Chapter 18 – Hearts

Joan stood at the surgery door with a worried Louisa at her side. "Martin! Louisa needs your help. Something's wrong!"

I brought them inside and Louisa lay on my examination couch, having stripped off her jacket as Auntie Joan started playing at being a doctor. "When's the last time you felt it move?"

I interrupted her and pushed her from the room. "Let me be the doctor?"

I washed my hands and went to Louisa. "Now, when's the last time you felt it move?"

She chewed her lower lip as she does when she's worried. "Must have been about lunchtime yesterday?" She sounded quite unlike herself, yet I know that Louisa is prone to worry. She'd stood not thirty feet away in my kitchen two years ago and told me that she worried about everything – literally. Now she was pregnant, by me no less, and there was plenty more to worry about.

I decided to monitor the baby's heart rate, which was a good place to start. I looked down at Louisa, her abdominal bulge subdued in the supine position. This was quite a change from the last time I'd seen her thus, in the fall. I pushed that precious memory from my head. "Undo the bottom buttons of your blouse and pull down the top of your skirt."

She started fumbling with the buttons. She glanced at me as she struggled with them. "It's a bit awkward."

I stood there watching this drama play out and I shouted as heat filled my face. "Well if you're embarrassed why did you come and see me?"

Fire flashed to her face then. "No, I mean it's tricky to undo this blouse. The buttons are very small and my fingers are getting FAT!"

"Let me help."

Together the two of us struggled with tiny odd shaped buttons and even tinier button holes. She fumbled around and I tried to unbutton some as well. Louisa was right, this was embarrassing. She'd told me I was not to be her doctor, yet she came to me for medical treatment plus we weren't an engaged couple any longer either, yet here we were taking clothes off, or at least trying.

I held a prized memory of Louisa sitting on her bed, helping me unbutton my shirt. I dared not look her in the face now so I maintained my focus on the blasted blouse. Yet the button struggle was too familiar. It was the night we became engaged.

We'd eaten take-away fish and chips in her cottage. She drank white wine and I drank bottled water. We cleared away the dishes and scraps and she stood to go upstairs. "Give me a few minutes?" she asked, and then kissed me deeply and lingeringly.

I could only nod. By my watch it was fifteen minutes when she called down. "Come up, if you want… I mean…"

I stood and my throat was filled with my response. "Of course." I plodded up the narrow stairs, and she called to me as I climbed them.

"Use the bathroom, if you want. I'm… in here," she called from her bedroom.

She had no spare toothbrush, but I used plenty of toothpaste and an index finger to clean my mouth of the taste of fried potatoes, malt vinegar, and greasy fish. I smelled Listerine in the air, an aroma I usually smelled on Louisa's breath, as well as a faint whiff of perfume.

I stepped into the hall hesitantly and she drew me into her dimly lit bedroom. She'd released her hair from the ponytail and was wearing a long beige nightgown, with no sleeves, scoop necked, the sort of thing I've seen in newspaper adverts, though I was no student of fashion.

Through the entire tableau we didn't say much; too embarrassed, or self-conscious, or nervous. She sat on her bed, said nothing, just flashed a brilliant smile, and patted the coverlet next to her. I sat next to her and she pulled off my suit coat, set my tie askew and started working on my white shirt. I had taken her hands in mine then and held them and kissed her deeply.

"Oh, Martin, why did we wait so long?" she asked.

The buttons were just as obstinate six months ago as they were now. In the present my hands had gone all fidgety and they shook with the strain of the task, while also keeping a professional manner. Our hands were right next to one another as the silent struggle continued. I wanted nothing better than to rip the offending garment off… no that would not do. Well then to put my hands to her face and kiss her deeply – no, that would not do either.

At last two buttons popped open and I pulled the garment away and folded back her vest, exposing the smooth bulge of her abdomen which had a glossy appearance due to the contents. I abruptly flipped down the top of her skirt, brought over the fetal monitor and sat on my exam stool.

I turned on the device, placed couplant jelly on the wand, and pressed it against her skin. There was no response, and I felt Louisa lurch at the lack of sound. I looked up quickly and her eyes were frozen wide with fear, then the monitor latched onto a signal and started to broadcast the sounds it was receiving. The sound from the tiny speaker was fast but churning away – the sound of a tiny heart.

"Sounds fast," she said nervously.

I lifted my left arm to expose my watch. I counted the beats for ten seconds. Ten times fourteen was one hundred and forty. "Foetal heart rate should be between 120 and 160 beats per minute," I told her. My own heart beat faster and I looked at Louisa, trying to keep my face impassive. But this was our child - my child - I was listening to!

