Tom and I walked together along the quiet country roads back into Moira. It made me miserable to think about going back to the convent. With little conversation between us, and fewer distractions, the journey back seemed to take much longer. Moira was much quieter than it had been when I’d arrived. Being a Sunday, all the shops were closed and the streets were practically deserted.
At the train station, Tom bought two tickets and led me to the platform.
‘Come on. This is our train.’
As we pulled out of the station, Tom began to question me about what I was going to tell the nuns. He seemed obsessed with it.
‘You might want to come and see us again to get away from the nuns for a break. So you will have to tell them that we treated you really well, or they might not let you come again.’
‘I will tell them I had a great time and what a good cook Siobhan is,’ I said, guessing exactly what it was that I wasn’t supposed to say.
Tom seemed satisfied. He talked to another man in the carriage while I stared out of the window, trying to blank out my thoughts. My feelings were all mixed up, and I knew that if I thought about anything at all, I was going to burst out into tears. Eventually, we arrived back in Belfast.
‘Come on now, this is our stop.’
His voice startled me out of my daze. I jumped up quickly and followed him off the train. We weren’t far from the convent, and I felt a horrible sinking feeling in my stomach. I didn’t want to go back, but neither did I want to stay with Tom. I wanted the impossible – to go back to the farm without Tom or Barry being there. We walked quietly along, but when I saw the high red bricks of the convent walls I started to cry. Suddenly, it was all too much.
‘There, there now,’ said Tom as we approached the convent gate. ‘Don’t upset yourself. What will the nuns think I’ve done to ye?’
He handed me a clean linen hankie, and I wiped away the tears. I didn’t want anyone to see me crying because I knew that some of the girls would see it as a sign of weakness and make me pay for it. If there was one thing I’d learnt in my years at the convent, it was not to appear weak. If you cried in front of others, it would soon get around and provide fuel for the bullies, who picked on the weakest girls, the ones that wouldn’t fight back. Sometimes they left me alone because Loretta was my sister, but Loretta couldn’t always be around to defend me, and as one of the smallest girls for my age, I’d been picked on and beaten up a lot in the past, which had forced me to toughen up.
Tom rang the bell. Sister Kevin opened the gate.
‘Ah, Frances Reilly, go straight to your dormitory and let Sister Thomas know you’re back.’
Tom bent down, gave me a hug and handed me my suitcase. As I turned and walked away back towards the main convent building, I heard Sister Kevin offer him a cup of tea. Glancing back, I saw them coming through the gate and moving to a different part of the building, but by now they were too far away for me to hear any of what was being said. I walked along the corridor and up the stairs to the dormitory, hoping that Tom wasn’t saying anything bad about me.
The dormitory was busy. Girls just back from a weekend out were sharing stories about what they’d done and catching up on convent gossip. Sister Thomas wasn’t about, and no one knew where she was, which was a relief, as I didn’t feel up to facing her yet. Everyone was asking if I’d had a good time when Loretta burst in and gave me a huge hug.
‘Did you bring me something back?’ she said, squeezing me tight.
I took the sweets out of my pocket and gave them to her. She looked really pleased and put a few in her mouth.
‘Were the people nice?’ she asked, with that look on her face that meant she wanted to know everything.
I told her a bit about the farm, the Murphys and the food, but then Sister Thomas came in and we stopped talking and made ourselves look busy. She came straight over to Loretta.
‘Are you supposed to be here, Reilly, or should you be doing something?’
‘Sorry, Sister, I’ll go and do it right now!’ Loretta hurried out of the dormitory.
‘So, you’re back, Reilly,’ Sister Thomas said, turning her attention to me. ‘Change into your normal clothes and let me have everything you took with you. It all has to go back to the storeroom.’
