Strange Sally Diamond

She hadn’t seen him properly and I wanted to show him off.

‘Goodness, he is a little battered, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, he’s getting in the bath with me tonight.’

‘Oh, that might not be a good idea, to immerse him. It could destroy him. He’s old. Shall we try to give him a scrub now? A gentle one, while we wait for Angela?’

Aunt Christine filled the washing-up basin with sudsy water and used a nail brush with light strokes while I held out Toby’s arms and legs. The water swirled with brown foam.

‘I wonder where he’s been?’ she said.

‘I don’t know. He came in the post yesterday with that note, signed “S”, but I knew at once that he was mine, and that his name was Toby. But I don’t know where I got him. Maybe Mum gave him to me, but I don’t remember, and my memory is normally excellent.’

‘“S”?’ she said, and I moved over to find the note again.

‘Do you know who “S” is?’

Aunt Christine almost dropped Toby into the water, and I caught him just in time.

‘Oh God, we shouldn’t have touched him, or washed him!’

‘Why? He was dirty. He needed it.’ I took over the gentle washing now, rubbing his little face and his soft brown snout with a J-Cloth. Aunt Christine began to pace the room, wringing her hands together.

When the doorbell rang again, Aunt Christine leapt up to answer it. I could hear them whispering in the hallway as Angela embraced her. How easily they seemed to hug one another, even though it must have been years since they’d met.

Angela strode into the room. ‘Sally, I think you shouldn’t touch that bear.’

‘Why?’

‘Put it down, please.’ Her voice was firm.

‘He’s mine. His name is Toby.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I don’t know how. I just do. I love him.’

I startled myself with the strength of my words. I had a strong need to protect this toy and to keep him close. I could see Angela was surprised.

‘You shouldn’t have touched it.’ She looked at the scrubbed bear. ‘I think it’s too late now. He’s been handled and washed.’

Aunt Christine’s voice went high. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know until after we started washing it. I haven’t seen Sally in over twenty years. I thought it was hers.’

I began to feel anxious. ‘He is mine. I can … feel it. I’m keeping him.’ I clutched his damp body to mine and felt the wetness on my chest.

‘It may be evidence,’ said Angela. ‘Do you have the wrapping paper it came in?’

‘I don’t understand!’ I shrieked. ‘You’re not making sense.’ I felt utterly lost and the buzzing in my head had not stopped. I began to pull at my hair, as Angela softly asked me how and when he was delivered. ‘May I put my arm around you, Sally?’ I nodded, and it felt warm and natural to have an arm around my shoulders as I held Toby tight. We stayed like that for a little while until my anger subsided.

‘We should go into the sitting room and relax a bit. It’s been a shock, and we have more information for you,’ said Aunt Christine.

‘First, I need the wrapping paper,’ said Angela.

‘There was a box as well,’ I said.

I found the box and the paper. ‘The stamps on this are from New Zealand. Express post,’ said Angela ‘The box comes from a shoe shop. The guards will finally have a lead.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I think you need to read your dad’s last letter, and then I’ll answer the questions that I’m able to answer, okay?’

We all went into the sitting room. I was so dizzy. Aunt Christine asked Angela if she might have some medication that would pacify me.

‘Sally needs to be fully able to absorb this news.’

I retrieved Dad’s letter from his office. ‘I’m supposed to wait until –’

‘Your dad would be okay with it, Sally, honestly,’ said Aunt Christine.

They guided me to the sofa and sat either side of me. I asked them to sit on the other chairs.

Part II

16 Peter, 1974

I remember when I was small, being in a grand room overlooking the sea. There was a wall of books behind me, and I sat at a long dining table opposite my dad. Before he left for work every weekday, Dad would have breakfast with me, and we would listen to the radio. And then he would give me biscuits, fruit and a colouring book with crayons. He gave me my homework instructions and then he locked me into my white bedroom in the annexe. There was a large window which looked on to the back garden, and a potty under the bed, a shelf with my four books and a cupboard which contained my clothes.

The days seemed endless then, but when he came home, he would unlock the door and scoop me up into his arms and carry me into the main house. He would cook me a hot meal and then he would check my work, reading and writing and sums, and then we would watch television until my bedtime, but he could never explain how those tiny people got into the television box. I often heard him playing the piano, or sometimes I woke to the sound of him unlocking the room next door.

On Saturdays and Sundays when the weather was fine, I was allowed out into the garden, where I would help him with the weeding. I’d make little hills out of the cut grass, or bird’s nests, and then he might put them on a bonfire.