"Are you worried he's going to turn out like me?"

Louisa, distracted, turned from where she was bent over James's cot. "What?" she asked.

Martin cleared his throat, looking frustrated. "You keep saying you don't want him to grow up to be shy, or not know how to socialise." Martin's hands balled up into fists of their own accord. "Do you mean you don't want him to grow up to be like me?" He was trying his best to keep his voice level, not accusing, but he was unsure if it was working.

Louisa sucked in a breath. "Can we not do this now, please, Martin?" It had been a long bloody day and this was the last conversation she wanted to have before they went to bed.

Martin faltered for a second, but put his foot down. "No. I- I want to have this conversation now."

Louisa sighed, resigning herself. "Fine," she said quietly. "But can we go downstairs? I don't want to talk about this in front of James."

Martin's expression cleared. "Of course," he said, stepping back and holding an arm out to indicate that Louisa should go first.

They went downstairs and sat on the sofa, not looking at each. Despite bringing it up and insisting they talked about it, Martin found himself wishing he hadn't, not really wanting to know. Sighing, he attempted to relax, straightening out of the hunched position he had fallen into and leaning against the back of the sofa. He took a few deep breaths. It didn't work. He was still tense.

He sat up straight again - it was a better posture anyway, preventing strain in the neck and back. He glanced at Louisa out of the corner of his eye, noticing that she was leaning against the sofa, head turned towards the ceiling in a most uncomfortable-looking position. He opened his mouth to mention the benefits of a straighter back, then decided against it.

"Louisa-" he started.

"Martin," she said, interrupting him before he had even considered what he was going to say. Probably for the best. "It's not..." She sighed, closing her eyes and pressing the heels of her hands to them, and Martin thought how tired she looked. She hadn't been getting her full 8 hours lately, and she really ought to. Perhaps he should offer to get up with James for the next couple of weeks. But that was no good - even when Martin did get up with James, Louisa usually woke up anyway. Perhaps- "It's not that there's anything wrong with you," Louisa said, cutting off his train of thought. "It's just...James...I don't want him to have...difficulties."

"And you think he's less likely to have difficulties if he's more like you," Martin finished.

"Yes," said Louisa. "Well, no. Not necessarily. Just..."

"Just not like me. I see. Well, I'm glad we got that sorted out then." He stood up, not looking at her, rubbing his hands down his trousers as he made to leave to go upstairs again.

"Martin," said Louisa sharply, and he stopped immediately. "Sit down." He sat down. She sigh, running a hand over her face. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"No I don't." He truly didn't. He heard her saying that she wanted James to be able to socialise, to not be shy, and he heard his boarding school teacher asking him why he couldn't just make friends like everyone else. His mother telling him how needy he was, how he had ruined his life. Schoolmates mocking him, calling annoying, and weird, standing defiantly in the corner of the playground as they backed him further against the wall and spat in his face. His father locking him in the cupboard for wetting the bed yet again
And every damn villager in this bloody village calling him a tosser at least once, usually when he was trying to help them. He sighed, pushing the voices away - they were all idiots anyway. But Louisa wasn't an idiot. Not most of the time anyway. He chanced a glance at her, and she was looking at him differently now, in a way that Martin was not quite sure he liked, but was definitely better than her being angry with him. She seemed to be waiting for him to speak.

"I don't want him to be like me either," Martin admitted. "Not really." He closed his eyes, seeing all those people again. God, he didn't want his son to go through that. "But what if he is like me? What will we do then?"

"I-I don't know," Louisa faltered.

"As his parents, what should we do? Hit him with a belt if he doesn't socialise properly? Lock him in a cupboard all day because he doesn't behave the way we want him to? Punish him for wetting the bed in a way that's more likely to lead to further bedwetting, rather than actually seeking medical advice to stop it?" God, Martin was angry about this. He hadn't been this angry in years, hadn't thought about it, had repressed all thoughts of his childhood as if it belonged to another person.

Louisa was shaking her head. "No, Martin," she said tearfully.

"Because that's what my parents did to me! Thought it would make me normal, make me into the son they wanted, I presume. But it didn't bloody work!" He was breathing hard, shaking, a lump in his throat, moisture gathering in his eyes, and he couldn't remember when he had stood up and started pacing. He looked towards Louisa briefly, but she was up on her feet, coming towards him, and - taking him into her arms. Oh.

Her hands were in his hair and she was stroking and from anyone else this would feel awful, but from Louisa-

"Oh Martin," she was saying, and he could feel her tears soaking into his pyjama shirt, and felt less terrible for the wetness that now seemed to be dripping into her hair from his own eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Why should you be sorry?" he mumbled into her hair. "My childhood trauma wasn't your fault."

She let out a watery laugh. "I know that. But...I'm sorry your shitty, shitty parents did those things to you. You didn't deserve that." She took a deep breath and drew back a little, looking up at him. "And we certainly won't treat our son like that either," she said fiercely, and Martin thought how extraordinary the chemicals of human emotion were, that he could love her even more now that he had the first time he had admitted it.

"I love you," he said, because he knew she liked to hear it. And because it was true.

"Oh Martin, I love you too," she said. She stood fully back from him, and Martin mourned the loss slightly, although as it turned out, it wouldn't be for long. She wiped the tears away with the backs of her hands and said "And our son will grow up to be whoever he wants to be, and we'll love him and support him anyway."

Martin nodded. "Yes," he said, managing a smile, and Louisa smiled back at him, then took him by the hand and led him back upstairs.