The Library of Lost and Found

by Phaedra Patrick

  A feeling of peacefulness filtered over her, warming her skin like spring sunshine through a window. Her heartbeat slowed and she began to feel stronger, as if the words were somehow soaking into and strengthening her bones.

  As she read, she felt she was giving this story a new life of its own. It was no longer a reflection of her childhood and whatever happened within the Storm family. It was just a story, to be shared and enjoyed.

  When she finished it, she felt almost sad to reach the end and she closed the book. She took a moment before she said, “Thank you for listening, everybody.”

  Her hip knocked against the microphone stand and a small screech pierced the air.

  Zelda had already stuck a yellow note to the back cover that said, “Read me. I’m yours.” Martha’s hand shook as she placed the book on the turf and stepped away.

  Harry led with a round of applause, clapping his hands together flamboyantly. The cheerleaders raised their pom-poms and shook them in the air. One of the footballers reached up and surreptitiously wiped his eye with his finger.

  As Martha walked off the pitch, her heart began to race again, but this time it wasn’t from fear. If she had to put a name to it, then she might call it pride in herself, that she had been able to read to all those people and share the story for her nana.

  A small round of applause sounded around the ground, growing louder. Glancing back, Martha watched a football player pick up the book and open it.

  Zelda sat, waiting. “You did it,” she said, her eyes swimming with tears. “You were bloody glorious.”

  Martha nodded. For once, she actually felt it.

  “You were ah-mazing.”

  “Thank you.” Martha closed her eyes and took a moment to listen to the crowd and the cheerleaders chanting. She let the feeling wash over her and enjoyed the tingly sensation it triggered in her fingers and toes. She grinned and, when she opened her eyes again, Zelda was still nodding her approval.

  “Shall we go?” Zelda said. “Harry has some cake waiting for us.”

  Martha took hold of the back of her nana’s chair and began to turn her around. “Cake would be lovely,” she said firmly. “But first of all, you owe me your own story. About the book...”

  27

  Kite

  After leaving the football ground, Martha, Zelda, Will and Rose made their way down to the beach. Zelda promised to share her story about the book but wanted to do it somewhere more private than the football ground. Also, Martha wanted to take a walk, to slow down her racing heart.

  As they headed down the slope, she worried that Zelda’s wheelchair might pick up speed, like a racing car in the Grand Prix. So she kept a firm grip on the back, tugging and digging her heels in, just as she did when handling her overloaded shopping trolley.

  Will and Rose, rather embarrassed that their aunt had read a book in the middle of a football pitch, ran off ahead.

  Martha and Zelda stopped when they reached the mermaid statue. Martha took deep gulps of the sea air to try to stop her limbs from jerking with adrenaline. “Now tell me about Blue Skies and Stormy Seas,” she said softly.

  Zelda nodded. “I will do, but I want to look at the plaque first.” Her lips moved as she read the names of the fishermen to herself. “It only seems like yesterday when the Pegasus went down,” she said. “I remember it well.”

  “Were you there?”

  “I found out the morning after it happened. I was walking on the beach and could hear seagulls cawing. But when I got closer, I realized it was the sound of people crying. There was a lifeboat out at sea and I remember thinking it looked too orange against the gray waves. Two boats circled, round and round, like they were spiraling down a plughole.” She made a twist with her finger.

  Martha pressed her lips together, imagining the scene. “Did you know any of the men on board?”

  Zelda took her time to speak. “I knew Siegfried Frost a little, and I think he survived. Another was Daniel McLean. He was just twenty years old, the poor lad. Your mum knew him, too.”

  “Siegfried still lives in Sandshift.” Martha looked over towards the lighthouse. She tried and failed to picture the gray-bearded recluse as a young man. “He must only have been around Mum’s age when it happened.”

  “So young,” Zelda agreed. “Your mum wasn’t much older when she got married.”

