The TV show "Doc Martin" and its cast of delightful characters are the property of Buffalo Pictures.
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Martin and I were at our son's wedding holding hands, sitting on the groom's side of the church, watching his bride glide up the aisle to meet him. I turned away from looking at Rosie and stared at my son. Tall, handsome, impeccably dressed in a navy suit, white shirt and navy tie; his blonde hair, cropped short at the sides, glistened from the late evening sun streaming through the stained glass windows.
My mind went back to another wedding that never was. Time stood still as I looked at James, seeing the same calm, yearning blue grey eyes, as if it were Martin's watching me walking up the aisle to meet him at the altar on that fateful day.
The alarm almost sent me off the bed. The clock read 7am. There was no wedding, not now anyway. James was preparing for his final exams, after which he would go on to specialist studies in Cardiology. Imperial Hospital had already accepted him into the programme. He and Rosie, his on-and-off girlfriend and fellow medical student at Imperial, had so little time to spare. Marriage might be in the cards, but not until he had finished his studies. Like his father, James was gifted, focused and determined to excel. He had brought Rosie down to Portwenn a few times. I liked her.
She reminded me of myself. Opinionated, headstrong and had a great sense of humour. Not sure if I'm still that kind of person. Life had taken its toll.
I reached for James's latest text which I had printed and kept by my bedside.
Dad helped me a lot. I'm glad you two remained civil all these years. We had a rocky start but now that I'm in his world, I understand and appreciate him a lot better. He can be gruff, you know that, but he has mellowed quite a bit. I have accepted him as my dad because for the last five years he has been everything I could have hoped for in a father. He works too hard, though. I worry about him …I know you're going through a rough period since Dad passed. The trip will do you good. See you at graduation.
I cannot count the tears I have shed in the last two years. Once again, I was on my own. I missed Nathan but it was for the best. His last months had been full of suffering. The grim reaper came in the form of pancreatic cancer that was swift and lethal. In six months, he went from a healthy athletic man, even for his age, to a bedridden suffering husband with no chance of recovery. Looking back, there had been the disregarded warnings – the fatigue and depression that had set in at least two years before the doctors gave him the diagnosis. His illness had started our long goodbye as he refused to discuss his symptoms with me or James and even during treatment, he shared little.
After Martin drove out of Portwenn never to return but for a few times when Auntie Joan was ill and for her funeral, I looked for a father for James. Nathan was a good man. Not the love of my life as Martin was, but a good father.
Most everyone in the village thought I had made a sensible choice in marrying Nathan for companionship and to give my son a father. Seems they too knew that my first love was Martin and maybe would always be. In time, I came to care for Nathan. He was outgoing, made me laugh (and forget), liked James immediately and with him in my life, I had the family I had always wanted. He loved James and I loved him especially for that. James adored him. In time he knew that he was not his biological dad, but he was the only dad he had ever really known.
In the last weeks of Nathan's life, the school had granted James special leave, thanks to Martin's intervention, to spend time with us at the hospice. Before he arrived, Nathan and I sat holding hands as he lay propped up against me in his bed.
"It's not too late."
"What is not too late?" I asked confused.
"It's not too late for you to find love again. Please Louisa, I don't want you to be alone. I love you too much."
Fear gripped me thinking that these would be his last words. "Should I call the nurse? Are you feeling worse?" Terror and tears mingled on my face.
He squeezed my hands gently. "Louisa, we have always known I was not your first love. I'm grateful that you made space in your heart for me and that we had a good life. Time is the great healer. Martin is back in James's life. They have made their peace with each other and James has found space in his heart for both of us. Go to his graduation. Martin will be there. Try to make your peace with him. If there's any chance that you can get back into each others lives, in whatever way, grab it. Life is too short to live with what ifs."
"Shush," I begged.
He gathered his strength and reached up to cradle my face. "It's been a privilege sharing our lives. Now it's time for you to see what else life has in store for you."
He stopped short as James walked through the door. He gave Nathan a clinical gaze, assessing him medically as he came towards us. Coming to the bed, he sat down softly, sweeping us up his long arms. We stayed that way for a long time not saying a word. We were a family. Tears clouded my eyes as I remembered us huddled together on the narrow bed that bitter winter morning.
Looking at the clock again, I realized it was time to get dressed, eat and run a few errands. I pushed the memory away of that weekend when James and I said a tearful goodbye to Nathan as he took his last breath hours after James had walked through the door.
My tired, thin face framed by thick hair that was more grey than auburn, looked back at me from the bathroom mirror.
Enough of this daydreaming woman. Life has been kind to you despite everything. You gave James the family you never had. You have been blessed with a loving, supportive husband. For someone nearing 60, you're not looking bad. Lots of living left in you.
By 9 am, I was meeting with the solicitor, Mr. Daniels, who was handling the sale of our lovely house with the big garden that Nathan and I had purchased in which to raise James. Martin had contributed a hefty sum on the grounds that it was his responsibility to James. I had put it up for sale a few months ago and rented a small cottage a little outside the village. The memories were too much. Plus, it was too large for me alone.
