Cornelia kept a close eye on Sandy once the friendship had been re-established. She noticed that in Sandy’s world, there was a lot of smiling going on. Sandy beamed at everyone when they were within range, but as soon as they drifted into the distance, the smile melted from her face, her tone of voice turned sarcastic as she leant over to whisper an insult into Cornelia’s ear about who had walked by.
Within a month Cornelia confirmed the Sandy knew the importance of secrecy. New boyfriends appeared on the scene. Sandy and the new boyfriends didn’t hold one another by the hand or catch one another by the arm. Cornelia watched them disappear out of sight and wondered what happened then. The next day Sandy would sit cross legged on Cornelia’s bed after school with a different smile on her face. It was as though she was remembering the night before and whatever took place, but she wouldn’t say.
One Friday after school, Cornelia asked, “Do you want to come in and we can do our homework together and then we are free to do whatever we want for the weekend?”
Sandy turned the belt on her pleated tartan school skirt up twice so that her skirt would be four inches shorter. She had that familiar dreamy look in her eyes, looking away from Cornelia. She pulled her hair into a pony tail and whispered, “No. I couldn’t face homework now. What a week. I’m exhausted. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
Cornelia opened the gate at the bottom of the path to her door and watched Sandy walk down the street and turn left at the bottom. Cornelia ran after her. She hid behind a thick oak tree on the corner and watched Sandy walk past her own house on the left. There was no cover along the road until the next tree.
A playful breeze blew Cornelia’s hair over her face. Two sparrows chittered away above her head, swooping around and around one another. Cornelia took a deep breath and walked at the same pace as Sandy, a hundred yards or so behind her. She felt her stomach tense with excitement. She took a couple of deep breaths and ensured that her pace was measured and equal. There was a primary school playing field on Sandy’s left. Sandy turned left through a wooden gate. Cornelia ran to the gate. She didn’t need to worry. Sandy was not out of sight. She was standing outside the sports pavilion to the edge of the playing fields. It was a wooden pavilion with a steep pointed roof. It had steps leading to a terrace, also made of wood. There were four windows on the front. Three of them were shuttered and closed. One was open. Cornelia recognised the person standing inside waving at Sandy. It was Eoin Mahoney – the Head Boy. He moved away from the window and a few seconds later the front door opened. Sandy looked over her shoulder to her left but not to her right, and so didn’t see Cornelia. She took Eoin’s hand and kissed him on the lips. They disappeared inside.
Cornelia walked towards the pavilion. She was breathless and filled with a buzzing energy. She decided not to walk up the steps in case they creaked, but walked on the grass around the pavilion towards the back. There was a second set of stairs. She took off her shoes, set them out of sight with her school satchel, behind a barrel shaped flower tub and tip toed onto the terrace, making her way around to the open window at the front. Once on the front terrace she got onto her hands and knees and crawled until she was level with the window. She winced a little as two large splinters of wood pushed into the flesh of the palm of her hand. The breeze was still being playful, lifting up her hair and making a pendulum of her striped green and yellow tie. She listened beneath the window. At first she could hear nothing from inside – only the breeze rustling within the evergreen hedgerow edging the playing fields. Then she heard Eoin’s voice sounding slightly scared and surprisingly high pitched. He sang baritone in the school choir.
“We haven’t long.”
There was a pause, then Sandy’s voice, softer and gentler than normal, whispering, “Don’t panic. Let me help you.”
Cornelia slowly got to her knees, placed two hands on the windowsill and looked inside. Her breathing stopped for a couple of seconds. She smelt teak oil as someone had prepared the wood for Summer. There was a scuffling sounds like rats playing in straw to her right. She turned her head slightly. Although it was semi-dark, she could see the outline of Sandy’s naked body on top of Eoin. He was still wearing his school trousers, socks and shoes, not his school shirt and tie which had been abandoned on the floor. Sandy was smothering him. He was gulping for air and staring at the ceiling. He didn’t much look as though he was enjoying himself.
