Page 55 of The Stolen Child

‘One sec. Turn right here . . . yep, either lane will work . . . that’s it,’ Lily said, her eyes on the map. Then, once Zach was where he should be, she looked up. ‘Yep, I had some fun in Australia, before Michael. Who, by the way, was a slow burner instead of a spark. And, it turns out, a keeper.’

‘He adores you. That was the first thing I noticed when I met him last week. A blind man could see that.’ He paused for a moment and then added softly, ‘I envy you both. I’ve never had that kind of love.’

‘We’re lucky. I know that not everyone gets what we have, and I don’t take it for granted.’ She glanced over to Zach. ‘You’ll find it, though. I reckon you have a lot to offer the right woman.’

‘I appreciate the vote of confidence. From your lips to the dating God’s ears,’ Zach said, a big smile breaking out on his face again. ‘Tell me about Oz. With my nomadic tendencies, it’s one place I’ve yet to tick off my bucket list.’

‘I fell in love with the country. The people are so friendly. They say the Irish are supposed to be the land of a thousand welcomes. We’ve nothing on the Australians. I’ve always thought that it’s because they have their work-life balance sorted. They are naturally more chilled and happy.’

‘Why did you come home to Ireland, then? Were you not tempted to stay there?’

Lily sighed. ‘It’s complicated. Family demands, I suppose, is the easiest way to describe it.’

When they saw the first sign for Ronda, he let out a whoop. Zach’s excitement was palpable as they drove along the superhighway, and Lily couldn’t help but feel a little caught up in it.

‘You know, when I spent the summer here, I begged my sisters to visit me. Ronda is so beautiful – I wanted them to experience it too. But family life got in the way for them. Issy nearly came once. But then she met a bloke and cancelled on me at the last minute.’ He paused, then glanced over to Lily. ‘Weird to think that I might get to show Ronda to one of my sisters after all . . .’

Lily’s heart started to flutter. And her breath quickened.

‘You okay?’ Zach asked. ‘Sorry, shouldn’t I have said that?’

‘I’m fine,’ Lily said, feeling anything but. That word – sister – held so much power.

‘It’s just that when you decided to come here, I figured you would have only done that if you believed me . . .’ Zach’s voice grew tighter with every word.

‘No, it’s me who’s sorry,’ Lily replied, in a rush to make sure that her complicated response to this situation was on her, not on him. ‘I do believe you. But hearing it out loud . . . that I might be your little sister . . . after all these years of believing I’ll never get to find my big brother . . .’ Her voice broke off.

It was too much. They drove silently for a while, both lost in their thoughts, but occasionally stealing glances at each other. Had she made a mistake by joining Zach on this journey? She had always been careful, always doing the right thing, and now she had thrown caution to the wind. She could only hope she wouldn’t regret the first spontaneous thing she had done in years.

BEFORE

September 1976

Sally

Elite, Wandsworth, London

Sally took the dry towels from the line and then pegged the newly washed towels in their place. She moved inside, singing along to the latest Brotherhood of Man song, which played on the radio in the salon. Nicola was finishing a perm for Mrs Langton, one of their Friday-afternoon regulars. Another client, a young woman called Hazel, sat underneath a hooded dryer with a hairnet on. Sally refolded the towels into their pile by the sinks, then checked the shampoo bottles to ensure they were all topped up. She tidied the trolley, lining up hair rollers, perm curlers, clips, pins, combs and brushes. Then, once that was all in order, ready for the next client, she swept the salon floor again.

Sally was determined to continue to prove to Nicola that she hadn’t made a mistake when she’d taken her on. Her role had progressed over the past three months. Along with cleaning, she had been given the responsibility of shampooing customers. She enjoyed the process, seeing women come into the salon frazzled and then relax as she gently washed their hair, wrapping their hair in a turban-like towel, as she brought them back to their seats for Nicola to do her magic.

‘You can take Hazel’s curlers out now,’ Nicola called over to Sally.

Fridays and Saturdays were busy in the salons, with young women like Hazel in to transform themselves for their nights out.

Sally switched off the hooded dryer, then moved it away, ready to get to work. Hazel smiled distractedly at her momentarily, but returned to her glossy magazine again. Sally carefully took the first roller out to ensure the woman’s dark hair was dry. She felt Nicola’s eyes on her, watching her every move. Sally took a steadying breath, determined not to allow nerves to better her. She took all the curlers out methodically, ensuring she didn’t snag Hazel’s hair. She’d made that mistake once, and the client’s ‘Ow!’ still rang in her ears. Then she smoothed the curls into soft waves.

‘You are a genius!’ Hazel was enthused at the finished style.

Sally’s chest puffed out in delight.

‘That’s two pound fifty for the wash and set,’ Sally said when they walked to the tills.

Hazel handed her £3. ‘Keep the change, love. If this doesn’t get my man proposing, nothing will.’

The day went by in a blur of shampoo and sets, colours and perms. Sally kept her eyes on the clock because she habitually lost track of time. She loved her job, but as it didn’t pay her a wage she couldn’t afford to lose her char work. Sally had thought she was tired before, but now, with two jobs on the go, she finally realised what the saying ‘bone tired’ meant. She fell into bed every morning after her cleaning shift finished, only to wake when her alarm rang out at eleven o’clock. She lived for Sundays, where she could sleep all day if she wanted, and it wasn’t unheard of for her to sleep almost twenty-four hours straight.

Finally, at quarter to four, the salon was empty.