Page 62 of The Stolen Child

‘You have pretty hands. Keep putting hand cream on every morning and night. It’s the only way to keep age at bay. The lines on her hands are such a giveaway tale about a woman’s age.’

‘You have pretty hands too, Mum,’ Sally said, and she could see that her mother was pleased with that compliment too.

The kettle whistled its readiness, so her mum disappeared again, returning a few moments later with two mugs of steaming tea.

‘I hope you like milk and sugar. I made it the same way I like mine.’

‘It’s exactly as I drink it,’ Sally replied as she took her first sip. Another sign, she told herself. They had something else in common. This was going to work out. They’d be friends again, once more in each other’s lives. Her mum could come to the salon once a week, and Sally would do her hair for her.

‘Tell me about your life,’ her mother said.

And so, as they tucked into the chocolates, Sally told her mother about Nicola, Elsie and her flat in Doddington.

‘I made the right choice for you,’ her mother stated. ‘Giving you to the orphanage.’

Sally couldn’t bring herself to agree with her mother, even though she knew that was what was expected of her.

‘Why did you give me away?’ Sally whispered, unable to keep the question in one moment more.

Her mother stood up, her green kaftan billowing out behind her as she walked to the windows. Had she heard Sally? She moved aside the flowery curtains and looked out, her forehead furrowed in a frown.

‘Look at those poor buggers trying to pretend that they are having fun as they kick a tin can about. The kids here will never see the ocean. They’ll never get to ride a rollercoaster. Or play in a green field. They’ll live and die in this dump. I wanted more than that for you.’ She turned round, her eyes glistening as the sunlight hit them from the window. Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Have you seen the ocean?’

Sally remembered a trip when she was twelve years old. With Sister Jones in charge, she’d hired a bus and taken them all to Margate for the day. Most of the girls in Sunshine House had never been outside London before. There had been so much excitement on the bus that it had felt like it would combust, blowing its rusty seams apart. And when they’d stopped at the pier they’d run at full speed towards the sea, pulling their stockings and shoes off. Her toes curled in memory of that first shock as the water kissed her feet. Gulls had cawed in the blue skies, harmonising with the squeals of the girls.

‘I saw the ocean, Mum. And it was the most wondrous sight.’

Her mother nodded, wiping under her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘It broke my heart that day. Sending you to the orphanage.’

Sally’s breath caught in her throat.

‘I loved you. But I couldn’t take care of you any more. Life was . . . complicated. I had no choice. I had to give you up. But I need you to know that it cost me.’

Sally watched her mother’s face crumple as she spoke, decades of hurt and loss etched onto the fine lines of her face.

‘It’s okay, Mum,’ Sally said, desperate to take away her mother’s pain.

‘You must hate me.’

Sally shook her head, knowing it to be true that she did not. ‘I missed you. I was worried for you. I was scared and hurt. But I never hated you, Mum.’

Her mother turned back to the window again, and said softly, ‘My daughter got to see the ocean . . .’

‘One day, I’d like to live near the water,’ Sally said shyly, admitting out loud a secret dream.

‘You could open a hairdressing salon somewhere on the coast. Bournemouth is meant to be lovely.’ Her mother frowned. ‘I knew a man from Bournemouth once. He had the longest fingernails. Off-putting.’

Sally stood up, placing her mug on the coffee table. ‘Maybe I could do your hair for you.’

For a moment, happiness sparked its way through her mother, like sunbeams on the window pane, as she smiled in delight at Sally’s suggestion. Sally couldn’t help herself. She lunged forward and threw her arms round her mother, holding her close. She inhaled her musky scent hungrily as her hands reached up to touch her mother’s hair again. They stood in each other’s embrace, their breaths moving in synchrony.

‘I’m afraid I need to ask you to leave. I have to go to work,’ her mother said, pulling apart and stepping backwards until she touched the window frame.

Sally almost stumbled, such was her surprise at her mother’s sudden mood change. ‘What do you work at?’ Sally asked, keeping her smile brightly fixed on as she tried to hide her hurt.

‘This and that,’ was her unsatisfactory answer. ‘I’m truly happy to have seen you, Sally. You are a beautiful young woman, and I’m proud of all you are doing in your life. But I’m sorry. I don’t have it in me to be your mother – not how you want me to be.’

Sally raised her hands in protest, reaching out to clasp her mother’s again. But they fell into a growing abyss between them.