— CHAPTER 27 —
LIKE MOTHER, LIKE DAUGHTER

( song: 'martha' by tom waits )

WEDNESDAY 5th SEPTEMBER,
1956

THE first day back at school was never a fun one for Thomas. It was filled with strange doubts and new beginnings, as if he had to re-discover his place in his year group again — even though there wasn't anyone who didn't know everyone in Hawkins, Indiana. It was always the same few people he hung out with, every year. And this year, he expects no different.

     As usual, he falls into step with Bob Newby on the way to school, hearing the boy jovially recount his summer spent in Maine. Peggy tags along at the back as always, shouting over them as she plays hop scotch with the cracks in the pavement. The job for Thomas is to make sure she gets to Elementary School in one piece, and then add the extra short journey to Hawkins Middle for himself.

The chatter is the same when he walks into the classroom, wooden desks clattering as the girls and boys band together in their own separate groups. Thomas knows he has nothing special to share, and nothing special to hear — he only spent his summer in this same town, where he knows everyone already, and they know him. Even if he did have something to say... would he even have the voice to say it? His mother says he should learn to speak up more, but he always finds himself suffocated with shyness. So he sinks into his desk, resting his chin on his arms so the head of Eleanor Gillespie in front obscures the chalkboard.

"Settle down, please! Settle down... good morning, class!" Mrs. Bailey announces, silencing the class rather quickly. All of the kids echo the greeting to her, before she adds another announcement. "Now, before we begin, we have a new student to welcome to Hawkins Middle..."

     New student? Thomas lifts his head from the desk, tilting it a little to the side — and there she is.

     It's a girl. More importantly, one he has never seen before, and that's a rare occurrence for Hawkins. Her pair of gently-set hazel eyes stare out at the class, looking for a friend. Thomas looks her up and down, taking in everything from her sandy blonde hair curled around her jaw, to the floral-print dress that looks like a splash of colour against the dusty chalkboard. No... she's definitely new. The twelve year-old sits up a little straighter in his seat.

     "Class, this is Martha Scott," clarifies the teacher, gesturing to the child. "I'm sure you will all do your best to make her feel welcomed in Hawkins."

     "How can she be a Scott? I thought they didn't have kids," whispers a kid behind Thomas.

     "I heard she's an orphan," replies another, voice high with speculation.

     "Olsen."

     It's the girl, Martha, who has spoken this time. At the front of the class, she cowers as everyone's stares burn into her even more, and she clears her throat to the teacher. "Sorry, m'am, it's just... my name is Martha Olsen-Scott."

     "Very well, dear. Take a seat over there, behind Thomas."

     At the very mention of his name, he flinches — a force of habit whenever he's been called upon against his will in class. He averts his gaze to his desk space and practically burns holes in the wood as Martha walks past. Once she has gone by, Thomas looks up again. The teacher starts writing some words on a chalkboard for the class to copy down into their notebooks. The boy quietly obliges as always, and he is halfway through writing the date when he hears a pencil clatter behind him. He freezes. At the corner of his periphery, he watches the pencil roll towards the back leg of his desk.

     "No, no, no..." he hears the girl behind him whisper. A few moments later, a neat buckled shoe slides across, trying to get the pencil back with the toe.

     Thomas can't watch it any longer. He leans down and reaches his hand out to grab it, just the same time as Martha does — he retracts his hand so quickly at the notion of their hands touching that it startles the girl. In Middle School, an action like that would have rumours of K-I-S-S-I-N-G spreading like wildfire, and Thomas couldn't bear being in the centre of that kind of attention. Once he sees the coast is clear again, he promptly picks up the pencil, turning in his seat to place it on her desk.

     "Here you go," he murmurs under his breath, so quiet even he can't hear himself...

     But somehow she hears, and brightly whispers, "Thanks!"

     Out of surprise at being noticed, Thomas dares to look her in the eyes. There's a hopeful look in the hazel pools gazing at him, emanating with friendliness. Martha holds her breath though a small smile, half-shrugging, like she's praying she might have found a friend. A few seconds later, he realises he has been staring back far too long. His mouth snaps shut as he swivels back to face the chalkboard, gulping down the heartbeat that just shot up into his throat. It's a good feeling... but dizzying.