Cornelia dropped back onto her hands and knees. She had a terrible urge to throw something through the window. Instead, she stood up once she reached the side terrace and walked gently towards the stairs, salvaged her shoes and satchel from behind the flower tub and ran home.
♥
“Sorry I’m late,” Cornelia called to Anne, “I called into the library.” She threw her satchel on the sofa. “Let me get changed.”
As she pulled on her jeans, she thought that for the first time in her life that her Father was right. There was no Jesus alive, no Christ to find. If she was to be happy, she needed to take responsibility for her life. She could fight Sandy for Eoin’s love and win. She removed the cross and chain with its rubies from around her neck and buried it in a pink purse with rosary beads.
♥
“Why did you do it?” Sandy screamed at Cornelia. She turned around to face her and glared into Cornelia’s eyes. Cornelia stared back without moving.
“Because I could and he was willing.”
Sandy was now crying, her mascara running down her face. Her shoulders were moving up and down as she gasped at the air. It was late June; swallows were flying overhead, curving out wide arcs in the blue. They were both standing on the daisy covered grass. Someone was having a barbeque close by – the smells of sizzling steaks giving the sense that summer was beginning and that they should be partying rather than having this row.
“But I loved him. You know that.” Her sobs were now hysterical. She clenched her fists and for a moment Cornelia thought that she would punch her, but instead she continued to open and close them.
Sandy stopped crying, took two steps back from Cornelia and sobbed. “You’ve destroyed him for life. I know that you have. He’s different. I’m going to tell everyone. They’ll hate you.”
Cornelia tightened a bow which had loosened around her head.
“I don’t think that they’ll hate me as much as they’ll think that you are a Loser. They’ll admire me. After all he’s Head Boy and that makes me the real Head Girl – not you. Loser.”
♥
At school Miss Toner, the Form Teacher, announced that the school trip for Upper Sixth would give everyone the opportunity to do a silent retreat in the monastery of San Honorat in Mallorca. When she made the announcement a ripple of laughter spread around the room.
“Are you really saying we won’t talk for five days?” Kathleen shouted from the back of the classroom. Cornelia and Miriam sat in the front row.
“Could she not make it Santa Ponsa or Magaluff?” Miriam whispered to Cornelia. “We’re going to have to do a creeping Jesus holiday.”
Miss Toner continued, “This year you will make a significant transition in your lives. You will be faced with many decisions over the next three to four years. Sister Maureen and I thought that a wonderful way to mark this rite of transition would be to offer you an opportunity to connect with what is deepest in your being – to harmonise mind, body and soul – in preparation for your encounter with a world beyond the protected environment of this school and your home. It will be challenging – simple, but not easy. We hope it will provide you with a base and a discipline for your life going forward enabling you to expand into the infinite love and potential which are your heritage.”
Miriam gave Cornelia a dig in ribs, “We could sit in our bedrooms for five days and sneak in vodka.” She sniggered,
“I wonder if they’re going to ask us to fast and put on a hair shirt.”
Cornelia looked intently at Miss Toner. She was wearing the same mouse coloured straight haired wig t
hat she always wore but today it looked slightly out of place as if she had forgotten to straighten it. Her make-up was a couple of shades too light, which gave her a slightly clown-like appearance. In addition, she hadn’t rubbed it in well around her nose and the pores were open, as though someone had scattered poppy seeds on top of a beige matt finish. In the last year her face had turned jowly. Before, you could see fine definition in her chin – now, it was as though she had acquired the neck of a pelican.
She looked at Cornelia.
“Cornelia, you have been usually quiet. Will you be joining us in San Honorat?”
Cornelia jumped in her chair.
“Off course, Miss Toner.”
Miss Toner smiled.
“I’m glad. At the end of the retreat there will be a weekend to explore the island. We are thinking of a day in Palma and a day in Soller.”
There was a sigh of relief in the classroom. Miriam nudged Cornelia again, “Now we’re talking. That’s when we will let our hair down and go wild.”
