After she had returned from her home visit to Jacinta O'Malley, Sister Frances entered the parlour. She handed a slice of cake to Sister Monica Joan and said "Ta da!" in mock glee. Sitting herself down on a footstool opposite her elderly consoeur, she continued, asking, "Are you feeling sad Sister Monica Joan?"
"Sad, is such a specific word" sighed Sister Monica Joan.
"I feel a bit sad, if I'm honest," Sister Frances admitted. "It was something a patient said. Not for the first time, but each time I hear it, it punctures me. She pointed out that we were the same age, but we're on completely different paths."
Sister Hilda slid into the room and sat herself at a chair at the wooden dining table. She opened her journal and picked up her pen, her attention flitting between mulling over the day and the conversation behind her.
"We've led such contrasting lives," Sister Frances continued, " I know some Sisters think all the time about the sacrifices that they've made to join the Order, but I don't. Hardly had to give up anything. I entered the convent when I was seventeen. Before The Beatles, before The Pill. I've never had a boyfriend, never mind, been kissed" she added, dropping her voice to a whisper.
Behind her, Sister Hilda could not help but allow herself a wry smile at Sister Frances, a smile which mingled empathy, understanding, and nostalgia for times long-since passed.
"Plus, I've never worn a mini-skirt" Sister Frances continued to chirp behind her "and I never will!" she added with a grin.
"The pinafore dress was quite sufficient" Sister Monica Joan replied, wisely.
"I was mortified when they made me wear that," Sister Frances admitted.
Behind her, Sister Hilda shifted awkwardly in her chair, knowing full well that she had embarrassed her younger Sister.
"The first time I saw a mini skirt was in Harrogate I was quite perturbed. I thought oh that poor lady's skirt's ridden up and no-one's told her," Sister Frances continued.
Sister Hilda allowed another smile to creep across her face, thankful that it was unseen by Sister's Frances and Monica Joan.
"So I did, I was very polite about it, but she gave me short shrift. Can I really understand my patient's problems when I'm, so, unworldly?
"You are faced with a conundrum. Conundrums require solutions. Do you have one?"
"No."
"I too am challenged and can find no answer."
Unable to hold her tongue any longer, Sister Hilda spun round in her chair and said "may I interject and venture a suggestion?"
"What do you mean Sister Hilda?" Sister Frances enquired inquisitively.
Getting off her dining chair and resettling herself down on an armchair beside Sister Frances, Sister Hilda began, "what is the best way to gain knowledge of a world in which we will never live in, or visit or experience?"
"Reading about it I suppose," Sister Frances replied after a moment, "but there's not books about mini-skirts and boy bands and those sorts of things. Is there?"
"Not exactly," Sister Hilda admitted, "but you're on the right lines."
"I believe Nurse Franklin has a familiarity with a certain variety of lady's publication," Sister Monica Joan remarked knowingly from the corner of the room.
Sister Hilda and Sister Monica Joan's eyes met in a torrent of sparkles. Sister Frances' gaze flickered between the two.
"You mean, women's magazines?"
"Precisely!" Sister Hilda exclaimed, getting to her feet with a leap that took her a foot up in the air, "nothing too racy don't worry. Hmmmm." She stopped, deep in thought for a moment, before springing across the parlour with another little skip. "Come on Sister Frances," she called.
"Where?" Sister Frances began, but Sister Hilda had already reached the threshold of the room.
Checking the coast was clear, Sister Hilda skipped out of the parlour with the spring of a far younger woman. Sister Frances trailed behind her through the corridor, down the stairs and until they reached the telephone. Sister Hilda's bright blue eyes flashed the length of the hallway to check for oncomers, before quickly lifting the receiver and dialing the surgery's telephone number. Sister Frances watched her with a combination of amusement and fascination. She always knew that Sister Hilda could be relied upon to pursue a task, but she was excelling herself this afternoon. The phone rang for a few seconds before it was answered by a familiar, prim, if somewhat curt, voice.
"Doctor Turner's surgery, how may I be of assistance?"
"Miss Higgins, it's Sister Hilda"
"Oh Sister Hilda, how may I help you?"
"I'm telephoning, on the cadge, so to speak, next time you're throwing out any magazines, would you mind passing them our way? I'm talking specifically about periodicals from the more groovy end of the spectrum." Sister Hilda could not help but allow herself a girlish grin. Sister Frances continued to watch her in fascination.
"Well I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the term groovy, but I could offer you Women's Realm and The People's Friend."
Sister Hilda's elegant nose wrinkled in displeasure "But" Sister Hilda replied in irritation, her voice on the verge of rasping "I was rather hoping for Tit-Bits"
"Might I remind you that this is a doctor's surgery, not a beauty parlour on The King's Road"
"Of course, Miss Higgins," sighed Sister Hilda, "I stand corrected."
Sister Hilda replaced the telephone receiver, not without shooting it an icy glare as she did so. She looked at Sister Frances, pulled her mouth into a frustrated contortion for a moment. Sister Frances, disappointed by the clearly unfavourable outcome of the telephone call, watched Sister Hilda as the latter's face shifted from frustration, to consideration, to elation before her very eyes.
"What is it Sister Hilda?" Sister Frances asked.
"Your allowance," Sister Hilda chirped.
"What about it?" Sister Frances replied.
"I've only ever seen you spend it on the odd bag of lemon sherbets, I'm sure you could make it stretch to the occasional glossy?"
Sister Frances stared wide-eyed at the elder nun. "You mean, go and buy, women's magazines?"
"Precisely!" Sister Hilda answered with a grin.
"But I might get seen, I can't go into a shop in my habit and buy, those."
"They're only magazines, you're making it sound like you're having to wear your habit to buy a box of sheaths."
Sister Frances flushed a violent shade of scarlet. Sister Hilda's cheeks flushed too. She composed herself and after a moment she said,
"That was remiss of me, please forget what I said."
The two women stood in silence for a moment, neither knowing what to say to the other. Eventually, Sister Frances turned to Sister Hilda and asked "have you ever had a boyfriend?"
"Yes," Sister Hilda sighed. Aware that there was more emotion in her response than she had anticipated, she continued, "it was during the War."
Silence descended once again. Sister Frances swore she noticed a tear welling in the corner of Sister Hilda's eye.
"What was he like?" she asked, gently placing her hand on her Sister's wrist.
"He was," Sister Hilda began, but at that moment, the bell sounded for Vespers.
The two nuns set off at a trot in order to collect their prayer veils and their breiveries. As they composed themselves in order to enter the chapel, Sister Hilda whispered,
"Come to my cell, after dinner, I will tell you then."