The Summer Seekers

by Sarah Morgan

  Her mother flicked her cloth over the mirror. “You’ve been very unforgiving. You should at least talk to him.”

  “I’ve said all there is to say.”

  “Oh Martha.” Her mother gave her a look of weary despair.

  “What?” She did not need this. “What now?”

  “He’s nice enough and handy around the house. You shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss someone in a steady job.”

  “Settling for someone because they know how to fix a toilet is a pretty low bar. I’m hoping for more than that.”

  “You are too fussy—that’s your problem. Real life isn’t like it is in those books you read, you know. I will never understand you, Martha.”

  That went both ways.

  When she was ten she’d actually asked her parents if she was adopted because she saw nothing of herself in either of them. She’d secretly dreamed of a lovely woman knocking on the door one day to claim her. But it had never happened.

  Each time her mother criticized her it chipped another piece from Martha until she felt less and less like herself.

  “It’s over.”

  Her mother tensed. “All men have frailties. And urges. Sometimes it’s best to turn a blind eye. If you’d—”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “All I’m saying is that blame is never all on one side.”

  “It is in this case.”

  “Is it? You’ve put on a lot of weight since you lost your job. Too much sitting around moping. You might think that’s harsh, but I’m your mother and it’s my job to speak the truth.” Her mother scrubbed at a stubborn mark on the mirror. “At your age I could fit into the same clothes I wore when I was sixteen. Never put on an ounce of weight.”

  Chip, chip, chip.

  How did famous sculptors know exactly when to stop chiseling? At what point did they turn a masterpiece into a ruin?

  “It’s kilograms now, Mum.”

  “In your case, maybe. You’re beyond being measured in ounces, that’s for sure. You’re eating because you’re bored and unhappy, and that’s your own fault for giving everything up so easily. First college, and now Steven. You should have stuck it out and graduated like your sister instead of throwing it all away. At least then you’d stand a chance of finding a job. You’re paying the price for your bad decisions.”

  Her mother, whose own life had been a disappointment, had hoped for more from her two daughters. She’d wanted to live vicariously through their business lunches, international travel or endless promotions. Martha’s older sister, Pippa, had gained favor by qualifying as a physiotherapist and securing a very glamorous job at a swanky private gym where a few famous names trained, thus giving her mother plenty to boast about over the garden fence.

  Martha, unfortunately, had provided her with nothing but embarrassment.

  “I didn’t graduate because I wanted to take care of Nanna.” And she missed her grandmother as much now as she had in the beginning. There was a corner of her heart that felt numb and lonely. “After she had her stroke I didn’t want to miss a single moment of being with her. I couldn’t concentrate on lectures or essays thinking of her all on her own. It didn’t seem important.”

  “But now you’re realizing it was important.”

  “Nothing is more important than the people you love.” She didn’t say family. Her family drove her to distraction. Whatever she did, she seemed unable to gain their approval. Her opinion seemed worth nothing. Her wishes even less. She wasn’t sure she would have given up her degree to care for any of them. But her grandmother—“I will never regret the time I spent with her.”

  She’d always had a special relationship with her grandmother. When Martha was eight years old and bullied in school, she’d run away to her grandmother’s house. Her grandmother had held her and listened, something her mother never did. Her mother’s advice had been to “ignore them,” but that wasn’t so easy when they’d wrapped the strap of your school bag around your neck and were trying to hang you from a fence.

  Martha had started going to her grandmother’s for tea every day after school. There had been comfort in the routine. The cheerful teapot covered in red cherries. The delicate cups that had belonged to her great-grandmother. But the biggest comfort came from being with someone who was interested in her. It was a routine that had continued until she’d left for college to study English literature.

  She’d been starting her third and final year when her mother had called to tell her about her grandmother’s stroke. Martha had packed her things and returned home to care for her. How could she concentrate on Tolstoy or Hardy when her Nanna was sick? Her mother had been appalled, but Martha had ignored her disapproval and slept on the sofa in the living room. Her grandmother had made a surprisingly good recovery. She and Martha had played cards, discussed books and giggled over racy TV shows. They’d even managed to take short strolls in the garden. It had been precious time that Martha would never forget.

  And then one night her grandmother had suffered another stroke and that had been it.

  Numb with grief, Martha had ignored her mother’s advice that she should return to college and instead taken a job in a coffee shop a short walk from the house.

  There was something comforting about making a good cappuccino, creating patterns in the foam. She could cope with it even when she was ambushed by sadness. She liked the fact that she often saw the same people every day. There was the woman with the laptop who made one coffee last all day while she wrote her novel, and the elderly man whose wife had died who could no longer stand being in the house on his own all day.

  She’d enjoyed chatting to people and liked the fact that when she left the café she didn’t have to take her work with her.

  But then the coffee shop had closed, along with many others, and suddenly what little work there was to be had was being chased by what seemed like thousands of people. She’d worked in the local animal shelter for six months before they’d run low on funds and had to stop paying her.