CHAPTER 12
Doubting Thomas
For weeks afterwards, memories of the farm kept swirling around my head. I’d think about the good things – playing on the tree swing, Edward’s flowerbeds and, best of all, Siobhan’s cooking, and I’d smile to myself, but then Tom and Barry would creep into the mix. I tried to push them out by replacing them with better memories, and sometimes it would work. But all too often it didn’t, and my mind would fill with images and sounds of the awful things they’d done to me. A cold, penetrating shiver would slowly pass through my body and nausea would rise up from the pit of my stomach. Sometimes, mostly at night when the lights were out, when no one could see me, I’d cry about it.
I carried on like this for days. One minute I’d think about something really good – like seeing the kittens in the barn – and I’d be on a real high. After all, in just a couple of days at the farm I’d had more fun than I’d had in all my years in the convent. But the next minute I’d remember one of the men and be filled with disgust. When I was having nice thoughts about the Murphys, I almost wished I was still at the farm, but when thoughts of Barry and Tom came into my head, I felt relieved that I wasn’t.
Up until now I hadn’t thought there was anything good about being in the convent, but I’d found something: at night my bed was my own.
*
It was recreation hour. Sister Francis was on duty and had handed out balls and skipping ropes to her pets. The rest of us either tagged along with them or did our own thing. I sat alone on a cold stone step. An image of Tom waking me jumped into my head. I wished that I could stop thinking about it because the pain was becoming almost unbearable. I looked up at the sky to distract myself and saw a plane flying high above me. Wherever it was going, I wanted to go there, too.
It wasn’t long before I was crying. I brushed the tears away with my hand, but they kept on coming. Rita, a senior and friend of Loretta’s, came over to see what was wrong.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked, sitting down next to me. Her tone of voice was so sympathetic that it just made me cry even more. ‘You don’t want to let things get to you, especially the nuns – otherwise they win. You know that, Frances.’
I stopped sobbing for a moment but wouldn’t meet her eye. ‘It’s not just the nuns,’ I said in a whisper.
‘What else is it, then? You tell me and I’ll see if it’s worth worrying about. How’s that?’
Cringing with embarrassment, I kept my voice down as I described my time at the Murphys’ farm. Rita listened carefully to every word. The nuns would have to know about it, she said, which made me wish that I hadn’t said anything, but she reassured me that everything would be OK and offered to tell the duty nun on my behalf. I agreed as long as she didn’t tell Loretta. I didn’t want my sister upset.
Nervously, I watched Rita speaking to Sister Francis and looking over at me. They talked until the bell rang but were too far away for me to make out what was being said or how the nun was reacting. The bell went and we lined up.
Sister Francis shouted, ‘Everyone carry on, except Frances Reilly.’
As the others marched off, I dropped out of line and stood beside her. I sensed immediately that it had been a mistake to tell her.
‘I believe you have been telling stories about the Murphy family, who very kindly took you out for the weekend!’ she said, her eyes flashing. ‘Why have you been telling such filthy lies? What sort of dirty minds do you Reillys have? Go to your dormitory and wait for Sister Thomas. And while you wait, ask God to forgive you. He might, if you turn that filthy mind of yours to prayer instead of filthy lies!’
Wishing I’d trusted my instincts, I walked slowly off to my dormitory. If Sister Francis didn’t
believe me, then there was no way Sister Thomas would. I tried not to think about what would happen next, but it could only be bad, very bad.
I slumped on the edge of my bed and thought about what she’d said about praying. Once, long ago, or so it seemed, I would have prayed as hard as I could for forgiveness, and for Sister Thomas to believe me, but now I just sat silently and waited.
Soon I heard brisk footsteps, and Sister Thomas hurried into the room, her face distorted with rage and her features screwed up as if she were in acute physical pain. This was the expression that she reserved for her deepest moods, an expression I had come to dread. Without saying a word, she stormed down the central aisle of the dormitory and slapped me across the face with such force that she knocked me to the floor and halfway under my bed.
‘You’re a liar, Reilly! How dare you accuse the Murphys?’ she screamed.
I was still trying to get myself together from the fall when I felt myself being dragged out from under the bed. Some of my hair caught in the metal springs beneath the mattress, and as she pulled me out, large clumps were ripped out at the roots. Bashing my head against the hard, metal bed frame, she hauled me to my feet and dragged me off to the bathroom.
