July (10 page)

‘You’re lucky I saw you when I did. If I hadn’t been shutting the gates, you’d still be out there in the rain, I’m afraid.’ She put out her right hand to shake mine. ‘I’m Sister Jerome. I fetch the shopping and answer the front door for the other sisters, among other things, of course. I drive the minibus, too. Where are you from, child?’

‘Here and there. I sort of—camp out.’

‘You’ve been sleeping rough? In this cold weather? Where’s your mother? You look like you could do with a good bath, and I’d better find something for you to wear. You’ll catch your death in those wet clothes!’

She draped my wet hoodie over the back of the chair closest to the stove.

‘Thank you, Sister, but I have some extra clothes here,’ I said, digging around in my
backpack
to find something else to put on. ‘Could you please tell my great-aunt that I’m here and I would like to talk with her? It’s extremely important.’

Sister Jerome had a worried look on her face.

‘Has anybody else been here?’ I asked. ‘
Wanting
to speak with Millicent? Sorry, Sister Mary Perpetua?’

‘Certainly not. How come?’

‘I need to talk to her. To tell her something,’ I continued, ‘and ask her something about an important family matter.’

‘A family matter? We nuns don’t have
families
. We’re about the last of the old, enclosed orders. We still live by the old-fashioned rules. We leave that entire muddle behind us. As the great Saint Teresa said, “Not being able to have contact with your families is often a great
blessing
”.’
She gave me a stern look. ‘You know what families can be like.’

She had a point, but I could never imagine turning my back on my family for good.

‘This is really important. Because there could be—a problem,’ I added, not wanting to alarm her.

‘What problem?’

How could I tell her that any number of
bloodthirsty
criminals could be on their way here right now, trying to chase me down, without a care for anyone standing in their way? She’d never believe me.

‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘I’m just really looking forward to seeing her.’

Sister Jerome showed me the outdoor bathroom and I washed up a bit in a big laundry near the kitchen. I paused to look at my reflection in a speckled mirror. My long, lank, dirty blond hair looked darker than ever.

Five minutes later I was sitting in the kitchen of the Manresa Convent in a dry grey sweater from my backpack, while Sister Jerome cut me a jam sandwich and made hot chocolate. I liked the way she locked the kitchen door behind me as I returned. I was in a holy, stone fortress, surrounded by a spiky cactus moat, a group of
nuns, and strong locks. This had to be the
ultimate
safe house.

‘Now you wait there and eat up,’ she said, pointing to the sandwich, ‘while I go and find out what’s to be done with you.’

I tucked into it, greedily. From somewhere I could hear the sound of chanting and I guessed it was the nuns.

By the time I’d finished eating and was
half-way
through my drink, Sister Jerome was back. She frowned solemnly.

‘I’m afraid you are going to be disappointed. I didn’t want to mention it earlier, but I fear you have come all this way for nothing.’

‘For nothing? Please don’t stop me from
speaking
to my great-aunt!’ I pleaded. ‘This is way too important!’

‘Nobody’s going to stop you, Cal,’ she said with a gentle hand on my shoulder. ‘There’s
something
you should know.’

My heart sank. I waited for her to tell me that Millicent was dead.

‘Sister Mary Perpetua—your great-aunt—she doesn’t speak any more. In fact, she hasn’t
spoken
for an exceptionally long time. I think it was about twenty years ago that she stopped.’

‘What?’ I asked, putting the mug of hot chocolate down. ‘Why?’ I was torn between being
relieved she was alive, and confused as to why she had stopped speaking.

‘Nobody knows exactly. When you get up at five o’clock, pray nine times a day, work in the kitchen or the garden, read for half an hour and then go to bed after tea, there isn’t much to say, really. In fact, talking with you like this is the first lengthy conversation
I’ve
had for a number of weeks. Since querying a greengrocer’s bill.’

Somewhere, not far away, I heard the sound of a door banging. It made me jump.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘I heard a noise,’ I said. ‘Sounded like a door banging in the wind.’

‘Oh dear. That’ll be the side entrance door! Matthew always forgets to close it!’

‘Matthew?’

‘The young man who sometimes helps with the heavy work in the yard. He’s inclined to be a bit forgetful. His mind’s always on that motorbike of his—Blue Streak—and never on his work. He dotes on that machine like a mother on a baby.’ Sister Jerome sighed. ‘I’d better go and lock the door.’

She vanished to go and close the door. I pulled out my phone and called Boges again.

Finally, he picked up.

‘I spoke to Winter,’ I said. ‘Now before you get mad, just listen to what I have to say.’

‘Go ahead,’ he said, unsurprised.

‘According to Winter, there’s something
written
on the Jewel. Something revealing that concerns the Ormond Singularity.’

‘She’s dreaming. There’s nothing written on it. We would have seen it by now if there was. Hang on while I get it.’

I waited until Boges returned. ‘Like I said. There’s nothing written on it. That girl is
trouble
. Why would you believe her?’

‘Have you got a magnifying glass?’ I
remembered
Dad taking a magnifying glass to his photos. ‘Surely you have something like that lying around in your room?’

