Chapter 31 – Showers

I'd just started to walk to Bert's for the baby shower when Martin drew up in his Lexus and we had words, again. He talked again of practicalities. Yet there we were discussing them in the street while had an emergency patient to get too and I was late for my baby shower.

"You really want to discuss this here? Now? In the street?"

"No…" he started. "I'm late for appointment and I have to attend a patient…"

"Goodbye Martin," I said. If it was the last words I ever said to him it would have suited me just then. I waddled away past the school as he drove off to who knows where.

Just when I think I won't let Martin stir me up, there he is once again. Strangely these little tit-for-tats have become our new routine. A routine that will end when he moves away.

Bert, bless his heart, had obviously worked hard to pull off the baby shower. Some of the gifts were quite nice, like the pram, more baby clothes than I'd likely need, and some rather pretty toys. But the tatty teddy bear I could do without. The saggy limbs, worn fur, and missing eyeball made a macabre figure.

I was getting cross with all those who offered me their husbands, or boyfriends or sons to "do things around the house." I just about had my fill. The whole village clearly though that I could not do it on my own. It being to have a baby and raise it by myself.

How could I tell them that Martin didn't leave me any choice?

Bert called for attention and made what I thought was a nice toast to me and the baby, but ruined it by finishing with "may she have all the luck in the world, for by God she'll need it!"

The guests swallowed their champagne, while I stupidly held a glass of orange juice. I was the one who needed the alcohol. And at this late stage of pregnancy a little bubbly would not have hurt, much.

That morning I was going into the Farmer's Store when Bert once more offered his son Al for anything I needed doing around the house, after the baby came.

There was steel in my spine and fire in my voice when I answered. "What makes you think I can't do it on my own? I can manage! No help from you, or Al, or anybody!"

Bert's fat face fell at this rebuke but I turned and flew into the store before he could give me any more ifs or buts.

I blew air from my nose as I picked up a basket for the things I needed. I took a few seconds to pause and collect my thoughts when Mandy Jordan came over to me.

"Miss Glasson?"

"Oh hello, Mandy. How are you?" Mandy must now be seventeen and she'd lost a lot of that gawky teenage look over the last two years. She now stood up straight and had more poise than I'd ever seen before. Not as skinny either. She was growing up with clear brown eyes and an earnest face framed by razor-cut brown hair.

"Fine, I guess. But how are you?"

I smiled automatically. "Fine, just… oh, you know, getting close to the finish line now." I patted my enormous belly which was getting larger by the hour.

She pursed her lips. "You got about four weeks, I suppose."

"Goodness! Have you all been keeping tabs on me?" Given that most in the village had figured when Martin and I got pregnant, they were probably ticking off the weeks, just like me.

"No, I mean…" she stopped. "Sorry, Miss. Just want to say good luck and all, and if you need help with the baby, like when you need to go shopping or such…" she chewed on her lip. "I'd be glad to come over and watch it, I mean the baby."

"Why, that's very nice you! Really sweet."

"Me and Davey, well, we been talking about saving some money for maybe a wedding some time, and if I could make a little more, on top of my job at the pub…"

"Sure. Thanks so much."

She smiled. "I wouldn't ask for much money. And working in the pub kitchen I even took that Red Cross CPR thing and passed the test so I figure…"

"That's so sweet of you. Thank you." I smiled at her. I didn't know that she and David Phall had been keeping company. Good for her.

"You'll let me know, then?"

I hefted the empty basket. "Yes, I better get to my shopping. Just need a few things."

"Right. Bert told me about the shower tonight but I'll be working, so maybe I can drop by tomorrow or the next day. I have a little present for you."

"That's very sweet. But you shouldn't have."

"My pleasure, Miss Glasson. You always was my favorite teacher, you know." Then she leaned over and hugged me, the basket and my belly in the way.

I was quite taken aback. "Bye then, Mandy."

"Have fun at the shower!" She smiled and took her basket to the counter to pay.

I was quite taken by her sweetness. When she mentioned her boyfriend Davey, I was certain she too would be volunteering the poor boy to help me out. But she didn't, bless her. Neither had she asked about Martin.

