The Keeper

Martha and Dean: The End

Dean was about to put away the 'Open' sign when he heard footsteps on the gravel path. Bugger, he thought. No one comes all day and now, five minutes before closing, I'm going to have to hang about so that someone can dash up the 142 steps of the lighthouse, look at the lantern room, come back down and buy a postcard or two, before I can shut up shop. He steeled himself, fixing a smile to greet the intruder.

And then he saw her. The late afternoon sun picked out highlights in her hair and he noticed laughter lines crinkling around her eyes as she smiled. She seemed different to the woman he had glimpsed in the Serpentine Gallery, but she was absolutely, unmistakably, Martha.

* * *

It was twenty years since she had seen him up close, but he looked the same, save for a few streaks of grey through his hair and creases now crosshatched around his eyes as he smiled. She had played the scene in her head a thousand times about how she would find him, run to him and hold him, but now only her heart was racing as she stood rooted to the spot, watching him walk steadily towards her.

A shaggy grey lurcher bounded ahead and Dean called, "Solomon! Solomon!" He caught up to Solomon, who had jumped up but was now sitting, as Martha scratched his head.

"Sorry, he usually hides from the visitors."

She looked up at him and all the words she had prepared vanished from her head.

He seemed to struggle to find the right words as well, and settled on, "Hello, Martha."

"Hello, Dean."

"This is a nice surprise. How did you find me? No, don't answer that. Robert told you, I assume..."

"Yes. I made him tell me. I saw you at the exhibition."

"Sorry. It was a mistake. I shouldn't have come."

"Yes, you should."

"I was interrupting something. You have your life, your friends and – "

"That's all. Just an average life and some friends, most of whom are average too. You weren't interrupting anything. When you walked in at the exhibition, you saw me with Garth. My ex-flatmate."

"Ah."

"My gay ex-flatmate."

"Sorry. Especially that I didn't see your exhibition. Robert thinks your paintings are exceptional."

Martha came closer. Dean looked at her kindly, but kept his dog between them, as if he didn't trust her. Or himself. "What brings you here now?"

"Really? You have to ask that?"

"It's been a long time, Martha."

"That's not my fault. I've been looking for you ever since you ran out on me."

Solomon picked up on the tension and padded back to the lighthouse. Dean reached out an arm, but Martha stepped back, folding hers.

"I had to leave, Martha. You must understand that now."

"You left me a note. You could've talked to me."

"How would that have changed anything? You were a child. I was your teacher."

"You know it wasn't that simple. And yes, nothing you could've said would have changed how I felt. Or still feel. It never changed, Dean, never. I may have been a child, but I knew who I was, who you were, who we were together. No amount of time changes that. Did it change for you, Dean? Did it?"

Dean didn't answer and Martha carried on. "I've thought about this a lot over the years. How you didn't mean to hurt me, but you did."

"I'm sorry, Martha."