Cecelia Ahern - The Book of Tomorrow

‘Tamara, it’s nine thirty. We’re off to ten o’clock mass and then the market for a short while.’

It took me a while to figure out what she was saying but eventually I mumbled something about not being a mass person and waited for a bucket of holy water to come pouring down on me. But there was no reaction of the sort. She gave my room a quick look to make sure I hadn’t spread feces all over the walls overnight and then said it was fine if I stayed home and kept an eye on mum.

Hallelujah.

I heard the car leave the drive, imagined her in a twinset with a brooch and a hat with flowers, even though I’d seen she wasn’t wearing one. I imagined Arthur in a top hat driving a convertible Cadillac and the whole world sepia-coloured outside as they went off to Sunday mass. I was so happy they’d allowed me to stay, I didn’t think that perhaps she didn’t want to be seen with me at mass or at the market, until later on when the hurt, though minute, set in. I drifted off again but awoke I don’t know how much later to the sound of a car horn. I ignored it and tried to sleep again but it honked louder and longer. I scrambled out of bed, and pushed open the window, ready to shout abuse but instead started laughing when I saw Sister Ignatius squashed into a yellow Fiat Cinquecento with three other nuns. She was in the back seat, the window was rolled down and half her body was through the gap as though she’d suddenly spurted towards the sun.

‘Romeo,’ I called, pushing open the window.

‘You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’ And then she tried to make me go to mass with her. Her efforts were in vain. Then one of the other sisters tried to pull her back into the car. She folded herself back into the car and immediately it took off, not slowing or indicating as they rounded the corner. I saw a hand wave as they roared away and heard, ‘Thanks for the boooook!’ as they flew round the corner.

I dozed for another few hours, enjoying the space and the freedom to be lazy without clanging pots hinting at me from the kitchen or a vacuum cleaner hitting against my bedroom door as Rosaleen hoovered the landing carpet. For the moments I was awake I pondered what Rosaleen had said the night before. About calling Mum a liar. Had they fought? Had Arthur and Mum fought? She seemed perfectly happy to greet him when we arrived, though. What had changed, if anything had at all? I needed to find time alone with Arthur to really talk to him.

I checked on Mum, who at eleven a.m. was still sleeping, which was unusual for her, but a hand under her nose proved to me she was still alive and there was a picked-at breakfast tray beside the bed, which Rosaleen had left for her. I nibbled at some fruit from the kitchen, wandered around the house, picking up things, studying the few photographs dotted around the living room. Arthur with a giant fish, Rosaleen wearing pastels and holding on to her hat, while laughing, on a windy day. Then Rosaleen and Arthur together, always side by side, never touching, like they were both children forced to stand beside one another and pose for a photograph on their communion day; hands by their sides, or clasped on their fronts, like butter wouldn’t melt.

I sat in the living room and continued to read the book Fiona had given me. At one o’clock on the button, when Arthur and Rosaleen’s car returned to the house, a sense of heaviness came over me. My space was gone, rooms would be shared again, games would be played, mysteries would continue.

What on earth had I been thinking?

I should have explored. I should have broken into the shed and seen how much space they really had. I think Rosaleen is lying about that. I should have called a doctor and had Mum looked at. I should have investigated across the road, or at least peeked in the back garden. I should have done lots of things, but instead I had sat in the house and moped. And it would be another week until I’d have that time again.

What a wasted day.

Note to self: don’t be an idiot in future, and leave the window open.

I’ll write again tomorrow.

I put the diary back into the floor and replaced the board. I took a fresh towel from the cupboard and my good shampoo which was almost empty and irreplaceable due both to convenience and, for the first time in my life, cost. I was about to get into the shower when I remembered the mention of Sister Ignatius’ visit this morning. It would be the perfect opportunity to test the diary. I kept the shower running and waited on the landing.

The doorbell rang and that simple thing spooked me.

Rosaleen opened the door and before she even spoke I could tell from the atmosphere it was Sister Ignatius at the door.

‘Sister, morning to you.’

I peeked round the corner and saw Rosaleen’s back and backside only. Today’s tea dress was sponsored by Fyffes. Clumps of bananas decorated her dress. The rest of her was squeezed out of the small slit she’d made in the opened door, almost as if she didn’t want Sister Ignatius to see past her. And had it not started to rain at that very moment I don’t think Sister would have found herself any closer to me than on the porch. They both stood in the hallway then and Sister Ignatius looked around. We caught eyes, I smiled and then hid again.

‘Come in, come in to the kitchen,’ Rosaleen said with urgency as though the hallway ceiling was about to cave in.

‘No, I’m fine here. I won’t stay too long.’ Sister Ignatius stayed where she was. ‘I just wanted to come over and see how you are. I haven’t seen sight nor heard from you for the past few weeks.’

‘Oh, yes, well, I’m sorry about that. Arthur’s been terribly busy working on the lake and I’ve been…keeping things together here. You’ll come to the kitchen won’t you?’ She kept her voice down as though a baby was sleeping.

You’ve been hiding a mother and her child, Rosaleen, cough it up now.

From Mum’s bedroom, I heard her chair drag across the floor.

Sister Ignatius looked up. ‘What’s that?’

‘Nothing. You must be getting ready for honey season now, I suppose. Come to the kitchen, come, come.’

She tried to take Sister Ignatius by the arm and lead her away from the hallway.

‘I’ll be extracting the honey on Wednesday if the weather holds up.’

‘Please God, it does.’

‘How many jars would you like me to drop by?’

Something dropped in Mum’s room.

Sister Ignatius stopped walking. Rosaleen pulled her along and kept talking, boring small talk. Natter natter natter. So and so died. So and so was taken ill. Mavis from down the town was hit by a car in Dublin after being out to buy a top for her nephew John’s thirtieth. She died. She bought the top and all. Very sad as her brother had died the previous year of bowel cancer, now there’s no one left in the family. Her father is alone and had to move to a nursing home. He’s taken ill over the past few weeks. Eyesight is in great decline and didn’t he used to be an excellent darts player. And the thirtieth party was a very sad one as they were all devastated about Mavis. Blather blather blather about crap. Not once were Mum and I discussed. The elephant in the room again.

After Sister Ignatius had left, Rosaleen momentarily leaned her forehead against the door and sighed. Then she straightened up and twirled around to look up on the landing. I moved quickly. When I ducked my head round the corner I saw that Rosaleen’s bedroom was ajar. A shadow flickered by.

I couldn’t stand to sit with Rosaleen and Arthur for breakfast. I’d have rather been anywhere but in that kitchen with the smell of a fry making me feel sick. But of course I knew what I’d do next. I went to Mum’s room.

‘Mum, come outside with me, please.’ I picked up her hand and gently tugged her.