♥
Cornelia remembered looking out of the window of the plane as it descended towards Palma. There were pillars of cumulous clouds all around – simmering golden in the setting sun. The plane plunged into the middle of one shaped like an elephant. The plane shuddered from side to side, dropped height so quickly that children towards the back of the plane screamed. It then banked left, slicing through the meringue, levelled out and, leaving the clouds behind, glided over rugged grey mountains towards Palma.
Miss Toner rang the bell at the front door of San Honorat. It was the end of June and the sweet smell of jasmine hung heavily in the air. Crimson hibiscus flowers were dropping their silky petals onto the sandy ground. At five o’clock in the afternoon it was still intensely hot. The twelve girls who had volunteered for the school trip buzzed around her, peering through the wrought iron gate. She wiped beads of sweat which were falling from her chin onto her woollen skirt and removed her jacket.
Father Miguel walked briskly towards them. He opened the gate with a flourish and held out a hand to Miss Toner who seemed to courtesy as she placed her hand in his. He led them towards the monastery along a crazy paving path with tiny blue flowers growing between the stones. To the right, Miss Toner peered into the valley below. The monastery had been built at a cliff edge with a sheer drop to the valley floor, shimmering in a mirage-like mirror. In the distance she could detect a streak of blue like a stained glass window – the Mediterranean.
Father Miguel gestured left and they followed him through the monastery door. There was a list of names and rooms. Miss Toner took charge.
“Girls and boys. Follow Father Miguel and he will show you to your rooms. It’s five o’clock. Father Miguel will carry out his orientation for the retreat at seven o’clock in the chapel. Please take the opportunity to settle into your rooms, explore the gardens and we will meet at seven.”
Cornelia walked into her room and gently sighed with relief. The exams were over. The world outside was opening. She would be leaving home and start working as a Personal Assistant in a Bank in Nottingham – a job organised by her father. She was so looking forward to life changing. It had been a suffocating year. Simon, her father had been unable to keep his promise of not hitting her. He had an incredible rage bottled up inside him – like a pressure cooker – which had to be released on a regular basis.
Then Sandy had been horrible to her. She told everyone what had happened with Eion. No-one, apart from Miriam, would talk to her. She was suspicious about why Miriam was friendly. What did she want?
Five days of silence. At least it wouldn’t be so obvious that no-one wanted to know her. The bedroom was lovely. A single bed with crisp white sheets and a primrose blanket. A small basin. A writing desk and chair and a wardrobe. She felt that she could live in this one room for ever. She didn’t need more. She breathed deeply. The air seemed filled with peace. Each breath brought her a sense of groundedness. She was weighted to the earth. She walked to the window. There was a view of the valley below and the sea to the left. A hawk soared to her right and then dived, pulled onto the yellowing grass on the valley floor.
In the meditation room Cornelia breathed in frankincense - food for her soul. She settled onto the cushion – legs half crossed over one another. She fixed her eyes on the crucifix on the wall in front of her. The rest of the group had not arrived. She was alone. There was a silence in the room deeper than anything she had experienced before - a stillness which she found herself sinking into.
Where was Father Miguel? She suddenly felt anxious about the loneliness of being in the room without others. She took a deep breath and looked at the crucifix. That helped. Christ wasn’t only pinned to a Cross - he was here, around her. She wasn’t alone. She breathed deeply. Breathing in Christ. Was she mad? Was she going totally insane? Or for the first time in her life was she totally sane?
She closed her eyes. Could it be this easy? To sit and do nothing? Again she breathed deeply. There seemed to be a lead weight dragging her down into her centre – was it her centre – or the centre of everything? Whatever it was – it was dropping into something in which she knew a sweetness of being, an escape from thinking, a liberation from feeling – a touching of the silkiness of life and its bubbliness of being.
Father Miguel opened the door of the Church and stepped gently towards the front of the room.
He whispered with the voice of a lark – sweet, clear and penetrating, “Are you wishing to confess?”
“Yes Father I would like to confess but what happens if I do it again? You see it’s like a sleeping wild animal within me. When it awakens, I can’t stop it.”
