An Unconventional Love. Adeline Harris. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Adeline Harris
Издательство: HarperCollins
Серия:
Жанр произведения: Биографии и Мемуары
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9780007354269
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      My Story Love

      An Unconventional Love

      A lost little girl, a troubled life, the friend who stood by her

      Adeline Harris

      

      For Paul, Mary and David, also Julian

      Whilst kissing away your tears, I left others of my own

      Table of Contents

       Cover Page

       Title Page

       Chapter Seven The Unsettled Child

       Chapter Eight The New Priest

       Chapter Nine Lessons at the Presbytery

       Chapter Ten The Secret Bridge

       Chapter Eleven Jealousy in the Parish

       Chapter Twelve The Daughters of St Paul

       Chapter Thirteen St Bernard’s, Slough

       Chapter Fourteen The Shock of Loss

       Chapter Fifteen The Godmother Stand-in

       Chapter Sixteen Eleven Gatefield Street

       Chapter Seventeen Looking After the Father

       Chapter Eighteen Crewe and District Memorial Hospital

       Chapter Nineteen The On/Off Boyfriend

       Chapter Twenty A New Arrival

       Chapter Twenty-One Playing Happy Families

       Chapter Twenty-Two Life-changing Decisions

       Chapter Twenty-Three A Wedding, a Baptism and a Mass

       Epilogue

       Acknowledgements

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

       Foreword

      From my perch in the apple tree, I looked down and saw our new parish priest wobbling up the road on his bicycle. He was wearing a large black hat with a brim and was dressed totally in black apart from his white collar. His fat bottom bulged over the edge of the seat as he swerved from side to side, trying to avoid the puddles. I giggled at the sight, safe in the knowledge that even if he looked up he wouldn’t be able to see me through the apple blossom.

      He turned the corner towards our front door and I scrambled down, getting raindrops and pink petals all over my new dress and freshly brushed hair. I had to be waiting inside when the priest was shown in. I’d been drilled endlessly over the last week about being on my best behaviour – demure and silent and respectful – while Father Kelly went through the elaborate ceremony of blessing our house.

      I hurried in through the side door just in time to take my place in the semi-circle of family members who were standing in the sitting room, plenty of candles and holy water on hand. With a frown, Dad brushed the petals from my hair, grabbed my shoulder and pushed me to the front, where I’d be standing directly in front of the priest.

      Father Kelly came in and I saw that he had a round, red face, wispy blonde hair and too many teeth for his mouth. This is the man who was in persona Christi, in place of Christ. His visit was only marginally less important than if Jesus himself had come to call.

      He smiled down at me, and then I really don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was because I resented that I’d been told I wasn’t allowed to talk, or maybe it was the fact that the adults were taking it all so seriously, but I crossed my eyes and pulled down the corners of my mouth and made the funniest face I could.

      Surprise flickered across Father Kelly’s eyes for a moment, then he looked up at the adults and launched into the long, boring ceremony.

      Neither of us could have had any idea how pivotal that first meeting between a middle-aged priest and a little eight-year-old girl would prove to be. This was the man whom I would grow to adore, who would shape me into the person I am today. He would be the great love of my young life.

      All that was still to come. At our first meeting, I think it’s safe to say that I managed to catch his attention and start to work my way just a little into his thoughts.

       Chapter One Beesakope, Assam

      The first great love of my life was a big, plump Nepalese woman called Clara. She was my ayah, hired to look after me at the family’s tea plantation in Assam, northeast India. I emerged from the womb and was instantly snuggled into her soft, sari-clad bosom and lulled to sleep by the jingling of the dozens of coloured glass and silver bangles she wore right up to the top of her arms. I viewed the world from the safety of her lap and if I wakened in the night, I could hear her breathing, because she slept in a bed at the end of my own with her hand on my feet.

      I went everywhere with Clara-ayah: