The Book of Tomorrow by Cecelia Ahern Page A

hand, but holding it in both of hers. Despite the hot day and the heavy gloves, they were as smooth and as cool as marble.
    ‘You’re a nun,’ I blurted out.
    ‘Yes,’ she laughed. ‘I am a nun. I was there when it happened.’
    It was my turn to smile, and I laughed, everything making sense then. The cabinet of honey jars, the dozens of boxesaround the walled garden, the ridiculous spacesuit on an old woman.
    ‘You know my aunt.’
    ‘Ah.’
    I didn’t know quite how to take that response. She didn’t register surprise but nor did she question me. She was still holding my hand. I didn’t want to move my hand, seeing as she was a nun, but it was freaking me out. I kept talking.
    ‘My aunt is Rosaleen, and my uncle is Arthur. He’s the groundskeeper here. They live in the gatehouse. We’re staying with them for…a little while.’
    ‘We?’
    ‘Me and my mum.’
    ‘Oh.’ Her eyebrows lifted so high I thought they were caterpillars about to become butterflies and flutter away.
    ‘Didn’t Rosaleen tell you?’ I was a little insulted, though quite thankful for Rosaleen’s respect for our privacy. At least the whole one-horse town with no horse wouldn’t be talking about the new folk.
    ‘No,’ she replied. And then without a smile and with an air of finality she repeated, ‘No.’
    She seemed a little cross and so I jumped in to defend Rosaleen and save whatever friendship they did or didn’t have. ‘I’m sure she was just protecting our privacy, giving us a little time to deal with…it…before she told people.’
    ‘Deal with…’
    ‘The move here,’ I said slowly. Was it bad to lie to a nun? Well I wasn’t exactly lying…I kind of panicked then. I felt my body heat up and go clammy. Sister Ignatius was saying something, her mouth was opening and closing, but I couldn’t hear a word of it. I just kept thinking about lying to her and of those Ten Commandments and hell and everything, but not just that, I thought about how nice it would be to saythe words aloud to her. She was a nun, I could probably trust her.
    ‘My dad died,’ I blurted out quickly interrupting whatever nice thing she’d been saying. I heard the terrible tremble in my voice as I said that sentence and then all of a sudden, from absolutely nowhere, just as it had happened with Cabáiste, tears were gushing down my cheeks.
    ‘Oh, child,’ she said, immediately opening her arms and embracing me. The book separated us as I still clung to it, but even though she was a total stranger, she was a nun, and I rested my head on her shoulder and didn’t hold back, making snotty and throaty noises and all, while she rocked me a little and rubbed my back. I was in the middle of a really embarrassing wail of, ‘Why did he do it? Whyyyyy …?’ when a bee flew directly into my face and bounced off my lip. I screamed and pushed myself out of Sister Ignatius’ arms.
    ‘Bee!’ I shrieked, hopping about and trying to dodge it as it followed me. ‘Oh my God, get it off me.’
    She watched me, her eyes lighting up.
    ‘Oh my God, Sister, please, get it off me. Shoo, shoo!’ I waved my arms around. ‘They must listen to you. They’re your bloody bees.’
    Sister Ignatius pointed her finger and shouted in a deep voice, ‘Sebastian, no!’
    I stopped jerking around to stare at her, my tears gone now. ‘You are not serious. You do not name your bees.’
    ‘Ah, there’s Jemima on the rose, and Benjamin on the geranium,’ she said perkily, eyes bright.
    ‘No way,’ I said, wiping my face, embarrassed by my breakdown. ‘I thought I had mental problems.’
    ‘Of course I’m not serious,’ and then she started laughing, a wonderful clear throaty childish laugh that instantly made me smile.
    I think that’s when I knew I loved Sister Ignatius.
    ‘My name is Tamara.’
    ‘Yes,’ she said, looking at me and studying me as if she already knew.
    I smiled again. She had a face that made me do that.
    ‘Are you allowed to, like, talk?