Missing Martha

1

"Emma-" called Martin, running up the stairs after his wife,
"Don't you care about this family?! Don't you care about Martha?!" Emma yelled back at him from the landing, her eyes red with tears.
"I'm doing this for Martha! She deserves to have a family that is happy! A full family! And you just destroyed a quarter of it!"
"She was never part of our family!"
"So your calling it a 'she'? Then you thought of your unborn child as a person! This is why I can't live with you! You killed my child!" Yelled Martin, "our family is already ruined."
"How is a divorce going to make this situation any better?! It's going to ruin her!" Repelled Martin's sobbing wife, who had found her way back onto the covers of their bed with her hands clutched against her face.
"Emily.. this can't go on." Soothed Martin McCafferson, gulping up the nerves, "from before we were born we were set up for marriage. You're my friend, you'll always be my friend but we don't belong with each other."
Emily turned at Martin her eyes narrow, the left over mascara splattered around her tear duct, "How dare you do this to my family.." she began,
"Em- the sooner we do this the easier it will be for Martha to adjust-"
"Have you ever loved me at all?!" Yelled Emily, standing up straight to face Martin who edged backwards in defence,
"Of course I have-"
"When I was walking up the aisle, when we got married, when Martha was born, when we were together in France do you remember-"
"Emily please!" Martin interjected,
"My child will grow up with two parents in the same house!" She yelled, "this is the way both our parents wanted it to be!"
"Emily! Why are you living for your parents just live for yourself!"
"I'm not living for my parents! I'm living for Martha!"
"Martha won't be happy if all we do is fight and-"
Martin was cut off by a huge bang followed by a scream and a crash from downstairs.
It was silent for a couple seconds, Emma and Martin made eye contact, their eyes wide and their mouths open before they made their way downstairs.
"Who's there?!" Called Martin, feeling obliged to protect his family.
"Where's Martha.." Emily began, shaking. "Martin, where's Martha!"
Once Martin reached the bottom of the stairs he glanced at the front door, the glass surrounding it had been completely shattered. Somebody had broken in.
"Emma call the police.." he mumbled, the nerves overwhelming him.
"Martha?!" He called, running into her room before he saw everything..
Their four year old daughter lay on the ground, blood spilled from a bullet wound in her stomach.
"Martha!" He screamed, running towards her and holding her in his arms as tears spewed from his eyes.
Emily ran into the room, her eyes widened, she stood on the threshold,
"No.. no no no no.." she mumbled, her gaze fixed on Martha's limp body as she shook her head in disbelief and shock.
"M-Martha.. Martha please wake up sweetie.." Martin began, his jaw jittering in the shock, "p-please wake up.."

