Chapter 2

Day 2

As was customary, Mary Teresa was awake early in the morning. While feeling happy and warm, she also felt a little lost as she was operating outside of a familiar routine. Her days were fairly prescribed: it was like being in school, she knew exactly where she should be and what she should be doing at all times. Even yesterday, when she and Sister Catherine had left London for Hull, someone told her what time they were leaving and then someone else had driven them the short distance to King’s Cross Station, and from then on Sister Catherine had taken charge of the journey; and even when Sister Catherine had been taken ill, Mary had let Tommy Malone make her decisions for her. It had just gone six o’clock and she he had been lying in the comfortable bed for an hour, trying to decide what to do.

She assumed that Tommy’s father worked and that his mother would be getting up, too, when her husband did, so she had lain there waiting for noises to indicate that others were awake but she’d heard none, so she got out of bed and slipped Tommy’s sister’s dressing gown over her ankle-length nightdress. The bathroom was only a half-dozen or so paces away.

As she was returning to the bedroom, she almost literally ran into Tommy coming out of his wearing only fitted Emperio Armani boxer shorts. She had seen his tattooed arms but she had never been this close to a really toned and practically hairless male torso before. She stood like a rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming car. Tommy was still not fully awake himself, so he just smiled and yawned.

“Morning, Mary,” he said quietly, “You weren’t getting up were you, it’s still early.”

“ ... I ... er ... yes ... I mean, no...” she stumbled.

“ ... Okay, I’ll see you later,” he said, before going into the bathroom. Mary took off the dressing gown and knelt next to the bed. “If I am being tested, Lord, please make me strong enough to resist temptation.” Then she got back into bed and closed her eyes.

When she awoke again it was ten-eighteen. Putting on the dressing gown she returned to the bathroom; it was free, so she turned on the shower ... no more baths. The hot jets of water on her face woke her up thoroughly. She washed quickly before returning to her room and dressing. Tricia Malone was in the kitchen.

“Good morning, Mary! Did you sleep well, Dear? Shall I cook you something or we have cereal if you prefer it?”

“Good morning, Tricia! I slept very well, thank you. Cereal will be fine. Has Mr Malone ... Dermot ... gone to work?”

“Yes, Dear ... hours ago! Tommy says his father doesn’t need to work anymore if he doesn’t want to, but Dermot’s a man who likes to feel useful and he’s not one for sitting around all the time. We live well and we have simple needs. Tommy says you’ll be ringing the hospital later ... about the other Sister...”

“Yes, as soon as I know how Sister Catherine is, I can contact the convent and ask them what I should do next. Everyone has been very kind and very generous, but I feel that my place is either with Sister Catherine or with my Order.”

“Of course, Dear! But you know it’s only simple Christian charity that we’ve given and it’s yours for as long as you need it.” Mary Teresa was still in the kitchen talking to Tommy’s mother when he came down to breakfast.

“Morning, Ma! Morning, Mary!” he exclaimed, “I’m still trying to get used to waking up in the morning and sleeping at night again, but I suppose it’s only like people with proper jobs who do different shifts.”

There was just something about being near Tommy Malone that made Mary Teresa Morrison smile.

“So you don’t consider yours is a proper job, then?” He was about to say ‘Hell, no!’, but he stopped himself.

“ ... Hardly!” he said instead, “We’re like footballers or anyone else in the entertainment industry: the rewards are vastly disproportional to the effort needed to get them. I can stand on a stage for two hours doing something I love and earn more money than an NHS nurse does in a year. And I reckon that in one year I probably earn more than both my grandfathers earned in their entire working lives ... how can that be a proper job? But, like most people in my position, I enjoy the life I lead and I don’t lay awake at night worrying about it.”

“But your music makes millions of people happy,” Mary Teresa replied, “In a perfect world what you earn may not be fair or justified, but I think that the pleasure that you bring to all those other people’s lives makes it worthwhile!. You may call it what you want, Tommy, but I call it God’s Gift. You are truly blessed, Tommy!”