     Whether he likes it or not, Thomas has the feeling he'll never shake off this 'Martha' as long as he lives.

━━━━━━

SUNDAY 26th NOVEMBER,
1984

     CATH lies on her stomach in her room, legs in the air and Ringo nestled under one hand, as the other flits slowly through the library book she just got out. She has ABBA playing softly in the background, the afternoon sun warming up her otherwise cooler bedroom.

     Things have settled down much more in the house over the last month. Daphne seems generally more content, despite her wrist giving her trouble. She still manages to type painfully slow with one hand on the typewriter, sometimes deep into the night. Thomas is a little more upbeat and, to her relief, Cath feels like he can be more involved in their lives now he knows the truth. And then there's Aunt Peggy — out of nowhere, she's pregnant of all things, and her youngest niece could not be happier. Maybe she's just acting on her childhood dream of being a big sister, but the thought of a little baby cousin (her first cousin ever) arriving in nine months fills her with unimaginable joy.

A small knock on the door startles her. When she looks up, her father is peeking in with a large cardboard box in his arms. Cath glances up from her book and smiles at him, placing her thumb at the paragraph she's on.

"Hey, uh... what you up to?" asks Thomas. She notices a strange glow in his eyes, eager but also a little nervous.

"I'm just reading," Cath replies. "Do you need something?"

"Well, maybe in a little while, could I borrow you for something? I think you might like it."

"Sure, I'll just finish this chapter."

"Alright. Meet me downstairs."

Cath indulges herself in the chapter again, admittedly reading a little faster out of curiosity for what Thomas has waiting for her. Once she finishes her chapter, she slides in the bookmark and slips out of her room, breezing down the stairs. When she gets to the bottom, she grabs onto the bottom banister of the staircase and careens around to face the living room. "Hey, so what did you—"

     The words die instantly on her lips. Her breath hitched in her throat, Cath's jaw drops slightly at the scene.

     Her mother is everywhere. Photographs of her and the family spread out on the carpet, some on the couch and some still in boxes. Moments of time captured in black and white, then a minority splashed with colour of the late sixties and early seventies. Thomas is sat on the floor amidst them, his sleeves rolled up as he seems occupied with one photograph in particular. Then he notices Cath standing there, shooting her a welcoming smile. He can tell she's stunned. So he gets to his feet, brushes himself down and tries to explain.

     "You know, I was looking through the boxes in your mom's study, and there are... tons of photos in there," Thomas looks around at the spread sentimentally. "And they're all just sitting there. There are other things too. Old clothes, jewellery, books, other little trinkets she had. So I was thinking... maybe it's high time we started looking through them all. Some things we might be able to give away, but you know, there might be some stuff you like of here. You can choose what you want. Then we could also hang up some more photos. There are some other ones too, with your grandparents in. What d'you say?"

     Cath blinks at him, speechless. It's all a little much.

     "... It's okay, Cath. I know it looks like a lot, but I... I've been doing some thinking. After your mom died, I just shoved a lot of her things in boxes and didn't look at them. But I've realised that isn't the way to do it. I don't want to forget her — I can't anyway, because I see her every day in you two," Thomas smiles. "It's just that I'm ready to move on now. And for that, I could really use your help... would that be alright?"

     Pursing her lips through a smile, she slowly nods, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. Her father gestures for her to sit down, so she finds her place somewhere between the delicate photographs and lowers herself down. Where to begin? Cath searches her father's face for any sign this is too painful for him, like it usually has been in the past — but she finds little trace of that pain. It's more bittersweet, and right now overpowered by an eagerness to show her anything she wants. Thomas looks like he wants to go back down memory lane. So, she starts small.

     "When's this from?" Cath asks, picking up a photo by the frame. In the photo, Martha looks fresh in her early twenties, sunlight dappled on the house behind her as she grins into the lens. She hands it to Thomas and he lights up at a memory.

