There, it was out in the open. I'd finally managed to tell someone what had been eating away at me since I'd heard the news about my dad. When was that? Just yesterday?
I understand that a lot of people are trying to help me and I do keep reminding myself of that but, when we pulled up outside Mrs Steele's imposing house, and I saw the cars parked outside, I was overwhelmed by so many horrible feelings. I felt so vulnerable. Like I was powerless and my life was out of control; and so angry with my dad for abandoning me like this; and how my life was now in the hands of people who, really, I hardly knew and who barely knew me.
I'd thought about it back at the cottage, when I'd been cleaning myself up. I'd actually been trying really hard not to stew on it because I knew there was a strong chance that I really would go to pieces but, sitting in the stained old bath, staring up at the peeling paint on the ceiling and thinking about where I could go and what I could do, it seemed like I only had two options. Sending me to Spain to live with my mother seemed like the most likely. And I guessed that the only alternative to that was to go in to the care of Social Services. I knew that Mrs Norton would do everything she could to prevent that but what if there was no option? I couldn't be a burden to people who already had nothing to spare for themselves. I had no idea where my mother was but I supposed the police could find her if they had to. I lay in the bath, feeling the warmth rapidly disappear from the water, and it was like all my dreams of an education and a career were about to go down the drain too.
A lot of things went through my mind; I considered running away, lying about my age, getting a job somewhere. But I just kept coming back to the fact that Port Wenn was my home and it was where I wanted to be. I loved my school, and my friends were here. The thought of being wrenched away just filled me with despair.
And then there was my so called mother. I struggled to imagine how a life with her would be any better than dossing down on a park bench or packing supermarket shelves at night. Plus, I didn't know any Spanish and I didn't want to so, even if Eleanor transformed herself into Mother of The Year overnight and bothered to find me a school, I couldn't see how my education wouldn't irredeemably suffer. And what if I went to Spain and she decided she didn't want me all over again? What would I do then?
I'd done my best to distract myself during the drive but there was always that dread lurking inside me and, as we pulled up to Mrs Steele's house, I felt like it would suffocate me.
I don't know why I thought Martin would be coming to the meeting. I just assumed, I suppose. So, when he said he was just dropping me off, I felt so alone and exposed it terrified me. Looking back, it wasn't unreasonable of me to be so desperate for someone I thought I could rely on. In that moment I just felt so exhausted by always having to look after myself, and the idea of serious, steady Martin, sitting silently by my side was reassuring. He'd seen enough of Eleanor to understand my fear.
So, embarrassingly, I just blurted it all out, and begged him to stay with me. When I finally plucked up the courage to look at him, he was looking back at me. His face was a bit sad actually, and a bit concerned and I felt quite defenceless; not a place that I'm comfortable in at all, but all I could do was hope, somehow, Martin of all people wouldn't let me down.
He switched the engine off.
"Mmmm, right. Okay." Was all he said, and I watched as the typical indomitable scowl returned to his face. I immediately felt relieved, even though, realistically, I had no idea what he'd be able to do if they decided that I have to go to Spain.
As we walked across the crunchy driveway stones, I began to feel a bit strange. I wasn't sure whether it was the hot bath, the near-miss with the vicar, or the fact I was feeling really anxious again but things had started to swim a little bit. Muriel's front door had a little glass porch that protected it from the wildest Cornish weather, and it was quite uncomfortably warm inside it. The front door was slightly ajar and we hesitated, neither of us sure whether to knock or just walk in.
There were voices inside and I was about to suggest that we should go in but, all of a sudden, everything started to wobble. Martin chose that moment to lean over me and knock loudly on the door. I felt my head go light and, as dizziness overtook me, my legs just collapsed underneath me.
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I remember lying in my bed on the first night back in London after what turned out to be the last summer holiday I spent with Auntie Joan and Uncle Phil in Cornwall. I'd had a particularly uncomfortable last meal with my parents where my mother had barely spoken a word to me, and my father had outlined my numerous failures of the previous term. Dad had decided that, from now on, I would stay at school for the holidays and focus on my education to avoid continuing to be such an disappointment to them. I was unceremoniously despatched outside to wait on the porch for the taxi that would take me back to school and, as Dad closed the door behind me, he mentioned casually that I would no longer be visiting Cornwall again.
I don't recall the taxi journey, or my particular thoughts at the time but I do remember the sensation of anguish and helplessness which stayed with me for a very long time after that.
Of course, the verbal goading began as soon as I entered the dorm, but I ignored it. I'd grown even taller over the previous few months, and a summer helping on the farm, enjoying my Aunt's cooking, and walking for miles had conditioned and strengthened me. I was now one of the biggest boys in my form, and physically strong enough that the bullies that had made my life a misery decided not to risk confrontation, and looked elsewhere for their entertainment.
Despite, seemingly, an end to the continuous physical violence I'd been subjected to for years, after lights out I lay in my narrow bed, feeling utterly grief stricken and despondent. I raged internally about the unfairness of life and my own powerlessness. It didn't seem to matter how hard I tried, I ended up despairing and alone. I had always dreamed of Auntie Joan uplifting me from my miserable home life and now I was never to see her again. It was a cruel, well aimed blow.
