How to Be Brave Page 6

  “Hello,” said a voice behind Calla.

  Calla let out a tiny scream.

  “That’s not the reaction that I was after,” said the voice. It turned out to belong to a tall woman dressed all in black, with a white scarf wrapped around her head.

  “Who are you?” said Calla.

  The woman grinned. “Very good. You should always check who somebody is. My name’s Good Sister Christine. I am, as you might have gathered, a nun. I’m here to pick up a girl called Calla North who’s going to be with us for six months whilst her mum goes off on an expedition to the Amazon. I was going to be here to meet Calla from the train, were it not for the fact that the car didn’t start and Good Sister Gwendolyn had mislaid her wrench.”

  Calla stared at the nun in wonder. She sounded exactly like her mum. It was both comforting and slightly terrifying.

  Good Sister Christine clapped her hands together. “I don’t need to be Agatha Christie to work out that you are my new pupil in question and that providence has looked kindly upon my poor time-management skills.”

  “Who’s Agatha Christie?” said Calla.

  “A writer,” said Good Sister Christine. “She once wrote that it was worth dying to eat cake.“67 A particular cake. Not any cake. A rather ridiculous sentiment, if you ask me. Totally disregards the appeal of pastries. A well-timed savory can be much more powerful than a cupcake.68 But we can talk more about this sort of thing in the car. Come along.”

  And so Calla did.

  GOOD SISTER CHRISTINE

  The car was small and blue and very round. It looked like the sort of thing that very little children drew and told you it was a “car” when in fact, it looked more like an alien. The headlights even looked a little bit like eyes. Good Sister Christine opened the back door, took the suitcase, and swung it onto the back seat. There really wasn’t that much room to begin with. Half of the back seat was already full of dusty piles of books. Calla could still see the marks of fingerprints where they’d been picked up. “Where do you want me to sit?” she asked, trying to figure it all out.

  “On the hood. Just make sure you hold on as I go around the corners.” Good Sister Christine caught sight of the look on Calla’s face. “I’m joking. You shall sit in the front with me and I’ll tell you everything about the school and answer all your concerns in a very supportive manner. You really do look rather terrified and there’s no need to be. It’s a good school. I should know, I went here myself when I was young. I was friends with your mum, as a matter of fact.”

  “You’re Chrissie,” said Calla, suddenly putting two and two together. She stared at the nun as she got in the car. “Aren’t you?”

  Good Sister Christine nodded. “I am,” she said. “I was best friends with your mum until we just lost touch. You know how it is.”

  Calla did not know how it was but she had the sneaking suspicion that this was the sort of thing adults said when they didn’t want to admit that they Weren’t Actually Very Good at Adulting. She also had the sneaking suspicion that Good Sister Christine might not appreciate this being pointed out to her, so she did not say anything. Adults, in Calla’s experience, were very complicated creatures.69

  Good Sister Christine turned the engine on and started to reverse carefully out of the car park.70 “You’ll have a good time here. I promise you will. But if you need anything, then you come to me. I’ll try and do my best by you.” This little speech took them to the end of the lane and as Good Sister Christine waited at the junction for nonexistent traffic, she gave Calla a quick look. “You really are very quiet. Is everything all right?”

  No, thought Calla. “Yes,” she said.

  “You don’t have to be nervous,” said Good Sister Christine. The little car lurched forward in a manner that said quite the opposite. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Calla gave her a Look. She had not expected to be giving Looks this early in her new life, but Good Sister Christine really did remind her a lot of Elizabeth. “My mum’s on her way to the Amazon and last week she forgot how to lace up her shoes.”

  “She was always distracted when she was excited. I bet this trip has her mind completely blown. She’s brilliant, Calla, you know that, and I’m sure you also know that she’s been planning this trip for years. She was planning it when I knew her. She’d make notes in her prep book about the rainforest, and she handed in assignments about ducks at every opportunity she got. I’ll try to find her old notebooks if you like. We never throw anything away. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

  “I’ve never seen anything she did as a kid,” said Calla slowly. Elizabeth had long since sold everything in the house that could be sold, and much of those things had dated from her childhood. Sometimes Calla wondered if her mum had even had a childhood.

  “I’ll try to find you something in the store,” said Good Sister Christine. “I’ll bet when you read her old notes, you’ll feel like she’s standing right next to you. I suspect you’re cut from a very similar cloth.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” said Good Sister Christine.

  IN WHICH CALLA NORTH FORMS A FIRST IMPRESSION

  They drove out of the village and up a long and narrow road that seemed to get narrower and then narrower still until it was barely wider than the car itself. It was so tight that at points Calla felt as if she could lean out of the window and pick flowers from the hedges that they were driving past. Every now and then she couldn’t stop herself from breathing in when a branch or a twig seemed to stretch out right across where she was sitting, but somehow the little car kept going.

  “You really do look like Elizabeth,” said Good Sister Christine, after one particularly close encounter with the side of the road. “I’ve followed her career in the news. We all have. We get the newspapers or use one of the computers in the library to find out what she was up to. We’re so proud of what she’s achieved.”

