The voice was closer this time. Betty set out more confidently, striding in what she hoped was the right direction.
The next sound made her stop. It wasn’t a voice. It wasn’t Mrs Mason calling for her. It was a growl of an engine, then a screech of brakes, and then a cry. The crowd around her stopped milling in all their different directions and turned, like Betty, towards the cry.
Then the voices all started up at once. ‘Someone go into one of the shops and call the ambos.’
‘What happened?’
‘Is she all right?’
‘Oh my God.’
Betty pushed and shoved as hard as she could to get to the front of the crowd. Mrs Mason must be in the crowd, so if she could get to the front Mrs Mason would see her, wouldn’t she? And then everything would be all right.
But she couldn’t get through. The throng of people was too great. Eventually she called out. ‘Help me!’
A woman’s face appeared, ducking down to her level. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Mrs Mason….’ Betty gulped out the words but couldn’t finish.
‘Mrs Mason? Is that your mother?’
Betty shook her head. ‘I live with her.’
‘OK. I’m sure we can find her.’
Betty let the stranger lift her up and carry her through the crowd, shouting at people to let them through.
‘Can you see your lady now?’ The woman turned around so Betty could look at the people gathered.
Betty shook her head. The woman turned again. Then Betty saw Mrs Mason. She was lying in the street. There was a motorbike on its side right next to her, and a man dressed in black leather sitting on the pavement. A truck was stopped on the other side of the road, its cab twisted away from them at a funny angle. Betty cried out.
‘What’s wrong?’
She couldn’t make the words. She stuck out a hand, finger pointing towards the figure stretched out on the road.
‘Oh dear God,’ the woman muttered. She turned her body so Betty couldn’t see Mrs Mason lying on the road, but it was too late. The image was fixed inside her head. Eventually a siren sounded and a couple of cars with flashing lights pulled to a stop in the empty street alongside the abandoned truck. The woman who was still holding Betty stepped forward to the men who jumped out of the cars.
‘I think this is her little daughter,’ she whispered.
Jane
In those first weeks at school, I tried to keep to myself, but it was hard. There were two hundred girls at Our Lady, and very few places to be alone. All the girls ate together in a large dining room and slept six to a dormitory. We kept our clothes in small cubicles, but even then three girls shared a single space.
I never minded sharing my space when I lived with Mum, but here it was different. Here, instead of letting one another be, it felt like everyone was competing to be the best and the most popular. And I hated getting changed in front of the other girls. Showing your body was wrong. Mrs Reed had said that when John had looked at me, and I’d known that she’d been right.
This meant I was sometimes late for chapel or late for class. I hated it when the nuns got angry, and sometimes I was punished for lateness, but I still was not going to get undressed in front of the other girls.
On weekends, we were allowed to wear ordinary clothes instead of uniforms. I only had three dresses. They were hand-me-downs from Emma and when I first got them, I thought they were pretty. At school I learnt differently.
‘Oh look, Jane is wearing the same dress she wore last weekend.’
‘Look! It’s been ripped and mended. She’s got no-one to buy her a new one.’ Miranda was the most popular girl in our class. Where she led, the others would follow. ‘Because she’s an orphan.’
‘I am not an orphan!’
‘Then why don’t your parents come to visit you like mine do?’
‘Because they live a long way away.’
‘No. It’s because they’re dead and you’re an orphan.’
They all started chanting. ‘Jane is an orphan. Jane is an orphan. Dead. Dead. Dead.’ I tried to ignore them and walk away, but they stood in front of me, just chanting.
‘I am not!’ I struck out at the nearest girl. Not Miranda. She’d learnt by now not to stand too close to me.
The girl screamed very loudly. I hit her again. Then one of her friends pulled my hair, so I hit her too. Then they were all screaming, and pushing and shoving me.
‘Girls. Stop it this instant!’ Sister Mary Gabriel was the deputy headmistress of the school.
‘They started it.’ My words rushed out. ‘They said I was an orphan, and I’m not. I hate them!’
‘She hit me,’ one of the other girls wailed.
‘Enough!’ We all fell silent. ‘Jane Eyre, did you hit her?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘But nothing. We do not hit people. This is wrong. Our Lord teaches us that. You will go to the chapel and pray to the Holy Mother to forgive you. Miranda, you and your friends will go to the library. I want a one-page essay from each of you about the virtues of being kind to those who are …’ She glanced back in my direction. ‘Less fortunate than ourselves. Now go, all of you.’
When I got to the chapel that day, a girl called Helen from my class was there. I had never spoken to her before, but I’d always wanted to. She wasn’t into make-up and gossiping like the other girls. She didn’t have fancy clothes either, but she did have lovely reddish hair. She didn’t smile very often, but when she did, her face seemed to glow. She kept herself a bit separate from the others. She never joined in with their chants. And she was so clever. She always knew the answers to the teachers’ questions, and she wasn’t afraid to put her hand up to answer, even though the other girls called her ‘smartie’ and 'teacher’s pet'.
I didn’t say anything. I slipped into the next pew and knelt down. I didn’t pray for forgiveness for hitting the other girls. I prayed for forgiveness for whatever I’d done that meant I’d deserved to be sent to Mrs Reed’s house and then here.
‘You shouldn’t fight with them.’
I sat back and turned to look at Helen.
‘How did you know I was fighting?’
‘Your dress is torn. Why do you always fight them, Jane?’
