The Keeper

A Plan to Get Over Him

Martha folded the letter and stuffed it deep down in her backpack. That was it? He was going to step away from her life, just like that? Martha felt blindsided. What was done was done, but the outcome had been decided by his wife and the headmistress. He was her world, not theirs. They didn't care about him. His wife had never cared about him, and all Miss Staverly cared about was the school. It was so unfair.

As for Dean, she couldn't believe he had agreed to all of this without talking to her. That he hadn't told her about the discovery immediately. They could've made a plan together, worked out their future. This was bigger than school. This was their life and he wouldn't have had to wait long. She would be moving out in just over a year. She would be an adult in every sense.

Dean, his wife and Miss Staverly were treating her like a little child.

A child to be punished and not consulted. There was no comeback. No argument. She had no choice but to let him go. He wasn't doing the right thing; he was falling into step with them. Well, sod them. She wasn't going to play by their rules any more. Martha turned and walked away from school and headed towards home.

The route was one she had cycled many times in the past. At first she walked fast with her anger, oblivious to the houses she passed. The smell of the brewery that hung over the town on a Friday faded as her legs drove her forwards, her way-finding automatic. Pollen from the avenue of plane trees that led out of town tickled her nose. She so wanted to talk to him. If they talked, they could sort it all out. With their minds on the same wavelength, they would find a way to sail out the storm into calm water. They could be so happy together. He just needed to come to her. The answer was being together, not apart.

The roadside banks were bursting with the flowers of late spring. Hoverflies zipped between landing pads of cow parsley. A cuckoo sang in the wood ahead, and she slowed to her normal pace, breathing in the perfume of the wild honeysuckle that threaded through the hedgerow.

Why had he left? And what remained for her now he was gone? She couldn't go on without him. He was the reason for everything. He was her everything. She was nothing without him.

She peeled off the back road, opened a gate and stepped into the wood, feeling utterly alone. She collapsed to the ground and let out big, heaving sobs. When she had cried herself out, she pushed herself to her feet and continued along the muddy path. The last of the bluebells were fading, as the leaves filled in the gaps of sky. She hopped puddles, and climbed the gate to leave the forest and meet her long shadow across the field of grass. The bridle path joined a farm track, and she was nearly home.

When she let herself into the house, it was over three hours since she had left the school. Having two parents who worked late was an advantage.

She made herself a cup of tea and looked out at the little garden. She knew Dean was hard-wired to do what he thought was right. Until discovery, he had clearly fought against that because of the way he cared about her, but now she could see that he felt he had no choice. But damn it, she would have liked to have at least tried to change his mind about that.

She had walked away from the school thinking that she would never go back, but for what? To prove a point? Who would care? Not Miss Staverly. She probably wanted her gone to save her the worry. Dean wouldn't know, because he had left. Her worst fears had been realised, but trashing her life would be another trophy for his wife to take. She'd taken so much from Dean; Martha would not give her anything more.

* * *

Martha wasn't sure what she was going to do next in her life, but she wanted choices, and if she quit studying and flunked out of school, she'd be stacking shelves, drinking her wages away at the pub every weekend and living at home like the rest of the deadbeats. One thing she knew was that she wanted to get as far away from Stoneview School as possible. St Hibbert's College was as good a place to go as anywhere. She wasn't going to give up on Dean, but she certainly wouldn't find him by moping around. If he moved school, he probably wouldn't start until the next school year, in September. She might be able to find him then, to write to him once the dust had settled. In the meantime, she would keep busy, quieten the agony of thought, just bloody carry on.

She worked harder than she ever had in her life. She stopped her doodling and paid attention in her Spanish and biology classes and even listened attentively to Miss Saunders, who was filling in for Dean. The geography teacher was out of her depth and barely took her eyes from the textbook as she plodded through the remainder of their Art History syllabus. Martha used her lunch breaks in the library to read every book on her biology reading list, and her time on the bus to listen to Spanish tapes on her Walkman. She was off the bus and in the door before 4.30 most afternoons, did her homework, fixed herself some dinner and left a note for her parents before heading to the allotment. It was only a matter of time before the annual fee became due and wouldn't be paid. Then it would go to the next person on the waiting list, but for now it was where she could ground herself, stop herself from spiralling downwards. Without Joan there to talk to, Martha filled the space, listening to Radio 4 or audiobooks as she planted, weeded, and watered until the light faded, working late into the evening. It was only in the few minutes it took before she dropped off to sleep that she let herself think of her lost love, crying soundlessly as Joni Mitchell sang to her, then sleeping into silence at the tape's end.

Summer was starting, and it was busy enough in the garden centre to make working another day there welcome. With school, the allotment and work, every waking minute was filled and stoppered up tight, so that she could endure the rest of the term, sitting her mock exams and passing all with straight As.

As Miss Saunders handed the results out in Art class, Amy teased Martha. "Are you trying to become head girl or something?"

"No," said Martha, "I'm just trying to get through to the summer holidays."

"And some. Have you had a brain implant, or been taken over by aliens? Who stole my friend? Why are you so serious all of a sudden?"

Martha didn't want to talk about how she felt to anyone, even Amy. "You're just taking an interest in me now because you broke up with Brian." Brian had been seen out with big-boobs Tracy more than once and everyone in school knew about it. Amy was tolerant and forgiving, but not a doormat. When she saw him kissing Tracy in the Cellar Bar, she picked up the pint on the table beside him and slowly tipped it over his head and down his precious brown suede jacket. It was one of the few evenings Martha had been out with Amy recently and she was happy to witness the cheer that erupted in the bar as she followed her friend, who marched up the steps to the street, head held high until she was out of sight of the crowd and free to burst into tears.

Amy stopped asking questions. Martha knew she had played a trump card at the wrong time. "I'm sorry, Amy. That was low. I know you cared about Brian. He was a bastard and I've been a crap friend. But I'm going to be better."

"I hope so. I passed my driving test, you know. This means we could have the best summer ever."

"Great. I need that. I need to have a good summer more than anything."

Amy didn't ask her what she meant. Everyone was sick of school and looking forward to six weeks without it. Her face brightened at the thought and she said, "I'll get a job to pay for petrol and we'll go to the beach whenever we can. We'll be bronzed bombshells by the end of the summer. Boys won't be able to get enough of us!"