And now, as I sat in the luxurious leather seat of my new car, fiddling with my sterling silver cuff links, a surgical career beckoning and, with it, the freedom to make my own decisions and determine my own path in life, I looked over at the child in my passenger seat and, buried deeply inside me, I knew how she felt. Five minutes at her run down cottage had shown me how hard she'd tried to create a normal life for herself. And, yet, here she was. Despairing and alone.
I believed there was nothing more I could do help Louisa and it would have been easy to drive off without a second thought. As far as I was concerned, I had completed the task that I'd been assigned, and the thought of an afternoon exploring the antiques shops of Truro was infinitely more appealing than the emotional maelstrom I was about to enter in to. But, despite my misgivings, I heard myself agree to stay.
She looked at me forlornly, bit her lip, and got out of the car.
As we crossed the drive, I admired the house. It was of very elegant proportions and I particularly like the quoining feature; in my opinion it provided the architecture with gravitas and dignity. The views were indeed breathtaking but the glass porch, an obvious later addition, was a monstrosity. I supposed it to be a necessity in this climate but, as I bent down and entered the hot, cramped space, I felt like a medical curiosity, preserved in formalin, and tightly encased within a jar.
After standing by the door for a few moments, it dawned on me that Louisa was a little upset and therefore probably not up to much, including actually getting us into the house for this sodding meeting. Impatiently, I leaned over her to knock and, as I leaned back, I heard her make a soft groan. I saw her wobble and I just had time to grab her under one arm as she fell backwards against me.
I had managed to prevent her falling completely, but I was wedged in by her dead weight in front of me, and some sort of conservatory table behind me, which was digging painfully into the back of my legs.
"Louisa!" I growled through clenched teeth but she did not respond.
Gingerly, I eased my backside downwards until I was sure that the table could take my weight, and then I attempted to slide Louisa down into a sitting position in front of me. There wasn't a lot of her, she was a slight thing, but she was also out cold and I was doubled over awkwardly in a very warm, confined space. I managed to get my arms underneath hers and manoeuvred her into a sitting position in front of me, leaning against my shins, but I still couldn't stand up as she was effectively sitting on my feet. I gave an almighty heave and lifted her upwards, sliding my arms down and wrapping them around her abdomen as I managed to get us both into the standing position. I heard her mutter something, and then she leaned her head backwards against my chest, crumpled and unconscious.
And, with very unfortunate timing, that's how Auntie Joan found us as she swung open the front door, and stared at me with abject horror.
I looked back at her, somewhat sheepishly, and then down at Louisa, collapsed in my arms.
"Martin?" She cried incredulously. "What on earth are you doing?"
Suddenly, I had a very strange feeling. I recalled something undefinable, a vague sense of another time and place. I believe that I experienced the disarming sensation they call déjà vu.
I looked at my aunt's disapproving expression and a wave of annoyance and frustration passed over me. What did she think I was doing?
"Perhaps you'd like to help me get her inside, Auntie Joan, if that's not too much trouble." I spat back, each word dripping with as much sarcasm as I could muster.
Wordlessly, she stepped forward and between us we managed to get Louisa supported on either side and we half carried her, half dragged her into the hallway. I felt her return to consciousness, and, after a few seconds, she opened her eyes and looked at us.
"Sorry," she said quietly. "I don't know what came over me."
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Looking back at the clearly worried face of Mrs Norton made me feel a bit guilty, and I should have guessed that, with Martin being some sort of doctor and so serious about everything, he was not going to ignore a spell of dizziness and then me fainting out cold.
Now, on top of everything I was going to have to endure Twenty Questions from him, including embarrassing personal ones no doubt, and listen to him rant at the adults in the other room about everything from his belief in my lifetime lack of medical care, His opinion on my parent's negligence and even how the Port Wenn Pharmacy was operated by harridans and strumpets, whatever they are.
And I only had myself to blame. When I felt myself start to wobble, and everything went a bit fuzzy, I genuinely did collapse. But, I honestly wasn't prepared for Martin to catch me, so I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that I didn't actually faint, and I probably could have supported myself again after a few seconds. Instead, I thought it was quite funny for him to have to hold me up. Sometimes, when my friends are all up at Caroline's, we muck around like that; one of us is a dead weight and the others have to try and move them around. It's usually hilarious, and we all end up in pile on the floor, laughing hysterically.
Already, it seems like a really stupid idea. Of course, it is Martin we are talking about and he was never going to laugh, especially when Mrs Norton came to the door and told him off. Instead, he's down on one knee in front of me, pulling down my lower eyelids, and taking my pulse, while Mrs Norton hovers anxiously behind him with a large glass of water.
When I said I didn't know what came over me, I meant it and now I feel even more embarrassed. Because, if I'm honest, the feeling of being caught and held was actually quite nice. I think about it again, as Martin stares thoughtfully at me, and I don't even feel that guilty any more.
