Martha eye-balled him suspiciously. It didn’t seem to bother him in the least. There was a lot of ego in his young, talented soul.
‘I have to admit though,’ he continued, stepping through the doorway and into the hall without being invited in. Evidently he visited Amanda at home a lot. Martha was not at all sure what she thought about that now that she had met him in person. ‘I am eager to test you out.’
‘Excuse me?’ she asked, incredulously.
‘Your psychic shielding,’ he clarified. ‘If I hadn’t known who you were I might have mistaken you for a null. It’s like a brick wall trying to read you.’
‘Maybe I’m just not as powerful as you’ve been led to believe.’
‘Yeah, not buying it,’ he shook his head, pointing a teasing, accusatory finger in her direction. ‘You are what you are, Valentine. Don’t hide it.’
‘You know nothing about me, Joe.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. At least, not anymore.’ He grinned again. ‘And it’s Walsh, by the way. That’s what most people call me. Only Amanda calls me Joe.’
Martha’s indignation peaked with a spiking blend of trepidation and curiosity. Nobody spoke to her in the way this arrogant little upstart was. Nobody violated her defences and lived to brag about it. Not anymore. However, there was just something about the brash boyfriend of her younger sister that was familiar, comforting almost. He spoke a language that she knew and had not expected to hear in Marytown. And that saved him from a verbal disembowelling at least.
‘Are you trying to imply that my defences are structurally unsound?’ she retorted, raising an eyebrow. ‘I thought you just called me a wall.’
‘Even the best brickwork can succumb to termites.’
‘You often refer to yourself as a pest, Walsh?’
‘Termites are among the most successful groups of insects on the planet, Valentine.’
‘You keep calling me Valentine. How did you know I use my mother’s name?’
He gave her what was undoubtedly her first humble smile. It was a little bit unnerving, a little bit too real. But for that brief glimpse, Martha understood him a little better and changed her mind about telling Amanda that she did not approve of her relationship. Especially when his next statement was a simply stated, ‘You’re not a Ford.’
‘No,’ she openly agreed. ‘No, I’m not.’
Chapter 9
‘A lot of people can be very difficult to read. Not impossible but a little bit tricky,’ Joe Walsh continued to posture after the moment had passed, the front door had been sealed and the two of them made their way upstairs to the only lounge that Martha actually liked, in the room that was the adjacent counterpart to the cluttered study. The past decade had made a mark upon the décor, lavish and in keeping with the rest of the house but thankfully not one corner held the man of the house’s influence. It had always been luxurious yet informal and most importantly, it had also been safe. She had fond memories of that room. It was one of a few that she did.
Walsh removed his jacket and shoes upon entering, respectful of house rules, it seemed. He took the sofa that was catty-corner to the large, flat television screen that was affixed to the wall above the pale, marble fireplace, relaxing back against the sumptuous cream cushions and seemed to be as comfortable in the room as Martha and she considered asking him his opinion of his girlfriend’s father but decided that such questions could wait. For now.
Instead she let him continued to chat. ‘Most true nulls are actually ridiculously easy to get an impression of. They scream normal so loudly that it’s almost deafening.’
‘Honestly, I can’t say that I know that many normal people.’
‘No,’ he chuckled. ‘I don’t suppose that you do.’
It oddly did not surprise Martha that her sister’s exceptionally talented boyfriend had no questions or more comments to make about the covert personal information he had accessed in her head. She should have also been more disturbed that it did not actually disturb her at all. In a very bizarre twist of circumstance, she trusted Walsh. She didn’t understand it but since she was so short of allies here, she made a conscious decision not to question it too much.
Instead she decided that she wanted to know more about the young man who was dating her baby sister, opting to ask, ‘How old were you when you realised you were psychic?’
‘I’ve always been aware of something. I never really played well with others.’
Somehow, Martha was not surprised.
‘I guess that my abilities started to truly present themselves at about fifteen.’
‘Around the time you hit puberty then.’
‘Well, that’s a bit of a personal assertion, Valentine.’ Walsh heartily chuckled, as if she had amused him. ‘But yeah. Funny how that happens, huh?’
Martha shrugged. ‘I was six.’
‘Don’t boast, Valentine. It’s unbecoming.’
‘Not boasting,’ she asserted. ‘It’s just the way that it happened.’
‘I’m not even remotely jealous.’
‘Liar.’
‘Well as I implied, I was a late developer. My abilities sort of just came online one day and they were so strong that I couldn’t ignore them. I wanted to. Trust me, I had my fair share of confliction about it all. I had no idea how it was going to fit in with my life, my stupidly religious family. I didn’t want it. Not even a little bit.’
‘Well, you seem to have adjusted very well.’
He shrugged. ‘After a while, I realised it was not going away so it was stupid to keep on fighting it. Instead I got help. I embraced it and refused to look back.’
‘Does working at that agency help?’ she asked, genuinely interested.
‘It does now,’ he admitted. ‘But I wasn’t always MPIA material.’
Martha gave him a long, hard look at that comment. ‘What did you do?’
