Doc Martin and all of its characters, themes and plotlines are the property of Buffalo Pictures. This work of fiction is written for purely entertainment purposes and no infringement of legal rights is intended.
Chapter 2
Louisa
The train was packed with commuters heading home at the end of a long work day. Above ground, the trees were bare of leaves and a late autumn chill augured the coming of winter. But below ground it was uncomfortably warm, and she loosened the woolen scarf wrapped around her slender neck. It was standing room only in the carriage, and she grabbed onto the nearest metal post, sticky with fingerprints and sweat, as the train lurched out of the station. In one hand she held a handbag and case, gently worn but still serviceable. Her coat was of dark navy wool, a nice match to the robin egg's blue scarf and matching gloves. These had been bought on a whim at a small shop across the street from the school, a pick me up after the difficult weeks leading to her move from Cornwall to London.
She shifted the case to her other hand, all the while keeping an eye open for an empty seat. As the train neared the next station, a woman draped in an emerald cape of moth eaten wool made for the doors and she quickly sat down with a sigh of relief. Soon she was lost in thought, gazing with unseeing hazel eyes at her reflection mirrored in the grimy carriage window, and did not pay any mind to the man who had taken the seat next to hers.
She had never imagined finding herself in London, teaching year seven maths to a gaggle of recalcitrant girls. They would much rather gossip about the latest boy band then learn algebra, and it had taken every trick acquired over her many years of teaching to keep their attention focused on the lesson at hand. Of course kids would be kids, and they were no different than the students she had taught at the small village primary in Cornwall. The school slowly came into focus in her mind's eye, a proud white washed building perched on a spit of land overlooking the sea. It had taken only a few minutes to walk from home to school, and she missed the cries of the seagulls and the sound of the waves gently lapping outside her cottage window.
Her commute was far different these days, a Tube ride followed by a hurried walk along pavements congested with harried pedestrians. Home was different as well, a bedsit tucked on the third floor of a
converted Regency terrace house. There were no sea breezes, but it was small and comfortable, offering a quiet oasis from the bustle and hustle of the city. The kitchen was basic and utilitarian, with a cook top, fridge and microwave, but the sitting room was lovely, with high ceilings and windows overlooking a wedge of sky and slate roofs lined with clay chimney pots stretching as far as the eye could see. Most nights she would come home and heat up something from the local Sainsbury's before settling down on the red chenille sofa that had been a lucky find at a charity shop off Belgrave road. There, she would do the days marking or watch mindless television for a few hours before turning in. It was best not to think too much, dwell on the past and dredge up regrets that would lead to a night of doubts and recriminations.
At first it had been easy to put all that had happened in Cornwall behind her. The job had kept her busy and all of her spare time had been taken up with finding a place to live. Fortunately, a former tutor from uni had asked her to house sit while she and her husband traveled to New Zealand to visit their daughter, and this had given her two precious weeks to sort out her living arrangements. Every morning she had sat in Magdalene's sun filled kitchen, scouring the to let ads on her lap top until she found what she was looking for - an affordable bedsit, possibly not in the best neighborhood, but close to the Tube and shops. It might have been easier to get a place closer to the school, but the small but neat terrace houses in Hammersmith were mostly occupied by young families, not an ideal location for a single woman trying to piece her life back together.
She was intent on recreating the part of herself that had been left behind in Cornwall, turn a new leaf and start fresh. The new job and flat was a step in the right direction, but she wanted to try new things and meet new people. She had picked up a flyer at the local leisure center advertising a single's book group and had looked in at the pub up the street, a traditional kind of place with dark paneling and a bar topped with shiny brass taps. In her small village the pub had been where one went for a bit of company or to hear the latest news and gossip. She imagined it wouldn't be any different in London.
But she had yet to sign up for the book group or stop in at the pub. It was easier to stay home and watch reruns of Midsomer Murders on the telly than go out to mix and mingle. She was tired at the end of the day, and the marking took up a chunk of her time, but she knew these were just flimsy excuses concocted out of the apprehension she felt at going at it on her own. But she wasn't in the habit of reneging on her promises, even if they had been made to no one but herself. And so after much deliberation, she had decided to go out to the pub for a drink.
After having pulled out half the clothes from her wardrobe, she had decided on her favorite jeans and lacey white blouse bought at a favorite shop in Truro. Next she had slipped on her only good pair of
boots, black leather with a three inch heel that gave her that bit of extra height and made her legs look really good. Before going out the door she had stopped to look at her reflection, and a memory she would have rather forgotten had drifted unbidden to the surface of her mind.
