The Keeper

Carl

Amy and Martha left London on a suitably grim January morning and backpacked around Asia until the thrill of sunny beaches and cheap, delicious street food was tempered by a series of stomach upsets and cockroach-ridden hostels.

"We've been here too many times before," said Amy as she held Martha's hair back in the bathroom, whilst another sickly backpacker banged on the door. "It's time to go to Australia."

Martha washed her face and dried it on the towel Amy offered. "The next stop on our ticket is New Zealand. We're supposed to be working there. I'm nearly out of money and Camille has an uncle in Mount Maunganui who can employ us straight away. That was the plan, Amy."

Amy made a face and looked away. "I'm tired, Martha. And I miss Mike. I really miss him. He'll look after us. You can come with me."

Martha didn't want to be a gooseberry on a sheep station in the middle of nowhere. They went to the airport together, and she waved Amy off, promising to see her in a couple of months, knowing that she wouldn't.

* * *

The months of running up and down ladders to pick avocados gave Martha muscles, money and a reason to move on. She got on a tourist bus and saw the bubbling hot mud of Rotorua, swam with dolphins in the Bay of Plenty, learned to surf, skydived over volcanoes, floated through caves starlit by glow worms and ate 35 flavours of ice cream. The bus route went in a big loop around the country and she fell in with backpackers who bought into the same experiences, leaving them behind when they stayed places to bungee jump, jet boat, or take helicopter rides. She ventured off the beaten track to tramp between old deer huts in the wilderness. Her luck with the weather ended when May brought gale force winds and sleet to Queenstown, a reminder that it was time to move on before her money ran out. She went into a bar, where a blond guy nudging the end of his twenties was leaning against the coffee machine, reading a Graham Greene novel.

"Hi."

The bartender smiled and put down his book. "Kia ora! What can I get you?"

"Internet. If you have it."

"There's a machine in the corner. Two dollars gets you fifteen minutes. Is that enough?"

"To book a flight to Australia? I hope so."

"Why are you going there? It's full of Aussies!"

"And Brits. I'll be on one of those buses going up the east coast with all the other backpackers."

"You don't want to do that."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't look like the type of girl who wants to drink and shag her way to the Top End, that's why."

"Ha! What do I look like?"

"A woman who prefers good food, art and literature to drinking herself senseless. Am I right?"

"Maybe. What about you? Do you like all that?"

"Yep."

"Then why are you in a bar in the most touristy town in New Zealand?"

"I'm filling in for my brother. It's his bar, and he's taking me to the airport tomorrow. I've got a job in London. Come with me."

Martha laughed. "I can't. I've got a round the world ticket and I've only reached here. There's so much I haven't seen. I want to go to Australia, the Americas, and... Spain. I've never been to Spain and I've wanted to ever since..."

"Spain is a stone's throw from London. I'll take you to Spain. Come with me."

"You're joking – we've only just met!"

"I'm deadly serious. I know things about people. I know enough about you to want to get to know you better." He jabbed his hand across the bar. "I'm Carl."

Martha felt the strength of his grip and his intention as she shook his hand and held the gaze of his grey-green eyes. "I bet this routine works on a lot of girls, eh, Carl?"

"I'm hoping this will be the first and only time," he said as he drew back his hand and rubbed his close-cropped hair.

"Worth a try, but I'll get that Internet time and sort out my flight, thanks."

Carl took her money and wrote on the back of the ticket. "Put this code in the machine for your time – I've given you half an hour. And then look me up when you get to London. If you don't, we'll both regret it."

Martha looked at the slip of paper when she logged in to the computer terminal. Carl had written his email on the back. She folded it away in her purse and booked her flight to Melbourne.