“I will. Oh, and Suki,” Martha called out after her as she walked away. “Thank you for a most enlightening afternoon.”
“Ha,” Suki said, glancing back over her shoulder. “You shall go to the ball, Ms. Storm.”
21
Cake
Even though it was six minutes before the agreed time, Martha waited on the doorstep for Owen to arrive and pick her up.
She trotted to one side of the step and then the other, testing out the stability of her heeled shoes and the likelihood of twisting her ankle. A probability of around 35 percent, she reckoned.
She bent one knee forward and then the other, trying out the tightness of her skirt. It made her feel like her legs were bandaged together, and she didn’t feel like Martha Storm, Volunteer Librarian any longer. The skirt gave her more of a Martha Storm, Wonder Woman feeling.
When Owen arrived, precisely on time, she was pleased to note, he got out of his car and opened the door for her. Martha hobbled over and just about managed to eke her legs high enough to climb into the seat.
“Will you be warm enough with bare legs?” he asked.
How lovely of him to show concern, she thought. Though she also felt a small jolt of disappointment that he hadn’t commented on her drastic change of appearance.
She herself had spotted that he was wearing a salmon-colored scarf that, strangely, both complemented and contrasted with his red shirt. He’d added a badge to his lapel collection, this one proclaiming Bookaholics Anonymous. He had also cleaned the inside of his car. The foot well was empty and she could smell violets.
Without waiting for her reply, Owen bent down to fiddle with his car radio. “Sorry, but I’ve been trying to locate some music for us that isn’t heavy metal or electronic dance... I may have failed.”
They set off and drove up and along Maltsborough Road to the sound of AC/DC played on volume level two and a half.
“I’m so intrigued to meet Zelda and chat about her book,” Owen said as they headed inland. “I have so many questions, about how Blue Skies and Stormy Seas came to be in print.”
Martha wanted to find out the same thing, too. And this was good, she told herself, that his enthusiasm was firmly focused on her nana. Because, with her newly pinkened lips and appealing hair, the last thing she wanted was for him to think she’d invited him on some kind of date. “Getting answers from her is proving quite a challenge,” she warned.
They stopped off to buy tiramisu from a delicatessen on the way, and a bottle of merlot. Martha peered down at the dessert as it rested on her lap, and it looked both assuredly fresh and authentically Italian. If she ate cake, then she was sure it would taste delicious.
She was pleased to find that her and Owen’s conversation wasn’t stilted at all, as they resumed their discussion about books. This time they talked about ones from their childhoods. Martha chose Enid Blyton’s The Magic Faraway Tree because she loved the idea that creatures lived in a tree, in an everyday forest. Owen preferred Treasure Island. “It offers true escapism, buccaneers and buried gold,” he said. “What more could a boy want from a book?”
When they reached the old vicarage, Martha’s back felt a little damp with nerves, but she knocked firmly on the door. She remembered that her arrival hadn’t achieved much enthusiasm from Gina the last time she was here.
However, Gina answered the door with a warm smile. She wore a blush-pink sweater and long cream skirt. Her long white hair was swept into a loose bun. She gave Martha a small kiss to her cheek.
Martha returned it, unsure whether to go for a double one that seemed to pass as a standard greeting these days. She stuck with the one. “I’d like to introduce you to Owen Chamberlain, a bookseller,” she said. “He passed Blue Skies and Stormy Seas on to me. And this is Gina. She’s Zelda’s, um...” She didn’t complete her sentence, unsure how Gina preferred to be addressed.
“Thank you for bringing the tiramisu,” Gina chipped in quickly. “This looks lovely, Martha.”
The sound of wheels trundling on wooden floor sounded in the hallway and Zelda appeared at Gina’s side. She wore a turquoise paisley silk headscarf and a dress with a similar pattern. “Hello,” she said and offered Owen her hand. “I’m Ezmerelda Sanderson, Martha’s nana.”
Owen shook it and smiled. “But surely you aren’t old enough.”
“You smoothie.” Zelda batted her hand at him coyly. “Good choice of guest,” she whispered to Martha as the four of them moved towards the dining room together. Owen and Gina went first, and Zelda and Martha followed. “And you look beautiful tonight. Absolutely glorious.”
Under her beachy-peachy powdered cheeks, Martha blushed.
Everyone took their seats around the table, a tight squeeze in the cozy room, and Gina poured out glasses of blush prosecco. There were ten people in total, eight women and two men. Martha and Zelda sat next to each other and Gina guided Owen to the opposite end of the table, positioning him next to a young woman who wore a white silk lily in her hair and vivid orange lipstick.
At the other side of the room, Martha noticed a mantelpiece dotted with knickknacks, a white ceramic cat, swirly gold candlesticks and photos in an eclectic array of frames. From where she sat, she could see the shapes of people smiling in the photos, but couldn’t make out their faces. She wondered if Zelda had any of the Storm family on display.
Martha waited until Gina filled her glass before she glanced briefly in Owen’s direction.
“Is he your boyfriend?” Zelda asked.
Martha’s cheeks flooded with color and she quickly sipped her drink. “Don’t be silly. He’s just a friend.”
“I’d snap him up.” Zelda nudged her arm. “He’s hot.”
“Zelda,” Martha hissed, spluttering into her glass. The bubbles tickled her nose. She tried to focus her eyes anywhere other than on Owen. “I’m not a teenager.”
“Tsk. When did you start calling me Zelda? I prefer Nana or Grandma.”
The spread of food on the table looked delicious, baby new potatoes in minted butter, steaming carrots and green beans, a juicy nut roast and slices of beef. There was a huge bowl full of various breads, freshly made and served with salt and peppercorn butter.
As she sat stiffly in her chair, Martha found it difficult to relax in this strange setting. She looked around the room and everyone seemed to be chatting away, comfortable with each other. They were poised and knew how to act, and she didn’t. She felt like she was on show, an oddity. Zelda’s long-lost granddaughter who’d been allowed out of her overstuffed house.
She also knew that no one else was making her feel this way. She was doing it to herself. Her nana had just introduced her as “Martha. A book lover, like us.”
“We like to eat Southern style,” Zelda interrupted Martha’s wandering thoughts as she handed her a bowl of coleslaw.
“Southern?” Martha thought of the UK. London and Brighton, perhaps even Kent.
“Gina and I lived in North Carolina for nearly thirty years, in a cute little town near Raleigh. We only moved back here, after my tumor op, for healthcare reasons. Sharing food was a huge thing out there, with friends and family. Can you hear my American twang?”
Martha nodded, having spotted that her nana’s accent was no longer purely from Yorkshire.
She also noticed how Zelda said “thirty years” as if it was a blink of an eye, the turn of a page. But it hadn’t been for Martha. It had been a long slog. There had been some rewards, knowing that her parents were comfortable and able to stay in their own home, but that couldn’t compensate for the isolation and loneliness she’d endured. The nagging knowledge that she was missing out on life.
And all that time, Zelda had been cooking and feeding other people too much slaw. Shouldn’t she have been in Sandshift, helping to look after Betty? Her own daughter?