Little Drifters: Part 3 of 4. Kathleen O’Shea

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       PART III: Betrayed

       Chapter 11: Watersbridge

       Chapter 12: Grace

       Chapter 13: Losing Tara

       Chapter 14: Abuse

       Chapter 15: Drugged

       Chapter 16: Attacked

       Chapter 17: Love

       Chapter 18: Losing It

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

PART III

Chapter 11

       Watersbridge

      It didn’t take long for me to realise that my return to St Beatrice’s was not going to be like the first visit. From the moment we left the doctor’s study we were taken to a house two miles down the road from the main convent, which we were told was called Watersbridge. This would be our new home. A small, skinny little nun with a pinched face was standing outside to greet me and Tara while Lucy and Libby recovered in hospital. The boys had been separated from us and placed in another house.

      ‘Children,’ the tiny nun announced, ‘I am Sister Helen. You will be living here with me in Watersbridge now and I expect you to behave yourselves or there will be consequences.’

      She looked at us both sternly, as if we had already offended her, just by being there. Behind her stood a lady who was one of the staff – she was also short but with huge breasts that seemed to drag her even closer to the ground. I was wondering how she managed to stay on her feet without toppling forward when I caught a brisk clip round my ear.

      ‘Jesus Christ!’ I exploded angrily. ‘What was that for?’

      Whumph! The nun hit me again.

      ‘Don’t stare!’ Sister Helen admonished. ‘And don’t say those words, taking the Lord’s name in vain. This here is your new house mother, Rosie. She’ll help you get settled in.’

      Tara started giggling next to me and I couldn’t help but smile too.

      ‘Don’t you start!’ Sister Helen warned her as she led us both inside. It was an ordinary-looking house – on one side there was a large living room with comfy-looking sofas, a television and a pile of magazines in the corner. On the other side of the hall was a room, closed off by a glass door, which we could see had nice chairs and an array of little knick-knacks on coffee tables. That was the ‘good room’, Sister Helen explained. Not for children! We could see the kitchen from across the hall.

      By now some of the children had come out to see us, the ‘new arrivals’, and I recognised a few from our previous stay in North Set.

      ‘Tara! Kathleen!’ one little girl called Gina exclaimed, running up, happy to see us. ‘What are you doing back here?’

      It was nice to see a few familiar faces – Jake, Miles, Victoria and Jessica – but there was no time for catching up.

      ‘Right, you dirty little tinkers!’ Rosie addressed us. ‘Upstairs for a bath. Now!’

      ‘Don’t be calling us that!’ I shot back. ‘We’re not tinkers!’

      ‘You’re whatever I say you are, Miss Mouth!’ Rosie pulled my hair down towards her, then with her other hand gave me a ringing belt across my head. No, this was not like North Set.

      We were bathed and Rosie scrubbed at us both rigorously. I was now nearly 10 and resented being pulled about like a child but Rosie didn’t pay me any mind. She yanked my arms, spun me about and pummelled my head with soap. Afterwards we were shown into a small bedroom and told to put on the nightdresses laid out for us.

      Unlike North Set we had the nun, Sister Helen, living with us permanently in the house and she seemed far stricter than Teddy and Mona. Clearly, Sister Helen ruled the roost and Rosie was her second in command. Apart from them, there were a few other members of staff whom we were gradually introduced to.

      Watersbridge had two floors – all the children’s bedrooms were on the upper floor alongside a bathroom, a study and rows and rows of locked cupboards. We learned later this was where all the children’s confiscated belongings had been locked away.

      The next morning a nurse nun came to attend to our sores, putting cream and oils all over us. When we were finally done we got dressed and ran out of our bedroom, hungry to join the other children for breakfast.

      ‘And where do you think you’re going?’ Rosie sneered at us as she stood at the top of the stairs, arms folded, blocking our way.

      ‘We just want to get our breakfast,’ I told her.

      ‘And you think that leaving your beds in that disgusting mess is acceptable, do you?’ She gestured over to where our sheets lay crumpled and tangled up on our beds.

      ‘No, Rosie.’

      ‘No! You two little tramps are going to have to learn to clean up after yourselves in this house,’ she said loudly. She seemed to be enjoying herself. ‘Now go back in to your rooms and make your beds. Properly. There’ll be no breakfast for either of you till you learn how to leave a tidy room.’

      So we returned to our room, smarting from her words.

      I didn’t understand it at all – they were allowed to call us all sorts of bad names like tramps and tinkers but the moment we said flippin’ hell or Jesus Christ we got walloped.

      ‘Ah feck this!’ Tara spat in frustration as she moved around her bed, tugging at the sheets, trying to pull them straight onto the mattress.

      We had looked into all the other rooms to see the beds made perfectly, with neat little corners tucked underneath. Nobody had even shown us how to do it!

      We must have been up there struggling for half an hour before Gina bounded into our room.

      ‘Aren’t you going to have breakfast?’ she asked us.

      ‘We’re not allowed till we’ve done these,’ I told her, showing her our poorly made beds.

      ‘Here, I’ll show you,’ she offered. Then she demonstrated how to lay out the sheets and fold the sides under one by one until the corners were all neat so you couldn’t see any creases.

      With Gina’s help we were soon done and after Rosie’s inspection we were finally allowed downstairs for