If she were to sit here, right at the back, just inside the door, nobody will see her. She likes to do this; slipping into the chapel just as Compline begins and watching the Sisters at Night Prayer. The sanctuary light glimmers in its stone niche, and candles have been lit in the terracotta bowl at the feet of the statue of Our Lady. Mother speaks the familiar opening words: ‘“The Lord grant us a quiet night and a perfect end.”’ There are owls calling and the faint scent of Michaelmas daisies mingles with the traces of incense. Sister Nichola breathes deeply, happily. How pure and sweet is the face of that young novice in her stall beside Our Lady, half hidden in the gathering shadows: how happy she looks and how clear the voices are as they begin to sing the evening hymn together. ‘Before the ending of the day, Creator of the world we pray, That you with steadfast love would keep Your watch around us while we sleep.’ Sister Nichola closes her eyes and her thoughts drift. Memories shift like smoke: ‘I would never make a nun!
