A Girl Called Blue by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Page A

ordinary self stared back at her from the mirror.
    After the party was over she was called to Sister Regina’s office. The nun was talking on the phone so Blue stood in front of her desk. She looked around. She was spending so much time in this office she knew every piece of furniture and all the paintings and ornaments in it.
    Her phone conversation ended, Sister Regina launched into a tirade about Blue’s bad behaviour.
    ‘Today you let down St Brigid’s Home, coming to the party dressed like a savage,’ she declared.
    Blue defended herself. ‘I thought it was a good costume.’
    ‘How in the name of God did you get the idea of dressing in such a fashion? The other girls were content to be nurses and witches and Little Bo Peep, but you – you always have to be different.’
    Blue stared at the carpet, not daring to say anything.
    ‘Tell me, was it Sister Monica who put you up to this, with her tales of Africa and living in the bush? Was that it?’
    ‘No!’ shouted Blue. ‘Sister Monica had nothing do with it. She didn’t even know I was dressing up.’ She definitely didn’t want to get the old nun into trouble. She knew the head nun had little regard for Sister Monica and considered her soft in the head and far too lenient with the children.
    ‘Then, where did this notion come from?’ Sister Regina persisted.
    ‘I just made it up.’
    ‘Made it up? The feathers, the beads, the paint, the skins? How did you know about all that?’
    ‘Well, I saw it in a book.’
    ‘A book! What sort of book?’
    ‘A geography book,’ She half-fibbed, feeling her heart pounding.
    ‘A school book?’
    ‘It’s a yellow book, a magazine really – it’s called National Geographic . I like reading it and looking at the pictures.’
    The nun was writing something on a pad.
    ‘You know I have to punish you, Bernadette. Bad conduct cannot go unchecked. How many times have I had you in this office? And has it done any good? There will be no play time for you for the rest of July and since you have such a fondness for rosary beads you will spend that time helping Sister Rita in the workroom. Also, I told Mrs Nolan in housekeeping that you enjoyusing polishing cloths, so she will assign you extra work.’
    Blue wanted to say that it wasn’t fair, but experience had taught her that any form of protest would result in even worse punishment. She had to accept it.
    ‘What do you say?’ prompted the nun.
    ‘I’m sorry, Sister.’
    ‘There may be some sandwiches left in the kitchen. Ask Mrs MacFadden,’ ordered the nun, turning her attention to something else. ‘You may go.’
    Outside the nun’s office four of the older girls sat, waiting nervously to go in after her. Their faces were pale, all trace of the thick black eyelashes and back-combed hair gone. Carnaby Street was no more.
    There was nobody left in the hall, so Blue made her way down to the kitchen. The leftover tomato sandwiches were soggy, the egg ones smelly. Blue poured herself a glass of milk from the big silver jug on the table and sat down to eat. The cook ignored her as she cleaned up. She was in a rush home to her own family and had no time for gossiping with the institution’s children.
    Sister Monica appeared, her face lighting up when she saw Blue.
    ‘Mrs MacFadden, could you warm a glass of milk or some cocoa for poor Sister Angela? She’s not too well and I said I’d bring something up to her.’
    ‘Sister, I’m in a bit of a hurry. Can you manage it yourself?’ Mrs MacFadden protested, passing the nun a small saucepan from a cupboard. ‘You know where the cocoa is.’
    Sister Monica poured some milk into the pan and lit a ring on the large gas stove as Mrs MacFadden grabbed her bag and coat from the hook on the back door and left.
    Blue kept on eating her sandwich.
    ‘I saw you today,’ said the nun, smiling at Blue. ‘The beads and the feathers were marvellous.’
    ‘Sister Regina and the rest of the ladies didn’t think