Page 50 of The Stolen Child

‘There’s swarms of them. Twenty-three billion, the paper says, on the hunt. Cos, Lord, save us all, the plants and the bugs that eat them are all dead from the heat, and they are starving. My Ernest said that he’d heard they were attacking humans. Trying to drink our sweat.’ She handed Sally one pence change. ‘You take care, love. And, if you see any of those ladybirds, run!’

Stifling a giggle, Sally left the shop. The girls in the orphanage would howl at this kind of thing, with Sister Jones giving them the evil eye while trying not to laugh herself. And Sally felt a pang. She still missed them all. Unlike Elsie, who’d left without a backward glance, Sally thought about them often. Without much thought, she ran to the nearest public phone box. She fed the phone fifty pence, and dialled the number, moving from foot to foot as it rang out.

‘Good morning, Sunshine House Orphanage. How can I help you?’ A Scottish lilt replied.

‘Sister Jones!’ Sally cried out in delight. ‘Hello! It’s me, Sally. I wanted to tell you about the killer ladybirds.’

‘Slow down, child. How anyone is expected to understand a word you say, the speed you speak! What on earth are you gabbling on about? Honestly, I hoped you’d have outgrown your flights of fancy by now!’

Sally felt a rush of warmth for her old warden. ‘Gosh, I miss you telling me off for my nonsense, Sister Jones!’

Sister Jones sighed, and her voice softened. ‘And we miss you too. The house has been quiet without you. Are you doing okay? Are you being a good girl?’

Sally thought about the loneliness of life in the Doddington flats, the monotony of her days and the backbreaking work she did every night. ‘I don’t have much time to be anything but good, Sister. It’s not what I thought it would be,’ she admitted in a small voice.

‘Aye, but life never is, I find,’ Sister Jones said. ‘But you, young lady, are a force to be reckoned with. Life with all its twists and turns is no match for you.’

‘I’m working so hard for a pittance. I barely have enough money to get by.’

‘You’re young and strong. Hard work won’t kill you. But don’t settle, Sally. Your head was always full of dreams. Remember them. Chase them with the same gusto you always had when you sneaked out the door after lights out with Elsie Evans!’

‘I always wondered if you knew about that or not!’ Sally said incredulously.

‘Oh, you’d be surprised what I knew.’ She could hear the smile in Sister Jones’s voice.

‘Elsie and I found each other. She lives near me, you know. We work at the same cleaning firm,’ Sally gushed.

Sister Jones sighed. ‘I’ve worried about Elsie for years. She had her demons . . .’ She paused and left the sentence unfinished. ‘Don’t let her get you into any trouble.’

Before Sally could question Sister Jones any further, the line beeped, signalling the end of their call.

‘I’ve got to go, Sister. Tell the girls I called and said hello, and tell them about the killer ladybirds too.’

‘I will, child.’ The nun cleared her throat and said, ‘And don’t you forget what I said. I believe in you.’ And then the phone went dead.

She believes in me. It made Sally feel giddy and scared all at once. And then her eyes moved across the busy street to the row of shops opposite her.

Three doors down from the corner shop was a hairdressing salon called Elite. She’d passed it by dozens of times. Sally had been inside it once before, when she’d asked them if they had any vacancies, only to be shown the door with a firm no. Under the large Elite sign, in smaller script font, was a sign that read Hair styled by Nicola Page.

Sally’s eyes blurred until the name on the sign changed to that of her own, Sally Fox. It was a nice dream. Pulling her shoulders back, she made her way to the salon. She paused for a beat at the door, reached up, smoothed down her hair and marvelled that she had allowed herself to act on a whim for the second time that day. Her hair was still too short, but without the scissor-happy Housemother on the loose, it now fell past her chin. Sally had been experimenting with different styles, and before she went to bed in the wee hours of this morning she’d placed her hair in rags, which gave it a pretty wave today.

The bell rang on the front door as it opened. Inside, two women were getting their hair styled. One had rollers and sat under a giant hairdryer, reading Cosmopolitan magazine. The other sat in front of a large mirror as the stylist teased her hair into soft waves.

The small salon shop was spotlessly clean. Painted a bright yellow, it had one chair in front of a sink and two chairs in front of tall mirrors. Behind the till, several framed certificates from the London Institute of Beauty Culture hung on the wall.

‘I’ll be with you in a minute,’ the stylist said as she brandished a tall bottle of hairspray like a weapon. ‘Close your eyes,’ she advised the client, and then she began spraying. ‘There you go. That’s rock solid. That won’t move anywhere. Just don’t go standing near any naked flames.’ The two women laughed.

Once money had been exchanged, the stylist turned to Sally. ‘Are you looking for a cut and blowdry?’ She looked at her diary, running her finger down the entries. ‘I’m fully booked all day, but if you don’t mind waiting I can squeeze you in after I’m finished with Carol.’ She nodded towards the woman under the dryer.

‘I’m here because I’d like a job, Ms Page,’ Sally said.

‘You were in here before,’ Nicola said, looking her up and down. ‘I remember you.’

‘That’s correct.’ Sally smiled her brightest smile and crossed her fingers behind her back.

‘I’m sorry. As I told you back then, I can’t afford to take anyone on.’ Nicola shrugged and turned her back to walk away.

‘I’ll work for free!’ Sally blurted out.