Page 86 of The Stolen Child

‘Well, all you can do is advise Elsie to take care of herself.’

Sally sighed. ‘I’ll try. The thing is, Ian wants me to keep my distance from Elsie and Reggie. Especially now, with the baby on the way . . .’

‘But Elsie is your best friend, love. How can you keep away from her?’

Sally shrugged. For that, she had no answer.

BEFORE

August 1980

Sally

Hereford Gardens, Harrow, London

Sally unfastened the top button of her jeans as her ever-growing stomach pinched in protest. Almost overnight, she’d gone from a flat tummy to blooming pregnant. But she loved her new shape. It made her feel closer to her own mother too. Because, while Sally could not ignore the fact that her mother had made mistakes – many mistakes – she also believed that Lizzie Fox had loved her, and done her best for her daughter. She had put Sally’s needs before her own, giving her up, to ensure she was safe. Maybe Lizzie had cradled her own growing tummy, as Sally did now, when she was pregnant. It was a nice thought that gave her comfort as she grieved her mother’s loss.

Ian was excited to meet his son. He refused to believe that he would have anything but a boy. Sally had a feeling that he would get his wish too. Nicola had spun her wedding ring on a piece of string over her bump the previous week at the salon, and declared it was a boy. Time would tell.

Sally decided to make spaghetti Bolognese for dinner. Ian enjoyed that. She would prepare the sauce now, and then cook the pasta once Ian got home. As she chopped onions and peppers into fine slices, the doorbell rang. Wiping her hands on her apron, Sally went to see who it was and found Elsie standing there with a bunch of buttery yellow carnations in her arms.

‘If the mountain won’t come to Mohammad . . .’ Elsie joked.

Sally flushed beetroot red. Elsie had phoned and asked Sally to meet several times and, understandably, had got sick of being brushed off with excuses.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sally apologised. ‘I’ve been a rubbish friend. It’s just . . .’ She couldn’t finish the sentence. How could she explain to Elsie that her husband disapproved of her? And that he had forbidden her from seeing Elsie any more, saying that he could not have his wife associated with a known criminal’s girlfriend?

‘I know what it is. Or, rather, who it is,’ Elsie replied, rolling her eyes. ‘I don’t blame you one bit.’

‘It’s difficult for him . . . He worries about me. And with his job he can’t be in the same company as Reggie . . .’ Sally tried to explain, but as she heard the words spill from her lips she knew how lame they were.

Elsie guffawed, shaking her head. ‘Pot kettle black.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Sally asked.

Elsie looked down at Sally’s bump, then back up again, replacing her frown with a smile. ‘Doesn’t matter. Ignore me. I’m here to see how you are, not talk about your husband. Can I come in?’

Sally led her back into the kitchen, glancing at the clock quickly to check it was still early afternoon. It would be hours before Ian got home.

‘How are you feeling? Your bump has got so big!’ Elsie exclaimed, placing a hand on her friend’s tummy.

‘I’m huge! I can’t close my jeans,’ Sally boasted. ‘And I’m not due until January!’

‘It suits you. You look beautiful. Blooming!’

‘That’s what Sister Jones said last week. I called in to the orphanage to say hello and tell her my news.’

‘How is the old bag?’

‘Elsie!’ Sally scolded. ‘I like her. We’ve got close. I visit her every now and then. She’d even insisted that I call her by her first name.’ Sally let that tidbit hang in the air.

‘What is it?’ Elsie demanded.

‘Guess!’

‘Oh God, the pressure of thinking of a Scottish name . . . Bonnie?’

They both laughed, and then Sally said, ‘Ailsa.’