Rain Check

by Portwenn Hydra

Doc Martin and all of its characters, themes and plotlines are the property of Buffalo Pictures. This work of fiction is written for purely entertainment purposes and no infringement of any legal rights is intended or implied.

I was walking, or trying to walk, but something was holding me back. I turned and saw nothing there, but I just could not take a full step. My shoes were properly tied, or so I thought, yet when I stared down at them they were encased in heavy, thick and cloying muck. Muck that was so viscous and heavy I could barely move. And there was something else; some unseen thing that was tugging at me, trying to tip me backwards, but when I brushed a hand down back, shoulders, and arms I felt nothing restraining me. It felt so familiar and yet so strange at the same time, like I should recall this event, but it all seemed like I had forgotten something - something very important.

No matter how much I struggled the quagmire kept sucking me back and down as I tried to walk from the pool of sludge. To complicate matters it was also raining, pouring down in an excellent imitation of a hurricane, soaking my best suit. There was so much water coming down I could not get a full breath, and I felt I was suffocating, or nearly so.

In my squirming I caught a glimpse of Louisa standing to my left, well out of the mud, and I held out a hand to her and called for her help. But she stood there stock still with a regretful look on her face. "Louisa!" I shouted and right then an alarm radio clicked on and a loud voice started blaring in my ear.

"An Amber Weather Alert has been issued for all of Cornwall and West Devon by the Met Service," the thunderous tones flew from the bedside radio.

With a jolt I turned my head from where my face had been pressed into the pillow and getting some oxygen into me at last groggily listened to the rest of the forecast.

"The cold front forecast for Monday evening has arrived a full ten hours early, bringing with it falling temperatures, up to 50 millimeters of rain or more, as well as high winds. Those living near low lying areas should be aware that flash flooding may ensue, especially along road verges and drains. Strong on-shore winds and a greater than expected high tide will present challenging conditions along the coast for the next 48 hours. Small craft should lie hove to, as winds may gust as high as sixty to seventy kilometers per hour. Beach combers should stay home as large waves may present dangers. Moving on to today's other news…"

I switched the thing off, rolled over and groaned.

"Sounds like a real wet day coming," said Louisa, who put an arm about me.

"Yes," I said into her ear as she scooted closer, and I enjoyed her warmth, as the bedroom felt cool this February morning. I nuzzled Louisa's neck while she pressed herself against me, her long hair falling over my face. I could hear wind keening past the cottage and whistling through the leaky windows. "Sounds like the weather's here already," I grunted.

Louisa groaned. "There's always weather Martin. You just have to be prepared." She yawned and stretched then resettled herself against me. "So much for the nature walk I'd planned for the Year Threes. Martin," she sighed into my ear, "I should check on James."

"In a minute," I said softly.

"Okay."

She leaned her soft body more fully into me and rested her bare feet on my mine while I jumped and yelped. "Louisa! Those are cold!"

She chuckled. "Sorry. But didn't you tell me that women's circulatory systems shunt peripheral blood from the hands and feet to the body core to maintain temperature?"

"The doctor hoist by his own petard," I muttered as her ice cold feet sucked warmth from mine like a sponge.

"That's engineer."

"What?"

"Engineer hoist by his own petard," Louisa laughed. "Hamlet."

"I know that."

She snuggled closer and I breathed deep, the smell that was Louisa penetrating my nose, a smell of shampoo, deodorant, the perfume she uses, and the smell of warm skin. I closed my eyes and thought back to Christmas a few weeks back. Louisa had pulled out all the stops in her preparations for the event. I was not used to the holiday and she had to poke and prod me every step of the way. I had balked at buying a tree, lights, decorations, presents; the lot.

But I lost every discussion, every dust up, and every semi-civil debate about the thing and Louisa had forced her way at every turn. She kept reminding me it was James Henry's first Christmas, as well as ours, and every one of my rejoinders that he would remember none of it had failed - utterly and miserably.

"We'll remember it, Martin!" she'd squawk at times, and so, whinging and moaning, I had to let her get on with the holiday prep.

