The Library of Lost and Found(56)

Zelda’s expression didn’t alter. Her face was still. “Well, I don’t know why.”

“I hoped you could tell me.”

Zelda gave an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders. “Not really,” she said. She helped herself to more wine.

A piece of potato seemed to swell in Martha’s mouth. She chewed and swallowed it. “You’ve not told me yet why you left. Where did you go to?”

Zelda gave a small laugh but it sounded forced. “I didn’t have much choice. It was probably for the best.”

“I don’t understand,” Martha persevered. “How could you not have a choice about leaving? And why would Mum tell me that you died?” She noticed that Zelda spoke to her, at times, like she was still thirteen years old.

Zelda toyed with a green bean on her plate with her fork. She scratched under her headscarf with a crooked finger. “I didn’t know that Betty was going to tell you that. It wasn’t part of the plan…”

Martha frowned at her. “A plan?” She let her knife fall to her plate with a clatter. “What do you mean?” She examined Zelda’s face, but her nana averted her eyes.

“I, um…”

A clinking noise broke through their conversation. Gina drummed her fingernails against a wineglass. The ringing sound made everyone around the table stop talking.

“Just a few words, as we share our delicious food together,” Gina said. “Whether Ezmerelda and I have known you for a short while, or for a long time, it is a real pleasure that you could join us tonight. We truly value your glorious support and friendship.”

A round of applause and glass chinking went on around the table, followed by the lily-haired girl giving a small yelp.

“Now, eat what you want, drink what you can, and enjoy the moment.” Gina raised her glass and everyone followed suit.

Martha lifted and gulped her own wine, managing to drink half a glassful at once. She waited for everyone to start eating again before she turned back to Zelda. “What plan?” she repeated.

But Zelda gave her head a shake. She held a finger to her lips. “Not now, Martha. You heard what Gina said. Enjoy the moment.”



* * *



When the tiramisu and other desserts were passed around, Martha shook her head politely. She fended them all off with, “Not for me,” and “I’ve eaten far too much already,” and “Yes, it does look delicious, but so many calories!”

She smiled and watched as everyone else plunged their spoons and forks into cream, sponge and cheesecake. She drank another glass of wine. It made her armpits feel hot and she plucked at the long sleeves of her sweater.

Sensing movement in the chair beside her, she turned to find that Harry had taken the place of the lady with the mole.

“I notice that ye haven’t had any cake and thought ye’d like a slice of my fruit loaf,” he said in a soft Scottish accent. “I soak the fruit in whisky, and only use the best ingredients. It’s a recipe that’s been handed down over generations in my family. Can I tempt ye with a slice?”

His eyes were a soft gray color, and his moving mustache was mesmeric. To refuse him would be like kicking a puppy, but Martha couldn’t eat any of his cake. Her father’s words would make it stick in her throat.

“It’s lighter than yer usual fruitcake,” Harry continued, eyeing it with pride. “But it has all the taste. Would ye like to give it a try?”

Martha liked how he didn’t cut into it and force a slice onto her plate. He waited while she considered his offer. About to refuse, she caught a whiff of its aroma, rich and with a warm, spicy smell. Her mouth started to water and she could almost taste it on the tip of her tongue.

“You’re getting a little chubby,” her dad said in her head.

“Oh, shut up,” she mumbled to him. “Leave me alone.”

Harry’s mustache dropped a little. “Sorry?”

“Oh.” She blushed. “I wasn’t talking to you. Just someone, um, never mind…”

Perhaps a small bite would be good, to sweeten her mouth after the meal, and to help soak up the wine. She closed her eyes and thought of the sweetness of the funfair candy floss on her tongue, before she threw it away. She ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, imagining the sugary fibers dissolving.

Giving the smallest nod of her head, she wasn’t sure if she was agreeing to a slice or not.

Harry beamed as he took up a knife and delicately cut a piece. He slipped it onto her plate. “I hope ye enjoy it. Ye can tell me later. And you and Zelda let me know about the football ground when ye’re ready. I’ll see what I can do.”

Martha waited until Harry moved on to serving the next person before she picked up her cake fork. She dug it in, slicing off the smallest corner. Before her dad could speak again, she stabbed it and raised it to her lips. She pressed the cake against them for a moment, inhaling the aroma of juicy cherries and sultanas. After popping it into her mouth, she closed her eyes and chewed.

Her dad’s voice tried to come through, but it sounded quieter, just a murmur.

So she took another forkful, then another. And with each chew his words vanished.

When she looked down at the few remaining crumbs on her plate, it was such strange sight that she laughed. Catching Owen’s eye, he glanced across at her plate and his eyes appeared a little hurt. He stood up and made his way back over to her. “You told me that you don’t eat cake,” he said. “That’s right, isn’t it?”