Chapter 1

Looking back after all these years, it seemed to me that what happened at St. Elfrith’s that summer was all my mother’s fault. I supposed, though, to a degree the fault also lay with me. It was I, after all, who got sent down from Oxford during my first year there. The marijuana was just too tempting and there was plenty of it there at the t me. It wasn’t addictive, despite what they said, but the pleasure it can give was. So my work did suffer a bit, leading to an uncomfortable confrontation with my tutor and a letter informing me that I was being sent down for a year.

So it was that I found myself back in the family home in rural Norfolk, miles from any town and increasingly struck by a form of cabin-fever that was slowly driving me mad.

Fed up with me mooching grumpily round the house in what was turning out to be one of the hottest summers on record, my mother suggested I might find some temporary employment to keep me occupied. Unimpressed by the suggestion I did nothing, and it was she who came up with the idea of working at St. Elfrith’s - though in reality, it was Father Edward’s idea, so perhaps it was all really my fault. Certainly my mother had always been slightly in awe of the local priest, so she jumped at my suggestion of useful occupation of my time.

While I personally was not keen on the idea, the two of them combined forces to talk me into it. The convent – or priory to give it its correct title - lay two miles away. When I was a boy I and my friends had sometimes ridden over there to peer over the walls. But we had never been inside its grounds, which were extensive. Like all kids, we were afraid of nuns. They were a bit weird.

Now Father Edward explained that the convent’s handyman had just retired after working there for decades, and the sisters were keen to find someone to help out with odd jobs around the priory. He – very obligingly – had already made enquiries and put in a good word for me. I had only to go along for an informal interview and he was sure they would take me on. A wage was mentioned. It was not a lot, but probably more than I would get from picking potatoes on a local farm.

Two days later, by prior arrangement, I set off on my bike for the interview. It was a warm morning, with heat building quickly under a thin layer of milky cloud. I had wanted to wear shorts, but my mother made it clear that would be unacceptable. Jogging pants and a tee shirt would do.

My route took me through huge fields of early corn, great prairies of arable with few hedgerows or trees to relieve the heat. Because the road was straight, it was possible to see the site of the priory long in advance. It lay in a thick clump of woodland, one of the few in the area, so it was not hard to spot. By the time I turned into the quiet lane that slipped anonymously off the road, I was sweating hard, and was glad of the deep shade that closed around me.

As kids, we had sometimes dared each other to ride up the lane, but none of us ever got past the first bend. We scared each other too effectively with stories about ghostly nuns who floated along in the spectral darkness. Now I moved on with more confidence. On either side of the lane, dense banks of laurel blocked the view, and behind them a variety of trees created greater seclusion.

After a hundred yards or so, I came to the priory itself, seeing it for the first time. The convent consisted of a range of buildings bolted together in a seemingly haphazard manner. Much of it looked Victorian, but there were traces of medieval too. All was quiet and there was nobody to be seen. To one side of the main building was an ancient archway, blocked by large green wooden gates. Seeing no other means of access I rode up to this, leant my bike against a wall and made use of the heavy iron knocker on one of the doors. There was no immediate response, but after several repetitions, a shutter opened and a woman’s face appeared. She stared at me, saying nothing. I explained why I was there, and a little gate within one of the bigger ones opened, and I was beckoned in.

I found myself in a courtyard with buildings all round. The woman in front of me was wearing a grey skirt and jumper, and a light blue head scarf, more like a hijab than anything else. She was probably in her seventies, but it was hard to be sure.

‘Follow me,’ she said, leading me across the courtyard and through a doorway. I found myself inside a building of complicated corridors and stairs, and was immediately confused about any sense of direction. Finally, she stopped outside a closed door and turned to face me.