The Convent (43 page)

I want to tell him that nothing has changed, that I'm really only going for the old woman. But that would mean talking to him, and I am determined not to do that.

‘How's the new school, Stella?' I hear him ask my sister.

‘Okay,' she says, the needles still clicking away.

‘Just okay?'

‘Look at me! Only the losers bother to talk to me.'

‘So,' he asks casually, ‘what you gonna do about it?'

I immediately see red. Just as if her problem is something that can be fixed there and then.

‘I dunno,' she sighs miserably.

If he weren't doing us the
huge heroic good deed of the century
, I'd tell him to shut the fuck up and leave her alone.

‘You think it's about your nana?' he asks Stella, and our eyes lock for a second in the rear-vision mirror before I turn away. ‘I know Peach thinks it is,' he adds, ‘and the teacher.'

‘Not really,' she says, ‘but maybe.'

He must be getting the vibe from me because he pretty much shuts up after that. In fact, we're all so quiet for some time that it begins to feel a little eerie. The radio plays quietly underneath the hum of the car, and we're all lost in our thoughts, I guess. I look at Det and then at my sister and finally end up staring at the back of Fluke's head again.

The countryside unwinds on either side of the freeway as we speed north, but I don't really see it. Fluke is gunning the beast along, only just keeping to the speed limit most of the way. We surge past huge semitrailers and signs leading off to different towns, and I have a strong feeling that I'm hurtling off into the unknown.

After half an hour, Det asks Fluke about his car, where he got it and how much it costs to run, which breaks up the silence. But the conversation peters out pretty quickly.

I'd like to ask her if she's thinking about ditching her beloved motorbike but that would mean joining in the conversation, so I lean my head against the window and close my eyes instead.

‘I can help,' I hear Fluke say softly to Stella.

‘How?' Stella replies.

‘Why don't we get out together in the mornings?'

‘How do you mean?'

‘I'll drop by, and we'll do an hour's training before school.'

You think I haven't tried that?
I want to scream.

‘You mean … running?' she asks. ‘I hate—'

‘No,' he cuts in easily, ‘we'll start off with a few easy exercises, then a fast walk. Build up. That's the whole idea. Go at your own pace.'

I get the feeling that the back seat isn't meant to be listening to this conversation, so I look out the window even as I'm straining to hear. Stella suddenly turns around to me.

‘How would you feel about that, Peach?' she asks tentatively.

‘What?'

‘Me and Fluke training in the mornings.'

‘What's it got to do with me?' I snap. Her face immediately crumples, so I mutter, ‘Whatever. Okay.'

She nods and looks hopefully at Fluke again.‘I could try, I guess.'

‘So, is that a yes?' He grins.

‘Okay,' Stella smiles back, ‘yes.'

‘So when will we start?'

‘What about tomorrow?'

‘You're on.'

The Castlemaine turn-off comes into view. We exit the freeway onto a narrow road that winds west. It dips and turns over hills and through clumps of overhanging trees, lush rolling pastures on either side. What a shame I feel like throwing up.

‘How are you feeling, Peach?' Det turns to me.

‘I'm okay,' I say guardedly, and Det grins and digs me in the ribs.

‘Aren't you a bit nervous?' Stella turns around.

‘Maybe … a bit.' I smile at her.

‘How do you want to work this visit?' Fluke asks, eyeing me in the mirror. It's the first thing he's said to me in the two hours we've been on the road. Then again, I haven't been exactly garrulous.

‘What do you mean?'

‘I'm obviously going to get lost, but are Stella and Det going to stay?' I panic slightly.
Of course
they're going to stay!

‘I've been thinking about that,' Det cuts in. ‘You should have time on your own with her.'

‘I agree,' Fluke says.

‘I don't think so.' I'm feeling a bit desperate. ‘The whole idea of you both coming was so that … you'd be there in case …'

‘In case what?' Fluke says lightly, and I turn away.

‘It's not like we're going to drop you and never come back,' Det laughs. ‘We'll be here.'

‘Why don't I drop the three of you off first, and then I'll come back for Det and Stella after half an hour or so?'

‘But what will we do?' I can tell Stella doesn't like the idea either.

