Chapter 28 – Space
"So, you are saying that your wife has just returned from Spain, and now you won't be living together," I stated to Martin Ellingham at next week's session. He'd just told me that his wife was back but then he dropped this bombshell.
"Yes," he said with a pained expression. "She, uhm, we agreed that for the time being living separately will give us some… an opportunity to… work things out."
Either he was the most high-minded man alive, or she was driving his boat. "And what was your reaction to her pronouncement? This idea that living apart would help you get better at being together."
His eyes had a guarded look. "I just want my wife to be happy. I don't want to force her into anything."
"When will she move out?"
"I already have; letting her have the house. After all that is nearly the only home our son has known. I thought it best not to upset him unduly. Of course, I will still be seeing patients in surgery."
"You moved out, to a bed and breakfast?"
"Ahm, no. We found a small home…" he stopped. "What possible bearing does where I am living have on any of this?"
I looked at him carefully. He was not angry but seemed frustrated. "Martin, given that your wife was away for four weeks, what expectations did you have upon her return? No, don't answer that. Instead tell me what happened when she came home."
Now his eyes got a bit guarded. "I was seeing patients. We had spoken briefly on the phone two days before, and she gave me her flight numbers, so I had been expecting that she'd arrive later that day." The way he spoke he might have been describing resecting an artery. "But there she was - early. There had been a mix-up with her itinerary; but they moved her to a morning flight, and she caught an early train to Cornwall after getting to Heathrow."
"And you are glad that she is home."
"I am very glad that she came home, yes." He sighed. "So…"
I scribbled a note or two. "And how did this subject of living apart come up?"
He sighed again. "I asked her if we were staying together. And that is when she suggested that she ought to move out – until things get better." He looked at the floor. "It was at dinner, which she had prepared. Pasta and chorizo."
I glanced at my scribbled notes. "Space."
"What's that?"
"You are giving each other space."
He dipped his head. "We will, of course, share child-rearing duties."
"How old is your son?"
"Not quite one year of age."
I put my pencil down. "You told me that you were afraid of losing her. How will you get her back? She is back home, but not back, per se."
He stared at the floor, then up at me. "I don't know. But that is why I am with you; in therapy." He muttered something after which I didn't catch.
"What's that?"
"Nothing."
I decided to take a different tack. "Tell me about your childhood."
He wrinkled his nose. "I think I've already told you; an unwanted child."
"How do you know that?"
"My mother told me such. That being pregnant with me, and then giving birth had ruined her relationship with my dad. My dad, uh, found solace in other's arms." His eyes went cold. "She strayed as well."
I noted that he used the rather formal word mother for his mum, but dad for his father. "Were you close to your father?"
"No," he snapped. "Dad was demanding. Hard to please."
"Were you close to anyone?"
He nearly smiled. "My Aunt Joan and Uncle Phil. They lived here in Portwenn. Both dead."
Ruth had mentioned her late sister. "This was your father's sister, or your mother's?"
"Father. Joan was the younger of the three; my Aunt Ruth is the middle child. My mother had no siblings." He then proceeded to tell me how he came to Cornwall for school holidays and such until he was eleven.
"Did you enjoy living in the country?"
"I enjoyed being with my aunt and uncle."
Our time was nearly up. "Would you say that being with them made you happy?"
He glared at me. "Why do you keep asking about happiness?"
"Your wife, you claim, desires and deserves happiness, and I presume your son. Do you enjoy being with them? Giving them happiness?"
"I love them both. They deserve to be happy. I enjoy caring for them."
"Love as a duty or love as emotional?"
His large hands clamped together. "At times… that is…"
I took a page from Sara Campbell. "Tell me about the first time that you and Louisa were together. Not the details, but what brought you together? There must have been an attraction."
He ducked his head. "I loved her from the first."
"What's that?"
"From the first time I saw her, and I know that makes no sense at all," he said. "It was when I came down to interview about the GP position. She was on the examining board – represented the community. She… she was, is, beautiful, so very beautiful. It took some time for us to 'get together' as you put it. There was always something in our way."
"What were those things?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "Not important. We were on again and off again, but there was always something in the way… but at last I asked her to marry me. She said yes."
I tried to encourage him. "Tell me about that."
He recited a factual tale about a picnic at a music fete where a friend of Louisa, who was a cellist performed. Then the cellist damaged her back in a fall in the village, and while staying with Louisa the woman collapsed with spinal spasms, knocked herself cold and fell on a bottle which shattered. While rendering first aid to the injured woman Martin had injected morphine, which she reacted to adversely. "It was after I managed to restart her heart with a shot of adrenaline that I asked Louisa to marry me."
Quite the romantic moment, I mused. I wondered how much adrenaline was coursing in his veins when he popped the question? What complex man.
"It was after the ambulance had taken the cellist away," he finished the story. "My proposal."
No moonlight dinner then. "Dramatic."
"Yes. I told her I could not live without her."
"And then?"
"Then what?"
"Then?"
He stared at a point somewhere over my right shoulder. "We had a meal and… spent the night together."
Before I could open my mouth, he held up a hand.
"Before you spew out psycho-mumbo-jumbo about how I am a lost little boy seeking a strong female figure to replace the loving mother I never had, you ought to know that Louisa and I have always treated each other as equals or tried to." He sniffed. "It's just that we aren't always on the same wavelength. She too is a product of a broken family."
Now I really wanted to interview her. "Her parents?"
"What bearing does this have?" he asked.
I didn't answer that. "Martin, what do you think you wife sees in you?"
He recoiled slightly. "Such as?"
"Lover, a doctor, a father figure?" I didn't add more hoping he would fill in the blanks. "A good provider?"
He looked away. "I just want to be her husband. And not lose her."
"Martin, last question for this morning."
"Yes?" he asked with irritation.
"When you are wife are together, as you call it, are you happy?"
Ge stood up, towering over me. "Have you ever known the feeling?"
I had to gulp, but I nodded.
"Then it's a stupid question." He walked to the door, but he turned and said, "When I and my wife make love, the rest of the world goes away. Just me and her together." I saw his face go soft, the tenseness gone.
I stood up to face him. "And you are happy at that time?"
He picked up his mobile, looked and it and then tipped his head. "Yes, I suppose I am," he said softly, then he swept out the door.
I watched as he drove away. "There are so many layers to Martin Ellingham," I said aloud. "How am I going to sort him? What is down there, underneath all that armor?"
