Martha thought about whether she was being hard on boys like Toph and Greg. She had never been out with anyone and maybe it was because she was setting her sights on men she couldn't possibly have. She was fantasising about 1970s James Taylor, 1940s Gregory Peck, and yes, today's Dean Finlay. All of them just as unattainable. Dean was right; she didn't have to go out with a perfect guy who she would spend the rest of her life with, like some dopey fairy tale. She needed to grow up and get out of her head. Maybe. She would've liked to talk to Amy about it, but she wasn't sure she could completely trust her yet. All hell would break loose if she blabbed to anyone, as Amy often saw Greg and his friends at the rec centre.
When Martha had a tea break at the allotment with Joan, she asked, "Do you think it's a good idea to practise going out with boys?"
"Practise?" Joan laughed. "You can't practise that kind of thing, darling... though it's a nice idea."
"Yes, right... I was just being silly, I suppose."
"Do you like this boy you want to practise with?"
"I don't know. But I thought going out with him would let me find out. He's quite good-looking..."
"I bet he knows it, too."
"Yes, that's true."
"So, what else do you like about him?"
"Er, well... he doesn't smoke."
"That's it? Your criteria for boyfriend material are good-looking boys who don't smoke?"
Martha laughed. "Yes, when you put it like that, it does sound bad. The thing is, there's another guy I really like. He's into painting and the outdoors like me and we've, er... talked a lot. He shares a lot of my opinions on things, and – "
"He sounds more like your kind of boy... if he's good looking and doesn't smoke, of course," said Joan, nudging Martha.
Martha blushed. "Yes, yes, he is."
Joan had a sip of her tea and waited for Martha to continue.
"The trouble is, he's already with someone."
"Well, the good ones are never single for long. If he knows you exist and you have lots in common, you just have to wait until he comes to his senses, gorgeous girl!"
Martha smiled and nodded.
"Now let's get back to the garden – those beans won't plant themselves!"
* * *
When Martha got home from the garden, she ate her dinner in a hurry and headed upstairs, leaving her parents to watch their middle-class murder series. She raced through her homework before writing to Dean.
* * *
Dear D
Joan gave me some good advice about relationships today and it didn't involve going out with Greg, which is a relief for me (if not for you!). She's great to talk to, as even if I told her anything secret (I haven't), I know I can trust her not to tell anyone, ever (well maybe if my life was endangered, but otherwise, no way). She also knows so much about gardening, it's like hanging out with a walking-talking-digging-weeding-planting encyclopaedia. She says I'm useful because I have youth on my side. I do all the heavy lifting, digging and reading of all the seed packets!
Do you like gardening? You have never talked about it and I realise now that this may be something we don't have in common. I wish you could come to the allotment and meet Joan. You would like her (and maybe the garden).
M
PS: my parents finally signed the gallery trip permission slip and I've paid – I'm so excited about it. Can't we go out to eat, rather than taking a packed lunch? I've saved lots of money from my job because all I spend it on is old records from charity shops. I scored a couple of Jackson Browne ones this weekend and a mint edition of Janis Ian's Between the Lines. That album is me all over.