The Ladies' Midnight Swimming Club(53)
‘Breast cancer,’ Lucy said firmly. ‘I think it should be breast cancer. Pink ribbon – it’s the best cause I know of. What do you think, Mum?’
‘I love it,’ Jo said softly. ‘There’s only one thing…’ She laughed now, threw her head back on the water and strangely, the sound of her own laughter was unfamiliar. It was the cancer of course, eating through her insides. ‘It should be in the nip. A dip in the nip! That’s what I’d enjoy most, thinking of all of you, down here, in the altogether and jumping into the water…’ She could just imagine every woman in the village, from the most uptight to the most unlikely, coming down here and rallying for each other and every other woman who might be affected by this horrible disease. ‘Think about it, Elizabeth, even old crabby boots O’Neill… herself.’ And they all began to laugh at the notion of Eric’s former receptionist pulling off her interlocking knickers before diving into the cold Atlantic.
22
Dan
Elizabeth was true to her word. It had taken a few weeks to organise, but she’d managed to set up a meeting with one of the old nuns who had once been in St Nunciata’s. Sister Berthilde was ancient according to Elizabeth and so rather than transferring to another convent they’d shipped her into a nearby nursing home; apparently no-one had expected her to last so long after it all finished up.
The nursing home was tucked away at the end of a very well-maintained drive, with only one discreet sign pointing you in the direction of Cois Farraige – which Elizabeth translated as Riverside. A small stream ran through the grounds, but it had been fenced off, probably in the name of health and safety for residents who might end up losing their way. Inside, the unmistakable aromas of early dinners and late breakfasts mingled with a velvet underlay of cleaning products, chiefly bleach and something that probably purported to be pine. Still, he had to admit, the reception – a medley of muted greys and golds – wore the air of a health spa as much as any nursing home he’d ever have imagined. A young, ponytailed girl on reception insisted on showing them to the day room after she watched him rub disinfectant cream on his hands.
Sister Berthilde had the frame of a woman who had spent her life in combat with everyone and everything that dared to cross her path. Even now, although he presumed that age had shaken out some of her volume, her hands, ears and nose were all large enough to put on any man who had a decent frame to match. Her mouth was set in a long, downward scowl and her eyes watched him from beneath their wrinkled hoods. They were distrustful from the moment Elizabeth introduced him and part of him felt pity, that for a woman who spent her life serving others, she did not expect a visitor who might have come with good wishes.
‘I was born… well I think I was born in the orphanage,’ he began gingerly, once he’d settled in a chair opposite her.
‘No,’ she said emphatically.
‘But.’
‘It’s quite simple Mr…’ She curled her lip for a moment then carried on, as if his name would make no difference to her. ‘I held every baby that was born in our care, and I can tell you without a moment’s hesitation, I never held you.’ She looked resolutely towards the open fields that stretched out into the distance.
‘But you can’t be sure…’ He leant forward. It seemed convincing this woman was most important. After all, the records he’d seen so far had no trace of a birth on the date he knew to be his birthday. There was no mention of his adoptive parents on any register as having received a child from any of the institutions for miles around. ‘Look, you’re my last hope. I understand that you tried to keep secrets for the girls who found themselves in your care, but things have changed now. No-one really cares anymore, apart from those of us who are affected by it.’
‘You have no idea, have you?’ The old woman leant forward and he could smell her age, a concoction of staleness and baby powder – as if they might balance each other out. ‘Those girls had sinned. What they got – a roof over their heads and someone to take on their offspring – that was more than they deserved. Most of them hightailed it off to England as quick as they could and probably covered over any mention of our convent from any man who might be fool enough to marry them. If I had a penny for every baby I put through my hands back then, well, there wouldn’t be a starving population in Africa.’ She looked at him now disdainfully.
‘And you call yourself a Christian,’ Elizabeth whispered so as not to upset the gentle balance of the day room. ‘Do you have any idea of the pain that you’ve caused to so many? Holier than thou – the lot of you, well none of you was perfect – you gave those poor unfortunate girls a living hell and for what? So much for compassion and forgiveness and not throwing the first stone.’ Elizabeth’s voice wavered, as if she might cry with the injustice of what she’d witnessed; instead she gathered herself crossly. ‘You were always an evil old cow, Berthilde. For once in your life, can’t you do something to make life a little easier for your fellow man?’
‘Well indeed, and you can afford to talk.’ The old nun turned from Elizabeth towards Dan.
‘I certainly can. I might have made my own mistakes, but I never set out to make other people pay for my own shortcomings.’ With that Elizabeth got up from the chair and stormed out the door.