“Ha, it found me in a most unusual way,” Rita said.
The hairs on her Martha’s arms rose to attention. “It found you?”
“Ah, yes. Shall I tell you all about it? It’s most wonderful.” Rita didn’t wait for a reply before she shared her recount, telling it like a story.
“One day, a small crowd gathered in the village square, not far from my bookshop. I was out on my lunch break when I heard a woman’s voice. It was loud and clear above the chattering of the crowd. Wonderful. Street performers in the Bay are always worth a watch, so I squeezed my way to the front and I saw two women. One was in a wheelchair and she read aloud from a book. She had the most expressive voice and everyone around me listened in, captivated. I remember her story was one about a mermaid and a fisherman.”
Martha shifted in her chair. “Please go on.”
“Afterwards, the strangest thing happened,” Rita said. “The lady reading the book closed it and placed it on the ground. Everyone clapped and cheered, but the two women didn’t stay and listen to the applause, or to collect any money. They both moved on quickly, away from the crowd.
“A few people around me stayed and eyed up that little book, lying there on the ground, but they eventually edged away. I’m a real nosey parker, though, and wanted to take a closer peek.
“It had a burgundy cover. Just wonderful. I couldn’t resist reaching down and picking it up. I was going to hand it back to the ladies but I couldn’t see them anywhere. It started to rain, so I tucked it under my coat. When I got back to the shop and pulled it out, I found a note attached to the back cover.”
“A note?”
“Ah, yes. I still have it. Let me find it for you, so I get the words exactly right.”
Martha waited and listened to shuffling from the other side of the phone. A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine.
“Here it is,” Rita said, when she returned to the call. “The note said, ‘Read me. I’m yours.’”
Martha frowned, not able to understand why anyone would read and then discard a book in this way. It was most illogical. Books were for keeping and admiring, reading and treasuring. If the two ladies didn’t want their book any longer, why hadn’t they given it to charity, or to a secondhand bookstore? Also, it meant this copy of Blue Skies and Stormy Seas belonged to someone else, before Rita. Another owner in the chain. She fell silent and pressed her fingers lightly against her neck. “That’s most unusual. Is there anything else you can tell me about the two ladies?”
Rita made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Hmm, let me think,” she said. “The woman in the wheelchair was a funny old thing. She was dressed head-to-toe in turquoise and wore these big old sunglasses. The other woman seemed to be looking after her. I think her name is Gina.”
Martha felt the back of her neck prickle. She reached behind her and gave it a scratch. Looking up, she noticed that the library was now in complete darkness. All she could make out were silhouettes of the shelves. The backs of her hands glowed silver from the computer screen. “Did you ever see them again?” she asked.
“Once or twice. They’re from the old vicarage.”
“In your village?”
“Ah, yes. In Benton Bay.”
Martha closed her eyes and saw turquoise. She imagined sunlight bouncing off cat’s-eye sunglasses.
Could the woman in the wheelchair possibly be my nana?
Or is that a ridiculous thought?
Also, how long ago had this happened? The book, with its speckles and yellowing pages, was over thirty years old.
She gulped and tried keep her voice steady. “You’ve been so helpful, Rita. Thank you for your time. I have one last question.”
“Ask away.”
“Do you remember when this happened?”
“When?” Rita asked with a chortle. “You make it sound like a historical event. The book came to me just before Christmas. Three months ago, if that.”
11
Taxi
Martha looked out of her sitting room window at the wisps of clouds hanging like cobwebs in the powder-blue sky. Pockets of white tulips had sprung around her garden gate and everything looked fresher. She could see streaks of cobalt woven among the grays of the sea, although there were still icy crackles on her metal watering can. As she paced around her dining room, the boxes surrounding her felt like gravestones hemming her in.
She’d spent the previous night ruminating, telling herself that the woman from the vicarage couldn’t possibly be her nana. Yet she wanted to be sure. At the very least she could find out how the woman who read aloud from the book came to have a copy. And why she wanted to give it away.
She wiped away a speck of dust from the windowpane as she contemplated, then ruled out, contacting Lilian. She didn’t want to be told by her sister that she was being ridiculous and should leave things alone. Dropping her hand to her side, she gave a sigh.
Is it so wrong to do my own thing, for once?
She walked into the kitchen and opened the cutlery drawer to get a spoon for her breakfast cereal. At the front, there was a stack of business cards that her mum used to save. They were fastened together by a green rubber band. Martha noticed that the top one was for a taxi service.
She pulled it out and stared at it as she munched her muesli.
She turned it over and mused as she sipped her coffee.
The thought of knocking on the door of the old vicarage and asking two strangers what they knew about the little battered book made her stomach cramp.
The final months she’d spent caring for her parents had been a broken record of routine, and acting with immediacy wasn’t her style. However, after her conversation with Rita and the events of the last few days, Martha’s skin tingled as if she was plugged into an electric socket. She knew she was ready to make a move, to take a step out of her comfort zone.
She had to do something.
She picked up the card again and, before she could tell herself not to, she phoned for a taxi.
Her stomach jittered as she waited for it to arrive. She busied herself by washing her breakfast pots and moving things around on the dining table. She tried not to think about the journey she was about to undertake.
When a car horn beeped outside, she touched her hair slide to check its positioning. She called out, “Just a minute,” even though she knew the driver wouldn’t be able to hear.
Locking the front door behind her, she then slid into the back seat of the taxi. “Please take me to the old vicarage in Benton Bay,” she said.
An hour and a half later, Martha stood outside a pretty redbrick building. It had a pointed roof, immaculate lawns and a path that wound up to a scarlet-painted front door. It had a brass fox-shaped knocker and an oversized letterbox. Ivy sprang around the frame and a hanging basket was overgrown with pansies and big primroses. The property looked homey, like the owners loved and looked after it.
She stood with her hands behind her back, staring at the house. Her feet felt glued to the spot and a voice in her head told her to turn around and go home.
“I can’t do it,” she told it. “I have got to do this.”
Her pulse raced as the door began to slowly open. As a lady appeared on the doorstep, to put out some empty milk bottles, Martha stepped quickly to the side. Obscuring herself behind a tall privet hedge and peeping through a gap in the leaves, she wasn’t quite ready to make her next move.
The lady had dove-white long hair, tied into a high bun, and Martha wasn’t sure if her crease-free beige trouser suit looked more like a carer’s outfit or a safari one. She was probably in her early seventies, too young to be Zelda.
So, could this be Gina?
The woman went back inside and Martha exhaled. Her heart was thump-thumping too wildly, making her feel faint, so she decided to pace down the country lane for a while, to allow herself time to calm down.