Page 34

BEFORE

May 1979

Sally

Elite, Wandsworth, London

Nicola hammered a nail into the wall behind the reception desk. Then she picked up a black A4 frame and carefully hung it, ensuring it was straight. She took a step back to stand beside Sally, and together they admired the certificate proudly on display.

Sally Fox

City and Guilds Hairdressing Diploma

May 1979

Over the past three years, Sally had studied and worked so hard that the time had passed by in a flash. But finally she was done. And seeing the diploma, hanging beside Nicola’s certificates, made her heart swell with pride.

‘I’m so proud of you,’ Nicola stated, giving Sally’s arm another squeeze.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Sally said. ‘Seeing my certificate up on the wall beside yours feels like a dream.’

‘Where else would it go?’ Nicola asked.

‘I’d like to take a photograph of it. I’ll take it to Sister Jones at Sunshine House so she can see I did it. I caught that dream.’

‘She’ll be so happy for you – and rightly so, love. You have to send one to your mum too.’

Sally frowned, unsure if that was a good idea or not. Despite her best efforts, her relationship with her mother ran hot and cold. She’d only seen her half a dozen times since that first reunion in the autumn of 1976. Nicola had been more of a mother to Sally in that time than her own had throughout her entire life.

Nicola nudged her arm. ‘Now that you are fully qualified, I’ve decided it’s time to make some further changes around here. We’ve grown our clientele by over fifty per cent in the past couple of years. So I’m going to open six days a week, starting next month. I thought you could manage Mondays on your own, and then you could take Tuesdays off, where I’ll open up on my own. They are both typically quieter days.’

Sally’s mind raced with this news. Her dream was to give up her cleaning work and dedicate herself to hairdressing, but she wasn’t sure she could afford it, even with an extra day’s salary. Would her wages increase?

‘Of course, your wages will increase too,’ Nicola added as if she could read Sally’s mind. She paused, deliberately, to add drama.

Sally wanted to scream, ‘How much, how much?’ but managed to keep her mouth shut.

‘How does forty-eight pounds per week sound? Eight pounds per day, plus your tips are your own, as I always say.’

It sounded incredible to her. Sally began to laugh out loud, then grabbed Nicola round her waist, pulling her into a half dance and half hug of delight.

‘I thought that might make you happy. You tell that gaffer of yours that you are quitting. I’m sick of looking at you yawning every other day,’ Nicola teased. ‘And it’s time you got yourself a boyfriend too.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing!’ But a grin broke out on her face because Nicola was right. She’d had a few dates over the past couple of years, but they always fizzled out because she was never available for a second date.

‘This feels like a dream,’ Sally said with a sigh.

‘It’s no dream. Oh my days, I’ve not seen a soul work harder than you have. In three years, you’ve not let me down. The customers love you. You are a born natural, a wonder with those little hands of yours.’

Sally flushed with the praise, feeling giddy and light, ready to take on the world.

‘How about we close up for the day and head to the Grove for a lager and lime?’ Nicola asked.

Before Sally could answer, the bell sounded at the front door, and a broad man, with brown, shaggy hair walked in. He wore a black leather overcoat, a black turtleneck and black slacks. As Sally’s eyes gave him the once-over, she noticed he had cream leather loafers, which seemed in contrast to the rest of his outfit.

‘That’s the Old Bill, can tell by the cut of him,’ Nicola whispered to Sally. She moved towards the front desk. ‘Short back and sides, is it?’

The man smiled, and murmured a ‘not today’. Then he pulled out his badge, and flashed it in Nicola’s direction. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Ian Baldwin.’

Sally moved closer to Nicola in a gesture of solidarity. She had no clue why the police officer was in the salon, but figured he was following trouble.

‘We’re looking for a . . .’ Detective Sergeant Baldwin looked down at a notepad he’d pulled from his jacket. ‘A Ms Sally Fox.’

Sally had not expected her name to be called out. She swallowed and replied, ‘I’m Sally.’

‘Is there somewhere I can have a private conversation with you?’ Detective Sergeant Baldwin asked, looking around the small salon.

Sally felt Nicola’s comforting hand move round her waist. ‘I’ll go into the stockroom – you can chat here,’ she said.

‘No, stay with me, please,’ Sally said. She looked at the police officer. ‘I’d like her to stay, if that’s all right.’

The detective sergeant nodded his agreement, glancing at his notebook again. ‘Ms Fox, are you the daughter of Lizzie Fox, of Campbell Road, North Islington?’

Sally nodded, feeling a lump lodge its way into her throat. Her breathing quickened. She felt Nicola’s arm tighten its grip round her.

‘When was the last time that you saw your mother?’ Detective Sergeant Baldwin asked.

