The Keeper

Dean and Robert

Dean folded the letter and put it in his bag with all the others. Then he had a terrible thought. He tipped out the letters and sorted them from beginning to end. As he read them again, his heart swelled with tenderness towards Martha. A girl who had given new meaning to his life and hope for the future. But he couldn't think about that now and swallowed his feelings. He sorted through the letters again. There was definitely one letter missing. It was the one Martha had written after their visit to the gallery. The one in which she had declared her love to him. Dean didn't have to wonder where that letter was. He knew where Kristina would have sent it. He packed his bag, went back into town, and found a phone box.

"Robert, it's Dean."

"Hello, mate. What's wrong? There must be something wrong; I haven't even had a haircut since I last saw you."

Dean paused. "Are you free?"

"Sure."

"Can you meet me at the Cross Keys?"

"The Cross Keys is even more of a dive than the last pub we met at. You must really be in trouble."

"Yeah. Half an hour?"

"I'll be there."

* * *

Robert arrived an hour later. "Sorry, mate – traffic was a nightmare."

"You drove from home? We're a twenty-minute walk from your place if you take the footpath."

"You would know that – I didn't. Anyway, I've got to see some art at eight. Someone tipped me off about a young guy in Padstow who does interesting things with collage and gouache. So what's this all about?"

Dean told Robert about Martha and the afternoon confrontation with his wife.

"Blimey, you're a dark horse, Dean. I never would've thought you, of all people, would have an affair with a student."

"It's not like that. I didn't sleep with her, Robert."

"Well, that was a mistake." Robert laughed and ordered another round.

Dean glared at him.

"No, seriously, your real mistake was keeping those letters. Your wife is a piece of work, but you can see why she was upset."

"But she wasn't upset. Yes, she threw a glass at me, but there were no tears. And she cries over the slightest thing. The weird thing was, she seemed to enjoy having caught me out. Like she had been waiting for me to slip up."

"In that case, she must've been waiting a long time. I'm going to sound like a broken record, but you have a nasty habit of always doing the right thing."

"That's what Martha says too. She also noted that it hasn't worked out for me all these years."

"She's a smart cookie, isn't she? As for me, it's reassuring that you're fallible after all."

Dean raised his glass to Robert and looked at his watch. "Don't you have a boy genius to see?"

"He can wait. We'll see how keen he is to have an agent when I rock up a little late. So what are you going to do?"

"If she sent that letter to the school, I'll be out of there pronto, even if it doesn't end my career necessarily. It's an all-girls' school – the headmistress won't want the scandal. I'm going to save her the trouble and drop off my resignation in the morning."

"Won't that look like you're guilty of more than Martha's letter suggests?"

"People will assume that, anyway. Besides, I'm done with teaching and I don't want to risk the girl's future. It's not just her talent for painting – she's a sensitive soul, without a huge group of friends. Any hint of gossip around her could knock her back. It's imperative that she gets through the sixth form and moves on to St Hibbert's. That's where she'll be safe to spread her wings without the danger of having them clipped. I'm certain she has an amazing future ahead of her, if I don't mess it up." Dean looked away and stared out of the window, which had a less than scenic view of the car park.

"Oh boy. You've got it bad, haven't you?" said Robert.

Dean looked down and hoped Robert didn't see a tear drop into his beer.

Robert coughed. "She sounds intriguing. And if you think she's a talented painter, she must be good. Maybe I could see some of her work."

"Hah! No way. Anyway, you've got that kid's collage stuff to occupy you – be off with you!"

"Good point." Robert got up and slapped a twenty quid note on the table, his serious face warning Dean not to argue. "Grab yourself a meal before you head home, okay? And call me if you need anything."

Dean asked for a pasty to take away, left the change from the tab on the counter, and walked home. He was relieved to find his wife wasn't there.