Strange Sally Diamond

‘Our numbers are dwindling every year. I don’t suppose you would consider attending, even on an irregular basis?’

‘No,’ I’d said, ‘it’s very boring.’

The church was stiflingly warm. I don’t think it had ever seen so many Catholics in it. I was an Anglican technically, but Dad and I agreed some years ago that we were atheists.

We took our seats at the front pew, Nadine and Angela on either side of me. Mrs Sullivan, the postmistress, and Maureen Kenny and her husband, the butcher, stood behind us. Ger McCarthy stood in the pew opposite ours. I had never seen him in a suit before. And he was clean-shaven. I looked for Maduka and Abebi but they must have been down the back.

It was the usual boring stuff except that the coffin was in front of us. The vicar made a sermon about how my father had been such a big part of the community, which was a surprise because Dad avoided the community as much as I did. Angela made a speech in which she remembered my mother and said that no matter what mistakes had been made after my father’s death, he would be proud of me today. There was a smattering of applause after that, and I knew Angela was right, because Dad often said how proud he was of me. I grinned at Angela.

After the ceremony, we went out to the graveyard where we used to picnic, and a hole had been dug for my dad’s coffin. Half of the people left then. Ger McCarthy shook my hand and said he was sorry for my trouble. Quite a lot of people said those same words before they drifted away. But I spotted the Adebayo family and I was glad they’d stayed. It started to rain heavily like it does at funerals on TV. The coffin was lowered into the hole and finally we could leave.

Angela had said those who attended the funeral might expect to have been invited back to the house. Some neighbours had given her food, sandwiches, pies and cakes. It was traditional, apparently. But I didn’t know them. Why would I invite them to my house? I was told the villagers were now going to the pub. Nadine and Angela invited me to their house, but I was tired and wanted to go home to bed.

As I approached the car, Abebi came up beside me and said, ‘We’re sorry about your daddy and we’re sorry about trespassing.’

Her family were behind her. Udo said, ‘If there is anything you need doing around the house, I’m sure Maduka would be happy to attend to it, or I can if it’s too difficult for him.’

‘Just … please …’ said Martha, ‘don’t tell them not to go to school. They like it.’

I said nothing for a moment and then I asked, ‘Could they come for afternoon tea one day after school?’

Martha looked at Udo. Abebi put her soft little hand in mine and I didn’t pull away.

‘I’m not sure. They have homework …’ said Martha.

‘I was excellent at homework. Maybe I could help them?’

‘We’ll see, after the holidays?’

‘How are you spending Christmas?’ It seemed like the question I heard most people asking. I wanted to keep the conversation going. Most unusual for me.

‘The regular family day. Church in the morning. Then Santa Claus and turkey and hyper chocolate-filled children and a TV film in the evening.’

‘May I come?’ I asked.

Angela was behind me. She laughed and touched me on the elbow. ‘You’re so funny, Sally. Don’t worry, Martha, she’s coming to us for Christmas.’

I hate it when people laugh at me. I pulled at my hair.

‘I don’t always say the right thing.’ I knew I’d got it wrong somehow. ‘I’m socially deficient, you know.’

‘I wish you’d stop describing yourself that way,’ Angela said.

I had learned that those two words were useful in situations of confrontation or confusion. There was a pause in the conversation. Martha and Angela were both blushing. I stared at them each in turn.

‘I like your hat,’ said Martha.

‘Thank you, it’s for special occasions.’

12

I played the piano when I got home. It’s calming. But I felt tired and went for a nap. I woke as dusk was settling, remembering it was almost the shortest day of the year. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I put some of the food from the neighbours in the fridge and freezer. I thought about how they must see me. The people who prepared food weren’t scared of me. I doubt that most of the people in the church were scared of me. Nadine said that I’d made a mistake and they knew I was unusual. I know she meant socially deficient.

As I put a beef stroganoff into the microwave (it came with helpful instructions from ‘Caroline in the Texaco’), I realized it was nearly a week since I’d read the first of Dad’s letters. I ate my dinner and poured a glass of whiskey. The food was tasty. I was surprised. Dad had always said there was no point in me trying new things because I was so set in my ways. I’d have to find Caroline in the Texaco and ask her for the recipe. I am good at following recipes.

I opened the envelope and pulled out the second part of Dad’s letter.

Dearest Sally,