She waited for Suki to tell her she was being ridiculous, as Lilian might, but instead the young library assistant folded her arms. “Well, it sounds like you’re determined to find out more,” she said.
Martha considered this for a moment. She thought about how Lilian always told her what to do, and how she obeyed without question. Just as she always did what her father wanted. Doing things for others no longer gave her the rush of satisfaction she looked for.
Instead she found herself wanting to explore the unusual feeling of freedom that she’d experienced in the arcade. She couldn’t remember the last time her nerves jingled with anticipation, and she decided that she quite liked it. “Owen is going to try and find out the name of the printer and date of the book, to see if it ties in with the date of Zelda’s dedication. Of course, that’s highly unlikely—”
“But what if it does?”
Martha flicked her hair. “It won’t do. I mean, it’s not possible. Zelda died three years before that date, so it can’t be right. Owen’s info will just clarify that.”
“And then what, Miss Marple?”
“I prefer Lisbeth Salander.” Martha shifted in her chair. “I suppose everything will go back to normal.” Images flashed in her head of saying no to the reading group, and the orange plastic crabs, and Owen and his red monogrammed slippers, and she wasn’t sure what normal was any longer.
“And what if you find out otherwise?”
Martha shrugged.
“Well, what would Lisbeth do?”
Martha mused upon this. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo wouldn’t sit on her backside and do nothing. She wouldn’t let Lilian dictate what she did. She wouldn’t offer to wash chandeliers or water potted plants. “She’d take matters into her own hands,” she said. “She’d move things along.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
Martha nodded. She considered her next move. Although it was Tuesday and she knew Chamberlain’s wasn’t open, a call to say thank you for the ride home wasn’t unreasonable. And she could ask if there had been any advancement in Dexter’s research.
“I’ll get dressed and have something to eat,” she said. “Then I’ll make my move.”
Martha took a long, hot bath, then made beans on toast and coffee. She moved a couple of boxes from her dining room floor and placed them against her wall.
She was pleased that she’d answered the door to Suki. It had been good to have another person in the house, other than Lilian.
After the cuckoo sang three times in the afternoon, she positioned herself in the wooden chair, straightened her skirt and picked up the phone.
When Owen didn’t pick up and she heard his answerphone message, she felt a plunge of disappointment; however, she didn’t hang up. She inhaled, closed her eyes and then spoke. “Hello, Mr. Chamberlain. I wanted to thank you for your kindness last night, for driving me home. And I also wanted to...”
As she thought of what to say next, someone answered. “Hello,” a voice said. “Who is this?”
Martha frowned, sure she’d dialed the number correctly. “It’s Martha Storm, from the library.”
“Oh, sorry. I couldn’t get to the phone in time. Dad’s out... This is Greg.”
“Greg?”
“Owen’s son.”
Now he said this, it made sense to Martha. He spoke in a similar way to Owen, searching around for his words. His voice was a little deeper and slower.
“Well, I’m sorry for disturbing you,” she said, surprised at how disappointed she felt not reaching Owen. “Please tell your father I rang, and—”
“Dad told me about you,” Greg chipped in. “I’ve not seen him so animated for a long time. You’re phoning about the date and photo, right?”
Martha’s right eyebrow twitched upwards. “Um, I don’t know anything about those.”
“Oh, right. Didn’t you get Dad’s email?”
“I’m not at work today to access a computer.” She ran a hand through her hair. “What’s the photo of?”
“I’m not sure. It’s part of a newspaper clipping, I think. Dexter emailed Dad and he forwarded it on to you.”
Martha bit her lip, wondering how she could get to see it. The library closed on Tuesdays and she didn’t want to wait until the next day. Perhaps she could let herself into the building without bumping into anyone who’d witnessed her embarrassing outburst.
“Um, is that okay?” Greg asked.
“Yes. It’s fine,” Martha said, her eyes flicking towards her pantry, where she kept a set of emergency keys. “I’m sure I can figure something out.”
9
Sandcastles
Betty, 1976
Betty smoothed down her new orange silk dress and admired her matching pumps. The dress was a little too tight, and the cut wasn’t one she’d have chosen for herself. The shoes were also slightly wide for her feet. But how wonderful it was for Thomas to treat her, for her thirtieth birthday.
The new hairbrush and hand cream that Martha and Lilian bought her lay on the bedcover, and the girls were now downstairs preparing her breakfast.
Thomas stood on the other side of the bed, waiting for Betty’s reaction. “They do fit, don’t they?” he asked.
Betty didn’t answer at first. She didn’t want to admit she needed a larger size dress, as that might spoil his efforts. If she lost a little weight, the dress would fit perfectly. If she concentrated when she was walking, the shoes wouldn’t slip off. “Yes, of course,” she said with a smile. “They’re so lovely. Thank you.”
“Fantastic,” Thomas said. “You look beautiful.”
As she reached down to pick up the ripped wrapping paper, Betty couldn’t help wondering how much the dress and shoes cost. Whenever she wanted to meet a friend for coffee, or buy a new jar of face cream, she had to ask Thomas for money. Most of the time he gave it to her freely, but sometimes he questioned her, reminding her that it didn’t grow on trees.
She crumpled the paper into a ball and held it. The one thing she wanted above anything else, was the one thing she didn’t have. A job. Then she could earn money and buy things, for her and the girls. She’d be free of the embarrassment of asking Thomas for it.
When she gave a little sigh, he detected it. “Is there anything wrong?”
“No. I was just thinking that I’d like to contribute, financially, to the household. The dress and shoes are so lovely, but I need some practical clothes to wear, too. The girls are growing out of their things...” She sought out her husband’s eyes. “I’m thinking of looking for work.”
Thomas nodded, an understanding smile on his face. “You know, that’s one of the things I love about you, Betty. You’re always so considerate, thinking of others. But you do such a great job at home. You should enjoy your time with the girls, while they’re young. Let me take care of all the boring adult stuff. I loved that my mum stayed at home. She didn’t work and the whole family really benefited from it. Besides...” he hesitated.
“Yes?”
“Well...” His pause went on for too long. “You’re not getting any younger, and you don’t really have any experience.”
Betty could admit this was true. She was only nineteen, fresh out of secretarial college, when Martha appeared. She suspected the skills she’d learned there would be out-of-date in today’s workplace. She hadn’t had a chance to put any of them into practice. “I could learn on the job,” she said. “And it would be nice to meet new people and have a few adult conversations during the day.”
Thomas gave a roar of laughter. “Yes, you can’t really call conversations with your mother adult, can you? All I’m saying is, there’s no rush. Lilian is only six. Why not wait until she starts secondary school?”
Betty gave a wry smile as she fingered the ball of wrapping paper. As usual, he made sense. “It was just a thought.”
“And a very practical one.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Now, I thought that the girls and I could take you to the beach, for a picnic lunch. I can’t think of a nicer place to spend your birthday afternoon.”
Betty’s smile froze on her lips. “Oh. I said I’d take them to the funfair in town, with Mum. I thought you’d be in work today.”