****
Rustrike High School, Swansea, Wales.

Jemma was a pianist, through and through. After many attempts of picking up guitar, violin and even the drums, she just couldn't. Nothing thrilled her more than playing with other people, she knew that she was nothing without the guitarists, the drummer, the bassist, the singers.. they were a band.
She slammed her fingers onto the black and white tiles of the keyboard, making eye contact with Ollie, the guitarist- his solo was coming up, he was such a talented musician.
But just as he was about to start, Mr McCafferson walked into the room after being off for over three months. Nobody knew why he was off. He seemed like a stoic person who usually kept himself to himself- although with the band he was more of a friend than a teacher.
"Morning sir." Said Ollie as he stopped playing.
"Morning guys," said Mr McCafferson, slowly walking over to his desk. He was a relatively young teacher, they reckoned early thirties, but he looked awful today. His hair had grown slightly longer. His usual quiff was merely just a brown fringe and he looked abnormally skinny.
"The band sounds great." He complimented. Sitting down at the desk and taking off his scarf before looking at the photograph of his daughter that sat beside his monitor.
"You alright sir?" Asked Cloda, the small Irish girl who was a singer, her hair was long and ginger with a subtle fringe.
"Y-yeh.." he responded, taking the picture off his desk and throwing it into the bin. The band all looked at each other in confusion.
"I'm just gonna get a coffee- keep practicing." He said, walking back out of the classroom.
As soon as the door closed everyone looked at each other in shock.
"What's up with him? That was a picture of his daughter was it not?" Jemma whispered, looking at Ollie, Ryan, Lucy and Cloda.
"He's not wearing a ring." Said Lucy, the tanned bassist, putting her guitar back on the stand.
"Are you sure?" Asked Ollie, "what happened between him and his wife?"
"Surely he wouldn't go off for three months because of a divorce." Jemma offered, scratching her head.
"Maybe.. maybe something happened with his daughter." Said Cloda, looking over at Ryan, Ryan was a plump drummer but he insisted it was just 'muscle'. Everyone loved Ryan, he was the dare devil that never got caught out.
"I'm gonna take the picture out of the bin." He said, "tell me if someone comes in."
Everyone intently watched Ryan walk over to the wall adjacent to where the rest of the band was and look at Mr McCafferson's desk.
"Ah great the bin's completely empty!" He said with satisfaction, taking the small frame out of it and running back towards the rest of the band.
"The glass has cracked, but.. she's still there I guess." He said, showing the photo to them all.
"Gosh she's so cute," Jemma remarked, "Why is he throwing this away? What happened?"
The band all looked at each other, puzzled about their teacher.
"Maybe his wife divorced him and kept the child." Said Ryan, "oh! Maybe Mr McCafferson abuses his wife and went to prison for three months!"
"Ryan!" Everyone all happened to exclaim in unison.
"Morning band!" Intruded Miss Flynn, the substitute music teacher,
"Hi miss!" Cloda responded.
Miss Flynn was beautiful, everyone accepted that. She was in her late twenties to early thirties, her hair was relatively long and blonde. She was skinny, very skinny, her white shirt contrasted with her modest black skirt. She didn't look like a musician, but she undoubtedly was; the band had never seen anyone play the piano so well, she had a technique for improvisation that no one had seen before, she could pick up almost any woodwind or brass instrument, and so long as she knew which note was C she could pick it up within a day.
Miss Zoë Flynn was a substitute for Martin McCafferson, and so therefore today was likely to be her last day.
"How's practice been going along?" Asked Miss Flynn, sitting on the desk beside Ryan who sat on the drum stool, still holding onto the photograph of the little girl.
"It's alright, we think we're ready to record." Said Lucy, looking back at Ryan and Lucy.
"Ryan what are you holding?" Asked Miss Flynn inspecting the photograph, "wasn't that the picture of the little girl from his desk? Ryan?" She looked at him with a mixture of shock and disappointment.
"It's not how it looks;" said Ollie, defending his friend, "mr McCafferson came back and chucked it in the bin. I thought that was his dau-"
Mr McCafferson walked back in the door with a coffee in his hand.
After a couple strides he noticed Zoë turning to face him.
"H-hi I don't think we've met.." he began, putting down his coffee on the desk and walking up to her. Feeling almost as though he recognised her.
Ryan immediately hid the photograph in his pocket as Zoë shook Martin's hand.
"I'm Zoë Flynn- music substitute." She said, smiling, recognising him slightly too, but not remembering where from.
"Martin McCafferson- something similar." He replied, smiling at her and looking again at her face; it was a friendly face, he knew that he would like her. Something about her seemed fun.
"Is your first name Martin?" Asked Ollie, tuning up his guitar.
"Well- yeah?" Replied Mr McCafferson, returning back to his desk,
"I never knew that." He replied, "had you down for a John or a Mark or something."
Everyone looking at Ollie, Jemma shrugged her shoulders as if to say what?
"So sir are we still going on that tour you talked about in September?" Asked Ryan, putting his drums back into his school bag.
"Y'wha?" Asked Mr McCafferson.
"Before you went off you talked about touring Europe and doing little gigs."
"I- I dunno." Said Martin, "I mean I'd love to but I can't imagine going to Mrs Watson after being off for three months and asking to go off for another month with the school." Mrs Watson was the principle of the school, she wasn't a good principle, she was merely an ex-Spanish teacher who for some reason got the job as the principle henceforth leading her to.. make a Rustrike High twitter page... and nothing else.
"What if we ask her." Offered Jemma, turning off the keyboard and packing it away in the cupboard.
"Well I suppose the pupil voice is stronger than the teacher." Laughed Martin, taking a sip of his coffee.
"We'd only need like one teacher, there's just the five of us." Said Cloda, shifting her microphone to the side.
"Guys, no offence but I am not going on a school trip alone." Informed Mr McCafferson, chuckling,
"Then bring Miss Flynn." Suggested Ryan. In response Zoë shrugged her shoulders and blushed, "today's supposed to be my last day-"
"We can ask to extend your contract. Come on! We can hire a minibus and sir can drive and we can all go around Europe playing in pubs and busking!"
The teachers looked at each other, they didn't want to admit it but they really loved that idea.
"Alright you five go on then." Laughed Martin as the band packed away.
"Bring in fifty quid as a deposit tomorrow and I'll hire a bus if Mrs Watson lets us go."
After the sixteen-year olds walked away springing with excitement Miss Flynn sat down at the piano. Mr McCafferson watched intently, trying to scratch a blank smile; he wasn't happy. He couldn't be happy. He hadn't had more than two hours sleep last night, never mind the nights just after Martha died. And as Zoë continued to play some sad waltz on the piano, the only thing Martin was capable of doing was clutching his mouth and trying not to cry.