The Library of Lost and Found

by Phaedra Patrick

  However, when she peered cautiously around, everything seemed okay. The library exuded calm and the books surrounding her gave her the same warm welcome they always did. When she took her job application form out of the drawer, it didn’t look as scary as she thought it might.

  “Just complete it and apply,” Suki said as she rubbed her bump. “Time is ticking away.”

  “I know. It’s just so important that I want to get it right. I’ve applied three times for a role here already, and been turned down,” Martha explained. “Statistically, I’m not likely to get it.”

  “Why not? Satan-istically, you do a great job.”

  Martha considered this. Because there’s always someone younger and brighter than me, she thought. Because I’ve not written anything expressive for years.

  The interview would be with Clive and he’d have penned a black mark against her name, after their encounter in the kitchen. “I’m determined to give it a go. I just need more time, to think about what to write.”

  “Just say how much you love books and helping people,” Suki said with a shrug. “No one does it better.”

  Martha gave her a grateful smile and again felt like throwing a quick hug. Instead she picked up a stack of books from the returned pile. She examined the codes and numbers on their spines and carried them back to their shelves. She recommended a couple of feel-good novels to a lady who wore a yellow silk scarf with sunflowers on it, and she rearranged the thriller display.

  She had just bent down to slide a book about tractors back into place in the transport section when Siegfried appeared in the same aisle. Not acknowledging her presence, he pulled his gray hat down and headed to the romance books at the end. After scanning the shelves methodically from top to bottom, he slid out four paperbacks, then carried them over to a table in the corner. He opened the first one and began to make notes on a piece of paper.

  Martha stared after him, wanting to thank him for returning her trolley and hair slide after her outburst. But he arched his arm in front of him, like a schoolboy in class preventing anyone from copying his work.

  “Siegfried’s got a pile of love stories,” Suki whispered when Martha returned to the desk. “Is it true he was on board that fishing boat, that cat’s-eyed?”

  “Capsized? I believe so.”

  “Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t speak much.”

  “I think you might be right. He—” Before Martha could give her thoughts, Nora appeared.

  She wore a pair of emerald-green leggings and a matching velour hoodie with Juicy written on the back in silver lettering. She approached the desk with trepidation, as if she was teasing a tiger with a piece of grass.

  “Um, Martha, love,” she said, unable to meet her eyes. “I wondered if you’ve done my washing and ironing yet? And you left two bags of it behind in the library when you went, um, berserk.”

  Martha pictured Nora’s laundry folded neatly into the bin bags at home. She’d washed but not ironed it and felt strangely unflustered by its lateness. And she didn’t feel like apologizing or offering to do the additional washing she’d run away from.

  Not wanting to help was an alien feeling to her and she was finding it intriguing, something she wanted to experiment with further. “I’m afraid that I’m not taking on any more jobs for people until I’ve cleared my current consignment. I’ll bring back the laundry I’ve already done for you, when I’m ready. If you desperately need it before then, you can call around to collect it.”

  Nora stepped back. Her eyes widened a little. She suddenly affected a stoop and rubbed her spine. “Oh no, it’s okay. Return it for me when you can. It’s my bad back, you see, Martha, love. Besides, I think I’ve found a washing machine engineer. I’m seeing him on Sunday.”

  “Tradespeople don’t usually work at the weekend,” Martha warned.

  “He was on a dating site and we’re meeting in a wine bar. I’ve not mentioned my machine yet, but I’m hoping we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.” She glanced across the library to the fiction section. “Is Siegfried single? Is he good with machinery?”

  Suki rolled her eyes.

  After this, Martha showed a young couple, who both wore ripped jeans and biker’s jackets, how to use the photocopier to print posters for a local gig. As they argued over the enlarging facility, how many copies they needed and which way round to place their original copy, she left them to their own devices.