In spite of myself and any dire expectations I had enjoyed it. Not the caroling by the Portwenn urchins, or the village light-up, when the street decorations were lit, or the over indulgence of food and drink. No; it was the simple pleasure of sitting in our cramped lounge next to Aunt Ruth as I drank tap water and Ruth red wine after our dinner while Louisa sprawled on the floor beneath a decorated tree with our son parked in her lap while opening and handing out gifts on Christmas Day.

That was when I felt real pleasure to see Louisa so happy, oh so happy, and when her brilliant smile and flashing eyes faced me, I knew that I wanted this to last.

That was the night I asked her once more. James had been asleep for hours, and Ruth had left in her Mercedes somewhat tipsily, protesting that she was fine to get back to the farm on her own.

I had finally summoned courage as we went to bed. "Louisa, I don't want to… ahem… force the issue… but I want to ask…"

"Ask what?" She was brushing her hair at the mirror.

"Uhm… well… I was wondering… that is… if you wanted to…"

She put down her brush, flicked off the lamp and crawled into bed next to me. "Merry Christmas, Martin." She kissed me deeply, which I returned, as she slid her hand inside my shirt. "Of course I do."

Rapidly she was pulling me close to her and my real question went unasked as well as any lucid thought for a while.

Later as we lay sated from our labors, she spoke. "Is that what you wanted?" I heard her teasing tone in the darkness.

"Uhm… no. I mean… it was fine. But don't you think we should formalize our…" her hand moved an inch and it made me gasp. "Ah," I grasped her hand to stop its wanderings. "Louisa, I don't want James to be that boy as he grows up. You have some already in your school; no proper family. You know how mean children can be to those who are different."

She rolled to face me and could just make out her eyes in the blackness. "Not this again," she grumbled and turned away.

"Louisa, I just think that we should…"

"Martin, don't," came from her lips with a warning tone.

I had sighed. "We should get married."

"Should?" Ice framed those words.

"Louisa, we are a couple, we have a stable relationship, and we have a son."

"Martin, everyone knows James Henry is our son! Half the bloody village heard me giving birth in that dreadful pub while you were blubbering away over your mobile! We don't need to get married."

"So you don't want to? Marry?"

"And you do," she muttered, turning away, and that ended our two AM Christmas conversation.

Louisa sat up, rubbing her arms that February morning. "It's cold in here Martin. Is the heating plant working?"

I groaned for the second time of the day. "I'll have to get it looked at."

She pecked me on the cheek, threw back the covers as she stretched and I had to admire the sight of her dark hair, slender body, and the rest of her that made me feel...

"God! This slate is like ice," she yelled as her feet hit the floor. Hopping from foot to foot she went to the door. "Martin I have to shower, can you see to James?" Seeing my nod, she disappeared round the corner.

I rose, but I put on slippers and my dressing robe. "It is cold in here."

Her muffled voice came from the loo. "Told you!"

I went down the short hall to the spare room and saw James sitting up in his cot peering at me through the enclosure. He broke out in a toothless grin when he saw me, then went back to sucking on a toy.

"Good morning, James Henry. How are you?"

He gurgled and giggled as I gave him a fresh nappy. "Your mum is cleaning up. Breakfast?" He pressed his head against mine as I lifted him to my shoulder. The feel of a young baby on a cold morning was not something I had any experience of until this winter, and I found it to be nice. His chubby arms grabbed at shirt and neck as he gummed on my ear. "Breakfast then."

The kitchen was barely warmer than upstairs as I got the kettle on, boiled up eggs, and heated the rice cereal mixture for James. He sat in his chair giving me a grave look while he chewed on his toy, whinging softly.

"Gum bothering you?" I washed my hands once more and inserting a little finger between his lips felt the hard ridge of his lower gum where a milk tooth was trying to emerge. "You're growing up, son." His development was unremarkable for a seven month old. He was of average weight and length, all developmental milestones were being met, yet as he stared at me with Louisa's eyes I felt like he was in there looking out with an intelligent spark. His tiny hand touched mine and I felt… well, fatherly.

He grunted soft noises and gave me a toothless smile. "Your mum will be down in a moment." I started to spoon gruel into his mouth while he made smacking noises as he flung his head about. As I chased cereal down his cheek with a tiny spoon, he giggled.

