The next morning at Lauds, she felt overcome with nausea and had to leave the chapel. Later, after breakfast, Mère Germaine accosted her on her way to class. ‘Soeur Michael, I’m concerned. This is the second time you’ve had to leave the chapel during prayers. You’re looking pale. I think we should have the doctor take a look at you.’

‘The second time?’ Keelin said, confused, and horrified that the Reverend Mother was taking a keen interest in her health.

‘One Sunday at Mass,’ came the stern response. Reverend Mother Germaine was an excellent administrator but she’d no warmth, nor empathy.

‘Oh yes, I forgot that,’ Keelin said flustered, remembering her alleged ‘dizzy’ spell. ‘I’m fine, Reverend Mother,’ she said brightly. ‘I . . . eh . . . think I ate too much fruit yesterday and it had an effect on me this morning. I suffered a migraine episode that Sunday,’ she fibbed weakly wilting under her Superior’s laser-like stare.

‘Moderation in all things is advisable, even eating fruit, Soeur Michael. Remember that!’ came the cold response before the Reverend Mother swept down the corridor, robes fluttering in the breeze.

Keelin felt herself break out in a cold sweat and nearly puked on the spot. No one ever wanted an eagle-eyed Reverend Mother’s keen attention. She least of all in her present predicament.

Armand had been visiting the outlying parishes some hundreds of miles away, so she couldn’t tell him the news. Her constant queasiness made her more forlorn but she tried her best for the sake of her pupils to pretend to be excited and happy about their forthcoming Nativity play.

Oh the irony of it, she thought that Christmas Eve when young Lelia, who was playing the part of the Virgin Mary, discreetly pulled the baby doll from under the manger and placed it on the straw, signifying the birth of Jesus. If only it were that simple and that painless. Ibraham, who was playing St Joseph, stood proudly beside Lelia, beaming at the audience, the epitome of a proud father.

Keelin saw Armand enter quietly and stand at the back of the chapel and her heart twisted with anxiety. She would have to try and tell him her news tonight at the Christmas Eve party, but there would be no opportunity to talk for long. He would have to mingle with the parents and children and the other nuns, as she would.

*

‘Bon nuit,’ Armand murmured, coming to stand beside her at the buffet a while later. Keelin kept her head down and placed a slice of mango on her plate; although her throat was so constricted she felt she could hardly eat.

‘Oíche mhaith,’ she said, trying to ignore her Reverend Mother’s sharp-eyed stare. Keelin had been teaching Armand Irish so she added ‘Nollaig shona dhuit,’ to wish him a happy Christmas.