Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect . This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two.
*Still can't get my phone to upload ir copy chapters to ff and this chapter wasn't quite ready when I left work yesterday, but here's an extra long chapter coming to you by way of the library on this lovely Saturday! Thanks again for the reviews, they are always appreciated, and happy reading. -DC
Time Travel
Chapter Thirty Six – "Lie In"
The rain has tapered off this morning as I pull my car in to the small spot below Dr. Ellingham's Lexus. Making short work of unbuckling my nephew from his seat, the relaxing crashes of the incoming tide below bring forth evidence of just how different my sister's village is from Leeds – its bustling traffic in and around the city centre in stark contrast.
Relaxing this may be, but hardly practical in the long run.
Scaling the slate steps we make for the front entrance and knock firmly.
" – Surgery is CLOSED, come back at nine! Unless you are dying I don't want to see you on my steps for another . . . 40 minutes! . . . Imbecile."
I hear rustling from within this tiny cottage Louisa calls home and if her husband's mood this morning reflects a lack of sleep, well then she must have done something right. I continue to knock on the door, as now does their lad.
" – Oh for God's sake, if you've gone deaf you are NOT dying, go away!"
Just as I turn away to try our luck around back he tears the door wide open and I feel it my distinct duty to point out the obvious.
"We're all dying Dr. Ellingham, you of all people should know that. Though hopefully for both our sakes not all during anti-social hours . . . quite disruptive to the circadian rhythm in my experience. Should we have used the back door?"
" . . . Helen?"
He still displays that slightly perplexed look at the sight of me, but I suspect it must be somewhat odd.
" – Oh good, you've dressed."
We brush by him and enter into what must be his surgery, or at least the reception area of it.
" . . . What? Um, yes. Hello James. I . . . Louisa's having a lie-in."
"Needed one did she?"
Handing the lad over I make my way through a narrow hallway following the smell of coffee into the kitchen, the good Doctor in tow.
"Mind if I pull a cup? Young Al's brew leaves a lot to be desired, I prefer a strong espresso in the mornings myself."
I'd eyed this top of the line piece of equipment yesterday whilst doing the washing up. Helping myself to one of Louisa's mugs, by the looks of it, I start preparing my triple shot.
"Mm, good choice, yes . . . just mind the – "
" – wand, yes I know. Easily damaged."
Under the natural light of the kitchen skylight I observe a telltale mark on the distinguished surgeon's neck, one I'd previously failed to notice. Not my place to bring it to his attention, however.
Must have been a good night indeed.
"Right, you're not here for medical advice I take it . . . so is there anything else I can do for you Helen?"
"No, you missed that boat yesterday I'm afraid. Is my sister decent up there, you know?"
This matter of sisterly misidentification should have been settled yesterday, and he certainly was no help.
"Ah . . . "
"Yes, ah. Well is she, decent I mean?"
"Erm, I . . . cannot say."
"Well, I'll take my chances then – nothing I haven't seen before in any case."
I bypass her disastrous work area and pull my way up the stairs.
" – Louisa, I need to talk to you."
I find her still in bed, propped up but mostly under the covers reading a glossy mag – mouth covered with about half a lipstick's worth of bright red.
Well, that explains Dr. Ellingham's neck. . . .
"Hmm? Helen, well good morning to you too. You're here early, is everything alright? Is James alright?"
She looks a fright.
"He's fine . . . swapped him for a coffee."
"Oh right . . . WHAT?!"
Louisa sits up suddenly and the worthless weekly flops to the floor.
Are we truly kin?
"He wanted his daddy so I left him downstairs, is that alright?"
"Oh I see, yes 'course Helen. He really loves his Daddy, doesn't he? It's sweet really . . . I'll give them a few minutes time before fetching James. Martin has surgery at nine and Morwenner's home per Doctor's orders and won't be in, so he'll have a hectic morning no doubt – Morwenner's the receptionist."
Speaking of . . .
"Yes about that Louisa, I needed to catch you before you went out into the world, if you can call it that here. Though by the looks of you I needn't have hurried – productive night was it?"
"Well, actually – "
" – And you look a tart, by the way, well a sweet one . . . don't see many of those in my line of work. So how did it go last night then, you miss the sound of the baby monitor or were you too busy unwrapping your birthday boy to notice?"
"Um no actually, I . . . fell asleep."
"I see."
Good God.
" – But then I woke up and . . . and it turned into quite a lovely and different morning."
Yes, by the looks of it . . .
". . . CHRIST, lucky I didn't head on over this way before breakfast then, I almost did you know. But Ruth simply insisted it my duty to partake – Al needs the practice you see. Glad I did, he's quite skilled . . . as a cook I mean."
