Steal My Sunshine Part 11

*Cicadas!' she sings. I don't ask what they are, but my skin feels like it's crawling and I realise I know nothing about this place. The air smells like warm mint and the black sky is so vast I feel like we're in s.p.a.ce.

Now we're at the front door of an austere-looking brick bungalow, painted white. It looks like it could be down a country lane back home, but it's here surrounded by tall trees with long silvery leaves that almost glow in the darkness.

Aunt Caro goes inside and stands in the hallway, waiting for me. She looks around the place wistfully as if she's been gone a year. *This is home!' she says, and turns to me. *Your home now, too. I want you to feel that, Essie.'

*Thank you, Aunt.' Never. But I have no choice other than to step inside.

She shows me around the place. Our bedrooms are side by side. There's a kitchen, a bathroom, a living room and another room she calls her study. It's all very clean and basic. *Don't tell your mother,' she says.

*Tell her what?'

*That I've got no dining room.'

*Oh. No, I won't, Aunt Caro.' She really is a bag of nerves.

Despite the look of the place, Caro still acts like she's back in the family home in Holland Park and we sit down to tea. I can't stomach it and just want to go to sleep on dry land; my head is still dancing around like it was when I was on the waves. Aunt Caro says that's normal.

I watch the clock above her fireplace as she tells me in great detail about the work she's doing here a" five days a week at the local school, as well as Sunday School, and all number of church activities on Sat.u.r.days. I nod, pretending to admire her, when really I'm just grateful for all the time I'll have without her twittering on at me a" time I'll spend doing everything I can to get myself back to London.

For the next few days I can't keep anything down and Aunt Caro is beside herself, thinking I've caught something on the s.h.i.+p.

*They've quarantined a few, you know. I was worried yours would be one of them, but it was cleared. What if they missed something? Oh. There's been smallpox on other boats. Did you feel ill on the boat, Essie? Perhaps I should call your mother.' She flaps around the room and I try to picture Mother coming to fetch me. Or Pop a" wouldn't Pop come if I was at death's door?

*I think you should,' I say. I pray that I'll worsen or at least stay this ill so that there's no doubt in anyone's mind that Pop should come.

When she returns, I know something is wrong. Her face is different as if she's under a spell. *I'm sorry,' she says.

*What is it? Is it Pop? Georgie? What's happened?'

*No, it's not them. Essie, I can't save you.'

*Can't? Why? Of course you can, Aunt Caro. You said everyone could be saved.'

*Not alone. I can't do it.'

*What do you mean? Are my parents coming for me? I don't mind going back on my own a" I've done it once. I'm ready to go right now if you want me to.'

*Your mother says there's to be no argument. I'm to take you to the Sisters.'

*What sisters? What do you mean? I've just got here. Aunt Caro!'

*They'll take care of you and . . .' She stops and can't look at me. She pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and plugs it into her lips as she cries. Then she straightens herself up again and pats her hair. *The baby . . .'

I know Aunt Caro is still talking but I can't make out anything she says.

She walks me briskly towards a mansion that seems to swallow us into its long shadows, with grey outbuildings reaching out on the right and high fences all around. The main building has gabled roofs and a spire, roughcast walls with redbrick around the tall windows. It looks like my old school. I blink, thinking I can see faces in those windows, but Aunt Caro won't let me stop to have a proper look. She holds my arm and pulls me along.

*Aunt Caro, how long do I have to stay here?'

*Sshh, come on, Essie. The Sisters will help us. The good Lord is our only hope.'

A woman on the front steps stops sweeping and stands back for us. I wonder if there are other servants here, or schoolmistresses. If I work hard and give them the baby, I could be out of this place and back home in a few months, and n.o.body even needs to know. I can do this.

Aunt Caro asks for Sister Ignatius and the girl nods and shows us through the front door. It's cooler inside, and dark. We pa.s.s a giant crucifix and a number of statues and paintings. There's hardly a sound in here but in the distance I think I can hear a grinding sound, machinery of some sort.

Aunt Caro and I sit opposite Sister Ignatius in an office with high ceilings and tall narrow windows that let in so much glare I have to s.h.i.+eld my eyes, while they talk about me as if I'm not in the room.

When Sister says the word *fallen' Aunt Caro nods vigorously, relieved to have someone put into words how she feels about me. But that's not what I am. I'm Essie Carver, I'm just a girl.

*Hard work is the way back to the Lord,' says Sister. She presses one finger after another as she tells Aunt Caro about the work I'll be doing: sheets, pillowslips, tablecloths, bedspreads, blankets, serviettes. *The Sacred Heart provides clean laundry for every business in this town,' she says.

*But I'm still at school.'

*What school would have you?' says Sister, barking every word. The slackness of her face, crammed into a tight-fitting habit, is like raw chicken skin.

They mean for me to work here every day. I know I've done wrong but, for heaven's sake, I'm not the only one a" I didn't do it alone! Isn't it bad enough that I've been sent so far away from home? I don't understand how all of this happened. And dear G.o.d, it's so hot in here. My blood is pulsing heavily all over, up into my face where it seems to make everything blur. I can't stop looking at the horrible fat mole on the side of Sister's nose. I want to laugh and cry and scream. I think I'm going mad.

