A Girl Called Blue Read online

  ‘I’ll get some hair clips and clip it round the side,’ Blue offered. At last it stayed on, even if it was still a bit precarious.

  ‘What are you going as, Blue?’ asked Lil. But Blue wasn’t ready to reveal her secret yet. She stared around the dormitory at all the others.

  Mary, Jess and Sarah had obviously got together on their outfits. They shrieked with laughter as they wrapped themselves in white sheets and made ghostly wailing noise, chasing each other around the room and trying to scare people. Their eyes stared out from the scissor-cuts they’d made in the sheets they’d taken from the mending cupboard. Joan and Derval were cowboys, with waistcoats and guns made from silver paper and cardboard, and two cowboy hats they’d borrowed from Derval’s brother. Joan had tied a scarf around her neck, and a big piece of rope hung from her waist like a lasso. Already she was bossing Derval around, saying that she was the sheriff.

  Lil, the witch, had a voluminous black skirt, probably a nun’s, that she’d borrowed from the clothes press. She had taken a brush from the broom cupboard, which was meant to be her broomstick, and found a mouldy-looking toy cat in the babies’ toy box to serve as her witch’s cat. Chrissy and Annie were dressed in old party frocks they’d found and were pretending to be Little Miss Muffet and Little Bo Peep, though you couldn’t tell which was which.

  Molly had set her heart on dressing up as a bunny rabbit and Jess and Blue had made a costume for her. Blue had cut out two long ears from a piece of old flannelette, wrapped them around a bit of wire and sellotaped them to a hair band. They had managed to find a white angora cardigan and white tights to dress her in. Lil then pinned a big, fluffy lump of cotton wool from the nursery on to Molly’s bottom to make a tail. Blue drew whiskers and a nose with some black paint on her face.

  ‘You look as cute as can be, Molly,’ Blue laughed. ‘Now go and practise some bunny hops.’ Molly was delighted.

  ‘Aren’t you getting dressed up, Blue?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘Of course I am!’ said Blue. She slipped away to the toilet. She had hidden everything she needed, far from prying eyes. Taking out her laundry bag, she began to undress and put on her outfit, running the comb through her hair and getting the small paint pot and some ink from her bag.

  ‘What are you doing in there?’ demanded Derval, the cowboy.

  Blue thanked heaven for the lock on the door.

  A few minutes later Lil knocked on the door.

  ‘Blue, are you ready yet? We’re all going downstairs. The music has started.’

  Blue cursed herself. She wasn’t anywhere near ready. This was taking so long.

  ‘You go on with the others, Lil, I’ll follow you down.’

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the others laughing and giggling along the corridor towards the stairs.

  In the silence she busied herself, applying more colour to her arms and shoulders and chest and face. Then she opened the door and made for the sink with a square of mirrored glass above it. She began to paint her face. Already she looked so different. Pleased, she stood back to get the effect. Her hair and face and costume were exactly what she had imagined. Satisfied, she ran down the main stairs two at a time, her bare feet cold on the marble floor.

  The record player belted out a selection of songs from the Bee Gees, Buddy Holly and The Animals, a huge cheer going up when The Beatles’ new song came on. The room was crowded, and Blue slipped quietly in by the side door. There were pirates, nurses, a scarecrow, two angels and a selection of dolls with round, red cheeks and cupid-bow lips. Four of the older girls were dressed as Carnaby Street chicks, with painted eyelashes and short skirts and back-combed hair and pale pearl lips. They looked gorgeous. Mary had greased back Tommy’s hair and darkened it with shoe polish. He held a battered pretend guitar and swung his hips like Elvis Presley. Joey, his friend, was a scarecrow, with straw stuffed into his clothes. Everyone had gone to so much trouble. Blue waved to Lil, who was busy chatting to Bernie and Teresa O’Brien; all three were dressed as witches and seemed to be forming a coven! Lil’s eyes opened wide when she saw Blue’s costume.

