Strange Sally Diamond

I could feel the heat rising in my face again.

‘Something about the bear has triggered you, Sally,’ said Angela. ‘That’s why it has to be investigated. If your birth father sent it to you, it may be possible to trace him. We don’t know, but we must try. Think of the damage he did to your birth mother, and to you. I will be fine, but you could have seriously injured me. How often have you had violent outbursts like this before?’

I described the seven incidents in detail, three when I was seven, one when I was eight, one when I was nine: Mum had later said they were childish tantrums. Once when I was fourteen with the man at the bus shelter, and the last time in school a year later when a girl at the desk behind me cut off one of my pigtails. I was nearly expelled but got away with a week’s suspension. I broke her arm. I had to write her a letter to say how sorry I was.

‘And nothing like that between then and today?’

‘No, I swear. Can we please get Toby back?’

‘No,’ said Angela, ‘absolutely not, look at the effect it had on you.’

‘It’s not a good idea,’ agreed Aunt Christine.

‘Am I going to jail?’

‘No. But you have to understand how serious this is, Sally. You are an adult woman. If I went to the guards, they could lock you up. You must never, ever strike another person again. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Angela, but –’

‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Under the circumstances, Christine, I don’t think I can stay for dinner. I need to go and lie down at home. Would you mind driving me? I walked out here from the village.’

‘Yes, no problem.’

‘Thank you. It will only take a few minutes.’

They both ignored me. A sizzling sound came from the oven as the front door shut behind them. I turned it off. The chicken was slightly burnt on top.

I tried to put things into perspective. I was not going to jail. Angela was going to be fine. Aunt Christine was now scared of me. Why had I lost control like that?

I carved the chicken and served up the vegetables on two plates and opened a bottle of sparkling water and was pouring some into Aunt Christine’s glass when she returned.

‘I don’t know what to say to you, Sally. I think Jean was right to be worried about some decisions Tom made regarding your development. But Angela thinks it’s not too late.’

‘What’s not too late?’

‘You need a lot of therapy, darling, because you can’t go on like this. It’s not normal.’

‘My life is normal to me.’

‘That’s the problem. Tom never pushed you to make … corrections. You should have friends, a social life, a job, a partner if you want. There is so much you have missed out on and you don’t even realize it.’

‘Dad said that in his last letter, that he had made mistakes, but there’s nothing wrong with me, except that I’m a bit odd.’

‘You just physically attacked the one person who has always been there for you. You will need to make it up to her. How do you think you will do that?’

‘I could buy her flowers and write her a letter.’

‘That is a good place to start, but how can you ensure that you won’t attack anyone again? You need help.’

I knew she was talking about psychotherapy. That’s what Mum wanted me to do when I was in school.

‘I guess I could try seeing a therapist?’

‘Angela will be relieved to hear that. Make sure you put it in the letter.’

That night I went to bed and thought about Toby and where he might be.

It was Christmas Eve the next day and I just wanted to be on my own. I had allowed Aunt Christine to hug me when she said goodbye. I apologized again. She said we would keep in touch and that I should visit them in Dublin after Christmas when I had a few therapy sessions under my belt. I wasn’t sure about that.

I sat down to write a letter of apology to Angela. I added that I would agree to go to therapy if she thought it would stop me from harming people I cared about. I told her not to worry about the bag of peas. I could easily replace them at the Texaco. I wished her and Nadine a happy Christmas and told her I’d stay on my own for Christmas Day.

I walked into the village. There was noise and people and Christmas lights twinkling everywhere. I put in my earplugs and went to buy flowers in the Texaco. I got out of there as soon as I could and walked down to Angela’s house. I pushed the card through the door and put the flowers on the doormat and left in a hurry. I understood what shame meant. It was one of the emotions I was in touch with.

20 Peter, 1974

‘Stupid woman’ were the words Dad often said when we were watching television. The mums on television were nice-looking, clean and well dressed mostly, baking apple pies for their children and tending to the cuts on their knees. This ghost was useless. She was a terrible mother, so bad that she had to be chained up like a wild dog.

We didn’t speak for a long time, but there were things I wanted to know. She popped her head out bit by bit but didn’t look at me. She wiped the blood from her eye with the blanket. It didn’t bleed much after that.

‘How will the baby get out of your tummy?’