‘Please,’ Bess said. ‘I feel like I’m close to my time. I have pains coursing through my belly like I’m on my monthlies. You need to transfer me to hospital.’
‘Oh, is that what I need to do?’ Her voice was amused but also warning. Even Sister Mary Clare would not brook impudence from the likes of us.
‘I need to go to hospital,’ Bess rephrased, the sound of her voice already hopeless.
‘Look how tiny you are,’ Sister Mary Clare said. ‘Why, I can barely tell you’re with child. You’re nowhere near close, dear, trust me to know what that looks like. We can’t have you lying in for weeks like a queen, can we?’
The nun looked from Bess’s face to mine and must have been struck by the dismay. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said. ‘I’ll sneak you upstairs for a little rest. Our secret. What do you say to that?’
‘Thank you, Sister.’ Bess’s shoulders sagged.
I took the scrubbing brush from her damp hands. It was unheard of for any girl to be allowed to rest during the day. Not only did I feel glad for Bess but I was also encouraged for myself. Perhaps Sister Mary Clare really would write to Finbarr. I could already see him, striding through the front gates, past the pregnant lawn crew on their knees, straight to the Mother Superior to demand my release.
Bess and Sister Mary Clare walked off together. No other nun would have agreed to it. How lucky we were, that at least one of them was so kind.
Bess knew having a nun beside her wouldn’t work as protection. Her heart sank when she saw Father Joseph emerge from the office he used when he visited the convent. Bess didn’t believe in prayer anymore but old habits were hard to break. She found herself praying every day for her stomach to bloom into an obstruction. She prayed for a belly a hundred miles wide; the most pregnant woman to ever walk the earth.
‘There you are, Bess.’ The priest’s voice was booming and unashamed.
Despair can be as real as any other trap. Like a fishing net – thrown into the air, widening, then falling to make its catch. In the hallways and in church Father Joseph had a great, smiling face.
Sister Mary Clare said, ‘Bess is feeling poorly, Father. I was just taking her upstairs to lie down.’
‘She can lie down in here.’
Bess turned to Sister Mary Clare and grabbed her arm. The nun looked down at the grip, then at the priest, who stood with his arms crossed, the picture of fatherly reproach.
‘Please,’ Bess said, ‘he won’t listen to me. But he might listen to you.’
Sister Mary Clare laughed, determined to prove she was the jolliest person on earth. ‘My goodness,’ she said, ‘you’d think you were going to your execution, rather than private prayer with the most revered man in County Cork.’
Bess couldn’t look at Father Joseph, who, no doubt, beamed at hearing this praise. As if the most revered man in any county would be assigned to ragwort like us. Bess was certain this scene only made him more eager to be alone with her. Instead, she looked at Sister Mary Clare, the enforced cheer on her face, the wilful refusal to see what was right in front of her. Or worse, the refusal to admit what she knew full well.
‘Sister,’ Bess said, ‘can you really believe you’ll get to heaven when all this is done?’
The nun wrenched her arm out of Bess’s grasp, darkness finally crossing her face. ‘Come now, Bess,’ she all but hissed. ‘The Father knows what’s best for all of us. You know he does.’ She put her hand to the small of Bess’s back and propelled her over the threshold.
The office door shut. The priest’s face changed. Furious. As if Bess were at fault, forcing him to defile an already defiled girl.
‘You said you wanted to lie down. Lie down. There.’ He pointed to the floor behind his desk and removed his collar, slapping it down to the floor like something to be conquered and discarded.