  Her mother never missed an opportunity to remind her that she had no one to blame but herself. Her father, who liked a quiet life, chose to agree with her mother on every topic.

  “If you hadn’t thrown everything in, you wouldn’t be in this situation now.”

  “Being a graduate isn’t everything, you know. There are thousands of graduates who can’t get jobs.”

  “Exactly. So why would an employer pick someone like you? You have to give yourself an edge, Martha, and you just don’t have that much going for you.”

  She had no edges.

  That sounded uncannily like the insult Steven had just thrown at her.

  “I liked the job I had.”

  “You can’t spend the rest of your life working in coffee shops or animal shelters. You should have studied for a profession like your sister, although you’re far too old now, even if you did go back to finish your degree.”

  “I don’t want to go back to college. And I’m only twenty-four.”

  “Ellen’s daughter is twenty-four and she has qualified as a doctor. She’s saving lives! And what are you doing with your day?”

  “I’ve put in a hundred applications in the last four months, but there are thousands of people applying for every job. Most of the time people don’t even reply. It’s soul destroying.”

  “All the more reason why you should have done a proper training like your sister, but you’ve missed that boat now.”

  Martha had a mental image of a flotilla of boats floating into the distance. She badly wanted to be on one of them. Preferably sunbathing while someone poured her an iced drink.

  “Thanks for making me feel better.”

  “Well, if your own mother can’t tell you the truth, who can? But there’s no point in sitting around and moping about the bad decisions you made. You should go running wi
th your sister.”

  Running with her sister would be another bad decision. Not only would it mean leaving the house, which meant bumping into Steven, but Martha would lag behind, which was pretty much the story of her life. She’d always been ten steps behind her sister, and there was no chance of her forgetting that.

  Martha knew she wasn’t as pretty as her sister. She wasn’t as thin as her sister. She didn’t make great choices like her sister.

  She knew all the things she wasn’t but wasn’t sure what she was, apart from sturdy.

  She made a great cappuccino and was good at talking, but that was more of a flaw than a skill. Martha would talk the hind leg off a donkey her mother would say, a statement accompanied by an exaggerated eye roll. If there was an award for who talked the most, Martha would win it.

  She might not be as smart as her sister, but she knew enough to understand that living with people who made you feel worse about yourself wasn’t good for the soul. She needed a job and a little place of her own, but there was no chance of either in London.

  After everything that had happened, she’d had no choice but to move back with her parents. She hoped they didn’t reach the point where they killed each other.

  “Hi, Martha!” Pippa bounced down the stairs, hair swinging in a sleek ponytail. “How is Steven? Still behaving like a shit?”

  She couldn’t even lose at love without her sister knowing.

  Martha looked gloomily at the shiny ponytail. Pippa even won at hair.

  “Pippa! Don’t you look a picture.” Their mother beamed. “Are you off to work? Treating anyone famous today?”

  “Day off. I have a yoga class in thirty minutes. I need something to eat before I leave.” Pippa headed for the kitchen and Martha followed her.

  She’d made cupcakes the day before using her grandmother’s favorite recipe, and there were still a couple left. She offered one to her sister who shook her head.

  “No thanks. I’m making myself a green smoothie.”

  Winning at the healthy diet too, Martha thought, watching as her sister dropped apple, spinach, cucumber and various other healthy ingredients into the blender and proceeded to whiz it together into an unappetizing-looking pale green liquid. If Martha had found a blob of it on the kitchen surface she would have covered it in antibacterial spray.

  Her mother reappeared. “Don’t forget to clean the kitchen floor, Martha.”

  Her life was so exciting she could hardly bear it.

  She finished the cupcake and unlocked the back door. Across the fence she saw their elderly neighbor, Abigail Hartley, struggling to hang her sheets on the line. The edges were hanging perilously close to the ground.

  “I’ll do that for you, Mrs. Hartley.” Martha sprinted round the side of the house and into the adjoining garden. “You shouldn’t be doing that with your arthritis.”

  “You’re a kind girl, Martha.”

  “It’s no trouble.” At least Abigail thanked her for helping with laundry. In her own house everyone took it for granted.

  “I struggle to lift my arms above my head.”

  “I know. It must be so hard for you.” Martha pegged the sheets securely. “I’ll come back later and bring them in so don’t worry about that.”

  “You’re very flexible and strong.”

  Flexible. Strong.

  No one hung sheets like she did. She was winning at laundry.

  Mrs. Hartley tried to push money into her hand and Martha was appalled that for a moment she was tempted to take it. Right now she couldn’t even afford to buy a new hair clip and every little bit helped.

  No way. The rest of her family might not like her very much, but if she started taking money for helping friends and neighbors then she wouldn’t like herself either.

  “I don’t need payment.” She almost said that it was a pleasure to do something for someone who appreciated the effort, but that would have felt disloyal. Family were family, even when they drove you to screaming pitch. “Happy to help.”

  “Was that Steven I saw just now?”