  A man wearing a khaki parka coat with sky-blue fur around the hood wanted to hire all the available Die Hard movies. Instead of finding them for him, Martha directed him to the DVD section. She told a woman who wore a fleecy red-and-yellow jester hat, complete with bells, to return the books she’d browsed through back to the shelves, rather than leave them on the table.

  Branda was the next to arrive. She took a batch of Lobster Pot menus out of her purple handbag. Glancing at her watch, which had two black panthers as the hands, she asked, “Will you laminate these for me, Martha? I’ve gone a little darker on the restaurant branding. Moodier. More Scandi noir.”

  Normally Martha would say yes and get straight onto it, but today she thought before she spoke. “Leave them on the desk. I’ll do my best, if I get time.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Suki nodding at her, proudly.

  * * *

  When Martha arrived home, she made herself a cup of tea and, while waiting for it to cool, she pushed a couple more of the plastic crates to the side of her dining room. After she placed the dragon’s head on top of them, the pile looked like a strange totem pole.

  When she sat down in her wooden chair, she now had space to stretch out her legs. She straightened them out, one at a time, and rotated her ankles without kicking against bags or boxes. It felt so good.

  It was only when she’d finished her drink and conducted a small dance along the freed-up pathway that she saw the postcard on her doormat. It poked out from under leaflets for home cleaning services and pizza delivery.

  After picking it up, she first admired the illustration of a black Scottie dog on the front, then turned it over. On the back there was a first-class stamp and her name and address. The handwriting was in small capitals, neat and robot-like.

  SUNDAY, NOON, FUNFAIR ENTRANCE, BENTON BAY

  NO EXCITEMENT

  NO SUGAR

  NO ALCOHOL

  NO BETTING

  NO HEAVY CONVERSATION

  NO LATE RETURN

  FROM GINA

  15

  Fairground

  When Martha arrived, ten minutes early, at the entrance of the fairground, she positioned herself next to a six-feet-tall fiberglass ice cream, which had a face and a big tongue. Although she craned her neck to peer to her left and right, she couldn’t see her nana’s wheelchair or Gina’s white hair.

  There was a flutter in her stomach and her heart thumped, as if she was on a first date. She wandered around in small circles on the pavement and rummaged through her handbag, to pass the time until they arrived.

  More than anything, she wanted to find out how and why her nana was still alive, but as each minute ticked by, her hopes subsided. Her steps grew slower and her shoulders drooped. She looked at the postcard, to check the date and time.

  Where is Zelda?

  It was 12:16 p.m. when she eventually saw her nana and Gina approaching with Percy trotting alongside them. Even though her excitement was dampened by the sight of the stern carer, she still felt like skipping to her nana’s side, as she did when she was young. She wanted to wrap her arms around her, to assure herself that she was really here.

  She strode over to greet the two women and spotted that Gina’s lips were set in a hard, thin line. Martha felt a flare of anger in her stomach at why this woman was being so hostile towards her. Shouldn’t she be more pleased that the woman she cared for was reunited with her long-lost gr
anddaughter? Martha repeated the last line on the postcard to herself—no late return. Gina made her nana sound like a library book.

  “Shall we agree ninety minutes maximum?” Gina said. She wore a beige trench coat with boot-cut jeans and gray loafers. She looked softer today, with her snowy hair in loose waves. Zelda was in her wheelchair, with a turquoise blanket tucked over her legs and a silk scarf wrapped around her head.

  “That’s not very long.” Martha frowned. How could they possibly fit years of conversation into such a short time?

  “It is enough, for a first outing.”

  “I am here, you know.” Zelda raised a hand. “I can speak for myself.”

  Gina looked at her. “Ninety minutes only, today. And please be sensible, Ezmerelda. Hook the Duck or the penny arcades are fine, but I do not want you to dislocate your shoulder on anything like the coconut shies.”

  Martha curled her fingers to stop herself from intervening. She spoke through her teeth. “Is there anything I should know about health matters?”

  “No,” Zelda spoke up. “I’ve got a bad dose of old age, that’s all. It’s bloody awful. No cure.”

