The Library of Lost and Found. Phaedra Patrick

sea and its inky waves. A fishing boat rocked, in trouble, and she stood rooted to a spot on the sands. She frantically waved her arms, but there was no one around to see or hear her. As she waded into the water, it sloshed around her ankles, then her knees and thighs. The boat bobbed and vanished. Martha tried to shout, but the water lapped at her chest and then her chin. She felt the seabed beneath her toes and then it was gone. Twisting in the water, she was far from shore. The waves chilled her bones and pulled her under. No one could save her. She thrashed until she gave up and let herself sink slowly down.

      It was a recurring dream that she’d had since she was a child. Sometimes it might be months until it invaded her sleep, and she thought it might have gone, but then she’d close her eyes and find herself battling the ferocity of the waves again.

      ‘Martha.’

      The call of her name brought her back to the safety of her own room. She opened one eye and then the other. Relief washed over her when she realized she was in her bed.

      With a shiver and her nightie clinging to her chest from sweat, she noticed she’d kicked all the covers off the bed. She scooped them up and gathered them around her. Her arms were sore and stiff from handling the hammer, and she groaned as she pulled on her dressing gown. As her actions of the previous day began to speckle back into her memory, she didn’t want to see or speak to anyone.

      The doorbell rang again and she slid wearily off the mattress. She pushed her feet into her slippers and trod downstairs. Grudgingly opening the front door, she blinked against the daylight.

      ‘Congrats, you did it!’ Suki thrust a small bunch of freesias at her chest. She wore a long purple tie-dyed dress and glittery sandals more suited to the Mediterranean. The backs of her hands were henna-painted with intricate flowers.

      Martha took hold of the freesias and stared at them, remembering how a vaseful always sat on the dining room table. As soon as her dad died, she bought roses instead. ‘I did what, exactly?’ she asked.

      ‘You said no. It’s a spectacular phenomenon-on, or whatever the word is.’

      ‘Thank you, but not really.’ Martha fiddled with her dressing gown belt as she recalled her behaviour. ‘I need to apologize to everyone. I overreacted and need to explain that…’

      However, Suki crossed her legs and bounced up and down. She pushed Martha’s handbag into her arms. ‘You left this behind at the library, yesterday. Sorry, but I need the loo,’ she winced. ‘The baby is kicking my bladder.’

      Martha glanced behind her at her job-laden floor. Nora’s bin bags looked like giant boulders and the Chinese dragon’s head grinned at her with its wonky white teeth. She didn’t want Suki to see all her stuff. ‘Um, I—’

      But she had already pushed past and vanished up the stairs.

      Martha set the freesias in some water. She moved a few of Horatio’s potted plants off the dining table and set the vase down. Staring around the room, she wondered what she could do to quickly tidy up the place, but she’d need a small bulldozer to make any impression in the next few minutes.

      ‘I’m not sure why making an idiot of myself is cause for celebration,’ she said, when Suki returned. ‘I’m sorry for…’

      But Suki stood with her mouth hanging open. She didn’t look around at the boxes and bags. Instead she focused on one thing. ‘Is that a Chinese dragon?’ she asked.

      Martha gave a small shrug, remembering Lilian’s disbelieving stare when she first encountered the colourful beast. ‘It’s only the head, and it’s child-sized. I said I’d fix his ear and cheek for the school…’ She trailed her words away, her offer suddenly sounding ridiculous. As she surveyed her other tasks, she couldn’t even recall volunteering to do some of them, though her notepad would tell her otherwise.

      ‘It’s awesome.’ Suki dropped awkwardly to her knees while holding her bump. Placing her hand in the dragon’s mouth, she tested the sharpness of its teeth with her fingers and ran her palm over its shiny red tongue. ‘Why do you need to say sorry to people?’

      ‘For whatever you heard. For being rude.’

      ‘You stood up for yourself. I feel quite proud of you.’

      Martha wondered how anyone could feel this way about her. She pulled out her wooden chair and sat down with a thump. ‘How do you even know all this?’

      ‘Horatio told me. He said he liked your traumatic reading.’

      Martha hoped she meant dramatic reading. She held her head in her hands and couldn’t think what to say. Everything seemed to be failing. Her quest to be reliable and indispensable was falling apart. ‘I made such an idiot of myself in front of Clive, and I really want the job at the library. Sorry.’

      ‘You shouldn’t keep saying that. You don’t owe anything to anyone. Don’t come back to the library until you’re ready. Clive can help out for once.’ Suki gave an impromptu guffaw of laughter. ‘It’s so like you, to tackle a dragon’s head.’

      Martha opened her mouth to protest, then realized she couldn’t do. Suki was right.

      She surveyed the dragon’s head and the absurdity of having this monstrous beast in her dining room made a small nervous laugh rise. ‘I don’t know anything about papier-mâché.’

      Suki heaved herself upright. ‘Well, I do. I love crafty stuff. I’ve always wanted to try papier-mâché but didn’t have a project. I’ll help you, if you like. It will keep my mind off Ben.’

      Martha stared at her. She was the one who helped people out. Suki was the first person for a long time to offer her any assistance.

      She had an overwhelming feeling of wanting to throw a hug but wasn’t sure if it would be welcome, or if she even remembered how to do it correctly. She tensed her arms to stop herself. ‘I’d really appreciate that,’ she said.

      ‘Now, what did Owen Chamberlain say about your book?’

      Pleased by her interest, Martha explained how she had visited the shop, and that Owen had received the book to repair from one of his contacts.

      ‘I called there again last night, after the reading group session,’ she said. ‘He found out the book title is Blue Skies and Stormy Seas, and that it was written by E. Y. Sanderson. That’s my nana’s full name. What’s really strange is that the stories are ones she told me when I was a child, and ones I made up to share with her. She must have written them down and printed them in the book.’ She shook her head, thinking how unlikely this sounded.

      She waited for Suki to tell her she was being ridiculous, as Lilian might, but instead the young library assistant folded her arms. ‘Well, it sounds like you’re determined to find out more,’ she said.

      Martha considered this for a moment. She thought about how Lilian always told her what to do, and how she obeyed without question. Just as she always did what her father wanted. Doing things for others no longer gave her the rush of satisfaction she looked for.

      Instead she found herself wanting to explore the unusual feeling of freedom that she’d experienced in the arcade. She couldn’t remember the last time her nerves had jingled with anticipation, and she decided that she quite liked it. ‘Owen is going to try and find out the name of the printer and date of the book, to see if it ties in with the date of Zelda’s dedication. Of course, that’s highly unlikely—’

      ‘But what if it does?’

      Martha flicked her hair. ‘It won’t do. I mean, it’s not possible. Zelda died three years before that date, so it can’t be right. Owen’s info will just clarify that.’

      ‘And then what, Miss Marple?’

      ‘I prefer Lisbeth Salander.’ Martha shifted in her chair. ‘I suppose everything will go back to normal.’ Images flashed in her head of saying ‘no’ to the reading group, and the orange plastic crabs, and