Strange Sally Diamond(20)

‘I don’t understand!’ I shrieked. ‘You’re not making sense.’ I felt utterly lost and the buzzing in my head had not stopped. I began to pull at my hair, as Angela softly asked me how and when he was delivered. ‘May I put my arm around you, Sally?’ I nodded, and it felt warm and natural to have an arm around my shoulders as I held Toby tight. We stayed like that for a little while until my anger subsided.

‘We should go into the sitting room and relax a bit. It’s been a shock, and we have more information for you,’ said Aunt Christine.

‘First, I need the wrapping paper,’ said Angela.

‘There was a box as well,’ I said.

I found the box and the paper. ‘The stamps on this are from New Zealand. Express post,’ said Angela ‘The box comes from a shoe shop. The guards will finally have a lead.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I think you need to read your dad’s last letter, and then I’ll answer the questions that I’m able to answer, okay?’

We all went into the sitting room. I was so dizzy. Aunt Christine asked Angela if she might have some medication that would pacify me.

‘Sally needs to be fully able to absorb this news.’

I retrieved Dad’s letter from his office. ‘I’m supposed to wait until –’

‘Your dad would be okay with it, Sally, honestly,’ said Aunt Christine.

They guided me to the sofa and sat either side of me. I asked them to sit on the other chairs.





Part II





16


Peter, 1974


I remember when I was small, being in a grand room overlooking the sea. There was a wall of books behind me, and I sat at a long dining table opposite my dad. Before he left for work every weekday, Dad would have breakfast with me, and we would listen to the radio. And then he would give me biscuits, fruit and a colouring book with crayons. He gave me my homework instructions and then he locked me into my white bedroom in the annexe. There was a large window which looked on to the back garden, and a potty under the bed, a shelf with my four books and a cupboard which contained my clothes.

The days seemed endless then, but when he came home, he would unlock the door and scoop me up into his arms and carry me into the main house. He would cook me a hot meal and then he would check my work, reading and writing and sums, and then we would watch television until my bedtime, but he could never explain how those tiny people got into the television box. I often heard him playing the piano, or sometimes I woke to the sound of him unlocking the room next door.

On Saturdays and Sundays when the weather was fine, I was allowed out into the garden, where I would help him with the weeding. I’d make little hills out of the cut grass, or bird’s nests, and then he might put them on a bonfire.

The annexe was in a funny-shaped building on the side of the house. There was a door into it from the downstairs pantry. There was another door beside my bedroom door too. Occasionally, I would hear noises coming from behind the other door. Often, the sound of crying or howling. Dad said that’s where he kept the ghost, and that I mustn’t worry because she could never get out. And he was right, because she never did. But the noise could be frightening sometimes. When it got bad, Dad told me to stay under the covers with my hands over my ears and I think he must have gone into the room next door and told the ghost to be quiet, because there wouldn’t be a peep out of it for days.

At bedtime, Dad would read me a story and kiss my forehead and tell me he loved me and we would say our prayers together and then he would lock the door again to keep me safe until morning.

Every year on my birthday, 7th August, we had a Special Day. Dad didn’t go to work. The first one I remember, Dad brought home a tent and we pitched it in the garden. He made a bonfire and we cooked sausages on it. We slept in sleeping bags in the tent. And then, later, he woke me up and it was dark. He led me outside and lit fireworks and the summer ink sky burst into colour and noise and it was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me.

The next birthday was scary. I was seven years old, I think. I was frightened when we went through the gates at the bottom of our garden in Dad’s car and turned out on to the road. I was dizzy. I hadn’t been in his car before although I helped him wash it on Sundays. He had put cushions on the front seat so that I could see out of the window. And he gave me a bag to get sick into, in case the dizziness didn’t pass. It went away quickly. Outside the gates, there were people – the same size as Dad and me – and there were women. I’d only seen them on TV and in books, but these were life-size.

We had a long journey in the car to the zoo. I was worried that we would never find our way home, but Dad said he would always be able to find home.

I was so terrified of letting go of Dad’s hand. I was more intrigued by the people than by the animals. They walked around in groups, mothers with children and babies in prams, mums and dads walking arm in arm. Groups of children, girls and boys, running around together. Dad was trying to get me to look at the chimpanzees and the elephants, but I was listening to the people talking to each other. Dad bought me an ice pop and told me not to look at the other people, but I couldn’t help it. A man stopped Dad and talked to him. I hid behind Dad’s legs. Dad told the man I was his godson. I could tell he didn’t want to talk to the other man, and we moved along quickly, and then Dad said it was time to go home. I was glad.