Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing except my imagination.

The Homecoming - Chapter 2

A follow up chapter giving Martin's point of view on Louisa's return to the village

Edith has hardly changed in the intervening years since we last met. She's still as opinionated and headstrong as ever. But at least I understand her - we talk the same talk, and have a great deal in common, as is to be expected since we trained together at medical school. I suppose technically she is a woman, but I don't really think of her in those terms; she is as logical and concise as any man of my acquaintance, which is probably why we get along so well. I never really could understand Louisa's thought process, she always seemed far more irrational and emotional than was good for her, although in the end she came to the same conclusion as me regarding our relationship – it wouldn't have worked. Doesn't stop me thinking about her all the time though…

But enough of those thoughts. As I told Chris Parsons, it's time for me to move on. Decent bloke Chris, another old med school friend. Can't say as I've ever really bothered much with friends, but Chris is the closest thing I have to one, and I can tolerate his enquiries about my well being better than most.

Of course he has a professional interest too. As head of the Primary Care Trust, Chris put his neck on the line when he supported my coming here to take up the position of village GP, knowing as he did about my wretched haemophobia. It would have reflected badly on him if I hadn't coped after…well after everything that happened – or didn't happen as it turned out. Would have been a bad show all round, so I had to pull myself together and get on with things, show some backbone, as my father would say.

I smile wryly at Edith's unspoken apology – it's understood by both of us that by coming here to see me this evening, she is admitting that I was right and she was wrong with the diagnosis for the Collingsworth woman. Just like the old days when we were always competing with each other, both always having to be right. So I appreciate her coming over, and it actually feels pretty good to have an intellectual equal that I can talk to – not too many of those around in this village.

Edith barely bothers to hide her contempt for my position as a lowly GP in Portwenn. We both aimed for the top of our tree professionally, so in her eyes I am now fallen from grace. Even she has heard whispers of my blood thing she tells me, as she examines my cut hand. I assure her that I'm dealing with it, that I have plans to return to London as Head of Vascular Surgery at Imperial, and I am gratified that she seems suitably impressed by this.

Edith asks for some antiseptic to clean my wound, and as I get up to fetch it, there is a knock at my kitchen door. I exclaim in irritation as yet again my evening is to be interrupted. What is it with these locals; they seem to think that they can pop round whenever they feel like it.

But as I walk over to the door and look through the frosted glass at the profile of the person standing on the other side, my heart skips a beat, because it looks just like… But I tell myself not to be so bloody ridiculous; I have to stop seeing Louisa everywhere. I made a complete arse of myself only today up at the school, thinking that I saw her in one of the classrooms. I must get a grip on myself, this just won't do. She's in London, she couldn't get away fast enough, and she's not been in contact since that fateful day that we were going to be married – before we both came to our senses and realised that it would have been a complete and utter disaster.

So I open the door and then I stare like a half wit when I see who is standing there.

"Louisa," I finally manage to say.

"Hello Martin," she replies, after seeming to be rather startled by me. Perhaps she'd half hoped I wouldn't be in? Just hearing her gentle Cornish accent evokes all sorts of memories – some good, some not so good.

"How are you?" I ask, for something to say.

I gaze at her, trying to take in the fact that this is not one of my recurring dreams, this is real; Louisa is actually here, at my door, speaking to me. I see her dark glossy hair in its usual ponytail with the soft fringe sweeping across her beautiful face, and I notice that the green colour of the dress she is wearing brings out the green tints in her eyes. But as I cast my look downwards, I find I can't quite believe what my eyes are telling me. However, it doesn't take all my years of medical training to work it out.

"You're pregnant!" I blurt out, completely taken aback.

"Yes, I am," Louisa states calmly, gently patting her bump.

Then she looks past me, into my kitchen, and spies Edith, who is sitting patiently at my table, with a slightly amused smile hovering on her lips as she watches the unfolding scenario.

"Hello," Louisa says to her, raising her hand in greeting.

"Hello," Edith replies, as she smiles back and returns the raised hand greeting.

"I'm a friend of Martin's," Louisa explains.

"Me too," Edith replies in a congenial manner.

"I'm staying at the pub. I thought I'd get the taxi to drop me here first though, so I could tell you in person and uh…yea…" Louisa lets the words hang in the air.

"Shall I go?" Edith thoughtfully offers, but Louisa quickly tells her,

"No, no, I just dropped by on my way. You carry on."

And then she walks away. She obviously doesn't want to come in, or speak to me any further, but after a few seconds to get my head into gear, I follow after her, because I need some answers from her for God's sake. She can't just return after six months with no word at all, drop a bombshell like this, and then disappear off again.

