Strange Sally Diamond

‘I could be there by lunchtime today?’

‘Will you want lunch?’

‘No, a cup of tea –’

‘I can make ham sandwiches.’

‘That would be lovely.’

‘Don’t bring Donald, okay?’

‘Well, fine, he’s recovering from an operation, but why don’t you want to see him?’

‘Dad said he was a lazy oaf who married you for your money.’

She laughed.

‘Why are you laughing?’

‘Your dad. Talk about projecting …’

‘I don’t understand. I don’t like it when people laugh at me.’

‘Goodness, I’m not laughing at you. Look, don’t worry, I won’t bring Donald.’

I hung up shortly after we had done the goodbye thing that annoys me: ‘Goodbye,’ ‘Bye,’ ‘Goodbye,’ ‘See you later,’ ‘Yes, goodbye,’ ‘Bye, then.’ So tedious.

Two hours later, I went to the kitchen to make the sandwiches. I had fashioned a sling out of an old scarf of Dad’s to carry Toby as close to my heart as I could. I told him about our expected visitor. I asked him again who ‘S’ was. I didn’t expect an answer, but it was nice to talk to him. I didn’t feel alone.

When I answered the door, Aunt Christine was there, carrying a large bouquet of flowers.

‘Darling! Oh my, it’s been too long. You are so tall! And beautiful!’

Aunt Christine used to look like a stylish version of my mum. But now, she was disappointingly old. I nearly said it. The skin around her face had all fallen downwards, though her eyes were bright with golden eyeshadow and spiky lashes. That made sense. Mum was dead so long. I felt comfortable with her until she reached out to touch me and I backed away. ‘Sorry!’ she said, putting her hands in the air as if she were under arrest. ‘You used to let me hold your hand, you know.’ This was true, but I was out of practice.

We went to the kitchen and I turned on the kettle and set about making tea. I watched her. She looked at me and smiled. ‘How are you? I see you don’t have any decorations up?’

‘No, Dad and I agreed they were for children.’ Aunt Christine frowned.

‘I got all these letters,’ I said. ‘Some people want to be my friend. Some people hate me. They wrote that I was a spawn of the devil.’

‘May I see?’

I showed her the assorted mail.

‘Well, these can go straight into the bin,’ she said, lifting the nasty notes and the letters from journalists. I agreed. I didn’t want to keep any of them, except the letter from Stella, my classmate, and the note from ‘S’.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m fine. Dad said I should move into the village. He says it’s unhealthy for me to live here on my own.’

‘Aren’t you lonely here?’

‘I’ve got Toby,’ I said, pointing to my bear.

‘Toby isn’t a person, darling.’

‘I know. I’m not stupid.’

She said nothing. We stared at each other. Her head was to one side and her eyes were soft.

‘What happened to me before I was adopted?’

She looked away then, out of the window, at the floor and then back at my face. She asked, ‘May I take your hand?’

‘What for?’

‘Touch can be comforting, you know. And it’s not a nice story.’

I let her take my hand and put it between hers.

‘Jean said that you … were medicated, that you don’t remember anything at all?’

I shook my head.

‘Your mother, your real mother, I mean, she … died.’

‘What did she die of?’

‘She was kidnapped by a man, when she was young, when she was … a child.’

I had seen films and dramas about men who kidnapped young women.

‘Did he lock her in a cellar?’

‘Yes, well, no, it was an extension at the back of his house. He lived in a large house on a half-acre of land in South Dublin. He kept her there for fourteen years.’

My head started to buzz. ‘Stop talking, please.’

She stroked my hand.

I turned away to refill the teapot. I picked up a sandwich and ate it. Aunt Christine sat silently.

‘Would you like one?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Would you like a sandwich?’

‘No. Darling, I’m so sorry. It’s a terrible story. Is there a friend I can call? What about Angela?’

‘Yes, I’ll call her.’

I picked up the phone. Angela didn’t work at weekends so I thought I wouldn’t be disturbing her.

‘Angela? My Aunt Christine is here. She told me that my real mother was kidnapped –’

‘Fuck.’

‘What?’

‘I wanted to be with you when you opened the last letter from your dad. It explains everything … well, most things. May I speak to Christine?’

Aunt Christine took the phone out to the hall. I couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying but I could hear her voice getting high-pitched. And then I heard her hang up the phone. When she returned to the kitchen table, her eyes were wet with tears.

‘Sally, I’m afraid I’ve made a mess of this. Angela is on her way. Let’s talk about other things until she gets here.’

‘Do you think she loved me? My real mother.’

She picked up a sandwich. ‘Oh, I think she loved you with all her heart.’

‘How do you know?’

‘These sandwiches are delicious. Let’s wait for Angela, will we? Shall I make more sandwiches for her?’

‘I’ll make them. It’s lucky that Toby doesn’t eat, otherwise we’d run out of bread.’

‘What age are you now, Sally?’

‘Forty-three. What age are you?’

‘Sixty-seven.’

‘Did my real mum get married?’

‘No … let’s wait for Angela.’

‘Okay. Do you want to hold Toby?’