The Keeper

Dean Blanks Martha

Time dragged at school before art class. Martha deflected Amy's bubbly chat by telling her it was her time of the month and she wasn't feeling up to talking. Amy put an arm around her in sympathy and then went to ask Brian's sister about their plans for the weekend. Martha kept glancing at Dean, but he looked right through her. She went up to him when the bell rang and began to talk to him.

He cut her off. "Not now, Martha..."

"When are you free? I need to talk to you."

"Martha, please focus on your work. Please. We have a lot to get through this term, especially since we are taking a day out to go up to London. And you've been falling behind on your coursework. Is that what you want to talk about?"

"No, sir."

"Good. I'll see you next class."

Martha blundered out of the classroom, hot tears pricking her eyes. All he cared about was her work. He was treating her like any other student. Lower than that, even – he could barely look at her. He was right about the coursework, but there were other things to think about, like Joan's death, which he would have known about if he hadn't brushed her off. Now that she wasn't a star pupil, he was kicking her away like something nasty that was stuck to his shoe. He even had that expression, the one you have when you need to get rid of dog mess you've trodden in. It was awful. She'd never seen him look at anyone else like that.

She couldn't find comfort in her music on the bus. As soon as she got home, she raced upstairs, grabbed the biscuit tin of letters at the bottom of her wardrobe and went to the allotment. She made a bonfire of old brambles which burned hot enough to dry her tears as she threw in the letters one by one. Watching the flames, she told herself to stop being a silly schoolgirl and grow up. She could work in the garden centre full time if she wanted to, and just let the art go.

She stopped caring about her art, didn't want to go to school and lost her appetite for anything but listening to sad or angry songs in her room. Her dad put it down to the loss of Joan and being a teenager, and her mum brought her endless cups of tea and cakes, which she barely touched.

Toph called for Martha every day, but she didn't want to see anyone.

After a week of being shut away in the house, Martha's mum stormed into her room. "Martha, we all loved Joan, but this has to stop."

"It isn't just Joan. It's everything."

"Well, part of that everything is waiting out on the front step, as he has been every day this week. It's not fair, Martha. Talk to him."

Martha dragged herself out of bed and put on her dressing down, scuffing down the stairs to the door.

She opened it and Toph smiled up at her. "Hello, Martha."

"Hi, Toph."

"I'm sorry about Joan. I really am."

"Thanks."

"This week has been tough for me, too. I've been doing a lot of thinking." Toph shivered on the step and stomped his feet.

"Do you want to come in?"

Toph stayed where he was, looked down, picked at his fingernails. He took a deep breath, looked up at her and said, "You're just not that into me, are you?"

Martha wasn't expecting the question, but couldn't contradict him. "I'm sorry, Toph. You're a great guy, but..."

"Yeah, well, I hope that the guy you are into is into you. I hope he can give you whatever it is you're looking for. I hope he's worth it." He crossed his arms and kicked his trainers against the step. "Take care, okay?" Toph kissed her on the cheek, turned and walked away.

Martha felt absolutely awful. And massively relieved. Everything he said was true, and in the end he had done the right thing, not her. She wanted to call him up, explain things, apologise, but she knew it would only make the situation worse. Martha went to her room and plugged into her music, listening to sad songs through her headphones and crying for Joan, the boy and the man.

On Saturday the sun warmed her back, birds sang their joy along the hedgerows, but Martha still felt terrible as she cycled to the garden centre, intending to quit. Toph had beaten her to it. The hollowness inside her grew. Toph had lost his job as well as her, even if he hadn't really had her completely. She shouldn't have strung him along. He was decent and didn't deserve to be messed around, but she couldn't make herself feel the way about him that she felt about Dean. Bloody Dean.