Secrets

We'd never have made it this far if Sister Agnes hadn't kept our secret from dad's new wife. My older sister Laura says it's a sin to lie, even if it is to someone who's a sinner. That's what Sister Agnes says our stepmother is; an original sinner, with lips of crimson and a name to match. Dad says Lola is her real name, but Sister Agnes thinks it's more likely to be Lorraine. Lola used to be dad's secretary and Sister Agnes says that secretaries are always called Lorraine or Tracey; never Lola. Dad's new secretary is called Florence. He's been spending more and more time at the office since he and Lola had that big fight. 'The girls need a proper education and I can't look after them all by myself,' she'd said in her posh nasal voice, knowing very well she'd get her way as usual.

Not sure what proper things she thought we'd learn at a convent school south of Barking. Sister Agnes did teach us how to pluck a chicken, and she showed us how to make biscuits out of cornflakes and a Cadbury's flake. I suppose that's more than Lola has ever done for us. It's the one good thing that came out of us going to boarding school at Saint Theresa's of Effingham; we met Sister Agnes. Grandma Rosa used to go to a convent school hidden deep within the hills of the Alpujarras, in her Spanish homeland of Andalusia. I'm named after her, but how different our lives are.

We went to Spain only once before, to collect Grandma after Grandpa Antonio died. Mum was still with us, and we were keeping a different kind of secret from grandma then. 'It'll only be for a few months, Mama,' Mum had lied; just like Penelope Cruz in that film, where she pretends she will return home to her friends and family after she's cured, but we all know that she won't. She's my favourite actress in the whole world, because she looks just like our mum did, even though mum was prettier and didn't have a moustache. I don't think dad likes Penelope Cruz, because he always switches channels straight away when she's on TV. It's quite some time now since we've seen him cry.

'What's in the plastic container?' the security man asked when he searched Sister Agnes's bag at the airport. He had hairy ears and smelt of soup, but not like the Gazpacho that Mum and Grandma used to make with tomatoes and almonds. 'A special cake mix,' Sister Agnes answered without the slightest worry. She even smiled at him, all innocent and sweet. I did see her squeeze the silver cross that hangs round her neck, though. I suppose nuns are allowed little white lies now and then, what with working for God. Laura and I told a lie to the pretty stewardess on the plane when she asked us if we'd enjoyed our in-flight meal. 'It was delicious, thank you very much.' Good thing Grandma wasn't there to see the rubbish they'd wanted us to eat, all wrapped in foil and looking like plastic. We pushed it around on the miniature tray for a bit and Laura hid some in her leather rucksack. Even Sister Agnes didn't touch her food, and she always has second helpings at school. By the way, I owe Laura fifty pence. Sister Agnes did fit into her seat. Only just. We would have booked the seats with the extra legroom, but they each cost twenty pounds more. This way maybe dad won't notice that Laura used his Visa card to pay for the flights. Thank God for the Internet. Lola is going to go bonkers when she finds out.

I didn't know nuns could drive cars. At least not that fast and up steep, winding mountain roads. 'I wasn't born a nun, you know!' Sister Agnes growled at me, whilst showing me her driver's licence. I would never have recognised her. How could she have cut off all that lovely long red hair? Grandma Rosa used to say that if a woman cuts off her long hair she gives up part of her soul. That must be why nuns cut off theirs; to give bits of their soul to God. I must remember to ask Lola what happened to hers. Not her soul; her hair. It is yellow and cut short and spiky, as if a mouse has eaten most of it. Maybe one day her hair will grow long like Mum's used to be. 'Maybe that way she'll become a nicer person,' I suggested, just when the car we rented at Granada airport came to a halt. 'Fat chance,' said Sister Agnes, as she put on the handbrake. I hope the brakes hold, 'cause this road is steeper than any other I've ever seen.

I still can't believe Sister Agnes has brought us here, to Las Coronas Immaculadas. Or, what's left of it. A bunch of crumbling ruins in the scorching summer heat. I can hear crickets, who sound as if they are the size of small cats, and the smell from the wild rosemary bushes is so strong, it's making Laura light-headed. Imagine that Grandma was my age when she went to school here more than eighty years ago. The nuns that taught her obviously weren't as nice as Sister Agnes. I expect they weren't half her size either, what with only goat stew and bread all winter. And what cold winters they must have been, up here in the middle of nowhere. I never knew it snowed in Spain, but on that faded black and white photograph I hide in a shoebox under my bed, Grandma and two of her friends stand in what must be a meter of snow. I think that's the wall where the photograph was taken. I wonder who took it and where they are now.

Looking at the valleys and mountains you can see from up here I'm beginning to understand why grandma cried a lot. She must have missed her home so much. She also never approved of her daughter marrying a boring English man. At least that's what Laura heard Mrs Morley from next door say to Lola once. I don't think Mrs Morley is a nice person and Sister Agnes says she's just bitter that our dad didn't marry her daughter Grace; she's the one whose eyebrows meet in the middle, and Sister Agnes thinks she has a cleft chin like Kirk Douglas. Not sure who that is.

What I do know is that our mum really, really loved our dad, but I think that even she never felt at home in Croydon. How could she, having grown up in this paradise? Laura and I have decided that as soon as we're old enough we'll come and live here. I guess we'll have to keep that a secret as well for the time being. One to add to all the others.

'Are you ready?' asked Sister Agnes. I wasn't sure I'd ever be ready to let go, but I opened the container anyway. Oh my God, how we screamed. It went all over Laura's jeans, turning them from deep blue to the faded colour of the sky above us. How was I to know that a gust of wind would appear just then and play havoc with the ashes? Our Mum and Grandma's ashes. They went all over Sister Agnes's dark habit, before gently floating towards the valley below, just the way we'd planned it, before sneaking off to Spain. I shiver when I imagine how Lola will hit the roof, and it will all be Dad's fault for letting us run wild and raising us without discipline.

Bits of the ashes sparkled like diamonds in the hot air around us, and for a moment I thought I could hear Mum and Grandma's laughter, the way they used to laugh while cooking together. Only this time I was sure they were laughing about Lola's hair. But it turned out to be Sister Agnes. She squealed with laughter as she pulled white bits of ash from my long dark hair. I will never cut it off. Not for God or any man. And that definitely won't have to be a secret.