The diary told me I had until one o’clock that day.

It was quite unusual really, the morning playing out exactly as I’d read the night before. Rosaleen waking me, telling me to stay home, and it seemed so obvious then-the second time round-that she just didn’t want me visible to the rest of her little world. Imagine the horror and shame of having to tell people that Mum and I existed; that a man had taken his life, the worst sin of all. I’d felt angry about that and had to fight my desire to demand I go to mass too but I stayed under the covers, and as I listened to their car drive away in the sepia-coloured day, here’s where my day differed to the diary. It was unusual, having things happening that I felt had technically already happened, but I was sort of getting used to it.

Instead of falling back asleep after Rosaleen and Arthur had driven off, I got dressed and ran downstairs. I was sitting on the garden wall when the yellow Cinquecento came flying down the road, with the window rolled down.

‘Ah!’ Sister Ignatius’ eyes lit up. ‘Just the girl I wanted to see. Are you coming to mass?’

I looked in the car at the four nuns squashed together.

‘Oh, you can sit on Sister Peter Regina’s knee,’ she teased, and I heard a ‘pah’ from inside. ‘We sing at all the morning masses. You’re part of a choir, you should join us if the laryngitis isn’t still at you.’

Can’t, I mimed, grabbing my throat and opening and closing my mouth.

‘Gargle some salt and you’ll be as right as rain,’ she glared at me, then brightened. ‘Thanks for the book, by the way.’

‘You’re welcome,’ I broke my silence. ‘I picked it especially for you.’

‘I thought so,’ she chuckled. ‘You know at the beginning, I didn’t like her, Marilyn Mountrothman. She was stuck up and expected far too much, but by the end I grew to love her. Just like Tariq. It didn’t seem an obvious pairing but the way he knew just what she was thinking all the time, particularly when she was crying about the message from her father but wouldn’t tell him. Oh, that got me, I must admit. But he figured it out. He knew that she loved him. Smart man! I suppose that’s how he made his millions and became the oil tycoon. I like it when they put the photos of them on the front covers. It helps me visualise them all the way through. Him with his hair slicked back and all those muscles…’

‘You actually read it?’

‘Oh, yes, of course I did. Sister Conceptua has started it now.’

The woman in the front passenger seat twisted around. ‘Don’t tell me what happens. He’s just chartered the private plane to Istanbul.’

‘Oh, you’ve the best bits to get to yet,’ Sister Ignatius clapped her hands. ‘Two words-Turkish delight,’ she said.

‘I said sshh,’ Sister Conceptua snapped. ‘You’ll give it away.’

‘We have to go,’ Sister Mary barked from behind the wheel. ‘We’ll be late.’

‘Think of coming next week, okay?’ Sister Ignatius said to me then, seriously.

‘Okay,’ I nodded. ‘I’m thinking of going back to bed for the morning. If you see Rosaleen, you might just let her know that?’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you?’

‘Yes, I’m really thinking about it.’

‘I see. What are you getting up to?’

‘We really have to go,’ Sister Mary started up the engine.

‘Wait,’ I panicked slightly. ‘I just need something from you. A name.’

Moments later I was watching them fly around the corner, no indication or brake lights visible, but Sister Ignatius’ arm high in the air in a salute.

It was ten o’clock.

I had my priorities in order and Mum was top of my list. I flicked through the phone book and searched for the name Sister Ignatius had given me. The phone rang once, twice, three times, then just as it went to answering machine a man answered.

‘Hello?’ he croaked, then cleared his throat. ‘Hold on.’ I could hear he was out of breath and he fought with trying to turn the answering machine off.

I cleared my throat. Tamara Big-Girl had work to do.

‘Hello, I’m calling to make an appointment with Dr Gedad.’

‘Uh, he’s not here.’ He sounded half-asleep. ‘Can I take a message?’

‘Em…no…will he be back before one o’clock?’

‘His surgery isn’t open on Sundays.’

I paused. There was something familiar.

‘It’s actually a house call.’

‘Is it an emergency?’

I held my breath. Then: ‘Weseley, is that you?’

‘Yeah. Who’s this?’

Lie, Tamara, lie, make up a name.

‘It’s Tamara. Sorry for waking you.’

‘Tamara.’ He sounded a little more awake now. ‘Are you okay? You need a doctor? He’s my dad.’

‘Oh…it’s not for me, it’s for my mum. But it’s not an emergency or anything. Do you think he’ll be back by one?’

‘I don’t know. They go to mass and then the market. Usually they’re back at around one.’

‘What is it with the bloody mass and market here?’

‘I know, they all love it.’ He yawned. ‘I think my dad goes just to hand out business cards to anyone that coughs.’

I laughed. ‘Did you stay out much later last night?’

‘About another hour. Didn’t you hear us?’

‘It took me about a half-hour to climb back into my bedroom. I closed the window by mistake and broke all my nails prying it back open.’

He laughed. ‘You should have come back, I’d have helped you get in. I know where Arthur’s secret stash of tools are. Do you want me to get my dad to call around at one?’

‘No, it’s okay. Before one suits me best.’

‘What about tomorrow?’

I would have to wait another week for Rosaleen and Arthur to leave. Unless…I had one small window of opportunity when Rosaleen called to her mother.

‘Between ten and eleven tomorrow?’

‘I’ll run it by him. I’ll get him to call you.’

‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘He can’t call here.’

‘Well, do you have a cell?’ he teased.

‘No.’

‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘It’s far too early in the morning for me to have to think. Give me a second.’

I waited.

‘Right, I take it you don’t want Rosaleen and Arthur to know, so when my dad gets back I’ll find out if he’s available and then I’ll meet you at the castle at two to let you know.’

I smiled. He could have phoned; he wanted to see me again.

I rang off, feeling fired up. One thing almost crossed off my list.

Mission two was to explore the bungalow. Or at least to have a look in the back garden; I didn’t want to scare the life out of the old lady. With my alibi prepared, I emptied a few berries into a bowl, I boiled the kettle, toasted a few slices of bread, scrambled a few eggs…very badly, managing to burn the bottom of the pan. I soaked it in the sink and dreaded the look on Rosaleen’s face when she saw it. I put everything on a tray and covered it with a tea towel just as Rosaleen did each morning. Feeling proud of my first attempt of breakfast, probably ever, I left the house and made my way, very slowly, so as not to spill the cup of tea I’d prepared. With two hands holding the tray, climbing over the gate without being able to lean on the pillar was difficult. The towel became soaked with tea but I pressed on. I passed the net-curtained living room and walked down the side passage. Again, my vision was taken from me as a bright light shone directly at my face. I closed my eyes tightly, then tried to balance the tray against the wall on one side so that I could rub them. I almost dropped the tray, making a racket as cups and plates collided. When the light had left my eyes and my vision returned, I continued on, choosing to look at the ground as I walked. As soon as I reached the end of the passageway, I stepped into the back garden and prepared to be blown away, prepared to see a little old lady tending her garden, giant mushrooms and fairies and unicorns and an entire magical world that Rosaleen was hiding. But I saw nothing. Nothing but a long grassy field, with trees on either side. Rosaleen’s mother didn’t have green fingers, that was for sure.