I wanted to shout, leap; shout for joy and even cry. Throw my arms around her and… make her stay. Tell her I still loved her! Tell her I was lost without her! That I was so incredibly happy that she was back in Portwenn these past few days. And also so sad that she wanted nothing to do with me.

But I didn't. "Perfectly normal," I said.

"God, Martin, I was afraid…"

I packed up the monitor and took her blood pressure and pulse. Normal considering her condition and the fright she'd worked herself into.

"The baby's fine. You should have a scan, though."

"I have an appointment for one tomorrow. Joan is driving me."

"Good." I wound the sphygmomanometer cuff in the tubing and put it on the cart.

Louisa lay there taking deep breaths with her head tipped back. I took a tissue and began to wipe the jelly from her skin. It was all I could do to finish this simple task and not make a fool of myself. But her skin was warm and belly round.

She lifted her head. "Thanks, Martin." She blew out a shaky breath and smiled.

Just to see that made me feel like the rain had ended, at least for a time. I was glad I could help her and that the baby was alright.

She sat up, put her clothes to rights then gracelessly stood as I held her jacket for her. She slipped into it and I couldn't help but notice that her bust line was larger than Sunday when she'd arrived on my doorstep; the growth expected given my estimation of her due date.

Louisa picked up her handbag and grinned a little. "Sorry for the… panic… I was just…"

I stopped her by holding up my hand. "Quite alright." I paused for a few seconds. "Need anything else?"

"No," she said and I opened the door, hoping she didn't see me shaking.

0000000

"Now I am officially one of those neurotic pregnant mums," I said, relieved to know the baby was fine. I even laughed a little as Joan stood next to me in the waiting room. Martin stood in the doorway looking relieved, embarrassed, and cross. And who could blame him? Not me.

He was relieved I assumed because the baby was alright. He was likely embarrassed by this odd meeting of his aunt, the mother of his child and ex-fiancée rolled into one, plus very cross that Joan stood there holding Buddy the dog like a baby.

"Get that dog…" he started to say.

"Come on, Buddy," Joan said. "We know when we're not wanted. Come Louisa…"

"Right. Bye!" I called and Martin had that softening of his features I've seen before.

Joan followed me outside and the door closed.

"Thank God, Louisa everything is alright." She put arm around my shoulders and squeezed.

I patted my belly which thumped in reply. "Yes. All a bit scary… new at this motherhood thing!" I was so relieved and also embarrassed. I'd told Martin to stay away, and he had. Then I came rushing to surgery in a near-panic propelled by his aunt.

As our hands fumbled with my buttons, it did feel weird. Martin had that determined look on his face, along with a mix of frustration and anger. But there was something else I saw when the baby's heartbeat sounded from the monitor. I could have sworn that he almost smiled. The softening of the professional Doctor Martin Ellingham mask wore far too often.

"How was Martin? Did that nephew of mine treat you ok? If he didn't…"

"No, he was fine, Joan. Really he was. I'm glad he helped," I managed to say.

Joan took my arm and ushered me into the truck like I was made of glass. "You didn't say what the two of you spoke about last week, did you?"

"No, I didn't, did I?" I paused long enough for Joan to get in and start driving. "We're fine… he's got his life…"

"And you've got yours, eh?" Her fingers tightened on the wheel. "Buddy and I will pick you up at eight tomorrow for your appointment at 9:30, right?"

"That would be fine, Joan. You've really been too kind. I don't know how I can repay you."

"Louisa! That is my grand-nephew in there," she nodded at my belly, "and I will do whatever you need me to do, at any time, in spite of the relationship, or lack of, that you and Martin have!"

I put my hand on her arm and she smiled sweetly at me and I smiled at my friend.

"Now don't you worry," she went on, "we'll deal with Martin later."

And I had no doubt that she would try. So far I had failed in the matter. Joan drove to the pub and I hugged her before I climbed out. "Thanks again, Joan."

"Of course, sweetheart! See you tomorrow, won't we Buddy?" She patted the dog's head and drove away.

I went to my room and lay down, for with all the excitement I needed a rest. The headache that had been building had gone away and without looking in a mirror I could tell my face was smoother, less wrinkled in worry.

I rooted around in my handbag for a tissue and the cards for Martin fell onto the bed. I'd forgotten them in all the bother.

The one my students made was on yellow construction paper. The one from me was pink and smelled of perfume.