‘You’re a nun,’ I blurted out.

‘Yes,’ she laughed. ‘I am a nun. I was there when it happened.’

It was my turn to smile, and I laughed, everything making sense then. The cabinet of honey jars, the dozens of boxes around the walled garden, the ridiculous spacesuit on an old woman.

‘You know my aunt.’

‘Ah.’

I didn’t know quite how to take that response. She didn’t register surprise but nor did she question me. She was still holding my hand. I didn’t want to move my hand, seeing as she was a nun, but it was freaking me out. I kept talking.

‘My aunt is Rosaleen, and my uncle is Arthur. He’s the groundskeeper here. They live in the gatehouse. We’re staying with them for…a little while.’

‘We?’

‘Me and my mum.’

‘Oh.’ Her eyebrows lifted so high I thought they were caterpillars about to become butterflies and flutter away.

‘Didn’t Rosaleen tell you?’ I was a little insulted, though quite thankful for Rosaleen’s respect for our privacy. At least the whole one-horse town with no horse wouldn’t be talking about the new folk.

‘No,’ she replied. And then without a smile and with an air of finality she repeated, ‘No.’

She seemed a little cross and so I jumped in to defend Rosaleen and save whatever friendship they did or didn’t have. ‘I’m sure she was just protecting our privacy, giving us a little time to deal with…it…before she told people.’

‘Deal with…’

‘The move here,’ I said slowly. Was it bad to lie to a nun? Well I wasn’t exactly lying…I kind of panicked then. I felt my body heat up and go clammy. Sister Ignatius was saying something, her mouth was opening and closing, but I couldn’t hear a word of it. I just kept thinking about lying to her and of those Ten Commandments and hell and everything, but not just that, I thought about how nice it would be to say the words aloud to her. She was a nun, I could probably trust her.

‘My dad died,’ I blurted out quickly interrupting whatever nice thing she’d been saying. I heard the terrible tremble in my voice as I said that sentence and then all of a sudden, from absolutely nowhere, just as it had happened with Cabáiste, tears were gushing down my cheeks.

‘Oh, child,’ she said, immediately opening her arms and embracing me. The book separated us as I still clung to it, but even though she was a total stranger, she was a nun, and I rested my head on her shoulder and didn’t hold back, making snotty and throaty noises and all, while she rocked me a little and rubbed my back. I was in the middle of a really embarrassing wail of, ‘Why did he do it? Whyyyyy…?’ when a bee flew directly into my face and bounced off my lip. I screamed and pushed myself out of Sister Ignatius’ arms.

‘Bee!’ I shrieked, hopping about and trying to dodge it as it followed me. ‘Oh my God, get it off me.’

She watched me, her eyes lighting up.

‘Oh my God, Sister, please, get it off me. Shoo, shoo!’ I waved my arms around. ‘They must listen to you. They’re your bloody bees.’

Sister Ignatius pointed her finger and shouted in a deep voice, ‘Sebastian, no!’

I stopped jerking around to stare at her, my tears gone now. ‘You are not serious. You do not name your bees.’

‘Ah, there’s Jemima on the rose, and Benjamin on the geranium,’ she said perkily, eyes bright.

‘No way,’ I said, wiping my face, embarrassed by my breakdown. ‘I thought I had mental problems.’

‘Of course I’m not serious,’ and then she started laughing, a wonderful clear throaty childish laugh that instantly made me smile.

I think that’s when I knew I loved Sister Ignatius.

‘My name is Tamara.’

‘Yes,’ she said, looking at me and studying me as if she already knew.

I smiled again. She had a face that made me do that.

‘Are you allowed to, like, talk? Shouldn’t you be quiet?’ I looked around. ‘Don’t worry I won’t tell.’

‘Many of the sisters would agree with you,’ she chuckled, ‘but yes, I’m allowed to talk. I haven’t taken a vow of silence.’

‘Oh. Do other nuns look down on you for that?’

She laughed again, a sweet, clear, singsong laugh.

‘So have you not seen people for ages? Is this against the rules? Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Though Obama’s the US President now,’ I joked. When she didn’t respond, my smile faded. ‘Shit. Are you not supposed to know stuff like that? Stuff from the “outside world”? It must be a bit like being in Big Brother, being a nun.’

She snapped out of her trance and laughed again, her face seeming so childlike in a Benjamin Button way when she did that.

‘Aren’t you a peculiar thing?’ She’d said it with a smile and so I tried hard not to be insulted.

‘What’s that you’ve got there?’ she asked looking at the book that I was still hugging.

‘Oh, this.’ I finally stopped squeezing it. ‘I found it yesterday on the…oh, actually, I owe you a book.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘No, really I do. Marcus, I mean, the travelling library came by the day before yesterday looking for you and I didn’t know who you were.’

‘Then you owe me a book,’ she said, a twinkle in her eye. ‘Let me see, who’s it by?’

‘I don’t know who or what it is. It’s not the Bible or anything, you might not like it,’ I said, reluctant to hand it over. ‘There could be sex scenes in it, swear words, gay people, divorced people, things like that.’

She looked at me and pursed her lips, trying not to smile.

‘I can’t open it,’ I said finally, giving it to her. ‘It’s locked.’

‘Well, I’ll see to that. Follow me.’

She immediately set off out the other entrance of the walled garden with the book in her hand.

‘Where are you going?’ I called after her.

‘Where are we going,’ she corrected me. ‘Come and see the sisters. They’ll be delighted to meet you. And I’ll open the book while you do so.’

‘Uh. No, it’s okay.’ I ran to catch up with her and take the book back.

‘There’s just the four of us. We don’t bite. Particularly when eating Sister Mary’s apple pie, but don’t tell her I said,’ she added under her breath and chuckled again.

‘But, Sister, I’m not very good with holy people. I don’t really know what to say.’

She laughed that laugh again and waddled in her funny-looking suit towards the orchard.

‘What’s the deal with the tree with all the engravings on it?’ I asked, skipping alongside her to keep up.

‘Ah, you’ve seen our apple orchard? You know, some people say the apple tree is the tree of love,’ she said, her eyes widening, and when she smiled dimples pierced her cheeks. ‘Many of the young ones around here have declared their love to one another on that tree.’ She power-walked on, snapping out of her magical love story. ‘Plus, it’s great for the bees. And the bees are great for the trees. Oh, that rhymes,’ she chuckled. ‘Arthur does a wonderful job of keeping it. We get the most delicious Granny Smith apples.’

‘Oh, so that’s why Rosaleen makes three thousand apple tarts a day. I’ve eaten so many apples they’re literally coming out of my…’

She looked at me.

‘Ears.’

She laughed and it sounded like a song.

‘So,’ I panted, trying to keep up with her pacy strides, ‘how come there’s only four of you?’

‘Not so many people want to be nuns these days. It’s not, what you’d say, cool?’

‘Well, it’s not just that it’s not cool, which it totally isn’t by the way but, no offence to God or anything, it’s probably just a sex thing. If you were allowed to have sex I’d say loads of girls would want to be nuns. Though the rate I’m going, I’ll be joining you,’ I rolled my eyes.

Sister Ignatius laughed. ‘All in good time, my child, all in good time. You’re only seventeen. Almost eighteen, my word.’

‘I’m sixteen.’

She stopped walking then and examined me, a curious expression on her face. ‘Seventeen.’

‘Seventeen in a few weeks.’ I caught my breath.

‘Eighteen in a few weeks,’ she frowned.