Strange Sally Diamond

So now I finally say goodbye, my love, leaving you with lots to think about. You are under no obligation to do anything at all with this information. But if you need to talk to anyone, you could show Angela this letter. She will be shocked, but will be of practical or emotional support if you need it.

I wish you good health and happiness and a peaceful life.

Your loving Dad

When I finally stopped reading, I noticed that Angela and Aunt Christine were muttering to each other.

‘Do you have any questions you’d like to ask us?’

I had so many questions that I didn’t know where to start. ‘May I have some whiskey, please?’

Aunt Christine looked to Angela and Angela nodded. She smiled at me.

‘I think we should all have a whiskey.’

‘This is the trauma Dad was talking about when he mentioned PTSD.’

‘Sally, do you think I might stay the night? Would that be okay with you?’ said Aunt Christine.

‘I think that’s a good idea, you should reconnect with the family you have,’ said Angela. ‘Christine can stay in your dad’s room. I’ll go and make up the bed.’

‘No need,’ I said. ‘I changed the sheets after the police were here that time. Yes, she can stay. But, Angela, Aunt Christine isn’t my real family.’

I had done the maths in my head. ‘If my birth mother was nineteen years old when I was born, what about her mother and father, my grandparents? Are they alive? Do I have any real aunts and uncles? What about cousins?’

Angela looked at Aunt Christine. ‘I’d like to know the answers to that too. I can’t believe I worked alongside Jean for eight years and she never told me any of this. She told me she had specialized in child psychiatry as part of her GP training, but never that she was involved in the Denise Norton case. I knew that Tom was a psychiatrist, but he no longer practised. I assumed he was writing academic papers and contributing to medical journals. Occasionally, Jean would bring him in to talk to a patient, but just to assess them for referral.’ She sighed before continuing.

‘Sally, I didn’t know any of this until I read the letters the day … the day the police came. I had to photocopy them and hand them over. Back in the day, the Denise Norton case was notorious but your identity was kept secret. The guards read your dad’s letters and they have copies of his files so someone then leaked the information that you are Mary Norton. That’s why the press and photographers were there at the funeral, and why they found the house and your phone number. Christine tells me they’ve been writing to you as well.’

‘There were pictures of you in the paper, Sally, at your dad’s funeral. That’s why I’ve been so worried about you,’ said Aunt Christine. ‘I always knew the truth. But Jean and Tom were desperate to protect your privacy. Jean wanted to tell you once you turned eighteen, but Tom … he disagreed. And then she died so shortly afterwards.’

‘You haven’t answered my question about other relatives?’ I stared at Aunt Christine as I sipped the whiskey and she took a large gulp of hers.

‘Denise’s parents were desperate to reconnect with her. But from what Jean told me, the reunion did not go well. When your real grandparents, Sam and Jacqueline Norton, were first reunited with Denise, she physically attacked them, particularly her father. The anger of fourteen years all came tumbling out in resentment against the people who loved her the most. Also, and this might disturb you, they believed they could bring Denise home after her treatment, but they would not countenance taking you. You were his child. You have to look at it from their point of view. If they took you into their home, they would be taking part of Conor Geary too.’

I thought of the vicious letter calling me the spawn of the devil.

‘After Denise’s death in the psychiatric unit, they were broken people. They moved away to France.’

‘Didn’t they ever get in contact to find out what happened to me, Aunt Christine?’

‘I assume they considered it many times, but perhaps you might have only been a reminder of the daughter they’d lost. Sally, are you absolutely sure you recognize that bear, you know for sure that he’s yours?’

‘He’s mine,’ I said, squeezing him tighter.

They kept changing the subject, hopping around from one thing to the next. I poured more whiskey. So did Aunt Christine. She offered some to Angela, but Angela shook her head.