The Library of Lost and Found(60)
“Something like that.” Martha smiled wryly.
“You can live without it all, Mrs. Storm. Most people can,” Leslie said. “You’ll see.”
* * *
Leslie set to work immediately, moving the stuff from the bottom of the stairs into his van, to dispose of. He worked methodically, totally focused on the job.
The chaise longue proved tricky to get through the bedroom door and, even though Martha didn’t really want to keep it, she agreed to let it remain in the room. It didn’t look too bad after she’d vacuumed away the dust and covered her untidy reupholstering with a blanket off her own bed.
Under a pile of her dad’s black suits, she discovered an old radio. After plugging it in, she fiddled with the knobs and found a station that played rock music. She turned the volume up from two and a half to five (not loud enough to give her another headache) and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening blitzing her parents’ old bedroom.
As she carried on with her mission, she imagined that she might feel sad, nostalgic or melancholic, but instead she found herself singing. With each item that Leslie removed, Martha’s shoulders felt lighter, as if she was casting off the person she didn’t want to be any longer.
* * *
She decided to reposition the chaise longue under the window, to allow more space to walk around the bed. Its wheels squeaked as she tugged it. She moved the bed by a few inches, too, and spotted a white envelope on the floor, in the space it had vacated. About to toss it onto her rubbish pile, she opened it first. There was a piece of paper inside and she read the words printed across the top.
“Marriage Certificate.”
It belonged to her parents and, as Martha looked at it more closely, she thought of how they never mentioned their wedding. She could only recall them celebrating their anniversary once. They’d held a party in the dining room but she’d been too sick to attend. She’d stayed in bed, with her head under the covers and a bucket at the side of the bed. And the next day, her parents told her that Zelda had died.
In the dining room, there was a wedding photograph of her dad in a black suit and her mum in a white shiny dress with a nipped-in waist, but Martha didn’t ever recall them reminiscing about their big day. She wasn’t even sure where they’d gone for their honeymoon. Where did you go in the UK, if you already lived at the seaside?
After reading the certificate, she now knew they married in Sandshift church in February 1966.
Glancing around, she tried to find somewhere safe to put it, so it didn’t get thrown away. However, her senses urged her to take another look.
Betty was nineteen years old and Thomas was thirty-three when they married.
February 1966 was only four months before Martha was born.
So, Betty must have been pregnant when she walked down the aisle.
Martha felt as if a small light flashed on in her head. Her parents had to get married for appearances’ sake.
She’d always felt removed from Lilian but couldn’t fathom out why, other than they liked different things. It was a feeling, rather than definite knowledge. Now, though, she had found a reason.
She was the daughter her parents didn’t plan for.
They had planned for Lilian.
Her father wouldn’t have liked an unborn child shaping his life.
Martha placed the certificate on the windowsill and told herself to forget it, that it didn’t mean anything. She had to focus on clearing up.
But all the same, she couldn’t stop her mind from flitting back, to the date printed on the certificate.
23
Midnight Mission
Martha carried on with her clearing-out session into the evening, and over the next two days. Slowly, the house started to look more like a home, rather than a scrapyard. It would be impossible to sort out absolutely everything in such a short time, but the changes she and Leslie made were immense.
The day before Zelda, Will and Rose descended, Martha washed four loads full of bed sheets and blankets. While the washing machine whirred, she introduced Leslie to the mountain of stuff in the shed. He cheerfully removed the old tools, piles of tiles, a rusty lawn mower and an old swivel chair, freeing the space up.
At teatime, he packed up his white van for the final time. “All good, Mrs. Storm?” he asked before he left. “Do you feel better already? Most people feel a sense of relief when all their stuff has gone, but some get in a right old panic, kind of a what-have-I-done sensation, but that’s totally natural. It’s like a barn in there now, isn’t it? Nice and spacious, big enough to have a dance in, if you like that kind of thing. Well, maybe not ballroom dancing, but room for a bit of a shuffle.” He waited for her reply, with both of his thumbs stuck up. “Don’t worry about your stuff, either, about where it’s going. I give some of it away to low-income families who can’t afford much furniture. It helps them out. Then I’m happy and you’re happy knowing you’re doing some good. Most people like to know that.”
Not quite sure if Leslie asked a question among all his words, Martha gave him a thumbs-up back. “Yes. All is good,” she said.
Martha took a break for something to eat and she enjoyed beans on toast, sitting at her dining table. Horatio’s fish swam in their bowl, and she wondered if they enjoyed their new view without the skyscrapers of boxes and books around them. She certainly did.