The Library of Lost and Found(57)

“I usually don’t—”

“It’s a special cake,” Harry cut in from the other side of the table. “It’s made with love.”

And Martha thought she saw the two men give each other a slight glare.



* * *



By the end of the evening, Martha was full of potatoes, fruitcake and too many glasses of wine. Her stomach pressed against the waistband of her pencil skirt and when she stood up, the room started to rotate. She tried to focus on the photographs on the mantelpiece and the bowls on the table, but she felt like she was on the fairground carousel again.

“Whoops,” she said to herself, unable to remember when she had last drunk this much alcohol. Probably when Joe told her he was marrying someone else.

She wasn’t sure if the hazy feeling was divine or too peculiar to enjoy. Moving away from her chair, she walked towards Owen. On the way, she glanced at a photograph on the wall of Zelda. She looked to be in her sixties and stood in front of a powder-blue clapboard house. Gina stood alongside her and she held up a basket of freshly cut flowers. They both looked happy and serene. Zelda didn’t wear the exasperated expression on her face that she wore around Thomas.

She was happier away from us. Away from me, Martha thought.

She felt her ankle buckle a little and Owen reached out and took hold of her elbow. His fingers felt strong and safe. “Careful.” He laughed.

“I’m absolutely fine,” Martha said stiffly. She tore her eyes away from the photo. “These shoes are just causing a hindrance to my mobility.”

“You can kick them off in the car. We should get going in a few minutes… I have an early meeting tomorrow.”

“Spoilsport,” she said, then thought how it was a word she didn’t usually use.

“Why don’t you go and freshen up, then we’ll head off.”

Martha concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as she searched for the bathroom. She opened a couple of doors, a storage cupboard and a small sitting room, before deciding that she really needed to sit down. Behind a third door, she found a small bedroom with a single bed. It was covered with a pretty patchwork quilt and the pillow looked fluffy and inviting. It reminded her of her childhood bedroom and suddenly she wanted to be young again, to shut herself away from the adult world. Surely Owen wouldn’t mind if she had a little rest.

The mattress squeaked beneath her, and one of her shoes fell off as she curled up her legs. Slowly, she felt herself tipping over to the side until her cheek pressed against the cloud-like pillow. Closing her eyes, she smiled to herself and everything seemed to fade into the distance.

Maybe she had time for just a small nap.



* * *



She wasn’t sure how long she’d been there when she saw silhouettes standing in the doorway. She heard whispering and could detect who the voices belonged to.

Owen. “Maybe it’s better to leave her here tonight.”

Gina. “You do not want her to be ill in your car.”

Zelda. “Let her nap. We could drop her home tomorrow.”

Harry. “Oh. Is she asleep? I have another slice of fruitcake waiting.”

Martha decided to wave an arm, to show how absolutely fine she was. Her eyes followed her fingers as they swept through the air. She stopped to gaze at the full moon, which shone through the window. Blinking at its beauty, she thought that she’d like to wrap her arms around it and give it a hug. She tried to sit up, but her cheek felt like it was glued to the pillow.

“Look at the moon, at how big it looks, everyone,” she said, thinking that her voice sounded a little slurred. It couldn’t be the wine because she’d only drunk three, um, four, perhaps five, glasses full. “It looks like a button that’s fallen off a giant’s waistcoat, or a white chocolate drop…”

A shape moved across the room and she felt a hand slip into hers. “It’s a silver sequin on black velvet,” Zelda said. “It’s a round of Edam cheese, cut in half. If you look closely, you can see mice lining up to take a nibble.”

Martha felt tears welling in her eyes and she wasn’t sure if they were happy, sad or wine-induced. “It’s a giant eye looking down on us, or the head of a flashlight,” she said. “It’s a silvery porthole in the sky…”

Words danced in her head, appearing as if from nowhere, and they were nothing to do with her tasks. They were all to do with what she saw and felt. And she liked it. In fact, she liked it a lot. Squeezing Zelda’s hand, she asked woozily, “Does anyone have a pen? I’d like to write some of this down.”





22


Marriage Certificate

Martha’s head pounded. She felt like she’d been in a jet plane looping the loop, rather than a journey back to Sandshift in Gina’s old Volvo. Every bump in the road, each corner on the way, made her stomach roll. If she looked in a mirror, she was sure her face would be peppermint green.

She stood on the pavement outside her cottage, her ankles wobbly in Betty’s shoes. The color of her sweater was too bright in the daylight and she hated knowing that she’d slept in it. Clasping a hand to her mouth, she waited to see if she was going to be sick.

How on earth can people do this for fun?

“You certainly hammered the wine last night,” Zelda said with laughter in her voice. She and Gina stood either side of her. “Are you okay?”