“ ... Thank you, Mary!” Tricia added, “ ... I’ve been telling him that for years, but he doesn’t believe me!” He could have argued his point more forcefully, but he let it drop and changed the subject:

“Are you going to ring the hospital, Mary, or would you like me to?” Tommy asked her. “I suppose I should, but would you mind?” she replied. He’d got the number while they were there yesterday ... Mary had been too upset at the time to take much in.

“Good morning! I’m ringing to enquire about Sister Catherine Baxter who was admitted yesterday. The doctor I spoke to said to ring today, to see if we should visit ... yes, I’ll hold on.” He held his hand over the mouthpiece. “They’re redirecting me,” he told Mary. “ ... Hello ... yes, I understand ... tomorrow. Thank you!” Tommy put down the phone.

“Sister Catherine is still unconscious but she’s stable. She’s being monitored but they can’t tell us anything at the moment; we’re to ring back tomorrow. If you have the number of the convent, you can ring them now—the number of the hospital is written on the pad. I’ll wait outside while you ring your superiors ... call out if you need me to talk to them.” Tommy sat in the hall, on the stairs, in case he was needed. He’d been there about ten minutes.

“Mr Malone,” he heard Mary say, probably for the benefit of whoever she had been talking to. He went back into the sitting room. “Could you talk to the Mother Superior, please,” Mary said, handing him the phone, before sitting quietly on the sofa.

She heard him give his account of the events of yesterday and of his telephone call to the hospital a few minutes previously. He was on the phone much longer than she had been herself. During this time her gaze hardly ever left his face. He spoke confidently, while every now and then looking in her direction and smiling. She sat impassively, but whenever he looked at her she felt something in the pit of her stomach. She had got the gist of his conversation and she was now trying to decide how she felt about it.

“ ... So you’re to stay here, at least until we hear more about Sister Catherine’s condition. If they say that she is liable to be here for some time, weeks, perhaps, you’re to return to London at the end of the week. But if Sister Catherine has recovered enough by then to travel, I said I’d arrange private transportation to get you both there. How do you feel about that, Mary?”

“ ... If it’s what Mother Superior wants...”

“Okay, so one way or another, we’re both going to be here until the end of the week at least. You tell me what you want to do and I’ll make it happen ... but I hope that while you’re here you’ll let me show you around, but can I make a suggestion...” Tommy’s next task was to enlist the help of his sister:

“ ... Bernie ... can you pop round this evening ... about six, Love! I’ve got a little job for you...”

It wasn’t far, but they took a taxi to the St Charles Borromeo Catholic Church, in Jarrett Street.

“Can I pick you up again later, Mary ... I’ve got a few things to do while I’m here. How long do you think?” Tommy said after he’d paid the cab driver and they were standing outside of the church.

“Thank you, Tommy!” Mary Teresa replied, “I should think at least two hours.” She went inside: it was a beautiful church, a Grade II listed building, first opened in 1829.

Tommy walked off into the city. He didn’t really have anything specific to do, but he could always find something. It was less than a quarter of a mile from the church to a guitar shop that he knew in Hull. He probably felt the same way about such places as Mary felt about churches.

“Hiya, Tommy!” a man about his own age greeted him, “Are ya buyin’, sellin’, or just lookin’!”

“That depends what ya got, Billy ... anythin’ interestin’?”

“ ... Aye, Lad! I might have one or two things out back to show you.”

“Plenty of time fer that, Billy, I’ll just ‘ave a look round, fer now! How’s the lovely Michelle ... still puttin’ up wi’ you?”

It was more like two and a half hours later when Mary Teresa came out and met up with Tommy outside of the church, but he didn’t mind: the sun was shining and he’d just bought a new addition to add to his collection of work tools. He was on the steps ... looking like a busker with a guitar case and wearing dark glasses. They smiled at each other warmly.

