Cecelia Ahern - The Book of Tomorrow

Sister Ignatius stopped painting and I dropped the tear drop into her hand. ‘She gave this to you?’

‘No, well, she didn’t exactly hand it to me. I saw her in the shed. She was working on something, all bent over, wearing goggles, doing something with glass, and I think I gave her a fright. So I left the tray down in the garden for her. I’d made her some food.’

‘That was nice of you.’

‘Not really. You should have seen the state of it. And Rosaleen didn’t know I was there so I had to go back to collect the tray, which I was totally expecting to be full. But it was on the wall outside of the house, and all the dishes were clean and all the food was eaten and everything. And this was sitting on the plate.’ I took it back from her and examined it again. ‘Sweet of her, wasn’t it?’

‘Tamara…’ Sister Ignatius reached her arm out and held on to the easel, which was so light it offered her no support.

‘Are you okay? You look a little…’ I didn’t get to finish as Sister Ignatius looked so weak, I immediately wrapped my arms around her and remembered that despite her youthful aura and her childish giggles, she was in her seventies.

‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ she said, attempting to laugh. ‘Stop fussing. Tamara, I need you to slow down when you speak, and go back over what you said. You found that on the tray when you went to collect it?’

‘Yes, on the front garden wall,’ I said slowly.

‘But that’s impossible. Did you see her put it there?’

‘No, I just saw the tray from my bedroom window. She must have done it when I was elsewhere in the house. Why are you asking so many questions? Are you mad at me for going over? I know I probably shouldn’t have, but Rosaleen was being so secretive.’

‘Tamara,’ Sister Ignatius closed her eyes and she looked more tired when she opened them, ‘Rosaleen’s mother, Helen, has multiple sclerosis, which has unfortunately been getting worse with the years. She’s wheelchair-bound, which is why Rosaleen has become her full-time carer. So you see, she couldn’t have wheeled herself out to the front garden with this tray.’ She shook her head. ‘Impossible.’

‘She could have,’ I replied. ‘If she just put the tray on her lap, then she’d have her hands free to wheel herself-’

‘No, Tamara, there are steps in the front garden.’

I looked in the direction of the bungalow and even though I couldn’t see it from where we were, I visualised the steps. ‘Oh, yeah. That’s odd. So who else lives in the bungalow?’ I asked.

Sister Ignatius was quiet, her eyes moving around as she thought hard. ‘No one, Tamara,’ she whispered. ‘No one.’

‘But I saw someone. Think, Sister,’ I barked, panicking. ‘Who did I see in the workshed? A woman all hunched over with goggles, work goggles, and long hair. There were these glass things all over the place. Who could she be?’

Sister Ignatius shook her head over and over.

‘Rosaleen has a sister-she told me about her. She lives in Cork. She’s a teacher. Maybe she came to visit. What do you think?’

Sister Ignatius continued to shake her head. ‘No. No. It couldn’t be.’

Shivers ran down my spine and my body was covered in goose bumps. The look on Sister Ignatius’ usually calm face didn’t do much to calm me either. She looked as though she’d seen a ghost.

I stopped interrogating Sister Ignatius. She had become grey in the face and had lost all of her colour.

‘Sit down, Sister. Come on, sit here on the stool. You’re okay, it’s just hot out today.’ I tried to remain calm as I helped her to the wooden stool. I moved it nearer to the tree trunk so that she was completely shaded. ‘Let’s just rest here for a minute and then we’ll go back to the house.’

She didn’t respond, she just let me guide her, one hand around her waist, the other holding her hand. Once seated, I pushed back some loose strands of hair from her face. She didn’t feel hot.

I heard my name being called in the distance and saw Weseley running. I waved my hands wildly to let him know I could see him. By the time he reached me he was breathless and had to hunch over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath.

‘Hi, Sister,’ he finally said, giving her a goofy wave even though he was right beside her. ‘Tamara,’ he turned to me, alert, ‘I heard it all.’

‘Heard what?’ I asked impatiently, while he tried to catch his breath.

‘Rosaleen.’ Pant. ‘In the kitchen.’ Pant. ‘With my dad.’ Pant. ‘You were right. About it all. About the sugar and the salt and,’ pant, ‘her coming home early. How did you know?’

‘I told you,’ I quickly looked at Sister Ignatius but she was staring distantly into space, looking as though she was going to faint at any moment. ‘It was written in the diary.’

He shook his head disbelievingly and I became angry. ‘Look, I don’t care if you don’t believe me, just tell me what-’

‘I believe you , Tamara, I just don’t believe it. You know?’

‘Yeah, I know. I’m the same.’

‘Okay, I broke away from Arthur at ten o’clock this morning. We separated so that I’d take care of the walnut trees on the south of the grounds. We’re having a problem with walnut blight,’ he looked to Sister Ignatius, ‘so we’ve to try to maintain the soil pH above 6.0, cut out all the affected shoots-’

‘Weseley, shut up,’ I interrupted.

‘Right, sorry. I couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d said and so I went to the gatehouse and I hid outside the kitchen window in the back garden. I heard it all. Rosaleen started talking about her mum first of all, saying her health had deteriorated. She has MS. She asked him a few questions about her, some advice that kind of thing. I think she was just delaying him.’

I nodded. This matched Sister Ignatius’ story so at least I knew Rosaleen hadn’t lied to me about her mother.

‘My dad really annoyed me. I felt like yelling at him and telling him to go upstairs. But just as he said he was going up to your mam, Rosaleen started talking about her. My dad was keen to get upstairs to see her, but Rosaleen was insistent. She said that…’ He paused.

‘Come on, Weseley tell me.’

‘Just promise to be calm when I tell you, till we work something out.’

‘Okay, okay,’ I hurried him.

‘Right.’ He spoke slower now, studying me as he spoke. ‘She said that this had happened before. That your mum was prone to depression and that she regularly goes into states like this where she withdraws from everybody-’

‘That’s bullshit!’

‘Tamara, listen. And she said that your dad and your mum kept it from you all of your life and so you weren’t to know about it. She said your mum was on antidepressants and that the best thing to do was to leave her alone in her room until the depression passed. She said that’s what they always did.’

‘Bullshit!’ I interrupted again. ‘That’s a lie! That’s a fucking lie! My mother has never been like this before. She’s, she’s-uughh, she’s a lying bitch! How dare she say that Dad never told me? I would know. I was home with them every day. She was never like this. Never!’

I was pacing, I was shouting, my blood was boiling. I felt so angry I wanted to tear the sky down. I felt so out of control, like there was nothing I could do to make everything okay again. I questioned myself. Was there some way that I could have missed Mum’s behaviour? Had she been like this before and I couldn’t remember? Was I such a terrible daughter that I could so easily be put off? I thought about the weekends away-were they somewhere else? I thought about her faint smiles to Dad, the fact that she was never overenthusiastic like other mums, the fact she never gave anything away. No, that meant nothing. She just wasn’t emotional, she never cried, she wasn’t sentimental, but it didn’t make her depressed . No, no, no, how dare Rosaleen say that my father had lied when he could do nothing to defend himself. It was wrong. It was all wrong.