*. . . rejected and scorned by all decent members of society,' Sister says. They go on and on about me, but it can't be true. I was in love and James is decent. If I can just write to him, I know he'll come. Sister smiles at Aunt Caro, who seems to be shaking with excitement. It's such a strange sight, as if she's possessed. *She isn't fit to look at heaven now. You're not to blame yourself, Caroline. We'll show her the way back from sin.'

Aunt Caro cries into her handkerchief. She leaves without even looking at me.

Sister makes me stand and talks right up close to my face for what feels like hours. My back aches and I'm so hungry I could faint. She walks around me, inspecting me, and I'm to stare straight ahead and not look at her.

*The child will not pay for your sins,' she says. *You will. Through the powers of cleanliness and hard work, you will work towards salvation.'

*Sister, there's been a mistake.'

*You will not speak unless you are spoken to.' The two plump lines of loose skin that form her cheeks are s.h.i.+vering with her disgust for me. She has dark whiskers and sour-milk breath. *You've been given a chance, girl. We'll give you shelter when n.o.body else will have you, guidance when the world has turned its back on you because of your sins, hope when hope is the thinnest of threads that still connects you to the Kingdom of Heaven. You will live and work here and obey our rules. You will remember at all times that you are a penitent.'

Penitent. I try to push the word from my head when she hands me a rough grey dress and a blue ap.r.o.n and tells me to follow her. Down a dark corridor, we enter a room with bare concrete walls and a small window so high up it's just filled with blue. There's a bath, and Sister tells me to take off my dress and stand in it. *Sister, please, I'll wash in private.'

She yanks my hair so hard it feels like she's ripping my head apart, and the word penitent creeps back in. *Stand in the bath in your slip. You need to be cleansed.' The water she pours on me is so cold it makes my whole body shudder, and each cupful is laced with disinfectant so strong it feels like it's in my eyes and throat, choking me.

I cry in short bursts, but when Sister roughly dries my hair, the fear turns into anger, and there's such strength in my rage that it scares me. I could push these thick walls down, pull my way up to that tiny window and smash it with my bare hands, fall out to the ground below and run and run into the wide expanse that surrounds this place.

Sister pushes a grey dress and blue ap.r.o.n into my arms, and even while I'm putting them on I'm telling her, *You can't touch me. I'm not from here. You can't keep me. I'm not a prisoner.' Not a single muscle in her face moves as I carry on. *Someone is coming for me,' I cry.

She's like a statue, staring me down until I feel as powerful as the puddle of clothes at my feet. *You've fallen,' she says. *And we are the only ones who will pick you up.'

She's right, I've fallen into the bottom of the world. *Someone has to come for me,' I whisper.

*No one is coming for you, Essie Carver,' she says. Her eyes narrow. *Essie a" it's short for Estelle, isn't it?'

I look down at the blue ap.r.o.n, and at my old clothes which I don't dare touch. *I'm just Essie. My father named me. It means star.'

*You're a proud, vain girl and there's no place for that here. From now on you'll be called Audrey.'

Never. I am Essie.

Sister makes me take off my necklace and put it into a box full of trinkets. She tells me the story of Saint Audrey, who got an ugly growth on her neck as punishment for showing off her jewels.

She stands over me as I scrub off my nail polish. I'd painted them the last night on the s.h.i.+p. It was Mrs Weldon's polish. I never thought I'd miss her, but I'd give anything to see a familiar face, or to be anywhere else but here.

I hold my breath as Sister looks at my hair, and then right into my eyes as if to say: I can take that as well. Be warned.

They call me Audrey.

On the first night, a girl called Theresa kneels by my bed and holds my hand as I cry.

*Why are you here?' I say.

*I had a baby,' she says. *He's in another building but he'll go soon.'

*Then why can't you go, too?'

She squeezes my hand.

They call me Audrey.

I sleep next to Josephine, who wants me to call her Jo. The Sisters call her Bernadette. She says she'll call me Essie in secret if I want. She says G.o.d won't mind. Jo is eighteen.

We sleep in a room with thirty others. Behind a screen is a bed for the Sister on duty. Some of us have round bellies and others do not, but Jo says we're all treated the same in here a" that is, if we've got enough wits about us to avoid punishment or we're lucky enough not to have been born coloured. Agnes and Irene are the natives and take the most beatings.

The Virgin and Child hang at one end of the dorm and at the other end is a door. But it's just a door to nowhere, it doesn't lead to a place you'd want to go. There's no hope on either side of that door.

Jo helps me work out when my baby's going to come a" nearly the same time as hers. She gives me some of her contraband: torn-out pages of a library book to write a letter on. My hand shakes as I write to James. Jo says I'll have to beg a delivery boy to post it for me. I know what she means by begging. She says to beg double because of how far it's got to go. That's how it works here: you give what you can to get what you want.

They call me Audrey. It's been two weeks.

