The Library of Lost and Found(39)

“We can do it later.”

Martha glanced at her watch. Ten minutes had already gone by. She opened her mouth to insist they talk now, but Zelda sat upright in her chair. “Candy floss,” she said with a sniff. “Let’s get some.”

“Gina said you’re not allowed sugar.”

“I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

Martha’s jaw clenched. “I have her list.”

“I’m eighty-nine, Martha,” Zelda huffed. “I have few pleasures left in life. What’s the worst that could happen if I eat candy floss?”

“I don’t know.” Martha sighed. “Diabetes? Tooth decay? Obesity?”

“Been there. Done that. Well, maybe not obesity.” Zelda wheeled towards the candy floss stand.

Martha dug her hand in her hair, frustrated that her nana preferred to eat pink fluffy stuff rather than discuss the last three decades.

“It’s my treat,” Zelda shouted over her shoulder.

Martha caught her up. “I’ll get it.” She pulled the purse from her bag. “Then let’s find somewhere quiet.”

Zelda reached up and slapped a ten-pound note on the counter. “A candy floss each, for me and my overcautious granddaughter. Extra-large ones, please.”

Their flosses quivered in the breeze as they carried them. Martha examined the mound of pink sugar, not having eaten it since she was a teen. She wondered if she’d hear her father’s voice when she tasted it. Closing her eyes, she listened, but all she could hear was the hum of rock music thrumming from the Waltzer. She slowly leaned her head to one side and took a small mouthful. The sugary strands dissolved deliciously on her tongue.

“Throw it away,” her dad said, somewhere from the base of her skull. “It will rot your teeth. It’s not healthy.”

Martha tried to ignore him, but the candy floss grew sweeter and more cloying. It seemed to expand in her mouth. Not able to enjoy it any longer, she dropped it into a bin.

“We should go on at least one ride,” Zelda said, staring at the dodgem cars.

Martha coughed. “We can’t go on those. You might—”

“What? Fracture my hip? I did that when I fell over a rake in the garden. If I break something else, it should be doing something fun. I’m the adult, remember?”

Martha stared at her. “We both are.”

“Oh yes.” Zelda grinned. “I forgot.”

Martha didn’t recall her nana being this strong-willed. In fact, she could only recall a sense of her personality rather than definite traits. She was beginning to realize that it was impossible to remember everything about a person from the past. You formed your own idealized picture of them, rather than an accurate one. The Zelda she’d held in her head for decades was a superhero, an ally, her best friend. Yet here, now, she was a frail old lady in a wheelchair, and a stubborn one at that. “Let’s go back to the café with the wooden clowns,” she pleaded. “There’s so much we need to catch up on. I need to know what happened.” She felt her throat tightening with emotion as she spoke. “Why did you leave? Why did my parents tell me you were dead?”

Zelda reached up with both hands and took hold of Martha’s coat. Her eyes shone with longing. “Please let’s look at the rides for a while. When I look out of my window at home, I see green fields and buttercups and blue sky, and it’s beautiful. But sometimes I want a different view, to watch people and things going on. Elderly people don’t just want to look at photos of the past, or of a nice bloody view. I want to see bright lights, and hear music, and see young people having fun. I want to remember doing it myself.”

Martha looked down at her nana’s knotted hands. She swallowed away a lump in her throat. “I know, but I lost you…”

Zelda let go. She pushed her wheels a little forward and then back again. “People only see my chair, or a woman who looks like a bloody walnut. In my head, I’m still a young woman. My body just lets things down.”

Martha bit her bottom lip. When she was younger, she’d had her fair share of wolf whistles, and men had admired her face and figure. She found love with Joe. But when she started to look after her parents, she seemed to fade out of sight. She was no longer Martha in her own right, but Thomas and Betty’s caring daughter. Her pretty, colorful exterior faded like a magazine left in the sun. “I still see you in a skirt with a crazy cat print. I see you squeezing into caves and digging in the sand to find Australia,” she said.

“You do?” Zelda’s eyes grew glassy.

Martha nodded. She worked her tongue around her teeth. If she did something that her nana wanted to do, it might make her more willing to talk. “Now, where do you want to go?” she asked.

“This way.” Zelda wheeled forward, expertly avoiding people’s feet. “Beep, beep. Dalek coming through,” she called out.

They reached the carousel where wooden white ponies wore shiny red saddles and black leather reins. Their carved golden manes and tails seemed to flow in the wind as they bobbed up and down on twisted poles to the sound of organ music. Zelda halted her chair at the metal barrier. “Isn’t it the most glorious thing you’ve ever seen?”

Martha nodded. Despite her nana’s exaggeration, it really was magnificent.