Rock Me Gently (25 page)

With an effort I sucked air into my lungs, clenching my fists, breathing slowly. The wave of anger receded gradually, leaving me with a tightness, a burning sensation in my chest.

She went on, ‘I found you awkward and hostile when I first met you and you made me feel awkward too. Yet I knew that once you started being open with me it would be quite easy.’

I said in the same tone, ‘I know, I think I was very stupid. But I’m glad I didn’t run away.’

‘You almost did. I’m so glad you came to me this morning.’

‘And so am I.’ I felt a blissful sense of power, which was at the same time a frenzy of appreciation. Now I felt I could act humanly, think, wish, reflect, speak. I got up from my chair, moved to the window and stared over to the distant hills. Behind me, I heard Miriam pour herself a cup of coffee. I turned to watch her. Then it happened without warning. A tiny seed opened slowly inside my mind, revealing the answer in all its clarity and detail. A rush of blood went up to my head; I was suddenly alert, electric with precision, as if something dangerous had just missed hitting me.

‘Oh, my God!’ I said. ‘I think I’ve just worked something out.’

‘What’s that?’ Miriam asked.

‘Who really is to blame.’

I sat beside Miriam, my back against the wall, knees up, holding a cup of coffee in my hands. ‘God, I’m so tired,’ I said.

‘Well, that’s quite a big secret you’ve been keeping from yourself.’

‘So what do I do now?’

‘Well, you’ve done it, haven’t you? You’ve taken a step in the right direction. You’ve discovered your mother wasn’t perfect, but be aware of her limitations. Yet what I still don’t fully understand,’ she said, ‘is why you never spoke with her or anyone else about the convent afterwards.’

‘Would it have made any difference if I had?’ I said. ‘Why should I have told the truth and then be called a liar? Why should I have to wear such a story around my neck and be such a tragic figure to the world? I was ashamed of what happened to me, I wanted to disown it. I wanted to be light, to be new, to be free of my guilt and shame. Besides, sometimes I wondered if my mother ever gave a damn. I know now why she hardly ever visited me at the convent. I
know!
She was too busy having a good time with her new-found freedom, why should she care if the nuns were beating me to a pulp? Maybe she never really loved me.’

‘No, more like she loved you as much as she was able. Maybe she was afraid, maybe it was her circumstances or maybe it was hard for her to give love. You’ve built a cage of needs and installed her in the empty space in the middle. Don’t blame her. Maybe she couldn’t show you the way she felt. She must have had her reasons. Human beings are endlessly ingenious about encouraging their own misery. Even in a catastrophe, mysterious barriers can isolate them. Perhaps you should find out why she didn’t get on with your grandparents. Then when you’ve understood her past, you’ll have nothing to do except forgive her and I know that will be well within your capacity.’

‘But I’ve always loved my mother, even what’s awful.’ I closed my eyes. A jungle in there, inside my head. I became silent, feeling an immense tired cloud rising out of me.

‘You look exhausted. Stay here and get some sleep,’ Miriam said. Her eyes were fixed on me, a tender and compelling blue.

‘I can’t. Teliela has warned me that if I miss class again, I’ll be scheduled for work in the dining-room every morning instead of Hebrew class. I can’t take more pressure.’

‘I have to visit someone in Kibbutz Mishmar Hasharon today, so you can stay here if you wish. I’ll have a word with Teliela.’

I sat up. ‘Thank you.’

Miriam laughed. ‘How are you holding up with so little sleep?’

‘I’m beginning to fade,’ I admitted. Tears welled up again behind my eyelids. I wiped my eyes. ‘Do you mind if I lie down outside on the veranda until you get back?’

‘Of course not. Stay as long as you like.’

No need for any more words. I lay down on the canvas bed in the shade. The air was warm and sweet. Up in the sky, a flock of birds heeled sideways. They went on turning and wheeling, catching and sending the light through the air. The sky with the dipping and turning birds in it seemed like a great bowl of light above the earth. In that moment I felt so safe, floating in the calmest of seas.

Chapter
14

When we returned to the convent we were herded into the senior classroom, a group of trembling, shell-shocked children. There was a shift in the room, a hush, and the Mother Superior came in, glaring at us.

Taking off her glasses and wiping them on her sleeve, she said, ‘I want you to very quietly and reverently kneel down beside your desks and pray for the soul of Frances McCarthy, and that Janet Dover will be found soon.’

