Roger

The characters, places and situations of Doc Martin, are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.

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There was a knock on the door, and I hoped like hell it wasn't Martin. I rose slowly from the bed. "Who is it? That you John?" John Cadwell was the pub manager and he and his family had owned the building for generations. I could still hear the murmur of conversation downstairs and I was pretty certain that Martin and I were item number one on their discussion and gossip list.

"No," came a male voice through the oak door. "It's me, Roger."

I touched the door and checked to ensure it was locked. "Go away."

Roger asked, "Louisa? Can we please talk for five minutes?"

I didn't want to talk to Roger, or Martin, or anyone. "No."

Silence and I heard the floor squeak outside and another tiny rap at the oak.

"Please?" he asked.

I pulled open the door and there stood Fenn in an oilskin, which a concerned and apologetic look on his lined face. "I move out and not an hour later here you are? I don't need or want advice Roger." I glared at him. "Shoo."

He pushed the door open wider. "I'll stay out in the hall, if that's what you want."

I put my face in my hands. "Come in, then."

He squeezed past and apologized once more. "Sorry to barge in like this."

"No, you're not. Did Martin send you?" I crossed my arms. "If he did, then get out!"

He held out his hands. "I surrender. No, Martin Ellingham did not send me, for I brought myself. In fact Martin expressly forbade me from coming here." He smiled. "But I came anyway."

I looked hard at him and didn't see any falsehood about him or guile. My back was aching so I went round him and sat on the bed. "You might as well have a seat."

He sat in the rocker in the corner, put his hands on his knees and smiled at me. "Now what shall we talk about?"

"Roger!"

"Oh, so I don't need to ask? That's good then for if this – uhm, dustup – isn't fresh on your mind that I don't know what would be!"

"No Roger," I said with gritted teeth, "not a dustup. Coming back from London was a giant cockup now here I am," I prodded by prominent belly, "fat, and getting fatter by the minute, and I've barely got a job, no home, and…" I had to stop for I was on the edge of bawling for I was this close to calling martin and asking if I could come back, but that would be admitting defeat.

Fenn sighed. "A bloody mess."

I sniffled into a tissue. "Hay fever," I said to explain.

"Yes, the hay has flowered early this year. I can't say that I've ever known it to do so on March 1st! It's been going around, this batch of hay fever, for I just left Martin's house I could have sworn he has a touch of it as well."

I turned my head so Roger couldn't see my face, which now ran with tears. I had a second tissue which I put to good use. "Why have you come to talk? And your time's about up."

"Right," he couched. "What can I say, Louisa? I called this a dustup between you and Martin, but is it? Why else move out?"

I sighed. "I wanted to."

"Ah, now here you are, in your cozy and snug little pub room."

I turned to face him and he wrinkled his nose at the slanted floors, salt-spotted window overlooking the harbor, the cracked ceiling, wavy walls, and the rump sprung bed on which I reclined.

"Great digs," he laughed. "Reminds me of my college days."

"Now you're being horrible." The room was better than my ex-bedsit in London for it was cleaner and a hell of a lot cheaper, but it felt just as cold and grim.

"Louisa, your, uhm… parents… they fought a lot, and so did mine. When dad was working it wasn't so bad, but I got out first chance I could – and if I hadn't gotten good grades and a music scholarship, well… who knows?" He slapped his knee. "I'd be pulling on wrenches in a factory back in Birmingham."

"But you're a great musician Roger, and a good teacher."

"Just a good teacher?' he laughed. "My point being that little things - old Mrs. Blizzard - we all thought she was a battle axe of a teacher - but my God the woman could teach music. That was Year Three, you know and I've never looked back. It set the tone; oh that's a good one, of my life."

Other than a history lesson I wasn't sure what he meant. "So?"

"Louisa, you can be… ahem, a bit… well, my suspicions are that you have just as many… fears is the word… as anyone. I do, Martin does, and you do too." He twisted his hands together. "Maureen and I had a huge row the other day about how the floors were cleaned. I'd just gotten them all clean, ready for the wax, when the boys came tearing thru splattering mud and muck everywhere. Maureen had the boys outside and had promised me she'd keep them out. You can just imagine the mess!"

I checked my watch. "Your time is about up."

"Maureen and I yelled and the kids cried as we did so. That made us stop and promise never to do that again, the yelling, I mean." He stood, still wringing his hands. "Louisa, I don't know exactly what's going on in that beautiful head of yours but I do know that anger, like me blowing up at Maureen, doesn't last. It doesn't last. There are other things that do last and Martin…"

"So what's this have to do about me and Martin?"

Roger exhaled. "You and Martin… well, you're going to have a baby."

I laughed bitterly. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

"When the chips are down Louisa, Martin is on your side. I'm quite sure that he will do… whatever you need to be done."

"Really." I stood ungracefully. "Time to go."

Roger looked at me with sadness while he tied up his coat. "Look, don't do anything hasty is all. Give it time - time to cool off, let the waves settle."

"Yeah, well this is a little more of a tempest than that in a teapot."

Roger gave me a smile, his head cocked to one side. "You believe that."

"I have to… and this is what I have to do, Roger."

He hugged me briefly, his face grim. "Be well Louisa. And do if you need, no, when you need something call me or Maureen."

I escorted him to the door. "Roger, I do appreciate it."

"Right." He pulled his hood over his head. "Once more unto the breach, dear friends! Good night then."

"Bye Roger. Tell Maureen hi for me and kiss your boys."

He turned and his voice breaking said, "Louisa, I was never a very good musician, our records flopped, and my first marriage was rubbish, and I've a grown daughter that doesn't care for me, then I was made redundant too young and guess what? A bloody miracle happened!" His face now shown. "I fell in love! And the woman I love is the mother of my twin boys! And I am so damn happy! How lucky can one man be?"

I could only nod. "But I'm not you, Roger." I felt a kick right then. "And I'm lugging this lump around."

He touched my arm. "Louisa, Martin loves you and the baby. You have to believe that."

"You'd better go, Roger." I closed the door and locked it carefully. "And that's the problem, Roger, I know all that, and I love him too," I sighed. "Just not enough, maybe." A tiny tear leaked down my cheek. "If only he'd left me in London," I whispered then. "It would all be so much easier."