‘Why?’

‘Please just get one and go over the Jewel really carefully. All over. There might be
something
that we’ve missed. Winter also warned me that Sligo has a few leads on my location. I’m hoping no-one’s on their way here.’

‘You’re at Redcliffe?’

‘At Manresa
Convent
, can you believe it?
Millicent’s
a nun! She goes by the name of Sister Mary Perpetua!’

Boges’s deep laugh echoed down the line. ‘Bet you didn’t see that one coming!’

‘I sure didn’t, but it’s no laughing matter—apparently she hasn’t spoken for twenty years!’

I heard Boges exhale, frustrated, on the other end of the line, putting a quick end to his laughter.

‘Somehow, I have to break through the wall of silence. Otherwise this trip will have been a waste of time.’

‘What makes you think she’ll speak to you?’

Sister Jerome wandered back into the kitchen.

‘Gotta go, Boges. Promise me you’ll go over the Jewel with a magnifying glass?’

‘Why should I? Just because that sneaky girl, Winter, wants to hook you back onto the line?’

‘Just do what I say. Please,’ I said, then hung up.

‘The side door was wide open!’ said Sister Jerome, once I’d buried my phone back in my pocket. ‘Anything could have blown in! Just as well your ears are sharp. I think that door needs attention. I don’t think it’s always
Matthew’s
forgetfulness. I’ll have to have a word to Sister Mary Bertha. She’s the handyperson round here when we’re left to our own devices. She’s as strong as an ox!’

Sister Jerome hung the laundry key on a peg on the wall. Among the collection of keys beside it, I could see a set of car keys on a Saint
Christopher
key ring. The minibus, I thought. The nuns must have outings after all.

‘I’ve also just spoken to Mother Superior about you,’ Sister Jerome continued, ‘and because of
the weather and because you’re the nephew of one of the sisters, she says she’s happy for me to make up a bed for you.’

‘What about seeing my aunt? I really need to speak to her. Even if she won’t answer me.’

‘Let’s talk about it in the morning. It’s getting rather late now. After evening prayers we go into the great silence. I shouldn’t even be
speaking
now,’ she said with a cheeky grin. ‘Nobody speaks until after breakfast tomorrow.’

The great silence? Maybe that’s where my great-aunt had learned her skill, I thought.

I followed Sister Jerome along several gloomy corridors lined with closed doors, until we came to a door halfway down a long hall. The nun opened it and I found myself in a small room with barred windows, a narrow bed, a table and chair, and a stone floor. I’d slept in a lot of strange places, but a convent? This was the eeriest yet.

‘It’s almost like a cell,’ I said, before realising I probably sounded rude.

‘It
is
a cell,’ said Sister Jerome. ‘And the nun who used to sleep here has gone to her reward.’

‘Her reward?’ I asked, confused.

‘Yes. She’s with the Lord now.’

So now I was sleeping in a dead nun’s bed. It just got better and better!

‘All the cells along this corridor used to be
filled with nuns, back in the old days. But the world has changed, even more than we realise, I expect, and this is the only empty cell still made up with furniture and bedding. There are extra blankets in a box under the bed.’ She
patted
the end of the mattress and a thick cloud of dust lifted.

‘I’ll bid you goodnight then,’ she said,
clapping
the dust from her hands. ‘We get up at five o’clock so don’t be alarmed if you hear people moving around in the dark.’

After she closed the door, I went to the
window
and peered through the bars, watching the rain slash against the glass. Compared to the warmth of the kitchen, this cell was cold. Outside the strong iron bars the wind was howling in the storm.

I should have felt safe but I didn’t.

I kept my clothes on and crawled into the bed, thinking of my great-aunt—Sister Mary
Perpetua
—sleeping somewhere in this convent, lost in silence.

19 JULY

166 days to go
…

cal. ok, ok, i’m sorry. winter was right. there is something written on the jewel! not sure what, yet, but it’s in french.

unreal! call u soon.

Sister Jerome fed me again in the large kitchen—porridge and toast. We had the place to ourselves, she told me. Apparently most of the nuns ate together shortly after dawn, then headed to the small chapel that was attached to the building for Morning Prayer.

The roar of a powerful motorbike made me jump as it pulled up outside.

‘Ah,’ said Sister Jerome, ‘there’s Matthew on Blue Streak, arriving for work. Perhaps you could give him a hand today? I’m sure he’d love the
company of someone other than us nuns, for a change!’

‘Sure,’ I said, ‘but can I see my aunt first?’

Sister Jerome patted my hand that was resting near her on the kitchen bench. ‘Don’t worry, dear, I’ll see to it that you have your time with her. Just don’t expect too much from it.
Understood
?’

I waited behind Sister Jerome as she knocked gently and then opened the door of a cell upstairs. I followed her in.

In a chair by the window, with a blanket over her knees, sat a very old nun, swathed in black robes and a veil, with a white band across her forehead. She had the waxy, pale skin of a woman who’d been cooped up inside for a long time.

Millicent.

As we walked towards her, she slowly turned in our direction. When her gaze moved from Sister Jerome to me, her face turned as grey as death.

