I pulled the table out from the wall and unhinged the flap to make it as big as it used to be when Mum was alive. Dad and I always ate dinner in front of the television on trays. But we always had lunch in the kitchen. This was the wrong way around.
Although it made me a little nervous, Aunt Christine talked in a soothing way, describing how she had prepared the dinner, recalling when she and Jean had gone shopping in Arnotts and had bought the same set of plates, how she was glad to see they were still in use. She sounded like Mum, and if I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine that Mum was back, though I knew it wasn’t possible. It was nice to think about.
‘Where is Angela?’
‘She had to pop home to feed the dogs and do a few things. But she’s coming straight back.’
‘Shall I get some wine from the cabinet?’
‘Oh, I think we had enough alcohol earlier. Do you have sparkling water?’ I did.
On my way out to the sitting room to get it, I stopped dead in my tracks and then ran to my bedroom. I pulled the bedclothes apart. I ran back to the kitchen.
‘Where’s Toby?’ I shouted at her.
‘Darling, I –’
‘Where is he?’ My cheeks were getting hot. My head was spinning.
The doorbell rang.
‘That will be Angela. She can explain.’
I let Angela in. ‘Where’s Toby?’
‘Calm down, Sally, breathe in for four –’
‘Did you take him when I was asleep?’
‘Yes, I did. Toby is a toy, Sally, but it might be possible to find out where he came from. I went to the garda station in Roscommon with the bear, the box and all the wrapping. They will send it to a lab in Dublin and a forensic team will –’
‘He was mine!’
‘Sally, be reasonable, you –’
I lashed out at Angela with my fists, punching her in the face, the stomach, her arms. She folded her upper body into a ball, leaning forward, putting her hands over her head and her elbows in front of her face. Aunt Christine dragged me away.
‘Sally! Stop this at once.’ Aunt Christine had my mum’s angry tone.
My temper abated as quickly as it had surfaced. I sat in the chair in the hall. Aunt Christine led Angela into the kitchen. I heard the two of them whispering. I had done a bad thing. Again. Really bad. I rocked back and forth in the chair. I could not control my emotions. Maybe I should be locked up.
‘Angela, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I lost my temper.’
She was holding a bag of frozen peas to her jaw. Aunt Christine was standing over her. Thank God there was no blood.
Angela put her hand up to stop me talking, shook her head and winced with pain.
‘Jesus, Sally! You were out of control. I had no idea that you could be so violent. That kind of behaviour is completely unacceptable.’
I could tell Aunt Christine was angry, and as I moved towards her, she stepped back. She was also afraid.
‘I don’t know why I did that, I don’t even know why.’
I could feel the heat rising in my face again.
‘Something about the bear has triggered you, Sally,’ said Angela. ‘That’s why it has to be investigated. If your birth father sent it to you, it may be possible to trace him. We don’t know, but we must try. Think of the damage he did to your birth mother, and to you. I will be fine, but you could have seriously injured me. How often have you had violent outbursts like this before?’
I described the seven incidents in detail, three when I was seven, one when I was eight, one when I was nine: Mum had later said they were childish tantrums. Once when I was fourteen with the man at the bus shelter, and the last time in school a year later when a girl at the desk behind me cut off one of my pigtails. I was nearly expelled but got away with a week’s suspension. I broke her arm. I had to write her a letter to say how sorry I was.