‘Go check out the shops.' Fluke shrugs. ‘Or the gardens? It's a nice town.'

‘Well,' Stella looks at me,‘whatever Peach wants.'

I shrug as if I couldn't care less, but it's a complete act. I don't want Fluke to see that I am terrified to be so close to meeting this old woman. And I feel stupid. Why would anyone be scared of an old lady? It doesn't make sense, and yet that is what I feel. Blind terror. What if she tells me stuff I can't handle? What if she brainwashes me and I come out of there thinking that I'm someone other than who I am?

‘What am I going to say to her?' I mutter.

‘If you want my opinion, she'll do the talking!' Fluke quips.

But no one asked for your opinion.

‘Come on, kiddo,' Det says. ‘You've got your phone. If things get really awkward then you only have to call us.'

‘Okay.'

I look out the window at the town's outskirts. It's an old goldmining town and many of the houses are really pretty. We come to the statue of the digger and turn right into the main street as directed. Stella is first to see the big landmark church on our right.

‘St Mary's,' she says. ‘We've got to turn here. Straight up the hill.'

Number 57 is a tiny house. A cottage, I suppose, but well kept. It is well back from the road with a small iron gate opening to a straight concrete path up to the verandah, which is virtually covered in pot plants. She must have been watching out for us, because the door opens before the three of us have even reached the verandah.

‘Perpetua!' She is old, stooped and frail, dressed in a blue summer dress with a white collar and black lace-up shoes. She holds out both arms. ‘Thanks be to God!' Her voice is strong for someone so slight. The others stand back as I awkwardly move forward. She grabs me and kisses me fiercely on one cheek and then the other.

‘You're an exact replica of your mother.'

‘Am I?'

She stands back and holds me at arms-length and turns to the others and then back to me, smiling. Her weathered face is wreathed in wrinkles and both hands are stiff and swollen with arthritis and yet … yet there is something youthful about her. Lively, anyway. Tears glisten in the blue eyes and she blinks them away. ‘This could well be my little Cecilia standing here,' she says softly. ‘The spitting image.'

‘Really?'

‘Oh yes.'

My fixed smile starts to feel as if it's set in concrete while she looks me up and down all over again as if I'm some kind of prize. I pull away from her and grab Stella's hand and drag her forward.

‘And this is my sister, Stella.'

‘Stella,' the old woman breathes the name as she takes in the physical differences between us. ‘Your sister?'

‘I know.' Stella smiles tentatively, almost apologetically. ‘I'm the younger one.'

I take Det's arm then and pull her forward. ‘And my best friend, Det.'

‘Bernadette?' The old lady smiles.

Det gives a wry laugh. ‘Everyone calls me Det.'

She glances down at Det's protruding belly and then back up into her face. ‘And you're expecting, dear?'

‘Yes.' Det nods.

‘You keeping well?'

‘Yes, thanks.'

‘Well then,' Ellen whispers,‘a child is a blessing.' She holds open the door. ‘Come in. Everything is ready!'

Everything?

We go into a dark hallway and she shows us into what is probably the best room in the house, but it's dark and smells a little musty as though it hasn't been aired for some time. It's crowded with old-fashioned furniture and strange little bits and pieces. Small vases and china animals, strange little bunches of artificial flowers. On the walls are a few badly painted pictures of vases of flowers and young girls looking into the distance.

‘I have a grandchild who is very artistic,' Ellen says proudly, pointing to the paintings. We all nod and murmur appropriately.

There is a three-piece lounge suite in the same green as the heavy drapes guarding the windows. The wooden arms on the chairs are polished and so too is the wooden piano in the corner and the small side tables and glass cabinet where all the best plates and glasses are displayed. Cups have been set out on the top of an old autotray near the piano along with some plates covered in bright tea towels.

‘Sit down, girls, please.'

We do as we're told and she sits herself in the one straight-backed chair and simply surveys us.

‘Bernadette and Stella,' she says quietly to herself, her eyes moving from one to the other as though trying to work out something. Then she turns to me with a smile. ‘And Perpetua, of course.'