Sally chewed her bottom lip as she tried to work it out. ‘I called to see her at Easter, but she wasn’t in. The last time I spoke to her in person was at Christmas. I called to visit her on Christmas Eve to give her a gift – perfume. She likes perfume . . .’ She trailed off, realising she was babbling.

‘And you haven’t seen her since then?’ Detective Sergeant Baldwin asked.

Years of unreturned letters, knocking on an unopened door, and occasional visits that were warm and inviting or cold and dismissive, depending on her mother’s whim, cut Sally as memories flooded back to her.

‘As I said, I tried to visit at Easter, but she wasn’t there.’ She inhaled deeply, then admitted with a sigh, ‘We’re not close. I saw her a couple of times a year at most.’ Then, it struck her that there was no good reason why a police officer was asking her these questions. Ice-cold shivers ran down her spine as she asked, ‘Why do you want to know? Has something happened to her?’

‘Would you like to take a seat?’ Detective Sergeant Baldwin asked, ignoring her question and nodding towards the salon chairs.

Sally shook her head and straightened her back, determined to be strong for whatever was about to be thrown her way.

The detective sergeant’s voice turned sombre, his face grave, ‘I’m sorry to inform you, Ms Fox, that your mother’s body was found earlier today at her home in Campbell Road.’

‘Oh my days!’ Nicola said, her voice coming out in a high squeak.

Sally’s ears pulsed as her mind tried to register the detective sergeant’s words. He continued to explain the horrific details to her. ‘A neighbour called the police this morning, reporting that she’d not seen Ms Fox for several days. And, when one of my colleagues called to check on your mother, they discovered your mother’s body.’ He paused, locking eyes with Sally. ‘She’d been dead for several days.’

This detail made Sally’s knees sag, and the breath left her body.

Her mother had died, and nobody knew for days.

That was the saddest thing she’d ever heard in her life. Nicola led her to one of the salon chairs, whispering soothing sounds.

‘I d-don’t understand,’ Sally eventually stammered. ‘When I saw her at Christmas, she was in perfect health. She looked the same as she did every single time.’

She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking of her mother in a fitted green velour jumpsuit with her ruby-red lips, looking vibrant and happy.

‘How did she die?’ Nicola asked.

‘There will be an autopsy, but it looks likely that foul play was involved,’ Detective Sergeant Baldwin said.

His words hit Sally with such a punch that she felt further winded. She felt his eyes watching her closely; it was as if they were boring holes into her head.

Sally turned away from him, whispering to Nicola, ‘Who would want to hurt my mother?’

‘I don’t know, love, but that’s where these lot come in,’ Nicola replied, nodding over her shoulder towards Baldwin.

‘I’ll need you to come to the morgue to identify her,’ Detective Sergeant Baldwin said. ‘I can take you now, then bring you home afterwards.’

‘Okay,’ Sally said. ‘I need to sort out the towels . . .’

Nicola held her hand up. ‘You don’t need to do anything, love, but get through this heartbreak the best you can.’ She turned to Baldwin. ‘I’ll go with Sally too. She’ll not face this on her own.’

Holding Nicola’s hand, Sally found herself in the back of a white Ford Cortina. The traffic was in their favour, and within ten minutes they were at the city morgue being led into a room by a sombre-faced pathologist.

Her legs felt as if they were filled with cement as she looked around the cold, sterile morgue. She moved slowly to the gurney where her mother’s body lay underneath a crisp white sheet. Sally held her breath as the pathologist lifted the covering, revealing her mother’s face.

It looked as if she were sleeping.

Her face was unmarked, and she looked younger somehow, with her red hair fanned around her – the mother of Sally’s childhood, before she sent her away to Sunshine House.

‘Is this your mother, Lizzie Fox?’ Detective Sergeant Baldwin asked gently.

Sally didn’t look up, keeping her eyes locked on her mother’s face instead. ‘Yes.’ She was surprised at her voice’s strength because her insides felt as if they were on fire, melting every part of her. ‘Can I touch her?’ she whispered.

‘I’m afraid not,’ the pathologist replied. ‘It’s not permitted before we do the post mortem.’

Sally leaned down close to her mother’s face and breathed in deeply. She couldn’t smell her musky scent, only the sterile aroma of bleach, and that was all wrong. She reached into her handbag and fumbled until she found her tiny bottle of Charlie perfume.

‘Could you spray this on her when you have finished the postmortem? My mother would hate the smell of bleach. She wears perfume every day.’

The pathologist took the bottle solemnly and promised he would do as Sally asked.

Sally kissed her own fingertips, then held them an inch above her mother’s mouth.

‘I’m sorry this happened to you, Mum. I’m sorry that your life was cut short. I’m sorry that we weren’t closer. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry . . .’ Sally finished on a sob.