Everyone knelt and bowed their heads, but I sat lower in my desk and crossed my arms. I didn’t want to pray. Frances was everywhere - on the surface of my skin, a whisper in my ears, even the beat inside my own heart. I didn’t have one thought that wasn’t about Frances. Since we had returned from the beach an hour ago, we’d been retelling the specifics of what happened, going over it again and again, but I had pulled myself away from all the talk and turned silent.

Now I closed my eyes, seeing Frances’s last moments as if they were my own. A thick pain lifted up in my throat like a stone. I stayed in that moment where I held Frances’s hand for the last time. Where was she now? In a coffin with pennies placed over her eyes like the nuns when they died? Were they anointing her hands and forehead with olive oil in forgiveness of her sins? Were they clipping her nails and her hair? They’d grow all the same afterwards. I tried to picture her in the sky. Her face under its halo was not full of love, but resentment. And who could blame her?

‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Oh, Merciful Father, in Thee we trust when dangers threaten.’ The Mother Superior lifted her head, her mouth pursed. ‘The nuns are most distressed, you know. There has
never
before been such a tragedy at the convent,’ she said to us in a tone that was purely conversational, as if she thought the news might interest us.

Someone coughed. Someone else blew her nose. I couldn’t bear to listen any more. I turned my face to the evening sun pouring in the window, burning brightly in the blue sky outside. I let it fall over my face, its warmth on my skin, and closed my eyes.

‘Janet Dover hasn’t been found yet. We are all praying very hard for her.’ She scanned us, lips tight. ‘It was their own fault, of course. Such foolishness, not paying attention to the rules, staying out in the water too long.’

I looked around at the faces in the classroom. Did they believe such lies? They couldn’t, they were there too! But they didn’t even blink at them.

‘That’s not true, Reverend Mother.’ I was almost too breathless with fear and anger to speak. ‘Janet was sent back into the sea to call in us other children. She said so.’

Silence. I knew it was wrong; I knew I’d get in trouble for it. But I also knew I would be angry for ever at Frances’s death, at the nuns, and most of all, I would be angry with myself if I didn’t speak up. A stirring rustled around me as the others looked at me, expectant. Their eyes were shouts of encouragement. I watched the Mother Superior, not breaking my gaze from hers.

She stiffened, her eyes narrowing behind her thick glasses. ‘Hold your tongue! You’re all worthless; you’ll never amount to much. Especially
you,
Judith Kelly. Why, I’m told that you let go of McCarthy’s hand, and that’s the reason she drowned! But for your carelessness, she would still be alive.’

My fault. Yes, it had been my fault that Frances had died. My skin prickled with fear and my stomach knotted as I remembered that moment when I let go of her hand. I felt as if I was seeing the Mother Superior through a curtain of mist. I wrapped my arms over my stomach - such a cold feeling in me, like I was turning into a block of ice right there in front of the Mother Superior. I sat down again, defeated, covering my face with my hands.

‘You must all swear to me, on holy obedience, that you will never say anything about what has happened today,’ said the Mother Superior. ‘We need to conduct this whole business quietly and without any fuss. There are people out there who may ask you questions. Don’t you dare answer them. Do you understand? We don’t want the convent’s good name dragged through the gutter press. I’ll tell you briefly what I think of newspapers: the hand of God reaching down into the mire could not elevate one of them from the depths of degradation - not by a million miles. The most truthful parts of any newspaper are the advertisements.’

When she left the room, everyone immediately began talking in hushed tones. Some girls fell on their knees, moaning quietly in sorrow. I couldn’t get away from it, couldn’t escape my guilt. It kept me in a cold shiver, so that I hugged myself wretchedly, unable to feel warm.

The girls cried and comforted each other as we waited for news of Janet. The only news we heard was that every corner and crevice among the rocks was being thoroughly searched. One of the nuns began screeching in the corridor.

‘Jesus! Oh Jesus! Jesus!’

I shook the sound out of my ears by an angry toss of my head until she stopped.

I spotted Ruth watching me. I moved over to sit next to her. ‘Ruth, it all seems like a bad dream.’

‘It’s not a dream. I wish it was. The sea wasn’t safe today. That wave knocked us clean over.’

‘And sort of sucked us under too,’ I added.

