by Liz Rettig
Father O’Reilly came in and interrupted her, thank God, to make a collection for the church roof – and, I suppose, to check on her teaching, although he didn’t seem that interested in the second bit. She filled him in anyway.
‘I was just telling the class, Father, not to listen to this new-fangled nonsense about hell being a metaphor. As Catholics, we know that hell is a real place of eternal suffering and torment.’
‘Listen to the good sister now,’ Father O’Reilly said. ‘It’s just as she says. Hell is real all right. A terrible place of perpetual pain and unimaginable agony.’
Bloody hell. Everyone started to look a bit worried, except Sister Mary Benedicta, who smiled approvingly.
But then the priest went on, ‘Not that our good and merciful Lord would ever actually send anyone there, mind, but it’s the principle of the thing. Now, c’mon, I want you all to put your hands in your pockets and give generously, for the Lord can’t stand misers.’
Tiptoed quietly into the toilets at the beginning of lunch and settled in the cubicle furthest from the one Bernadette used. Tucked my feet up for good measure so she wouldn’t realize I was there.
No such luck.
‘You think I’m boring too, Kelly Ann, don’t you?’ she called through the cubicle door.
Oh God.
So relieved to get home tonight. A whole weekend before I have to go to school again. I really hate it there; mostly because I have no friends, but also because I hate Sister Mary Benedicta and we have RE every day. She’s mental and really scary too. All that stuff about the afterlife. Wonder if there really is anything in it.
I think Mum knows there’s something wrong with me – she’s always asking what’s up with my face – but there’s no point in talking to her about it. I mean, what can she do?
She was nice to me tonight though and sent Dad out to get a KFC for dinner, which is one of my favourites.
But even at dinner I couldn’t stop thinking about school. Mum looked over at me. ‘Something wrong with chicken? I thought you liked these. What’s with the torn face?’
‘No, they’re great. I was just thinking about stuff.’ I picked up a drumstick. ‘Mum, do you think there’s a life after death?’
Mum shrugged. ‘Don’t know. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a sodding life before death in this house.’
‘What do you think, Dad?’ I asked. ‘Is there an afterlife?’
‘No, love. It’s all rubbish. Like your grandfather used to say, “When yir deid, yir deid, jist like a dug.”’
Hmm. I took another bite of my drumstick and thought about this. ‘But some people think animals have souls. So maybe dogs have an afterlife as well.’
Dad laughed. ‘Well, Kelly Ann, if that’s what you think, maybe you should leave that drumstick alone. The chicken mightn’t be too pleased with you when you meet it in the afterlife.’
Looked at my delicious KFC drumstick. Have just decided that animals don’t have souls after all.
MONDAY NOVEMBER 29TH
RE again. This time she was on about condoms. Yuck. Someone like her even mentioning condoms is disgusting. She’s mental too, going on about how they’re sinful even for married people, and how if we all followed Catholic teaching and practised chastity, then no one would need condoms anyway.
Father O’Reilly came in halfway through the lesson and again she turned to him to back her up.
‘Isn’t that right, Father? Abstinence from sin and the avoidance of temptation is the Perfect Way to conduct ourselves as good Catholics.’
‘It is indeed, Sister Mary Benedicta. Of course, the good Lord knows we’re none of us perfect and temptation is hard to resist.’
‘I beg your pardon, Father?’
‘Oh, not for you, Sister, of course not.’ He stared at her face, which was heavy and solid like a warthog’s and just as glum looking. ‘The good Lord has been merciful and made sure that you would never suffer temptation of the flesh.’ He turned to the class. ‘But for others not similarly blessed like the good sister here, well, it’s a matter of the lesser of two evils.’
‘You’re not condoning the use of contraceptives, Father!’ Sister Mary Benedicta said.
‘Of course not, Sister. I’m merely echoing the teachings of the great saint, Ignatius Giuseppe Marcellus of Iquabeth. You’ll be familiar with him naturally, Sister, and what he said on these matters?’
