The Glass Madonna

Chapter 2: Will Martin get away?

'But Kelso, you must come over, we need your expertise.'

The voice on the other end of the phone was persuasive. Martin was beguiled once more by visions of a hilltop, the sea shimmering azure in the distance, objects being analysed, sifted, labelled and studied; artefacts from ancient days coming to light for him and other experts to pore over and treat with the tenderness of lovers. Crete! The mere name of that island called him, making him travel back in time to student days spent there at a dig near Malia with his friend Barnaby.

Martin's father, Dr James Kelso, had taken him as a lad of thirteen to see the ancient Minoan palace of Knossos. Martin had made up his mind there and then to become an archaeologist. He felt the dark void of mystery, the pull of a past unknown and yet so strangely familiar. He had never seen a place so beautiful and mysterious. Though he had since worked on many ancient sites, that reconstructed vision of Sir Arthur Evans with its myths and half known secrets always fascinated him. It was barbaric but beautiful.

'We've been over here since last month,' Barnaby carried on, 'and we've found burials beneath the floors of many of the houses. Crouching posture, like babes in a womb, some sacrificial animals with them. You adore bones, admit it. And you're the best – as well as my mate. You've got to come. I've already cleared it with British School. They're massively keen to have you.'

'What makes you think I'm not working on another site?'

Barnaby Inchbold laughed.

'I checked on you. And I know perfectly well you're working on some boring old tome for the Archaeological Society. Leave that alone for a bit. Come and see what we've found. You'll go spare. You'll love it. Come on, Kelso, old boy!'

'Old yourself. I have a deadline to meet.' Martin's real concern was for Emily, but he didn't voice that because it sounded ridiculous to other people and he knew it.

'Extend it. Who cares about your old tome? You can help write up my reports if you're so keen to scribble. Think of the lectures you can give afterwards at British School and all the rest. Kelso, can't I get it in your thick skull that this is a marvellous new find? We'll be in the annals of Cretan archaeological history. But me no buts – you must come. Get the next plane over.'

It was a tremendous invitation. They'd started work on a site near Knossos last digging season and now with new backers, work had begun again and the team were making some startling finds. This year, with the aid of the latest technology, they were certain that a great city lay beneath this site. Or if not a city, some other palace or temple. It could be the biggest thing since Malia. He had to go and join them.

What was he to do? Everything in him yearned to feel free for a while, leave behind his worries, the slow work on the book, fears for Emily and concerns over David who seemed to think life was just for having a good time at his father's expense. Parenting was the world's hardest job, especially lone parenting. Longingly, he saw the whole thing in his mind's eye. Palaces, old bones, work that he loved, people that he admired. It lured him.

He hadn't left his daughter alone at home since Anne's death, afraid she would come to some harm if she walked in her sleep. Anne had raised Emily in a most unconventional manner. She had insisted on keeping Emily at home to do her schooling in peace and quiet. She hated to see her strange, ethereal child bullied, sullied by the nastiness of the school playground, coming home in tears. He, however, had fought to change his wife's mind.

'She'll never adapt to other people like this, Anne, it's wrong to keep her at home. She needs to learn how to stand up to unkind people. One day she'll have to face life, face the world. She needs to toughen up. We all have to do that.'

I don't want her to face what you call "the world"!' said Anne, with passion. 'Don't you see? I want to keep her pure, spiritual and unsullied. I don't want her shattered, warped and twisted by life. Anyone looking at her art knows she's not ordinary. Her style is so unique, she has such a gift. She's special ... can't you see that?'

'Of course she's special. I know that. But I don't want to put her in a convent and let her become a nun singing hymns. I want her to develop her art, to learn to show the world what she is. You want to keep her wrapped in tissue paper and kept in a cupboard of life forever. It's wrong. She needs to fit in with other people, with ...well, with ordinary, normal people.'

'Why should she fit in? She doesn't want to fit in. Besides, people aren't at all normal. There's no such thing; it's just a benchmark. There may be conventions, rules, ways of behaving, but half of the things people do are totally ridiculous to someone like Emily. Yes, in many ways she is childlike. She's open and loving and simply doesn't understand the rules. And doesn't care for or understand what turns other kids on. Why can't she be left to herself and the things she loves, her music, her books, her painting, plants and hobbies? Some people aren't meant to be ordinary. Emily will never be ordinary.'

He had given in. Anne wasn't ordinary either and Emily had shared something deep and special with her mother which he would never truly understand. Now, at almost eighteen, Emily was far better educated and knowledgeable than many young girls leaving school. Her mother had devoted herself to teaching her the old-fashioned way and Emily was well read in the classics, could write and read Latin, French and German and knew her geography, biology and history though she would never be more than competent at maths. And she had passed her A-levels with ease. She spoke pure, pleasant English without an accent of any sort. She was highly intelligent, brilliant in her way. But she appeared to have no ambition or interest in what the world had to offer.

Once he had fretted that her talents were wasted, but in the end, he let all that go. Life, he decided, wasn't all about achieving. It was about being at peace with oneself. And Emily was totally self-contained ...as long as she was left alone in her own little world. She painted amazing, delicate watercolours full of light that sold well in the local art gallery. Her little stories and poems found a market in the local paper or the odd magazine. She would always earn a living of some sort. There was nothing lazy about her. But the otherworldliness, the detachment from ordinary life, had increased since her mother's death. It troubled Martin and he knew he ought to do something about it.

So would it be wise to go away at this point in his daughter's life? This threshold moment when her future as an adult stretched before her but seemed to be swathed in mists of uncertainty? He could, of course, leave her with David. His son was now twenty and had with some difficulty secured a place at Liverpool University in September where he hoped to gain a degree in Marine Biology. If there was one thing David loved, it was the sea and all that lived in it. He was a strong and very capable swimmer and had won many cups and awards. Until the sixth form, David had scarcely excelled at his academic work, but in his last year he suddenly began to work like mad and had achieved some very good A-Levels. Martin then felt it would be enjoyable for him to stretch his confined faculties, cramped by trying to shove all he was meant to know into the last few weeks before finals. So David spent several months travelling around America and Europe with his mate, Adam, and was now back home, exhausted, illumined by his travels and ready to think of his future. He hoped to find some temporary work that would tide him over till he received his student grant and help towards the cost of his studies. Just now his mind was on many things.

No, it was hopeless relying on him to keep an eye on his sister. It wouldn't be fair on him.

Taking a half-drunk cup of coffee, Martin went outdoors to sit on the garden bench and have a quiet think. He noticed the grass needed cutting again but it was no good asking David if he would do it. According to David, he always had hay-fever whenever asked to do the grass, a condition which never seemed to afflict him very much at any other time. Martin looked up at his son's bedroom window where the curtains were still tightly drawn. The trip to Gloucester yesterday and interview for a job that seemed unlikely to manifest appeared to have exhausted him. Apparently, there were six hopeful applicants for a measly job in a solicitor's office and the pay was crap. He'd said he would rather take a job in McDonald's and have a free burger or two.

Emily, up with the lark as always, especially on beautiful mornings when nothing in the world could keep her in the house, was pottering amongst the spring flowers. Martin sat on the bench beneath the apple trees, sipping his coffee and watching her with pleasure, her gentle presence always so soothing – just as Anne's had been.