Completely forgetting didnt work out
Every day, Id catch the Tube back from work, then hop on a bus before finally reaching home. The journey took over an hour each way. My car spent more time parked than on the road; with Londons morning and evening traffic, it was easier to use the Undergroundmuch quicker that way.
About two years ago, my married life changed course; my wife and I parted ways. Our daughter stayed with her mothershe was seventeen at the time. We separated quietly and civilly, largely because I hate drama and arguments. Id known for some time that my wife had changed, and not for the better. Shed get tense out of nowhere, disappear for odd stretches, sometimes returning late, always claiming she was with a friend.
One evening, Id asked her:
Why are you always out so late? Most wives are at home at this hour.
Thats none of your concern. Those most wives youre talking about are dull hens. Im differentclever and sociable. Home feels too cramped for me. Besides, Im no country bumpkin, unlike you.
If Im such a bumpkin, why did you marry me?
Had to choose the lesser evil, didnt I? she replied curtly, refusing to elaborate.
Eventually, she filed for divorce and moved me out of our flat. I had to start renting. Ive grown used to this new routine, and Im not planning on getting married again any time soon. Still, Im lookingsort of.
On the Tube, like most others, Id use my commuting time browsing on my phonescrolling through news, reading jokes, watching short clips. As I flicked through my feed, something stopped me in my tracks. A picture caught my eye and jolted me like electricity. I scrolled back and read the ad:
Herbalist Healer MarthaNatural Remedies.
Staring back from my screen was my first love. True, it was unrequited and hopeless, but a first love is unforgettable. I remembered the girl well from my old classstrange in a way, but beautiful.
I nearly missed my stop. Bursting from the carriage, I walked out of the station and, feeling restless, decided to forgo the bus and walk the rest of the way home. Everything I did was automaticwalked inside, tossed off my coat, sat down right there in the hallway on a low stool. I didnt bother switching on the light; just kept staring at my phone. Suddenly, I sprang up and dialed the number shown in the advert, but my phones battery was dying.
Plugged it in, tried to make dinner, but the appetite was gone. I picked at my food, drifted over to the sofa, and found myself swamped by memories.
From the first year of primary school, Martha stood out. She was quiet and modest, with a thick plait down her back; her skirt always a proper length, unlike most girls. Our small village meant everyone knew each otherit was rare that someone managed to stay mysterious. She lived with her grandparents in a beautiful old house at the edge of the woods, like something out of an English fairy talecarved window frames and all.
The first time I saw her, I was utterly smitten, in a childlike yet earnest way. Everything about her was different. Shed wear a headscarf outside and carry a homemade rucksack with intricate embroiderysomething I only appreciated years later.
Instead of the usual hi, Martha always greeted people with, Good health to you. She really did seem plucked out of some forgotten story. She never ran about during breaktimes or shouted; always polite and composed.
One day, Martha didnt turn up to school. After lessons, a group of us decided to visit her and see if she was unwellI tagged along. Leaving the village, the road curved left, and suddenly her fairy-tale house appeared.
Theres a crowd out front, whispered lively Rosie.
As we drew close, we realised there was a funeral. Marthas grandmother had died. Martha stood beside her grandfather, wiping away tears, her old man staring at nothing. We all followed the procession to the churchyard, and were invited in for a wake afterwards.
It left a mark on me: it was my first funeral. Martha came back to school two days later. Time passed, we all grew up, and by secondary school, the girls became beautieswearing make-up and competing over fashions. But Martha stayed upright, never wore make-up, always gentle, her cheeks rosy.
When boys started courting the girls, I tried my luck with Martha. She ignored my early attempts but near the end of Year Eleven, I finally plucked up the nerve:
Can I walk you home from school?
Martha looked at me solemnly and whispered so nobody else would hear:
Im promised to someone, Mark. Its our tradition.
I was upset but cluelesswhat tradition? Only later I learned her grandparents were old believers. Her parents had died long ago, leaving them to raise her.