"If you play, you won't eat. That what you want?" I asked softly and miraculously he stopped bobbing his head, sat still and allowed me to feed him.

We'd just gotten to the bottle when Louisa came down, dressed but with hair wrapped in a towel. "I'll take him."

Our boiled eggs were cooling and tea was well steeped for her. I started my espresso machine as I still preferred coffee. She cuddled James and gave him his bottle, as I sighed.

"Something wrong Martin?"

I peered through the wavy glass over the sink. "Lovely Portwenn day."

"Not about the rain is it?" Louisa said softly, as she stroked James cheek, while he drank.

I ignored her comment. "Toast will be ready in a moment."

"Thanks, Martin."

I sighed as I looked at the pair; mother and child. "You're beautiful - both of you."

Louisa gave me one of her wide-eyed smiles. "Thanks."

I bent over and kissed her head. "Why won't you marry me?" Those words were spoken into her hair and I felt her flinch.

She looked away, her lip taking punishment from her teeth. "I do love you…" she whispered.

A strained silence came between us and the only contented creature in the household was James as he filled his tummy. Was she being sarky; her way of gently telling me that she still did not trust me? Sarcasm was no stranger to Louisa Glasson nor to me. I had been exposed to every sort and knew it well; far, far too well.

Louisa looked up at me, touched my hand but then gave me a tense look. "Oh Martin. Perhaps I'll take a rain check on that?"

I stood stock still as her words hit me. She didn't want to - still did not want to. I nibbled at my breakfast in silence while she held James. Two years ago I would never have imagined that this scene of domesticity was in my future, and now that it was here, I wished it was even more domestic.

I finished my egg and toast watching Louisa feed James, then she handed me the baby and I winded him while she ate. Then she followed me upstairs where she put James on a blanket on the floor where he began to scoot about and play with a book. Louisa bent to drying her hair and finishing her makeup as I got out my clothing for the day.

This was our morning routine. She showered while I prepared breakfast and got James started, then we swapped jobs as I showered. The school starting earlier than surgery necessitated our dull agenda. About the time that she left for school, I'd tidy up the kitchen, and then the child minder would arrive. Usually she took him out for a stroll but with the nasty weather, she'd likely just stay in the lounge or play with him upstairs. Morwenna Newcross would then barge in, about half eight, just seconds early, and then my doctor's day would start.

We were still jammed into my Portwenn surgery cottage like a tin of sardines. I was never happy that James might be upstairs or just in the next room, while my waiting room was filled with hacking and sneezing patients. In spite of my efforts, the denizens of Portwenn seemed to think that a handkerchief, or tissue, was an unnecessary luxury. So Lord only knew what pathogens were brought into our house every day.

So at the end of each surgery I'd give waiting and consulting rooms I good wipe down with germicidal agents, then carefully sweep and wash the floor, as wiping feet was another imported notion the villagers were leery of.

It was all a less than satisfactory arrangement. Louisa still had her house across the way, but it was too small, smaller even, so she'd let it out. I wanted to be near my surgery, yet wanted it somewhat more separated from our home, for James' sake, if nothing else. Part of the lynch pin of our domestic mess was Louisa's non-answer about marrying me, for every time we tried to discuss moving house, it fizzled out. So as our days slogged along, we domestically diddled about in our cramped quarters like debris caught in a large whirlpool; orbiting the center and never quite getting to the point.

Her comment about a rain check made me flare up. Some persons might interpret her answer as meaning as she would accept later, but I have used the very same phrase to tell the inquisitor that I may or may not give an answer later, if at all!

In the bathroom after showering and with barely bottled-up fury I let the electric razor rip the whiskers from my face. Didn't she want to marry me? That question ate at me far worse than any other.

A rain check? Humph. Does she think of us as little as that?

Our scene at the Castle had been played out with tenderness and real devotion, but as the weeks went on Louisa developed at times a reserved attitude which was hard to penetrate. Oh there were moments, even whole days she seemed happy, but… all in all… something was missing. What should I do about it? Was this what Fate held for us? That we would not be happy together?

A patter of rain beat against the roof as I finished my ablutions and the outside conditions likely matched my inner mood - icy and horrid.