The Keeper

Dean and Robert

Dean couldn't explain why he didn't burn Martha's letters. He'd intended to. Instead, he took the notes from the bag under his workbench and wrapped them carefully in brown paper, tying the bundle with string. He put the bundle back in the bag and stashed it at the bottom of his wooden box of drill bits. It wasn't fair to Martha to keep writing to her. It had catalysed her artistic development at the cost of her emotional one. Teenagers made mistakes, learned from them and moved on. It wasn't up to him to impede that process. She might have needed his artistic encouragement at the start, but she was on the right track now and he was benefiting more from the exchange than she was. He had needed to change his mindset as much as she had. The letters had woken him up after years of hibernation. He shivered in reflection as he locked the shed and went inside to ring his college friend.

Robert had moved to Truro when he got married a second time, leaving his bachelor pad in London solely for work. His house was less than half an hour's drive away, but they hadn't met any more often than when he'd been living in the city.

"Hello, Robert."

"Dean Finlay. Long time no hear."

"Yeah, sorry about that. That's why I'm calling – are you free Saturday night?"

"No, but it's nothing I can't get out of."

"Oh..."

"Relax. Carmen's parents are here this weekend. I'd rather see you than talk about the stock market over a lentil lasagne. Carmen's going through a vegetarian phase."

"Okay, great. Let's meet at the Three Bells at 7 o'clock."

"The Three Bells? That's an old man's pub. Can't we make it the King's Arms?"

"No. My students go there. Besides, the Three Bells has better beer, and it's cheaper."

"Okay, done. See you there."

"Who was that?" Kristina was in the hallway, arms crossed.

"Robert. I'm meeting him for a beer on Saturday."

"I can't believe you're going to see him after the way he talked to me at his wedding."

"You told his wife you were disappointed that his first marriage broke up. What do you expect?"

"I expect you to take my side. I'm your wife, after all."

"I'm not getting into this again. I'm going for a walk."

"Dinner's nearly ready."

"I'll eat it when I get back."

"If you're going to be like that, I'll have it for my lunch tomorrow."

"That's fine with me."

"What are you going to eat?" she yelled at the closing door.

Dean didn't know and didn't care. He walked out of the gate and left it open, walking on through the cul-de-sac and past the grotty housing estate beyond. By the time he reached the forest, he was breathing hard. Slowing his pace, he inhaled deeply. The air was cold and damp and smelled of bonfires, leaves, and dirt. He passed the evening dog walkers who kept mostly to the edges, emptying their pets before turning for home. As he went deeper into the woodland, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He followed a deer track up through an overgrown hazel coppice until he reached the clearing dominated by an old beech tree. He stopped, listening to the rustle of a rodent in the crisp leaves of the tree's rain shadow. A tawny owl called at the edge of a distant field and spurred Dean to walk onwards. As he emerged from the other side of the forest, a badger dashed across his path. It felt like a lucky omen, demonstrating how nature continues, oblivious to the mad world of men.

When he returned home with a takeaway curry, the lights were out. The car was gone from the garage. There was no note. Normally he would call Kristina's parents and talk to her mother, who would then put on her father to tell him what he had done wrong and what was expected of him. He didn't call. Instead, he pulled a dusty bottle of wine from the bottom of the rack, uncorked it and poured it into one of the fancy crystal glasses from the highest kitchen cupboard. He carefully placed the first side of an old vinyl record on the turntable and turned the volume knob all the way up, savouring the scratches before Joni's voice sang solace to all the cul-de-sad-sacks. Then he tipped out the curry and enjoyed every mouthful. When A Case of You came on, he realised he had finished the bottle. It tasted good, but he knew there was better. A case of wine he could never drink.