♥
At 3.30 pm Cecilia, the Care Team manager, swept into the room and reached a hand to Gurtha, “Paddy - what a lovely man.”
Cecilia gestured to a comfortable chair beside a wooden table with a Nespresso machine.
“Would you like a coffee?”
Gurtha shook his head and sat down, feeling his body sink into the softness of brown leather.
Cecilia helped herself to an expresso, opened her handbag and pulled out a small plastic bag of walnuts,
“They’re good for the brain. I need all the help I can get.” She looked a little awkward, “I didn’t mean that in a disrespectful way.”
Gurtha raised his two hands in the air as if in surrender and smiled, “No offence taken. What about Paddy?”
Cecilia munched on her walnuts and looked at him with what could only be called a direct stare,
“It’s clear cut. He has dementia. Drugs won’t alleviate his symptoms and he can’t live alone – no matter what the Psychiatrist says.” She paused to shake the salt from her hands. “Mr Collins – the Psychiatrist - insists on recommending that people with dementia stay at home due to the importance of familiarity with the surroundings. However, that is a nonsense in Paddy’s case – although it may work for others. If Paddy is left alone, he will leave the house and is unlikely ever to be around for the planned visits to administer his drugs and provide him with food. There is no way he can cook for himself. The Occupational Therapist confirmed that he will leave the gas rings burning, forget about the toast he has just put on and will be a risk to himself and to others.”
Gurtha moved to the edge of the chair.
“What do you mean to others? Is he violent?”
Cornelia slammed her cup and saucer on the table.
“Absolutely not. He is a gentleman in the true meaning of the word. I only mean that he could burn the house down and in doing that put at risk those houses on either side of him. I’m afraid it’s residential care which is now necessary as I understand that you are not in a position to be a full-time Carer?”
Gurtha nodded and bowed his head.
“I need to work. My work involves travel.”
Cecilia stared at the crown of his head, noticing the smallest of patches of thinning hair, about the size of a two pence coin.
“We see that it is an
emergency situation and so he has shot to the top of the table of people waiting for …” She hesitated, then coughed and continued, “a vacancy to occur. You are very lucky …” She paused. “There is an unexpected vacancy at Milthorn Residential Care Home. We have very good reports about that particular home. There is also a vacancy at Shenalon. We have had mixed reports but perhaps you should review them both.”
Gurtha looked up.
“Paddy will not want to go into residential care. He’ll fight against it.”
Cornelia increased the volume of her voice and deepened it in reply, “There will always be a period of adjustment. He will get used to it.”
Gurtha opened the top button on his shirt and loosened the flowery tie.
“When does he need to move from here?”
“Tomorrow if you are ready. There is some paperwork to be completed – but basically when you tell me whether it is the Milthorn or the Shenalon, I will ring them and they will be able to accommodate you within hours. I know this is a stressful situation, but you should be looking at the bright side. There is normally a minimum two year waiting list. I have known people to be on a waiting list for ten years. That’s when the relatives are holding out for a special place.” She shook Gurtha’s hand again, “I’m thinking of putting my name down for the Milthorn myself.” She laughed. “Don’t leave it too late for yourself.”
♥
Gurtha decided not to say anything to Paddy about the move until it was all decided – the Milthorn or the Shenalon. He drove to the Shenalon first. The Manager – Paul Donohue, welcomed him with a strong handshake,
“We would be delighted to have Paddy stay with us. Follow me. I’ll show you around.”
He followed Paul. He was a small, stocky man with dark hair and tight trousers over an inflated bottom. He walked quickly along a narrow corridor and, as though reading Gurtha’s mind, said, “No problem here for a wheelchair and there’s a lift to Paddy’s room.”
The very fact that he said, “Paddy’s room” created a sense of unexpected tension in Gurtha’s stomach. It was too familiar for someone he had never met. He felt like sticking his finger into Paul’s chest and asking, “Paddy who?”
The Secret Wound Page 19