Martin woke with a sigh of contentment. Last night, after months of ghastly therapy, separately and together, he and Louisa had recommitted themselves to each other in tenderly romantic lovemaking. He felt healed and full of love for her, more than he had ever felt before, if that were possible. He told himself that this feeling was just the result of the hormones oxytocin and vasopressin that his body had released while they were making love, but he didn't care. He stretched and reached out to enfold her in an early morning embrace, but she wasn't there. Only slightly disappointed, he accepted that she was probably up with James, who was still an occasional early riser. Louisa, being the wonderful caring mother that he always knew she would be, and also wanting to let him sleep a little longer after his exertions the night before, had probably taken James downstairs for an early breakfast.
As the haze of sleep lifted further and the memories faded into the back of his mind, he noticed that the usual early morning cacophony of seagulls was missing. In its place was the sound of honking horns and revving engines. What could possibly be going on to make that kind of racket up here on the sleepier side of the village, at half six in the morning no less! He lay there for a moment thinking the clamour would stop. When it didn't he scrambled from the bed to the window and angrily threw the curtains aside ready to hurl epithets at the idiots responsible. The scene that greeted his eyes caused him to step back a moment and shake himself. Obviously he was still muddled by sleep. When he opened his eyes again, the same view greeted his eyes. He saw not Portwenn's quiet harbour but the park across the street from his old flat in Kensington.
Confused, he rubbed his eyes and took another look. Yes he was definitely in London... Odd... Did they come down to London to celebrate and he had just forgotten? That must be it, but it was very unlike him to forget something like that. "Louisa" he bellowed. When he heard no response, he stomped through the bedroom door and into the lounge. "Louisa?" he cried again. No response. He checked the kitchen and the spare room where they would have placed James' travel cot. There was no sign of either of them, or their things. He must have come down to London by himself and dreamt the previous night's activities. Disappointed, he thought, "Unfortunate. It was all too good to be true I guess." He wracked his brain trying to remember why he had come to London. He must have come for a reason; it was frightening that he couldn't remember.
He searched for his bag. He would have any appointments written in his diary; that should jog his memory. He went into the spare room where his desk had always been and there was his diary sitting open. He looked on the schedule where several surgical procedures were listed. That didn't make sense. He flipped through several more pages before realising that this was his diary from five years ago, from the day he had developed his haemophobia. He remembered meeting with one of that morning's patients the previous night, a Mrs. Smithson. Her family was particularly concerned with her prognosis and was clinging to her as he left her room. He had met with them again before prepping for the procedure. He remembered feeling somewhat disconcerted by their emotional agitation. He knew now that, in fact, their heightened concern for her was the genesis of his haemophobia.
As he thought about that day, he felt a jolt course through his body as it dawned on him that he shouldn't be in his old flat. Hadn't he sold it to pay off his father for Joan's farm? He walked slowly through the lounge to the entry way and opened the door to find the daily paper where it was always placed early in the morning. He opened it up. Tuesday, August 12, 2003. He stepped into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator which was filled with the healthy fruit and vegetables that he had preferred when he was living in London. He slowly went back to the study, stopping to notice that nothing in the lounge had changed from his surgical days. He studied his diary again and the notes lying on his desk.
Was it possible that he was still in London, still a surgeon doing the one thing he was ever any good at. That must be it! His time in Portwenn must have been a very bad dream. Or was this a dream and he would soon awaken in his bed in Portwenn. He shook himself, then walked into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. He was definitely awake and the visage that stared back at him in the mirror was his younger self. He leaned over the sink, his hands resting on the sides and felt the relief wash over him. He allowed himself a small smile as he thought that yes he was in his old London flat; he was still a vascular specialist and still the head of a team of registrars, charged with setting them straight as they trained for surgical careers. His time in Portwenn was just a very bad dream, and now the nightmare was over. Thank God!
He went back into his study to review his notes for the day so he could visualise the procedures while he showered and dressed, part of his normal morning routine. But then, an image of Louisa and James floated before him. If it was all a dream, then they didn't exist, were not a part of his life. He dropped into his desk chair and buried his face in his hands. His life in Portwenn had seemed so real. He should be glad that it was just a dream and that he was still working in London. He groaned aloud. Deep down he really wanted that life with Louisa as well. Was it possible that his dream was telling him that it was time to look beyond surgery, to at least consider finding someone with whom he could share his life? He considered it briefly, then rejected the idea as preposterous. "Humph", he grunted under his breath, "Unlikely." There was no sense in pining after what wasn't meant to be. He straightened himself up and prepared to begin his day.
