The God Squad by Paddy Doyle Page B

imaginary line they began to jeer at each other, disputing who had won.
    A dark-haired, fresh-faced girl approached me. ‘Did you see the race?’
    ‘Yes,’ I said.
    ‘Who won?’ she asked.
    I pointed to the girl on the scooter and the girls cheered. The boys, annoyed at my judgement, began to jeer.
    ‘Look at the stupid clothes he has on him,’ they laughed.
    The girl who had spoken to me in the first instance told them to ‘shut up’.
    ‘Look at his big farmer’s boots,’ they jeered again.
    ‘Shut up,’ the girl pleaded again.
    ‘He’s just a sissy,’ they taunted.
    I was so different from them. I was dressed in a grey heavy suit which I was given in the Industrial School. It was dreary and drab-looking compared to their bright cotton colours. Many of them were in their bare feet or in leather sandals. Eventually they agreed to let me play with them. The boy who owned the tricycle asked me if I would like a go on it but I declined. I didn’t want to make a total fool of myself by demonstrating my inability to ride it. Then they wanted me to race with them but I refused even though I was a good runner and had won races in school. I often ran in heavy boots before but was not prepared to do so now in case they jeered again.
    ‘What’s your name?’ the dark-haired girl asked.
    ‘Pat,’ I said.
    ‘Does everyone call you Pat?’
    ‘Mostly.’
    ‘My daddy’s name is Patrick but everyone calls him Pat except my mammy. What’s your daddy’s name?’
    ‘He’s dead,’ I answered, and before she could ask any more questions told her that my mother was dead too and Iwas just on holidays with my aunt Mary for a fortnight.
    ‘What’s your name?’ I asked.
    ‘Well,’ she said, ‘my real name is Maria but everyone calls me Ria.’
    ‘Where do you live?’ she asked.
    ‘In an orphanage. It’s a good bit away from here, my uncle said it was about ninety miles.’
    ‘Who minds you?’
    ‘Nuns do.’
    ‘I hate nuns, they’re always giving out,’ she said.
    ‘Sometimes they’re cross and sometimes they’re all right.’
    My aunt called me for dinner and I left Ria, promising to be out again later. As soon as I got into the house I asked my aunt if I could go back out when I had my dinner eaten.
    ‘No,’ she said, ‘I want to bring you up to the convent to see your sister Ann.’
    It was the first time in my life that anybody had ever told me I had a sister.

CHAPTER SIX
     
    My sister was just over two years old when my mother died, aged forty-two, from cancer of the breast. She was taken into an orphanage in Wexford, run by the Sisters of Mercy, where she remained until her mid-teens. She would have been five the first evening I saw her.
    Having washed up after dinner my aunt brought me to the bathroom where she cleaned my face and combed my hair. She told me to sit in a chair in the parlour and wait until she was ready. I watched her check in the mirror over the mantelpiece to see if her face was all right and her hat was on properly. As she was tidying loose strands of her hair she muttered about my uncle never being around when he was needed.
    ‘How far is it to the convent?’ I asked.
    She sighed wearily. ‘A mile, or maybe a bit more.’ It was a hot sunny day and I knew that she did not like having to walk so far. I hoped she would decide not to go.
    We walked along a country road, bounded by hedgerows and broken occasionally by a half-built house or an old-fashioned bungalow. My aunt hardly spoke at all. She allowed me to walk ahead of her and as I did I wondered again what my sister was like. Would she know me or Iknow her? What would I say to her? I didn’t even know then if she was younger or older than me.
    The green bushes of the country road merged into a high granite wall. My aunt called me and brushed my suit down with the palms of her gloved hands. She took off one glove and spat gently onto her hand before pressing my hair down. She warned me to be on my best behaviour. I