  Martha tried not to laugh and she felt the tension between the three of them ease a little. “We’ll just grab a coffee, or a bite to eat in the café. An ice cream sundae will be as adventurous as we get,” she told Gina.

  Her nana’s carer twitched a wry smile. “And that just shows how little you know Ezmerelda,” she said.

  * * *

  “She’s just trying to look after me, in her own way,” Zelda said, her lips ventriloquist-still as she waved goodbye to Gina.

  “She’s very, um, firm.”

  “It’s just her way.”

  The two women headed through the entrance arch and into the main body of the fairground. Martha remembered them as magical places: the flashing lights, the blast of music and the laughter. But now she saw danger and neglect. Thick black cables running across the floor might trip you up. She noticed the chipped paint on the Waltzer cars as they spun around their circular track and she found the smell of fried onions sickly. Everything seemed louder and brasher.

  Her neck felt stiff as she thought of how many years had passed between her and Zelda. If you loved someone so much in the past, would the future only disappoint? Could the years melt away so easily, or would they be like a wall of ice?

  “The café looks nice,” she said as they moved towards it, though it didn’t look very pleasant at all. Two flat wooden clowns held up a menu board on which everything was served with chips. “I don’t think I’ve ever had chips and cheese before.”

  “Are you even hungry?” Zelda stopped her wheelchair abruptly.

  “Well, not really.”

  “Good.” Zelda took hold of her wheels and pushed forward with her hands, skillfully spinning in the opposite direction. “Follow me.”

  “Where to?”

  “I want to see the rides.”

  Martha sped after her. Her brow furrowed. “But, we need to chat—”

  “We can do it later.”

  Martha glanced at her watch. Ten minutes had already gone by. She opened her mouth to insist they talk now, but Zelda sat upright in her chair. “Candy floss,” she said with a sniff. “Let’s get some.”

  “Gina said you’re not allowed sugar.”

  “I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

  Martha’s jaw clenched. “I have her list.”

  “I’m eighty-nine, Martha,” Zelda huffed. “I have few pleasures left in life. What’s the worst that could happen if I eat candy floss?”

  “I don’t know.” Martha sighed. “Diabetes? Tooth decay? Obesity?”

  “Been there. Done that. Well, maybe not obesity.” Zelda wheeled towards the candy floss stand.

  Martha dug her hand in her hair, frustrated that her nana preferred to eat pink fluffy stuff rather than discuss the last three decades.

  “It’s my treat,” Zelda shouted over her shoulder.

  Martha caught her up. “I’ll get it.” She pulled the purse from her bag. “Then let’s find somewhere quiet.”

  Zelda reached up and slapped a ten-pound note on the counter. “A candy floss each, for me and my overcautious granddaughter. Extra-large ones, please.”

  Their flosses quivered in the breeze as they carried them. Martha examined the mound of pink sugar, not having eaten it since she was a teen. She wondered if she’d hear her father’s voice when she tasted it. Closing her eyes, she listened, but all she could hear was the hum of rock music thrumming from the Waltzer. She slowly leaned her head to one side and took a small mouthful. The sugary strands dissolved deliciously on her tongue.

  “Throw it away,” her dad said, somewhere from the base of her skull. “It will rot your teeth. It’s not healthy.”

  Martha tried to ignore him, but the candy floss grew sweeter and more cloying. It seemed to expand in her mouth. Not able to enjoy it any longer, she dropped it into a bin.

  “We should go on at least one ride,” Zelda said, staring at the dodgem cars.

  Martha coughed. “We can’t go on those. You might—”

  “What? Fracture my hip? I did that when I fell over a rake in the garden. If I break something else, it should be doing something fun. I’m the adult, remember?”

  Martha stared at her. “We both are.”

  “Oh yes.” Zelda grinned. “I forgot.”