But I'm flummoxed, communication skills have never been my forte, and the words tumble out in a less than cohesive manner.

"Louisa, that uh…this…uh…pregnancy, it's…"

"It's ours, Martin, it's yours and mine," she confirms in a very brusque manner. Have I done something to offend her? Because she is being very short with me for some reason, but I have no idea why.

So many thoughts are flooding through my brain. Maybe I've misunderstood her and I really must be cetain that I get my facts right at a time like this. There were only a couple of occasions that we could possibly have conceived a baby, and I thought we'd got things pretty much covered on the contraceptive front, or else I'd have prescribed the morning after pill for her – I've always believed in a belt and braces approach in these matters.

"And…and what do you want? Do you…do you want to get married? I mean you're certain it's ours?" I stutter out, struggling to think logically.

"Yes I am certain, and no, I don't want to get married," she tells me forcefully, leaving me in no doubt whatsoever.

So if I am the father of this…this baby, then why is she being so abrupt and unfriendly towards me? It's not just my fault is it? It takes two after all, and I didn't force my way into her bed, she'd been pretty keen too when we got engaged.

And why isn't she asking me for my help and support? I can only suppose that this means that she really can't stand me. Maybe she was just trying to let me down gently when she'd told me she still loved me in the letter she gave me on our non-Wedding day.

So now she's really cross that she's ended up in this situation. Perhaps she didn't realise she was pregnant straight away; I ought to clarify the medical situation so that she's clear about it.

"You know it's a bit late for an abortion," I inform her, thinking that maybe she would have chosen this option had she been better informed earlier on in her pregnancy.

For some reason the look on her face seems to be one of pure contempt for me as she says,

"I thought I should tell you before the village finds out."

Well, yes, that is decent of her I suppose, but I'm still puzzled by her plans.

"Why are you going to the pub?"

She knows I have a spare room, so why isn't she asking if she can stay there? The only answer I can come up with is because she simply doesn't want anything to do with me.

"My house is rented out," she replies.

Well of course I already know this. How many times over the past six months have I found myself walking past White Rose Cottage, only to see that new Headmaster chap coming out of what should be her front door, or glancing in through her window as I used to, but seeing a strange man in there. So I know full well that her house is rented out.

"Who's she?" Louisa now asks me, nodding towards my kitchen.

I've forgotten all about Edith sitting in there, so I have to think for a couple of seconds who she means.

"What? Oh, it's Edith." I inform her, and Louisa repeats this name to herself.

"Why aren't you in London?" I ask. Having not heard anything from her, I've assumed that she's made a successful new life for herself there, teaching at her horrid friends' prestigious school. So why has she come back to the village now? It certainly isn't because she wants to see me; she's made that abundantly clear by her attitude.

"I didn't like London. And the school didn't like this," she tells me, pointing to her not inconsiderable belly. Her pregnancy is very obvious on her normally slender frame, so clearly there was no way that she would be able to keep it secret from anyone now.

And I understand only too well what snobs the people who send their children to that type of private school in London are; a heavily pregnant, unmarried expectant mother would not go down well with them at all.

I suddenly feel terribly guilty, it's all my fault that she's in this condition, although I haven't even begun to figure out yet how we managed to fail so spectacularly on the contraceptive front. I shall have to give that matter my undivided attention later on, but for now I must try to concentrate on dealing with Louisa.

"Oh...uh…no. Right, so you're here." This is the best that I can come up with unfortunately.

She gives me a withering look.

"It's going to be fine Martin. It's not your problem. Bye."

She says this with an air of finality, and then walks away, down the steps, down the hill, carrying her case, too proud and stubborn to want any help from me.

I stand and watch her go. She's made it very clear that she wants nothing to do with me; she can't even bear to come into my house, or speak to me for more than two minutes. So she clearly doesn't want me to be involved in any way with this baby. She hasn't even told me when it's due, how she feels about it - nothing.

Now I hear Edith walking up behind me.

"Is she from the village?" she asks, and I confirm that she is.

"Well, don't do anything hasty," Edith advises.

"What?"

"Does she have a job?"

"Yes," I reply. Then I correct myself. "Uh, no actually I don't think she does."

How on earth will Louisa manage – her career is in tatters now that she has had to leave the school in London. Even if she wants nothing to do with me personally, I will have to ensure that she…and this baby…are provided for. And her health, that I can take care of professionally if she's going to be in the village…all these thoughts race through my head, but are interrupted by Edith's calm, logical voice.

"Well, don't think you have to rescue her. She's a grown woman, she's chosen to have a baby. It's her choice, Ellingham."

