The Library of Lost and Found

by Phaedra Patrick

  As she slumped in the wooden chair and looked out the window at the glistening sea, she leaned over and pressed the button on the answer machine. Then she closed her eyes and let the sound of Owen’s warm tones wash over her. She liked the way he said Blue Skies and Stormy Seas, like he was reading a bedtime story.

  She thought about the strange sensation that had engulfed her in the arcade, as she bashed the crabs. She’d been unable to identify it before, but now she could.

  Freedom. She imagined it might be what freedom felt like.

  8

  Chinese Dragon

  “Martha. Martha.”

  A voice shouted from outside and the doorbell rang, but Martha wasn’t sure if the sounds were in her dream or not.

  She’d slept fitfully through the night, dreaming of the Sandshift sea, and its inky waves. A fishing boat rocked, in trouble, and she stood rooted to a spot on the sands. She frantically waved her arms but there was no one around to see or hear her. As she waded into the water, it sloshed around her ankles, then her knees and thighs. The boat bobbed and vanished. Martha tried to shout, but the water lapped at her chest and then chin. She felt the sea bed beneath her toes and then it was gone. Twisting in the water, she was far from shore. The waves chilled her bones and pulled her under. No one could save her. She thrashed until she gave up and let herself sink slowly down.

  It was a recurring dream that she’d had since she was a child. Sometimes it might be months until it invaded her sleep, and she thought it might have gone, but then she’d close her eyes and find herself battling the ferocity of the waves again.

  “Martha.”

  The call of her name brought her back to the safety of her own room. She opened one eye and then the other. Relief washed over her when she realized she was in her bed.

  With a shiver and her nightie clinging to her chest from sweat, she noticed she’d kicked all the covers off the bed. She scooped them up and gathered them around her. Her arms were sore and stiff from handling the hammer, and she groaned as she pulled on her dressing gown. As her previous day’s actions began to speckle back into her memory, she didn’t want to see or speak to anyone.

  The doorbell rang again and she slid wearily off the mattress. She pushed her feet into her slippers and trod downstairs. Grudgingly opening the front door, she blinked against the daylight.

  “Congrats, you did it!” Suki thrust a small bunch of freesias at her chest. She wore a long purple tie-dyed dress and glittery sandals more suited to the Mediterranean. The back of her hands were henna-painted with intricate flowers.

  Martha took hold of the freesias and stared at them, remembering how a vase full always sat on the dining room table. As soon as her dad died, she bought roses instead. “I did what, exactly?” she asked.

  “You said no. It’s a spectacular phenomenon-on, or whatever the word is.”

  “Thank you, but not really.” Martha fiddled with her dressing gown belt as she recalled her behavior. “I need to apologize to everyone. I overreacted and need to explain that...”

  However, Suki crossed her legs and bounced up and down. She pushed Martha’s handbag into her arms. “You left this behind at the library yesterday. Sorry, but I need the loo,” she winced. “The baby is kicking my bladder.”

  Martha glanced behind her, at her job-laden floor. Nora’s bin bags looked like giant boulders and the Chinese dragon’s head grinned at her with its wonky white teeth. She didn’t want Suki to see all her stuff. “Um, I—”

  But she had already pushed past and vanished up the stairs.

  Martha set the freesias in some water. She moved a few of Horatio’s potted plants off the dining table and set the vase down. Staring around the room, she wondered what she could do to quickly tidy up the place, but she’d need a small bulldozer to make any impression in the next few minutes.

  “I’m not sure why making an idiot of myself is cause for celebration,” she said, when Suki returned. “I’m sorry for...”

  However, Suki stood with her mouth hung open. She didn’t look around at the boxes and bags. Instead she focused on one thing. “Is that a Chinese dragon?” she asked.

  Martha gave a small shrug, remembering Lilian’s disbelieving stare when she first encountered the colorful beast. “It’s only the head, and it’s child-sized. I said I’d fix his ear and cheek for the school...” She trailed her words away, her offer suddenly sounding ridiculous. As she surveyed her other tasks, she couldn’t even recall volunteering to do some of them, though her notepad would tell her otherwise.