     "Ah, that's when we first moved into the house," he smiles. "She loved this area, how it's a little closer to the woods. Yeah... we were about twenty, twenty-one here? There's another one with me somewhere... here," Thomas hands her another black and white photo, this time of his younger self in front of the house. He's still recognisable as her dad, just with a smoother face and sharper features, but still those pale eyes that light up in the camera.

     Cath grins, reaching over to pluck out a photograph she recognises. It's the strip from the photo booth, the two young lovers laughing together. "What's the story behind this one? I was curious..."

     "Now that was where we had our first kiss. It happened straight after those photographs were taken."

     "No way! Really?"

     "Mhmm. We weren't even dating at the time. I mean, not officially, anyway..."

     She takes back the photo booth strip and gazes at it wistfully. Then they keep sitting like this for so long, just the two of them, laughing and talking with old photographs. So many ones of Martha from her childhood to the very end, and she's just as lovely in every one. Some of Cath's favourite ones are the spontaneous-looking ones — a photo apparently from their Honeymoon, shows the newlywed Delaneys a split second from being splashed at Niagara Falls, their faces contorted with surprise. Another one from their childhood is a little shakier, Martha playing tag with her father at a beach in a blur of happiness.

     Cath loves seeing other people in the photos, too. Martha's mother, who she never met, she sees in her tall and serious figure in the photographs. In the later years, her hair changes to slightly different wigs, then eventually a scarf over her slightly thinner face from chemotherapy. She always heard the loveliest things about her from her Gramps — oh, how she misses him. Cath and Daphne adored their maternal grandfather, a gentle and patient man with a mischievous heart. It's comforting to see him in photos again, most of which she has never laid eyes on before... that's the thing about all of this. They hardly reminisce like this. The Delaney way of living seems to be packing things up in boxes, and moving on.

     She eventually comes across one photograph that makes her heart skip a beat. Four children sat on a fence, two boys and two girls, each eating ice creams and squinting into the camera. Obviously Martha and Thomas are there, but as for the other two, Cath thinks the other girl is Judy Jenkins — she and her mother were best childhood friends, and sometimes since she has babysat the girls. These days she teaches at Hawkins High, and they pass each other in the street once in a while. But then there's the boy... Bob Newby.

     "Dad... look at this one," she says hesitantly, handing him the photo.

     "Oh yeah, that's from—" Thomas begins to talk but then cuts himself off. He's spotted Bob in the photo. His face sinks slightly, the photo resting in his lap as he appears to take in every detail. That's something which remains very raw for them all — Thomas had tried to invite old friends of his and Bob's to the funeral, but they ended up with a mix of no replies or getting caught up in something else. So they were left with condolences sent in cards, and a few gaps in the chairs for someone who had such a full heart.

     "We can stop if you want," she murmurs quietly.

     He opens his mouth to reply, but the front door clicks open as Daphne returns — she's just been at the movies with Felix and Amy. She seems half-stuck in a cinematic daze, as usual after she walks out of a movie theatre, but snaps quickly into reality when she walks into the living room. Her eyes scramble over all the photographs, mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish. What is all this? she desperately tries to ask, but no words come out.

     "It's okay, Daph," Thomas reaches out a hand, quite happy to carry on. "Why don't you come sit with us?"

     She almost looks like she might cry. Swallowing thickly, she nods, lowering herself down carefully onto the floor. With the hand that isn't in a sling, Daphne reaches out for the photos that stick out to her. Of course, she can offer her own memories of Martha, too. In one, her mother is crouched down next to an adorably young Daphne in a bathtub, bubbles piled on her head; they both smile into the camera innocently. Another is of Thomas and her, the father lying on his side in the back yard beaming, while a toddler Daphne nuzzles her head into his chest. A coloured photograph also shows Daphne's first day of school, shyly hanging behind Martha's leg while holding her hand.

