I tiptoed past the closed door of the staffroom. There was a low murmur of contentment. They knew that boys and girls would always try to meet but for a start they were watching the well-known sly girls and had already put them at the end of the long corridor furthest away from the exit. Mhaire Doherty was one they had their eye on because they had already lost her big sister’s virginity to a freshly ordained priest, one Father Martin O’Hara. As soon as the poor girl was pregnant, the Bishop suddenly decided that Father Martin O’Hara was urgently needed in the next parish along for a few months. Dymphna Doherty was left without so much as a blessing. When she wheeled her baby boy up to the convent to meet Mhaire, Sister Pious had sailed forth to shoo her back out of the school gates.

She could not be allowed to stand on Church land. She was a bad example, a reminder that you can’t trust a young girl around a young priest. But Dymphna cracked and got her by the back of the neck and shoved her face into the pram! An indignant Pious had had to wrestle herself free, re-pin her habit and storm away without a word.

–  He’s just as good as you, better. He’s innocent, just a wee babby, not all covered in sin. Where’s his da? Eh? Where’s Father Martin O’Hara? Where’s the da, Sister Pious? The boy could use a few auld nappies and such. Can you hear me? Where’s the da? Where’s Father Martin O’Bloody-Hara now?

I put the image of poor abandoned Dymphna out of my mind. Tonight was my night to fly. It was so beautiful: cool for April, dry, the air still sharp with cut grass like a hayfield only it was a lawn. I had on Lizzie’s red gypsy dress and no knickers or shoes so that I could creep out and I felt fantastic. I was loose!

She’d done a great job on my hair; it hung down like real hair. The anger I had felt earlier was largely gone, leaving me tired, but I had been tired for as long as I could remember, tired and lonely. I wanted him again, I wanted to be touched, to be held, to be somebody’s. My mother was miles across the country. I was free of her and The Hill and him, my modest father. I liked the taste it left in my mouth, my mouth that tasted of cherries.