Strange Sally Diamond

‘I don’t mean to … look, try and put yourself in my parents’ position.’

I tried, but this time it wouldn’t work. I was a child. A victim. And their own grandchild.

‘I wanted my parents to take you home and raise you. I offered to move home and help them, but they said there were so many issues with your development. I’m so sorry.’

‘What does your father think now? Have you told him that you found me?’

Mark shook his head. ‘He saw the story about what you did to Tom Diamond. That was enough for him. He didn’t want to know any more. I tried to tell him that I’d connected with you, that you were good and kind …’

‘Am I?’

‘But then I saw you attack Caroline, outside your house.’

‘I’m angry, Mark. Most of the time, I can keep it hidden, but sometimes, when I feel threatened or vulnerable, the rage bubbles up. I’m working on it, I promise you, with Tina.’

‘Sally, you were out of control.’

‘I know. I frightened myself. I’m sorry. But you know why I’d hired a security guard that day, right? I was terrified that he might turn up. Conor Geary. There were children in my garden. He knows where I live.’ I thought for a moment. ‘Mark, did you ever think that maybe I get my lack of empathy from your side of the family? How could your parents abandon me?’

He looked anguished. ‘I don’t know.’

He was upset, too, when I told him there was no record of him at all in Dad’s files or on Denise’s tapes.

‘Are you sure? My name never came up? Never?’

‘She didn’t mention you. I’m sorry.’

‘I have to listen to those tapes.’

‘Come back to Carricksheedy,’ I said. ‘I’m sure they won’t have replaced you at the factory yet.’

‘I took sick leave, but I didn’t think I could ever come back.’

‘Mark, you have a life here, you have friends. You have … a niece. I want to hear about my birth mother too. Do you think your dad would understand now? He could like me. He’s my grandfather.’

‘I’m not sure. He’s so old now. Almost ninety. I don’t think he’d be able for such upheaval.’

I was annoyed that my existence was such an inconvenience to my own grandfather.

‘I think we should see my therapist together. You’re the same generation as me. You could think of me as your sister?’

‘Like Denise?’

This time I was emphatic. ‘No, not like Denise, not like Mary Norton, like Sally Diamond. That’s who I am now. Do you want a sandwich?’

Mark laughed. I don’t know why, but it broke the tension between us.

‘I’ll go back to the village. I’ll tell the office I’ll be back on Monday.’

‘I’ll explain to our friends. Most of them know now that you’re my uncle. They were surprised but sympathetic. You’ll be welcomed back.’

I asked him about Anubha. He admitted that he’d only said he was interested in her in order to put me at ease. I voiced my disapproval. He said he was still in love with his ex-wife.

‘I think Elaine cares about you too.’

‘She feels sorry for me, Sally.’

‘She’s been supportive of you, though. You married young, didn’t you?’

‘Too young. I was so desperate for a family connection that had nothing to do with Denise.’

‘You changed your name.’

‘That was Elaine’s idea. One of her best.’

‘Hasn’t she remarried now? She has a son?’ He nodded.

Eventually, we stood up and hugged for about two seconds longer than was comfortable for me. Mark sensed it. ‘I’m sorry, Sally, I’m sorry about everything.’

‘I’m sorry that you lost your sister in such a terrible way.’

‘But I found a niece, and a friend.’

‘Absolutely.’ I smiled.

He left then and I lingered, eyeing the grand piano. Nobody had played it while we had been sitting there. I drifted towards it and pulled out the velvet-covered piano stool. I flipped open the lid and placed my hands on the keys. I played a number of soft pieces, orchestrations to calm my mood. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the music.

I felt a tap on my shoulder as I finished the Moonlight Sonata. A man wearing a suit with a name badge that told me he was Lucas the manager stood behind me. I should have asked his permission to play.

‘Excuse me, madam, we have enjoyed your playing, you are obviously a professional,’ he said, and indeed, there was a ripple of applause. When I looked out over the lobby, many people were clapping and nodding towards me. ‘I don’t know what your situation is, and I hope you don’t find this insulting, but I wondered if you would be available or interested in a little part-time work?’

46 Peter, 1996

There were many renewed escape attempts in the five years after Dad died. Lindy had given up, but now her campaign to break out started again.

I had given her writing materials, something she had often begged from my father. She’d said she wanted a pencil, crayon, pen, anything with which to write.

‘What are you going to write?’ he had asked sarcastically.

‘I want to write stories,’ she said.