They had been due to meet the vicar about the service, but he was running late. There had been an emergency at the surgery, a fisherman with a hook embedded in his hand. These types of emergencies took a lot out of him, and he had shown up at her door crossed and out of sorts. To add insult to injury he abhorred being tardy, and had made of moue of displeasure when she had pulled on these very same boots, snapping they would slow them down on the village's uneven cobbled streets. She could have easily changed into flats but had been irked by his comment, retorting sharply, "These are fine, Martin." They had walked to the vicarage in silence, annoyed with each other and unable to find the words to calm the storm brewing between them.
The next stop was Victoria Station and she hastily gathered her belongings, stood and mumbled her excuses to the man sitting next to her. He looked up and said, "Louisa? Louisa Glasson?" She paused, her brow furrowed, trying to place a name to the face. "Sorry, do I know you?" she asked, glancing anxiously out the carriage window; the train was approaching the station and she was afraid missing her stop.
"It's Toby Steel. Danny's cousin? I know it's been a while, but I would have recognized you anywhere."
It came to her then, the graduation party given in honor of her on and off again boyfriend, Danny Steel. He had left with a first in architecture from Bath, and his mother had seen fit to mark her only son's crowning achievement by throwing an elaborate affair complete with caterers and a band. Family had traveled from far and wide for the occasion, well aware they would forever be shunned by the formidable Muriel Steel for failing to join in fawning over her special boy.
Louisa had been Danny's special guest, and she had the feeling he'd wanted to take up where they had left off before he left for uni. She had been of two minds about this, unsure if there had been anything of substance between them in the first place. He could be charming and witty but also spoiled and self-centered, and college hadn't changed him one bit. Not surprising, she had found herself alone, sipping a warm glass of chardonnay while Danny played the part of the golden boy coming home to roost, too busy soaking up the attention to pay her any mind.
Louisa had been more than a little miffed by his behavior, and had been about to make her excuses to Muriel when Toby had walked over with a glass of chilled pinot grigio. She had immediately been taken by his posh accent and studied casualness of his designer jeans and tight fitting shirt, and when he had asked her to dance she hadn't seen why not, considering the way Danny was treating her.
She had happily spent what was left of the evening in Toby's company. They had chatted easily about books and music, finding a shared love for the works of Neil Gaiman. By then she had lost track of how many glasses of wine she had drunk, and hadn't offered any resistance when Toby had pulled her behind the garden shed, slowly running his hands through her hair before kissing her. She had responded in kind, and had thought how lovely it was to be kissed until an elderly aunt had come looking for her wayward cocker spaniel.
They had sprung apart like too teenagers caught in the glare of the constable's torch. Louisa, realising she had been about to let a complete stranger have his way with her, had said something about needing to find the loo and had run to the house, locking herself in the nearest toilet. She had been truly appalled by her behavior, and after splashing cold water on her face, had regained enough of her composure to rejoin the party, now gathered around a blazing bonfire on the beach. There she had found Danny, sitting on a weathered log of drift wood, holding court. Toby had also joined the party, and had sat a ways from Louisa but had thrown her the occasional surreptitious glance filled with longing. Danny, possibly sensing something was awry, had clung to Louisa like an inebriated limpet until she had had enough and headed home before the party was over.
The next morning Louisa had called at the house to see Toby, wondering if the previous night's tryst would withstand the light of day, but he had already left for London. That had been ten years ago, and she hadn't heard from him except for the snippets of news passed on from Danny.
The carriage doors slid open, disgorging a rush of commuters and Louisa said, "Sorry, this is my stop."
"What do you know, it's mine as well," Toby answered, and his smile warmed his eyes, a deep chocolate brown flecked with bits of gold. She looked into them for a moment and felt a slow flush creep up her cheeks, as she remembered the last time she had been this close to him. Don't be a bloody fool, she thought, stepping onto the platform. But the bloom stayed on her cheeks as they slowly followed the crowd up the stairs and through the turnstiles leading to the station exit. There she paused and was about to wish him goodnight when Toby said, "Would you care to catch up over dinner? I know a small place not far from the station, nothing fancy but they do an excellent eggplant parmesan."
She hesitated while he looked at her expectantly. This was exactly what she had been hoping for, a real evening out as opposed to her failed forays down at the pub and leisure center. These hadn't worked out as planned, the pub too crowded to strike up a proper conversation and the leisure center mostly populated with toddlers and pensioners. But she felt uneasy with accepting his invitation, almost as if she was betraying the memory of what she once had with Martin.
Toby must have read her discomfiture for his face fell as he said, "Sorry. I should have known you had someone waiting for you. Maybe another time, then."
He turned to leave and she quickly said, "No, there's no one waiting for me. And yes, I would love to have dinner with you."
Again, that wonderful smiled lit up his eyes and they stepped out onto the pavement, the sound of rush hour traffic making conversation impossible. Lightly taking her arm, he deftly guided her through the crowd and she was suddenly glad to have accepted his invitation. After all, she was no longer beholden to anyone.