The Keeper

Graduation

Martha graduated with a BA degree that made her parents proud. But she wasn't. A lower second-class degree reflected how she had let Marty take the reins, cruising through the last couple of years of college and doing just enough to not be completely average. What had she gained by going to St Hibbert's? Confidence in sculpting, print-making and throwing anything at a canvas. And a so-so set of friends she had little in common with. The Marty facade was crumbling, leaving Martha feeling more alone than before, yearning for someone to pull out the remains and breathe life back into them. She dreamed of Dean and his kiss, a kiss that could resurrect it. It was a fairy tale that she couldn't stop playing in her head.

The scaffold of school and college was now gone and Martha felt unsteady, unsure of what direction to go in. She was in a strange limbo, not able to go back along the clear path she had followed, with the paths forward so faint they were impossible to find.

Instead, she was frozen in the moment, painting her flatmates, local scenes, dogs and parks and buildings. All of it perfectly executed, but flat. She was observing and creating without engaging. Dean would've been disappointed in her. Though she didn't know what grade he had got at St Hibbert's, it was irrelevant. She knew he would have wanted her to realise her potential, and she hadn't. Sometimes she talked about it with Frankie, who had channelled a nasty break-up with her first true love into a blistering series of collages and screen prints that secured admiration from the faculty. All of her work sold at their final show. Martha sold nothing.

Frankie consoled her. "I only did it as a way not to go crazy," she said. "I'll probably never be able to do it again."

"Nonsense. You will. And it's amazing work. The best in our class. You deserve your first."

"It doesn't matter out there, Marty. You're only as good as your last sale, isn't that right? No one will care what our degree was in a year or two."

Frankie was right, but Martha had to start somewhere, and she was nowhere still. She had lost the self-belief and confidence she had started with.

After graduation, she continued to paint, but her work didn't excite her and she wasn't surprised when it didn't excite gallery owners either. Instead, she persuaded a local café to display them for sale or return.

A couple sold, one was stolen, another damaged, and the rest she had to pick up after a couple of months before storing them in her tiny room. She had barely covered her expenses. And it certainly would not pay the rent. She continued working at the framing shop, where at least she got a discount for her own frames. Time marched on, and she was left standing in place as her flatmates moved with it.

Garth met Samuel, a charming man from New York, who stayed over at the flat for an entire weekend. They only emerged from Garth's bedroom to raid the fridge, order takeaways, or use the bathroom. Samuel had to fly back crazily early on Monday to his design job on Madison Avenue and his flat on the Lower East Side. He invited Garth to come with him and he jumped at the chance, buying a cheap last-minute ticket to fly Virgin the next day.

Martha confronted him as he was packing anything that mattered into one large suitcase. "What if it doesn't work out with Samuel?"

"There are plenty of gay men in Manhattan, Marty. Plenty! Of course I want it to work out, but it's not my biggest worry."

"I hope you're worrying about the other stuff then. Be careful, won't you?"

"I'm careful enough," said Garth, giving Martha a squeeze, "but being careful is your problem, Marty. Maybe you should come to New York too. I think you've had enough of London, haven't you?"

Garth was right. Martha couldn't argue. Instead, she changed the subject back to him. "Okay, have fun, for you and me both. New York won't know what's hit it!"

Garth's leaving was a catalyst for change. Within three months, Camille and Frankie had moved out to pursue a new job and a girlfriend, respectively. Martha was left with the lease, the shabby furniture and three young student flatmates who paid the bills but kept themselves to themselves. It was time to let go of Marty and find herself again.