‘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.
‘The truth is, even if you manage to locate the wretch of a mother who gave birth to you, there’s a very good chance she won’t want you any more now than she did back then.’ Berthilde spat at him and he knew that this was it. He’d come to the end of his search, such as it was. It hadn’t been long. A couple of forms filled in and sent off to the health service and a day spent trawling through scant social work records that meant nothing to him really. He got up from the chair opposite, considered wishing the old nun good luck, but had a feeling she’d rather if he just left.
Outside, in the corridor, he stood for a moment to gather his composure. He felt winded by the nastiness of the old girl. What kind of person turns into someone like that? he wondered.
‘Fancy seeing you here?’ Lucy’s warm voice dragged him back into more familiar surroundings.
‘Yes, I was visiting Sister Berthilde.’
‘Ooh, lucky you,’ Lucy said ironically. ‘Is she her usual bundle of laughs?’
‘Hmm, well, it depends on what you find funny, I suppose,’ he said, but he felt utterly deflated after the visit.
‘Oh, she’s always been a complete dragon, don’t mind her,’ she said and he joined her as they both made their way back towards reception. ‘You were braver than most to come anywhere near her.’
‘I almost wish I hadn’t now.’ He wasn’t sure if he was more upset with her words to him or at how upset Elizabeth had become.
‘Are you all right? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I…’ He stopped for a moment, looking out towards a small residents’ patio. He was too deflated to keep this secret any longer. ‘Unfortunately, Sister Berthilde was my last chance.’
‘Your last chance?’ Lucy stood for a moment and then her eyes widened, and he could almost see her adding up his interest in St Nunciata’s and his visit to the nun. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry, I never realised. You weren’t pinning your hopes on that evil old bat?’ Lucy shook her head.