The Library of Lost and Found(70)

This matters to Zelda, she told herself. Would you prefer to be here, or stuck at home washing chandeliers and hemming trousers?

She imagined if her mother was here, Betty would encourage her, too. She’d want her to do something that wasn’t dictated by Thomas.

She finally summoned the strength to speak. “Good afternoon,” she said, and she was surprised at how loud and clear her voice sounded, amplified through the mike.

The cheerleaders stopped talking. They still chewed gum but they looked at her rather than at each other.

As Martha waited, the roar of the crowd died down.

She raised her copy of Blue Skies and Stormy Seas and her fingers scrabbled to find “The Tiger and the Unicorn.” She waited a few beats to see if the words “Get her off” rose again, but all she heard was a bout of good-natured singing.

“I’m Martha Storm, from Sandshift library,” she said. “My grandmother, Zelda, would like me to tell you a story I wrote when I was a young girl, because it’s important to our family history.” She paused again, wondering how shaky her words sounded to the audience. She tried to picture the football supporters as rows of cabbages, or minus their clothes. Harry stood a few meters away and she averted her eyes, so her mind didn’t picture him naked, too.

After the blast of an air horn, she began to read.

Her first few words tumbled out and she stuttered a little, but she found her flow. She concentrated on the page, on the white paper and the dark gray words. Her surroundings faded away and she became only aware of the book and her own voice.

Stories could always take her elsewhere and she allowed this one to do it now.

She imagined herself in her teens, her feet kicking against the cliff at the end of the garden, and of Zelda twirling on the grass in a flowing dress. She saw herself crawling on the library floor, and Zelda making a claw of her hand as Martha described the tiger threatening the unicorn.

A feeling of peacefulness filtered over her, warming her skin like spring sunshine through a window. Her heartbeat slowed and she began to feel stronger, as if the words were somehow soaking into and strengthening her bones.

As she read, she felt she was giving this story a new life of its own. It was no longer a reflection of her childhood and whatever happened within the Storm family. It was just a story, to be shared and enjoyed.

When she finished it, she felt almost sad to reach the end and she closed the book. She took a moment before she said, “Thank you for listening, everybody.”

Her hip knocked against the microphone stand and a small screech pierced the air.

Zelda had already stuck a yellow note to the back cover that said, “Read me. I’m yours.” Martha’s hand shook as she placed the book on the turf and stepped away.

Harry led with a round of applause, clapping his hands together flamboyantly. The cheerleaders raised their pom-poms and shook them in the air. One of the footballers reached up and surreptitiously wiped his eye with his finger.

As Martha walked off the pitch, her heart began to race again, but this time it wasn’t from fear. If she had to put a name to it, then she might call it pride in herself, that she had been able to read to all those people and share the story for her nana.

A small round of applause sounded around the ground, growing louder. Glancing back, Martha watched a football player pick up the book and open it.

Zelda sat, waiting. “You did it,” she said, her eyes swimming with tears. “You were bloody glorious.”

Martha nodded. For once, she actually felt it.

“You were ah-mazing.”

“Thank you.” Martha closed her eyes and took a moment to listen to the crowd and the cheerleaders chanting. She let the feeling wash over her and enjoyed the tingly sensation it triggered in her fingers and toes. She grinned and, when she opened her eyes again, Zelda was still nodding her approval.

“Shall we go?” Zelda said. “Harry has some cake waiting for us.”

Martha took hold of the back of her nana’s chair and began to turn her around. “Cake would be lovely,” she said firmly. “But first of all, you owe me your own story. About the book…”





27


Kite

After leaving the football ground, Martha, Zelda, Will and Rose made their way down to the beach. Zelda promised to share her story about the book but wanted to do it somewhere more private than the football ground. Also, Martha wanted to take a walk, to slow down her racing heart.

As they headed down the slope, she worried that Zelda’s wheelchair might pick up speed, like a racing car in the Grand Prix. So she kept a firm grip on the back, tugging and digging her heels in, just as she did when handling her overloaded shopping trolley.

Will and Rose, rather embarrassed that their aunt had read a book in the middle of a football pitch, ran off ahead.

Martha and Zelda stopped when they reached the mermaid statue. Martha took deep gulps of the sea air to try to stop her limbs from jerking with adrenaline. “Now tell me about Blue Skies and Stormy Seas,” she said softly.

Zelda nodded. “I will do, but I want to look at the plaque first.” Her lips moved as she read the names of the fishermen to herself. “It only seems like yesterday when the Pegasus went down,” she said. “I remember it well.”

“Were you there?”

“I found out the morning after it happened. I was walking on the beach and could hear seagulls cawing. But when I got closer, I realized it was the sound of people crying. There was a lifeboat out at sea and I remember thinking it looked too orange against the gray waves. Two boats circled, round and round, like they were spiraling down a plughole.” She made a twist with her finger.