It was definitely her turn to organize and pay this time. She broke into a warm smile at the thought of his lapel badges and his red slippers. He probably didn’t dance in the sea at dusk, whatever the weather, but did she want that any longer?
She wriggled her toes and imagined her nails painted petal-pink, as she used to do for Joe. She’d never had a steady hand and hated the smell of the polish. After almost drowning, she didn’t ever want her feet to get wet, by the sea, again.
She smiled up at the initials and briefly stretched up to press a fingertip against them. “Goodbye, Joe,” she murmured.
She made sure that her door keys were safe in her coat pocket and she picked up Daniel’s box. Leaving the cave, she headed towards the mermaid statue.
As usual, she stopped to read the plaque, and this time she let her eyes linger on the name Daniel McLean. Expelling her breath, she traced her fingers over the raised letters.
“You knew about me, and now I know about you, too,” she whispered. “I’m sorry that we’ll never meet. But reading your words has helped me, more than you’ll ever know. I’ll keep an eye on Siegfried for you.”
And although there was no one else around other than a few dog-walkers, and the voice she heard was more likely to be the whisper of the wind, she thought she heard someone say, “Martha.”
When she got home, she found that her front door was locked. The only person who had a spare key was Lilian, and she wondered if Siegfried had arranged for her to secure the house.
She opened the door, walked in and stood in the dining room. The cuckoo clock ticked and in five minutes’ time he would pop out his head and call eight times. But Martha didn’t want to hear him ever again, counting her time away.
Reaching up, she took the clock down from the wall. She took the batteries out and put them in her pocket. The ticking stopped. Perhaps she would buy a new clock, a big chrome thing with a modern white face. She could venture into the scary world of home decoration shops.
She strolled around her dining room and the house seemed quiet without the loud ticking sound. Making herself a strong cup of tea, she sat in the wooden chair and looked out at the bay and the lighthouse. She pictured Siegfried and Daniel together, as young men, laughing with their crew as they pushed the Pegasus out to sea. She saw them clambering aboard as the waves slapped the sides of the vessel.
She reached into her pocket and took out the envelope Siegfried had given her. It was unsealed, and the address on the front could be for anyone. So she opened it.
To whom it may concern
I, bestselling author Lucinda Lovell, am pleased to give a reference for Martha Storm. I can vouch that she is a committed worker, a good person and brings enthusiasm and knowledge to her role. I can think of no better person to attain a full-time position at the library. She breathes life into it.
If you wish to contact me for more information, please do so in writing, c/o Siegfried Frost, Sandshift Lighthouse, Sandshift Bay.
Martha’s body flooded with warmth. Her chest radiated with heat at Siegfried’s glorious gesture. “Thank you,” she said aloud.
She’d probably never know for certain if Lucinda Lovell was the pen name for Siegfried’s sister, Angela. Or if Angela was the face for Siegfried’s words.
All she knew was that her father’s friend had been there for her again. And they’d be there for each other, from now on.
She placed the reference in the same envelope as her job application and set it down on her dining table.
Martha had just finished her drink when she heard her front door open.
The floorboards in the hallway creaked and she sat up to attention. She gripped her cup and waited for the person to enter.
Lilian’s blond hair was mussy and her eyes dark underneath. She wore a cream sheepskin coat with the collar turned up. “So, you’re back, then?” she asked. Her eyes flitted around the room as she took a seat on the sofa. “Your friend at the library, with the floaty clothes and strange hair, said you’ve been staying in the lighthouse.”
Martha nodded. “With Siegfried Frost. I needed some time out, to think things through.”
Lilian pursed her lips, then nodded her head. “I totally get it. I need time, too, because of Paul...”
“How are things?”
She gave a small shrug. “Rocky, but I’m trying my best. It’ll be a shame if we can’t sort things out. We’re well suited, I think.” She gave a short laugh. “Not like Mum and Dad.”
Their eyes met.
“Would you like a coffee?” Martha asked.
She half expected her sister to say that she had to dash, but Lilian nodded. “I’d love one. A cappuccino, extra frothy, if you have it?”
“It’s kind of just normal coffee.”
“Well, that’s fine, too.”
Martha made their drinks and carried them back into the dining room.
Lilian wrapped both hands around her cup and glanced around. “The house looks really different. You’ve cleared out loads of stuff.”
“I’ve moved some into the shed, too. The house was a mess.”
“Oh, it wasn’t that bad,” Lilian started, but then they both laughed at how unconvincing she sounded.
“I let things get out of control,” Martha said firmly. “I need to look after myself, rather than other people.”
“Good for you. And I’ll help with the rest of Mum and Dad’s things,” Lilian said. “We can look through them together.”
“It’s fine. I’ll—”
However, Lilian raised her hand. “I’d like to do it.” She reached down and fingered the fringes on the rug on the floor. “I’ve not seen this old thing for ages. You used to lie on it and write your stories. I was always really jealous of your imagination. I could never think of anything so creative.”
Martha raised an eyebrow. “I thought you hated fairy stories. You refused to believe that Cinderella’s carriage was made from a pumpkin.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Lilian shook her head. “I preferred the facts in the encyclopedias. Maybe it’s because I knew Dad liked us to read them. Both of us loved the funfair, though, didn’t we? We went crazy for candy floss. Do you remember when Nana bought that toffee apple and it pulled her tooth out?”
“Yes. It was stuck in the sticky red sugar.”
“That was gross.”
“She still has the gap.” Martha pressed a finger against her own teeth.
“Really?” Lilian smiled, but then it faded away. “It’s difficult to imagine what she’s like as an old lady. She was always so glamorous and used to buy us the best presents, pink plastic stuff that Dad hated.”
“She’s not changed a bit.”
“No?”
Martha thought how her sister’s tone sounded hopeful. “You should meet her.”
“Hmm.” Lilian took a sip of her coffee and gave a small nod. She cleared her throat and her eyes glistened. “I said things that I shouldn’t have to you. I’m so sorry, Martha...”
“Zelda told me that you were there, the night of the party.”
Lilian nodded and set her cup down. “I was stuck with all the adults because you were feeling poorly. Something was brewing all night between Nana and Dad. They’d both had a drink, and things reached boiling point. Nana announced that you weren’t Dad’s daughter to everyone. It was so awful. And then—”
“Dad told us that Zelda died,” Martha said.
“I’ve always questioned fairy stories, but somehow I didn’t query that. Why would he lie about such a thing?”
Martha imagined her sister at the party, wide-eyed, innocent and scared. She leaned in towards her. “You were only eleven years old. We shouldn’t blame ourselves for any of this. We were only children. But when did you find out for sure that Zelda didn’t die in 1982?”
Lilian sniffed. She ran a hand around the back of her neck. “I saw Nana again, three years later. She came to the house. I was in my room but I heard her. I knew her voice and sat frozen on the bed. She tried to give Mum a book, but Dad wouldn’t let her... I knew then that he’d lied to us.”
“Did you say anything to him?”
Lilian shook her head. “Mum begged Nana to go. She said that things were settled, and it was all too late for her to come back.”