Strange Sally Diamond

On another evening, Peter told us about the two nights he had spent in the room with Denise. Mark wanted to know every detail, but Peter was only seven at the time, he reckoned. His memory was hazy. All he remembered was that she was terrifying and heavily pregnant. Mark pressed him for details but the only other things Peter remembered were that she didn’t appear to have any front teeth and that she was in pain. She seemed old to young Peter. When the internet came along and he was able to start researching, he was shocked to discover that our mother was only nineteen years old at that time.

I contacted the guards and asked for the return of Toby, my teddy bear. They agreed, saying he was of no further evidentiary use. Now that I knew Peter had sent him to me, I was happy to have him back.

As we moved into mid-January 2020, Peter became morose and silent. He more or less stopped talking. When I pushed him to explain what was wrong, he said something about missing the summer in the southern hemisphere. I asked him if he intended to stay in Ireland, if he would look for a job with his experience and qualifications. He reluctantly admitted that he didn’t know what to do. I offered to teach him how to play the piano, but he shouted at me then. ‘You can’t solve every problem by playing the fucking piano, Mary.’

I was taken aback. He slammed the door behind him as he took off, leaving me upset, shouting, ‘My name is Sally!’

I didn’t want to tell Mark because I think he didn’t fully trust Peter. When Peter came back later, he went straight to his room. The next morning, he muttered an apology. I thought of all the coping mechanisms Tina had taught me. I calmly told him that I needed to be respected in my own house, that I was also dealing with anger issues, and that if he didn’t seek therapy, he would need to leave my home.

For weeks, we were careful around each other. He kept making promises to see a therapist, but when I pressed him for details he gave me the silent treatment. As much as I cared about him, he infuriated me. Tina said that was normal for siblings.

I finally realized what I had to do with the money in my bank account from the sale of Conor Geary’s house. It was Peter’s inheritance too, though Margaret never knew it. He was entitled to 50 per cent of it. When he asked me for a loan one day, I told him all about it.

‘You can start over, Peter, here in Ireland, where you belong,’ I said as I started to explain where the money had come from. ‘You can afford a comfortable home here in the village, and there’d be enough to start your own business too. You don’t have to work at all if you don’t want to.’

‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

‘That’s your inheritance from the sale of your father’s house.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Margaret left me that house in her will.’

‘You sold the house?’ His voice was raised.

‘Yes, but I’m giving you half of the proceeds from the sale.’

‘If I’d known … I’d have kept that house. It’s the only place that ever felt like home. I lived there with my dad, happily, until you came along.’ Tina would have said his anger was irrational. I hadn’t known he existed when I sold the house.

‘But your mother was chained to a wall, you never saw her. You never saw me.’ He didn’t answer.

He was even less communicative with me than before, but he was businesslike about the money and, after all, he worked in banking so he knew what he was doing. He suggested that I transfer the money into cryptocurrency as he had no way of setting up an Irish bank account yet. I assured him that I could give him as much cash as he needed until such time as we were able to regularize his citizenship and identity, but he was afraid of the publicity that would inevitably follow if the media were to get a sniff of the fact that the infamous Conor Geary had a living son in Ireland. I could see his point. It would be impossible to keep a big story like this private.

I didn’t know anything about bitcoin, but Peter already had an account. All I had to do was go to my bank and direct them to make the transfer. The bank made a fuss and the bank manager was called to talk to me and tried to persuade me that my transaction was most unorthodox. I reminded her that it was not illegal and that it was my money.

The day after all of his money was transferred, Peter said he wanted to go travelling around Ireland for a while. I thought it was a good idea. We had spent nearly ten weeks cooped up together and, much as I enjoyed getting to know my brother, his resistance to any change or progress frustrated me. I’m sure I had been that bad too before therapy, but I made an effort with people when Angela asked me to. He made none.

Strangely, he didn’t say goodbye. He was gone when I woke up the next morning. The night before he left, I was playing the piano when he came in from one of his walks. He said, ‘Dad used to play the piano, you know? When we lived here, in Ireland. He was as good as you are. I’m sorry, but I can’t bear the sound of it.’