  “Yes. I can’t get him to leave me alone.” Martha checked that the sheets weren’t going to blow away.

  “You’re upset.” Mrs. Hartley patted her arm. “Don’t worry. Plenty more fish in the sea.”

  Martha had no interest in fishing.

  Why did people commit to each other? She had no idea. She’d had years of experience of watching her parents together and frankly there was nothing about their relationship that inspired her. Her mum was always yelling at her dad, who had selective hearing. There wasn’t a lot of affection on display.

  But what did she know about relationships?

  Nothing it seemed.

  “Mum wants me to be a high-flying career woman, but for that I’d need a career and right now that’s not looking good. There are more people than jobs.”

  “But someone has to get the job. And that someone could be you. A girl like you can do anything she wants to do.”

  Her grandmother would have said the same thing, and although it sounded great it did nothing to lift Martha’s spirits. “That’s kind of you, Mrs. Hartley, but not quite accurate.”

  “You can’t wait around for a job to fall into your lap. You need to put yourself out there.” Mrs. Hartley stuck her chin forward. “What’s your dream?”

  Her dream was to be happy and look forward to each day, but that was never going to happen while she was living with her parents. She needed to be independent. She needed to not feel like a failure. She needed to get Steven out of her life.

  And all that needed one thing—

  “My dream is to find a job.” She picked up the laundry basket. “Any job.”

  “Nonsense!” Mrs. Hartley waggled her finger. “You need to find something you’re going to love.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I worked at Bletchley Park during the war with all the codebreakers. I can’t tell you more than that or I’d have to kill you and dispose of your body.” Mrs. Hartley gave an exaggerated wink. “It was all very secretive and in those days we didn’t gossip the way everyone does now.”

  Martha tried to imagine her mother in Bletchley Park. There wouldn’t have been a secret the enemy didn’t know. “I bet you were a force to be reckoned with.”

  “My husband used to say the same thing.”

  “How long were you married, Mrs. Hartley?”

  “Sixty years. And I would have chosen him again at any point during that time. Not that I didn’t want to occasionally kill him, but that’s normal of course.”

  Martha hugged the empty basket. “You were lucky.”

  “You’ve had a rough time, but everything will work itself out.” Mrs. Hartley patted her arm. “You’re a good listener and very cheerful.”

  Not around her family. The cheer was sucked out of her.

  “I’d better go. My dream job isn’t going to present itself unless I look for it.”

  Martha walked back into the kitchen of her parents’ house and found her mother scowling into the fridge.

  “There’s nothing much to eat. I’ll go to the shops, but you need to clean the kitchen floor.”

  “Later. I’m busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Job hunting. Trying to find a boat I haven’t missed.” Hatching an escape plan. She’d reached the point where she’d do anything.

  “I forgot—” Her mother pulled an envelope out of her pocket. “This came for you. I hid it from your father because I knew how upset he’d be if he saw it on the mat.”

  Martha took the letter, hoping her mother didn’t notice her shaking hand. “Thanks.”

  That was it then. All done. Finished.

  No turning back now.

  Sliding the letter into her pocket, Martha washed her hands, made herself a mug of tea and
disappeared up to her bedroom.

  She had the smallest room in the house, which meant she had room for a bed and not much else. There was a small recess where she hung her clothes, and a desk that folded away when she wasn’t using it.

  The wall opposite her bed was covered in a map of the world. Sometimes she lay in bed at night, dreaming about all the places she was never going to visit.

  She pulled the letter out of her pocket and stared at it for a moment. Then she ripped it open, feeling sick even though she already knew what it would say.

  She read it and felt her eyes fill with tears.

  Her mother was right. She made bad decisions. What had she achieved in her life?

  She folded the letter carefully and stuffed it into her bag.

  She was keeping it as a reminder to make better decisions in the future.

  Next to her on the bed her phone buzzed. Steven.

  She rejected the call.

  The summer stretched ahead like a long, gloomy road. She checked her social media and saw that one of her friends was now in Ibiza posting the most enviable beach selfies, while another was spending a week on a canal boat with her family and kept posting photos of rippling water, sunsets and glasses of wine balanced on the deck. Martha threw her phone on the bed. It wasn’t that she cared massively about social media, but it said a lot about your life when you had nothing at all to post.

  She stared out the window. The nearest thing she’d had to excitement in the last few weeks was when a fox had climbed into Mrs. Hartley’s garden and dug up her flower beds. Martha had spent the morning clearing up fox poo so that Mrs. Hartley’s little dog wouldn’t roll in it.

  Kicking off her shoes, she balanced her tea on the shelf above the bed and opened her ancient, temperamental laptop. Her hands hovered over the keys. She didn’t even know what job to search for anymore.

  Great with laundry, good at cleaning up fox poo weren’t exactly assets.

  What she needed was a job that came with accommodation so that she could get away from her family home.

  She scrolled through the website.

  Someone was looking for a live-in companion, to include full nursing care. What exactly did that entail? Martha, who was horribly squeamish, decided she didn’t want to find out.