Martin's next 24 hours were certainly a blur, and by the end of Sunday evening, he found himself back home, in the safety of the surgery. Here, he didn't have to be vulnerable; he didn't have to let down his walls. In fact, he could build them as high as he wanted. He'd tried with Louisa, really tried, at least as much as Martin knew how to try. He pondered that as he worked on his clock, trying to destress after the long weekend, the botched attempt to talk to Louisa, the realization that she had moved on with that bugger Danny, and then, the long, lonely train ride home. It was a weekend he wanted to soon forget.
Martin sighed and sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples. His head was starting to pound, but he knew it was not from the delicate work on his clock. No, the stress was coming from the mess of the weekend. He now questioned all of it, going to see Louisa through checking on her because now he could not get the image out of his head, that of Louisa with Danny. He'd had to watch it in the village before, and then, she'd been his, Martin's Louisa, for a short time. Now, she had gone back to that moron. He did not want that for Louisa. Of course, he wanted her to be happy, but he truly did not think it was with Danny. Deep in his heart, he knew he would never be truly happy-as much as Martin could be happy or admit to being happy-without Louisa and was having difficulty accepting that she could so easily move on. She had told him that she loved him, even in her departing letter. How was that love so fickle? He just didn't understand, but regarding relationships, there was so much he didn't understand. What he did seem to grasp was that he was alone, destined to be alone.
Martin looked at the clock and packed it up for the evening. He couldn't focus, not anymore. He'd barely slept at the hotel after his encounter with Louisa. He had retreated quickly out of her ghastly building. He still cringed thinking of it, the filth, the size, just all of it. He hated Louisa had found that as the most appropriate accommodation and still could not believe that living in such a dingy place was what made her happy. Louisa, in London-a large city he knew she didn't like, teaching students-who were not her village children, living in an abysmal, darky, dingy flat-when he knew she liked bright, cheery spaces, and back together with Danny-one of the most self absorbed people Martin had met. No, nothing, at least to him, added up to her being happy. It seemed everything he knew of Louisa was off on this.
Martin finished and stood up, looking around the room. He needed to lock up and go to bed, but first he'd shower. His train ride home left him feeling less than sanitary, and he should have showered after getting home, but he'd felt the need to calm himself. His clock had allowed him that, somewhat. He wasn't sure if he was really any calmer now than he had been. As he left the room, he looked down at his medical bag. He was still concerned about Louisa's health; that was a fact. He took seriously the medical state of his patients and his duty of care, even if one said patient was Louisa who had left his practice care. She was tired; he could see it on her face she was tired. Apparently, Danny believed her to not be well, as during the brief encounter, Martin had noticed the food Danny had brought her. At least he could say that about the idiot; Danny was doing something to care for Louisa, and Martin hoped that she was at least seeking medical care. He hated walking away with unanswered questions. She'd not confirmed with him that she was keeping up with her anemia. That still bothered him, the unanswered medical dilemma he was not able to sort with Louisa.
His phone rang as he was walking the house locking up, and he looked down to see Joan calling him.
"Yes?" Martin answered with a question. "Are you alright?"
"That's what I was calling you to ask, Marty," Joan told him. "I hadn't heard from you all weekend after your trip. How was your conference? You home okay? Enjoy yourself?"
"I'm sorry," he grumbled. "Which question would you like me to address first, Auntie Joan?" Martin sighed, hating it when people asked a series of questions without giving a chance to respond. He paused in his kitchen, awaiting her answer.
"Ahh, that good, hmm? I suppose you can tell me what you like. Go on," she encouraged.
"Ahh, it was, fine, I suppose," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If you must know, I am tired. I didn't sleep well all weekend and was heading upstairs to bed."
"Very well," Joan told him. "I was checking to make sure you were home, which it sounds as if you are. Do anything fun while you were there? Oh," she chuckled, "well, you know what I mean. I realize you don't really do fun."
"Fun?" Martin grimaced. "I rode a train. I was busy. I bought a new suit, but that isn't really what you would call fun. That was practical, and I did that today before taking the train. It will be shipped here after alterations."
"Oh, I see, something you cannot do here in the village," Joan acknowledged. "Well, very good, but I suppose I don't see why you need more suits, Marty. You know, it wouldn't harm you to buy something a little less formal. You've been here several years. Everyone knows who you are, but when not working, you could always loosen up a bit."
"I'm always working," Martin stated. "Really, I must go. My head is pounding, and I'm tired."
"Right, right," Joan said sweetly to him. "Well, I missed you and did want to invite you to supper tomorrow, yes? 6:00 sharp."
"Umm, right," Martin said. "Ahh, fine, ahh good," he said.
"Night, Marty," Joan told him and hung up, knowing pleasantries were not Martin's strong point.