"Yeah I . . . assumed that's what you meant, um . . . right then! Where's Uncle G, or did you neglect to fetch him in your hurry to get here?"
"Playing chess with Ruth and Al. He never leaves the table on a stalemate, only checkmate, so I left him to it."
"Seems they've hit it off then?"
"Mm. So about this Morwenna, the receptionist . . ."
"Yeah, 'bout that Helen. I understand proper introductions are in order 'tween you two; not the best first impression now was it, sort of . . . one-sided like? No smoke without fire . . . that kind of thing?"
I'm not the sharpest reader of people, but Louisa looks and sounds quite happy despite the obvious jab. Clearly I caught her at a good time, well . . . after one anyroad.
"So I gather Martin finally told you then, our little unspoken lie such as it were. Though it really wasn't, it was just a misunderstanding . . . sorry about all the cloak and dagger."
"It's alright, no harm done really. Martin and I have had our . . . disagreements over the villagers more than once let's say, so he didn't want to start a row in front of guests, worried I'd jump him. I reckon I kind of deserved that, haven't always been fair with him so he was also concerned I'd jump him for not telling."
"Sounds about right."
"And he did try to tell me last night, but I shushed him . . . had other things on my mind."
"I bet."
"Anyways, I had planned on jumping him, just for different reasons . . . but yeah, then I fell asleep and didn't even know it."
"Unfortunate."
" – Which is a perfect choice of word for your little misunderstanding yesterday and if not dealt with 'fore the lunch rush at Bert's, I'll be in a world of trouble I'll have you know. Thus, Sister Dearest,you and I will be poppin' by Bert's for lunch today ourselves – to have a word and quiet the wagging tongues right there at the source. Can't think of a better way to clear up this little fiasco of ours . . . and it may even prove be fun!"
Yes, sounds just like a bloody circus.
"But 'fore that, though, we'll need to pop in to see Morwenner at her house."
"Mm, yes of course . . ."
I hide a yawn behind the sizeable mug before downing the last few drops of caffeinated liquid.
" – She's right past the Platt and on up the hill a short ways, though we might want to take your car and drive up'n around this time or we'll get nowhere for all the villagers we'll run into. . . . Not far, it's the big red house you can spot right out the window there, see it?"
I play along and walk over to the front window overlooking the harbour and the entire village, and I do indeed note a rather large square multi-storied house with red cladding amongst a cluster of irregular homes.
"Yes, I believe I do."
"Right, see – not that far. It was her granddad's house and she lived there with him you see, but then he died. . . . That's why I love my village; everybody's right there when you need'em!"
"Mm . . . and when you don't apparently."
"Well, there's that . . . In any case, Martin suggested I bring her by some fresh ice packs for a bum ankle and knowin' her as I do she's surely been worried sick all night over the notion of me harmin' this baby. So we ought not waste any time in puttin' it all straight, 'cause it wasn't her fault. Gottit?"
" – I'm not the one still in bed at 8.40 in the morning looking like a floozy, Louisa."
"Yeah good point, I'm just so knackered these days. Did you feel like that a lot with your four pregnancies?"
"No."
"Oh . . . right. I didn't much with James neither, there really was no time for it being on my own and all. And when I finally did fall into bed at night my mind and body were only focussed on sleep. Well . . . sleep, wake and wee, but no Martin meant no chance of other . . . things."
"You're just past your first trimester, Louisa. It will get better, that much I do know."
"What will, the tiredness or the . . . the other things?"
Oh for God's sake, just say what you mean to say. Fewer misunderstandings that way.
"– The sex you mean? Both will get better."
The look on Louisa's face is priceless and a good match for her perpetually perplexed husband.
"Go have a cold shower, Louisa, wake yourself up. James and I'll be waiting for you downstairs. Don't be long, 'we ought not waste any time', or so I was told."
XxX
My sister Helen is very blunt, so I've learnt, but she's also got lots more experience than me with most things in life it seems and so I do listen to what she has to say most the time. And she's dead right 'bout the sex being better, so seems I needn't worry 'bout being tired much longer neither then, which is jolly good news.
Knowing my son and sister both are waiting downstairs I ought to get a move on, continue this lovely day out of bed, so I step into the shower whilst peeling off my tarty costume one item at a time. Well, 'cept for my knickers that is. Martin already removed those, and only those – everything else he'd left on. Once I'd woken up it had been a very lovely morning indeed.
Different and special.
X
Waking up, again, I realise it must be the middle of the night still and curse this need for constantly having to wee that being pregnant seems to bring about.
Wake, sleepwalk, wee, sleep – and repeat. . . .