I try to smile. We all do. We smile and smile and wait for what will come next. I fold my arms over my chest to stop my hands shaking. I have this feeling that there is some strict protocol here – that I should be doing something – but I have no idea what it is.

‘Let me give you this comfy chair,' Stella says suddenly, very politely, to Ellen. ‘I'll have that one.'

‘No, I have to sit on this chair,' Ellen explains. ‘I can't get up from the couch.'

‘Oh really?' I smile nervously. ‘Why not?'

‘No strength in my arms,' she laughs. ‘Too old.'

‘Oh.' My face floods with embarrassment and I look around at the others for help. But they too sit stiffly, knees pressed together and hands joined on laps, waiting to see what will happen. Now we're here, what are we going to talk about?

‘Well,' Ellen jolts, ‘how about tea?'

‘Thank you,' we chorus like primary school kids on an excursion. Anything but just sitting here.

She gets up and goes for the door.

‘I'll help,' I say, getting up too.

‘No,' she says firmly, ‘I can manage.' She disappears out the door and the three of us are left looking at each other.

‘She seems really nice,' Stella says encouragingly.

‘Yeah,' Det concurs, ‘pretty sprightly for nearly ninety.'

‘And she's so glad you're here.'

They're trying to be kind.

‘It's too weird,' I mutter darkly.

Ellen brings in the tea and milk on a tray and begins to pour it out into the delicate cups. Then she fusses around serving the homemade cake and scones waiting for us on the autotray, telling us about the recipes and how she manages her old stove.

Although I'm not in the least hungry, I get stuck into the food along with the others just for something to do. My nerves calm down a bit.

But the conversation is still really all about the trip up, the weather, how old we all are and what courses we're doing. I'm finishing off my second cup of tea, wondering how much longer we're going to have to stay, when Stella points to a black-and-white photo sitting on the piano.

‘Is that … your daughter?' she asks shyly.

‘Yes.' Ellen gets up and hands Stella the photo, and we all crowd around. It's a full-length black-and-white shot of a girl who looks a lot like me but in 1960s clothing, leaning on a verandah post, smiling into the camera. She is dressed in a sleeveless dress and high-heeled sandals. She carries a large white handbag and her hair is tied back with a bow.

‘How old is she here?' I ask.

‘It was taken the day she entered the convent. So, eighteen,' Ellen says softly. ‘Eighteen years and three months.'

‘Wow!'

‘Younger than you are now,' Ellen says to me with a smile.

‘Have you any more?' Stella asks.

‘Of course, dear.' Ellen gets up, throwing a tentative glance at me. ‘But … I didn't want to crowd you.' She goes to the piano stool, opens the seat and pulls out a few more framed black-and-white prints. ‘Evie told me, “Gran, you mustn't overdo the photos!” So I put them in here in case you felt it was too much.' She's holding the photos close to her chest. ‘Evie is Declan's girl. You might meet her one day.'

‘Yes,' I say, taking a photo.

There are nine children standing in a line up against a fence. The eldest boy is about fourteen, the first of six boys, all of them sturdy and nice-looking, dressed in long shirts and boots. Then one little girl in a cotton dress with her hair in pigtails. After her come two young boys.

‘So this is …'

‘Your mother, with all her brothers.'

‘Wow!' Stella exclaims. ‘What are their names, Ellen?'

‘Dominic, Brendan, Patrick, Rory, Michael and James.' Ellen points to them one at a time. ‘Your mother. Isn't she a darling? And the twins, Declan and Sean.'

‘Your uncles!' Stella digs me in the ribs.

‘That's right,' Ellen smiles at her, ‘and every one of them wanted to come today to see you.'

‘Really?' I gulp.

‘Yes, especially Pat. He's down from Darwin, and he was so keen. They all wanted to come and see their sister's girl, but I put my foot down. Not today, I said. It wouldn't be fair. It would be too much.' She looks at me anxiously. ‘I hope that was right, Perpetua? Evie was the one to tell me. She said not to frighten you off or you'll never come back.'

I nod and try to smile, staring down at that row of boys, my mother in the middle of them all. How innocent that little girl looks with her bright smile and pigtails. Yet she grew up and gave her child away … And all those sturdy handsome brothers will be middle-aged men now.