He sighed loudly and started up the stairs, almost grateful for the dinner invitation; he hadn't been hungry for days now and just didn't have the energy to cook.
It was time he got over Louisa, he realized, though. He just didn't know how.
That thought or question rather of "How do I get over Louisa?" stayed in Martin's head for the next several days. It didn't help that the bloody villagers were gushing about Christmas coming up. Pauline couldn't stop talking about the gifts she wanted, telling Martin over and over what she wanted and from whom. All he wanted for Christmas was to be left alone. Joan had invited him to Christmas supper; the two had discussed that during their supper the night after Martin had returned from London. It wasn't that he didn't want to eat with Joan, but it was just that after everything, he felt he would be better alone. Joan had even offered to cook fish for Christmas, something she knew Martin would like. He told her it was not necessary, picking up on the detail that she really wanted to bake another chicken. After weighing his options, one to eat Christmas dinner with Joan, and two, to stay at home alone, he decided to eat with Joan mainly because he knew she wouldn't let him be alone on Christmas. Going with the second option would be futile. Practically speaking, too, he did have the slippers to give her, slippers he had found in a shop while in London. Martin had a little time before he'd departed to visit his favorite suit shop and buy Joan's Christmas gift. Those had been the only productive parts of his mess of a weekend.
So, as the days marched closer and closer to Christmas, Martin found himself in an extremely grumpy mood, more so than normal. By the time Christmas arrived, he was ready for the day to be over but made his way to his aunt's house for supper.
"Happy Christmas to you, Marty," Joan smiled broadly as she opened the door for him. She had been working there in her kitchen as he drove up. She embraced him in a small hug, one which he stood rigid until he felt her pat his back. Then, he quickly embraced her too.
"Umm, yes, ahh, Happy Christmas, Auntie Joan." Martin quickly extended the gift towards her, a slight blush rising on his face. He hated things type of thing, giving gifts to people. Yes, he loved his aunt, but he never understood the need to express that love and gratitude in gifts. She looked at the nicely wrapped package, care of the London shop, and she smiled up at him.
"Well, this is unexpected, but very much appreciated, Marty. Thank you," she said, taking it. "Perhaps we should open gifts first since you got the ball rolling here," she said, holding up the gift. "Come on, let's go into the sitting room. The chicken will be ready shortly."
"Auntie Joan," Martin said following her and continued, "it's cold in here, damp and drafty. Is your boiler working?"
Joan dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand, "Ahh, blasted boiler. It's got a mind of its own."
"Shall I take a look at it?" Martin asked as Joan sat on her couch.
Joan looked up at him, a questioning glance and chuckled, "You, Marty? Be my guest," she waved, "although, I think all you will end up doing is actually looking or staring at it. I'll have to call about repairs after the holiday. It's not a bother, at least to me."
"For your health, Auntie Joan, you really need proper heating here," Martin sighed. Joan waved at the tree she had up in the corner.
"Let's worry about that later, shall we? There are gifts to open. Ruth sent gifts to both of us. Let's enjoy our day," Joan said with a bright smile at Martin. He just grunted and moved toward the tree to retrieve the gifts Joan had indicated.
Several minutes later after the two had opened the few gifts there, Joan sat, her feet extended in front of her, admiring her new slippers.
"These will certainly keep my feet warm, Marty. Thank you," she grinned. "I must have been in desperate need of slippers for both you and Ruth to each gift some to me."
"I did not discuss your needing slippers with Ruth," Martin admitted, frowning at her.
"Twas a joke, Marty," Joan chuckled. "I'm very glad you each got me a pair. I won't lose them in the house. I can leave a pair downstairs and a pair upstairs. Did you find your gifts to be what you wanted?"
"I didn't want anything for Christmas," Martin grunted, but he looked down at the new apron in his lap. "Ahh, thank you, though, for the apron."
"You're welcome," Joan nodded. "Best keep those expensive suits clean, and I know you enjoy cooking. Speaking of cooking, I should check on the chicken."
"I can help," Martin said, standing to follow Joan.
"What are your plans for the next few days?" Joan asked.
"Working, I suppose," Martin sighed in the kitchen. He frowned at Joan, "I don't see why the surgery has to be closed for the holidays. I'm perfectly willing to work."
"Hmm, I'm sure over the next couple of days you will have your normal load of emergencies," Joan stated as she worked at the cooker. As she said that, Martin's phone rang. "See, what did I tell you?" Joan nodded to Martin as he dug his phone out of his suit pocket.
He rolled his eyes at her and snatched up his phone, "Ellingham."
"Hello Martin," he heard. His eyes widened, and he pulled the phone away to look at the caller information. He was caught off guard, but he was aware enough not to say more standing there with Joan.
"Ahh, hello," he said, nodding to Joan as he stepped out of the kitchen area. He looked around quickly, almost not sure where to go, but he decided outside, even with the dreary weather, was better. Why was she calling.
