‘You’re all very special and God loves each and every one of you,’ says Miss Brown. ‘Quiet now, children, let’s be on our best behaviour. Remember all the things we’ve practised.’
We tip-toe up to the front two rows in St Theresa’s church. This is our last practice for our first Holy Communions. I tell Sophia, ‘It’s like a wedding day. We have our beautiful white dresses, and everyone fusses over us, but we don’t have to have a husband. My big sister says it was her best day ever.’
We take turns going up to the altar to receive a milk chocolate button.
‘Pretend this is the Body of Christ you’re receiving,’ says Miss Brown. She whispers, ‘Remember to say “Amen”. Don’t be in too much of a hurry to swallow the chocolate.’
I know Sophia’s dress will be wonderful. She wears clothes from a special shop where they’re altered to fit her perfectly. Her dad takes her shopping for clothes. I can’t remember ever going shopping with my dad. Sophia’s mum and dad are Italian, which makes them different.
‘They have funny ways,’ my mum says.
Sophia whispers to me on the way out of church, ‘Let’s practise for our first Holy Communion at my house tomorrow after school.’
‘Okay.’ I want her to stop talking to me so Miss Brown doesn’t tell us off again. Miss Brown is my favourite teacher. She always speaks quietly and has sparkly blue eyes. I hate being told off, but Sophia doesn’t care. No matter how much she’s shouted at, even when she was sent to the Headmistress. Sister Ignatius put her nose near to hers, and yelled so you could see all her yellow teeth but Sophia didn’t blink. I’ve been told off a lot since being Sophia’s best friend.
My mum said last week, ‘Any more trouble and I’m going to ask Miss Brown to separate you two.’
Sophia lives in a big house with a pretty mummy and handsome daddy. She doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. Sophia has lovely clothes. I get fed up of wearing my sister’s clothes. Everything’s new and extra fancy at Sophia’s house.
Sophia isn’t good at taking turns so I allow her to go first with everything. I don’t like arguing, it makes my stomach wobble. Sophia pushes Carolyn in the queue at school and calls her Fishface. I know it’s not because she smells, it’s because she got to be Mary in the Christmas play and Sophia wanted to be. That was months ago, but Sophia never forgets.
Sophia’s mummy is always busy on the phone, or talking to her friends in their lovely lounge. I love going to Sophia’s house, and in my head I pretend I live there. I touch the long, gold curtains, and sit on the white settee that sinks like marshmallow. I cross my legs and point my toes like film stars do. I stroke the gold cushions that match the curtains. When we have tea, I like the way the knives and forks are shiny on the big glass table, and I like watching the waterfall in the garden. I go to the toilet lots at Sophia’s so I can try the different soaps and perfumes. I look at the back of my head as well as the front because there are mirrors everywhere.
It’s different at my house.
‘Can I take my dress to Sophia’s to practise for our first Holy Communion?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Please, I’ll be really careful, I promise.’
‘No. It’s to stay hanging up until next Saturday. After your first Communion, you can dress up in it all you want.’
‘Sophia’s allowed,’ I say in a little voice.
‘I bet she is,’ my mum says. ‘She’s a spoilt brat.’
I don’t want to tell Sophia, but have to. I bite my fingernails and tell her in the playground. ‘I’m not allowed to bring my dress to your house.’
‘Why not?’
‘My mum says I have to keep it nice for Saturday. She says I can dress up in it after our first Communion, so that’ll be good, won’t it? We could both be princesses.’
‘What good is that? Why don’t you come and not tell her?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Okay, then.’ Sophia flicks her hair back. ‘I’ll invite Laura instead.’ She skips across the playground.
I run after her. ‘Wait. Okay, I’ll bring it.’
Sophia spins round. ‘Great, see you tomorrow.’
I’m not sure what Sophia’s mummy does. Sometimes she’s upstairs, and sometimes she’s down. She spends a lot of time ‘getting ready’ but I don’t know what for. Her daddy has a restaurant and goes there every day to check the waiters and cooks are doing the right thing.