  Martha didn’t recall her nana being this strong-willed. In fact, she could only recall a sense of her personality rather than definite traits. She was beginning to realize that it was impossible to remember everything about a person from the past. You formed your own idealized picture of them, rather than an accurate one. The Zelda she’d held in her head for decades was a superhero, an ally, her best friend. Yet here, now, she was a frail old lady in a wheelchair, and a stubborn one at that. “Let’s go back to the café with the wooden clowns,” she pleaded. “There’s so much we need to catch up on. I need to know what happened.” She felt her throat tightening with emotion as she spoke. “Why did you leave? Why did my parents tell me you were dead?”

  Zelda reached up with both hands and took hold of Martha’s coat. Her eyes shone with longing. “Please let’s look at the rides for a while. When I look out of my window at home, I see green fields and buttercups and blue sky, and it’s beautiful. But sometimes I want a different view, to watch people and things going on. Elderly people don’t just want to look at photos of the past, or of a nice bloody view. I want to see bright lights, and hear music, and see young people having fun. I want to remember doing it myself.”

  Martha looked down at her nana’s knotted hands. She swallowed away a lump in her throat. “I know, but I lost you...”

  Zelda let go. She pushed her wheels a little forward and then back again. “People only see my chair, or a woman who looks like a bloody walnut. In my head, I’m still a young woman. My body just lets things down.”

  Martha bit her bottom lip. When she was younger, she’d had her fair share of wolf whistles, and men had admired her face and figure. She found love with Joe. But when she started to look after her parents, she seemed to fade out of sight. She was no longer Martha in her own right, but Thomas and Betty’s caring daughter. Her pretty, colorful exterior faded like a magazine left in the sun. “I still see you in a skirt with a crazy cat print. I see you squeezing into caves and digging in the sand to find Australia,” she said.

  “You do?” Zelda’s eyes grew glassy.

  Martha nodded. She worked her tongue around her teeth. If she did something that her nana wanted to do, it might make her more willing to talk. “Now, where do you want to go?” she asked.

  “This way.” Zelda wheeled forward, expertly avoiding people’s feet. “Beep, beep. Dalek coming through,” she called out.

  They reached the carousel where wooden white pon
ies wore shiny red saddles and black leather reins. Their carved golden manes and tails seemed to flow in the wind as they bobbed up and down on twisted poles to the sound of organ music. Zelda halted her chair at the metal barrier. “Isn’t it the most glorious thing you’ve ever seen?”

  Martha nodded. Despite her nana’s exaggeration, it really was magnificent.

  “I can’t see the horses properly. Help me out.” Zelda wrestled off her blanket. She folded it roughly, then pushed herself up out of the wheelchair. Martha grabbed her arm and helped her to her feet. The ride slowed to a halt and laughter filled the air as people filed past on their way off. “Do you want to go on?” Zelda asked.

  Martha laughed at the absurdity of her question. “It’s for kids, not us.”

  “It’s for anyone.” Zelda looked around. “I don’t see a sign to say adults aren’t allowed.”

  “It’s a long time since I went on a carousel.”

  “They’re easy. All you have to do is sit down.”

  The last time she’d been on one, Martha shared a horse with Joe. She sat up front with him behind her. They’d got lost in the music and sounds as he nuzzled the back of her neck. When they got off, a woman told them off for making out in front of her kids.

  If Martha concentrated, she could still feel his breath on the back of her neck and the warmth of his arms around her waist. Thinking about him made her feel a bit drunk. “Gina said no rides,” she muttered.

  “She would say that.” Zelda raised her hand and beckoned over one of the fairground workers. “Can you help me onto a horse?”

  “Sure can.” The man’s biceps were almost the same width as Zelda’s waist. He was dressed all in black and his goatee beard looked like it was painted on. He wrapped his arm around her and shouted, “Hoopla,” as he helped to hoist her up.

  “Now, Daisy,” the man said into the horse’s ear. “You look after this young lady.” He took money from Zelda and patted the horse’s rear end. “Do you want a leg up, too?” he asked Martha.