A Belated Apology

"Yes, I did, Louisa. My father knew the head master at the school from the Royal Navy and persuaded him to take me at 5 rather than 7. I was tall for my age and was quite smart – could read and do maths. Had a good nanny who had been my baby nurse and remained with us because my parents paid her well to stay on. Her name is Emma Weaver. She is still doing baby nursing, and I try to see her for tea when I'm in London. Lovely woman with a good husband and two sons now both in the Foreign Office. She is a bit like my Aunty Joan, always lecturing me about this and that."

"Martin, did your parents ever spend time with you – during school breaks at least?"

"Not really. They would trot me out occasionally if their friends were having a do with children or if they could brag about my grades. Mostly they ignored me except for a slap if I wet the bed or did anything they found annoying."

"Wetting the bed, Martin - isn't that usually a medical problem?"

"Well, for the stellar reputation my father had as a surgeon, he really didn't bother fixing an easily-corrected problem I had. During a science course about the human body in Grade 6, I worked it out and asked dad if I could have surgery. A friend of his did it, and I was fine in a week. Bed wetting plagued my childhood until then. You can imagine what it's like to be sleeping in a common room with a group of boys who know you are the bedwetter and a pudgy one at that.

"When I was about 8, I trained myself to sleep in only two hour increments, go to the lavatory and then sleep for two more hours. That helped me when I was in med school and then in training. I could be awake in an instant and ready to work. I've gotten better about sleeping through the night, but it has taken years to break the habit.

"My parents and I finally had a big blow up about seven years ago when my Uncle Phil died. They would not come to the funeral, and it truly hurt Joan. My mother refused to talk to me, but my father and I had several very angry phone conversations. That's why I was shocked when they asked to visit me in Cornwall. As it turned out, they only came because they had lost most of their money in an appalling golf club scheme in Portugal. Mum was throwing dad out of their villa to move in her new boyfriend. That's right –her boyfriend."

"Martin, is that why you had to sell this flat?"

"Well, indirectly. Joan's uncle had left the farm to her and my father. Dad told her she and Phil could live at the farm and run it, but he did not need the money from it. Flat broke he had a different opinion and came to Cornwall to demand that Joan give him his share of the farm and pay rent for the 40 years she lived there. I sold this flat rather than make her sell the farm.".

"Martin, now I know why you were in such a foul mood when your parents were in Portwenn. Having to sell this lovely flat."

"Selling it wasn't as awful as I expected. The Cosgroves had been letting it since I left London. They were only too happy to buy it . They are generous and offered to have me stay here when they are out of town. I came to the building because Claire and Robert brought me one day to see the flat they were buying. Claire, of course, had an ulterior motive—to get me out of the rat-hole where I lived. This had been some sort of music institute and was sold to a developer when speculation in housing was rampant. The flats are a little odd, but the space is good. Sunlight comes into the big bedroom but not much in the lounge and dining room. The estate agent tried to talk me into another flat, but I liked this one. At the time, I was awake at sunrise and was out of the flat until night. I enjoyed a sunny bedroom in the morning and didn't care if the lounge was dark. Odd, I know, but it made sense at the time.

"So, yes, I was in a bad way because of my parents. But that was no excuse for me telling you to shut up. My mother and I had just finished a conversation that really undid me. She said very little to me during the visit and would go nowhere with me and my father."

"Yes, Danny told me that things were strained when you picked him up on the road."

"My parents don't like to be inconvenienced. They are very spoiled people. I found how self centered they were when my mother finally told me that their marriage had been wonderful until I came long and ruined it and then her entire life. As I think about it, she made no sense, and it was just the ranting of a narcissistic woman. But it really hurt me when she said she had wasted 40 years of her life with my father, and it was all my fault. I was so upset I couldn't speak and walked out the door to catch my breath. When you appeared, I was just beginning to get angry. I am so sorry I told you to shut up. I am so sorry, Louisa."

"Thank you for the apology, Martin, but more for explaining why. Often you seem angry when we talk, but I never understood why."

"It is not as much anger as impatience with people. I have been alone my entire life and rely on myself more than most people. When others can't do what I could easily do myself, I lose patience and – I suppose – become angry. I talked to a therapist once about it, and she said I could learn to manage that impatience as I had learned to overcome the bedwetting until I had surgery. But at the time, I was so busy, I could not carve out a few hours a week to see her. Maybe if I had, I wouldn't have developed haemophobia. Maybe it's all related. I have actually gotten better, but I know I am still rude and boorish. It is something I have to conquer."

"Martin, I can help you with that."

"You have helped me, Louisa. The more time I spend with you the more human I feel."

"Are you feeling human now?"

Martin smiles shyly, removes the tray from the bed and places it on a nearby table. Brushing Louisa's hair from her forehead, he kisses her. Louisa puts her arms around his neck and pulls him to her.

Somewhat later Louisa and Martin are lying on their backs and Louisa can feel a smile spreading across her face. Looking at Martin, she sees a similar look of wonderment. "Martin, what just happened."

"I can explain it medically, but I'm sure you prefer the romantic version, Louisa."

Laughing Louisa says: "Yes, Martin, explain it medically. I need sleep."