Disclaimer: Doc Martin and everything else belong to Buffalo Pictures
Author's Note: Thanks for reading and for your feedback. I am having fun with this. I don't want to know about any spoilers for Season 5.
Snapshots
Chapter 7
Smiling, cooing, holding up his head – I tick off the developmental milestones on my mental checklist as I play with Will. "I think he needs a change," I say, sniffing suspiciously at the bottom of my offspring. "I'll just take care of this. Maybe he'll even go down for a bit while we eat."
"Mind your tie, Martin" she reminds me.
"Ah, yes, better take that off" I agree, loosening it with one hand as we go up the stairs "No need to risk dangling it in the mess."
When I get him upstairs, I collect the necessary supplies as he watches me from the cot and gurgles.
"Well that is nasty" I observe when I get down to the task. "Not as nasty as Mr. Porter's pig, mind you. I guess if I can face that for your Mum, I can take care of this for you." I remove the offending garment and remember to keep him covered with the replacement so he doesn't spray me.
"No socks in the poo, please" I remind him, grabbing his flailing feet. "I remember that maneuver. I guess I have learned a few things about babies after all." With the new nappy in place and fastened securely, I start looking around for a clean sleeper to dress him. "Now I wish I could learn as much about mummies. Maybe you could put a good word in with your Mum for me, hmmm? You're a lucky boy, you know, having her for your mum. They aren't all like that, you know." He smiles at me and I know he agrees.
X X X X X
I eavesdrop on Martin and Will via that baby monitor as I lay the table and arrange the food. I wonder what in world he means about Mr. Porter's pig and resolve to find out that story. There is a lump in my throat when I hear him ask Will about mummies. I hear him wish Will good night and the tap of the door shutting.
I go to the stereo and flip on the CD that Roger was so good to put together for me according to my specifications – quiet mood music inspired by the records in Martin's collection. The first song is Unchained Melody and as it starts, I hear Martin coming down the stairs. He nods appreciatively at the table, then goes to the sink to wash his hands.
"I'm famished" he admits.
"Well, come and sit down then; it's all ready."
I pour mineral water in glasses for each of us and bring them over. We sit across the table, companionably, not saying much. I realize what a pleasure it is to actually sit down and share a meal – not just grabbing a bite over the sink between parenting tasks.
"This is very good, Louisa" he says, holding up his fork.
"Thank you, Martin. I thought you might miss all the fresh produce we have here in Cornwall – I know I missed it when I was in London."
After we finish eating, I clear the plates and pour water in the coffee pot. Together we tidy the kitchen and do the washing up. The music plays on, Unforgettable slipping into The Look of Love, low and jazzy with a saxophone. The sun is setting and the room is growing darker. Martin is trying not to stare at me.
"Martin, come and dance with me!" I say, pulling at his hands to draw him closer to me.
"What! Er, no, no, I can't Louisa – I really don't know how" he protests.
"Martin" I persist "there is no one here but us and I promise to close my eyes. I'm not asking you to dance in public – just stand up and hold me – here, just the two of us."
He reluctantly joins me. "I'm never sure where to put my hands" he grumbles.
"Shush!" I say, and take his hands firmly and put them on my waist. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my face against his shoulder, eyes closed. He is holding himself very stiffly. I ignore this and simply enjoy being close to him, inhaling his scent. I listen to the music and my hips can't help but match the rhythm.
Ever so slowly he relaxes. I feel it in his shoulders first. Then he moves his cheek against my hair and I breathe a sigh of relief that he is going along with this. We sway a little together. We're not ready for Britain's Got Talent or anything, but we're managing in that "teenagers slow dancing at a school mixer" sort of way. I imagine we might of have danced this way at our wedding reception if we'd ever gotten that far.
After a while, he strokes my back and then my hair, then kisses the top of my head. I tilt my head to look up at him and his hand goes to my cheek. With infinite tenderness, he kisses me softly. "Louisa" he says, his voice husky. I try to wrap all my emotions – love and longing and loneliness—into returning the kiss. I am falling into the kiss with my whole being, in the same way I fell in love with this man. The feeling is like sunshine after a long, gray winter. He looks into my eyes and I am lost. I take his hand and lead him towards the stairs, and have a feeling of déjà vu, the same flutters of anticipation dance in my belly as did the night he asked me to marry him.
