Strange Sally Diamond

‘Men pay for sex? Why don’t they get married? Even if they married a crazy one, they could still have sex with her like you did.’

He stared at me, and I immediately felt embarrassed. ‘What are you talking about, you little pup?’ His anger was flaring.

‘It’s in the biology books you gave me, and the encyclopaedias. You must have had sex with her twice. Or how did I get here? Or that little girl?’

He picked up his tea and sipped slowly. We said nothing for a while and then he said, ‘The girl was a mistake.’

I knew not to comment any further. But I didn’t understand how he could have sex by accident. We ate our sandwiches and drank our tea in silence and I didn’t dare to turn to look at those women again, though I could hear their cackling laughter and smell their cigarette smoke and perfume.

There was something else I had been thinking about. ‘Dad, how are you going to earn money now? Are you resigning from your job forever?’

His brow furrowed. ‘We have enough money for some time, but we will have to live frugally for the moment. No treats. All right? Just until I figure out a plan.’

I was alarmed. ‘You don’t have a plan?’

‘Not yet, but I should have by tonight.’

We left the cafe and continued to walk. The streets got dirtier and the houses shabbier-looking. Eventually, we stopped at one which had a sign in the window advertising ‘Vacancies’.

Dad knocked on the door. A small man answered, wearing denim jeans and a T-shirt. The T-shirt was stained and the carpet behind him was filthy.

‘Hello,’ said Dad, ‘I’m looking for a room for my son and I for two nights, please?’

‘You Irish?’ said the man and, before he could answer, the man said, ‘Fuck off home and take your bombs with you,’ and slammed the door in Dad’s face. Dad was furious.

‘He must have thought I was in the IRA,’ he said. ‘Me? A terrorist?’

27 Sally

In the new year of 2019, my therapy sessions with Tina were going well. She was working on desensitization therapy with me, for anxiety and PTSD. When people shook my hand or patted my arm or even hugged me, I tried not to flinch. I was also having noise therapy to acclimatize me to ‘normal’ levels of sound. I still found this one difficult. Tina thought Martha’s yoga classes were helping me to relax. Martha only ever touched me gently during the classes to guide me into the right positions. In the beginning, the stretching and bending felt unnatural, but I got used to it. I knew that centring myself and getting in touch with my body was calming when I was faced with difficult situations.

Tina thought I should get a job. She said I should have some purpose in my life. I explained that I had already been rejected as a childminder. But Tina asked me to think about what I like to do more than anything in the world. I guess I like to play the piano a lot. Tina wondered if I would consider teaching the piano. She asked me if I was patient. I didn’t think I was. We did two sessions on patience.

I was good at Google and discovered a thing called regression therapy that could help me to remember. Tina was dead set against it and, after she explained, I understood. What was the point in remembering something so traumatic? And how likely was it that anything I recalled would help to capture Conor Geary now?

One day in February, I was talking to Udo in the Texaco shop. He told me the children were looking forward to their mid-term break. I indicated my umbrella and said I hoped the weather would improve because Abebi had told me she wanted to go camping. He thanked me for the information and said he was going to have to disappoint her. He said they would die of exposure in a tent. I told him about Stella’s work with the homeless charity.

‘A young man died of exposure in Dublin last week. You could tell her that,’ I suggested.

‘Sally, you can’t talk about things like that with small children. It gives them nightmares. It should give politicians nightmares.’

‘Thank you for letting me know, Udo, I’ll add it to my list.’ I had a list of things that I should not discuss with the children, written by Martha. I accepted a light hug and he exited the shop.

Caroline was behind the counter. We had swapped a number of recipes and my repertoire of meals was much improved. After Udo left, she said, ‘First the lesbians and now the Blacks.’ Her face was full of disapproval.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked her.

‘They’re taking over,’ she said. ‘Another three families of foreigners moved into the village in the last month. All because of that bloody meat factory at Mervyn Park.’

‘It’s good. More customers for you,’ I said.

‘They’re not the sort of customers I want.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not racist, but Ireland is for Irish people.’

‘But Abebi and Maduka are Irish. They were born here.’

‘They’ll never be Irish,’ she said.

‘It’s not good to be racist, Caroline,’ I said.

‘You don’t understand a lot of things, Sally, and this is one of them.’

‘I understand racism.’

‘Stop calling me a racist.’

‘Stop being one.’

Her face was getting redder.