     Soon Peggy joins them from her trip back from her mother's, and she has all sorts of stories too — a hilariously-staged photo of her and Thomas when they were kids, him frowning while she sports the cheekiest grin, is explained by him having been recovering from chickenpox while she lived in blissful ignorance. A more sweetly genuine photo, taken while the kids weren't looking by their mother, shows Thomas and Peggy from behind walking to school, his face etched with brotherly concern and hers with sisterly awe.

     One thing nags at Cath slightly — there are no photos of her and Martha. Of course there weren't. No memories just between them, nothing shared. It's a bittersweet truth she has to live with.

     Cath doesn't know how long they sit for, but it must end up being hours. When she stands up for a drink in the end, she has cramp in her legs, but her mind is fuzzy with borrowed memories. And there are plenty more, simply too many for one day. It's a little overwhelming too, but she thinks she can take that. They have already singled out some photos they want on the mantelpiece or hung up. She makes herself a well-deserved cup of hot chocolate, while Daphne goes to unwind to some music in her room and Peggy turns on the TV.

     She returns to the hallway and mid-sip, she spots her father staring at a photo on the wall. It's one that has been there for a while anyway — their wedding photo. Cath always thought she looked like the most beautiful bride, from the not-too-crazy beehive hair to the tea length ivory dress. More than anything, it's how happy they look that always catches her eye. Thomas is staring at it, caught in memory, until she walks up next to him and stares too.

     "You alright?" he asks her, and she nods. "Are you happy with the stash you got today?"

     "Yes, definitely," Cath smiles, thinking of the small stack of her mother's photos she now has in her bedroom drawer. Hers to look at whenever she likes.

     Thomas looks at her thoughtfully, then reaches back into his pocket. "If you don't mind, I've got... one more for you."

     He pulls out a photo which he gently places between her fingertips. In it, Martha lies in a hospital bed, hair clinging to her skin still glistening slightly with sweat. But in her arms is a small, sleeping little newborn, and she cradles her as close to her heart as she can get. It must be when Daphne was born, thinks Cath simply. Then she has a thought — she doesn't believe herself at first, doesn't even consider it may be true, even as she's turning the photo over onto the other side and reading the back handwriting:

     "Catherine & Martha, 2/20/1971"

     The wind is knocked out of her.

     Cath turns the photo back so quickly, she almost drops it. She looks again. Yes, this would make sense, for Martha looks around the same age she did in the photos from the early seventies. And... oh God. Oh God! She is holding a photograph of her and her mother. Just the two of them. Catherine & Martha. She can't believe it. She cannot believe it.

     But as she looks longer, her shoulders sink with sadness. This would be the last photo of her mother before she died. It had to be. Hours before she would pass away, all because of complications giving birth to her. Cath blinks away the tears that prick her vision. She almost feels a little bit sick.

     "What's wrong?" Thomas asks, noting her expression.

     "It's just... doesn't it make you sad? That this was the last photo before she died?"

     "Of course it does, a little bit."

     Cath stares down at the floor, trying to hide her face. But her father isn't buying it. He guides her to sit down at the bottom step with him, huddled together as he tells her to hold the photo out for him. "Look at her face," he says. "How does she look?"

     So she looks, really tries. Martha's smiling, a little weakly here. Of course, she did that in many of the photographs. But then she notices just how deep her happiness goes — although she looks exhausted, her mother looks completely absorbed in the little girl in her arms, like nothing else in the world matters right now. Like she is trying to hold onto her with every second. And Cath realises... that's her. She can recognise herself in Martha's embrace, and she can almost feel it too.

     "She looks happy," she replies.

     "She was ecstatic when you were born. This was taken not long before they whisked you off to an incubator. And then, you know, things suddenly..." Thomas stops himself from finishing the sentence — not just pained by the memory himself, but almost for Cath's sake. They don't need to go into the details of that. But he does notice the guilty look that seeps into his daughter's features, which seems to snap him into action. "It's a bittersweet moment I guess. For me, though, mostly happy. Because it's when you were born."

     "So, it's a happy and sad moment?"

     "Life is full of happy-sad moments, sweetie. That's just how it works. You don't really have one without the other."