‘I think you know what we do with liars, Reilly,’ she said.
Grabbing a large piece of carbolic soap from the sink, she pushed it into my howling mouth. I struggled hard, barely able to breathe. My arms thrashed around, but she kept a tight grip on my hair with one hand and used the other to ram the soap ever deeper into my mouth. At that moment I wanted to kill her.
I went on struggling, even though I knew there was little point. I could never win. Suddenly, I retched violently and the soap slipped out of her reach. With a look of disgust, she let go of my hair and stepped back. I held on to the sink as I vomited. I had soap stuck to my teeth and bubbles coming out of my mouth and nose.
‘Get yourself cleaned up, Reilly, and get back to the dormitory.’ She stormed off.
I rinsed out my mouth but couldn’t get rid of the taste of soap. Splashing water onto my face, I sobbed into the sink until eventually no more tears would come. Then I dried my face, cleaned up the sink and got myself back to the dormitory well before Sister Thomas returned.
My head was still really hurting. My face felt bruised all over, and there was a red handprint on my cheek, hot and stinging. Worse than the physical pain of the attack, though, was the emotional pain. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I felt dejected and extremely vulnerable.
My hair was a mess, and I needed to get a comb through it. Reaching down into my locker for my comb, I burst into tears again when I saw bunches of dark-brown hair hanging from the springs beneath my bed. Clumps of hair fell away from my scalp as I gently eased the comb through the matted mass that remained. I put them on the bed and rolled them together into a hairball, which, as I added more strands, began to resemble a small furry animal. My head hurt so much that I decided not to bother putting my ribbon back in yet. Weeping and rocking, trying to hug myself better, I lay on top of the bed and listened out for Sister Thomas.
About half an hour later I heard footsteps in the hall. I was so tired that I’d almost missed them and quickly jumped up. But I needn’t have panicked. It was only Rita.
‘Jesus, Mary and St Joseph, what happened to you?’ she asked. She looked shocked at the sight of me. ‘Is it because of what I told Sister Francis?’
‘Yes. They think I’m lying about the Murphys.’
‘Oh God, I’m really sorry. Do you want me to get Loretta for you?’
‘No! I don’t want her to know. She’ll go mad and then she’ll be in trouble again. Anyway, Sister Thomas will be back soon.’
‘OK, then, if you’re sure. I’ll come back later and see if you need anything. I could try to get you some food, if you’re not allowed down to tea.’
‘Thanks.’ I tried to smile because she really did look sorry for the trouble she’d caused, and I didn’t want her feeling bad. After all, she’d only been trying to help.
When she left, I flushed the hairball down the toilet. Sitting carefully on my bed so as not to crease the sheets, I wondered what was going to happen next. I didn’t have long to wait. Soon I heard Sister Thomas’s heavy footsteps on the stairs. Once more I jumped off the bed and smoothed the covers.
‘On your knees, Reilly, and start praying for God’s forgiveness for all your wicked lies! You will remain praying until I tell you to stop, and you will not be going to tea with the others.’
Dropping to my knees, I made the sign of the cross and whispered my prayers as quickly as I could, with my hands pressed tightly together and my eyes firmly shut. I probably looked quite devout, but in fact I was just trying to blank out Sister Thomas, the convent and all the pain I felt inside.
‘I can’t hear you, Reilly!’ she shouted from the other side of the dormitory.
I prayed louder, longing for something to eat or drink to take away the taste of soap in my mouth. I carried on with ‘Hail Marys’ and ‘Our Fathers’ until well after she’d left the dormitory and her footsteps had faded. Then, just in case she’d secretly crept back again, I prayed for a little bit longer until I sensed that she really had gone.
I sneaked bravely out into the corridor to the top of the stairs. Picking a spot with a good view, where no one would be able to see me first, I sat down and got comfortable. From experience I knew that I could run back to the dormitory in plenty of time if I heard anyone coming. It was much better than kneeling by the bed praying, especially because I was cheating the nuns. It felt good to get one over on them for a change, particularly Sister Thomas.
