Martha got out of the car and gave him a small wave. As she took her keys out of her pocket, she caught sight of something small and glinting in the trolley. She picked out her hair slide and held it between her thumb and forefinger for a moment. It shone under a streetlamp and she fastened it back into her hair.
When she opened her front door, the dragon’s head gave her a stiff smile, and she gave it one in return.
The cuckoo clock ticked and Martha stood in the middle of the room. It had gone past nine o’clock, her father’s supper time, and it still felt strange that he was no longer here. There was no smell of burnt toast, the way he liked it.
Martha patted the dragon on its head and swung an invisible mallet through the air. She tossed her notepad onto the dining table, too tired to take a look at which tasks she’d failed to accomplish.
As she slumped in the wooden chair and looked out the window at the glistening sea, she leaned over and pressed the button on the answer machine. Then she closed her eyes and let the sound of Owen’s warm tones wash over her. She liked the way he said Blue Skies and Stormy Seas, like he was reading a bedtime story.
She thought about the strange sensation that had engulfed her in the arcade, as she bashed the crabs. She’d been unable to identify it before, but now she could.
Freedom. She imagined it might be what freedom felt like.
8
Chinese Dragon
“Martha. Martha.”
A voice shouted from outside and the doorbell rang, but Martha wasn’t sure if the sounds were in her dream or not.
She’d slept fitfully through the night, dreaming of the Sandshift sea, and its inky waves. A fishing boat rocked, in trouble, and she stood rooted to a spot on the sands. She frantically waved her arms but there was no one around to see or hear her. As she waded into the water, it sloshed around her ankles, then her knees and thighs. The boat bobbed and vanished. Martha tried to shout, but the water lapped at her chest and then chin. She felt the sea bed beneath her toes and then it was gone. Twisting in the water, she was far from shore. The waves chilled her bones and pulled her under. No one could save her. She thrashed until she gave up and let herself sink slowly down.
It was a recurring dream that she’d had since she was a child. Sometimes it might be months until it invaded her sleep, and she thought it might have gone, but then she’d close her eyes and find herself battling the ferocity of the waves again.
“Martha.”
The call of her name brought her back to the safety of her own room. She opened one eye and then the other. Relief washed over her when she realized she was in her bed.
With a shiver and her nightie clinging to her chest from sweat, she noticed she’d kicked all the covers off the bed. She scooped them up and gathered them around her. Her arms were sore and stiff from handling the hammer, and she groaned as she pulled on her dressing gown. As her previous day’s actions began to speckle back into her memory, she didn’t want to see or speak to anyone.
The doorbell rang again and she slid wearily off the mattress. She pushed her feet into her slippers and trod downstairs. Grudgingly opening the front door, she blinked against the daylight.
“Congrats, you did it!” Suki thrust a small bunch of freesias at her chest. She wore a long purple tie-dyed dress and glittery sandals more suited to the Mediterranean. The back of her hands were henna-painted with intricate flowers.
Martha took hold of the freesias and stared at them, remembering how a vase full always sat on the dining room table. As soon as her dad died, she bought roses instead. “I did what, exactly?” she asked.
“You said no. It’s a spectacular phenomenon-on, or whatever the word is.”
“Thank you, but not really.” Martha fiddled with her dressing gown belt as she recalled her behavior. “I need to apologize to everyone. I overreacted and need to explain that...”
However, Suki crossed her legs and bounced up and down. She pushed Martha’s handbag into her arms. “You left this behind at the library yesterday. Sorry, but I need the loo,” she winced. “The baby is kicking my bladder.”
Martha glanced behind her, at her job-laden floor. Nora’s bin bags looked like giant boulders and the Chinese dragon’s head grinned at her with its wonky white teeth. She didn’t want Suki to see all her stuff. “Um, I—”
But she had already pushed past and vanished up the stairs.
Martha set the freesias in some water. She moved a few of Horatio’s potted plants off the dining table and set the vase down. Staring around the room, she wondered what she could do to quickly tidy up the place, but she’d need a small bulldozer to make any impression in the next few minutes.
“I’m not sure why making an idiot of myself is cause for celebration,” she said, when Suki returned. “I’m sorry for...”
However, Suki stood with her mouth hung open. She didn’t look around at the boxes and bags. Instead she focused on one thing. “Is that a Chinese dragon?” she asked.
Martha gave a small shrug, remembering Lilian’s disbelieving stare when she first encountered the colorful beast. “It’s only the head, and it’s child-sized. I said I’d fix his ear and cheek for the school...” She trailed her words away, her offer suddenly sounding ridiculous. As she surveyed her other tasks, she couldn’t even recall volunteering to do some of them, though her notepad would tell her otherwise.
“It’s awesome.” Suki dropped awkwardly to her knees while holding her bump. Placing her hand in the dragon’s mouth, she tested the sharpness of its teeth with her fingers and ran her palm over its shiny red tongue. “Why do you need to say sorry to people?”
“For whatever you heard. For being rude.”
“You stood up for yourself. I feel quite proud of you.”
Martha wondered how anyone could feel this way about her. She pulled out her wooden chair and sat down with a thump. “How do you even know all this?”
“Horatio told me. He said he liked your traumatic reading.”
Martha hoped she meant dramatic reading. She held her head in her hands and couldn’t think what to say. Everything seemed to be failing. Her quest to be reliable and indispensable was falling apart. “I made such an idiot of myself in front of Clive, and I really want the job at the library. Sorry.”
“You shouldn’t keep saying that. You don’t owe anything to anyone. Don’t come back to the library until you’re ready. Clive can help out, for once.” Suki gave an impromptu guffaw of laughter. “It’s so like you, to tackle a dragon’s head.”
Martha opened her mouth to protest, then realized she couldn’t do it. Suki was right.
She surveyed the dragon’s head, and the absurdity of having this monstrous beast in her dining room made a small nervous laugh rise. “I don’t know anything about papier-maché.”
Suki heaved herself upright. “Well, I do. I love crafty stuff. I’ve always wanted to try papier-maché but didn’t have a project. I’ll help you, if you like? It will keep my mind off Ben.”
Martha stared at her. She was the one who helped people out. Suki was the first person in a long time to offer her any assistance.
She had an overwhelming feeling of wanting to throw a hug but wasn’t sure if it would be welcome, or if she even remembered how to do it correctly. She tensed her arms to stop herself. “I’d really appreciate that,” she said.
“Now, what did Owen Chamberlain say about your book?”
Pleased by her interest, Martha explained how she had visited the shop, and that Owen received the book to repair from one of his contacts.
“I called there again last night, after the reading group session,” she said. “He found out the book’s title is Blue Skies and Stormy Seas, and it was written by E. Y. Sanderson. That’s my nana’s full name. What’s really strange is that the stories are ones she told me when I was a child, and ones I made up to share with her. She must have written them down and printed them in the book.” She shook her head, thinking how unlikely this sounded.