The usual questions that came my way were when did I know that Martin was leaving, what did I think about it, was he going to come to visit or would I visit him, and so on. I just tried to smile and keep moving on. But the ones about doing it all on my own drove me mad.

But not one person asked me if I wanted Martin to leave. Or what was I going to do to stop him from leaving? Or better yet, what did I want to do about him?

The shower swirled about me, the opened presents grew on the pile, and more food and drink were downed. And comments about Martin continued, as well as half-heard ones about me.

My least favorite started if I was her, I'd… dropping to silence as I turned my head. Pregnant, thirty-seven, alone, unmarried… that was me. The whole village knew, just knew, that I would fail – as both a mum and as a head teacher. That is what made me the maddest, well not quite.

What made me the maddest was that Martin was leaving, he was going to London, and I had to congratulate the man. "That's great news for you. Really, really well done," I'd said straight to his face. I meant it too. Mostly.

Martin had just marched up to me with no preamble as the children were coming into school that day and told me, sort of, that he was off to London. I did mean to tell him congratulations. I did mean it. If that's what he wanted and needed to do, then I did mean it.

I've seen what this tall, pompous, rude, yet vulnerable man can do with a scalpel, diving into Peter Cronk's bleeding belly, and I realized that as much as I needed him - the baby as well - that there were people out there literally dying for his skill. They needed him too, just in a different way.

But standing outside the school as parents and students streamed past us, Martin wanted to discuss "practicalities."

"Martin, this is not the time." What I wanted to do was to throw myself at him, while another part of me would like to knock him senseless, but still another part wanted to give him a kiss.

I took a deep breath and started the motion, when bloody Bert Large butted in. "Sorry, am I interrupting?" he asked.

"Yes!" answered Martin, but that didn't stop Bert so Martin whirled about and left muttering about "things to discuss."

Bert got right in my face and starting talking about a baby shower. Portwenn is many things. My home, my place of work, and where I grew up, but it can be maddening. You can't sneeze without everyone knowing where, when, and who with. We're all piled on top of one another, and sometimes I just want a little privacy, a little space.

"Baby shower?" I answered.

"Just want to show you how much the village cares. My restaurant tomorrow evening, then."

"Alright."

"And Louisa, if there is anything that you need done, you just let me know, and I'll send Al by."

"Thank you, Bert, but I will be fine."

Bert Large's wife had died when Al was a tiny baby. He knew what I was about to do – raise a child by myself. Twenty five years back it was unheard of that a man could raise a child by himself, especially a baby, but he had done it. Bert Large was a good sort and I did value him. But I wished he had let Martin and me speak, even if we were airing dirty linen in public. School started then and I had plenty to occupy my time if not my mind.

When I was outside the cottage when he and that orange-haired witch Edith were discussing his new job in London my heart sank straight away. Right to the bottom of the ocean; very deep down. He was leaving! Those words echoed in my head as I waddled home that evening.

All of Neptune's water could not drown the sorrow I felt, but I had to face it – Martin was moving on. I needed to as well. I even told Martin I didn't need any help from him. I almost convinced myself that was true.

But the next morning when I was showering, the dam burst and with water pouring over my head, I had to turn off the taps and couching down on all fours have the most dreadful cry.

That morning as I went to school, old Mrs. Gibbs stuck her head out of the window. She was my neighbor now.

"Louisa? You alright, sweetheart?"

I peered up at her as she hung out her upstairs window. "Yes. Of course."

"Well, you know I was in the loo just a bit ago and heard the most awful hullaballoo coming from your cottage. Sounded like… well, you were crying?"

I looked away then up at her. "No. Must have been the pipes - they make a funny racket sometimes."

"Ok. If you say so." She drew in her head and started to close the window. Then I heard her add in a soft mutter, "Then your shower pipes sound just like a woman sobbing."

I sighed and wiped my eye; must be dust blowing about. There were few secrets in Portwenn, and I couldn't even have a good cry without it being news on the street. Next time, I'll keep the shower taps on full, just in case.