‘He can sack them on the spot’ – Sophia clicks her fingers – ‘like that.’
When I get to Sophia’s, her mummy is on the phone, I can hear her laughing. Sophia lets me in and we go straight upstairs.
I carefully pull my Communion dress out of my rucksack. I’ve put it in a polythene bag to keep it nice. I unfold it gently and lay it flat on Sophia’s big bed. I smooth out the creases.
Sophia goes to her massive wardrobe. It goes from one side of the wall to the other. She lifts her Holy Communion dress down. I open my eyes wide. ‘Wow, it’s like a popped champagne bottle. You know, when it sprays all over.’
‘Yes,’ she says, stroking it, ‘Daddy had it made. It’s Italian. It has over three metres of material.’
We strip down to our vests and pants. Then we carefully put the dresses on over our heads. It takes us ages to fasten each other’s buttons and tie our sashes.
My dress isn’t fancy like Sophia’s, but I love it. My nan made it for me so it’s extra special. I spin round and round in front of the big, long mirror. I look over my shoulder. ‘Oh, I love my dress.’
Sophia’s eyebrows meet in the middle in a big V. ‘Where did you get it from?’
‘My grandma made it for me. That’s why it fits so well. Yours is lovely, too,’ I tell her quickly, because Sophia’s eyes are going little. ‘It’s very splendid,’ I tell her.
Her face turns dark. She looks at herself in the mirror again, and then looks at mine. All of a sudden she spins and throws herself on the bed like a starfish. ‘It makes me look fat,’ she cries, pulling at the big puffs of material.
‘No, it doesn’t, it’s just got a lot of material.’
‘You think I look fat.’ Sophia covers her eyes with her hands. ‘That’s what you’re really saying.’
‘No, you’re not. I didn’t say that, I don’t think that…’
Sophia cries louder and hits the bed. ‘I’m big and ugly.’
I feel hot and red. Sophia is plump because her mummy and daddy allow her to eat anything she wants. She does look fat in her dress. She gets louder and louder.
‘Girls, is everything okay up there?’ Sophia’s mum shouts from the bottom of the stairs.
Sophia sits up. ‘Yes, fine, Mama.’
We hold our breath looking at each other, waiting until we hear her high heels clack across the black and white hall floor.
Sophia says, ‘I’ve got an idea, let’s put some make-up on. That would make me feel better.’
I nod quickly. ‘Yes, let’s.’
Sophia puts her finger over her mouth. ‘Shh, you wait here.’
I watch her cross the landing and slip into her mum and dad’s room. She comes back with a bag bulging full of make-up. ‘This will make me feel prettier.’ She tips the bag out on the floor; lipsticks, powder, eyeliner, eye shadows and blusher all roll across the floor.
We pick out colours and stand next to each other in front of the mirror. I tell her, ‘I’ve watched my big sister put make-up on lots of times.’ The mascara stick smudges again. ‘It’s harder than it looks, isn’t it?’
‘My mama can take hours getting ready. I think to do it properly it takes a long time.’ Sophia smacks her lips. ‘That’s what you do when you put lipstick on.’
We rub eye shadow on and off, on and off, until we get the best colour for each of us. When we finish we hold hands in front of the mirror. Sophia looks at herself and then at me. Her mouth turns downwards. ‘I think you need more lipstick on.’ She picks up the reddest, shiniest lipstick and holds my shoulder. ‘Keep still.’ She presses round and round my lips. ‘There.’ She stands back with a big smile. ‘See what you think.’
I turn round to look in the mirror, but Sophia goes over on her new Holy Communion shoes that have heels and falls into me. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she laughs, ‘I tripped.’
‘It’s alright.’ I laugh, too. I straighten myself and turn back to the mirror. My mouth drops wide when I see the red running down the middle of my dress. It’s like a deep bleeding cut. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Oh golly,’ Sophia says, eyes sparkling, ‘I had it in my hand when I fell. Soz.’
