The Library of Lost and Found(68)

“You look a little woozy,” Zelda said. “Have you been drinking again?”

“No, I haven’t,” Martha said sharply. “I told you, I don’t want to do this.”

“I know, but it’s my dy—”

“Yes, I know. Your dying wish. Why can’t you have a normal one, like going to Disneyland, or lunch at the Ritz?”

Zelda’s eyelids flickered. “We don’t have to do it.” She paused with a sniff. “I’m sure Harry will understand, if you tell him.”

“Um, Harry?”

“I’ve arranged it with him.”

Martha held her head in her hands. “And does Gina know about this?”

Zelda cast her eyes down.

“I thought not,” Martha said and let out a long sigh.



* * *



The chant, “Sandshift United, rah rah rah. Sandshift United, rah rah rah,” rung gladiatorial-like through the air as Martha, Zelda, Will and Rose approached the football ground.

Martha felt a bead of sweat form on her forehead and she brushed it away. She’d made an effort with her outfit today and wore Betty’s green sweater and beige wool coat again. It made her underarms hot and prickly as she pushed Zelda’s chair up the steep slope.

“I can do it. Let go of the handles,” Zelda kept shouting.

But Martha sustained a firm grip. It gave her a focus, so she didn’t panic about her nana’s plan for another Read and Run. She’d heard of knees knocking but didn’t think it actually happened. However, her knees were reverberating as they reached and entered the small reception area.

Harry was waiting for them, and Martha worried that the palm of her hand might feel clammy when he gave it a shake. “Martha,” he said and kissed her on the cheek, too. “Ye’re looking well. I’m glad ye ladies could make it.” He grinned.

Will and Rose smiled hello and started to circle the room, looking at the photographs on the wall of the Sandshift United teams over the years. Martha had introduced Zelda to them as “An old friend of the family,” and they hadn’t asked any questions.

“We’re raring to go,” Zelda said. “Just try stopping us.”

Martha smiled nervously from under her stripy hair.

“I’ve arranged for ye to go on the football pitch before the match. One of the lads from the accounts department wants to be a stand-up comedian, so he’s having a go first. Then ye’re on.”

“So…” Martha’s voice shook as she spoke. “We just walk out on the pitch, and Zelda reads aloud?”

Harry nodded. “She’ll have a microphone, so the crowd can hear her.”

“How many people are there?”

“Usually around two thousand.”

“Two?” Martha pressed a hand to her neck.

“Sometimes three, for a big match. For a wee football team they attract a lot of supporters.”

Zelda shoulders shrank. She fingered the blanket on her lap. “My throat is a little croaky,” she said, glancing away. “I hope I’ll be okay.”

Martha fixed her with a glare. “Yes, you will,” she said.



* * *



The accounts-person-come-comedian stood in the center of the pitch. From the tunnel, Martha couldn’t hear his words properly. She could see him gesturing with his hands, waving them around and standing with them on his hips. The rhythm of his patter stopped for a while as he waited for a response to his last joke. Martha listened out for laughter but there was only a mild titter.

Her stomach churned as he finished his set and shuffled past her, his back hunched. “I think I’ll stick with invoicing,” he said.

Will and Rose had opted for a tour of the grounds, offered by one of Harry’s workmates, and Zelda and Harry were deep in conversation a few meters away. Zelda had a copy of Blue Skies and Stormy Seas set on her lap.

As she waited for their turn, Martha found that her feet wouldn’t stay still. With a life of their own they shuffled and danced on the spot. She kept checking her watch and a sense of dread flooded over her as the seconds ticked away.

Giggles filled the corridor and a team of cheerleaders appeared around the corner. Slumping against the nearest wall, they chewed gum and stared at each other’s phones. They all wore the same white satin shorts, heavily penciled-in eyebrows and hair in bunches.

One of them stared in her direction, slowly running her eyes over Martha’s curly hair, her coat and then shoes. “Is she going to sing?” she whispered loudly to her friend. “Not exactly Beyoncé, is she?”

“More like Susan Boyle.”

Martha looked for the exit but the girls had blocked the corridor, obscuring her view of Zelda. She stood on her tiptoes and her breathing quickened. Harry squeezed through the plethora of pom-poms toward her. “Don’t be nervous. Ye’ll be fine,” he said, patting her arm. “It’s a shame about Zelda’s sore throat, but I’ll tell ye what to do.”

Martha’s entire body stiffened. “Me?” she exclaimed.

Harry shrugged a shoulder. “She said that ye’ll be doing the reading.”

Martha shook her head wildly. “No. Definitely not. Please wait a minute…” She excused her way through the cheerleaders to where her nana sat, smiling sheepishly in her chair.