Encounter

Martin's questioning words echoed through my head probably brought back those memories. Martin Ellingham stood there in the bedroom doorway with such a look of concern it almost made me cry. I guessed that from his expression his mind was racing through an entire medical encyclopedia of symptoms, facts, and findings.

And the fact that I stood in front of him wearing the most elegant and seductive nightdress that I had ever bought probably didn't even register with him. The thing was so lightweight that the cost would be astronomical if you calculated the cost per weight ratio. But of course, just thinking that way meant that I was trying to think as Martin would, which was very scary.

And as for crying, Philip's cries turned into more of a fussy noise and I turned my head a fraction of a degree.

Martin raced past me and peered into the cot. "Louisa! Are you just going to stand there and let him cry?" He put his large hands in the cot and emerged with the squirming baby, while asking," Are you wet, Philip? Or are you hungry?"

He sniffed and turned up his nose. "More than wet, it seems." He held him out at arm's length as he carried him to the changing table atop the baby chest of drawers, an ancient piece from Aunt Joan. "Let's fix this, shall we?"

And I stood to the side, like a Grecian marble statue, unmoving.

"Looks quite… messy," he started to say. He looked to the side with a disgusted look. "Very… odiferous."

That brought me back to the present. "You mean it stinks, Martin."

"I just said that."

I walked over to him and leaned against his shoulder. "Oh. Ugh. So glad you're fixing that one! Pee-uuu."

Martin looked at me as he plied the baby wipes. "Just wait until we start him on solid food. Pureed vegetables and fruits, I have been told, produce the most amazing smells when infants start on them."

"Perhaps we'll be used to him by then?" I quipped. But I looked up at Martin's face in the half-light I got an idea. "Why don't you give him to me when you're done, and see if he wants to feed. Hasn't been that long, but… well," I touched my chest, "I think I'm able."

"Alright." He finished applying the nappy and picked him up in a two-handed hold. "I think he's ready for you now."

I touched Martin's hands where he held Philip and let my fingers linger there for a moment. His skin was warm. "Thanks, I'll just…"

"I'll, uh, go," he muttered, still holding the baby.

"No, Martin. Just stay. Turn your back please?"

He nodded and turned round. I pulled the wonderful gown off over my head, and shucked into my dressing gown. Granted he had seen me naked but knickers and a nursing bra were not exactly sexy to my mind. "Ok, give him to me."

Martin nodded and handed off our combined DNA. "Where, shall I…"

"You sit in the rocker." I sat on the bed, plumped up the pillows against the headboard, leaned against them, then opened my robe and one side of my bra. As I got ready to feed the baby, Martin started to look away, clearly embarrassed. I sighed. This man needed help in everything, I swear. "Please look at us… at me… Martin. It's ok; really."

He slowly turned his head then crossed his legs and looked nervous. "Louisa, I don't want to intrude…"

"Martin, this is natural, it is perfect, and I want you here."

"Ok," he said, then added nervously, "this is your bedroom."

I shook my head, trying not to laugh and disturb Philip who was settling down. "You've been here before, so shush."

I fed Philip, but he didn't drink much per side then started to doze. I propped him on my shoulder and patted his little back a few times, then a huge gob of spit-up flew from his mouth and I got a bath of the milky stuff. "Agh!" I yelled. "Martin, would you take you son, please?"

Martin sprang from the rocker, all action now. "I'll just take him and clean…"

"Yes, yes! I'll go wash-up. And I think he needs another nappy too." I rose from the now damp bed, knowing how a cheese vat feels. "I should have put a towel over my shoulder."

Martin was wiping the cheesy residue from the baby. "Yes. He has an amazing ability to do that, like all babies."

I'd moved to the wardrobe to get clean nightclothes. Thank God I'd taken off the chiffon gown. That would have been a real disaster. "I'll be in the loo."

"Right," said Martin as he continued to clean Philip.

I gathered my things and took the few steps to the loo. I heard Martin say, "A new nappy for you next, young man. Bad form to do that to your mother."

In the bathroom, I took off the soiled robe and bra. Nothing like a cheesy shower to ruin the evening. It seemed that all my clothing from this time of my son's life would end up smelling like rancid cheese. But what's a mum to do? I stood at the sink washing my neck and chest when I heard a yell. "Martin! What's wrong? Martin?"

Martin dashed in with his hands over his face, a huge wet spot on his pyjama top, mouthing curses. He stumbled into me, pushing me away from the sink.

"Water!" he yelled. "That little," he paused, "…baby… of yours just peed all over me!" He grabbed the taps and opening them plunged his hands under the stream and splashed water on his face.

I could only stand there holding a washrag and towel while the drama played out. I tried not to laugh. "Oh, Martin… he went…"

"Yes!" he gurgled. "In the face, down the chest. Full on. Like a bloody fire hose! I'd just put him in the cot, fresh nappy, and it wasn't settled right. I was refastening that side, when he got me square in the face!" He blubbered while splashing.

Then I did laugh, and loudly. Martin turned with a fiery look in his eyes. "Louisa! Stop!"

I stared at him as water dripped from his face and hair, t-shirt sopping wet and I laughed again. I couldn't help it. I stood there letting huge laughs come out of my mouth.

His face twisted up as I laughed at him, but the sneer disappeared and his eyes focused and his face relaxed. "Louisa! Louisa." He stopped for a few seconds. "You're beautiful."

That's when it struck me that I was standing on the cold tile, naked from the waist up, my hair stringy from the rough wash-up. "Martin? You said I'm beautiful?"

Martin gulped. "Oh, my, yes." He stood two feet away as he looked me over from top to toe. He put out a hand to touch my hip. "You have stretch marks here and over here." He touched my belly button.

I looked down at the few thin silvery lines on my skin. "Yes… battle scars."

Martin and I looked at one another, frozen.

I broke the moment. "Martin, is Philip…"

"He's quiet. Managed to get him strapped up after he let me have it."

"Oh."

"Louisa?" His fingers still touched my skin. "Battle scars?"

My heart broke. "Love is a battle field, silly," was all I could say.

We reached for one another and it was like coming home. I didn't mind the wet shirt and I hoped that he didn't mind the changes of my body. At least our kiss said that was the case. Martin let me go after a time, so I took the towel I held and dried his face and neck. I looked very hard at the father of my baby; our baby. "Take off this wet shirt, will you?"

He pulled it off over his head and flung it to the floor onto my robe and brassiere. "Better?" he asked.

"Yes."

We threw our arms around each other, and started to say things. Words like, love, and I'm sorry, and dearest…but just then there came a furious pounding on the front door with a voice crying out. "Doc? Doc Martin! We need help! Doc?"