  “It’s awesome.” Suki dropped awkwardly to her knees while holding her bump. Placing her hand in the dragon’s mouth, she tested the sharpness of its teeth with her fingers and ran her palm over its shiny red tongue. “Why do you need to say sorry to people?”

  “For whatever you heard. For being rude.”

  “You stood up for yourself. I feel quite proud of you.”

  Martha wondered how anyone could feel this way about her. She pulled out her wooden chair and sat down with a thump. “How do you even know all this?”

  “Horatio told me. He said he liked your traumatic reading.”

  Martha hoped she meant dramatic reading. She held her head in her hands and couldn’t think what to say. Everything seemed to be failing. Her quest to be reliable and indispensable was falling apart. “I made such an idiot of myself in front of Clive, and I really want the job at the library. Sorry.”

  “You shouldn’t keep saying that. You don’t owe anything to anyone. Don’t come back to the library until you’re ready. Clive can help out, for once.” Suki gave an impromptu guffaw of laughter. “It’s so like you, to tackle a dragon’s head.”

  Martha opened her mouth to protest, then realized she couldn’t do it. Suki was right.

  She surveyed the dragon’s head, and the absurdity of having this monstrous beast in her dining room made a small nervous laugh rise. “I don’t know anything about papier-mâché.”

  Suki heaved herself upright. “Well, I do. I love crafty stuff. I’ve always wanted to try papier-mâché but didn’t have a project. I’ll help you, if you like? It will keep my mind off Ben.”

  Martha stared at her. She was the one who helped people out. Suki was the first person in a long time to offer her any assistance.

  She had an overwhelming feeling of wanting to throw a hug but wasn’t sure if it would be welcome, or if she even remembered how to do it correctly. She tensed her arms to stop herself. “I’d really appreciate that,” she said.

  “Now, what did Owen Chamberlain say about your book?”

  Pleased by her interest, Martha explained how she had visited the shop, and that Owen received the book to repair from one of his contacts.

  “I called there again last night, after the reading group session,” she said. “He found out the book’s title is Blue Skies and Stormy Seas, and it was written by E. Y. Sanderson. That’s my nana’s full name. What’s really strange is that the stories are ones she told me when I was a child, and ones I made up to share with her. She must have written them down and printed them in the book.” She shook her head, thinking how unlikely this sounded.

  She waited for Suki to tell her she was being ridiculous, as Lilian might, but instead the young library assistant folded her arms. “Well, it sounds like you’re determined to find out more,” she said.

  Martha considered this for a moment. She thought about how Lilian always told her what to do, and how she obeyed without question. Just as she always did what her father wanted. Doing things for others no longer gave her the rush of satisfaction she looked for.

  Instead she found herself wanting to explore the unusual feeling of freedom that she’d experienced in the arcade. She couldn’t remember the last time her nerves jingled with anticipation, and she decided that she quite liked it. “Owen is going to try and find out the name of the printer
and date of the book, to see if it ties in with the date of Zelda’s dedication. Of course, that’s highly unlikely—”

  “But what if it does?”

  Martha flicked her hair. “It won’t do. I mean, it’s not possible. Zelda died three years before that date, so it can’t be right. Owen’s info will just clarify that.”

  “And then what, Miss Marple?”

  “I prefer Lisbeth Salander.” Martha shifted in her chair. “I suppose everything will go back to normal.” Images flashed in her head of saying no to the reading group, and the orange plastic crabs, and Owen and his red monogrammed slippers, and she wasn’t sure what normal was any longer.

  “And what if you find out otherwise?”

  Martha shrugged.

  “Well, what would Lisbeth do?”

