Chapter 60

Asking permission had never been part of his personal playbook; but, given the respect the Portuguese doctors had accorded him when he consulted with them about his mother and their accommodation of all that he had asked so far, he decided it would be considerate to notify them that he intended to bring his two sons to visit their grandmother before she died. "Grandmother", he hated using that word for Margaret, but he knew it would be the key to gaining access for James and Robert. And it worked; the staff practically tripped over themselves to permit the two young boys to say good-bye to their "grandmother". He made certain that the staff knew that they referred to her as Miss Margaret, not as grandmother. He didn't want either of the boys questioning him about her relationship to their family.

Peter offered to drive them over since Martin wasn't listed as one of the drivers on Louisa's car hire. That way Louisa could stay home and help Joanie prepare for bed. Martin didn't think they would be in hospital long. He had cautioned the boys that they could only stay for a minute or two at the most. He guided them into the ward where Margaret lay, and James moved straight to Margaret's bedside and reached out for her hand. "Be careful not to disturb the line." Martin cautioned him.

"I know Dad."

"Hello Miss Margaret. I'm sorry you are so sick. Dad says you won't get better, but if you can hear me, maybe you can try. He looked up at Martin and exclaimed, "Dad, she squeezed my hand"

"Mmm … probably just an involuntary reflex."

James wasn't ready to give up. "Maybe she knows it's me." He turned back to Margaret. "We came to say good-bye. I will miss seeing you when we visit Portugal."

He turned back to let Robert say his good-bye and Robert went over to the bed and dutifully said,
"Good-bye Miss Margaret. Try to get better."

When Robert finished, Martin took his hand and guided the boys out of the room. James suddenly turned around and said, 'Dad, I need to tell her one more thing." And he rushed back to her bedside while Martin waited with Robert near the ward's entrance.

James leaned over Margaret's bed and whispered, 'Miss Margaret. I know you are dad's mum and that you and he don't like each other. I wish you did. He is the best Dad ever, and I think you would have been a good grandmother."

Martin knew that they needed to leave the ward and he trailed behind James back to Margaret's bed to hurry him along. He arrived just in time to hear James say "best Dad ever". That forced him to stop suddenly, "Best Dad ever." Could he mean that? Yes, he knew that James loved him as a father, but "best dad ever?" He tucked his head into his neck and stared at his shoes, and felt tears welling up. He bit his lips together to hide his emotion. He noticed that James had continued to speak with her, although he didn't hear what he said, and then he left her side and returned to Martin and Robert. "Okay, we can go."

He nodded gravely at his son, "Yes. Peter is waiting for us at the hospital entrance."

Later that night as he was tucking James into bed, he asked, "What was it you said to Margaret just before we left? Do you want to tell me?"

James' face took on a serious aspect, "Miss Margaret is your mother, isn't she Dad?"

James was an astute observer, so he shouldn't have been surprised that he had divined the relationship. Still, even though he was disconcerted at the question, he knew that he must answer truthfully, "Yes, she gave birth to me."

"But you don't visit her."

"No."

"Why not?"

Martin sighed. This was a conversation he had hoped never to have. "James, not all mothers love their children like your mum does. Miss Margaret was one of those mothers that don't. She never loved me, even when I was a baby. I don't know why, but she didn't."

"Mum says she was mean to you."

"When did she say that?" How dare Louisa discuss his childhood with James?

"I heard her talking with Graunty one time and Graunty said she was mean to you."

'Yes."

"Is that why you didn't visit her."

"Yes." There was no need to elaborate. James didn't need to know about his being locked in the cupboard under the stairs, about her yelling at him when he wet the bed or when other children bullied him. He didn't need to know about how she let his Dad beat him with his belt for asking too many questions or interrupting him while he was working.

"James, the good thing is that your mother loves you and Robert and Joanie very much and she will never be mean to you. She will always want what is best for you; and when you are grown up, she will always be happy to visit with you. She and I will always love you. Never forget that."

'I won't Dad. I love you and mum too." James sat up in his bed and wrapped his arms around Martin's chest for a long and lingering hug until Martin pulled him away and lay him back down on the bed. He stroked his cheek with the back of his hand as he had been doing since James was a baby and then, he leaned over and gave his cheek a kiss, "Goodnight James."

Martin rose from the side of James' bed and went out of the room, closing the door behind him. Louisa was reading a book on the couch in the flat's lounge and looked up as he closed the children's bedroom door. "Is everything alright?"

He sat down next to her and picked up her hand and started rubbing her palm, 'Yes."

She waited for him to continue, "James told me that he knew Margaret was my mother."

"Oh dear."

"He said that he heard you and Ruth discussing her behaviour towards me when I was a child."

'Yes. He asked me a while back if she was your mother, and I couldn't lie to him. When he asked why you didn't visit, I just told him that your parents didn't want you around when you were little and that you were still sad about it."

"Why didn't you tell me about that."

Louisa looked down, and then away, "I don't know. It's all so tragic and sad, I just didn't want to upset you, I guess."

"Mmm … "

"I guess I hoped James would be satisfied with my answer and it would all go away."