  “I know. I found the marriage certificate when I was cleaning the house. I didn’t know Mum was pregnant with me when she walked down the aisle.”

  Zelda fell quiet. “How do you know about that?”

  “Just from the dates. I wonder if Dad resented me, because he felt forced to get married...”

  “Hmm.” Zelda pursed her lips and looked out to sea. “They were different times, and your father was a complex man.”

  They stayed there for a few minutes. The wind lifted Martha’s hair around her face while Zelda’s headscarf made a fluttering sound. Sea spit speckled their cheeks.

  “The book,” Martha said. “You said you’d tell me.”

  Zelda turned her wheelchair away from the statue and faced the sea. “When I left Sandshift, I wanted to get away from England. Gina’s parents invited me to stay with them in Finland.”

  “You’ve known her for that long?”

  Zelda nodded. “Her whole family was good to me. They welcomed me as one of them. I was terribly homesick for a while. I missed England and I left Betty behind.” She rubbed her nose. “Gina put up with my gloomy moods, though.

  “She’s always said that writing is good therapy and thought I should keep my mind busy. So one day, she bought me a scrapbook and suggested I stick things in it. I’d kept some of the stories you’d written for me and I pasted them in.

  “As soon as I’d done it, other ones started to flood back. There were ones I made up for you. There were stories I used to tell your mum, and ones she shared with me. I wrote them down. Not exactly, of course. Just whatever I could remember.

  “Gina can draw well, though she won’t admit it. One day when I was feeling low, she sat beside me and drew a blackbird. Then she pasted it next to one of your stories, ‘The Bird Girl.’ And over the next few weeks and months, she drew other things, too, a mermaid, puppets and a nightingale. We worked on completing the scrapbook together.” Zelda paused and repositioned her blanket farther up her legs.

  “Gina knew a local printer and when the scrapbook was finished she asked him to reproduce it, as a real book. She commissioned fifty copies for my birthday and it was such a glorious surprise. She turned the past into something beautiful for me, so I could face the future. She’s an ah-mazing woman.

  “We gave copies to friends and Gina’s family, before we moved to America. I even came home, to give you your own copy...”

  “Home?” Martha questioned. “You returned to Sandshift?”

  Zelda took a deep breath and didn’t let it go. Her lips worked as if she was sifting through what she should and shouldn’t say. “It was 1985 when I called back at the cottage. It was during the day and I made a big mistake. Betty was at home but so was Thomas.”

  Martha squinted against the daylight, an uneasy feeling swirling in her stomach. “And this was after my parents told me you were dead?”

  Zelda gave a curt nod. “It was three years later. I wrote a message in a copy of Blue Skies and Stormy Seas and brought it for you. I knocked on the door, longing to see Betty, you and Lilian. But Thomas answered instead.” She lowered her eyes and shook her head. “I tried to apologize to him.”

  “What did you need to do that for? Was it his fault that you left?”

  Zelda placed a hand to her mouth. Her shoulders started to shake. “I begged to see you and Lilian... I said sorry, because I thought that’s what Thomas would want to hear...”

  Martha reached out and stroked her back. “What happened to the book you brought for me?
Why doesn’t it have a cover?”

  “Your father tore it off when he threw it back at me. It hit me in the chest and fell onto the floor. I picked it back up and tried to offer it again but Betty, my own daughter, ordered me to leave.” Zelda tried to blink away her tears, but they spilled down her cheeks. “She said that things were settled, without me. My coming home would mess things up for the family, she said. Everyone thought I was dead, and they wanted to keep it that way. I had to leave...again.”

  “But why did you go in the first place?”

  Zelda shook her head slowly. Her fingers kneaded her blanket.

  “What happened, Nana?” Martha asked softly.

  Zelda gave the smallest smile as she reached out for Martha’s hand. “It was the evening of your parents’ anniversary party,” she said. “I was invited, and I...” She stopped talking abruptly as footsteps pounded on the sand. Will and Rose ran towards them, whooping with their arms raised. Martha tore her eyes away from her nana.