From my vantage point, I could see all the way down several long flights of stairs to the corridor below. Far below me I could hear people talking. Someone started singing a sweet, soothing song. I could just about make out the words. ‘Sad movies always make me cry,’ she sang. ‘He said he had to work, so I went to the show alone…’
The bell rang and it was time to move. I dashed back to the dormitory. The familiar noise of girls making their way to the refectory for tea was followed by ten minutes of silence, and then I heard footsteps again. I fell to my knees and closed my eyes. ‘Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee …’
‘This was all I could get,’ Rita said, handing me a few rounds of dry bread.
‘That’s dead on; it’ll get rid of the soap taste in my mouth,’ I said gratefully.
The first few mouthfuls tasted of nothing but soap, but by the time I’d finished eating, I could just about taste the bread.
Rita hurried from the room. I hoped she’d be OK. I didn’t want her getting in trouble for trying to help. All went quiet again. The boredom started to get to me, and I began pacing up and down the length of the dormitory. Now and then I stopped and stared out of the window. Far below, I could see some nuns talking in a huddle, but they didn’t look up. I paced a bit more, all the time listening out for Sister Thomas. Still feeling very sore, I longed for bedtime so that I could lie down, go to sleep and try to forget about this awful day.
It was dark when the others came back. I was pleased to see them; I was tired of being alone. They arrived in small groups, and from the way they were chatting to each other, it was obvious that there weren’t any nuns about.
‘Can you believe it?’ someone said. ‘Kathleen and Mary have just seen a ghost in the refectory!’ Most of the girls were a bit spooked, but a few of them seemed excited. It wasn’t hard to guess what sort of a night lay ahead of us. This was bound to trigger off a round of ghost stories.
I loved ghost stories, as did most of the girls, but there was sure to be one or two who wouldn’t be able to sleep afterwards, so nights like this often ended in trouble. With what had happened to Kathleen and Mary, plus a few good spooky tales, they’d be screaming at the slightest thing, which would bring Sister Thomas back in a rage.
As far as I could make out, Kathleen and Mary had seen the ghost of a girl with a long plait in her hair. S
omeone said that she must have lived ages ago because it sounded like she was wearing really old-fashioned clothes. I was just beginning to wonder if they’d made it all up when Kathleen came into the dormitory. She looked awful. Her hair was a complete mess, her face was pale and drawn, and she was struggling to get her breath. She really did look like she’d seen a ghost.
‘Sister Thomas is on her way up,’ someone whispered.
I dropped back to my knees, while the other girls busied themselves getting ready for bed. Sister Thomas marched in. She kept her eyes on me throughout prayers, and I became convinced she was planning my next punishment. Her staring eyes were making me panicky and nervous, so I concentrated on praying and tried to block her out. All I wanted was to be allowed to go to bed.
After prayers the others got into bed, but I carried on praying, and Sister Thomas carried on staring. After a few tense moments she told me to go and get the chamber pot before returning to my prayers.
‘Reilly is praying for God’s forgiveness for all her lies,’ she announced to the room as I walked off. ‘She is praying not to go to Hell, although I doubt there’ll be space in Heaven for any of the Reillys.’
I returned with the large chamber pot and carefully placed it in the centre of the aisle between the beds.
‘No one’s to talk to Reilly,’ she added.
Everyone’s eyes were on me as I knelt beside my bed. The lights went out, and for a moment or two, until the dimmer light came on, it was pitch black. After a few minutes I’d adjusted to the gloom enough to see the chamber pot sitting in the centre of the room. I hated the chamber pot. Forcing us to use it, when the toilets were just outside the dormitory, was deliberately degrading.
Sister Thomas left, and we waited until we were sure she had really gone. Eventually, one of the girls started whispering about the ghost. Kathleen said she thought it had been trying to tell her something. Maybe a girl had died in the convent building and wanted to tell someone how it had happened.
Suffer The Little Children Page 12
