I lay awake listening to the seagulls squawking as the sky began to grown slightly lighter. There was so much to do this week. It was the last week before the summer holiday – exams and progress reports had to be submitted, enrollment for the next term finalized and then there was the fair – Portwenn's way of greeting the summer. Just as important, James's first birthday was Friday and we were having a small get together to celebrate. Had a year really passed already? A sudden shiver went through me, a reminder of a moment this time last year when I had a similar, wakeful morning, thanks to my ever-growing bump.
I had felt so alone and helpless. I was back in my beloved village, a village that had nurtured and supported me all my life, which was the reason I was willing overlook the sideways glances and pretended not to hear the whispers that stopped when I entered a room. I had never felt the lack of family so keenly as when I was getting ready to start my own. My mother hadn't even bothered to answer my hastily-written letter, not that I was terribly surprised. I turned my head slightly and stared at the grey cottage across the harbor. He was through, so ready to be free of this place and wash his hands of his exile into the backwaters of Cornwall. And the mistake our relationship had clearly been. He'd probably chalk it up to a dark period in his life he would use at some speech at an awards ceremony before sitting down next to her.
And why not? I had forced him to propose or lose me, rushed the engagement, refused to marry him and then left town without a word. I had known I was pregnant for four months before telling him, springing it on him without warning. Hell, I had made an effort to tell my mother three weeks before I finally got the courage to go home and face the music. Why had I done that?
The last year could only be described as a rollercoaster. He came after me and we decided to make another go of it for the sake of our son. I had even agreed to go back to London to give James a real family. Out of the blue, Eleanor had decided to return to Cornwall to act the doting grandmother, although it was like everything when it came to her, fleeting. She was gone again, but not before convincing me that I couldn't be happy with Martin, and I had left him. Again. But, Martin had surprised me, declaring his love and willingness to give up his surgical career and London to stay here and be with me and James. The next four months were a whirlwind of wedding plans, threats and recriminations from Imperial, and finally a contented routine with the two most important men in my life. My marriage had been two months of bliss, three months of insecurity and dread, and then the last two months…
I glanced around the tiny room. This was supposed to be James's room and I hoped it would belong solely to him once again. I had agreed to come home to Martin after my emergency surgery, but only with the guarantee of change. Not necessarily to him, I realized, but to how we interacted with each other and how we viewed our marriage. Living in the same house meant that we were committed to being a couple, both to the village and to each other. The separate bedrooms meant that we privately acknowledged we weren't there yet. I had wanted Martin to know that he wasn't alone, that he had a family who loved and supported him. But, I still needed more from him. We would take it in small steps, as small as they had to be. It seemed like sometimes our relationship could be summarized as us inching towards each other, one gallant rush together and then rebounding backwards, often farther apart then when we began. This time felt different. We weren't going to rush our reconciliation. I wouldn't admit it out loud but I was worried that if we were to rebound away from each other once again we would find ourselves too far apart to come back together.
For my part, I finally acknowledged that his social dictionary wasn't thin – it was almost blank. His thoughtlessness was often due to cluelessness. Situations that seemed obvious to me weren't to him – no one had taken the time to show him and he never bothered to learn. I guess he never had a reason to. I was learning to express my needs and the reasons behind those needs. He would listen. Ever the scientist, once he know why I felt the way I did, he seemed to understand and then made an effort to "apply it forward". He wasn't always successful, but he was becoming more attuned to me and able to predict the triggers that upset me. When he failed, I would repeat to myself that he needed a chance ot make amends in the moment and my stalking away from him didn't help. And then there were Tuesdays.
Every Tuesday, I would collect James from day care for the evening. Sometimes I would bring him to work and let him play on the floor of my office as I finished reports and timetables. Sometimes I met up with friends for dinner at their home or at the pub. I knew Martin needed help, but we lived in a town that would say "God Bless You" three seconds before you stopped sneezing. As much as I loved them, they didn't always know the difference between playful ribbing and painful teasing. I had come to realize that a big reason Martin and the village didn't get on was that they always assumed they were doing the former and he assumed the latter, with their reactions widening the gulf between them even further. As much as the village respected him, there were just enough people who would love to give him grief.
So, he spent every Tuesday evening Skyping with Dr. Sayan. She was recommended by Ruth and she was a godsend. Although he never talked with me about what they discussed, I could see the chinks in his armor getting bigger. He had come to accept that growing up in a miserable house had resulted in a miserable adult. His father was aloof and his mother unfeeling and he always assumed it was his fault. Having met his lovely mother, I assumed she had never given him any assurance and probably encouraged him to feel that way.
In a similar vein, I had been meeting Ruth for lunch, unofficially. Although I didn't feel I needed professional help, she was a discrete and understanding sounding board. I often wondered if she had originally supported Martin and me getting married, but once we had, she seemed willing to help us succeed. Perhaps she was trying to make up for not being more involved when Martin was growing up, picking up where her sister had left off. After a few of these lunches, I would have my own revelation. I usually ran when times got tough. My philosophy was why wade through the muck there was another field somewhere else. I was realizing that although it was tough and could be painful, what was waiting on the other side was worth it.
Back to this room. Yes, I was in a similar place to where I was last year. Alone in bed, unable to rest, listening to the village wake up before my son forced me to get up. But I had one thing now – the certainty that Dr. Martin Ellingham loved me. That knowledge gave me hope and I had learned to appreciate its power.
I heard a snuffle, and a small cry. Time to get up and see to James.