1972
It is evening, recreation time, the half-hour between study and bedtime that is one of the few unstructured times in the convent day. Tonight is November 1st, All Souls night. Dee, Monica and I are slumped over a radiator, thrilling each other with ghost stories. Monica is in the middle of a complicated tale about a ghost ship that can sail on land when the rec. room door opens and Sister Martha, the parlour nun, comes in. Sister Martha is the height of most first-year girls but many times wider and rounder. She looks around and starts towards us.
“What’s this about?” Monica says. “Who’s been doing something they shouldn’t?” If a nun is looking for you, it generally means trouble.
“Jo Devereux, you’re to come to the parlour.”
“What’s wrong, Sister?”
“You have a phone call from ho