  Martha mused upon this. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo wouldn’t sit on her backside and do nothing. She wouldn’t let Lilian dictate what she did. She wouldn’t offer to wash chandeliers or water potted plants. “She’d take matters into her own hands,” she said. “She’d move things along.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  Martha nodded. She considered her next move. Although it was Tuesday and she knew Chamberlain’s wasn’t open, a call to say thank you for the ride home wasn’t unreasonable. And she could ask if there had been any advancement in Dexter’s research.

  “I’ll get dressed and have something to eat,” she said. “Then I’ll make my move.”

  * * *

  Martha took a long, hot bath, then made beans on toast and coffee. She moved a couple of boxes from her dining room floor and placed them against her wall.

  She was pleased that she’d answered the door to Suki. It had been good to have another person in the house, other than Lilian.

  After the cuckoo sang three times in the afternoon, she positioned herself in the wooden chair, straightened her skirt and picked up the phone.

  When Owen didn’t pick up and she heard his answerphone message, she felt a plunge of disappointment; however, she didn’t hang up. She inhaled, closed her eyes and then spoke. “Hello, Mr. Chamberlain. I wanted to thank you for your kindness last night, for driving me home. And I also wanted to...”

  As she thought of what to say next, someone answered. “Hello,” a voice said. “Who is this?”

  Martha frowned, sure she’d dialed the number correctly. “It’s Martha Storm, from the library.”

  “Oh, sorry. I couldn’t get to the phone in time. Dad’s out... This is Greg.”

  “Greg?”

  “Owen’s son.”

  Now he said this, it made sense to Martha. He spoke in a similar way to Owen, searching around for his words. His voice was a little deeper and slower.

  “Well, I’m sorry for disturbing you,” she said, surprised at how disappointed she felt not reaching Owen. “Please tell your father I rang, and—”

  “Dad told me about you,” Greg chipped in. “I’ve not seen him so animated for a long time. You’re phoning about the date and photo, right?”

  Martha’s right eyebrow twitched upwards. “Um, I don’t know anything about those.”

  “Oh, right. Didn’t you get Dad’s email?”

  “I’m not at work today to access a computer.” She ran a hand through her hair. “What’s the photo of?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s part of a newspaper clipping, I think. Dexter emailed Dad and he forwarded it on to you.”

  Martha bit her lip, wondering how she could get to see it. The library closed on Tuesdays and she didn’t want to wait until the next day. Perhaps she could let herself into the building without bumping into anyone who’d witnessed her embarrassing outburst.

  “Um, is that okay?” Greg asked.

  “Yes. It’s fine,” Martha said, her eyes flicking towards her pantry, where she kept a set of emergency keys. “I’m sure I can figure something out.”

  9

  Sandcastles

  Betty, 1976

  Betty smoothed down her new orange silk dress and admired her matching pumps. The dress was a little too tight, and the cut wasn’t one she’d have chosen for herself. The shoes were also slightly wide for her feet. But how wonderful it was for Thomas to treat her, for her thirtieth birthday.

  The new hairbrush and hand cream that Martha and Lilian bought her lay on the bedcover, and the girls were now downstairs preparing her breakfast.

  Thomas stood on the other side of the bed, waiting for Betty’s reaction. “They do fit, don’t they?” he asked.

  Betty didn’t answer at first. She didn’t want to admit she needed a larger size dress, as that might spoil his efforts. If she lost a little weight, the dress would fit perfectly. If she concentrated when she was walking, the shoes wouldn’t slip off. “Yes, of course,” she said with a smile. “They’re so lovely. Thank you.”

  “Fantastic,” Thomas said. “You look beautiful.”

  As she reached down to pick up the ripped wrapping paper, Betty couldn’t help wondering how much the dress and shoes cost. Whenever she wanted to meet a friend for coffee, or buy a new jar of face cream, she had to ask Thomas for money. Most of the time he gave it to her freely, but sometimes he questioned her, reminding her that it didn’t grow on trees.

  She crumpled the paper into a ball and held it. The one thing she wanted above anything else, was the one thing she didn’t have. A job. Then she could earn money and buy things, for her and the girls. She’d be free of the embarrassment of asking Thomas for it.