Yes. I realise that Edith is right. Louisa has made her decision, and for whatever reason has chosen not to include me in it – she knew where to find me, but she didn't even bother to call me to let me know that she was coming back, or arrange to meet, to talk. She just called in on the off chance that I'd be there.

No, because as far as she's concerned, I'm out of her life and clearly that's how she wants to keep it. She always was pretty feminist in her views I suppose, and she's clearly decided she doesn't need or want a man to help her in any way; probably thinks I'd be a disaster with the child – and I agree that she's probably correct in that assumption.

xXx

After a sleepless night spent tossing and turning, I come down in the morning to overhear Pauline gossiping as she takes a blood sample. Clearly the jungle drums have spread the word about Louisa's return – and about her condition - and the verdict is in. I'm guilty of wickedly turning Louisa out, forcing her to pay for a room at the pub, while I sit up here in my ivory tower like some evil character in a pantomime.

Pauline is itching to discuss things with me, but I try my best not to get drawn into defending myself as I have done nothing wrong, whatever the villagers have decided.

"Miss Glasson's back then, staying at The Crab. In her own village, paying for shelter. A room at the Inn, in her condition."

"She's rented her house out." I stick to the facts by way of a response.

"I know. Did you not see her then?"

"What?" I really do not want to discuss this with Pauline, but she's not giving up, she's like a dog with a bone between its teeth.

"Miss Glasson. I heard the taxi dropped her up here."

"She did call in briefly, yes, to say hello. Then she went to the pub, as had always been her plan, it seems. Not that it's any of your business."

I'm cross now for allowing myself to be drawn into Pauline's attack on my behaviour, and I try to defend my actions without seeming to criticise Louisa, which would no doubt add fuel to the flames.

"Don't be unkind!" Pauline retorts.

"I am not!"

For God's sake, they all seem to think I'm some sort of ogre! Doesn't anyone understand that I have no control over Louisa's actions; it was her decision to stay at the pub not mine.

"Just cos a woman's strong don't mean it's alright to take advantage, that's all I'm saying."

Pauline has to have the last word as I decide to ignore her and get on with the day's work.

I pick up a phial of blood to try to prove to myself that my self therapy is working. I retch just at the sight of the blood – clearly it is not working very well, so I must redouble my efforts.

Of course Pauline just can't keep her big mouth shut, can she? Later that day it's clear the jungle drums have been busy again, updating her with the latest developments, which she feels should be notified to me by shouting across the surgery,

"Miss Glasson got the job at the school!"

This is said in front of Aunt Joan, who has popped into my surgery to put something on my notice board.

Joan is very surprised to hear that Louisa is back, but even more surprised when Pauline tells her that she is 'expecting'

"Expecting what?" she asks, puzzled.

Pauline sees me signalling to her to keep quiet, but ignores me anyway.

"A baby" she informs Joan.

"Martin?" Joan looks at me, stunned.

I sigh, knowing the cat is out of the bag now, and I signal Joan to come thorough. I haven't told her anything yet, I've been too busy trying to take the news in myself before having to explain it all to her – but now I had no choice.

"It's not my fault," I tell her defensively, once we are safely ensconced in my consulting room, with the door firmly closed against Pauline's eavesdropping.

"Oh," says Joan, seeming rather disappointed. I realise she thinks I mean that it is not my child that Louisa is carrying, so I hasten to correct myself.

"I mean it is my fault, but it's not just my fault. It's not my fault you don't know. I didn't know until yesterday."

"How pregnant is she?"

"Six months, I'd say."

Joan's expression clearly shows her shock at the fact that Louisa's pregnancy is so advanced.

"Mm, I know. She doesn't want me involved." I inform her.

"What did she say?"

"She was fine and I wasn't to worry."

"Bollocks! You're the father. How do you feel about that?"

Joan studies my face carefully. She understands me better than anyone, and will know that this is a real bolt out of the blue for me.

"What?" As usual, I feel very uncomfortable about airing my 'feelings' and really don't want to talk, but Joan won't let it rest.

"Being a father?"

"Me?"

"Yes, Martin, you! What are you going to do?" I don't dare say to Joan what I'm actually thinking. Nothing. I'm going to do nothing, because that's how Louisa wants it.

"In what way?" I ask evasively, knowing full well that Joan is not going to let me off lightly – and I'm right, as usual she tells me in no uncertain terms how she sees things.

"Well, for Louisa. She's got no family to speak of. Her body's teeming with hormones. In three months time she's going to have a baby – on her own. I think she might be in trouble, don't you?" she tells me pointedly.

