Chapter 12 – A Bell

To cover up my lurking about in the hall I sprang into the room and admonished Mr. Strain for missing his appointments. I found myself speaking over Louisa's head and she was clearly startled to be literally in the middle of this unexpected medical meeting.

I was verbally dancing about as how could I explain what I was doing skulking in the school near mid-day?

I broke a cardinal rule to never discuss patients in public and told Strain, "Your test results have come back, and they're clear."

"Well that is good news," said Mr. Strain. He almost smiled.

"Constipation, still a problem?"

Louisa turned up her nose, saying "I'll leave you to it," and marched away into another classroom.

"Eleven days now," went on Strain.

I said what I had to say to forestall any further chat with Strain about bowel movements and chased after Louisa. "Call my office for an appointment!" I shouted behind me.

There is a fable about a large group of mice who have a meeting and are trying to decide what they should do about a cat that had been preying upon their community. After much unfruitful discussion they agree for the need to put a bell about the cat's neck so they will have a warning to run away and hide as the cat approaches. Yet one question is left lingering. "But who will bell the cat?" This would require a daring mouse to do the deed. The risk of failure would be quite high and of course no mouse was up to the task. Thusly ends the fable.

Louisa was picking up markers when I found her. I felt like that mouse attempting to place a bell on the cat's neck, and a very lovely neck it was.

Marching to the school I had formulated a vague idea how Louisa and I could talk this out. She needed help, surely she'd agree with me there. She needed a place to stay, the pub being convenient but expensive. And there was the matter of medical care for her. With the baby's birth not far away, she'd need to be screened and scanned to ensure the baby and she remained healthy. I would be able to help her on all fronts.

I could help her with living expenses as my personal needs are small. She could stay in my spare room at the surgery. And of course I'd care for her pregnancy and other medical issues, if any cropped up.

"So, um, is everything alright?" I asked. She looked quite competent standing back in a Portwenn classroom where she belonged.

"How do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, um, I mean have you got everything you need? You got the job, which is good." I stammer at her, her lovely eyes and perfect face staring at me.

Louisa agreed, but warily. "Yes. He's weird though," she said, tossing her head in the general direction of the other classroom.

I was confused. "Who is?"

"The head master."

"Ah," was all that came from me.

"What?" Louisa answered.

I didn't want to discuss her job. Not at all, but it was an opening for the rest of it. "Well, I mean it must be galling, being back but not being head mistress," I went on.

She shook her head. "No, it's not galling. He's not normal," she said, clearly wanting to discuss Mr. Strain some more.

I decided to plow straight to the heart of the matter. "Tell you what isn't normal," I went on.

"What?" She sounded confused.

This was the sticking point, just there. "You having this… baby without telling me. It's very high-handed of you Louisa." As I said it I knew it was a mistake.

I wondered all night why she hadn't called all those months in London unless she'd erased my telephone number from her mobile, but she could have called the surgery and asked for me to call her. Wouldn't she want me to know she was pregnant? Didn't she know that I would have cared? Helped her? The way I was trying to help her now?

She answered in a shrill voice plus glaring at me with fire filled eyes and her words were tinged with acid. "Oh, is it? Do you imagine I didn't want to discuss it? In London, on my own, in a bed-sit, 37 years-old, single, pregnant? Do you think I didn't want to talk to the father, work things out? But what would you have said, Martin, hm?"

Then she shifted her voice into a bass register in a non-flattering imitation of me. "Have you considered an abortion? I'll back you up whatever you decide."

A rush of blood flew to my head. "I would have backed you up, absolutely!" How could she imagine that I would impose my views about the pregnancy on her? This is her body we're speaking of!

I went on. "But keeping it a secret is just feminist point scoring, like you staying at the pub!" That time I shouted and as soon as the words came out she pounced on them.

"I didn't choose to stay at the pub. My house is being rented out by Mr. Creepy," she shouted back. Her nose wrinkled and eyes rolled.

More fire flashed. "Nobody made you do it, and you get money for it!" I said insistently.

"So?" she said giving me a look like she knows some great secret that I do not posses.

Now I was exasperated, upset, sweating, and quite cross. "So that pays for the room at the pub!"

We glared at each other for a few seconds and I tried to defuse it with medical matters. "We should arrange to get your notes sent down," I said quietly.

Gone are the days of non-medical deliveries, at least in this country. Given Louisa's past record of anemia and blood pressure issues she needs to be tended carefully.

She looked at me quite shocked. "What? My doctor's notes?"

"Yes. It's pretty straight forward."

She stared at me. "They've been sent down. I'm with the hospital in Truro."

"What?" I'm thunderstruck.

"You didn't imagine you'd be my doctor, did you? That would be really… odd, Martin." She stared at me like I had two heads.

I clamped my lips together as she was very likely correct. "Your choice," I said sadly and with finality.

Louisa looked to the floor and rubbed her forehead. I was getting a headache myself as well.

Did Louisa think I could or would not separate the professional from the emotional? That I'd go all gooey over her pregnant belly, breasts… self? That any personal interest or animosity would jeopardize her medical treatment? But by her statement, she does not want me to be involved. And tied in what she said last night, not as her lover, the father of her child, or as her doctor!

Nothing… nothing at all. My God! My heart sank lower than it ever had, and that's saying something.

I've lost her again as surely as six months ago when we parted. In spite of the baby that the two of us started as an engaged couple, and though we were unaware of it then, we were going to be parents, like it or not. There must be something I could do!

I have seen flamboyant displays of public affection that would make me sick to my stomach, but there was one that always struck me with tenderness. I'd always wondered how it might feel. Surely human touch would break down this wall I'd built – this horrible mess I'd made of everything today and yesterday and before.

We stood two feet apart and I shyly put out my hand to touch her pregnant abdomen. But I fell short by some inches. I expected Louisa to take my hand and press it against her pregnant belly, but the wrong thing happened.

She reached out her right hand, took mine, and shook it.

I squeezed her fingers gently, let go of her soft delicate hand and without backward glance left the classroom, before she saw me burst into tears.