  Calla thought about the days when they could barely achieve light bulbs at their house and narrowed her eyes at Good Sister Christine. She was not sure that the nun quite understood how the world treated somebody who was very clever about ducks and having the right biscuit in the tin for emergencies but not clever enough about things like Paying Bills and Having Enough Money for a Rainy Day. But she did not tell Good Sister Christine any of this, knowing that sometimes it is easier to let adults think what they want to think even if it is very far from the truth.71 “I’m very proud as well,” said Calla, which was, perhaps, the easiest thing to say under the circumstances.

  “Does she still play around with codes?” asked Good Sister Christine. “I remember her doing that a lot. I was never sure why, though.”

  “The other day she renamed everything in the kitchen after cake.”

  “What?”

  Calla sighed. She was so used to the strangeness of her life, sometimes she forgot others weren’t. “She was sick of calling the fridge ‘the fridge’ so decided to call it Battenberg instead.”

  “But that’s ridiculous,” said Good Sister Christine. “It’s clearly more of a lemon drizzle.”

  She stopped speaking as she wrenched the car around another corner and at last the School of the Good Sisters came into view.

  The school is an important building in this story, so you will allow me the indulgence of describing it with some detail.

  Much of the school was built by people with more ambition than sense. Rooms do not quite match up to windows and walls seem to be built in the middle of nowhere connecting nothing to nothing. The roofs are flat and leak during the lightest spell of rain. Unfortunately you can never quite predict from where or when the next leak will come and so there are certain corridors in the school that are, if I am honest, more bucket than carpet. Towers had been added in a haphazard sort of manner, most of which now house the girls’ bedrooms.

  The school was built from red brick, and almost all of it is encircled by a tall iron fence that is the sort o
f thing you might imagine being used in a Victorian zoo. It is not the most attractive of buildings and I fear, if you met it in the dark, you might want to run in the opposite direction. For example, as Calla North studied it, she realized that the front door looked more like a shadow than a door and that the windows on the upper floors were almost completely covered by ivy. The thought of sleeping in one of those rooms made a small shiver run up her spine and the only thing that stopped her from saying something was the fact that her mum had done it. And if she had, then so would Calla. She would be brave.

  Whatever it cost.

  “We’re here,” said Good Sister Christine.

  THE NEW HEADMISTRESS

  Calla had suspected that arrival at the School of the Good Sisters might be difficult, knowing how much she’d hated her old school, but she had never thought that it might involve Good Sister Christine dodging through the front door as though she was auditioning to play a ninja. It really was the strangest thing for anybody to do, let alone somebody who possessed all the nimbleness of a banana.72

  After a second she looked back and waved to Calla. “Come on. It’s safe. Quickly now. I’ll take you to your room.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be safe?” Calla wondered out loud, but Good Sister Christine was already moving back inside the building. Calla dragged her case after her and into a deserted hallway. There was no carpet on the floor, and the sound of her feet and the case was not the sound of somebody who did not wish to be noticed.

  She’d barely made it halfway down the hall when a door opened and a woman appeared from the shadows before them. She wore the same outfit as Good Sister Christine, but it looked completely different on her. Good Sister Christine’s dress and scarf were almost part of her, but this woman wore her clothes as though they’d been in an argument and weren’t talking to each other anymore. Her hair wasn’t covered by the scarf at all, but rather pulled back so tightly from her face that she looked as though she was in pain. It was a curiously fitting expression.

  Calla took a step back as the woman swept toward her. She really couldn’t help it.

  “You’re late,” said the woman.

  “Car,” said Good Sister Christine economically. “Wrench. Problems. Solved now, though. Calla really was very understanding of the situation. I think we need to enroll her in Good Sister Honey’s Advanced Mechanics class.”

  It was when Calla watched Good Sister Christine give the woman a big smile that she realized something very particular. Good Sister Christine did not like this woman. She did not like her at all.

  “We can’t continue to have these situations,” said the woman. “You know it’s a new broom this term, Christine. Things have got to change.”

  “Perhaps, Headmistress,” said Good Sister Christine. She gave the headmistress a big smile. It was the sort of smile that only smiled on the surface.

  Calla did not like those sorts of smiles.

  “There’s no “perhaps about it,” said the headmistress. “We’re already running late. I don’t have time for this. Is this all of her luggage? But where’s her trunk?”

  “I don’t have a trunk,” said Calla. “And if I did, it wouldn’t have fit in the car because of all the bo—”

  “Boxes!” said Good Sister Christine quickly. “I brought back some boxes for the girls to pack things into. So we can put things into them. Yes. Things.”

  The headmistress gave Good Sister Christine a long and peculiarly adult look, and for the moment seemed to have forgotten Calla even existed. It was a very useful thing for her to do because Calla was staring at the papers that the headmistress held in her hand. At the top of one of the sheets, just in the corner, was a familiar symbol. A duck with its wings crossed behind its back and, just beneath it, the words The Malus Organization.

