Page 9 of The Stolen Child

Again, the same warmth for his stepdad. Who he called Dad, Lily noted. She leaned forward and asked gently, ‘And your biological father, is he in the picture?’

A shadow passed over Zach’s face. His shoulders tensed, and it was obvious that this subject was difficult for him.

‘I’ve never met him. Or, at least, not that I can remember. My mother left my biological father when I was a baby.’

‘Have you ever been curious to meet him?’ Lily asked, watching Zach closely as his jaw tightened.

‘He put my mother through hell before she found the courage to leave him. So no. I never wanted to meet him.’ His voice caught as he continued. ‘Dom, my stepdad, is the only father I’ve known or want to know. He is the best of men, and if I can live a life as good as his I’ll be doing well.’

Lily poured a glass of water for each of them, then passed the drink to Zach. This gave him a beat before they moved on, allowing Lily to scribble more detailed notes. She drew a circle round the word ‘Father’.

‘Do you have siblings?’ Zach asked, surprising Lily. Occasionally, clients wanted to know more about her life, but in the main she made it a point to keep her private life private.

‘We’re here to discuss you, Zach,’ Lily said gently, then quickly diverted back to him. ‘You said when you made the appointment that you wanted to discuss your difficulty sleeping. Please tell me more about this. When did the issue begin?’

‘I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have problems sleeping.’ Zach began picking at a thread on his blue shirt. ‘I had bad dreams on and off until I was in my twenties.’ He paused, swallowed, then said, ‘I used to have an imaginary friend when I was a kid.’

Lily noted that he’d found this admission more difficult than the bad dreams. ‘Can you remember from what age both things began?’

‘I’ve been seeing therapists since I was four years old, so I guess at least since then.’

‘How did you find therapy? Did it help?’

‘Yes. Or at least it didn’t not help. But since I arrived in Dublin I’ve not been sleeping well again. I don’t know.’ His eyes darted around the room, glancing at Lily for a second, then moving on again. ‘Maybe it’s the stress of a new job. The move. But something feels off,’ Zach said, blinking rapidly.

Lily noticed a hint of unease in Zach’s demeanour, suggesting he might be withholding something. But there was plenty of time to unpack whatever that was, remove his mask. For now she wanted to reassure him.

‘We’ll figure all this out. Together. What age are you, Zach?’

‘Forty-two.’

‘Entering our forties can be a significant milestone for some people. Before we dive deeper into what is stressing you out right now, can we talk a little more about your imaginary friend? Which I hope you know is normal and healthy for many children. Especially if they don’t have siblings or friends to play with. Would you feel comfortable sharing a little more about this friend with me? Was he – or she – the same age as you?’

Zach locked eyes with Lily as he spoke. ‘Oh, my imaginary friend wasn’t a child. It was a woman.’ Zach paused. ‘I called her my other mother.’

BEFORE

September 1963

Sally

Sunshine House Orphanage, Hammersmith, London

Sally felt the car come to a juddering halt. She lay in the back seat of the vehicle, paralysed with fear. Where was she? And why had her mummy told her to get into this car without her? Sally placed her thumb in her mouth and sucked hard, trying to keep tears at bay.

‘Time to see your new home,’ Mrs Burton said in a high-pitched sing-song voice.

‘Is my mummy here?’ Sally asked, sitting up to peek out of the window. They were on a gravel driveway in front of an imposing redbrick house. It was bigger than any house she’d ever seen before.

Mrs Burton turned round and faced her. She tilted her head and sighed. ‘No, poppet. Your mother isn’t here. This is an orphanage, especially for little girls like you who need a new home.’

This confused Sally. ‘But I don’t need a new home. I have one. I’d like to go back there now.’

‘Your mother can’t take care of you right now. So she asked me to bring you here. Come on now. Be a good girl.’

Mrs Burton exited the car and opened the back door, holding her hand out to Sally. Sally inched her way along the car seat, then took the woman’s hand. It felt scratchy and clammy, unlike her mummy’s hand, which was soft and cool. Sally pulled her hand out of Mrs Burton’s grasp and, instead, clung on to the small brown case that her mother had packed for her.

Sally concentrated on the sound of the gravel under her black patent shoes as she walked up the driveway, and tried to block the fear that was racing through her little body. Mrs Burton rapped a large black knocker loudly on a bright yellow door, and the door opened.