‘Listen, I’ve got a plan.’

‘Uh-oh!’ I said. ‘I always worry when you say that.’

Her brown eyes narrowed as she glanced around. Then she thrust her face close to my ear and began to tell me a string of intricate plans, given over in a breathy whisper with a great many ‘and-then-we’ll ...’

At last, she leaned back and looked at me doubtfully. ‘Well, what do you think?’

‘I’d like to, but ...’ I blurted.

‘Do as you like. I’m not forcing you.’

I felt a chill crawl up my back and into my hair.

‘Oh come on,’ cried Ruth, ‘It can’t be that frightening, can it? Think of poor Janet out there all on her own. Besides, that frog needs her.’

I nodded silently.

‘Let’s do it,’ said Ruth ‘I mean, if we go together we can protect each other.’

I licked my lips. ‘When ... when were you thinking of going?’

‘How about around midnight?’ whispered Ruth.

‘We might get into awful trouble if we’re caught.’

‘Might! Better say we would! But I don’t give a shit.’

In the dormitory that night, what had been Frances’s bed was now just a bare mattress. I couldn’t look at it. I lay awake and waited in restless impatience. There had still been no news of Janet. A lot of the girls sobbed quietly, so rhythmically that I could predict each gasp. I lay there, tense, listening to each one. I didn’t dare let go myself.

I fell into a chaotic dream-filled sleep, and was just about to be attacked by a horde of anxious faces when I felt myself being gently shaken. I gave a short start and opened my eyes. Ruth.

‘Do you still want to go and look for Janet?’

I nodded. I was lying. I wanted only to stay where I was, but I couldn’t let Ruth down. In a single minute I was dressed and creeping down the stairs with her. We tugged at the bolts of the back door, and held our breath as we drew them back; then Ruth pulled the door shut behind us and we raced out into the waiting blackness of the playground. Although it was barely midnight, there was not a light showing in the convent. Everyone was in bed and asleep. I felt resentful; I had expected a vigil for Frances, and for Janet.

A faint wind moaned through the trees. ‘It might be Frances’s ghost, urging us on,’ whispered Ruth. She put her finger to her lips and gestured for me to follow. We crept through the forbidden gardens, running from tree to tree for cover. My heart racketed against my chest as we dashed down the driveway and out of the convent gates. Our pace gradually slowed. When we reached the road we came to a stop.

There were no lights in the road that led to the beach. We stood in silence in the light of the clouded moon, our shadows thin and dark blue as we stared uncertainly into the darkness. I told myself that I could go back if I liked, and be warm again in bed, where I had made a dummy of myself of pillows. But we’d look right fools getting caught on our way back because we’d turned chicken.

Ruth pulled my hand. ‘Come on. We can’t let a little dark stop us.’ We ran, our feet barely skimming the ground, my heart beating loud enough to burst my ears. The road sloped gently downwards. The wild hedgerows flashed in low dark lines beside us. The trees looked huge, big gnarled branches hooking out towards us with leafy hands, like they might grab hold of us.

We didn’t stop running until we reached the beach. When we eventually halted, I had a stitch in my side that stabbed me with every breath.

The dark beach spread endlessly around us, sweeping out to the moonlit sea. I felt very small. There was something so much bigger and lonelier about the beach at night. Somewhere in the Channel, a boat blew its siren and another answered, and another, like dogs waking each other at night.

Ruth seized my arm. ‘Look!’

‘What is it?’ I gasped as we clung to each other.

‘Look at the sea! Do you see them?’

‘I ‘

‘There!’

Lights appeared in the distance, flitting back and forth. Shouts burst over the beat of the waves, sending hollow reverberations to our ears.

‘There are some people getting out of a boat. Let’s run!’

‘Keep still! Don’t you budge! They’re coming right towards us.’

We stretched ourselves on the sand, not lifting our eyes, and lay waiting in a misery of fear. Torches approached out of the sea. Half a dozen of them. Every now and then one of the beams swung sideways and lit up the pebbles on the beach.

‘They must be the coastguards searching for Janet,’ I said. ‘They’re coming this way. What shall we do?’

‘I dunno, Judith. Do you think they’ve seen us?’

‘Oh, they’ll see us, like cats do in the dark.’

‘Don’t be afraid. We’ll stay here. Keep perfectly still, they won’t notice us.’