Soon though, this nightly mum-to-be routine of mine will cross over from the sleepwalk to the sleepwaddle . . . which I sadly learnt last time 'round isn't really a thing. Then at some point, it further morphs into wake, waddle, wee, wide awake – and sleep just literally falls to the wayside, no longer a part of life as you know it. No matter, I'll have help this time. I have Martin.
Fortunately I'm not waddling at the moment, far from it. I am, however, wide awake.
Finding myself in the bathroom, having apparently mastered the wake and the sleepwalking whilst navigating through the complete blackness of our bedroom, the wee and sleep parts should've been routine.
– But it didn't happen like that of course. . . .
Once there I reached for my pyjama bottoms and made to sit down, one highly perfected sleep-addled move I might add, only . . . there were no pyjama bottoms to hook onto. Instead my hands went flying across slick satin and into nothingness, causing my now off-balance self to plonk back down onto the toilet seat hard, really hard.
And I'm not even that big yet, just tired and uncoordinated . . . forgetful it seems.
You're not wearing your pyjamas Louisa, remember? You dressed up, well . . . down really, for your husband's birthday, wanting to make it special for him.
So now here I sit, then, feeling every bit of special – stunned awake on the toilet and face flushing with embarrassment. Rattled I pull my silky slip garment up and out of the way, push my knickers down past my stockings and over my knees and bashfully spend a penny anyways.
Finally – 'least I didn't hurt myself this time, Martin would've surely had a fit.
My ankle's still a bit sore from slipping on James' frog a few hours ago, so for him to think I've also forgotten how to use the toilet would have been a bit . . . odd.
Poor Martin . . .
The burlesque thing I'd planned so carefully was a right flop and now I realise I must've conked out on him to boot 'fore getting to celebrate in any way whatsoever.
Some wife I've turned out to be.
So it's only fitting then that, making my way over and back into our marital bed, I find myself wide awake and longing for my husband. What surely could've been, no – would've been, a memorable night.
Frustrated I crawl under the covers next to him and try to settle in for what's left of the night.
" . . . Louisa?"
Oh?
" – Did I wake you, Martin? I didn't mean to . . . I'm sorry."
"No. The radio switched on a bit ago, the power must have been restored."
"Oh right, I switched the CD on 'round the time the power cut off, didn't I . . . "
" . . . and it defaulted back to AM radio, yes, which is mostly undecipherable noise at five in the morning."
"Right. Sorry Martin, must've been an . . . unpleasant way to wake."
Like falling onto an icy-cold toilet seat.
"Mm, but I'm awake now and I wanted to ask if you're alright. It sounded as if you were having some difficulties in there."
'Some difficulties', you could say that . . .
"It was nothing, really. Just I forgot I wasn't wearing my . . . that I'm wearing the . . . oh nothing."
"You're not wearing nothing, at least you weren't earlier when I was looking at you."
I hear and feel him turning over, gently placing a large warm hand on my stomach and gliding it along the slick fabric, on over my left hip and down my stockinged thigh – confirming my rather suggestive state of undress.
"No, not nothing. You're still wearing that . . . outfit, just as I recalled."
My breath catches for a second, this is a new side to my husband.
"So then, Martin . . . you're saying you were looking at me . . . before?"
"Mm."
"Oh. And . . . and did you like what you saw, then? I wore it for you, you know."
"Yes."
. . . Meaning?
"Yes – you liked it, Martin, or yes – you know that it was for you?"
So maybe I hadn't been a complete flop after all then?
He must be getting to sit up as the mattress shifts a bit with his solid mass moving about and I can feel my knee falling against him where it dips. My leg securely in both hands this time he rests my foot against his chest and continues his wanderings where he'd left off.
The complete darkness of our room makes it that much more exciting, adding to the allure somehow on this rather unusual morning.
– What's come over him?
"Your ankle, Louisa?"
"Mm, yes."
". . . Yes? I mean, is it sore? Does it hurt?"
Oh.
"Um . . . not really, Martin. I don't know, a little . . . maybe?"
"Oedema."
"Hmm . . . what's it?"
"Swelling possibly, most likely."
" . . . Right."
My skilled Doctor's sensuous fingers move about my ankle. Yet it's more him being tender than my foot really, which is quite unexpected. He's being so . . . different with me this morning. I'm certainly not complaining, I'm just not sure I deserve it.
"You should try keeping it elevated for a bit, Louisa, it is swollen – but only slightly so. No cause for concern."
"Okay, that's good then . . . and this, this is good as well."
Scooting down a wee hair I'm able to walk my sore foot the rest on the way up his chest to his shoulder.
Perfectly elevated then, now isn't it Doctor.
"There – is that how you meant?"
He's quiet for a good while, thinking it over I reckon.