  There were tables laid out with sandwiches and cake and teacups for after the parade. Blue’s stomach gave a hungry lurch and she tried not to think of the food. There were at least fifteen to twenty visitors and the nuns were busy talking to them. She recognised Mrs Murphy and Mrs O’Shea, two large ladies who always brought baskets of clothes and toys to the home. Sister Regina would thank them warmly for their generous gifts, most of which never found their way into the wardrobes and linen rooms of Larch Hill. As for the toys, she had no idea where they went as they certainly were not to be found among the broken jigsaw puzzles, torn colouring books and ragged, moth-eaten teddy bears that were the only play things in the play room.

  ‘Children, could I have your attention, please! The fancy dress parade is about to start,’ announced Sister Agnes. Everyone gave a loud cheer. ‘What we would like you to do is to get in a big circle and dance around the centre of the hall here and when the music stops we want you to come up in line to meet Mrs O’Shea, Mrs Murphy and Sister Regina and the rest of the committee, who will examine your costumes and pick out the winners. There are lots of prizes.’

  The room erupted in clapping and cheering.

  ‘Afterwards there will be tea and sandwiches,’ Sister Agnes said, fighting to be heard above the din of voices.

  The tune of ‘The Teddy Bears’ Picnic’ filled the room and everyone got up to dance. Blue jumped up to join her friends.

  The cowboys pretended to shoot as they danced around. The scarecrow lost half his stuffing as straw fell out from his waistcoat, shirt and trousers. The dolls took jerky, clockwork steps, and Lil jumped around on her ‘broom’, giddy with excitement. Blue blocked out the music and pretended to hear the beat of a drum as her feet pounded the floor; she let the rhythm move through her, as she swayed back and forth.

  All the visitors clapped and smiled and admired the costumes as the children went round and round again. When the music stopped, they lined up one by one to go before Sister Regina and the organising committee.

  Blue was nervous waiting for her turn. She watched as Molly bravely did two or three big bunny hops for them, her tail almost falling off. She saw Lil show them her stuffed toy cat. It was getting nearer and nearer to her turn. In her head she began to hear the pounding of the skin drum. She swung her head as she stood in front of the judges, her hair decorated with beads and feathers, flying in the air, her costume of torn pieces of chamois leather polishing cloths sewn together with beads and feathers, her bare arms and legs and shoulders painted bronze and patterned with ancient designs, her cheeks smeared with stripes of colour.

  The committee looked puzzled, so Blue gave a piercing whoop to make her appearance more realistic. The ladies almost jumped out of their skins.

  ‘Very nice, dear,’ murmured one of them.

  ‘What exactly are you meant to be?’ asked Mrs O’Shea kindly.

  Blue grinned, delighted to explain. ‘My name is Teza and I’m an African princess. My father is chief of our tribe. My costume is sewn from antelope skin and I wear the feathers of all the birds in the sky and the precious stones from the river bed. My face is painted because soon I will come of age.’

  ‘A savage, that’s what she is! Bernadette O’ Malley, what is the meaning of this disgraceful behaviour?’ interrupted Sister Regina, her eyes examining Blue with contempt. ‘You look like a savage! A wild animal. How dare you appear in this state of dress in front of guests, covered in paint and feathers and, if my eyes don’t deceive me, stolen beads meant for the holy rosaries!’

  ‘But, sister, they wear feathers and beads and –’

  ‘You are a wicked, wild child. Leave this room immediately. Go upstairs and put on some decent clothes and wash those heathen markings from your skin. I will deal with you later.’

  Absolutely ashamed, Blue ran out of the room and up the stairs, her breath coming in gasps. Jess ran aft
er her to the door.

  ‘I think you look great,’ she called. ‘Don’t mind Sister Regina.’

  Blue just wanted to get away – away from the visitors and the party, and even from Jess. Flinging herself on her bed she gave way to a torrent of tears, wishing she lived anywhere else in the whole world but Larch Hill.

  * * *

  When she couldn’t cry any more, Blue got up and washed the paint from her skin and took the beads and feathers from her hair. The wild child was gone and her plain, ordinary self stared back at her from the mirror.

  After the party was over she was called to Sister Regina’s office. The nun was talking on the phone so Blue stood in front of her desk. She looked around. She was spending so much time in this office she knew every piece of furniture and all the paintings and ornaments in it.