‘Oh, well, yes of course, Father, but perhaps you’ll just remind me—’
‘Certainly, Sister. As the sainted martyr Ignatius Giuseppe Marcellus was wont to say to all those privileged to listen to his holy words of wisdom: If you can’t be good be careful. Or words to that effect anyway.
‘Now, boys and girls’ – he rattled his collection box – ‘as the blessed saint also used to admonish the children of his parishioners, if you can afford to buy those new PlayStation and Xbox games, you can afford to dig deep into your pocket and give from your hearts. And I don’t want to see any coppers, mind.’
TUESDAY NOVEMBER 30TH
RE again. Decided to do what I normally do at RE classes and tune the whole thing out, so I was dreaming about being back at my old school, where I had friends and didn’t have to eat in the toilet, when the penguin got at me.
‘Mary Ann, have you been listening to me?’
‘What? Me? Um, yeah. Course, miss – I mean Sister.’
‘Then you’ll be able to tell us why the Holy Trinity is like a shamrock.’
‘Erm, yeah. Right. What was the question again?’
The old bat repeated her question while I thought frantically. Hmm, Trinity. Had to have something to do with three like a tricycle. Right. ‘A shamrock’s got three leaves, Sister.’
‘Yes. Go on.’
‘And it’s, um, green?’
Some people in the class started to giggle. The nun scowled at them.
‘Are you mocking me, child? Or is it the Good Lord himself whom you’re mocking? The Father, Son and Holy Spirit.’
‘I wouldn’t take the p— erm, make fun of you, Sister. I was just, er, thinking aloud. What I meant to say is, it’s, er, Irish.’
More laughter.
‘Right, that’s it. This is blasphemous. I’m sending you to Father O’Reilly.’
But Father O’Reilly wasn’t in so I had to wait until after lunch time to see him. When I went into his room I saw he was just finishing off some work on a spreadsheet, which kind of surprised me. I thought priests would be doing stuff like reading the Bible or praying maybe. Not working on a computer.
He saved the file, then told me to sit down in the chair opposite him.
‘So, Kelly Ann, Sister Mary Benedicta tells me that you’re having some trouble with certain aspects of Catholic doctrine. Seems you’re a tad confused about the Holy Trinity, and who can blame you? It’s puzzled theologians for centuries. Mind you, none of them have suggested that God the Father, the Son or the Holy Spirit is a green Irishman yet. Still, is there any other part of Catholic doctrine you’re unsure of? Don’t be afraid to speak your mind now. I’d be interested to hear what you’ve got say.’
I was relieved that he wasn’t going to go mental at me like the nun had. He was smiling and seemed genuinely interested in my views, so I said, ‘Well, yeah, there are a few things actually. Like the God thing.’
‘The God thing?’
‘Yeah, like, you know how people say there really must be a God because life and the universe couldn’t just sort of spring out of nothing? So God must have created everything?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, you’ve still got the same problem really, haven’t you, because, well, who made God then?’
‘An interesting question.’
‘Yeah, and then there’s the heaven and hell thing. Well, it’s a bit mental really, isn’t it? Hope so anyway, as I’ve never been to Mass. And I’m not even really sure about the life-after-death stuff …’
I paused, thinking maybe I’d said too much. A holy
person like a priest might think I was being really cheeky and get mad at me.
Father O’Reilly was staring at me but he didn’t have an annoyed expression. In fact, if anything, he looked as though he was trying to stop laughing, so hopefully I wasn’t in trouble.
He said, ‘So go on now, Kelly Ann. You were talking about the, er, life-after-death stuff?’
‘Yeah, well, maybe there isn’t anything afterwards, you know – kinda like it was before you’re born.’
‘I see,’ Father Reilly said. ‘It would appear you are struggling with a number of issues of Catholic doctrine that are, shall we say, not too trivial. Perhaps Sister Mary Benedicta isn’t quite the right guide for you at this particular period of your, er, spiritual journey, shall we say.’
‘Don’t think this school is right, Father. And I’m a Rangers supporter too. I just don’t fit in. Can’t I go back to my old school? I don’t think the head’s so mad at me any more.’
He paused, considering what I’d said, and I waited, desperately hoping he’d say yes. But he didn’t.
