Chapter 2 – There
I knocked on the kitchen door of the grey cottage. I could see a tall dark figure through the frosted glass of the upper door. It swung open.
"Louisa!" exclaimed the man in the dark suit and tie.
"Martin! Yes it's me!" I managed to say, trying to keep my expression happy and my voice light.
His eyes looked down at my bulging green jumper. "You're pregnant!"
I patted the side of my very pregnant belly. "Yes, I am!" still trying to hold a smile.
"Come in!"
"Martin, I know this is a bit of shock, but I wanted…"
He held out his hand for mine. I took it and he swept me into an embrace.
Standing there in the doorway I felt a bit the fool. "Martin…" I started to say but his arms about me did feel very nice and I couldn't say more as his lips met mine.
Time stopped for at least a few seconds. The baby kicked hard just then.
Feeling the little thump, he slackened his grip and the kiss ended. "It moved! My god…
"Of course, it moved. This is our baby, Martin, yours and mine."
I have seen many expressions on the face of Doctor Martin Ellingham, but this was a new one as he pulled me into the kitchen. I peered up at his face, now filled with a look that seemed to show shock, awe, bewilderment, surprise, as well as happiness all at once.
His lips twitched. "I… uhm, here…" he shoved me onto a kitchen chair. He towered over me as more weird emotions played out on his face. But then he straightened even more, backedup half a step and crossed his arms. "I thought… uhm, I thought, you'd be staying in London."
"Well, I'm here now!"
"Yes… need anything?" he said next. "Wine? No that won't do, Martin! Water then?"
"Yes, Martin a glass of water would be fine."
He picked up a glass and peered into the fridge. "Tap or bottled?"
"Tap, suits me."
"Alright." He filled it and set it on the table in front of me, then took the seat across the table.
"Well, Martin," I said, "how have you been?"
"Fine, I'm fine." He cleared his throat. "And you're…" he pointed to my belly.
I laughed and my hand flew there. "Yes, I am… we are."
He stood up, reached under the sink and took out a bottle of whiskey. He sloshed some into a tumbler and stood there by the sink, swirling the contents about as he looked at me. "I see. Obvious.
"Unexpected, I know, since we…"
"Didn't get married. I know." He lifted the glass towards his lips, looked down at it, sneered and clunked the glass on the counter.
"I didn't know you drank whiskey, Martin."
He pushed the glass of Dutch courage away then took two strides to the table, this time sitting next to me. "Louisa, I…" he started to sway but faltered.
I touched his arm. "Yeah, me too."
"What do you want to do?"
I breathed deep. "I was thinking, that is, I wanted to ask you if I might stay here. I've got an interview tomorrow at Portwenn Primary. They have an opening for a part-time teacher."
His hand crept across the gap and covered mine. "Fine, that would be fine. Whatever you need… want."
"Do you mean that?"
His expression hardened. "Of course I mean that! Do you think I'd let you just walk away from my kitchen doorway? My God!"
"I really wasn't sure if that would be ok."
"Ok? Lousia… Yes, of course it's ok! Perfectly."
"Really?" I was amazed. Perhaps five-and-a-half months apart had mellowed the man. "So… I can stay then?"
He dropped from the chair, his knees crashing onto the slate floor, and threw his arms about me, his head pillowed on my belly. "Stay. I want you to stay!"
I ran my hand through his hair. "Of course, I'll stay…" His hair was silky and smooth, but as I rubbed, it turned into bumpy, nubby bits under my fingers.
"What the!" My eyes flew open at that odd feeling and I was lying on the bed of the room I'd just rented from John. I was lying on my side, with a pillow pulled tightly to me and the crocheted coverlet bunched in my hand. I sighed. Reality rushed in. I'd dozed off and dreamed.
I wasn't there, I was here. I rolled off the bed, rubbed my face and stumbled to the toilet, did what I really needed to do, and washed my face at the tiny sink. My eyes looked haunted in the spotted mirror. I patted my face and hands dry and went to the window.
Night had fallen, the spring sky softening quickly to dusk. I'd last been home in October, two weeks after the wedding we did not hold. The lights were going up across the village, but one, that one, just there, attracted my gaze; a certain grey brick cottage with one light burning by the door.
What was I doing down here and what was Martin doing up there?