     Thomas places a hand on her knee, staring earnestly at her.

     "This, what happened... this is not your fault in any way," he emphasises. "Of course I miss your mom. Every day. But you know what would've been worse? If I'd lost you as well. I sat by your incubator hoping you'd pull through all the time — and then you did. And your mom, she– she would've been so proud of how you're growing up. I don't have a single doubt in my mind that, had there been a choice between you or her, she wouldn't have wanted it any other way..."

     Cath lurches forward into an embrace, hiding her face in her father's sweater. He seems relieved to just sit in silence and hug like this, before he pushes himself over the edge. The tears streaming down her face couldn't be happier or sadder — happy-sad, just like Thomas said. Perhaps that is the way she will always feel about this. It can be a part of who she will become, but she should not let it define her and hold her back.

     Most important of all, she feels like she knows Martha a little better every day. Her previous list of facts is already being amended and added to:

1.) Although she rarely spoke about it, she did know her mother spent her earliest childhood years tossed between the orphanage and a foster family like a hot potato. Martha was adopted somewhat late by the Scotts — Cath's grandparents — who lived in Hawkins. She never doubted for a single second that they were the family she was always meant to have.

2.) She was a teacher of Art at Hawkins Middle — art, because she lived and breathed it, whether it was sketching or painting or anything. And Middle School, because that's where Martha found a teacher who inspired her, and the age group she found most turbulent from experience. She wanted to be there to help the kids through, a kind face she had perhaps lacked in those years. Her favourite story is that, one time 'Mrs. Delaney' snuck her Sixth Grade class out of the stuffy room, and they all sat on the school lawn drawing their surroundings together. Any kid who was in that class can still testify that it was one of the best school days ever.

3.) She played the piano, the one which still sits in her study. Just like Cath, she didn't take formal lessons, unless you count the instructions she received from her adoptive mother. Her speciality was anything down the Ella Fitzgerald route, for her parents used to play it and slow dance in the house, so Martha decided she wanted to be able to play for them.

4.) She was a lovely person, and the stories about her personality do not tell lies. But Thomas shed light on how she also had her struggles, too. Martha was scared of people leaving her, just like her old foster family had. She had been through a great deal of things, a great majority of them kept private — just like Cath. However, it never stopped her from trying to be a kind and open person.

5.) Her angel mother died to give her daughter, Catherine Martha Delaney, a life.

━━━━━━

A/N;

writing this chapter had me like:

i hope you guys enjoyed (is that the right word?) this little subplot about cath and her feelings about her mother. it felt necessary to explore, since she's kind of harboured a survivor's guilt / imposter syndrome all her life that could have gone back to this very moment that she can't control. but i also didn't want cath to be like "alright, that's cool, i've moved on now!" because in a way, she might always feel it in a certain way — however, she can make some kind of peace with it, and with this little plot she's definitely on her way. also it felt important for thomas, because it teaches him to process his feelings and talk about them more.

and an extra note: the song 'martha'  by tom waits is supposed to be attached at the top, idk if it registered, but i found it a few months back and almost teared up on first listen because it fits thomas & martha so well... i mean, one lyric literally says "hello, hello there, is this martha? this is old tom frost" THE NAMES MATCH *SOBS* (have a headcanon that, since this song came out in 1973, two years after martha dies, thomas hears this on the radio one day and just... crumbles. and he literally cannot listen to it at all without tearing up. i'm not crying, you are)

also i just realised, we only have one more chapter left? i've been so excited rushing through this, I'M NOT READY 😭 thank you guys for all the support, whistleblower has been an absolute joy to write. season two is my favourite (of the four currently out) and i put a lot of extra work into the subplots with the delaneys this time. i'm honestly really proud of this book, so once again, thank you if you've stuck around this far.

thank you for reading, and i'll see you in the final chapter, AHHH! it's a less emotionally-charged one, thank god, as we head to the snow ball and re-live the nostalgia of school dances...

— Imogen

[ Published: January 7th, 2023 ]