‘I don’t believe you could make another placing request so soon. Not unless you were expelled of course.
No, you’ve just got off to a bad start, Kelly Ann. Things will settle down fine soon. You have to be patient. Give it time.’
Instead of telephoning, Chris came over tonight to see how I was getting on. At first I just said, ‘Yeah, OK, fine,’ but face to face there was no way I could convince him I was OK and soon I was blubbing out the truth to him.
‘I hate it there, Chris. Nobody likes me. I … I’ve got no friends. I just don’t fit in.’
At first he tried to soothe me like the priest had. ‘You just got off to a bad start, Kelly Ann. Give it time. I’m sure people will realize you’re OK eventually – you’ll make loads of friends.’
‘I won’t. Nobody wants to get to know me except Bernadette, who’s the saddest person in the whole school and just makes it even worse.’
Chris argued with me for a while, but then gobsmacked me by saying, ‘OK, look, Kelly Ann, if that’s the way you feel about it, then I’ll come and join you. That way you’ll have at least one friend there. You won’t have to eat in the toilet any more.’
Oh God, it would have been so fantastic to have Chris with me. ‘But how could you do that?’
‘I’ll ask my parents to arrange it. Make a placing request.’
‘They wouldn’t do that. You get on fine at our school.’
‘They will. If not, I’ll get myself expelled, then they’ll have to.’
I looked at Chris’s determined expression. He meant it. And he’d do it. There wasn’t anyone as stubborn as Chris once he’d made up his mind.
Found myself getting a bit tearful again. Chris was the best friend anyone could have. But I couldn’t let him change schools just for me. However, he’d given me an idea.
Thought back to what the priest had said this morning. That the region were unlikely to agree to another transfer so soon unless I was expelled.
Yeah, that was it. All I had to do was get myself expelled. Should be easy enough – and, yeah, might even be fun.
WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 1ST
RE first thing. I’ve been removed from Sister Mary Benedicta’s class and put into another RE class. The teacher seemed quite nice and normal; she’s really a maths teacher but all the Catholic teachers have to take an RE class. She just told us to get on with any homework we might have or chat quietly amongst ourselves while she did some marking. Seems this is what she does every RE period.
It’s a pity she was nice because I needed to cause trouble to get expelled. Oh well.
I shouted out. ‘Religion’s rubbish!’
She said, ‘We’re all entitled to our opinion, Kelly Ann. Haven’t you got any homework to finish off?’
‘Total crap.’
‘How about a book to read? Why don’t you go off to the library and see if there’s anything you like there?’
Tried a few more times after that but still couldn’t get her annoyed. Decided I’d have to pick on a teacher who wasn’t so nice and laid back.
Art next. We were meant to be painting a bowl of fruit. Instead, I graffiti’d ART SUCKS on my desk in jagged blood-red letters.
Art teacher said my work was amazing. ‘Raw, powerful, totally original’. I had ‘passion’ and ‘soul’.
Bloody hell, it was going to be a lot more difficult to get expelled from this school than I thought.
English. Took out a packet of fags I’d nicked from Mum’s stash in the morning and lit up. God, it was so disgusting. How could anyone actually like these things? Even though I didn’t inhale and just puffed the smoke out, I nearly choked. Teacher said, ‘Put that out at once.’
This was more like it. Instead, I flicked some ash on the floor, then swung back on my chair and put my feet on my desk. Looking her straight in the eye, I took a Bacardi bottle (an empty one of Mum’s that I’d filled with water this morning) from my bag and swigged it.
‘Right, that’s it. Go to the head teacher’s office immediately and wait there while I write out a referral about your outrageous behaviour.’
Yeah. At last.
Waited half an hour before Mrs McKind, the guidance teacher, came and ushered me into the head’s office.
He and Mrs McKind couldn’t have been nicer. Young people like me with addictions would receive understanding, counselling and support. I needn’t worry that I’d be condemned or abandoned, far less expelled. They were an enlightened school at the forefront of the substance abuse programmes (SAPs) initiative. Meanwhile I was to go see Father O’Reilly for spiritual guidance to overcome my problems.
