When she’d started at the convent, Carla had been so terrified that she could barely put one foot in front of the other. She was the only new girl! Term had started ages ago. Everyone else would know each other. They’d be bound to hate her. But as soon as she’d walked through the gates with the statue of Our Blessed Mary looking down, Carla felt calmer.
No one was spitting. No one was drawing pictures on the walls. No one started to mimic her Italian accent. In fact, the little girl with the brace, whom she’d been seated next to in class, had a daddy who had come from Italy many years ago.
‘My daddy is with the angels,’ Carla had confided.
‘Poor you.’ After that, her new friend made sure she was included at break-time. It was, thought Carla happily, as she joined in the skipping game, as though all her dreams had come true.
Even the nun-teachers were nice, although their cloaks flapped like the witches’ in a book she’d just been reading. The nuns approved of the way Carla knew how to cross herself at the right place in morning assembly. ‘What a lovely voice,’ said one nun with a kind, soft face when she heard Carla sing ‘The Lord Is My Shepherd’ with a little tremor. And when she got stuck with long division, another nun sat down with her and explained exactly what to do.
‘I see,’ gasped Carla. Now it all made sense!
No one told her she was stupid. Or that she was slow.
There were only two problems. ‘We’re even now,’ Larry had whispered when he’d come over last night. ‘I had to ask a lot of favours to get you in there. So no asking for anything else. Do you understand me?’
Did a new school equal a woman in the car who wasn’t Mamma? Carla wasn’t sure. It wasn’t the kind of sum she could ask her new teachers about.
The other problem wasn’t as big, but something had to be done about it. After all, no one had a Charlie at school! Caterpillar cases were now last term’s craze. Instead, everyone had Kitty pencil cases. Soft furry ones in pink with plastic eyes that rolled and real whiskers made of plastic.
No asking for anything else, Larry had said. But she wanted a Kitty! She needed one. Otherwise she’d be Different with a capital ‘D’ all over again.
‘If my daddy was alive, he would buy me one,’ Carla confided in her new friend Maria as they sipped their soup, taking care to tip the bowl away from themselves as instructed. They had a proper dining room at the convent, with wooden tables instead of plastic ones that wobbled. They also had to sit up nicely and wait until everyone was served. You had to eat with your mouth closed instead of open. And instead of dinner, they ate lunch.
Maria leaned forward, the little gold crucifix swaying round her neck, and crossed herself. ‘How long has your daddy been in heaven?’
‘Since I was a baby.’ Carla stole another wistful look at her friend’s Kitty pencil case, which was sitting on her lap. It was even rumoured that Sister Mercy had one too that she kept in her office.
‘He broke a promise, you see,’ she added.
‘What kind of promise?’
‘I think it was a promise to stay alive.’
Her new friend gave a little shrug of sympathy. ‘I broke my arm last term. It really hurt.’ There was a light touch on her hand. ‘My uncle gave me a Kitty for my birthday without realizing I already had one. I keep it as a spare at home. You can have it if you want.’
‘Really?’ Carla felt a thrill of excitement followed by a heaviness in her heart. ‘But everyone will think I have stolen it.’
‘Why should they?’ Maria frowned. ‘If they do, I will say it is a present. When is your birthday?’
Carla knew that well enough. Hadn’t she been marking off the days on the calendar that hung on the kitchen wall? The one that had pictures of the town where Nonno lived, with its cobbled streets and fountain in the middle of the square.
‘December the ninth,’ she replied promptly.
‘That’s not far away!’ Her brace friend smiled toothily. ‘Then it can be a present. I got a new bike when it was my birthday.’
Maria was as good as her word. The very next day, she brought in a brand-new kitten pencil case with soft pink fur and rolling black eyes.
‘My very own Kitty!’ So soft. So warm. So comforting against her cheek. So cool.
Charlie scowled. That was all very well, but he should have talked more, like the old Charlie. It was time to move on. Now she could be like all the others!
That afternoon, they had Art. There were more paints and crayons at this school. Carla loved it! Maybe, if she listened really carefully to the instructions, she might grow up to be a real artist like Ed.
At the moment, however, they were making a collage by cutting out lots of pictures from magazines and sticking them on a giant roll of paper. It was going to be part of the Advent display, and all the parents would be coming! Mamma was even trying to get some time off.
‘May I have a pair of scissors?’ asked Carla casually.
The nun – one of the younger ones – handed them to her carefully, holding the blade away from Carla. ‘Be very careful, dear, won’t you?’
Carla treated the nun to one of her prettiest smiles. ‘Certainly, Sister Agnes.’
She waited a little while before putting up her hand. ‘Please may I go to the cloakroom?’
Sister Agnes, who was busy cutting round the Virgin Mary for another pupil, nodded. Now was her chance!
Quickly, Carla grabbed Charlie with one hand and the scissors in the other. Holding her breath, she ran down the corridor towards the cloakroom. Then, shutting herself in one of the cubicles, she snipped off Charlie’s head. He didn’t make a sound, although his face, severed from the rest of his body, stared reproachfully up at her. Then she cut his body in half. Still no sound. Finally, she stuffed his three bits into the bin at the side that said ‘Sanitary’. (No one knew what that was exactly, although it was rumoured that the older girls placed blood inside as a penance for sins like kissing boys.)
After that, Carla pulled the chain to make it look as though she had ‘been’, washed her hands, and walked back to the classroom, holding the scissors by the side of her swinging, pleated brown skirt. Quietly, she slid back into her seat and began cutting round a picture of baby Jesus in his crib.
Then she queued up at the desk to take another picture from the pile of magazines and papers.
‘What does this word mean?’ asked the girl in front of her. She was pointing to a picture of a boy and some writing underneath: M U R D E R.
Carla listened intently. She liked the way that questions were encouraged at this school. No one teased you for asking things. You could learn a lot.
‘Dear, dear. That shouldn’t be there. Let me take it away.’
‘Murder,’ piped up another girl who was near the front of the queue. ‘That’s what it spells.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘Murder, dear, is when someone takes away the life of another, just as they took away the life of our dear Lord. It is a sin. A grave sin.’
Carla heard her voice rise into the shocked classroom air. ‘Does it have to be the life of a person?’
Sister Agnes shook her head. ‘No, dear. It applies to the life of all the dear Lord’s creatures too. Look at St Francis and how he cared for every tiny living being.’
Carla felt bile rising into her mouth. Charlie had been a living being. She had murdered the new Charlie just because he was ‘old-fashioned’ and because her friend had pitied her.
‘Is there anything people can do to say sorry for murder?’ she asked in a small voice.
Sister Agnes’s forehead erupted into a field of frowns. ‘They can pray.’ Then she let out a sigh. ‘But there are some crimes that God cannot forgive us for.’ She crossed herself. ‘Remember, girls. Murderers go to hell.’
The nightmares began again after that. Sometimes Carla saw the new Charlie crawling around heaven in three pieces, his head looking for his other end. Sometimes, she saw him staring at her. ‘You murdered me. You murdered me.’
Sometimes it was the old Charlie, which was even worse.
‘What is wrong, my little one?’ Mamma kept asking. ‘You are happy at school, yes?’