Everyone's up at five and we dress in the darkness. Somehow, every morning we find our way back into this waking nightmare from whatever dream we had that night. We sit huddled at tables of six, arms grazing, no talking. We eat the food in front of us but sneak glimpses of what they eat at the other end of the room, on the raised platform. Sister Phillipa walks up and down each aisle reading psalms, and when the bell rings we stop eating a" or else.

At Ma.s.s we kneel in long pews, palms together, eyes down. There's a part of the chapel that's just for us. We say the right words at the right time, over and over. Some mornings I wonder if we've gone up in G.o.d's estimation. Other mornings I'll hear a girl quietly weeping or someone who can't stomach the smell of incense and suddenly there's nothing spiritual about where we are or what we're saying.

We work in the laundry, pulling steaming hot sheets off a mangle. Others work the flat irons that hang from long hoses. The Sisters walk in twos with their hands clasped serenely over their hearts a" but watch those hands fly out when a girl steps out of line. See the look of disgust on their faces as bad apples are removed and peace is restored.

Lunch is at twelve with a reading from the Book of Deuteronomy, 23:2: A b.a.s.t.a.r.d shall not enter into the congregation of the Lord; even to his tenth generation shall he not enter into the congregation of the Lord.

*Eyes down, Audrey. Keep your eyes down.'

We work again, eat dinner, make rosary beads. We pray. We silently climb the steps to the dorm, watching the heels of the girl in front, who is you but one step ahead. In rows of eight we wash our faces until a bell rings and the row behind us takes our place.

The Sister who turns out the light at eight says she'll pray for us.

Jo and I hold hands in the darkness. We say a million things without words: I'm scared and I'm with you and this is h.e.l.l.

But we know it's not really h.e.l.l. There's a place worse than this not far from here where girls are sent when they cannot be saved. It's called the asylum.

More weeks pa.s.s. James doesn't come, Caro doesn't come, Georgie probably doesn't even know where I am.

I'm working a mangle next to Jo. We're both fatter, but Jo is the only one smiling about it. Somehow, she seems more defined and sure of herself the bigger she gets, while I feel I've lost the edges of myself, like I'm disintegrating into this place. Jo smiles and has spirit and I see the ghost of myself in her. Essie isn't here any more.

The air is thick with humidity. The laundry has a corrugated iron roof and tall sash windows, and the sun beats down. The Sisters are busy at the other side of the room, dealing with a girl who has scalded herself.

*Who put you here?' I whisper to Jo.

*Does it matter?' she asks, but then she raises her eyes to heaven and smiles. *I came myself.'

Jo whispers a new part of her story. She left school five years ago when her mother was ill, to work in her father's chippie ten or so miles from here. She makes jokes about dying while she's having the baby and she wants me to make sure they put *What I wouldn't give for a penny onion' on her headstone. She says right now she'd sell her soul for a wally a" that's a kind of pickle, she tells me. Jo swears she'll always smell of beef fat no matter how many times the Sisters douse her in holy water. She wears enough smiles for me and everyone else in here.

When she gets out, she'll go back home and work with her father again. She says the baby will sleep in the same drawer Jo herself slept in, under the till, and grow fat on the best chips in Queensland. I can come too, she says.

This is when I remember that her story won't be coming true. The babies are not ours to take. I had it from Theresa a" we nurse them for six months at the most; the baby she had has already left. Jo won't hear of any of this. She says, *You can call my dad Jack when you meet him. He doesn't like formalities.' But she won't talk much about her mother except to say that her little sister Nancy does all the nursing. I tell her about Georgie but skip the rest.

I don't know what to say to her when she talks about the babies. I only want to get out of here. The two native girls got out of a window last week and made it to the station, but they were brought back. We didn't see them for days.

I used to imagine sliding down the big drain in the floor and escaping through the pipes like a dirty rat. Or flying up the chimney and straight out into the sky like a bird. But I can't like this a" not with this lump, this huge weight that's as much of a prison as the gates around this place.

I am Audrey, and I'm never going to get out of here.

Essie got up and leaned heavily with one hand on the arm of her chair.

*That's not the end,' said Chloe.

*Not at all, darling. But I'm tired and I need a drink. That's enough for one day.' She used my shoulder as another support as she made her way to the kitchen.

*Wait, I'll get your drink,' I said, and darted past Essie. *It's okay, Essie, I'll bring it to you.'

*I can manage. I want a strong one.'

*I'll make it strong. I know how you like it.'

She leaned on the counter, and her smile and her eyes looked so tired. Chloe appeared behind her.

*It's nearly two,' I said.

*Yep, I've got work. Essie, seriously, you're amazing.' Chloe's words made Essie stand taller. *You coming, Han?'

*I might stay. Essie?'

*No, you go,' she said, and took the gla.s.s from my hands.

*But I can't go without . . . I want to know the rest.'

*And I promise I'll tell you, but on my terms, Hannah. It's my story. You go with your friend now.'

I felt dismissed. Chloe put her arm around me. *Come on, you can walk me to the bar.'

*Look after her,' Essie told Chloe. They both looked at me as if I were breakable.