  A brightly colored kite bobbed in the sky. As her niece and nephew drew closer, Martha could see it was shaped like a parrot, made of red, green and yellow polythene, vivid against the milky sky.

  “Look what we found on the beach,” Rose panted as her feet came to a standstill.

  Will’s eyes were still trained in the air. “It has a thread attached but doesn’t have a handle.”

  Zelda wiped her face with her fingers. “Can I have a turn?”

  Will gave her a grin. “Maybe later. Can we run out towards the lighthouse, Auntie Martha?”

  Martha glanced over at the craggy rocks. A gray figure stood at the end of them, looking out to sea. “Yes, but don’t be long. I’m hungry.”

  She watched them run away and turned back to Zelda. “Do you remember when you could get so excited by a piece of colored polythene?”

  “Remember it? I still do.”

  “You were invited to the party,” Martha prompted, returning to their conversation. “What happened?”

  Zelda pulled her blanket up farther up over her body. “You know what? I’m ever so hungry, too, Martha. Do you fancy going to the chip shop? I’ve not been to the one in the bay for ages.”

  “I asked you a question,” Martha said firmly.

  “I know you did.”

  “Well?”

  Zelda spun the wheels on her chair. “Let’s go,” she said. “I really can’t think straight without food.”

  28

  Paint

  Martha treated Zelda, Will and Rose to a portion of fish, chips and mushy peas each. The sky was darkening to indigo as they carried them over to a bench halfway up the cliff that overlooked the bay. It was more sheltered here, without as much wind.

  Martha made sure her hair slide was secure before she opened up her carton. She was ravenous after the Read and Run at the football ground and their visit to the beach.

  Zelda leaned back in her chair. She scratched around under her headscarf, unfastened and then removed it. After folding it into a small square, she put in into her pocket.

  “Why haven’t you got any hair?” Rose asked as she squeezed out a sachet of ketchup.

  “I’m kick-starting a trend,” Zelda said. “It’s a strong look for us octogenarians. What do you think?”

  Rose widened her eyes, then laughed. “I prefer you with the scarf.”

  “Why do you have a scar on the back of your head?” Will asked.

  Zelda didn’t miss a beat. “It’s from a nasty crocodile attack. I wrestled it and won.”

  Will and Rose shared a shoulder shrug before they carried on eating.

  Martha loved the ceremony of eating fish and chips outside, especially when it was cold. She liked to add too much vinegar so it pooled in the bottom of the carton in a brown puddle.

  The four of them huddled in a line, their shoulders hunched and noses pink. They used both hands to hold their chip cartons, to keep them warm.

  “What do you fancy doing, when we get back to the house?” Martha asked when they’d finished eating.

  “I can show you how my phone works,” Will offered.

  “Can we play with the dragon’s head?” Rose asked.

  Martha thought of the beast, with his face part gray from the papier-mâché repair. “You can’t really play with him because he belongs to the school. He’s also waiting to be sandpapered and painted.”

  “We could do that,” Will suggested. “I like painting.”

  “Me, too,” Rose said.

  Martha pictured her grandmother, niece and nephew sitting on the dining room floor, circled around the dragon’s head, like it was a substitute campfire. It was a strange but rather wonderful idea.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s give it a try.”

  When they got back to the house, Will’s phone rang and he darted into the kitchen to take the call. “Okay, Mum. Yes, we’re having a good time. Yes, we’ve eaten. No, I probably haven’t drunk enough water.”

  Martha followed him. “Please don’t mention the football ground or Zelda,” she whispered. “I’ll tell her about them.”

  Will gave a shrug. He closed the door behind him and his voice turned to a hum.

  Martha maneuvered the dragon’s head onto the floor and shook the tubes of paint out of Suki’s shopping bag.

