to miss this dinner, Peach. I told you that.'

‘So you speak
for
him now, do you?' Det says belligerently. ‘The way he does for you?'

‘Meaning?' Cassie replies coldly
.

‘Just a question.'

‘No. I don't speak for him.'

‘So how come he can't ring Peach himself and give his own apologies?'

I come out of the kitchen and see that Det is on a roll and she won't let up until there is a showdown.

‘I didn't know this was a
formal
occasion,' Cass says in her best
I-am-being-reasonable
tone, ‘otherwise he would have.'

‘It's
not
a formal occasion,' I interject. ‘Come on, for Christ's sake, cool it. It's just bad luck. Stephano's got this thing on and …';

‘So how come you were so keen for her to go meet the old duck,' Det shoots over at Cassie, ‘and now you can't even get it together to come and support her?'

‘But
you
can! And I've already said I'm terribly sorry that I have to pull out,' Cassie counters passionately. ‘I'd rather come with you guys, believe me, but …';

‘But what?'

‘Stephano's parents insisted I be there and—';

‘So not just the boyfriend now but his fucking parents as well! Listen to yourself, Cassie!'

‘Det,' I say warningly, ‘cool it.'

‘Well, she sounds like his fucking
wife
!'

There is a stand-off for a while, a moment between the three of us that excludes the guys.

‘I'm happy to have a boyfriend, Det!'

‘Great! Does it mean he has to rule your life?'

‘Stephano doesn't rule my life!'

‘No?'

‘He is my partner.'

‘Jeez, I hate that fucking word!' Det sneers. ‘
Partner
.'

‘Oh, I forgot,' Cassie says, ‘you're just way too cool for a
partner
, aren't you? Way too cool.'

‘Whoa!' Det shouts and jumps up from the couch. ‘Implication being that I
should
have one?'

‘It just
might
be handy in your condition, Det!'

Det prances around the room laughing as she holds her belly out for everyone to notice.

‘Do I look like I care that I don't have a fucking
partner
?'

‘You might in a month.'

‘You know something, Cass?' Det is coming in for the kill now. ‘
I don't think so.
I'm fucking glad I
don't
have a partner who insists on dragging me along to his
grandparents'
place!'

‘Well, good, but—';

So it goes on. It never ceases to amaze me how they ever manage to pull back from these arguments. The nastiness is
palpable.
But, believe it or not, they actually do love each other. Amazing, really. They should be giving classes to world leaders. Meanwhile, there is this dinner to get through.

‘Come on, you two,' I say quietly. ‘I've cooked this nice food. Let's at least try to enjoy eating it.'

‘Yes, let's do that,' Cassie says.

‘Start acting like a real friend, then,' Det fumes.

‘I beg your pardon, Det?' Cassie says coldly.

‘A friend doesn't pull out at the last moment.'

For a minute it looks like Cassie is about to storm off, but she is merely turning up the knob a notch or two. Mesmerised, we all watch as she goes to her bag, kneels down, unzips it and pulls out a pile of brochures instead.

‘Don't you dare lecture me about
friendship
!' she hisses in a barely controlled whisper, ‘I have been working my bum off for you all week organising
your
exhibition!' She throws the brochures down next to Det's feet. ‘I have been traipsing around the city for weeks getting these into every appropriate venue I can. I have made a million phone calls to all kinds of people. I have personal acceptances to your opening from people from the NGV, and from Extra Blue Galleries, and you and I both know if they come then everyone else will too. Not only that, I have
Art Review
promising a leading article in the September issue and
Flair
are giving you top billing for their piece on hot new emerging artists.'