‘Like I said,’ he held up his hands in mock surrender, ‘I had some issues when I realised what I was capable of. I was not even remotely stable. I was impulsive and bored and I hated my parents for putting their expectations on me. So, I looked for ways to turn things in my favour and maybe make myself some easy money in the process.’
‘You became a charlatan.’
He at least had the decency to look sheepish, Martha had to give him credit for that.
‘Does Amanda know about this?’ she asked. Because she felt like she had to.
‘Sure she does,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t lie to her about anything.’
Martha smiled. ‘Good.’
‘Truth is, I’m not proud of the shit that I pulled when I was younger. I messed up and I came pretty close to paying dearly for it. Lucky for me though, there were people that believed in me and helped me get back on track.’ He paused, smiled warmly. ‘Your sister included.’
‘I’m glad that you have each other.’
He looked her directly in the eye. ‘That means a lot, Valentine. Thanks.’
‘Not a problem,’ she stated firmly. ‘I might have missed a big chunk of her life but she’s my family, my blood. You do know that if you hurt her, I’ll kill you and it’ll be painful.’
Walsh actually visibly gulped. Then nodded. Good. So he did know how dangerous she could be if she had to. ‘I understand.’
‘Great.’ She smiled, trying to hold just the teeniest bit of threat to it. ‘Because I like you, Walsh. I have no idea why. You are so full of yourself that it’s kind of annoying and I suspect that you have some major boundary issues. I’m trusting you with my sister. Don’t let me down.’
He held up a hand as if swearing an oath. ‘I don’t intend to.’
Briefly Martha considering telling him that where she came from, that would have gotten him into big trouble potentially but decided that she would keep that tidbit in her pocket in case it ever became necessary to make him honour such a blatant vow. Besides, she was certain that she had scared him straight enough, even if it was obvious how much he cared f
or Amanda, who chose that moment to finally join them in the lounge.
Fresh from the shower, the colour had returned to her cheeks giving them a rosy hue that made her look even prettier than she had before. Her blonde hair was now loose. Martha could see that it was as long and wavy as her own had been when she was her sister’s age, just fair – the yang to her proverbial yin. The soft, golden waves tumbled over her shoulders, resplendent against the blue and white stripes of her fitted rugby shirt. A fresh pair of jeans completed the outfit. Her feet were bare. She went straight to the sofa where her boyfriend was sitting and greeted him with a chaste yet tender kiss before sitting down beside him, curling her legs beneath her. The smile that graced her lips as she glanced between the two of them suggested that she could sense the fine underlying tension and could deduce what it entailed.
‘So,’ she playfully intoned, elongating the vowel. ‘What are you two talking about?’
‘How awesome your sister is,’ Walsh answered before Martha could even look at him.
Amanda’s smile was wide and genuine. ‘I told you so.’
Before things could get any gushier, Martha decided that she would extricate herself from the conversation. She was not uncomfortable, yet and she intended to keep it that way. After so many years away from such familial closeness, she did not really know how to handle it all and so would take some time, do things at her own pace. She felt like she was slowly gaining a footing and she didn’t want to misstep and slip so soon. Not when so much was at stake.
Pushing herself up off the sofa, she said, ‘I’m going to go and sit with Mum.’
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Amanda attempted to assure her. ‘She’s sleeping.’
‘I want to. I’ve missed… all of you.’
‘We missed you too.’ Her sister looked momentarily pensive, glanced surreptitiously at her boyfriend before looking down at her hands, curled in her lap. ‘Martha..?’
‘Amanda.’
‘We were talking, before Joe arrived,’ she hedged. ‘About the…err… situation that I mentioned to you on our way home. And we think that, in order to make things go as smooth as they possibly can, that some more… umm… bridges still need to be mended.’
Of course Martha immediately knew what they were referring to. Or should she say who that they were referring to. Of course she knew. And in theory, she could grudgingly admit to herself that they had a point but she did not like the feeling that she was suddenly being ambushed. Not at all. Glaring at the young man, sitting next to her sister. ‘That a royal we?’
‘She has a point, Valentine,’ he said, unflinching. ‘And you know it.’
‘I’ve already said that I won’t get in the way.’
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Why not?’ Martha argued. ‘He probably won’t even care that I’m here anyway.’
Walsh looked her directly in the eye and responded simply. ‘He’ll care.’
‘The two of you have a history,’ Amanda gently tried to explain. ‘You were together for a lot of years and then you went away. Don’t get me wrong, I am so, so happy and grateful that you are here and that you want to make sure that we’re okay but it’s not just me, Mum and Dad who missed you when you left… It’s not just us that considered you to be their family.’
Walsh nodded mutedly, seemingly in agreement and Martha could not stop the reaction that her body made to the way the conversation had turned. A deep longing crept into her chest, tightened her stomach. It was a sensation that she had not felt in a long time, so similar but at the same time different to the pining that she had occasionally experienced for Amanda and Gale. It was hard to deny what her sister and her boyfriend were telling her. And she hated that.
‘Alright,’ she sighed, resolutely. ‘What do you want me to do?’
