The Other Bill Shakespeare

11. Madeline - Dinner, Christmas Eve 1968

Edith entered the garden, arm in arm with Bex. When the two separated, I was surprised to see that Edith's face was missing it's usual arrogant smirk.

She caught me watching her, and called my name. I looked away, pretending I didn't hear. Hastening to Aunt Odette's side, I asked if there was anything I could help her with, before the Sturrocks arrived.

"No, thank you Dear, but I think Edith wants to talk to you," Aunt Odette's eyes had an unusual shine to them. She blinked rapidly a few times, exhaled and looked at me earnestly. "Please, Madeline, talk to Edith. I know she doesn't deserve it, but it's Christmas...well, almost. Would you do it for me?"

My guardian angel, Simon, tried coming to my rescue, but he was intercepted by Bex. Alas, there was no escape. My heart hammered in my chest. Talking to Edith was the last thing I wanted to do this evening. Nevertheless, I heard myself saying, "of course I will, Aunty."

"Thank you, Madeline." Aunt Odette kissed my cheek and left me to face her daughter alone.

"Madeline!" Edith called again. "Madeline can I talk to you?"

"I think you'll find you can." I often replied sarcastically, when I was agitated. It was a bad habit - one that Mother Joseph was certain would get me into trouble one day...

Edith began to fidget with the beaded necklace she wore around her neck. "Well I... I'm glad to see that you're not afraid of me, Madeline."

"I'm not afraid of you, Edith I'm afraid for you."

"You too, eh? You sure you're only thirteen?"

I wasn't sure if she was complimenting me or mocking me, so I decided the safest option was to remain silent. That seemed to make Edith even more uncomfortable. The nervous fidgeting with her necklace became so pronounced, I was amazed she didn't break it.

Finally, she sighed. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you."

I shrugged. "You said you wanted to talk to me Edith, so talk!"

"Um... I... I wanted to say, that um... I'm sorry for how I've been behaving."

"Okay," I replied.

"Is that all you're going to say?"

"What do you want me to say?

"I want you to... I hope that you... Madeline, will you forgive me?"

I'd never seen Edith like this. She was trembling. Her cheeks were flushed, and I could see beads of perspiration glistening on her forehead. She raised her hands to her face, patting away the sweat and attempting to ameliorate the heat in her cheeks. I'm ashamed to admit that a part of me was enjoying her discomfort, until Father Coffey's resonating voice filled my mind, disrupting my uncharitable thoughts:

"Even as Christ lay dying on the cross, he forgave the men who tortured him. We must follow his example."

But...but Edith is so...

Father's voice refused to go away:

"This is why He taught us to pray - 'forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,' for if we cannot forgive others, then why should He forgive us?"

Ugh!

"Madeline, Madeline say something?"

"Huh?"

Father Coffey's didactic lilt was replaced with Edith's whiny pitch.

"Will you forgive me, Madeline?"

Oh, poo bum piss fart!

"Madeline...please."

"Yes, Edith, I forgive you."