"Umm, right, ahh, Happy Christmas, yes?" Louisa said on the other end.
"Emm, ahh, yes, right, ahh, Happy Christmas," he said, stumbling over his words. He rolled his eyes knowing he sounded like a complete idiot. Why had he not looked at the caller id when he had answered? Why again was she calling?
"Look, right, well, I suppose you wonder why I'm calling out of the blue," Louisa explained.
"The thought did cross my mind," Martin said, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.
"It's just that we got interrupted the other day, which was its own shock, you showing up at my flat," Louisa told him. "I'm not sure what that was all about there, but I did want to apologize for getting interrupted. Whatever the reason, you did stop by my flat in London, and we didn't get to finish the conversation."
"Your health," he blurted out. "I was simply inquiring about your health," he fumbled over his words, closing his eyes, and pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew he was a blundering mess, mucking up this call too. He couldn't really explain his reasons for wanting to see her, wanting that glimpse of the beauty she was, but the whole weekend had been a mess, and here she was calling him today.
"Right, so," she sighed. The line went silent for several seconds, and Martin was not sure what to say. It was an extremely awkward call. "I guess, Martin, is I was thinking about our interaction, have thought about it, and I wanted to finish it."
"Finish it?" Martin shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm not understanding, Louisa."
"Perhaps there were things unsaid," Louisa offered.
"Such as?" Martin asked her. He heard Louisa sigh. The line went silent again.
"I'm sorry. Am I interrupting your Christmas?" Louisa finally asked.
"Ahh, no, well, just at Joan's farm, about to eat," he told her.
"Right, sorry," Louisa told him.
"It's fine," he said quickly and loudly. "I mean, it's no bother."
"Thing is, Martin, I believe there are things unsaid," she told him. "You did come by my flat."
"I, ahh," he stammered.
"I thought we could discuss these things, these unsaid things over the phone. Perhaps, it's really not a good idea," she told him.
"I, ahh, well," he continued to stumble over his words.
"I mean, perhaps, the phone isn't a good idea," she sighed. "I just-"
Martin, for once, seemed to pick up on something, whether he was correct or not, he didn't know. He blurted, "Louisa are you, I mean," he stammered, "did you want me to examine you, in person? I could check your anemia."
Louisa let out a long, loud sigh and was quiet again. Finally, she spoke softly, "No, Martin, I mean, no, I don't want you to examine me, but yes, I suppose I had the idea of trying to discuss a few things with you in person. Sorry," she sighed again, "I am hearing myself and realize this isn't a good idea. I should not have called or even thought it was an idea."
"Ahh, no," Martin stated rather quickly. His eyes darted as he thought about the right thing to say. Problem was he never said the right thing even when trying to say the right thing. "No, I mean, it is an idea, ahh, a way to, well," he groaned, "I mean, I don't know what I mean, but yes, if you want to discuss anything in person, that is fine."
"Right, Martin, let's just forget the idea," Louisa sighed. "I'll let you get back to Joan. Happy Christmas."
"Wait," he said, hoping she would not hang up. Regardless of the many things he could say to much it up, he did want to see her; the idea had never crossed his mind that she might be willing. While his mind went right to checking her anemia, Louisa had said to discuss things unsaid, whatever that was. Any glimpse of her was something he would attempt to get right now, especially if she was suggesting it."
"Martin," she sighed. "Look, this was a bad idea."
"I can come to London," he blurted out quickly. "I mean, unless you were planning to come to the village over your holiday, and if that is the case, we can certainly find adequate time to talk."
"No, I am not coming to the village. I believe a clean break from there is best, which I realize is what I'm saying, but just talking to you, is not what I am doing. I won't ask you to leave your patients. I know about your dedication to their duty of care. I'll just ring off, Martin."
"I can come to London. Chris, ahh, Chris Parson, he's told me, told other GPs to close for the holiday. I'm not working, at least not with set hours for the next three days."
"You hate traveling," Louisa told him. "See, this was just a horrid thought I had. Good thinking, Louisa," she muttered quietly.
"Tell me when you would like to meet, Louisa, and I will be there, please. I don't mind traveling if I have a specific purpose. This," he hesitated, "'is one. Please," Martin added with some civility. As he waited for her response, he started to think about what seeing her would do to him. He knew he needed to move beyond this relationship with Louisa; it had ended, but oh, dear, sweet Louisa. Just any time in her presence was worth whatever mess of traveling he would have to endure over the next few days.
"I am off school for the holiday," she told him. "I suppose that I wasn't sure what would come of this conversation, but yes, Martin, maybe we can meet in person, here in London. It would probably be best."
"I shall arrange my travels. Tell me your expectations," he said with a slight nod as he continued to pace in Joan's yard, suddenly the cold, damp, misty air of no concern to him.