Strange Sally Diamond

Angela asked her to lower her voice. The pill that Angela gave me made me feel like I was in a kind of dream world. They said they would have to get a forensics team straight away and that I needed to pack a bag and leave the house, but that I must leave out the clothes I had worn the day my father died. They groaned when I presented them with a neat pile, freshly laundered. Angela said she needed to give a copy of Dad’s letter to the guards and she photocopied it in his office while I went to my room to pack a bag. The woman guard followed me, tutting. I used Dad’s suitcase. I didn’t have one of my own. He wouldn’t mind. It was dark, and it was after my bedtime.

‘Will you please not make a mess?’ I said. The man said they’d do their best and the woman made a harrumphing noise and said, ‘You’ll be lucky.’ Angela gave the man the photocopied pages and asked him to make sure that they were given to the highest-ranking officers in the investigation. He nodded. He said little. He asked for the keys of the Fiat. I gave them to him but asked him to make sure they repositioned the seat when they were finished going wherever they needed to go in it. They said they would need me to come to the station in Roscommon in the morning. Angela said that she would bring me there herself.

As I left the house, I heard the woman guard say ‘Fucking psycho’ to the man, but he noted that I heard and shushed her. She turned to look at me and I was able to read disgust on her face.

I don’t know why she was disgusted. The house was spotless. As I walked towards Angela’s car, four patrol cars arrived through our gateway and people started putting on white plastic suits over their clothes. They set up these huge light beacons pointing towards the house and barn. Angela said they were treating it as a crime scene.

I was feeling a little drowsy but I wanted to stay. In lots of dramas, police planted evidence or contaminated the scene. I needed to make sure that wouldn’t happen. Angela assured me that it wouldn’t.

We didn’t say much on the drive to her house, but I looked at her then while she watched the road. She was a nice rounded shape. Like grannies in old TV shows. She had curly grey hair. She wore a check shirt and a denim skirt and black ankle boots. I liked the way she looked. She glanced over at me and smiled and frowned at the same time. Dad always warned me about mistaking people for how they look with how they act, but we both liked Angela.

7

I woke up in a strange bed in a strange house, although my own blue blanket was on the bed. I had packed it last night. I opened my mouth to scream, but Dad had always said that I mustn’t do that unless I was in danger. Was I in danger? I would shortly have to explain again why I had disposed of my dad. I shut my mouth and didn’t scream. I remember Mum saying that if you tell the truth, nothing bad can happen to you.

I heard some commotion outside the bedroom door. ‘Hello?’ I called.

‘Sally, I’m leaving some green towels inside the bathroom for you. The shower is easy to use. We’ll see you downstairs for breakfast in about twenty minutes, okay?’

It was Nadine’s voice. Nadine was Angela’s wife. I had met her around Carricksheedy several times. She was younger than Angela and wore her long blonde hair in a ponytail. She walked their dogs and tended to their chickens and designed furniture for her job. I didn’t like the dogs and always crossed the road. ‘We’ve put the dogs outside so you don’t have to worry, okay?’

Dad went to their wedding. I was invited too but I didn’t go. Too much fuss.

Their bathroom was like you’d see in a hotel in a film, or in an ad for bathrooms. I sat on the toilet and then washed my hands and brushed my teeth before stepping into the large shower stall with one glass wall. We had one family bathroom at home and a separate toilet, and the shower was a rubber hose attached to the bath taps. Because of the electricity bills Dad didn’t like us to take baths, except for once a week, so we made do with the shower. Angela and Nadine’s shower was great. When I was finished, I combed out my hair in my room, pinned it up and got dressed, made the bed and went downstairs.

It was bright. The sun streamed in through glass doors and it was open plan. Modern. Every wall was straight, corners were sharp. I’d seen homes like this on TV in the ‘afters’ of a home-improvement show. Dad loved those. He always laughed at the homeowners. ‘More money than sense!’ he’d say, or ‘Notions!’

Angela stood at the grill, flipping sausages and bacon. ‘Will you have a fry, Sally?’

I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten the beans on toast the night before because I’d been so disturbed.

‘Yes, thank you.’

Two dogs were outside the window staring up at Angela as she turned the rashers once more.

‘The boys look hungry,’ said Nadine, and she grinned and waved at them. They barked in response.

‘What boys?’ I asked.

‘The dogs, Harry and Paul.’

‘They’re funny names for dogs.’