Father O’Reilly wasn’t visiting the school until the afternoon, and then he needed to discuss things with the head teacher first, so it was nearly home time when he finally talked to me in the RE base.
He said, ‘Now tell me, Kelly Ann, do you really have a problem with the demon drink and are you addicted to the vile tobacco weed?’
I looked at my toes. ‘No, Father.’
‘So correct me if I’m wrong here, but this was a ploy to get yourself expelled. Right?’
I nodded.
‘Well now, you’ll be pleased to hear that after our discussion yesterday, I’ve been in touch with Mr Menzies and talked to our own head and we’ve agreed to a kind of prisoner exchange.’
‘Sorry?’
‘We’ll take back Mick McKenzie, one of our poor disadvantaged thieving, lying – well, never you mind – ex pupils, in exchange for your good self. We’ll have another go at putting the fear of God in him. And I plan to do more than give the disadvantaged wee bug – er, soul more than three Hail Marys and an Our Father for his sins.’
‘Oh my God, I can go back to my old school? Really? Thanks, Father.’
‘Och, you’re welcome, Kelly Ann. You’ve given me a good laugh, so you have. But we’ll have to OK it with your parents. Your mother having been so keen to make a good Catholic out of you and all.’
‘Father, if every priest were like you I’d definitely want to be a Catholic.’
Father O’Reilly smiled at me. ‘Ah, but you have to like the song as well as the singer, Kelly Ann.’
Not sure what he meant by that but asked him, ‘Do you believe in any of it, Father? Religion and stuff?’
He was silent for quite a long time. I suppose he was surprised by my question – which, when I thought about it, was a really stupid thing to ask a priest.
But then he said, ‘Ah now, Kelly Ann, that’s a deep theological question you’re asking, especially so near home time, but I’ll tell you one thing.’ He paused and fixed me with a serious gaze. ‘I believe Celtic will wallop the bejesus out of Rangers next Saturday.’
FRIDAY DECEMBER 3RD
I’m leaving today and, though I can’t wait to get back to my old school, have discovered that I’m now suddenly very popular. Seems everyone was well impressed by my rebel behaviour and wants to hang out
with me. Maybe I would have got on OK here after all.
Loads of people wanted to spend lunch time with me today but I decided to go and see Bernadette in the toilets. This time, after knocking, I went inside her cubicle instead of sitting in the one beside her.
‘I’ll really miss you, Kelly Ann.’
‘Yeah, well, I’ll miss you too, sort of,’ I lied. ‘Here.’ I handed her a roast beef sandwich I’d prepared this morning and two fairy cakes I’d baked from a mix last night. ‘I know it’s not your birthday but I thought you’d like these.’
Her eyes teared up. ‘Oh, thank you, Kelly Ann. That’s so nice of you. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.’
‘Oh God, please don’t say that, Bernadette.’
‘It’s true.’ She sniffed. ‘I’ve got something for you too.’ She took an envelope from her bag and handed it to me.
I opened it. For a moment I couldn’t speak. It was two tickets for the Smashed concert.
‘Where … where … I mean, how did you get these? Are they real?’
‘Oh, I’m always getting tickets to Jason’s concerts but I never use them. Not really interested in music.’
‘How come? I mean, these are, like, totally impossible to get hold of.’
‘He’s my cousin. You won’t tell anyone, will you?’
‘Your cousin? Yeah, right.’ Maybe all the lonely lunch times in the toilet had turned her a bit bonkers.
‘Knew you wouldn’t believe me.’ She took a photograph from her blazer pocket and handed it to me. I stared at it. And stared at it. It was a photograph of her and Jason. Both of them looked younger – she was maybe ten – but it was definitely Jason and he had his arm around her shoulders. Oh my God.
‘His real name’s Sean,’ she said, ‘but he’s told even family to call him Jason now. He chose Jason because he was a Greek hero but I don’t think it goes with Donnelly, do you? He should maybe have changed that too.’
‘But, but … I mean, bloody hell, if he’s your cousin, why didn’t you tell everyone? Most people would. It’s, like, so totally cool. You’d be the most popular girl in the school.’