She felt a weight fall on top of her legs and saw two folded gray towels. She reached down with one hand and pulled them towards her. Clutching them under her chin, she eased herself onto her knees. She was so sapped of strength she had to use the back of a chair to help her, to get to her feet.
She was dripping from everywhere, her nose, her fingertips, and water trickled down the back of her neck. Her throat crackled with salt water. With her body jerking uncontrollably from the cold, she weakly shook open a towel and wrapped it around her like a cloak. She used the other towel to wipe her face. “How long was I there for?”
“Not sure.” Siegfried was soaking wet, too. His clothes clung to him like a shroud. “Hospital?” he asked.
She shook her head, not wanting to face anyone. She was shivery and wet, and wanted to be alone. “I think I’ll be okay,” she spluttered.
“Hmm.” He stared at her for what seemed like a long time. “Wait here.” He trudged towards a room at the back of the kitchen.
Martha took this time to make a hood out of her second towel. As she rubbed her hair, she could feel that her glittery slide was missing.
When Siegfried reappeared, he was wearing fresh clothes, gray tracksuit bottoms, a hooded top and a dry woolen hat. He pointed towards a spiral staircase in the middle of the room and crooked his finger.
Martha’s legs shook as she walked slowly towards the stairs, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other. She held out her hands for balance. When she looked upwards, the staircase structure looked like the cross-section of a nautilus shell.
Her feet splatted and squelched on the wooden treads as she followed Siegfried. He moved quickly upwards, but Martha clung to the handrail, afraid that her legs might give way. Her limbs felt concrete-heavy as she climbed.
When she felt sure they must be close to the top of the lighthouse, Siegfried stopped and opened a door.
Martha looked down, behind her, at the pools of water she’d left behind on each step. “I need to dry your stairs.”
He didn’t say anything and pointed into a room.
She stepped inside and saw a single bed. A small lamp shone on a bedside table.
“Rest.” Siegfried pulled the door closed behind him. She heard him head back downstairs, leaving her alone.
Martha stood for a while, her body still swaying from the movement of the sea. Unsteadily, she walked over to a large curved window and looked out at the dark sky. Below, the sea was beetle-black and strangely calm. It was wide and free and didn’t look deadly at all. She picked at her crusty eyelashes with her thumb and forefinger. Her first instinct was that she couldn’t stay here. She had to get back home.
But then she questioned, what for?
To return to an empty house?
To face Lilian’s and Zelda’s lies?
And she couldn’t leave, dressed like this. The tide was in, too, cutting the lighthouse off from the mainland.
She listened as Siegfried’s footsteps faded out of earshot.
Spotting that she was dripping onto the floorboards, Martha sidestepped onto a rug. Across the room, she saw an en-suite bathroom and made a dash for it. When she switched on the light inside, it hurt her eyes. She turned it back off and got undressed in the dark. Her wet clothes made a sucking sound as she peeled them off.
After folding them loosely, she dropped them into the bottom of the shower cubicle. Then, on her hands and knees, she crawled back into the bedroom, using a towel to dry the trail of water she’d left behind.
On the bed, she found a folded white toweling dressing gown and pulled it on. The fabric was fluffy against her water-wrinkled skin and she gave a small groan of relief. Wondering when Siegfried last hosted anyone to stay, she towel-dried her hair and sat down. The bed rocked under her weight, momentarily reminding her of the shift of the waves. She fought against the tears that welled inside her. Her body began to quake, as if the sea was churning in her belly.
She let her body fall, resting her cheek on the pillow and relishing its softness. She closed her eyes and imagined she was a child again, with Zelda’s fingers walking through her hair. Reaching up, she made to brush them away. She didn’t want them there, not now. But the feeling came again, as if her nana was in the same room, looking over her.
Martha tucked her knees up and bit her lip. She tried not to sob into Siegfried’s sheets, but she couldn’t stop tears spilling from her eyes, for what might have been, the life she could have had. One filled with love.
Time slipped and shifted around her and when she raised her head, she had no idea what hour it was, but the sky outside was jet black. She rubbed her nose and dabbed her cheeks with her fingers. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of the sea surrounding her. Slowly, she fell into a deep sleep.
When she opened her eyes again, she frowned as she took in her view. The curtains were open and the sky was a powder blue outside. Everything was lighter and brighter. The room was circular and painted white with naive gray swoops to represent seagulls.
On top of a white wooden chair by the window lay a pile of clothes, neatly folded into large squares. There was a pair of glittery sandals on top. Some items were her own, and there were others, too.
As she blinked against the hazy sunlight, there was a knock on the door. It made her jump and she pulled her covers up to her chin. “Hello,” she called out.
The door opened and the toes of Siegfried’s boots, and then his hat, appeared.
He didn’t look at her as he walked over and placed a tray down on top of a small low table, next to her bed. There was a large white bowl with a lid and she could smell tomato soup. Raising herself a little she saw a cube of butter and thick slices of bread on a saucer. Steam spiraled from a huge mug of golden tea.
Martha suddenly found herself ravenously hungry and her stomach growled.
“Eat,” Siegfried said.
Martha inched her way onto her elbows before she sat up. Every bit of her body felt like it had been through a mangle. “How long was I asleep for?”
“Thirty-six.”
“Hours?” Martha frowned. “No. That can’t be right.”
Siegfried gave a small shrug. He moved back to the door and closed it behind him. She heard him move away.
“Thirty-six hours?” Martha whispered as she positioned the tray on her lap. She took the lid off the bowl and the steam from the soup warmed her face.
She savored it for a while, then plunged in her spoon. The tomatoes tasted tangy and sweet. She tore the bread and the thick butter tasted divine. The warm tea soothed her tight throat.
You were lucky, she told herself. You might have drowned. Then you’d never have tried Siegfried’s soup. She gave a small laugh at such a random thought, and she liked the sound it made.
She ate slowly, savoring every mouthful, and when she’d finished, she placed the tray back on the bedside table. She got out of bed and her legs wavered as she walked over to the window. The sea was a shimmering blanket of petrol blue and diamonds seemed to shine on its surface. It was beautiful. She searched through the pile of clothes on the chair, recognizing they were ones Suki wore.
Too tired to think how they got there, she returned to the bed. She sank back into it slowly, wondering what to do now she was awake. She tried to think back, to Zelda and the Storm family revelations, but her brain wouldn’t let her. It shifted its focus away, making her thoughts flit around.
Running her hand through her hair, she found it was encrusted with salt. The skin on her cheeks was tight. More than anything she wanted to take a hot bath, to wash away all the traces of the sea.
She sat for a few moments, this longing overtaking her until she couldn’t think of anything else.
Standing up, she fastened her robe firmly around her waist and left the room. She clung onto the bannister and made her way down the staircase to the next level down. It was a sitting room with a log-burning stove and comfortable-looking brown leather sofas. It had old black-and-white photos of ships on the walls and a big black frame with a display of knots in it.