I run to the bathroom and grab one of the thick, fluffy towels. I don’t care if I spoil it. I run the towel under the water and rub my dress hard, trying to sponge the stain out. It smudges and the water turns pink. I scrub and scrub. I start crying. Sophia stands at the door watching me. I stare at her stupid, made-up face. ‘You did that on purpose.’
I push past her, pulling my Communion dress off. I bundle it into my bag. I’m so angry my hands are shaking. ‘You’re jealous of my dress, that’s why you did it.’
Sophia throws her head back laughing. ‘I would never be jealous of your clothes.’
I run out and down the stairs. I shout up to her, ‘I hate you.’
I creep in through the back door at home and straight up to the bathroom. I lock the door and pull my dress out. The stain is like candyfloss all over the front of my beautiful dress. I rub soap over it, trying again to get the stain out. All that happens is the candyfloss gets bigger and bigger.
I unlock the bathroom door after half an hour and wipe my eyes on my sleeve. I carry it downstairs; the dress feels very heavy.
My mum shouts, ‘You stupid, naughty girl. I strictly forbade you to take your dress to Sophia’s.’ She holds it up. ‘Look at it, it’s ruined.’
I start crying again and think I might be sick. ‘I’m never going to be Sophia’s friend again.’ I hiccup. ‘Is there nothing we can do?’
Everyone is cross with me, but the worst is my nan. She isn’t angry, but she’s sad. She shakes her head. ‘After all that hard work I put into it. Dearie me, whatever possessed you?’
Mum puts the whole dress three times in the washing machine. Eventually the stain more or less goes, but the dress is now slightly pink instead of white. There are little bobbles on it after all the washing, and it looks as if it’s been worn lots instead of brand new. My eyes water every time I look at it; my dress made completely new just for me, and it’s ruined.
‘And when Christ’s side was pierced, His great love for us gushed out with the mingling of blood and water.’
I listen to the priest and think that what happened to my dress is like being stabbed, it hurts so much.
Laura and Sophia are in the bench behind. They’re holding hands, they’re best friends now. Sophia’s daddy took lots of photos of them outside church. He’ll put them up in his restaurant. It will be like being very famous.
The priest says, ‘Because God loves us so much He gave his only Son for us to have His flesh and blood.’
I feel a tap on my shoulder and I turn round. Sophia smiles and points down at the bench. I stare at it. I can’t believe Sophia would dare do this in God’s house. She’s scratched I hate you into the wood with a golden crucifix she got for her first Holy Communion.
‘You’re wicked, you’ll go to Hell,’ I whisper. ‘He’ll have seen what you’ve done and He’ll punish you.’
Miss Brown leans across from the front bench. ‘Shhhh!’ She has her finger over her mouth. ‘I’m disappointed in you,’ she whispers to me. ‘After all I told you about behaving, and here you are chattering away.’
I feel my face go red. ‘Sorry, Miss.’
I look up at the cross and try to stop crying. I see Jesus with nails in His hands and feet and the blood coming out of His side. I shut my eyes tight thinking how much it must’ve hurt. I know God is all-powerful. He could make Sophia suffer as much as a crucifixion and even more if He wants. Sophia might burn in Hell forever for such a wicked deed.
I look for my mum and dad, who are somewhere on the other side of church. I find them and make myself smile at them. They stare straight ahead, their mouths are turned downwards. Nan is next to them and looks sad and old. I turn round and see Carolyn and Martha nudging each other. I know they’re giggling at my pink dress.
My eyes are prickly. I stare at the cross and the choir starts singing All Things Bright and Beautiful. They sound very happy.
I stare at the cross some more, and I understand something very important. I realise Sophia won’t get punished for her sins; life isn’t fair like that.
I look around the church one more time and feel outside it all.
I try to hold my head up high and sing, but it’s too hard, the words get stuck in my throat. I swallow and look away from the cross, because my first Holy Communion day is the day I stop believing in God.