Chapter 10
Martha stared down at the small, rectangular business card in her hand, trying to decide what to do about it. As she saw it, she had two options. Well, three actually but she did not think that her sister would approve of her disappearing for another thirteen years without saying goodbye.
While she was working things through, she had slipped into the master bedroom to sit with her mother. Gale was, as Amanda had stated, sleeping sound. Her eyes were closed, her breathing deep and even. Martha dearly hoped that she was finding some peace in her rest.
When she was younger, Martha knew that she had been vulnerable and weak in ways that made her become selfish. She had suffered more than most but that was no excuse. Not really.
Not when she had had a woman like Gale Ford watching over her.
When she was four years old, Martha slipped in the bathtub and gashed open her chin. She was too young to remember it herself but Gale had regaled the story so many times that it felt like she could picture it vividly. The strawberry scented bubbles. The rubber ducks and the toy ships. The stream of blood that diluted with the water as it streaked down her neck and her chest, seeming so much worse than it actually was. It was the first of many mishaps and also the first of her many scars. The story had become infamous in Ford family circles not because of Martha’s injury but because it caused Gale to have an anxiety attack and was considered the first moment that she truly realised what it meant to be a parent and love somebody unconditionally. Of course she had always known it but it was the realisation that, beyond her control, her baby girl could be hurt and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. And she had clung to it.
That evening on the way back from the hospital, they had gone for ice cream. Martha had almost made herself sick with the amount that she had eaten. It very quickly became tradition as it transpired that Gale’s firstborn was a clumsy child. Bumps. Bruises. Grazed elbows and knees. Broken bones. There had been many accidents and a stockpile of sweet desserts that was relied upon more than the widowed Mrs Ford could ever have known. Far too many accidents.
Martha might not have remembered that first cut but she remembered most.
She only wished that she couldn’t.
None of that was the fault of the woman that slept in the bed before her though. Martha knew that her mother had done everything that she could have done and she did not blame her for loving the wrong man. In the face of the darkness that plagued her childhood and teenage years, her mother had been the sunshine and had given her so much, including a sister, who she had loved deeply in spite of their differences in age. There was nobody more worthy of being protected, of being cared for or saved than her family and it was time for Martha to repay all of the devotion that she had been shown, to step up and be the eyes, courage and strength that the people who she had been loved by deserved. And that meant all of them.
Amanda was right. Martha’s family had consisted of another person. Somebody who had once loved her. Somebody who had made the times when she was in pain hurt less. Somebody who knew exactly how dark her home life could be and protected her by giving her sanctuary if she needed somewhere else to go. Somebody who had taken one look at her, all those years ago and decided that she was the one person that he wanted to give his affection, his time and half of his packed lunch to. It was Martha’s responsibility to make amends for how she had, however unintentionally, repaid his devotion with abandonment. She owed him that much.
Glancing back down at the card that was still in her hand, she decided that while it would be easier to do what she had promised from afar, it would be cowardly. If she was going to make amends, build bridges like her sister had inferred, then she was going to have to bite the bullet and do it so that she was not standing in the way of the investigation her sister wanted.
Saying a quiet goodnight to Gale, Martha crept out of the bedroom and down the narrow hallway, stopping when she got to a door halfway down between Gale’s room and the study. Going back to her earlier memories, she once again pondered the interrelationship of ice cream and injuries; two seemingly insignificant things but when they collaborated they had a power to them that was impactful. It was n
ot like they were created to work together but they did and Martha had come to rely upon them to keep the bad from getting unbearable. Ice cream and injuries. Not designed to go together. Not like, for instance, a door and a lock.
Martha reached out and opened the door with the curved handle. The lock was on the inside of it. Still there. Waiting to be used. The room that it secured was her haven at home, the place where she could hide and the only place within the Ford residence where she didn’t have to pretend that a bowl of something sweet made it all better. Her bedroom. At least, it used to be.
Stepping inside and flicking on the light, Martha very quickly realised that it was now simply a room. And not just because Esther had told her that Mr Ford had gutted the place after she had decided that she was not going to return with Gale. The lovely cornflower blue painted room was pristine. Her mother had done a very good job at restoring her daughter’s belongings to where she believed they had been left but it was not the same. Martha couldn’t help but see a shell, filled with phantoms that posed as memories. It seemed like she had spent forever within these walls, the door locked behind her but in truth time was completely relative. The nights she spent in solitude, crying into her pillow were a prelude. They did not define her. She was not a victim of her past, no longer the little girl who started locking her bedroom door to keep the bad out. Still, curiosity took her further into the room.
The closet was two doors wide and deep enough to comfortably fit the hangers. Martha opened it wide and looked inside, not surprised to find it a little sparser than she had left it. Gale was resourceful but she was above rooting through rubbish bins which is where Mr Ford most likely tossed a lot of her clothes. The outfits that remained consisted of jeans, t-shirts and hoodies – a real tomboy’s wardrobe. Some things never changed.
Sins of the Father (Bloody Marytown Book 1) Page 6
