Free Obedience by Jacqueline Yallop

Marie.’
    â€˜Yes, yes, I know. But she’ll hardly realize what’s going on. And I can’t be everywhere, can I? I can’t do everything. And I should look at it as… as duty, as penance. As something I’ve given my life to. As a prayer.’
    Corinne did not reply for a moment. She took a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose noisily, taking her time to fold it carefully afterwards.
    â€˜Couldn’t life with me be a prayer of some kind?’ she asked at last.
    Thérèse smiled sadly. ‘It would be too much a pleasure,’ she said.
    Corinne pushed back through the door without saying anything more, walking quickly across the entrance hall. Thérèse followed. They were stopped by Bernard, emerging into the corridor from the storeroom steps, an apparition, sepia from the dust.
    â€˜Oh,’ she said.
    â€˜Corinne. I’m Corinne. You remember, Sister?’ Corinne held out her hand stiffly.
    â€˜You met Corinne once at church,’ added Thérèse unnecessarily.
    Bernard shook Corinne’s hand lightly. ‘Yes,’ she said.
    â€˜You’ve been… sweeping, Sister?’ said Thérèse.
    â€˜Yes. Perhaps. A little.’
    â€˜Sister Bernard gave me the box, for my scraps,’ said Thérèse, turning to her friend.
    Corinne looked at them both blankly. Bernard moved on, without dusting herself down, her boots leaving soft prints on the tiled floor. She disappeared into the refectory.
    â€˜I don’t see, I just don’t see, how she can be worth it,’ hissed Corinne.
    But Thérèse did not hear her; looking after Bernard, she did not know her friend had spoken.
    At the nursing home in town they unloaded Sister Marie from the minibus and left her sitting outside in the wheelchair, protected from the rain by the overhang abovethe entrance. She sat slouched to one side, her wimple slipped low onto her forehead. Her hands were crossed neatly on her lap, and though no one could have known this, she was praying.
    She waited for nearly ten minutes before a woman in a blue uniform hurried out and grabbed the handles of the chair, pushing Marie quickly through the front door without a word. They bolted around a horseshoe-shaped corridor and then took the lift to an identical corridor higher up the building. The woman stopped to talk in a low voice to another woman in a blue uniform carrying an armful of underwear. Moving on, they nearly completed the length of the horseshoe before turning through an open bedroom door. Then the woman in the uniform left and Marie was alone. She continued to pray.
    â€˜Ah, Sister Marie! You’ve arrived!’
    Marie either did not hear the chirp of the sharp voice, or took no notice of it. Nor did she move when a young girl with thin hair ducked round in front of the wheelchair and crouched down to straighten Marie’s veil.
    â€˜Let’s get you sorted, shall we? Are you comfortable there? Good. I’ll just move you nearer the window, out of the way, and I’ll get your things. Good.’
    Marie looked neither at the girl, as she bustled about, nor at the view of the autumn shrubbery, but at her clasped hands still welded to her lap. She was pleading with God not to abandon her. This place did not smell like heaven; she did not want to be left here, waiting.
    â€˜Where are your things then, Sister?’ asked the nurse, pulling out a light drawer in a small dresser and finding it empty.
    There was nothing in the wardrobe, on the shelves beside the window, or on the back of the wheelchair.
    â€˜I’ll ring down.’
    The nurse sat on the bed as she dialled the number on the oversized red buttons.
    â€˜I’m with the nun,’ she said to someone. ‘Just came in today. Yes. Her bags aren’t with her… Yes, could you? And let me know? All right then.’
    She put down the receiver but continued to sit on the bed picking at the cuticles of her nails.