  When she gave a little sigh, he detected it. “Is there anything wrong?”

  “No. I was just thinking that I’d like to contribute, financially, to the household. The dress and shoes are so lovely, but I need some practical clothes to wear, too. The girls are growing out of their things...” She sought out her husband’s eyes. “I’m thinking of looking for work.”

  Thomas nodded, an understanding smile on his face. “You know, that’s one of the things I love about you, Betty. You’re always so considerate, thinking of others. But you do such a great job at home. You should enjoy your time with the girls, while they’re young. Let me take care of all the boring adult stuff. I loved that my mum stayed at home. She didn’t work and the whole family really benefited from it. Besides...” he hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “Well...” His pause went on for too long. “You’re not getting any younger, and you don’t really have any experience.”

  Betty could admit this was true. She was only nineteen, fresh out of secretarial college, when Martha appeared. She suspected the skills she’d learned there would be out-of-date in today’s workplace. She hadn’t had a chance to put any of them into practice. “I could learn on the job,” she said. “And it would be nice to meet new people and have a few adult conversations during the day.”

  Thomas gave a roar of laughter. “Yes, you can’t really call conversations with your mother adult, can you? All I’m saying is, there’s no rush. Lilian is only six. Why not wait until she starts secondary school?”

  Betty gave a wry smile as she fingered the ball of wrapping paper. As usual, he made sense. “It was just a thought.”

  “And a very practical one.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Now, I thought that the girls and I could take you to the beach, for a picnic lunch. I can’t think of a nicer place to spend your birthday afternoon.”

  Betty’s smile froze on her lips. “Oh. I said I’d take them to the funfair in town, with Mum. I thought you’d be in work today.”

  “I took the day off especially, as a surprise,” Thomas said. “I’m sure your mother will understand.”

  Betty stopped herself from sucking in through her teeth. “I’ve already arranged to meet her there. We were going to get hot dogs and candy floss.”

  Thomas pursed his lips. “Really? You want the girls to eat that stuff? Those types of pl
aces aren’t clean. And then, there’s the people...”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The awful types who run those places.” He sniffed. “I’m sure Martha and Lilian would prefer a lovely family picnic instead.”

  Betty closed her eyes, feeling pulled in two between Thomas and her mother. “It is my birthday,” she whispered, to see if he might reconsider.

  “Of course it is.” Thomas walked over and planted a kiss in her hair. “So, it’s totally your choice, birthday girl. I know you’ll make the right one.”

  * * *

  Martha folded her arms and huffed when Betty told her that they weren’t going to the fair. Lilian let out an indignant, “No.” She stomped around for a while and threw a doll on her bed.

  Betty gritted her teeth while she made the sandwiches and sausage rolls. She picked up the phone and called her mother.

  “Your husband thinks he’s in charge,” Zelda said, when Betty explained Thomas had taken time off work for a picnic. “The girls want to go to the fair.”

  “It’s a beautiful day, and they’ll love sandwiches down on the—”

  “It’s your day,” Zelda interrupted. “You should decide.”

  Betty felt her temples begin to throb. “It’s fine, Mum. I don’t mind.”

  “I wanted to take them for candy floss.”

  “They can have an ice cream instead.”

  “Okay then. I’ll get them a cone each with syrup and sprinkles. And a chocolate flake.”

  Betty screwed an eye shut as a sharp pain pierced her forehead. “Um, I think Thomas wants the picnic to be for just the four of us.”

  “Oh, just ignore him for once.” Zelda sighed. “I’m sure he won’t mind if I tag along, too.”

  * * *

  It had been a long, hot summer. Dogs panted into rock pools and lollies melted on their sticks as soon as their wrappers came off. Betty and Thomas carried the wicker picnic basket between them, holding a handle each. Betty’s head pounded as she spread out a tartan blanket on the sand and she wished she’d taken a paracetamol. She wriggled to get comfortable in her new dress.