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 legal rights is intended.

This tale is a response to robspace54's excellent story, Dear Martin. It started with a one chapter story, but then took on a life of its own. This is my rendition of what happened in that murky period between the failed wedding and Louisa's appearance on Martin's doorstep, six months pregnant with their child.

Dear Louisa

Chapter 1

Martin

I was alone.

The reception was quiet, the front door locked tight. I was done seeing patients for the day and Morwenna was off to do whatever she did with her evenings. I didn't ask, and she stopped volunteering after realising I wasn't listening.

Dusk was turning to night and my evening stretched out before of me – supper, read, bed. Sometimes I tinkered with my clocks, but they hadn't held much interest of late. Maybe I could walk up to the headland, get some exercise, but the first drops of rain splattered against the window. Soggy, dank, cold – this was an apt description of the winters in Portwenn. They had pushed more than one man to drink or madness, but the unrelenting dreariness had never bothered me. That is, until she had picked up and left.

The decision to go our separate ways had been a mutual one. Each had examined the facts and arrived at the same conclusion; our differences were too great, the hurdles insurmountable. We had called off the wedding, than a few weeks later she was gone.

The more I thought about the reasons why we had called off the wedding, the less they made sense. She couldn't make me happy, I couldn't make her happy, we couldn't make each other happy. But we had been happy, for a time. I wistfully recalled our evening walks along the cliff path after a simple meal followed by nights of fulfilled longing.

She had left a cheerful note in the letter box of the surgery. I'm moving to London, it had said, to teach Maths at a school in Balham. Best to make a clean break of it, she had written. By the time I held the thin sheet of paper in my hand, she was halfway to London and I had a reception full of patients clamoring for my attention. I had stowed the last vestiges of my failed relationship with Louisa inside my desk, and had gone on with my day.

I had reread her note many times over the past three months, usually late at night while waiting for sleep that wouldn't come. She had scrawled an email address at the bottom of the page. Had she wanted me to contact her? Or had this been done as an afterthought and without any expectations on her part?

I took Louisa's letter from the drawer. The paper felt soft and frayed in my hand, the well-worn creases starting to tear at the edges. I placed it on the desk and revived the debate I had had with myself these past months; should I contact her and if is so how? Calling had been out of the question - it was too immediate, intrusive. On the other hand, an email would give her time to decide whether she wanted to respond, or not.

I turned my gaze to the monitor glowing softly on my desk. It would take no more than a minute to type a message inquiring about her health and well- being. There was no harm in it- that's what people did all the time.

It took a few seconds to open the email browser and I hesitated over the keyboard before typing her address:

LGlasson

Hum, this must be her new place of employment, I thought. Well, here goes nothing:

Dear Louisa,

Well, that was a start.

How are you? The weather here has been cold and wet.

Don't be daft - she knows it is cold and wet having grown up here. It wouldn't do to use Cornwall's miserable rain clouds as an opening gambit. I deleted the line about the weather and was left with:

How are you?

Did she like London, her new school? Are her new pupils bright or dim like the ones she had in Portwenn? Was she living in a flat by herself, with friends or...

That last thought didn't bear thinking about. She couldn't have found someone that quickly, could she? Maybe this wasn't the right question to ask. I also deleted this and tried again:

You left Portwenn before I had the chance to tell you…

I stopped, my hands poised over the keyboard. What was it that I had wanted to tell Louisa? That her smile had brought light to my day, the sweet lilt in her voice had been music to my ears and her touch had taken me to places I didn't know existed? That Portwenn was a living hell without her?

No, I couldn't, wouldn't.

The cursor taunted me with its mindless blinking and I hurriedly typed:

You left Portwenn before I had the chance to say you should establish with a new GP at your earliest convenience. Your latest blood tests continued to show mild anemia, and you will need a thorough examination along with additional testing. Please continue taking the iron tablets and keep to a diet rich in iron containing foods.

I read it, and then wrote:

I miss you.

The screen blurred, and I reached for the mouse, pausing for a second before sending my message to Louisa into the recycling bin.