There was a flutter in her stomach and her heart thumped, as if she was on a first date. She wandered around in small circles on the pavement and rummaged through her handbag, to pass the time until they arrived.
More than anything, she wanted to find out how and why her nana was still alive, but as each minute ticked by, her hopes subsided. Her steps grew slower and her shoulders drooped. She looked at the postcard, to check the date and time.
Where is Zelda?
It was 12:16 p.m. when she eventually saw her nana and Gina approaching with Percy trotting alongside them. Even though her excitement was dampened by the sight of the stern carer, she still felt like skipping to her nana’s side, as she did when she was young. She wanted to wrap her arms around her, to assure herself that she was really here.
She strode over to greet the two women and spotted that Gina’s lips were set in a hard, thin line. Martha felt a flare of anger in her stomach at why this woman was being so hostile towards her. Shouldn’t she be more pleased that the woman she cared for was reunited with her long-lost granddaughter? Martha repeated the last line on the postcard to herself—no late return. Gina made her nana sound like a library book.
“Shall we agree ninety minutes maximum?” Gina said. She wore a beige trench coat with boot-cut jeans and gray loafers. She looked softer today, with her snowy hair in loose waves. Zelda was in her wheelchair, with a turquoise blanket tucked over her legs and a silk scarf wrapped around her head.
“That’s not very long.” Martha frowned. How could they possibly fit years of conversation into such a short time?
“It is enough, for a first outing.”
“I am here, you know.” Zelda raised a hand. “I can speak for myself.”
Gina looked at her. “Ninety minutes only, today. And please be sensible, Ezmerelda. Hook the Duck or the penny arcades are fine, but I do not want you to dislocate your shoulder on anything like the coconut shies.”
Martha curled her fingers to stop herself from intervening. She spoke through her teeth. “Is there anything I should know about health matters?”
“No,” Zelda spoke up. “I’ve got a bad dose of old age, that’s all. It’s bloody awful. No cure.”
Martha tried not to laugh and she felt the tension between the three of them ease a little. “We’ll just grab a coffee, or a bite to eat in the café. An ice cream sundae will be as adventurous as we get,” she told Gina.
Her nana’s carer twitched a wry smile. “And that just shows how little you know Ezmerelda,” she said.
“She’s just trying to look after me, in her own way,” Zelda said, her lips ventriloquist-still as she waved goodbye to Gina.
“She’s very, um, firm.”
“It’s just her way.”
The two women headed through the entrance arch and into the main body of the fairground. Martha remembered them as magical places: the flashing lights, the blast of music and the laughter. But now she saw danger and neglect. Thick black cables running across the floor might trip you up. She noticed the chipped paint on the Waltzer cars as they spun around their circular track and she found the smell of fried onions sickly. Everything seemed louder and brasher.
Her neck felt stiff as she thought of how many years had passed between her and Zelda. If you loved someone so much in the past, would the future only disappoint? Could the years melt away so easily, or would they be like a wall of ice?
“The café looks nice,” she said as they moved towards it, though it didn’t look very pleasant at all. Two flat wooden clowns held up a menu board on which everything was served with chips. “I don’t think I’ve ever had chips and cheese before.”
“Are you even hungry?” Zelda stopped her wheelchair abruptly.
“Well, not really.”
“Good.” Zelda took hold of her wheels and pushed forward with her hands, skillfully spinning in the opposite direction. “Follow me.”
“Where to?”
“I want to see the rides.”
Martha sped after her. Her brow furrowed. “But, we need to chat—”
“We can do it later.”
Martha glanced at her watch. Ten minutes had already gone by. She opened her mouth to insist they talk now, but Zelda sat upright in her chair. “Candy floss,” she said with a sniff. “Let’s get some.”
“Gina said you’re not allowed sugar.”
“I won’t tell her if you don’t.”
Martha’s jaw clenched. “I have her list.”
“I’m eighty-nine, Martha,” Zelda huffed. “I have few pleasures left in life. What’s the worst that could happen if I eat candy floss?”
“I don’t know.” Martha sighed. “Diabetes? Tooth decay? Obesity?”
“Been there. Done that. Well, maybe not obesity.” Zelda wheeled towards the candy floss stand.
Martha dug her hand in her hair, frustrated that her nana preferred to eat pink fluffy stuff rather than discuss the last three decades.
“It’s my treat,” Zelda shouted over her shoulder.
Martha caught her up. “I’ll get it.” She pulled the purse from her bag. “Then let’s find somewhere quiet.”
Zelda reached up and slapped a ten-pound note on the counter. “A candy floss each, for me and my overcautious granddaughter. Extra-large ones, please.”
Their flosses quivered in the breeze as they carried them. Martha examined the mound of pink sugar, not having eaten it since she was a teen. She wondered if she’d hear her father’s voice when she tasted it. Closing her eyes, she listened, but all she could hear was the hum of rock music thrumming from the Waltzer. She slowly leaned her head to one side and took a small mouthful. The sugary strands dissolved deliciously on her tongue.
“Throw it away,” her dad said, somewhere from the base of her skull. “It will rot your teeth. It’s not healthy.”
Martha tried to ignore him, but the candy floss grew sweeter and more cloying. It seemed to expand in her mouth. Not able to enjoy it any longer, she dropped it into a bin.
“We should go on at least one ride,” Zelda said, staring at the dodgem cars.
Martha coughed. “We can’t go on those. You might—”
“What? Fracture my hip? I did that when I fell over a rake in the garden. If I break something else, it should be doing something fun. I’m the adult, remember?”
Martha stared at her. “We both are.”
“Oh yes.” Zelda grinned. “I forgot.”
Martha didn’t recall her nana being this strong-willed. In fact, she could only recall a sense of her personality rather than definite traits. She was beginning to realize that it was impossible to remember everything about a person from the past. You formed your own idealized picture of them, rather than an accurate one. The Zelda she’d held in her head for decades was a superhero, an ally, her best friend. Yet here, now, she was a frail old lady in a wheelchair, and a stubborn one at that. “Let’s go back to the café with the wooden clowns,” she pleaded. “There’s so much we need to catch up on. I need to know what happened.” She felt her throat tightening with emotion as she spoke. “Why did you leave? Why did my parents tell me you were dead?”
Zelda reached up with both hands and took hold of Martha’s coat. Her eyes shone with longing. “Please let’s look at the rides for a while. When I look out of my window at home, I see green fields and buttercups and blue sky, and it’s beautiful. But sometimes I want a different view, to watch people and things going on. Elderly people don’t just want to look at photos of the past, or of a nice bloody view. I want to see bright lights, and hear music, and see young people having fun. I want to remember doing it myself.”
Martha looked down at her nana’s knotted hands. She swallowed away a lump in her throat. “I know, but I lost you...”