Martha excelled academicallyno one was surprised. She never wore jewellery, unlike her classmates. Of course, some girls gossiped about her, but Martha never let it bother her; she carried herself with dignity.
She bloomed year after year; by sixth form, she was a true beautyslender and graceful. The lads secretly admired her, but never teased or tormented.
After graduation, everyone scattered. I left for London to study, barely visiting home and rarely hearing news of Marthaapart from word shed married the boy she was promised to and moved to another village. She lived like everyone else, tending cows, haymaking, and minding her house. Had a son. None of us saw Martha again.
So this is what Martha does now, I mused on the sofa, Herbal remedies. Still beautiful.
I barely slept. The alarm woke me, I dressed and went to work, but the past clung to meMarthas face kept appearing.
First love never truly fadesit always stirs the heart, I thought.
First love stirs the heart; you never forget it.
For days I wandered about in a haze, finally deciding to message her.
Hello, Martha.
Good health to you, she repliedthe same old greeting.
Hi Martha, its Mark, your classmate. We sat at the same desk back in school. Saw you online and wanted to say hi.
I remember you, Mark. You always did best out of the boys in class.
Martha, I found your numbercould I give you a ring? I asked quietly.
Of course. Ill answer.
That evening after work, I rang her. Short chats, catching up where life had led us.
I live and work in London, I said simply. But tell me about you, Martha. Hows your family? Is your husband well? Where do you live now?
Im back home, in the same cottage you remember. After my husband diedbear in the woods Grandads been gone years now.
Im so sorry, MarthaI didnt know.
Its all right. It was a long time ago. You cant be blamed. Life happens, we hardly know each others stories. Are you calling about herbs, Mark, or just for a chat? I do give advice
Not about herbs. Just saw you andmemories flooded back. Miss our village; havent visited since Mum passed.
We chatted about this and that, reminiscing about school friends before saying goodbye. Silence returned: just work, home. A week later, unable to bear it, I called again.
Hi, Martha.
Good health, Mark. Missing me, or feeling ill?
Missing you, Martha. Dont be crosscan I visit you? Id love to come by, I asked, heart pounding with hope.
Do visit, she answered warmly, Come when youre able.
Im off work next week, I beamed.
Brilliant. You remember the address, she saidI knew she was smiling.
That week, I prepared, searching for the right gift. NervousI didnt know who Martha had become, or if she was unchanged. A week later, I was tearing down the motorway towards my childhood home. It was a long drivesix hoursbut I never minded a long journey.
The village appeared suddenly as I left the main road. I was shockedso much had changed. New houses, the factory still going; driving down the main street, there were supermarkets and cafés. I parked outside a shop.
CrikeyI thought our village wouldve faded like all the others. But its thriving, I muttered, taking it all in.
This isnt a village, sonits a market town now, said an elder as he walked by, overhearing me. Been so for years. I take it you havent been back in a long while?
I havent, sirnot for ages.
Weve a good mayorhe cares. Thats why weve grown.
Martha waited for me in the front garden. I rang her as I neared town. Soon, my car rounded the corner and there she was, heart fluttering. No one had ever known, but Martha had secretly loved me since those old school daysshed kept that feeling hidden, and without my return, it mightve died with her.
Our meeting was joyous. We talked for ages in the summerhouse. The old cottage had aged, sure, but was still distinctly welcoming and cosy.
Martha, Ive come to see you about something, I began. She looked at me with a mix of seriousness and fear.
Im listeningwhat is it? she asked, a hint of tension in her voice.
Ive loved you my whole lifeare you really not going to return that love, even now? I said bravely.
Martha jumped up and threw her arms around my neck.
Oh Mark, Ive loved you since childhood, too.
I spent my holiday with Martha, and as I left, I promised her:
Ill settle things at work, switch to working from home, and come back for good. Not leaving this place again. Born here, Ill make myself useful here yet, I laughed.
Looking back, I learned you never truly leave your first love behindand sometimes, your heart finds its home right where it began.
