The Keeper

Outside School is Easier

After registration, the girls filed into the main hall and sat in plastic chairs facing the stage. Assembly was standard issue. The headteacher, Miss Staverly, introduced herself to the new girls and welcomed the old ones back. There were reminders about the behaviour expected of Stoneview School girls, particularly out of school where they were its representatives in the community: a community that would be sure to contact Miss Staverly if there were transgressions. And then there was the part about the importance of study and hard work and blah blah blah. The usual guff plus a turgid hymn that the girls mumbled along to, accompanied by an out-of-tune piano.

Martha looked out of the window to the rolling fields beyond. The expanse of green calmed her, as it always had. In Somerset, they had lived in a small house with an enormous garden. Martha had loved helping her dad there, getting her hands dirty, planting seeds, weeding and harvesting fruit and vegetables for the kitchen. When her dad's job forced him to move to Cornwall in a hurry, they bought the house in the same rush. The garden was tiny. The previous owners had clearly preferred sitting outside to gardening in it. Martha's family had traded a kitchen garden, fruit bushes, and an orchard for a patio with a built-in barbecue and decorative, but unproductive, flowerbeds.

She was outside looking at the dead flower heads on the following Saturday when a soft voice floated from the neighbour's garden. "It looks lovely in the spring, you know." An impish old lady with bright white curly hair was leaning over the fence.

"Okay. But I prefer growing veggies."

"Me too."

Martha walked to the fence and looked over it at the lawn, small pond and borders of shrubs and perennials. "Where are they?"

"I have an allotment. Why don't you sign up for one, er...?"

"Martha." She smiled. "An allotment would be great."

"Nice to meet you, Martha. I'm Joan. How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Oh. You have to be eighteen, though I guess it doesn't matter – there's a two-year wait at the moment."

Martha's smile vanished.

Joan's face crumpled with concern.. "Do you like gardening that much?"

"I love it. Everything tastes better when you've grown it yourself."

"Doesn't it? Yes. Well. This could be perfect."

"What do you mean? I can't grow much here, even if I take up the flower beds and cover the patio in pots."

"True. Which is why you should join me in my allotment."

"Oh, I don't know – "

"Yes, you must. I've got one of the bigger plots and I can't keep on top of it like I used to. Half of it is becoming a jungle. We could share it, if you're keen. Share the work and share the harvest."

"And the cost. How much is it? I don't have a job yet, but I have some savings."

"Don't worry about that. The council charge me peanuts because I'm a pensioner. Come over tomorrow with some gloves and you can see if you want to invest your time and a bit of blood, sweat and tears."

"Blood, sweat and tears?"

"The brambles are vicious."

That was how Martha began working with Joan in her allotment. She spent the next day and would spend the whole of the following weekend hacking away at the briars that grew beyond head height, before digging out their massive roots. But it was a good feeling to look at the ground she had cleared, as she and Joan chatted over a cup of tea and a super-rich chocolate cake.

* * *

Time passed quickly in a garden, but it dragged in school. As they stacked all the chairs by the side of the assembly hall, Martha reflected on the nearly two years she would have to endure before her parents would let her start a horticulture course. What a drag. She had picked biology, as she thought it might have some relevance. She was doing Spanish because she wanted to travel and it seemed easier than French. The only A-level that she was likely to do well at was art.

All the art teachers she had had before let her do her own thing, recognising that her talent would carry her through the exams. She hoped the new art teacher would be the same. Martha went into the classroom and found a space at a table near the back. The other girls were chattering as usual, but then the door opened and a rapt quiet smothered the room. The silence dissipated as some girls nudged each other and giggled when the teacher came in. It was the man from the hallway. He wasn't like Martha's previous art teachers. He wasn't like them at all.