you?’ Frances had a mature voice, soft and calm.
I frowned. I didn’t want to be different. Frances helped me. ‘I mean you have been baptised, haven’t you?’
‘Well -’ I ... hesitated, ‘I think I was years ago.’
‘You only think you were? Never mind, it’s never too late, but you’ll have to repent your sins first. Who knows, you may end up understanding it all better than us lot.’
‘But, I thought you ...?’
Frances lifted her thin shoulders. ‘I’ve known all the prayers and hymns off by heart for years, but I still don’t understand them. I’ve been here since I was two. I’ll never get away now. I don’t think I want to, either.’
‘Really?’ I stared at her, appalled, as we walked down the corridor. Shafts of dusty sunshine slanted through the windows, so that shadows and sunlight alternated across her face.
‘No, why should I want to leave? I was sent here years ago because my mother was too ill to look after me, and that hasn’t changed. She lives in a mental hospital. An asylum called Netherne. It’s in Surrey. I can only remember seeing her once, a long time ago. She was wearing a red dress.’ Frances trailed a finger along the wall as she spoke, her face creased in thought.
I took a deep breath, and checked to see that the other girls were still far ahead of us. ‘Frances ... do you think the nuns are too strict?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Too strict? They only lose their tempers with us because they care.’
‘They’ve got a funny way of showing it,’ I said. ‘All they do is shout, shout, shout, yet we’re told to speak in lowered voices.’
‘That’s to keep us out of trouble. I’ll tell you a secret, if you promise not to let on to anyone else. I mean, sometimes when Sister Mary loses her temper and hits me, she tries to make it up to me afterwards and says things like, “Did I hurt you much?” and “I’d like to be your mother and kiss away all your tears.” She kisses my forehead and sometimes she kisses my hands. Once she kissed me for a long time on my mouth. I don’t like it much, but I don’t dare stop her.’
I tried to think of the right thing to say. Was it right for a nun to kiss you? Was it like when I put my face up to Mum to say goodnight and then she put her face down? That was to kiss. Mum put her lips on my cheek; her lips were soft and sticky and they wet my cheek; they made a tiny little noise: plock. Is that the way Sister Mary kissed Frances? Why did she do that? She wasn’t her mum.
For some minutes I walked deep in thought, and the only sound our footsteps on the creaky wooden floor. The air in the corridor chilled me. It was wettish.
Then I burst out: ‘No, I’m sure it’s not right. I’ve never seen such horrible treatment of children in the other schools I’ve been to! If a nun hit me with a cane the way you told me they hit Ruth, I - I’d snatch it out of her hand and chuck it out the window!’
Frances smiled knowingly. ‘No, you wouldn’t. What good would that do? The nuns would just get another cane; they’ve got dozens of them. It’s much better to put up with the punishments they dish out - that way you keep everyone else out of trouble.’
I remembered the sound of Sister Mary’s cane when she was giving the order for the girls to move to church: whistle, crack. That was the sound you heard but if you were hit then you would feel a pain. I wondered what the pain was like. It made me shivery to think of it, and cold.
Bewildered, I shook my head. Frances seemed to understand it all so much better than I did. ‘What about your father?’
‘I don’t know. I ... well, I haven’t got one.’
‘I haven’t got one either, not now,’ I said to make her feel better. ‘My mum brought me here by train. I was really pleased, I thought it was a surprise holiday.’
I heard the resentment in my voice and a sudden flood of anger arose in me as I fought back the tears. I looked away from Frances to hide them. I
I frowned. I didn’t want to be different. Frances helped me. ‘I mean you have been baptised, haven’t you?’
‘Well -’ I ... hesitated, ‘I think I was years ago.’
‘You only think you were? Never mind, it’s never too late, but you’ll have to repent your sins first. Who knows, you may end up understanding it all better than us lot.’
‘But, I thought you ...?’
Frances lifted her thin shoulders. ‘I’ve known all the prayers and hymns off by heart for years, but I still don’t understand them. I’ve been here since I was two. I’ll never get away now. I don’t think I want to, either.’
‘Really?’ I stared at her, appalled, as we walked down the corridor. Shafts of dusty sunshine slanted through the windows, so that shadows and sunlight alternated across her face.
‘No, why should I want to leave? I was sent here years ago because my mother was too ill to look after me, and that hasn’t changed. She lives in a mental hospital. An asylum called Netherne. It’s in Surrey. I can only remember seeing her once, a long time ago. She was wearing a red dress.’ Frances trailed a finger along the wall as she spoke, her face creased in thought.
I took a deep breath, and checked to see that the other girls were still far ahead of us. ‘Frances ... do you think the nuns are too strict?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Too strict? They only lose their tempers with us because they care.’
‘They’ve got a funny way of showing it,’ I said. ‘All they do is shout, shout, shout, yet we’re told to speak in lowered voices.’
‘That’s to keep us out of trouble. I’ll tell you a secret, if you promise not to let on to anyone else. I mean, sometimes when Sister Mary loses her temper and hits me, she tries to make it up to me afterwards and says things like, “Did I hurt you much?” and “I’d like to be your mother and kiss away all your tears.” She kisses my forehead and sometimes she kisses my hands. Once she kissed me for a long time on my mouth. I don’t like it much, but I don’t dare stop her.’
I tried to think of the right thing to say. Was it right for a nun to kiss you? Was it like when I put my face up to Mum to say goodnight and then she put her face down? That was to kiss. Mum put her lips on my cheek; her lips were soft and sticky and they wet my cheek; they made a tiny little noise: plock. Is that the way Sister Mary kissed Frances? Why did she do that? She wasn’t her mum.
For some minutes I walked deep in thought, and the only sound our footsteps on the creaky wooden floor. The air in the corridor chilled me. It was wettish.
Then I burst out: ‘No, I’m sure it’s not right. I’ve never seen such horrible treatment of children in the other schools I’ve been to! If a nun hit me with a cane the way you told me they hit Ruth, I - I’d snatch it out of her hand and chuck it out the window!’
Frances smiled knowingly. ‘No, you wouldn’t. What good would that do? The nuns would just get another cane; they’ve got dozens of them. It’s much better to put up with the punishments they dish out - that way you keep everyone else out of trouble.’
I remembered the sound of Sister Mary’s cane when she was giving the order for the girls to move to church: whistle, crack. That was the sound you heard but if you were hit then you would feel a pain. I wondered what the pain was like. It made me shivery to think of it, and cold.
Bewildered, I shook my head. Frances seemed to understand it all so much better than I did. ‘What about your father?’
‘I don’t know. I ... well, I haven’t got one.’
‘I haven’t got one either, not now,’ I said to make her feel better. ‘My mum brought me here by train. I was really pleased, I thought it was a surprise holiday.’
I heard the resentment in my voice and a sudden flood of anger arose in me as I fought back the tears. I looked away from Frances to hide them. I
Similar Books
