The Library of Lost and Found

by Phaedra Patrick

  Twenty minutes after Will and Rose headed out, Gina knocked on the door. She carried Zelda’s turquoise suitcases into the cottage, a large one and an extra large. After that, she headed back to the car, then hoisted a fold-up wheelchair inside, too.

  Zelda stood in the hallway, a little unsteady. She traced a finger along the floral wallpaper and held it there, as if propping herself up.

  “Are you okay?” Martha asked.

  Zelda nodded and looked around. “It feels so strange being back here. Like it’s not quite real.”

  Martha understood what she meant. She felt the same way, too. “I’ve set up the main bedroom for you. Would you like to take a look?”

  “That’s Betty’s room, isn’t it?”

  Martha bit the inside of her cheek. She’d not considered how her nana might feel, staying in her own daughter’s room. “You can take my bed instead, if you like? My niece and nephew, Will and Rose, are staying over, too. They’ll sleep on inflatable mattresses on the floor downstairs.”

  “I’ll look and decide later, thank you.” Zelda walked into the dining room, as if she was barefoot and treading on tacks. She pulled out the wooden chair and sat down, looking out of the window at the bay. The daylight highlighted the creases on her cheeks and the fine hairs around her mouth. “Do Will and Rose know who I am?”

  Martha shook her head. “I thought you should meet Lilian first, so I’ve told the kids that you’re a friend, for now. Please don’t say anything otherwise.”

  “I’ll try my best.”

  Gina remained in the hallway and Martha headed back to speak to her.

  “Ezmerelda’s been quiet for most of the journey here,” Gina said in a hushed tone. “If you can believe that.”

  Martha glanced over at her grandmother. She didn’t seem her usual vivacious self. She was still looking out of the window, her expression contemplative. “Perhaps we should take her cases upstairs and give her a few moments alone.”

  She and Gina each carried a suitcase upstairs and set them down next to the bed in her parents’ old bedroom. It was now clean and aired, and Martha had made the bed with fresh white linen. She’d left the window open and a breeze lifted the curtains and let them fall again.

  “Your house looks very different to how it appeared the other day,” Gina said.

  Her approval suddenly felt really important to Martha. Gina was Zelda’s carer, her guardian. “I’ve tidied up the best I can. I’m afraid I let things slide after my parents died,” she said. The waxwork-like figures of Thomas and Betty in their final days flashed in her mind but she wouldn’t let them stay. “I’m going to look at decorating next, but the amount of choice is so confusing.”

  “I went out to look at printed wallpapers a couple of weeks ago, and there were hundreds of patterns to choose from,” Gina agreed. “It was most difficult. I ended up walking away, empty-handed.”

  The two women smiled at each other, glad they’d found something in common other than Zelda.

  “I’ll help Zelda all I can,” Martha said. “It means a lot to me for her to stay here.”

  Gina gave a short nod. She seemed to measure up her next words. “It’s special for her, too. Though I am concerned that being here will stir up memories.”

  “We could head down to the beach this afternoon, rather than stay around the house. My niece and nephew are down there, so we can say hello.”

  Gina gave a short laugh. “I think you’ll find that Ezmerelda has other plans for you.”

  “Plans?” Martha’s throat tightened.

  “She said something about a football match. She watches them on the TV.”

  “Oh.”

  “I hoped she would relax more over the coming months and take things easier.” Gina adjusted her handbag on her shoulder. “I suppose that is not her style. She will stay with you overnight and then I will drive back to collect her at 5:00 p.m. tomorrow. Do you still have the postcard with my rules written on the back?”

  Martha nodded. “I love the illustration of the Scottie dog.”

  “I like to draw sometimes,” Gina said. “Please try to adhere to as many of the rules as possible. I know you’ll take care of her, and you have my number if you should need it.”

  After they made their way downstairs, Gina walked over to Zelda and bent her head. She said something, then planted a kiss on her lips. Even though she whispered, Martha overheard her.

  “I will miss you.”