He handed her a small paper bag from which she took out another, new, pair of dark glasses.

“Thank you, Tommy!” she said, “What a lovely day ... I’ll be needing these. No need to ask where you’ve been!” He was still smiling.

“It’s okay ... it’s for work so it’s tax-deductible! It’s a 1956 Gibson Les Paul Special. It cost a lot of dough, but it’s got a lovely tone and action. The guy in the shop’s an old mate and he’s been saving it for me. Are you ready for home? It’s not so far ... we can walk.” An odder pair of companions you probably couldn’t imagine, but they were oblivious to any curious looks they might have received.

“ ... Are you sure you still want to do this, Mary ... my ma will probably have a fit...” Tommy said, as they were walking back.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she replied, “I believe everything happens for a reason. Yesterday I was leaving the convent to go to a place I’ve never been before ... you were on that train and Sister Catherine chose to use that compartment ... and then Sister Catherine was taken ill. I suppose you’d just call that coincidence, but I wouldn’t. I’ve just spent several hours in a beautiful church, asking God for guidance, and I feel more sure about this than I have about anything since I received my calling. It was meant to be, Tommy ... I’m sure of that!”

“That’s good, because I rang Ma and told her we might be eating out tonight.”

Bernie hadn’t arrived when they got back so they sat in the kitchen with Tommy’s mother, drinking tea. “ ... It’s such a beautiful church, Tricia; is that where you usually attend?” The older woman looked a little embarrassed. “Only usually the Mass on Sunday, I’m ashamed to say!”

“There’s no need to be ashamed, Tricia, if God is in your heart, one day a week is enough! Does Dermot go with you?”

“Oh, yes! We usually walk down together.”

“And what about you, Tommy Malone? When was your last Holy Communion?” Tommy smiled that smile.

“Oh, a long time before I got my first tattoo. I told you, Mary ... like Robert Johnson, I stood at the crossroads at midnight and I sold my soul for rock ‘n’ roll!”

“ ... Tommy, don’t even joke about such things!” his mother protested.

“It’s okay, Ma, Mary already knows my feelings about it.”

Just then another person appeared in the kitchen. She stood behind Tommy’s chair and put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

“Hello, Ma!” she exclaimed, “ ... And you must be Mary; nice to meet you! I think it’s you I’ve come to see. Shall we go up to my ... your ... room?”

“Nice to meet you, too, Bernie! Please ... if you don’t mind.”

“What’s going on, Love?” Tricia asked her son, “Something, I know.”

“Don’t worry, Ma. The boss lady at Mary’s convent said it’s okay if I show her around a bit.

“ ... Ma, do you really want to pick up the paper tomorrow and read a story about Tommy Malone and the Mysterious Nun? You know I don’t care about that rubbish they write, but we’ve got to protect Mary from that. So I’ve asked my little sister to turn her from a nun into a civilian. It’s called the art of misdirection: we dress her up in some of your daughter’s clothes and then she’ll just be another rock chick and blend into the crowd ... and then the next day the disguise can come off and she’s Mary Teresa, nun, again.”

“I think most of my clothes will fit you, Mary; how different do you really want to be?”

“ ... Oh, very different, please,” Mary Teresa replied, “The only thing is, it’s got to be cosmetic ... nothing permanent ... although I’ve always wanted hair like yours.”

“ ... Well, you never know ... even that might be possible! But first things first: I know nuns have rules about modesty, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to take your clothes off, Mary. Like all artists, I need a blank canvass to start with.”

“ ... Everything?”

“ ... Mmm... ‘fraid so!”

Like all of her peers, Mary’s clothes were simple and durable; they were provided by the convent and intended to last. A dark gray skirt that was worn below the knee and a plain, long-sleeve shirt, buttoned to the neck, with the ensemble being completed by opaque black tights. The word that perhaps best described her underwear was ‘utilitarian’: briefs that covered everything from her navel down to the tops of her thighs and a bra that supported but also fully enclosed her breasts.