‘I’m trembling all over, Ruth.’

‘Listen!’

We put our heads together and scarcely breathed. A muffled sound of voices floated up over the noise of the sea.

‘Look, see there!’ whispered Ruth.

‘What is it?’

‘Oh, Judith, this is awful.’

We hid our heads as some vague figures came scrambling slowly up the beach. They were breathing hard and uttering little grunts as they struggled with the awkwardness of the stretcher they were carrying. The load looked white and lumpy in the moonlight. One of the coastguards shone his torch on it, and we could just make out a red swimming cap.

We didn’t need to say anything. We knew.

The noises died away until once again there was no sound left in the black, bandaged darkness but for the long drawn-out sigh of the sea.

Neither of us felt like returning to the convent. We walked for a mile along the coast towards some cliffs, and climbed up a rough pathway that had been hacked out of the grass and bracken. Once we reached the top we carried on walking until we came to a small opening in a clump of gorse. My worn shoes were hurting my blistered feet. I didn’t mind. The throbbing took my mind off other things.

Finally we scrambled down another rough pathway and came to a sheltered and sandy cove. In the moonlight, we could see the cliffs curve round on either side of us, like the arms of an enormous armchair. We stumbled down to the shore, our feet sinking in the silted sand. I closed my eyes to hear my shoes squeaking pebbles and crushing shells. When I opened them again I had the strange feeling that Frances was so close that if I just half-turned my head she’d be there. See now, she was there all the time. And ever shall be, world without end.

‘No, no,’ I whispered, shaking my head tearfully. ‘No, no.

She’s not here. She’ll never be here.’

With an angry sob I picked up a large pebble and threw it into the water. Wildly I picked up anything I could find, hurling broken bits into the sea. I felt so racked with pain that I no longer cared about anything but the tight knot that seemed to pierce the very centre of myself. I was angry that Frances and Janet had died. Angry with Frances for going away and leaving me. I wanted to see her again so I could say sorry.

‘I hate you, God! I hate you. You hear me? I hate you, I hate you.’

I stood yelling and screaming at the sky until I sank, exhausted and weeping, to the ground.

Ruth put an arm round my shoulders.

‘I’m sorry, Ruth,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’

‘Poor Janet. If she hadn’t been sent back into the sea by the nuns to call us in she’d still be alive. I don’t think I shall ever get over it.’

‘Me too. It’s just that - I could have helped Frances and didn’t.’ My eyes began to smart again. ‘She wrote a poem for me once. Now it’s all I have left of her. I hope my mum will take me away from the convent once she hears what’s happened. Then maybe I’ll tell her about what’s been going on.’

‘There’s nothing to tell,’ said Ruth tiredly.

I gaped at her profile in the moonlight. ‘There’s
lots
to tell. Maybe if people knew what goes on in the convent, they’d do something about it.’

‘I don’t want anybody to know, Judith.’ Her eyes filled with tears. Ruth, who never cried. ‘Not your mum, not my godmother. Not anybody. What’s the point?’

And all at once I knew she was right. It would be a waste of time. The nuns had been treating kids badly for years. Nothing changed, nothing ever changed. I used to think that however cruelly they treated us, they were on God’s side, and we shouldn’t question their behaviour towards us. As Frances used to tell me, without the nuns where would she have been?

But now she was dead. And I knew in my heart that I had always felt that the nuns were dangerous.

‘I want it buried,’ said Ruth ‘I want it buried as deep as it can go.’

I nodded slowly. ‘You’re right. Because we’ve got to live with it, and talking makes living it harder. But my mum might ask.’

‘Let her,’ Ruth said, standing up, brushing the sand from her tunic. ‘Let her ask, let her think. But the truth stays with us. Just be glad you’ll soon be back with your mum. Forget everything else.’

‘What do you want to forget most, Ruth?’

‘I don’t want to wake up feeling frightened ever again,’ Ruth said in a voice coated with despair. ‘Or scrub any more floors. And I don’t want to be beaten. We put a stop to Sister Mary that time in the boot-room, but Sister Columba’s got worse since then. Every day it’s just worry and worry, and sweat and sweat, and wishing you were dead all the time. I want to be able to sleep, not worry about what’s going to happen next. I want to wake up every day at the crack of noon. If I could get that, I’d be happy. I’d be in Heaven, or close to it.’