The Library of Lost and Found(29)

When a car horn beeped outside, she touched her hair slide to check its positioning. She called out, “Just a minute,” even though she knew the driver wouldn’t be able to hear.

Locking the front door behind her, she then slid into the back seat of the taxi. “Please take me to the old vicarage in Benton Bay,” she said.



* * *



An hour and a half later, Martha stood outside a pretty redbrick building. It had a pointed roof, immaculate lawns and a path that wound up to a scarlet-painted front door. It had a brass fox-shaped knocker and an oversized letterbox. Ivy sprang around the frame and a hanging basket was overgrown with pansies and big primroses. The property looked homey, like the owners loved and looked after it.

She stood with her hands behind her back, staring at the house. Her feet felt glued to the spot and a voice in her head told her to turn around and go home.

“I can’t do it,” she told it. “I have got to do this.”

Her pulse raced as the door began to slowly open. As a lady appeared on the doorstep, to put out some empty milk bottles, Martha stepped quickly to the side. Obscuring herself behind a tall privet hedge and peeping through a gap in the leaves, she wasn’t quite ready to make her next move.

The lady had dove-white long hair, tied into a high bun, and Martha wasn’t sure if her crease-free beige trouser suit looked more like a carer’s outfit or a safari one. She was probably in her early seventies, too young to be Zelda.

So, could this be Gina?

The woman went back inside and Martha exhaled. Her heart was thump-thumping too wildly, making her feel faint, so she decided to pace down the country lane for a while, to allow herself time to calm down.

As she walked, delaying what she’d come here to do allowed her more time to mull things over. Her breath grew shallow as she considered possibilities and argued with them in her own head.

If my grandmother is here, what shall I say to her?

But, of course she won’t be here, she’s dead.

But that’s what your parents told you. The message in the book tells you otherwise…

You need to find out what happened.

The wind whistled through her skirt and her neck felt full of knots. Was she just being ridiculous? How could it possibly be true that Zelda was here, after being gone for more than thirty years? Her own gullibility made her want to gag.

She also pondered if her own father was capable of conjuring up such a lie, about Zelda being dead, and she recalled a happening from her past.



* * *



In her first year at secondary school, she had written a story in English class and her teacher, Mr. Brady, insisted she read it aloud.

Martha had slipped down in her chair with her arms folded tightly, squirming with both embarrassment and pride. She only just managed to squeeze out her words.

After the lesson, Mr. Brady said he was going to enter her story into an interschool competition. “Each school can make one entry and I’m going to submit yours. There’ll be a ceremony in Maltsborough for the nominees, and I think you have a good chance of winning a prize.”

Martha skipped home and told her parents. “Please, can we keep that evening free?” she begged.

Her mum immediately scooped Martha into her arms and congratulated her, but her dad pursed his lips. “How many entries will there be?” he asked.

Martha felt her excitement sliding. “They’re from schools all around the North of England. But Mr. Brady chose mine to represent our school.”

“That’s brilliant. Well done,” her mum said.

Her dad gave a tight smile. “The odds are against her,” he said to Betty. “And, it’s rewarding Martha for making up her stories. She’s stopped reading the encyclopedias.”

“We’ve had them for ages, Dad. I know everything in them,” Martha chimed in.

“Oh, really?” Thomas gave a short laugh. “Short stories aren’t very useful when you apply for a job as a secretary, or accountant, are they?”

“There are other jobs, too,” Betty interjected. “Creative ones…”

Thomas stared at her. “I’m not sure what you’d know about that.”

“Now, that’s not fair. I want to find work.”

“Can I go or not?” Martha pleaded, desperate to win the competition and prove her father wrong.

“No. We have other plans that evening,” he said.

Martha never found out what those plans were, if there were ever any at all. The prize ceremony came and went, and the Storm family remained at home. Martha won second prize and received her certificate in a plain brown envelope from Mr. Brady, after class, rather than on stage. When she showed it to her dad and asked again, why she couldn’t have collected it in person, he shook his head.

“You shouldn’t have questioned me,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t go ahead with my existing plans or take you to the ceremony. You ruined it for yourself. Plus, you didn’t even get first prize.”

For weeks, Martha cursed herself for not keeping her mouth shut. But as she grew older, she began to suspect there’d never been another event that night, and that her father had lied. And she found that he told more untruths, over the years, big and small.

So if there was even the remotest chance that Zelda was still alive, she had to find out.