"Yes." When she puts it like that, some of the anger I feel at Louisa dissipates. Anger for shutting me out and not telling me about this baby, for deciding to go ahead and have it on her own without so much as a word to me, despite assuring me that I am indeed the father.

Joan leaves me with much to think about after her questioning.

xXx

It continues all day. My patients seem to think they are obliged to give me their opinions on the matter of Miss Glasson's condition and her living arrangements, but I refuse to comment.

Finally I have a cancellation at around four in the afternoon, and I decide to try to catch Louisa at school rather than at the pub later on in the evening. We have to talk, and there is more chance of speaking to her privately there I hope.

But my hopes are dashed – I spot her but she's speaking to the Headmaster, so I wait unseen for them to conclude their discussion. But as I wait, a loud 'Oh, hello Doctor Ellingham' from a passing member of staff gives me away, and so I have to enter the room, and am collared by the dreadful man. I tell him to make an appointment and then follow Louisa, who has given me one of her looks and gone back to her classroom.

Finally we are alone in there. Where to start though?

"So, um, is everything alright?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, um, I mean have you got everything you need? You got the job, which is good."

Louisa agrees.

"He's weird though," she tells me.

"Who is?"

"The Head Master."

"Ah," I finally understand now why she's so upset. She had been pretty ambitious and loved her job as Head Mistress of this school, that I do know. So it must be horrid for her seeing that man in what she considers to be her job.

"What?" Louisa is being deliberately obtuse, I feel.

"Well, I mean it must be galling. Being back but not being Head Mistress."

"No, it's not galling. He's not normal," Louisa insists, indicating the Head Master.

Now I'm confused again. Everyone is assuming that I'm a cold hearted bastard, thanks to her attitude. Seeing her standing there, heavily pregnant, but not wanting me to help her in any way, not even telling me she was pregnant for all these months, I simply can't fathom her out - most normal women would turn to the father straight away wouldn't they? So why doesn't she behave like other women?

"Tell you what isn't normal" I find myself saying.

"What?"

"You having this baby without telling me. Very high handed of you Louisa." I tell her.

"Oh is it?"

I see anger flashing in her eyes now.

"Do you imagine I didn't want to discuss it? In London, on my own, in a bedsit, 37 years old, single, pregnant? Do you think I didn't want to talk to the father, work things out? But what would you have said Martin, hm? 'Have you considered an abortion? I'll back you up whatever you decide' She mocks me with her words.

"I would have backed you up, absolutely. But keeping it a secret is just feminist point scoring, like you staying at the pub," I retort.

What does she think I would have done, frog marched her to an abortion clinic against her will? Certainly I would have discussed all the options with her so that she could make an informed decision, but I would have respected her choice to continue with the pregnancy. I am a doctor after all; I save lives, I don't willingly dispose of them.

"I didn't choose to stay at the pub. My house is rented out to Mr. Creepy," she tells me, with much feeling.

This takes the biscuit as far as I'm concerned – I am not going to be made to feel guilty and take the blame for this, not from her.

"Nobody made you do it, and you get money for it." I point out.

"So?"

"So, that pays for the room at the pub!"

I realise this sounds petty, and that bickering will get us nowhere, so I take a deep breath to collect my thoughts and decide it makes more sense to try to at least sort out some of the practical arrangements.

"We should arrange to get your notes sent down," I suggest as a starting point. Then at least I will be in possession of the facts, and I can ensure that her pregnancy is monitored effectively.

"M…my doctor's notes?"

"Yes, it's pretty straight forward."

"They've been sent down. I'm with the hospital in Truro."

What the hell…why would she have them sent there? I'm really confused now.

"What?"

"You didn't imagine you'd be my doctor did you? That would be really odd Martin," she tells me, in what can only be described as a condescending manner.

So she doesn't even want me to be her doctor. She'd rather travel miles away to some unknown doctor at the hospital in Truro than consult me.

I thought that she respected me as a professional, that she would have trusted me on that score at least. She's making it crystal clear that she really wants absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with me on any level.

She has decided that I'd be a truly appalling father. Well if that's how she wants things to be, there's nothing I can do to change her mind, so I will just have to let her get on with it and wash my hands of her, I tell myself.

"Your choice," I say coldly. I am well practiced at putting on a face to shut out my emotions, and I do not use any more words than are necessary now. I proffer my hand as acceptance of her decision to end any connection between us both privately and professionally, and then quickly walk away whilst I am still able.

I don't look back because she might then see the tears that are filling my eyes. I have been rejected many times in my life before, but this is by far, far the most painful.