  “I doubt it.” Zelda grinned up at her. “I’ll be okay, though. See you soon.”

  Martha felt a prickle of embarrassment, like she had intruded on a private moment. There was a chemistry between Zelda and Gina that she hadn’t noticed before, and Zelda’s melancholy seemed to evaporate like a puddle on a hot day.

  “Don’t do anything adventurous,” Gina said as she moved away.

  “I promise I won’t,” Zelda said before she winked at Martha.

  26

  Football

  “Let me get this right,” Martha said as she counted on her fingertips. “You want to do a Read and Run, at Sandshift football ground, this afternoon? And you want me to accompany you?”

  “Yes.” Zelda nodded firmly.

  “But I have the kids to look after...”

  “They can join us. They’ll love it.”

  Martha’s heart thumped wildly. What on earth would Lilian think if she knew Will and Rose were accompanying their great-grandmother to a football match?”

  “You look a little woozy,” Zelda said. “Have you been drinking again?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Martha said sharply. “I told you, I don’t want to do this.”

  “I know, but it’s my dy—”

  “Yes, I know. Your dying wish. Why can’t you have a normal one, like going to Disneyland, or lunch at the Ritz?”

  Zelda’s eyelids flickered. “We don’t have to do it.” She paused with a sniff. “I’m sure Harry will understand, if you tell him.”

  “Um, Harry?”

  “I’ve arranged it with him.”

  Martha held her head in her hands. “And does Gina know about this?”

  Zelda cast her eyes down.

  “I thought not,” Martha said and let out a long sigh.

  * * *

  The chant, “Sandshift United, rah rah rah. Sandshift United, rah rah rah,” rung gladiatorial-like through the air as Martha, Zelda, Will and Rose approached the football ground.

  Martha felt a bead of sweat form on her forehead and she brushed it away. She’d made an effort with her outfit today and wore Betty’s green sweater and beige wool coat again. It made her underarms hot and prickly as she pushed Zelda’s chair up the steep slope.

  “I can do it. Let go of the handles,” Zelda kept shouting.

  But Martha sustained a firm grip. It gave her a focus, so she didn’t panic about her nana’s plan for another Read and Run. She’d heard of knees knocking but didn’t think it actually happened. However, her knees were reverberating as they reached and entered the small reception area.

  Harry was waiting for them, and Martha worried that the palm of her hand might feel clammy when he gave it a shake. “Martha,” he said and kissed her on the cheek, too. “Ye’re looking well. I’m glad ye ladies could make it.” He grinned.

  Will and Rose smiled hello and started to circle the room, looking at the photographs on the wall of the Sandshift United teams over the years. Martha had introduced Zelda to them as “An old friend of the family,” and they hadn’t asked any questions.

  “We’re raring to go,” Zelda said. “Just try stopping us.”

  Martha smiled nervously from under her stripy hair.

  “I’ve arranged for ye to go on the football pitch before the match. One of the lads from the accounts department wants to be a stand-up comedian, so he’s having a go first. Th
en ye’re on.”

  “So...” Martha’s voice shook as she spoke. “We just walk out on the pitch, and Zelda reads aloud?”

  Harry nodded. “She’ll have a microphone, so the crowd can hear her.”

  “How many people are there?”

  “Usually around two thousand.”

  “Two?” Martha pressed a hand to her neck.

  “Sometimes three, for a big match. For a wee football team they attract a lot of supporters.”

  Zelda shoulders shrank. She fingered the blanket on her lap. “My throat is a little croaky,” she said, glancing away. “I hope I’ll be okay.”

  Martha fixed her with a glare. “Yes, you will,” she said.

  * * *

  The accounts-person-come-comedian stood in the center of the pitch. From the tunnel, Martha couldn’t hear his words properly. She could see him gesturing with his hands, waving them around and standing with them on his hips. The rhythm of his patter stopped for a while as he waited for a response to his last joke. Martha listened out for laughter but there was only a mild titter.

  Her stomach churned as he finished his set and shuffled past her, his back hunched. “I think I’ll stick with invoicing,” he said.