  Her phone conversation ended, Sister Regina launched into a tirade about Blue’s bad behaviour.

  ‘Today you let down St Brigid’s Home, coming to the party dressed like a savage,’ she declared.

  Blue defended herself. ‘I thought it was a good costume.’

  ‘How in the name of God did you get the idea of dressing in such a fashion? The other girls were content to be nurses and witches and Little Bo Peep, but you – you always have to be different.’

  Blue stared at the carpet, not daring to say anything.

  ‘Tell me, was it Sister Monica who put you up to this, with her tales of Africa and living in the bush? Was that it?’

  ‘No!’ shouted Blue. ‘Sister Monica had nothing do with it. She didn’t even know I was dressing up.’ She definitely didn’t want to get the old nun into trouble. She knew the head nun had little regard for Sister Monica and considered her soft in the head and far too lenient with the children.

  ‘Then, where did this notion come from?’ Sister Regina persisted.

  ‘I just made it up.’

  ‘Made it up? The feathers, the beads, the paint, the skins? How did you know about all that?’

  ‘Well, I saw it in a book.’

  ‘A book! What sort of book?’

  ‘A geography book,’ She half-fibbed, feeling her heart pounding.

  ‘A school book?’

  ‘It’s a yellow book, a magazine really – it’s called National Geographic. I like reading it and looking at the pictures.’

  The nun was writing something on a pad.

  ‘You know I have to punish you, Bernadette. Bad conduct cannot go unchecked. How many times have I had you in this office? And has it done any good? There will be no play time for you for the rest of July and since you have such a fondness for rosary beads you will spend that time helping Sister Rita in the workroom. Also, I told Mrs Nolan in housekeeping that you enjoy using polishing cloths, so she will assign you extra work.’

  Blue wanted to say that it wasn’t fair, but experience had taught her that any form of protest would result in even worse punishment. She had to accept it.

  ‘What do you say?’ prompted the nun.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sister.’

  ‘There may be some sandwiches left in the kitchen. Ask Mrs MacFadden,’ ordered the nun, turning her attention to something else. ‘You may go.’

  Outside the nun’s office four of the older girls sat, waiting nervously to go in after her. Their faces were pale, all trace of the thick black eyelashes and back-combed hair gone. Carnaby Street was no more.

  There was nobody left in the hall, so Blue made her way down to the kitchen. The leftover tomato sandwiches were soggy, the egg ones smelly. Blue poured herself a glass of milk from the big silver jug on the table and sat down to eat. The cook ignored her as she cleaned up. She was in a rush home to her own family and had no time for gossiping with the institution’s children.

  Sister Monica appeared, her face lighting up when she saw Blue.

  ‘Mrs MacFadden, could you warm a glass of milk or some cocoa for poor Sister Angela? She’s not too well and I said I’d bring something up to her.’

  ‘Sister, I’m in a bit of a hurry. Can you manage it yourself?’ Mrs MacFadden protested, passing the nun a small saucepan from a cupboard. ‘You know where the cocoa is.’

  Sister Monica poured some milk into the pan and lit a ring on the large gas stove as Mrs MacFadden grabbed her bag and coat from the hook on the back door and left.

  Blue kept on eating her sandwich.

  ‘I saw you today,’ said the nun, smiling at Blue. ‘The beads and the feathers were marvellous.’

  ‘Sister Regina and the rest of the ladies didn’t think so.’

  ‘Well, everybody’s different, Bernadette. When you get older you’ll realise that.’

  ‘Sister Regina said I was a savage.’

  Sister Monica laughed. ‘Well, she would think that. Sister Regina has never had the good fortune to leave our native shores or see much beyond the walls of this convent. She has never felt the hot sun on her skin or heard the pounding of jungle drums or an elephant stampede. So it is hard for her to understand these things.’

  Blue could have hugged the old nun, her wizened monkey-face wise and full of love for mankind.

  ‘Be a good girl, now,’ said Sister Monica, ‘and reach up and pass me the cocoa tin from the top shelf there.’

