The Library of Lost and Found(30)
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Eventually, buoyed on by murmuring conversations with herself, Martha walked up to the garden gate. She tightened her fingers around the handle, pressed down and pushed it open.
Her surroundings seemed to fall eerily quiet, without birdsong or the rustling of wind in the trees. Her footsteps on the paving stones sounded extra loud as she headed towards the front door. Her heartbeat raced in her ears.
She raised her hand, rapped three times with the fox knocker, then waited. She readied herself with a friendly smile.
Seconds then minutes passed, and the door remained closed. No one came to answer it.
Gradually, her jaw ached from smiling.
She knew there was someone in there.
Martha tried again but there was no reply, so she did a small sidestep to glance through the front window. It allowed her to see right through to the back of the house, to the kitchen. She saw that the back door was open. A figure moved across it and Martha felt her neck muscles strain.
Perhaps they can’t hear me.
Or, perhaps they’re pretending not to hear me.
She swept her hand around under the ivy surrounding the door, looking for a doorbell, but couldn’t find one.
A fence ran along each side of the house, tall slats of wood painted pale green, and she pressed an eye against a button of daylight. She watched as a small black Scottie dog scampered across the back lawn. White sheets billowed on a washing line, alongside a turquoise duvet cover and a long skirt the same shade.
Zelda’s color.
Martha knocked on the door one last time with three loud raps, using her knuckles this time. When she drew them away, they were red and the skin had broken. She blew on them and waited.
This time she heard footsteps and a lock rattling.
Her stomach tightened.
The door opened and the woman who might be Zelda’s carer stood in front of her.
Her eyes were a startling sea-glass blue, contrasting with her white hair. Under her beige trouser suit, she wore a white top that could either be a blouse or a work shirt. Her coral-orange toenails peeped out from her khaki sandals and a watch hung upside down, pinned to her chest. “Yes?” she asked with the apprehension of someone who answered the door to too many cold callers.
For a moment Martha felt as if she didn’t inhabit her own body. Her feet were planted firmly on the ground but her head felt floaty, far away. She was aware that she might be staring. “Are you Gina?” she asked.
The woman’s forehead wrinkled. “Yes,” she said, her voice tinged with suspicion.
Any words Martha had lined up suddenly stuck in her throat. This was all so difficult to explain and she wasn’t sure where to start. She was here, probably chasing a ghost. The first word that came out of her mouth was her customary, “Sorry.”
The next thing she said sounded obtuse, even to her. So she couldn’t imagine how it might sound to this woman. “I’m looking for Ezmerelda. Zelda Sanderson.”
The woman clamped her teeth together so her cheeks twitched. “Who is asking?” She had a slight Nordic accent and pronounced each of her words clearly.
And with her throat terribly tight, and tears threatening to spring to her eyes, Martha uttered the words she’d never imagined she’d get to say again.
“I’m her granddaughter. I’m Martha Storm.”
12
Wheelchair
Gina stood motionless for a while. Her eyes narrowed as she studied Martha. “I think you may have the wrong address,” she said. She raised her hand and started to close the door.
But Martha heard a warble in her voice, a hint of a lie. After all the things she’d discovered to do with the little book, she couldn’t let this go. She quickly angled her head to the side, to peer through the diminishing gap. “I don’t think so. A book led me here. Blue Skies and Stormy Seas, by E. Y. Sanderson.”
Gina’s fingers tightened around the door and her knuckles whitened. She hesitated for a few moments before she pulled the door back open. Retracting her hand, she fingered the timepiece on her jacket.
Martha didn’t want any yearning to show in her face, to give away how important this was to her. She had to stop the questions of what had happened to Zelda, all those years ago, from rampaging in her head once and for all. She concentrated on keeping her face as expression-free as possible, though she was sure her eyes shone with hopefulness.
Finally, Gina glanced back over her shoulder, towards the kitchen. “You had better come inside.”
Martha stepped into the hallway. She cast her eyes around, at the floral wallpaper and the cream, green and brick-red Victorian tiles on the floor. Photos lined the walls in a multitude of different frames but her eyes flitted over them, not able to settle on the scenes and people they featured. The smell of cake warmed the air, making it feel like a family home, the opposite to her own house.
The black Scottie dog scampered towards her, his claws skittering on the hallway floor. She bent down to ruffle him under the chin and saw his name tag in the shape of a silver bone. Percy.
“Stay here, please,” Gina said crisply, as if she was a doctor’s receptionist and Martha was a patient who’d turned up very late for her appointment. She walked to the kitchen and closed the door behind her.
Martha stood for a moment, wondering what she should do. It seemed impolite to look around the hallway, for clues of her grandmother, so she crouched and continued to admire Percy. He was delighted by the attention but her hands shook as she stroked his head.