She shuddered and gripped the arms of her chair with her bony old hands and attempted to stand up, stumbling and almost falling. Sister Jerome and I rushed forward to help steady her.

She pushed us both away and stepped back,
looking dumbfounded. Her voice came in a hoarse whisper.

‘Barty?’ she croaked. ‘You’ve come to see me? Barty!’ she repeated. ‘My little brother!’

I heard a startled gasp from Sister Jerome. ‘Mother of God, she spoke! Perpetua spoke!’ She ran to the door, opened her mouth as if to call the other sisters, then must have thought better of it. She returned to the side of the stooped old nun. ‘Perpetua, dear, you must sit down again. Here, let me help you.’

I took her other fragile arm and we supported her and guided her back into her chair.

Sister Jerome stared at me and tried to speak quietly into my ear, but her excitement was impossible to subdue. ‘They are the first words she’s spoken in twenty years! This is remarkable!’

It
was
remarkable, but I wasn’t Barty. And it made me sad knowing that I had to look into her hopeful eyes and let her down.

‘I’m not Barty,’ I finally said to my great-aunt as she searched the evidently familiar features of my face. ‘He’s my uncle. My
great
-uncle,’ I added. ‘I’m Cal, not Barty.’

‘You must look like he did—when he was a boy,’ Sister Jerome whispered to me. ‘She’s a tad confused.’

Again, my great-aunt tried to stand up, but this time her strength failed her and she fell right back into her chair.

‘You mustn’t tire yourself like this, Perpetua,’ said Sister Jerome tenderly. ‘We’ve all been
wondering
if we would ever hear your voice again. Praise the Lord. Speaking after twenty years. You’ve worked a miracle, young man,’ she said to me, with a pat on my back. ‘Now you two stay here, and I’ll fetch us some warm drinks.’

I stood there looking at the old lady whose features reminded me of Great-uncle
Bartholomew
—without the bristles. Well, without
all
the bristles.

‘Sister Mary Perpetua,’ I started, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. ‘I’m afraid I’m not Barty. I’m your great-nephew, Callum Ormond. Tom’s son and William’s grandson.’ I thought of William, the grandfather I’d hardly known. The family lost him shortly after I was born.

‘I visited your brother Bartholomew recently,’ I said, hoping it wasn’t too early to be drilling her with questions. I didn’t want to waste time, so I pressed on. ‘He told me that you might have information about the Ormond family—about a will made by Piers Ormond. It’s really important that I get hold of anything you might have. It’s more important than anyone could imagine.’

She didn’t move or speak for what seemed a long time, and I wondered whether she’d even heard what I’d said.

‘I have been praying this moment would never come,’ she finally spoke again, in a voice that cracked and scraped like a rusty gate. ‘For a moment, I thought eighty years had slipped away and I was a girl again. Silly Milly,’ she said with a hint of a childish smile.

‘What do you mean, you’ve been praying this moment would never come?’ I asked.

The hint of a smile disappeared and her lips tightened. She shook her head, remaining silent.

‘Please, please tell me? What did you mean by that?’

I leaned forward as her rusty voice returned. ‘Because it means that Billy’s boy—your father …’

‘Yes, please go on,’ I begged. ‘What about my father? Please tell me?’

It was just days away from the anniversary of Dad’s death, and I had a queasy, sick
feeling
around my heart at the thought of him. I stared into Millicent’s eyes, urging her soul to open up to me. Her silence almost made me feel like shaking it out of her—it was obvious there were many memories stirring inside. But when I saw that tears were now rolling down her pale, wrinkled cheeks, I calmed myself down.

‘Please Sister,’ I said in the gentlest voice I could manage. ‘What does my visit mean? What does it mean about my father?’

‘It means,’ she said in a voice so soft that I had to move closer to hear, ‘it means that your father is dead.’

Her words floored me. How did she know that?

‘He wrote to me, asking me about the Ormond Singularity,’ she said.

I could hardly breathe.

Suddenly questions poured out of me as
tension
and exhilaration battled in my mind. ‘And did you have any answers for him? Do you know anything? Can you tell me? Did he say what the Singularity was? Or what it was about? Please, it’s crucial I find out.’

Outside the convent window, magpies were carolling.

‘I left all family matters behind when I entered the convent,’ she said. ‘All the papers, all the information on the Ormond Singularity, were put away. In a big envelope.’ The old woman took a deep breath. ‘I couldn’t help him. I only remembered it being spoken about when I was a girl.’

‘Do you remember what was said about the Ormond Singularity?’

‘Only that it was a secret kept in our
family
—
a
deadly
secret. It has been the death of all of the Ormonds who have tried to unravel it. It should remain a secret.’

I shivered.
It killed your father. It’ll kill you
, the staggering man had warned me on New Year’s Eve.

‘And that’s how I knew he must be dead,’ she continued. ‘Because anyone who starts to
investigate
the Ormond Singularity … winds up in a casket …’ My great-aunt’s voice trailed off and she stared silently out into the distance through the window near her chair.

So many people wanted me dead. I knew that already. But was she saying the Ormond
Singularity
killed Dad?