The Keeper

Still Looking for Him

It took days for her to think things through. Who had been falling for Adam back there? Marty? Maybe. But seeing Hardy's tree had killed Marty stone dead for a moment. Martha was resurrected to the horror of her loss once again. She was careful to conceal her emotions from Marty's friends, but she used the excuse of poverty to withdraw from their social life as much as she could, and they didn't seem to notice. She picked up a job at a local framer's, and bar work to fill evenings and weekends. No one asked why her shifts always coincided with their nights to go out. When the second year of college started, she threw herself back into her work.

One year bled into the next as she studied, worked her jobs and went out with her flatmates now and then, each time careful not to get too close to anyone again. Her art was inconsistent as she flipped between Martha and Marty, but the one thing that never changed was Dean in her mind. She couldn't stop thinking about him and his life in parallel, wondering where he was. She went to the big city libraries, made a note of all the D. Finlays in every British phone book, and called them again. Still nothing. Still vanished. She couldn't think how to find him, if he didn't want to be found. But she didn't give up, and she kept a list up to date, cross-checking it whenever the new books came out. Every new entry was hope, every phone call disappointment.

She stayed on through the Easter and summer holidays to work. The city sucked at her soul; she missed the countryside almost as much as she missed Dean, but when she went back to Cornwall, it undid her. Everywhere she went reminded her of him, but he couldn't be found. He had been erased from the area, the way that the new, fast bypass had obliterated fields, hedgerows and water meadows. Grief was easier to bear when the ashes of memory weren't being raked over. What should have been a joyful time of discovery at college was tinged with sadness that caught her throat and pricked her eyes any time Martha allowed her true self to emerge. Each time she returned to London, she had to punch through the sadness in her shift from Martha to Marty. She was a shell of a person, without substance or meaning.

Her parents drew her back for Christmases, but New Year's Eves were unspeakably sad, as all parties and celebrations careered towards coupling. Though Amy had split up with Tony by the end of the first year, in the second one she quickly found herself another steady boyfriend, Brendan. Despite repeated invitations up to Manchester, Marty found reasons to decline. Instead, Amy invited herself down for a long weekend and Martha blew it.

It started well as they tiptoed around each other, trying to find the friendship they had both neglected. On the Saturday, they looked for bargains in Spitalfields Market, ate bagels in Brick Lane, and laughed at the exhibition of silkscreened phalluses in Whitechapel Gallery. Then they went back to Martha's flat to get ready for a night out. But their guards came down with a shared bottle of rosé.

Martha told Amy about her encounter with Adam, the lovely lawyer.

Amy couldn't believe it. "So he was a nice-looking guy, who was sweet to you and interesting and smart, and you didn't go any further because of Mr Finlay?"

"Yes. I suppose you can boil it down to that."

"Martha, you're ruining your life for a flight of fancy."

"That's not what it was. It was real. He felt something for me, he really did."

"There may have been flirtation there, but that's all it was."

"That's not true. You never read his letters. We were soulmates."

"Okay, I'm sorry. But it's been years now. He's moved on and so should you."

"You don't know that. I do. I know it in my heart. He only left me to protect me, and I need to find him."

"Martha, what you need to do is grow up. There's more to life than Mr Finlay. He's not the only man out there who can make you happy. You have to be open to other relationships."

"I went out with Toph."

"Poor Christopher didn't stand a chance. You were loved up on Mr Finlay even then, weren't you? I know it breaks your heart, Martha, but it was just a crush, a schoolgirl crush. You need to get over it."

Martha drained her wineglass, refilled it and looked out of the window at the streetlight that flicked on and off, unable to decide whether the evening had begun. Amy really didn't understand. She was too immersed in her own life to connect with Martha's now.

Amy topped up her own glass and asked, "Why don't you visit me anymore? It's been too long since we've seen each other. And when did you become Marty?"

"It was a way to reinvent myself, to become more popular. Martha wouldn't have made these friends."

"You don't need to reinvent yourself. You just need to find your people. Are these really your people? When we came in, they looked me up and down like I was something the cat had dragged in. And they've ignored me ever since. What have you said to them about me?"

"Nothing. I haven't said anything about you. I guess you're just part of my old life that isn't relevant here." Martha saw Amy wince, but continued. "They're okay, Amy. They may not be the type to have the conversations we have, but they are a good way to keep me out of my head. I needed people to help me survive college. It's not like Cornwall here."

"Of course not, but you can still find your kind of people. Friends shouldn't just be something that collects around you the way dust balls up in a corner. Why do you need to be out of your head? You're going to go insane if you keep pretending to be something you're not. You need friends who aren't so..." Amy struggled to find the right word, but gave in. "Superficial."

Martha folded her arms. They weren't friends like Amy, but they were her adopted tribe to protect her from the worst of London and college life. She needed them and defended them. "At least they've been here for me. At least they haven't disappeared every time they've got a steady boyfriend."

Martha immediately regretted what she said. "I'm sorry, Amy. I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did. Maybe you're right. Maybe you're better off here with these people, without me." Amy glanced at her watch, grabbed her bag and headed towards the door.

"Amy, stop! Don't leave. Where are you going to go?"

"I can make the last train if I leave now. Goodbye, Martha. I mean 'Marty'." Amy slammed the door and was gone.