  Will and Rose had opted for a tour of the grounds, offered by one of Harry’s workmates, and Zelda and Harry were deep in conversation a few meters away. Zelda had a copy of Blue Skies and Stormy Seas set on her lap.

  As she waited for their turn, Martha found that her feet wouldn’t stay still. With a life of their own they shuffled and danced on the spot. She kept checking her watch and a sense of dread flooded over her as the seconds ticked away.

  Giggles filled the corridor and a team of cheerleaders appeared around the corner. Slumping against the nearest wall, they chewed gum and stared at each other’s phones. They all wore the same white satin shorts, heavily penciled-in eyebrows and hair in bunches.

  One of them stared in her direction, slowly running her eyes over Martha’s curly hair, her coat and then shoes. “Is she going to sing?” she whispered loudly to her friend. “Not exactly Beyoncé, is she?”

  “More like Susan Boyle.”

  Martha looked for the exit but the girls had blocked the corridor, obscuring her view of Zelda. She stood on her tiptoes and her breathing quickened. Harry squeezed through the plethora of pom-poms toward her. “Don’t be nervous. Ye’ll be fine,” he said, patting her arm. “It’s a shame about Zelda’s sore throat, but I’ll tell ye what to do.”

  Martha’s entire body stiffened. “Me?” she exclaimed.

  Harry shrugged a shoulder. “She said that ye’ll be doing the reading.”

  Martha shook her head wildly. “No. Definitely not. Please wait a minute...” She excused her way through the cheerleaders to where her nana sat, smiling sheepishly in her chair.

  “What is this about?” Martha gestured with her hands. “Harry says you’re not doing your reading. You claimed it was your dying wish.”

  Zelda looked up through her sparse eyelashes. “It is. I want to share the stories from the book.” She glanced towards the pitch.

  Martha narrowed her eyes. “Harry said you have a sore throat.”

  “I do.” Zelda licked her top lip. “And there’s more people than I thought, out there.”

  “You should have thought about that before you set this up.” Martha lowered her voice to a hiss.

  “Three minutes, ladies,” Harry said as he joined them. “Time to get into position.”

  Martha rubbed her forehead. “I cannot do this on my own,” she said.

  “Please, Martha,” Zelda said. “‘The Tiger and the Unicorn’ is an important story to me.”

  “Then you do it.”

  “I can’t. Not today. I’m sorry.” Zelda took hold of her hand and stroked the back of it. “To other people, our book might be just a few battered old pages, words and pictures. But when we read the stories, we remember how we felt when we told them. It may sound crazy, but the more people who hear them, the less I connect them to our family history. Do you understand what I mean?”

  Martha clenched her teeth. She looked out at all the people in the crowd. and the blood running through her veins felt cold. She gave the slightest nod. “I think so...but...”

  Zelda pursed her lips. “Please do this, and I promise I’ll tell you the story behind the book.”

  Martha met her nana’s eyes and blinked. “What? Everything? You’ll tell me how and why it came to be?”

  “Yes,” Zelda said. “Absolutely everything.”

  * * *

  Martha’s heart thumped so loudly she was sure the microphone would pick it up. Her chest was tight and she could hardly breathe. As she walked out onto the pitch, the turf felt bouncy beneath her feet, and she concentrated on taking one step forward and then another, as she followed the cheerleaders. She blinked as she left the dark of the tunnel behind and squinted against the hazy white sky and emerald-green grass. She held one hand up against the weak sun as the noise of the crowd singing crackled in her ears.

  Harry walked at the side of her. He turned this way and that, waving with both hands as if he was washing windows. Martha kept her own hands pressed to her sides. She could feel vomit rising in her throat and she swallowed it away.

  Don’t be sick. Don’t be sick, she chanted to herself.

  She reached under her coat and plucked at her sweater as she and Harry neared a microphone stand. As she swayed a little, he reached out a steadying hand. “Are ye okay?”

