The Library of Lost and Found(9)

“It’s fine,” Martha said, even though it wasn’t. “It means that I found the book. It’s from someone called Owen Chamberlain.”

Suki sat more upright. “Oh yeah. Chamberlain’s is the new bookshop behind Maltsborough lifeboat station. Well, it’s new but sells old books.” She picked the book up and leafed through it. “These illustrations are gorgeous.”

“There’s a message inside from my grandmother, Zelda. But she passed away three years before the date.”

Suki frowned. “That’s weird, like an Agatha Christie mystery or something.”

“Or, perhaps a mistake. That’s the more obvious conclusion.”

“Are you going ring him?”

Martha hesitated. Recalling Lilian’s disparaging words about the book made her palms itch. “My sister said to leave it alone.”

“But the desiccation is to you, not her.”

“It’s dedication,” Martha corrected her. She stared at the phone on the desk, and thoughts of Zelda crawling on the library floor came back to her again. Even now, she still missed her.

“I suppose I could call him,” she said, finally. “To tie up loose ends with the situation.”

“Definitely.”

Martha slid the handwritten note out of the book, to read the phone number, but as she did, the library doors opened. A breeze lifted the note from her fingers. It swept into the air and down onto the floor like a feather.

“Yes,” Lilian spoke loudly. “You do have to stay here.”

Will and Rose appeared around the corner first. They both wore jeans and baggy hooded tops, and their droopy mouths said they’d prefer to be somewhere else.

Thirteen-year-old Will’s spiky hair was platinum blond a contrast to the black of his thick eyebrows. Rose was three years younger. Her hair was the color of autumn leaves, a soft copper. It fell in spirals around her oval face.

Lilian nudged them forward and rubbed the corner of her eye. “Hey, how are you, Martha?” she said. “I’ve stopped by for my Ahern.”

“I’ve got it here. And I’ve brought the old book I told you about.”

Lilian raised her palm and briefly closed her eyes. “Okay, but I need to ask you for a favor. Do you mind looking after the kids? I’ve got an errand to run.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure. You’re going to Chichetti’s in Maltsborough, Mum. Your friend invited you to lunch.”

Lilian fixed him with a stare and gave a stilted laugh. “Well, yes. Annie and I will eat, but we also have other things to do.” She stepped closer to Martha and lowered her voice. “I want to talk to Annie about something. It’s important. The kids will be no trouble. They’ll just read books and things.”

Martha had received a telling off from Clive when Will and Rose last hung out at the library. He accused her of mixing business and family life. “I’d love to help, but—”

“Great,” Lilian said, with a sigh of relief. “Thanks so much. I’ll be back by two. Or two thirty. Perhaps three… Now, I have to dash.”

“But about the book—” Martha picked it up and proffered it to her sister.

Lilian froze, then tentatively took hold of it. She briefly flicked through the pages and her lips pursed into a thin line when she reached Zelda’s message.

“Have you noticed the date?” Martha prompted.

Color seemed to seep from Lilian’s cheeks. She cleared her throat. “Zelda probably wrote it down wrong, that’s all.”

“That seems a strange thing to do.”

Lilian handed it back. She hitched her handbag up on her shoulder. “I don’t know why you’re getting obsessed with that crappy old thing, especially when you’re surrounded by so many lovely books. Just chuck it away. It’s probably full of germs.”

Martha heard the irritation in her sister’s voice and decided not to press things further. But although she smiled and said, “Well, okay then,” she couldn’t help wondering why Lilian was so dismissive of the intriguing little book.



* * *



Will took off his boots and stretched his legs out, creating a hurdle to the history section. “Any chance of a brew?” he asked Martha.

Rose sat cross-legged in front of the YA shelves. She stabbed at her phone screen with her index finger. “I’d love one, too. You make the best cups of tea.” Her eyes shone as a neon-yellow trophy exploded.

“Of course,” Martha said. “Would you like a biscuit, too? Freshly baked.”

Will and Rose nodded in unison.

Branda was the next person who needed help, with her photocopying. Her real name was Brenda, but everyone switched the e to an a without her noticing because she only wore clothes she classed as a “dee-signer brand.” Three years ago, her husband left her for a family friend, so Branda hit him where it hurt—in his wallet. Today she wore a crisp white shirt with hand-painted eagles on the shoulders, and a black leather skirt with bright yellow stitching. Her bluey-black hair was coiffed into a small crispy beehive.

“I’ll do it,” Martha said, wrestling the paper out of her arms. “You have a nice sit-down. Do you have extinguishers in the Lobster Pot? Your candles could be quite a fire hazard.”