me.'
With a thrill of shock that went right through her body Helen Doyle realized that she would meet Frank and Renata Quigley at her parents' silver wedding party.
Frank Quigley had been the best man back in those days when he and Father were about equal.
Before everything had changed.
The garden was finished and more or less ran itself. Sister Joan loved being in the clothing centre, and she was quick with a needle, so that she could do an alteration on the spot, move the buttons on a jacket for an old man, praise him, admire him, say that the fit made all the difference in the world. Let him think it was custom tailored.
There was no real work for Helen, no real place.
Once more she asked Brigid about taking her vows.
'It's very harsh to keep me on the outside, seriously I have been here for so long, you can't say it's a passing fancy any more now, can you?' She begged and implored.
I 'You're running, Helen,' Brigid said. 'I told you that from the word go. This is not like a convent in the films, a place in a forest where people went to find peace, it's a working house. You have to have found peace already to bring it here.'
'But I've found it now,' Helen implored.
'No, you're afraid of engaging with real people, that's why you're with us.'
'You're all more real than anyone else. Honestly I've never met any group I like so much.'
'That's not the whole story. We shelter you from something. We can't go on doing that, it's not our role. If it's men, if it's sex, if it's the cut and thrust of the business world ... we all have had to face it and cope with it. You're still hiding from something.'
'I suppose it is sex a bit.'
'Well, you don't have to keep indulging in it,' Brigid laughed. 'Go back out into the world, Helen, I beg you, for a couple of years. Stay in touch with us and then if you still feel this is your home, come back and we'll look at it all again. I really do think you should go. For your own good.'
'Are you asking me to leave. Truly?'
'I'm suggesting it, but do you see what I mean about this not being like the real world? If this was a real place, I'd be telling you to go or promoting you. It's too protective here for you, I feel it in my bones.'
'Let me stay for a little while. Please.'
'Stay until after your parents' twenty-fifth wedding anniversary,' Brigid said unexpectedly. 'That seems to be preying on your mind for some reason. And then after that we'll see.'
Helen went away from Sister Brigid's little workroom, more wretched than she had been for a long time.
She looked so sad that Sister Nessa asked did she want to come and help with the young mothers. This was the first time the invitation had ever been made.
Helen went along, for once silent and without prattle.
'Don't be disapproving or anything, will you Helen?' Nessa asked nervously. 'We're not meant to be passing judgement, just helping them cope.'
'Sure,' Helen said.
She sat listless as any of the girls who were on low-dosage anti-depressants or who lived in fear of a pimp who had wanted them to have an abortion. Nessa looked at her from time to time with concern. But Helen was quiet and obedient. She did everything
she was asked to do. She was useful too in a way. She went out to the flats of those who had not turned up. Nessa had always been nervous since the incident of the little Simon who had crawled out of his flat almost into the mainstream of rush-hour traffic.
In the late afternoon Nessa asked Helen to go and find Yvonne, who was eight months pregnant with her second child. Her eldest, a beautiful girl with Jamaican eyes like her father long gone, and a Scottish accent like her mother who gave birth to her at sixteen, was waiting at the door.
'Mummy's gaen do wee wee,' she said helpfully.
'That's great,' Helen said, and brought the toddler back into the house.
From the bathroom came the groans and the cries of Yvonne.
Suddenly Helen found courage.
'You're better in your bedroom,' she said suddenly to the
With a thrill of shock that went right through her body Helen Doyle realized that she would meet Frank and Renata Quigley at her parents' silver wedding party.
Frank Quigley had been the best man back in those days when he and Father were about equal.
Before everything had changed.
The garden was finished and more or less ran itself. Sister Joan loved being in the clothing centre, and she was quick with a needle, so that she could do an alteration on the spot, move the buttons on a jacket for an old man, praise him, admire him, say that the fit made all the difference in the world. Let him think it was custom tailored.
There was no real work for Helen, no real place.
Once more she asked Brigid about taking her vows.
'It's very harsh to keep me on the outside, seriously I have been here for so long, you can't say it's a passing fancy any more now, can you?' She begged and implored.
I 'You're running, Helen,' Brigid said. 'I told you that from the word go. This is not like a convent in the films, a place in a forest where people went to find peace, it's a working house. You have to have found peace already to bring it here.'
'But I've found it now,' Helen implored.
'No, you're afraid of engaging with real people, that's why you're with us.'
'You're all more real than anyone else. Honestly I've never met any group I like so much.'
'That's not the whole story. We shelter you from something. We can't go on doing that, it's not our role. If it's men, if it's sex, if it's the cut and thrust of the business world ... we all have had to face it and cope with it. You're still hiding from something.'
'I suppose it is sex a bit.'
'Well, you don't have to keep indulging in it,' Brigid laughed. 'Go back out into the world, Helen, I beg you, for a couple of years. Stay in touch with us and then if you still feel this is your home, come back and we'll look at it all again. I really do think you should go. For your own good.'
'Are you asking me to leave. Truly?'
'I'm suggesting it, but do you see what I mean about this not being like the real world? If this was a real place, I'd be telling you to go or promoting you. It's too protective here for you, I feel it in my bones.'
'Let me stay for a little while. Please.'
'Stay until after your parents' twenty-fifth wedding anniversary,' Brigid said unexpectedly. 'That seems to be preying on your mind for some reason. And then after that we'll see.'
Helen went away from Sister Brigid's little workroom, more wretched than she had been for a long time.
She looked so sad that Sister Nessa asked did she want to come and help with the young mothers. This was the first time the invitation had ever been made.
Helen went along, for once silent and without prattle.
'Don't be disapproving or anything, will you Helen?' Nessa asked nervously. 'We're not meant to be passing judgement, just helping them cope.'
'Sure,' Helen said.
She sat listless as any of the girls who were on low-dosage anti-depressants or who lived in fear of a pimp who had wanted them to have an abortion. Nessa looked at her from time to time with concern. But Helen was quiet and obedient. She did everything
she was asked to do. She was useful too in a way. She went out to the flats of those who had not turned up. Nessa had always been nervous since the incident of the little Simon who had crawled out of his flat almost into the mainstream of rush-hour traffic.
In the late afternoon Nessa asked Helen to go and find Yvonne, who was eight months pregnant with her second child. Her eldest, a beautiful girl with Jamaican eyes like her father long gone, and a Scottish accent like her mother who gave birth to her at sixteen, was waiting at the door.
'Mummy's gaen do wee wee,' she said helpfully.
'That's great,' Helen said, and brought the toddler back into the house.
From the bathroom came the groans and the cries of Yvonne.
Suddenly Helen found courage.
'You're better in your bedroom,' she said suddenly to the
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