Martha’s head pounded. She felt like she’d been in a jet plane looping the loop, rather than a journey back to Sandshift in Gina’s old Volvo. Every bump in the road, each corner on the way, made her stomach roll. If she looked in a mirror, she was sure her face would be peppermint green.
She stood on the pavement outside her cottage, her ankles wobbly in Betty’s shoes. The color of her sweater was too bright in the daylight and she hated knowing that she’d slept in it. Clasping a hand to her mouth, she waited to see if she was going to be sick.
How on earth can people do this for fun?
“You certainly hammered the wine last night,” Zelda said with laughter in her voice. She and Gina stood either side of her. “Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh,” Martha said, unsure.
“Make sure you drink plenty of water.” Gina placed a hand on her arm. “Take some paracetamol.”
Martha gave a watery smile, heartened by Gina’s unexpected concern. She steadied herself by leaning against her shopping trolley. Her hand shook as she attempted to slide her key into the lock.
When she saw her red key fob it reminded her of a toy in the library. It was also red and shaped like a TV. You turned white knobs that made gray pencil-like lines appear on the screen, to create a picture. An Etch A Sketch. Kids spent hours twiddling and designing houses, animals and people. When you wanted to draw something new, you shook the screen and the image dissolved, sometimes leaving a few traces of lines behind. That’s what Martha felt like now. Last night she’d had the beginnings of a picture, of what might have happened to Zelda all those years ago, but now she’d shaken and part wiped it out with her wine consumption.
She opened her front door. Her eyes were sticky and her mouth dry. She longed to peel off the tight skirt, yank off her shoes and crawl into bed. But Gina and Zelda had driven a fair way to escort her home. She felt she had no other choice but to invite them inside. To be a good host. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” she croaked. “Would you like a coffee?”
Zelda leaned on Gina and looked up at the house. Her eyes swept over the windows, at the chunky gray stone and the curtains that probably hadn’t been replaced since she last visited. “It looks smaller than I remember,” she said. “Like a goblin’s house.”
Gina wrapped her hand around her back, to support her. “We will come in for coffee some other time, Martha. You look like you need rest. I will use your bathroom, then we will set off home. We can stop off for a drink on the way back.”
Martha nodded gratefully. She directed Gina up the stairs and stayed with Zelda outside. Her grandmother was quiet, contemplative, as she peered up and down the street.
“It doesn’t look like anything has changed around here,” Zelda said. “Yet everything has. I can still see you running around outside with no shoes on, the soles of your feet black with dirt. We sat on this doorstep and read books together. I can picture the sun shining in your hair.”
Martha felt her chin quiver. She wished the two of them were together back then, instead of now. “Come inside,” she said.
Zelda shook her head. “I’m not ready for that yet.” She stared into the distance, to where the street connected with the slope down to the beach. “There are a lot of memories in that house...”
“A lot of them are happy ones.”
“Yes, I know that.” Zelda flickered a small smile. “But some aren’t.”
Martha didn’t want to allow any of those ones to flood into her head. It already ached enough. “Let’s only think about the good times,” she said quickly.
“Agreed. Let’s create nice new ones.”
Suddenly, Martha didn’t want Zelda to go. She wanted to wrap her arms around her shoulders and nestle her head into the nape of her neck, like she did as a child. She wanted to smell only Youth Dew. “Will you visit me another time?” she asked. “You could stay over, if you wanted to...”
As Zelda opened her mouth to answer, Gina stepped outside. She wore a bemused expression. “You have a lot of intriguing things in your house, Martha. It is a most interesting way to live.”
Martha glanced through the open door, at the bags and boxes in her dining room. They were stacked neatly, though the pathway she’d created to the kitchen didn’t look quite as encouraging as it did before.
“This Saturday?” Zelda nodded. “I can visit and stay with you, then. That’s okay, isn’t it, Gina?”
Gina raised an eyebrow. “There is not much space. I am not sure we will fit in.”
Zelda frowned. “I meant that I’d come and stay.”
“Oh. I thought that...” Gina’s shoulders twitched and she lowered her eyes. “Well, I suppose I could bring you.”
“That’s sorted, then,” Zelda said. She didn’t seem to notice that Gina’s face had fallen. She turned towards the car, opened the door and climbed in. “I’ll see you on Saturday, Martha.”
“Yes,” Martha said, wondering how she could possibly create room in the house by then. “I work at the library in the morning, so make it after 1:30 p.m.”
Gina managed a half smile and got into the car, too. She turned on the engine and wound the window down. “I forgot to give you this.” She posted a square, silver-foiled parcel through the gap. “Harry sent you some more cake. He said something about a football match. Do you know what he means, Ezmerelda?”
“No.” Zelda wore a straight face. “I know nothing about that.”
Martha waved them off and closed the door. She placed the cake on her kitchen worktop and traipsed up the stairs.
There wasn’t anywhere for Zelda to sleep. And Will and Rose were supposed to be stopping over, too.
Martha felt much too ill to solve this problem now.
As if you don’t have enough to do, she scolded herself.
When her head stopped throbbing, when she’d slept and taken some pills, when she was wearing her own clothes again, and when she had wiped away the mascara that was probably halfway down her cheeks, then she would try to ready herself for action again.
As she opened her bathroom cabinet and took out a box of paracetamols, Martha caught sight of the back of her hand. She wondered why the words Full Moon and Giant’s Waistcoat Button were scrawled across it, in her own handwriting.
After a few hours of sleep, Martha still wasn’t quite in fully functioning mode, but at least her head had stopped clanging. She no longer felt sick and she forced herself to make a cheese sandwich and a cup of tea. Feeling semirevived after eating, she made her way back upstairs, where she stood with her hands on her hips and surveyed the master bedroom.
Martha slept in the smaller of the two bedrooms, the one she and Lilian used to share. Their parents used the one at the back of the house. It was double the size and overlooked the bay. It still contained their bed, which was like an island in a sea of Martha’s favors.
There was a worn Victorian chaise longue that she’d offered to reupholster for a neighbor. It hadn’t gone well, the teal velvet puckering and studs protruding. While she had been working on it, the neighbor bought a new one instead.
There was a mass of red velvet curtains that she’d shortened for Vivian Slater (now deceased) and a bag stuffed full of Hawaiian garlands that she’d offered to store for Branda’s annual Hawaiian evening at the Lobster Pot.
She’d bought a few boxes full of fancy dress clothes from a flea market, sure they’d come in handy for plays at the local school. When she told the headmistress, she had patted Martha on the back of the hand and said, “That’s a great idea, but we don’t have a lot of storage space here. Perhaps you can keep hold of them for us...” That was three years ago.