"Yes." It was about to go away now, thank god. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to his side and leaned his head against hers. He thought back to his own farewell to his mother as he sat next to her bed after he had completed his checks and confirmed that she was near death.

He closed her notes and began to speak, "Well Mum, here we are. Your time has come. Will there be anyone to grieve for you once you breathe your last? Certainly, I won't. Your death will be a relief, knowing that I will never have to face the look of disgust on your face whenever you see me and that I will never hear your disparaging remarks ever again.

I will never understand why you didn't love me, how you could just pass your infant off to the succession of nannies that passed through our house. Was there something missing in your emotional makeup, some genetic flaw in your DNA that prevented you from reacting the way most parents do when they first see their new-born? Research has shown that, when a woman gives birth, there is a surge of oxytocin, the love hormone, and other hormones that stimulate her brain to respond to her infant with love and care. It happens to men as well. With each of my own children, the bond was immediate; the surge of love and care that I felt when I first held them overwhelmed me."

He paused, blinking to hold back the tears that were welling up despite his attempt to maintain his stoicism. "And these same studies have shown that there are some women who don't respond to the sight of their infants with that surge of hormones. Perhaps that happened to you. But I don't think so. You were more than indifferent to me, you seemed to take a perverse pleasure in rejecting and belittling me. I've long since come to accept that you never wanted a child, and that you would have treated any child you had with disdain. It wasn't personal, it wasn't me in particular that you couldn't abide. I just happened to be the child you bore and upon whom you heaped your anger and animosity.

For years I thought it was me, that I was unlovable. But then Louisa found me. She fell in love with me. She still loves me. I know that you would attribute that to some material or status seeking need of hers, married to a highly successful London surgeon. That was why you married Dad. But you would be wrong. She accepts me for who I am, and she loves me for it. I do everything I can to make her happy … which by the way, doesn't mean expensive jewellery or fancy trips abroad.

You may have been the first woman in my life, but thank god, you were not the last. I had Joan who loved me as her own child when you allowed me to visit her farm. She was more of a mother to me than you ever were and I loved her as a son loves his mother, and I miss her every day of my life. And I have Ruth who loved me in her own way, and who still loves me and my family in ways you would never understand. And I have Louisa and our daughter, little Joanie. Yes, she is only five and she has me wrapped around her little finger … most of the time. I am aware of that, but I am her father and we will always have that bond.

There are many other women in my life who are fond of me, Louisa's mother and my assistant Ms Newcross, and many others, Chris Parsons' wife, Michelle for one. I have not always recognized their affection, but Louisa assures me that it is there."

He leaned back in the chair and sighed. Then rising, he exhaled, "Good-bye Mum."

It had been an exhausting day. He pulled Louisa closer and kissed the top of her head. "Perhaps we should prepare for bed."

She wrapped her arm around his chest and snuggled closer to him. "Yes, I suppose we should. It's been a long day." She snuggled in closer, "I have been thinking about tomorrow. I know you will probably be busy making provisions to send your mother back to England. I will need to keep the children busy. My mother will be free late in the afternoon and we should spend a few hours with her. I think I will let the children play in the pool here; it's heated so they shouldn't get chilled. It may be too cold on the beach.
I also need to clean out your mother's refrigerator. She had prepared tea for us, and we didn't have time to eat it. Her flat is usually clean and tidy, so we may not need to call in cleaners before we go home, but we also don't want any food left that could spoil." Louisa shuddered, 'Ugh."

"No. I can clean out the flat if need be."

She slipped her hand under his suit and lightly brushed her fingers along the buttons of his shirt, "It might be nice if you spent some time with the children. They would like that."

"Mmm … I would like that also, but I wouldn't want to spend time in the pool. I didn't think to bring swim trunks, but I could definitely supervise for a while if you'd like." He considered whether he would actually enjoy playing with the children in the pool. He had done that once or twice on family vacations and had felt very self-conscious. Somehow, he didn't think he would feel that way anymore. He sensed that his mother's passing changed everything. It was as if a leaded weight or a heavy veil had been lifted from his life and he was free now to experience joy without fear of reproach.

"That's too bad. They would love having you in the pool with them."

"Yes. Perhaps later I could take them for a walk on the beach. I'd like that."

Louisa smiled up at him, and he could tell that she was happy with him. He meant what he had said to his mother. He will continue to do whatever he can to make his wife happy because when she is happy, he is happy too. Yes, happy. He smiled back at her and reached down to give her a delicate kiss. "Let's go to bed." He rose and gave her his hand.

As they walked hand in hand out of the living room, his mobile rang, and they paused. "Ellingham."

He was quiet for a moment, "Yes. Thank you for calling. I will contact you tomorrow as soon as I have made arrangements to return the body to England."

"Mmm. Right."

He rang off and sighed, "It's over."

Louisa reached over to brush her fingers against his arm, "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Let's get some rest." He picked her hand back up and they slowly walked on to open the door to look in on the children. Satisfied that all was well, they quietly closed the door. Before stepping over into their room, Martin pulled her to him and declared in a soft whisper, "Louisa, I love you."

She smiled and reached up to kiss him, then replied, "I love you too."

He smiled back, wrapped his arms around her, and released a long contented sigh, "I know."