The Keeper

The Time of Their Lives

Martha emailed Amy to tell her about Carl. She must have been online, because a chat box immediately opened up in AOL messenger.

A: You met a guy in New Zealand and didn't tell me about him?!

M: There was nothing to tell. We had our first date last night.

M: He's been in London for ages.

A: What's he doing in London?

M: He has a job in sales, which he's super good at. Gift of the gab and all that.

A: What's he like?

A: How was the date???

M: He's good-looking if you go for the Robert Redford type. The date was nice.

A: So he's short?

M: Yes. But he makes up for it in other departments!

A: He's a good kisser?

M: No.

A: Give him a chance.

M: It seems like a deal-breaker to me.

A: Maybe he just needs some coaching...

M: Don't worry, I've agreed to another date. We're going to see The Truman Show on Friday.

A: Great! Whatever that is.

M: Have you been hiding under a rock?

M: It's a movie.

M: It's been out for ages. You must be busy.

M: How are you?

A: Sorry. I wasn't ignoring you. Our connection is bad.

A: I'm good. I'm getting great at sorting sheep out, checking their feet, drenching them, that sort of thing... But I'd better go because I need to get dinner on the table before we both crash out on the couch.

M: Sounds like domestic rural bliss!

A: No, it doesn't. It reads terribly, doesn't it? But it's not like that.

A: The truth is my feelings for Mike differ from anything I've had before. It wouldn't matter where we lived because we make our own universe. I don't need other distractions, because everything I've been looking for is within us. We have a connection, but I can't explain. Do you know what I mean? I'm not able to articulate it.

M: I know exactly what you mean. Exactly.

A: And how's London?

A: I have to say there's nothing I miss about the city. I'm not sure I could go back, even if I had to.

M: I can't stand it. I don't know why I came back here. I'm not sure what I'm doing with any of my life.

A: Hey, it's sounding like fun. Not as much fun as you had in New Zealand, but you have to settle down sometime, right?

M: Do I?

A: Maybe Carl's the one to settle with.

A: Maybe he will want to move to the country with you.

M: You're getting ahead of yourself now – better get that dinner going!

A: Okay. Talk soon. Miss you. xox

M: Miss you too XXX.

Martha went on more dates and the kissing didn't improve, which made his performance in the bedroom no surprise. However, Carl made her laugh, his friends were good fun, and she started enjoying the city again as they trawled markets for secondhand bargains, ticked off every museum in his battered guidebook, and ate their way around the world on a budget. It was better being with him than being alone. She was surprised at how quickly the time passed, that she had been with him for nearly two years. When his company sponsored his residency and gave him a major pay rise, he suggested they get a flat together.

"Maybe next year, if I sell a few more paintings." Martha didn't want to be dependent on him.

"You don't need to sell any paintings. I can pay for it. The agent has been showing me places and there's a great two bedroom one in Shoreditch. It even has a balcony. You could grow some things in pots, right? And I can cover the mortgage myself. You don't need to pay anything."

"I want to pay for things, but it sounds like you've already decided."

"I've not decided, but it doesn't make sense for us both to be throwing away money in rent, and I'm sick of sharing with flatmates when I could be sharing with you. Will you come and see the place and we'll decide then? You can pay some of the bills. We'll sort it out so it's fair, I promise. And you can continue painting. You can give up your odd jobs and paint more."

"They're not odd jobs; they've supported me for years. Besides, it's inspiring to see the work coming in to be framed now. It's my primary contact with the art world at large."

"I've made another contact for you, look." Carl gave her a card. "She's a gallery owner in Shoreditch. She'd love help from someone who knows art like you do."

Martha didn't know how to feel. She was touched that Carl had looked for work for her, but bristled at his stepping into her world unbidden.

He did his puppy dog look and hugged her and kissed her all over her face. "Please come and look at it with me. Please, please, please."

She looked at the flat, which was just as he had described and more so. Light streamed through windows that looked out over rooftops. She could see herself painting there, and there would be no neighbours to look in on her doing it. Then Carl dragged her into the old warehouse gallery, where she met Rosie, who looked to be barely out of school and was dwarfed by the huge empty space around her. She was pretty and bubbly and completely clueless about art, but she was in awe of Martha's qualifications and had a father who was prepared to back her dream to the hilt. Martha agreed to a partnership after Carl suggested a fifty percent share of net revenue instead of any salary. She raised her eyebrows, but knew she could make the gallery a success with the contacts she had. Rosie looked up at Carl as though he was some sort of saviour.

Martha quit the bar work, gave notice at the framer (promising to work until the new year), and shifted her world more into Carl's. They moved into the Shoreditch flat on Christmas Eve of 1999 and had a housewarming party on New Year's Eve. The expensive champagne corks popped, salmon and caviar blinis were eaten or half-eaten, and people danced to the DJ's iPod mixes or rubbed their noses and giggled after trips to the bathroom.

Carl and his friends were having the time of their lives and she didn't know why she wasn't.