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Fragile - Chapter 11
James was crying in the night, and Martin got up to go to him. Louisa had been exhausted when she came to bed earlier, and she appeared to only slightly be stirring as he left their room.
Martin bent over the crib and whispered to his son.
"James? Why are you crying?"
He gently tended to the whimpering baby while continuing to quietly talk to him.
"Is it your nappy? Shall I loosen your clothing? Maybe your shirt is pressing on your neck? No? Still unhappy?"
Martin slowly lifted James to nearly vertical and lowered him to horizontal a couple of times to try and change his ear pressure. James started to quiet, so Martin brought him to his shoulder and rubbed his back. Then he got a blanket and brought it up and over James. He walked lightly with him, his cheek on James' head.
"I will never leave you to cry alone, James. Never. I will never leave you when you are hurt, or sad. My parents did that with me. I'm sorry, but because of that, they will not be your grandparents."
He thought about Joan, and how unfair life was that she did not get to meet James. She adored the unborn baby as he prepared to be born and was so excited to meet him, but it was not to be.
"I will tell you all about Joan as you grow up. And you will have your crazy Great Aunt Ruth, too. Actually, she's very wise."
He thought about Louisa's parents as he walked down the steps. They were flawed, but it seemed they loved their daughter and had given her a good start in life, for the most part. And he truly hoped she understood that he would never leave her the way they had left her.
Downstairs now, Martin got a bottle from the refrigerator and prepared to warm it. Then he rocked left and right a little, holding James so he could see the baby's face looking up at him.
"I promise to never ignore you when you are excited about something. Well, okay, a medical emergency will preclude that, but I will always try to get back with you so you can tell me all about it."
Martin got a towel for his shoulder and tested the heated milk on the inside of his wrist, then offered it to James. He knew he was talking a lot, but he also knew it was good for babies. He wondered if his parents… he ended that thought right there. Of course, they didn't. If anyone talked to him at this stage of his life, it would have been a nanny, or Joan, or Ruth.
"So, you WERE hungry. Are you going through a growth spurt?"
He eased onto the couch in the sitting room, arranging pillows to make himself comfortable, as well as James.
In this peaceful moment, Martin's mind drifted. He had been seeing a psychiatrist for a couple of weeks, and today, well, he couldn't believe what he'd remembered earlier that day…
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Dr Samuel Davis, who specialised in cognitive behavioural therapy, asked Martin, "You said you stopped going to Portwenn and no one told you why. Do you know why?"
Martin remembered Joan confessing the reason her brother forbade Martin from visiting her anymore. But Davis wanted to know more.
"Did you know why at the time? Sometimes children see or hear things they don't understand and it affects them in ways they also do not understand."
Martin had only known Davis for a couple of weeks, but he'd learned to take his time with his answers.
He thought back to the last summer he'd stayed at the farm...
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His father had arrived at the end, to take Martin back to school. Sometimes his father and aunt spoke pleasantly to each other, but on this occasion, their voices were raised.
"Now, where will Martin spend his summers?!" asked his father, angrily.
"God forbid he spends them with his parents, like a normal child," retorted Joan.
"You didn't have to bed that sham of a sailor. You've ruined everything!"
"You have no idea what you're talking about!"
"Does Phil know he's been cuckolded?"
"Go to hell, Christopher!" yelled Joan.
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Martin hadn't understood everything he'd heard, but thinking back, as an adult, it was amazing how clearly that conversation could be remembered. He had known at the time that something had changed in Portwenn.
He sadly knew that as a child he felt that Joan thought he should spend summers with his parents. Little did he know there was something even darker about that day…
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Martin ran joyfully into his Auntie Joan's house carrying a large jar carefully covered with newspaper.
"Father!"
His father did not turn from his desk, but said, with a seething voice, "What have I told you?!"
Still excited, Martin said, "I think I found one. A Pale Clouded Yellow..."
"Martin!"
"Always knock before entering... Sir," said Martin resignedly.
"Then go outside... AND KNOCK!"
The shouting startled Martin, and he dropped the jar. His father was on him in an instant, squeezing his throat as he made Martin look up at him. Martin started to feel faint.
"NOW look what you've done! You've made a BLOODY mess! Clean it up!"
His father stormed out, and Martin heard the kitchen door slam. Then he heard the car being started and driven away. He was still trembling as he surveyed the mess.
A tiny movement caught his eye. The butterfly was still fluttering its wings, surrounded by glass pieces! He moved closer and could see the butterfly was under a heavy bottom piece of the broken jar.
Martin reached for the jar piece, intending to lift the glass chunk off the butterfly. Instead, he knocked into its jagged edge, cutting himself deeply. He cried out and pulled his hand back quickly as pain shot through it. For a moment, he couldn't help but forget about the butterfly, and by the time he looked back, he saw the jar bottom had shifted and crushed it. His tears of pain were joined by tears of sadness. He was helpless with despair. Why had he dropped the jar? His father was right. He WAS a weak, careless boy.
Blood was dripping off his hand, and it throbbed at the cut, and he was crying and woozy, and he fainted.
When he awoke, his eyes were puffy and crusty. He rubbed his face, but felt something slick on his fingers. Then he felt the pain in his hand. When he opened his eyes and sat up, he saw he was surrounded by glass shards, had blood on his hands, shirt, and shorts where his hand had probably rested, and then he again saw the crushed butterfly. He threw up.
It took him a while to stop feeling like retching. Then he started to be fearful his father would return and find this mess. Then he started to feel embarrassed that Auntie Joan would show up and see him like this.
He got up and went to the bathroom, where he cleaned his wound, retching a few times as he worked. He found some gauze and tape to cover it. It still hurt.
Next, he went to the kitchen and found a broom and dustpan. He removed the butterfly from the mess and set it aside. After all the glass was swept up, he returned to the kitchen for a bucket of soapy water and a few rags. He did his best to clear the blood and tried not to leave any staining.
After he finished this task, he changed his clothes. Then he buried his blood-covered clothing and the rags, along with the butterfly, out behind the barn.
-oo0oo-
There had been no one Martin could tell this story to. Not then, when his father would only be angry and his aunt disappointed. No friends, either, as he'd spent nearly all his time at school or on the farm. Not all the way until now, when the psychiatrist had drawn it out of him.
Eventually, he'd forgotten all about that day.
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Fragile - End of Chapter 11
Credits:
Martin is remembering a conversation with his father from Episode 5-05 "Remember Me" written by Jack Lothian.