X X X X X
As we reach Louisa's bedroom, I press her shoulders against the doorframe and kiss her deeply. I can't help myself – I have been longing for her since the day I first looked in her eyes. I appreciate her ardent response and think that perhaps this time I've succeeded. This time she will know how I feel about her. This time I won't muck things up. "Martin!" she says in a strangled voice. I tighten my embrace; there is no doubt as to the effect she is having on me.
The baby cries. The sound is like a gunshot. We spring apart instantly, almost guiltily. She looks down at herself in horror and I wonder what it is that I have done. As the baby cries louder, I realize what has happened as the wet stains spread darkly across her dress.
"I'll go" I say. "You can, er, change if you like."
She nods, her head still down, recovering. I notice her lips are swollen a bit and red, almost bruised from kissing and marvel that it is me who has done this.
I scoop Will out of his cot. He is wet, a problem I remedy efficiently, giving Louisa a moment to herself. I carry him down the hall to her bedroom still crying, and find her in her dressing gown, sitting propped up against the head of the bed.
"There's my good boy" she says, focused intently on him. She gets him situated and fiddles with the pillows. I stand in the doorway, transfixed at the sight. It is amazing what the human body can do. I watch Louisa and envy her a bit for her innate ability to nourish and nurture him in this way. I envy Will too, for his closeness to her and the look on her face as she watches him and strokes his cheek.
"I'll, er, give you some privacy" I say, reluctantly.
"Don't go" she says, alarmed. "I need your help" she adds after a short pause.
"Oh, does he need a change again?" I ask.
"No – I need your help feeding him."
I am perplexed. "Lactation is clearly one thing I'm not really, erm, equipped to help with" I respond.
"Come sit next to me" she says, patting the space beside her on the wide bed. "Just here."
I slip off my shoes and sit down. "Like this?"
"Now make us a lap" she says, tapping my knees. And before I realize what she is after, she's scrambled into my lap and laid her back against my chest, with the baby in her arms. Reflexively, my arms go round her waist. And suddenly, I am inside the bond of love between them that was the subject of my envy. I can feel her strength as she holds him, see his throat as he swallows greedily, hear the little noises they both make. Her hair is fragrant and soft and hangs down to tickle him. I wonder whether it would be indecent to kiss her neck now. I want this moment to last forever.
After he finishes, he drifts off with a dribble of milk on his chin. She gently wipes it and rubs his back. Even his belches sound sweet.
She lays back against me with the sleeping child in her lap and my arms around them both. I am the most at peace I can recall. I give her an affectionate squeeze and I am dismayed to feel her flinch ever so slightly.
"Are you very sore?" I ask, concerned. "Or in discomfort? I just . . ." I don't get to finish because she jerks forcefully away.
"Martin!" she says "Why do you always do this?"
"Do what?" I ask, genuinely confused.
"Spoil it! Take a tender moment and turn it into something – something CLINICAL. Stop trying to DIAGNOSE me!" She has pulled herself to the edge of the bed and is clinging to Will. Her hands are fisted and her shoulders seem to be shaking.
Now you've done it, Martin, I think to myself. Why break your perfect record of ruining relationships now? Never knew what she saw in a crusty old bugger like you anyway.
"Louisa, I'll go" I begin "I didn't mean to upset you, and you obviously don't want me here." My voice trembles a bit with emotion. I consider leaving it at this but I wade in with one more explanation. "But Louisa, just to be clear, I wasn't trying to diagnose anything. I was worried about hurting you. I couldn't bear it if I hurt you." I pick up my shoes to put them on. Her shoulders sag and I'm not sure what she's going to do.
"Martin, stay right here and don't move a muscle." It is her headmistress voice and I know better than to disobey. She gathers the baby and goes down the hall. I hear her kissing him goodnight and putting him in the cot, and then I hear her voice again.
"Look here then, Will. Mummy needs you to sleep like a champ tonight. Daddy's home and Mummy needs to show him how much she misses him. So give your old Mum a break then and have a good long rest, right?"
I hold my breath as she comes back into the bedroom. She stops to switch off the light. I hear the slither of silk as her dressing gown slides to the floor. Her skin glows like alabaster in the moonlight.
"Louisa" I say "I am . . ."
"Shush, Martin" she says, placing a finger on my lips. "Just shush."
