Martha’s throat tightened at her own selfishness. She didn’t know why Zelda had gone, or how Lilian knew she hadn’t died. She darted her eyes away from her nana.
“It gets a bit boring on my own, so I invite people over,” Zelda said. “Pass me the wine and I’ll pour you another one.”
“I’ve got plenty left, thank you.” Martha placed her hand on top of her glass, but Zelda tapped it away. She tipped the bottle until the fizzy pink liquid was just a millimeter or two from the rim. Martha had to sip it straight away so it didn’t spill over. After her jumble of thoughts, she was glad of the warm rush it gave her.
Zelda turned her head and took up a conversation with a man to her left. He wore a tweed jacket and had wiry brown-blond hair and a slim mustache that moved as he talked. She introduced him, briefly, to Martha as “Harry, from the next village.”
In turn, Martha found herself talking about her library work, to a lady who had a cut-glass accent and a distracting mole under her eye. Martha felt oddly proud when the lady laughed out loud at her story about the ferret-costumed man.
Eventually, when Harry excused himself from the table, Martha chatted with Zelda again. Her grandmother’s cheeks were rosier now, her eyes a little pink.
“I think Harry likes you,” Zelda confided, too loudly.
“Me?” Martha tried not to glance at the jolly fellow when he returned to his seat.
“I’ve told him you’ve got your eye on someone else. But Harry doesn’t mind a bit of competition.”
“Ha.” Martha laughed nervously. Knowing it was pointless to scold her grandmother, she reached out for her glass and drained all her wine. The warm feeling it gave her helped her to feel less paranoid.
“Harry works at Sandshift football ground, arranging events and entertainment. He may come in handy for our plan of action.”
Martha didn’t know which word worried her most. “Plan” or “action.” “What exactly is that?”
Zelda stared at her, as if she should know. “You witnessed my Read and Run?”
“Gina explained what it was.”
“Well, I want my next one to be for as many people as possible. And I want you to join me.”
“Thanks. I’m happy to come along and watch.”
“Oh no.” Zelda shook her head resolutely. “I want it to be a team effort. Me and you.”
“You want to read a story from Blue Skies and Stormy Seas? At the football ground?”
“Yes. The crowd will love it.”
Martha didn’t have any experience of football matches but she very much doubted it. She ran a finger cautiously around the top of her glass. “With me?”
“Well, I don’t want to do it on my own.”
“Can’t Gina help you?”
As Zelda glanced over at her carer, her eyes grew dimmer. “Gina’s a good woman, but she wants me to put my feet up. She doesn’t understand I want to spend time living it up, not sitting it out,” Zelda said. “Plus, we won’t charge a fee.”
Martha pursed her lips. “I don’t think I can do it. The stories in the book bring back a lot of memories. They’re not all pleasant...”
“That’s a good reason to do it.”
Martha wondered if she was missing something. “I don’t really see how.”
Zelda squeezed her hand. “We can create new memories, together. You can write new stories.”
This was all too much for Martha to take in. She had come here hoping to solve a myriad of family mysteries, about why Zelda vanished, what Lilian knew, and about how and why the book came to be in existence. But now, her nana was trying to sign her up as entertainment for a local football match. “I can’t write any longer,” she protested. “Those stories were stupid, old-fashioned ones I made up when I was a child.”
“Excuse me.” Zelda removed her hand and folded her arms. “Those stories are ah-mazing.”
“Well.” Martha bristled. “I can’t tell them any longer. They vanished from my head when you disappeared from my life.”
“But I’m back now. Can’t you just pick up where you left off?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t.”
The two women stared at each other and then looked in opposite directions.
“Well,” Zelda said with a sniff. She rooted around up her sleeve for a tissue and patted it against her eyes. She flicked her head and her voice shook. “That’s a real shame.”
“I’ll come with you, to the football ground. I just don’t want to—”
Zelda cleared her throat. “It’s one of my dying wishes,” she said. “For us to do it together.”
Martha’s mouth dropped open. She took hold of Zelda’s elbow. “Please don’t say that.”
“Well, it is.” Zelda’s voice wobbled. “That and being able to celebrate one last Christmas. Is it really too much to ask?”
Martha felt her chest ache with guilt. “No. It isn’t too much,” she muttered.
“Thank you,” Zelda said with a tremble of her lip. “You’re a good girl, Martha Storm.”
When Martha felt a hand on her shoulder, she turned to find Owen smiling down at her. He placed a further glass of wine next to her plate. “This is a very nice chardonnay. Drink as much as you like. I’m sticking to the orange juice tonight for our drive home.” He moved his head a few inches back and frown lines appeared across his forehead. “Have you cut your hair? It looks very stylish. The green sweater suits you, too.”
Martha felt a giggle rise from deep inside her chest. It felt too girlish, not her. “Thank you,” she said. A small hiccup escaped from her lips and then another. She placed a hand to her mouth to stop them and, as her shoulders twitched, she spotted Harry firing a grin in her direction.
The food was delicious, so different from the usual things Martha popped into the microwave or spooned onto toast. The wine loosened her words and made her feel less overawed at being surrounded by people.
When she eventually got to talk to Zelda again, she couldn’t leave things alone. “Did you ever think of us?” she waved her glass around a little. “While you were in America?”
Zelda cocked her head to one side. “Of course I did. I might have been far away, but I thought about you. And Betty, too...”
“And Lilian?”
“Yes.”
Martha rubbed her chin. “I spoke to my sister earlier. She said she knew you didn’t die in 1982. She told me to be careful.”
Zelda’s expression didn’t alter. Her face was still. “Well, I don’t know why.”
“I hoped you could tell me.”
Zelda gave an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders. “Not really,” she said. She helped herself to more wine.
A piece of potato seemed to swell in Martha’s mouth. She chewed and swallowed it. “You’ve not told me yet why you left. Where did you go to?”
Zelda gave a small laugh but it sounded forced. “I didn’t have much choice. It was probably for the best.”
“I don’t understand,” Martha persevered. “How could you not have a choice about leaving? And why would Mum tell me that you died?” She noticed that Zelda spoke to her, at times, like she was still thirteen years old.
Zelda toyed with a green bean on her plate with her fork. She scratched under her headscarf with a crooked finger. “I didn’t know that Betty was going to tell you that. It wasn’t part of the plan...”
Martha frowned at her. “A plan?” She let her knife fall to her plate with a clatter. “What do you mean?” She examined Zelda’s face, but her nana averted her eyes.
“I, um...”
A clinking noise broke through their conversation. Gina drummed her fingernails against a wineglass. The ringing sound made everyone around the table stop talking.
“Just a few words, as we share our delicious food together,” Gina said. “Whether Ezmerelda and I have known you for a short while, or for a long time, it is a real pleasure that you could join us tonight. We truly value your glorious support and friendship.”
A round of applause and glass chinking went on around the table, followed by the lily-haired girl giving a small yelp.
“Now, eat what you want, drink what you can, and enjoy the moment.” Gina raised her glass and everyone followed suit.