  Blue stood up and passed down the yellow and red tin.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll have one myself,’ pondered the nun as she prised open the lid with a spoon. ‘Would you like one too?’

  Blue hesitated. She had never tasted hot cocoa before.

  ‘Yes, please, Sister.’

  She watched as the nun added more milk to the pan and then stirred in three large spoons of the chocolate-coloured powder. ‘The trick is not to let it boil over.’

  A few minutes later Blue was holding a large mug of the sweet, warm, chocolate drink, savouring each mouthful slowly, with Sister Monica sitting opposite her.

  ‘Did you see the ladies’ expressions when you gave them your best African whoop?’ the nun laughed. ‘It did my heart good to see those ladies and the rest of the sisters here jump. They didn’t know what to make of you. Little Bo Peep and a bunny rabbit are much safer options for those judges.’

  Somehow, sitting there, talking and laughing about it, the day didn’t seem so bad after all, and Blue went to bed feeling less downhearted. Molly waited up to show her the skipping rope she had won as a prize.

  CHAPTER 13

  Pictures

  But the next night the yellow magazine was gone. Blue searched high and low for it, even taking her mattress off the bed just in case it had slipped under it or into the bed springs. But there was no sign of it. It was gone!

  ‘Molly, did you see my book?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Book?’

  ‘My book with the yellow cover, the one I always read.’

  Molly shook her head.

  ‘Molly, I won’t be cross if you borrowed it or pretended it was yours for a while once you give it back to me.’ She tried to keep the panic from her voice, not wanting to make the little girl even more nervous.

  ‘I don’t have it, Blue. Honest I don’t.’

  ‘Did you see it?’

  ‘No.’

  Molly was telling the truth.

  She went around the room from bed to bed asking everyone about her National Geographic, desperate to ascertain which of the girls had stolen it.

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t see it?’ she asked over and over again.

  Even Joan and her friends seemed to have no knowledge of what had happened to her most prized possession.

  ‘I have to find it!’ she screamed at the rest of the girls. ‘I need it. It’s mine!’

  Lil and Mary and Jess reassured her that it would definitely turn up.

  Molly sat on Blue’s bed, watching her get undressed. Over and over again, Blue was replaying in her mind what could have happened. Mary and Jess had asked in all the other dormitories if anyone had seen it and so far nobody admitted knowing anything about it. It was a mystery and Blue intended to s
olve it. She hoped that Sister Regina hadn’t somehow discovered it.

  ‘Molly, will you go and get into bed. I’m too tired to tell you a story tonight.’

  ‘Why are you so sad?’ Molly asked.

  Blue pulled on her nightdress. ‘That book is very special to me,’ she explained.

  ‘Why?’ asked the little girl.

  ‘Because,’ Blue was getting tearful, ‘because when I read my book it makes me think of different things, things you wouldn’t understand yet because you’re too young. I’m afraid that without the pictures, without my book, I’ll forget them’

  ‘You won’t forget, silly,’ teased Molly, curling up in bed. ‘I never forget my mammy. I still see her in my head all the time even though she’s gone to heaven.’

  Blue swallowed hard. She must be the most selfish, stupid girl in the whole of Dublin, fussing over a tatty old magazine when little Molly was still grieving for her mother.

  ‘Molly, you’re such a pet. You definitely deserve a story. What about “Cinderella”?’

  The little girl cuddled up close as Blue began.

  In the midnight hours she closed her eyes and, just as Molly said, the pictures came. She didn’t need the pages, the words, the shiny, glossy photographs. She could create the landscapes in her head. It was a sort of magic that she possessed, a magic that neither Sister Regina nor the Maguires nor anyone else could ever take from her as she left the grey walls and high ceilings behind and saw the glorious colourful pictures in her head.

  CHAPTER 14

  Summer Holidays

  ‘Hooray for the summer holidays,’ they all shouted as the battered green bus drove them down through the countryside. It was August and the children from Larch Hill were going to spend a week at the seaside in Wicklow.

  Blue sat beside Jess and Molly on the leatherette seat, squashed against the window. Molly’s face was pale and she had been sick once already.