Webs We Weave

Part 2

"Are you alright sweetheart?" Sam breaks into my thoughts as he strokes my hair gently, "You've gone very quiet. What are you thinking?"

I nod slowly, buying myself time, since I know the last thing I can tell him is what was actually running through my head – I don't think that the untold Ballad of Martha and I is one he needs to share. Instead I stare down at my beloved daughter,

"I'm sorry," I say, my eyes fixed firmly on her, "I'm just so overwhelmed. This is all so new to me."

I feel an arm slip round my shoulder, "It's alright." He tells me gently, "It's an overwhelming experience for me too, and its bound to be more so for you, it's your first time."

The reminder that he's been through all this before, and that he lost contact with the child in question, is another hefty reason why Martha has been condemned to be nothing more than a past fling. Over the last few months, as he and I have got to know each other properly I've come to understand how much his estrangement from his son hurts him. I couldn't do that to him again. We have to make this work.

It occurs to me, as he continues to hug me, that there's something very wrong with the amount of time I spend thinking about her. She pops into my head so very frequently, and while it's often unsettled me, now that I'm here with Sam and our child, it's not just unsettling but also very wrong.

I can't keep letting her interfere. I have to concentrate on my family.

And so, I push all thoughts aside and finally look up at Sam,

"What are we going to call her?"

He smiles, "I thought that was set in stone. As I recall you've been adamant about it from the word go."

It's true, and yet now I'm not sure. I chosen the name long before he and I got together and I feel somewhat guilty at not allowing him any input. I offer him the chance to change it though, and he won't hear of it.

"It's a beautiful name." He remarks, "For a very beautiful girl." He grins at me with a charming and cheeky grin that I am in little doubt has charmed a number of women into falling in love with him over the years, and of which I am, I keep telling myself, the latest victim. "She looks just like her mum."

I smile myself then, "She looks like Winston Churchill Sam. All new babies do."

---

We spend the evening getting to know our daughter. Sam, it transpires, is a natural with babies and I don't think I do so badly myself – the love I feel for her completely obliterating any fears I have about doing things wrongly. It feels a little weird at first, especially since when I first fell pregnant I never imagined Sam would be at my side at this point, but he is and that's something I find myself quickly getting used to, until I reach the point where I can't imagine his not being there.

Which is why, when my Consultant comes to throw him out, I find myself weeping a few tears as I don't want him to leave.

It would have been an odd feeling. Once upon a time.

"Darling," Sam says, when my Consultant leaves, "he has a point. You need to rest. You're exhausted."

I nod, conceding on the issues because I am exhausted. No matter what they try to tell you, giving birth is no walk in the park – it's draining both physically and emotionally. He offers to stay until I'm asleep but I decline, at least in part because I want some time on my own with my daughter before I go to sleep, but also because I'm not a five year old.

He has one last cuddle – with her, and one last kiss – with me, and then leaves, only stopping at the door to wave at me,

I wave back, "Goodnight Mr Strachan."

Hearing me use my favourite term of endearment for him he smiles, knowing full well what I expect to come next.

He doesn't disappoint.

"Goodnight Mrs Strachan."

---

We married in February. Valentines Day infact. Horribly cliché I know, but I didn't get much of a say in it since I knew nothing about it until the big day. Sam organized the whole thing, and the first inkling I had was when I was paged, asked to go to the hospital chapel and arrived there to find Sam waiting there in a full morning suit.

I went completely fucking mental.

I don't know which part of his plan irritated me the most. The fact he was arrogant enough to believe that I would marry him without him even asking, or the way he organized the whole day without asking me for input.

Mind you, he always was an impulsive prat.

Anyway, just as he was wondering if he might have to call off the guests who were due to arrive an hour later, he dropped the bombshell which changed my mind.

He broke down. Told me he was scared I was going to leave him. Broke it to me that he was convinced that there was someone else.

Direct quote, "I don't know where your head and heart have been for the last six weeks but they've not been with me. I get the feeling you want to be with someone else – I don't know who, but this was the only thing I could think of to stop you leaving me."