  “What’s the Malus Organization?” said Calla, unable to stop herself. “I know that name—”

  The headmistress shifted the papers so quickly that Calla almost thought she’d imagined it. “One of the first things you will learn here,” she said coldly, “is not to ask impertinent questions. Now. You can call me headmistress when you talk to me, or Ms. DeWitt73 in absolute emergencies. Is that clear?”

  “Okay,” said Calla, and when Good Sister Christine made a Did you not hear what she just said? face at her, she added, “Headmistress.”

  “You’re a quicker learner than your mother.”

  “Excuse me?” said Calla, unable to stop herself.

  “Don’t interrupt me. Courtesy is next to godliness, and you are in need of both.”

  Calla was rather sure that both she and her mum had just been insulted. At least twice. She wasn’t quite sure what to say to any of that, and so she decided to change the subject. “Is Good Sister June around, please? She’s my guardian and the reason my mum sent me here. I’d like to say hello.”

  “You’ll be able to say hello later,” said the headmistress. “My word, I can see your mother in you and I do not like what I see. You’re going to have to sort yourself out.”

  Calla stared at her. She was appalled and fascinated in equal measure. The woman was mad. She was certain of it.

  “Take her to her room, Christine,” said the headmistress. “And while you’re there remind them all not to be late for tonight. The whole school must be there to send her off in the fashion she deserves.” She looked at the two of them and Calla’s battered suitcase one more time. “Disgusting,” she said, before marching off.

  And the whole building seemed to sigh with relief.

  Good Sister Christine tightened her hand on Calla’s shoulder and propelled her up a nearby flight of spiral stairs that seemed to wind upward for far longer than a flight of stairs had any right to. There was a small green door at the top and just before Good Sister Christine opened it, she paused. She said, “Did you like the headmistress?” Her voice was soft and unreadable.

  “I hate her,” said Calla furiously.

  “Well,” said Good Sister Christine, “at least you’re not the only one.”

  THE NORTH TOWER BEDROOM 74

  As anybody who has ever read a fairy tale knows, a tower is a remarkable place. It can hold mysteries, or spinning wheels, or girls with magical hair, and sometimes all three of those at once. Calla thought about all of this as she stepped through the door into the North Tower bedroom and she was not disappointed. The room was completely circular, with big and long windows cut into the walls at regular intervals, and the furniture was arranged at odd angles against the curves.

  “You’ll be sleeping over there,” said Good Sister Christine, pointing to a neatly made bed by the window. “I’ll get you some towels while I’m here and then you’re good to go.” She opened the nearest cupboard before closing it very swiftly. “A box of chocolates,” she explained with a small smile. “If I’d seen it, then I’d have had to confiscate it under our new and delightfully restrictive rules against sugar, sweets, and generally all kinds of fun.”

  Calla stared at her.

  “I am, however, suddenly blind,” said Good Sister Christine. “Isn’t it unfortunate? Make sure you have a caramel for me. Perhaps you can pray for my recovery.”

  As Good Sister Christine rummaged in a new cupboard and started to throw towels behind her, Calla went over to look out the window. The roofs were flat and big enough to hold a party on, and she rather thought that people had. There were scuff marks on the window ledge where somebody had climbed in and out, and the drop from the window to the roof itself was nothing more than an ambitious stretch. She’d never been out on a roof before. The idea was oddly appealing.

  “Don’t,” said Good Sister Christine, in that startlingly acute way of hers. “The roof is all very well and good, but I have to tell you not to go on it. There is nothing there of interest, and you are here to work. Were I to tell you about the opportunities it allows to creep into each other’s rooms at night, and hold midnight feasts, and to sit out and watch the sunset, and generally be where you are not expected to
be, then I would be doing something very inappropriate indeed.”

  Calla did not know what to say to this and so she did not say anything. It was perhaps the best decision to make under the circumstances.

  Good Sister Christine presented Calla with a pile of towels. One of them was so small that it looked like it was intended for a doll. “It’s a washcloth,” she said.

  Calla looked blank. “I don’t even know what that’s for.”

  “I’ve never felt older,” said Good Sister Christine. “It is a cloth for your face. Every girl here has one. Wash your face with it before you go to bed. Worship the delights of a washcloth.”

  “Okay,” said Calla. She made a mental note to never touch the tiny towel.

  “Edie and Hanna will be up once afternoon school finishes, and then you can all get acquainted.” There was the smallest of pauses before the nun continued. “You’re all due in the dining hall for supper. They’ll direct you. Make sure that you’re not late. It’s an important night.”

  “Okay,” Calla said again.

  “Any questions?”

  Oh, Calla had plenty of questions and most of them centered on how to make the nun not leave her here, in this room, by herself.75 Good Sister Christine seemed nice, if quite weird, and if she’d been friends with her mum then Calla could be friends with her. Calla wasn’t sure she was allowed to be friends with grown-ups, or teachers, or even nuns, but this was a very weird time and she was going to take support wherever she found it.