"Um . . . yes."
I smile at his discomfiture.
"Martin . . . I know morning lie-ins aren't really your thing, but I want you to know that I'm quite enjoying lying here with you like this, even if I can't see you. It's nice."
Trying to be encouraging I'm hoping he can hear in my voice that I really mean it.
So now here we are. On our bed in the dark, alone, with only the rain on the window panes rhythmically tapping away and my foot teasing Martin's ear in tact with the stormy euphony of it all.
It is nice.
". . . Louisa. When I looked at you before you were sleeping and you looked . . . peaceful, beautiful. You should already know that, of course, as I've told you before, but even more so now with the, the . . . curves of pregnancy. They, um, it highlights your features. And that, that . . . outfit, it was very – different."
"You remember it then?"
"I do."
"Yeah?"
" – Black silky fabric draped across your torso and clinging to your breasts, terminating approximately two inches above the proximal points of a pair of sheer black stockings, leaving a gap of exposed skin. Your mouth appeared bright red in colour and your hair naturally covered your shoulders with parts of it being, um, piled up in some configuration on the superior most aspect of your head."
Well I'll say, so not a flop at all then.
"Very good, Martin, I'm impressed. But you forgot one little detail . . ."
"Oh, what did I fail to recall?"
"The colour of my knickers – if I've got them."
That gets his attention, if his sharp intake of breath is any indication. My red knickers are the only lacy ones I've got, and he's only seen me wear them paired with my long red nightdress before.
Not this morning, this morning is . . . different.
"I . . . cannot say, you were seated I believe or covered mostly by the outfit."
"Yes I was, wasn't I? Shame that . . . but I'm not seated now."
"No."
I can feel the beat of his heart – his pulse, where my foot rests against his neck, and the sensation is surprisingly erotic.
And he's thinking hard, his focussed breaths giving him away, slowly increasing in intensity and volume. For what feels like a suspenseful eternity all my senses go on high alert in anticipation of his next move, whilst also trying to ignore the complete lack thereof.
He appears frozen in time, yet with blood rushing through him all the same – a brook flowing under a layer of its glaciated self, slowly thawing from friction, heat and sheer will.
Just when I think I can't hold my breath for another second, a searing palm comes into contact with the bare skin of my other leg, startling me. Taking hold of it he pulls me to him – just close enough to where he can follow my thighs down towards the garment in question.
And he has my undivided attention from that moment on, as his fingers find and start exploring, the lacy scrap of fabric.
" – You are wearing them and they're red" he says, voice tight but confident in his powers of deduction. Or is it seduction?
I'm not for certain, but impressed that the remembers all the same. Martin never forgets a person or an object that strikes his fancy.
"Mm yes, I am wearing my red knickers, you're right – your powers of deduction are quite impressive, Dr. Ellingham, but then I've always known you to be extraordinary."
He's completely dazed me with his behaviour so far, and I'm just taking it in and trying not to be the one to derail whatever this is.
" – And I did like what I saw before, Louisa, but I also like that which I cannot see . . . even more. And I need for you to always remember that."
I'm not about to forget.
XxX
Never had I been so grateful for the complete darkness of an early morning as I'd been at that very moment. My tears had come unbidden with the flow of Martin's honest words, and had he seen them he surely would have worried.
Different, everything about this morning had been different – and so very unlike him.
Actually no, that's not exactly true neither. Those words he'd spoken to me are very much like Martin's inner thoughts, it's just that those thoughts so very rarely make it into spoken words.
They are usually expressed in other ways. . . .
– And they had been, today had indeed been a special morning.
Stepping out of the shower and wrapping myself in a towel, I'm not so sure that Martin was the one receiving a gift this morning. Instead I would have to say that he was the one who was giving it. I feel that layers of him were uncovered in my presence today, layers which I've truly never seen before, even if I've sensed their existence.
To me there can be no gifts cherished more than those that come from laying oneself bare – literally and figuratively. I once told Martin that it's not the gift itself that matters, rather it's the thought and effort put forth that will bring happiness.
In the end, after his own shower and ablutions, my husband had walked away from me and our bedroom this morning with a sloppy red kiss that missed his cheek by a mile. Yet I sensed that he was more than a little pleased with himself at that very moment, and I got to see him off on his first day a year older with an actual genuine smile on his face.
Whatever epiphany he's had about me or us, and whatever puzzle he feels he's solved in his own mind, well . . . he'd clearly put a lot of thought and effort into it.
All I'd wanted was to give Martin something special, but if his giving himself to me is what makes him happy, then this morning's chance lie-in has gifted us both with far more than all our birthdays and Christmases combined.
And that's truly special indeed.
XxX