Touching I know. Heartrendering really. But that's not why I married him. I married him to prove that it wasn't true. I didn't want someone else. I didn't want Martha.

It's no reason for marrying someone, that I know, but I think I was running scared at that point. It had been a difficult six weeks, punctuated by 'incidents' with Martha, who although taking the hint and making no further move on me insisting on acting like my long lost best friend. Every time I turned round she was there – with coffee in the morning, a sandwich at lunchtime, patient notes, a hug when I lost a patient. It was all very 'nice' but I was worried about the undertones. And even more so I was worried that I was getting to rely on her too much.

I was worried where it was all going to lead.

And so I accepted his proposal, and an hour later, in a wedding with all the trimmings I married him. If I hadn't still been seething at having the control taken from me I would have been impressed at everything he'd pulled together in such a short space of time.

A dress. Flowers. Guests. A reception. A bridesmaid.

This is where the irony starts. After I'd accepted Sam said he had to go and give all our guests the good news and suggested I go to my office to get changed. I did so, and that was where I found the gorgeous, if not a little 'meringue' like gown he'd chosen for me, along with Martha, resplendent in burgundy satin looking completely uncomfortable.

"That's a bridesmaids dress." I murmured, considering the sight of her in it to be one shock too many, hence the fact I'd been reduced to completely stating the obvious.

She nodded awkwardly, "I'm sorry. Sam wouldn't take no for an answer."

She had my every sympathy. I knew exactly how she felt.

"But why?"

She sighed, "He said he's seen us together a lot recently. He said I was obviously your right hand girl these days and so I should be at your wedding too." She looked at me, the same desperate look in her eyes that I'd seen when I'd tried to reject her that first night, "You're not really going to go through with this are you?"

I started to undo my jacket, not wanting to look at her, not wanting to give into that look a second time, "Can you help me into my dress please?"

She grabbed my arm furiously, halting my undressing in my tracks, "You can't do this Connie. I know you and I are a big no-no but you don't love him. Don't do this to yourself just to prove a point."

"I have to." I said softly, not looking at her because I knew that everything she was saying was true, "I have a responsibility now, to my baby, and to Sam. Please," I pulled away from her and went over to the gown hanging on the back of the door, "let it go. Let me go."

I tried to concentrate on getting undressed but nothing could block out the sound of her crying behind me.

"What if I can't Connie?"

I grabbed the dress from the hanger and pulled it over my head, "You have to." I walked over to my full length mirror, stopping over briefly to dwell on the tremendous irony of the situation I found myself in, "Look Martha, if this is too much to you then go, I'll explain everything to Sam. I'll make something up." I glanced in the mirror and even inspite of the circumstances couldn't help giving a girlie swirl such as women are inclined to do when they step into a wedding dress.

Martha must have noticed because she stopped crying and smiled weakly, "I can't do that. Who'd do your dress up for you if I left." She came up behind me and slid my zip up my back, "You look so beautiful." I blushed at her words but she wouldn't let it go, "You do." She swallowed hard, "Sam's a lucky man. Now," she led me to my desk chair, "let's see if we can do something with your hair. I promised him I would."

She may have slipped a brave face into place, but I could see in her eyes how much she was hurting and could only begin to imagine how I'd have felt in her shoes.

"You don't have to do this." I said softly, reaching for her hand, wanting her to know that I understood.

She shook her head, "How could I leave you? I'm your right hand woman. I always will be."

I was touched by her determination and the maturity she was showing, but all the same her words worried me. Having a right hand woman was one thing but I didn't want her to get the wrong idea, and I needed to be sure she wasn't doing so.

"As my friend?"

She smiled, "Your best friend." But even as she spoke the words she was moving in to kiss me – an act I'd yearned for but knew deep in my heart I couldn't let her carry out. Not on the day of my wedding. I pulled back, went to ask her not to, but I didn't get chance.

"For old times sake," she brought her lips gently down on mine and allowed them to linger only momentarily before pulling them away, "before you become an old married woman and forget all about me."

I knew then, in those seconds, in that kiss, that that was never ever going to happen.