  Rose crouched down beside her. She rearranged the tubes so the colors ran from light to dark.

  “I’ll just pop upstairs and unpack my things,” Zelda said. She stood up from the wooden chair. “I’ll pick a bedroom.”

  “Use mine if you like,” Martha said.

  After a few minutes, Will reappeared. He sloped into the dining room and slumped down on his inflatable mattress. Resting his chin on his knees, he played with the laces in his shoes. “Mum wants to speak to you,” he said to his sister. “The phone’s on the dining table.”

  Rose got to her feet and it was her turn to shut herself away.

  Martha looked at Will’s glum face. “Do you want a cup of tea? Do you need an extra pillow on your mattress?”

  Will shook his head. He undid his laces and took his shoes off. He straightened them up side by side. “Nah. It’s okay.”

  Martha studied him for a while before she lowered herself down, sitting beside him.

  “I don’t want a biscuit,” he said automatically.

  “Do you want to talk about anything?”

  Will moved his head in a half shake, half nod.

  Martha waited.

  Finally, he worked his tongue around inside his mouth. “Mum and Dad aren’t getting along at the moment.”

  “Oh.” Martha thought about putting on a cheery face, of thumping his arm and telling him to keep his chin up. But she fought against the urge, not saying or doing anything.

  “She likes everything to be perfect.” Will sighed. “I can’t leave socks on the floor or eat food in front of the TV. If she says I’ve got to be home at nine o’clock, god forbid if I’m even a minute late. Now she’s asked me to make a note of everything we do this weekend, so she knows what’s gone on. It’s going too far. It’s so crappy, trying to please her all the time.”

  Martha gave his arm a brief rub. She knew what it was like, trying to please a demanding parent. “Your mum likes to be organized,” she tried to explain. “She’s just trying to show an interest in you.”

  “It’s more than that,” Will said. “She’s obsessed. It’s like she thinks that someone is going to show up with a clipboard and give her marks out of ten for everything she does... everything we do.”

  “Your granddad liked everything done in a certain way, too. Perhaps it’s rubbed off on your mum.”

  Will leaned back on the mattress and it squeaked beneath his elbows. He glanced around the room. “Gran wasn’t that old when she died, was she? My mate at school has grandparents in their nineties.
”

  “Zelda is almost ninety, too.” Martha stopped talking, not wanting to let it slip to Will that she was his great-grandmother. “Your gran was only in her midsixties. I don’t think she knew how to live without your granddad.”

  “What? She died of a broken heart?”

  Martha mused on this. “Something like that.”

  Will folded his arms. “I remember them sitting around the dining table. Granddad gave us chocolate when Mum wasn’t looking, and his hair was really black, like a vampire’s. He liked flowers, didn’t he? There was always a vase on the table.”

  “Yes, freesias. He bought them for your gran each week.”

  Will nodded. “Gran looked after us. She wore nice colors, like an exotic bird. Though she was always nervy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know those horror films where there’s a woman on her own in a spooky house, and she’s walking along a dark corridor to investigate a strange noise in the kitchen? Like no one would ever do in real life. Well, Gran was like that, like she always expected something to jump out at her.” He looked down. “I kind of miss them both.”

  Even though her parents had shaped her life, Martha also missed them. “Me, too,” she said. She hesitated before she draped her arm around his shoulder, not sure if a thirteen-year-old boy would appreciate a hug.

  Will pressed himself against her for a couple of seconds before he moved quickly away. “Cheers,” he muttered.

  Rose and Zelda entered the room again at the same time. Zelda lifted her nose and sniffed the air. “Is everything okay? Have I missed something?”

  Will and Martha shared a brief smile.

  “Nothing,” Martha said. “We were just about to get started on the dragon’s head. Choose which paintbrush you want to use.”

  * * *

  The next two hours were ones that Martha knew she’d remember and relish for a long while. Time with her nana, niece and nephew might be short and she was determined to enjoy it.