  Martha glanced over to the side of the pitch, to where her nana sat in her wheelchair. With every nerve in her body, she sensed Zelda willing her to do this. Martha stood stiffly, her body trembling, before she gave a short nod. “I’m fine,” she squeaked.

  The football team stood in a line with their hands behind their backs. One yawned and there were a few sets of glazed eyes.

  “Ye just take hold of the microphone. I’ll switch it on. Good luck and enjoy yerself.” Harry smiled at her.

  Martha gave a rictus grin back. She took a few deep breaths and blew out through pursed lips. She glanced back at her nana one last time before she stuck out her chin and reached for the microphone. Her fingers fumbled and it slipped through them, as if it was coated in butter. Electronic feedback screeched around the arena and ripples of laughter rang around the ground. Martha scrunched up her shoulders against the noise.

  “Get her off. Get her off. Get her off,” a chant started. It gathered momentum until it echoed and surrounded her. “Get her OFF.”

  “Ignore them. They even sing that to their own team,” Harry said beside her. He bent down, picked up the microphone and repositioned it. “Ye go for it. And I have some cake for ye and Zelda afterwards. A new fruity recipe.”

  Martha nodded. She touched the microphone lightly and cleared her throat a couple of times. “Um, hello,” she croaked.

  “Get her off. Get her off,” the crowd sang in reply.

  “Speak up. Ye’re talking to two thousand people,” Harry said and he moved away.

  Martha massaged the back of her neck and felt her bottom lip wobble. She was on the verge of bursting into tears. Useless. That’s how she felt. As useless as Clive Folds insinuated she was, as useless as her father often made her feel. Panic took hold of her legs, making them bow and wobble. She shuffled closer to the microphone stand but her feet were leaden. She stood still for a long time, wishing the football team would forget she was there and start the match without her. Then she could slink away and flee from the ground.

  She peeked around again at Zelda, and her nana leaned forward in her wheelchair, giving her a double thumbs-up. “I love you, Martha,” she shouted, cupping her hands to her mouth. “You are glorious.”

  Martha looked away quickly as tears sprang to her eyes. Glorious was something she was when she was with Joe, before she looked a
fter her parents. Glorious was something she was when she wrote her stories.

  Not now.

  She looked around at the hundreds of multicolored speckles of faces surrounding her and she struggled for air. Her fingers spasmed and she reached up, nervously pushing her glittery slide higher and tighter in her hair.

  This matters to Zelda, she told herself. Would you prefer to be here, or stuck at home washing chandeliers and hemming trousers?

  She imagined if her mother was here, Betty would encourage her, too. She’d want her to do something that wasn’t dictated by Thomas.

  She finally summoned the strength to speak. “Good afternoon,” she said, and she was surprised at how loud and clear her voice sounded, amplified through the mike.

  The cheerleaders stopped talking. They still chewed gum but they looked at her rather than at each other.

  As Martha waited, the roar of the crowd died down.

  She raised her copy of Blue Skies and Stormy Seas and her fingers scrabbled to find “The Tiger and the Unicorn.” She waited a few beats to see if the words “Get her off” rose again, but all she heard was a bout of good-natured singing.

  “I’m Martha Storm, from Sandshift library,” she said. “My grandmother, Zelda, would like me to tell you a story I wrote when I was a young girl, because it’s important to our family history.” She paused again, wondering how shaky her words sounded to the audience. She tried to picture the football supporters as rows of cabbages, or minus their clothes. Harry stood a few meters away and she averted her eyes, so her mind didn’t picture him naked, too.

  After the blast of an air horn, she began to read.

  Her first few words tumbled out and she stuttered a little, but she found her flow. She concentrated on the page, on the white paper and the dark gray words. Her surroundings faded away and she became only aware of the book and her own voice.

  Stories could always take her elsewhere and she allowed this one to do it now.

  She imagined herself in her teens, her feet kicking against the cliff at the end of the garden, and of Zelda twirling on the grass in a flowing dress. She saw herself crawling on the library floor, and Zelda making a claw of her hand as Martha described the tiger threatening the unicorn.