Since London seemed to be where James would be for a long time, I had thought about moving there to be near him and any future grandchildren. That thought didn't last long. Maybe I could move an hour away to Truro where it would be easier for me to find something to occupy myself.
After retiring early as headmistress of Portwenn Primary, I had gone on to acquire a post-grad degree in Special Education, after which I had worked for many years as a consultant - two days in Truro, three days at home.
When Nathan became ill, I had taken family leave and had never gone back. Nathan's death was physical, mine was emotional.
A young couple was interested in the house and Mr. Daniels wanted me to meet them. Tim, Anne and their seven year-old son, Billy, looked up as I walked into his office. I liked them immediately.
After the formalities, I got to talking to Billy. "My son was about your age when we moved here. Do you think you will like living here?"
"I like your house and Mummy says I can have your son's bedroom. Did your son like his room?"
"He loved it. We had to keep putting in extra bookshelves to hold his collection of books about science and dinosaurs, lots of school trophies and electronic gadgets. He's living in London and studying to become a doctor. What do you want to be when you grow up?
"I don't know yet, but I like all the things your son likes so maybe I will be a doctor someday."
With that, he shouted to his parents, "Daddy, mummy, when I grow up, I'm going to be a doctor like Mrs. Tiggle's little boy."
"Yes, maybe you will," his mum responded ruffling his red hair and pulling him in for a hug. I looked at the family wistfully. Hope they will be happy in this house.
The arrangements made for a last walk through tomorrow, Saturday, after which Mr. Daniels would handle the legal matter to complete the sale, I picked up a salad and baked fish then walked the short distance home.
For the second time that day, I scrutinized myself in the mirror: gently lined face, still twinkling blue eyes and my battle scars - laugh lines around my eyes and lips. I still kept my hair in a ponytail. I never outgrew that hairstyle. It was easy to maintain and made me feel young.
You're vain, I told my reflection as I giggled at the old … no … mellow middle-aged woman in the mirror.
This time, I was getting dressed for a celebration dinner at the home of Chris and Jenny Parsons in honour of Laura's first child. Laura was the youngest of their three children.
In time, Chris became a surrogate dad to James. Whether out of guilt about his friend's desertion or just genuine goodness, he had stepped in where Martin felt he could not. Over the years, we had developed a firm bond. When medical issues came up with James and even Nathan, Martin gave over-the-phone advice and Chris helped to get us the attention we needed.
Chris had retired early, but stayed in Truro because that was where his life was. Jenny had been ill a few years back, with a long hospital stay and recuperation at home that had pretty much ended her career as a clinical psychologist. We had become close friends over many evenings spent discussing the arc of our lives, or just sharing girlie gossip over a bottle of wine.
Giving myself one last look in my full length mirror, I tugged at my green fitted dress which hugged me discretely, enough to show off my still shapely body. It didn't fit as well as it used to because I had lost some weight. I worried about the future constantly. Hopefully tonight would cheer me up. I applied my favourite red lipstick, wiggled my feet into my red suede ankle boots, gave my ponytail one last toss and got my car keys. But before I reached the door, I stopped to take off my wedding band, slipped it in my handbag and left for the hour's ride to Truro.
Jenny had begged me to consider meeting someone again and had pointed out that my wedding band would turn off potential suitors. Fat chance of finding anyone in the village, Truro, Cornwall or anywhere else for that matter. Not at my age. But ...I guess it's time to move on. As I slowed down to watch the seagulls coming in over the water after their southern migration, I envied the predictable rhythm to their lives. At least nature had gotten it right.
As I parked, I steeled myself for whatever was ahead. Family gatherings still made me sad. Joan had been my only other family, but she had passed years ago. I was happy she had lived long enough to be with me for the birth of James Henry, enjoy being his Granma, babysit him and watch him going off to school. Through it all, she had been my comfort. In her no-nonsense way, she had even encouraged me to find James a father and a companion for myself.
As I stepped through the door, Chris and Jenny greeted me warmly. They were the picture of contentment in a marriage that had not been without its battles, but they wore their scars well. Jenny was tall, slim with a crowning glory of flowing curly silver white hair and was still a great beauty. Chris was now trim and slim after having health issues a few years back necessitating surgery. Martin had done the surgery for him in London, and given him a life-time prescription that required healthy eating and exercise.
"I see you have come out of mourning, and about time. You look stunning," Jenny said with an exaggerated wave of her hand at my outfit and a smirk as she spotted the white mark where my ring used to be. We hugged each other as dear friends and they ushered me into the lounge. Both excused themselves to finish up in the kitchen.
"No, no. Let me help. You go and greet your guests. I'll finish up," I offered like any old friend would. I knew that although the doctor had declared Jenny cancer-free many years ago, she still tired easily.
"Oh, no. You go mingle. You need the break," she insisted, pushing me gently in the direction of the lounge.
I looked over the room, nodded and smiled at the other guests, mostly family members, and turned to reach for the glass of wine someone was handing me. I looked up to say thanks, and then the room started spinning. I gripped the glass to steady myself, then felt it slipping from my hand.