Chapter 38 – Closing Doors

I watched Louisa Glasson, one time fiancée, lover, and the woman carrying my unborn child walk quickly to the schoolhouse door. She was preceded by school children and another teacher, Tasha; I suppose the name was. Louisa put out a hand to steady herself, the great abdominal bulge of pregnancy impeding her, as she stepped into the school.

There was a tiny pause, as she had a hand on the doorway, and her head turned slightly to the right as she started to step into the building. Was she going to say something else? The movement of her head was followed by a slight twisting of the upper torso, preceded by a rearward motion of her right elbow and shoulder, and it seemed she was turning towards me.

I am no great reader of poetry; I find the stuff dreadful; yet in school I was forced to read Romeo and Juliet. Surprisingly I liked that play. Perhaps it was because of the pathos I read. So while my horrid classmates dashed about the school playground reenacting the sword play I found myself thinking about the balcony scene. I always wondered, why didn't Romeo confront Juliet's father and get to the point? He loved the girl and she him, yet they allowed their awful families and stations to get between them, and we all know with what dreadful consequences.

As Louisa paused on the school step, I was frozen in place waiting for her to turn once more and say something else, or at least to give me a tiny rueful smile. I was already forming the words, some gibberish like – we need to talk, more. Can I come to see you later this evening?

But the moment came and went. The turning of her head stopped, her right arm swung forward, the right leg lifted onto the stone step and then she took a half step forward and up. I almost started to shout… but I was interrupted.

"Is she your girlfriend?" a tiny voice piped up at my elbow.

I peered down at this little pipsqueak of a girl and replied with irritation. "No!" I could have added not any more.

The child stood there squinting up at me. "How tall are you? Why'd you look so sad?"

The answer to the first was easy. I am six foot - three inches tall. The second answer would require careful consideration. These are the moments of my life that I have come to regret, as these kinds of questions will echo through my head late at night, when all is dark and still.

"I erh…" came out.

"Hello doc!" shouted a cheery voice. It was Tommy of the migraine. He'd barged to the front of Pauline's line today and I'd examined and questioned him closely.

Tommy didn't look like he had a migraine. He looked positively fit, although sunglasses kept me from seeing his eyes. He was my first patient this morning, although examining him in the waiting room was something I did not usually do. His symptoms did not sound like a typical migraine then and the more I thought about his case he likely needed to see the new GP Monday for a full workup.

"See you met the little 'un. You forgot your costume, so I brung it by." He tousled her hair. "She'd lose her head if it wasn't attached!" The man handed clothing on a hanger to the child and she ran into the school.

"Say doc, you told me to lie down. I had a better idea!" He tapped the dark lenses covering his eyes. "Sunnies."

"No. Not effective." I turned and left the man in my wake.

"Well…" the man was following blathering on about working and how some can't wear suits and have to work for living and other such nonsense.

I went straight through the blue painted steel gates, skirted his taxi and walked away, his shouts following me.

Was she my girlfriend? Why did I look so sad? his daughter had asked.

How to answer that? The short answer was the simple two letter word I'd spoken to the child. Girlfriend would imply a sense of connectedness and mutual affection. Sadly that was no longer the case between us. Parents, yes; but affectionate partners in life? No. Why did I look so sad?

I was crossing the Platt, the very bottom of the Harbor when Penhale approached.

"So I was thinking…" he trotted to keep up with my rapid pace. "Tonight. A drink – farewell to the Dynamic Duo."

I used the same answer with him. "No," and kept walking.

Penhale slowed and fell behind, but I heard what he said next. "Probably for the best," he went on with a sad tone. "Avoid messy emotions."

Emotions? Was that what I was avoiding? The whiskey bottle called my name again, and I marched faster past Bert and Al who were loading carboys of oil into their van.

"Hey, doc! Give us a hand here?" Bert called at me as I left them behind.

"You're likely to get a slipped disc," I threw over my shoulder.

I left the two fools behind me. No, that's not fair. Bert and Al weren't fools. They were hard working people, and their crazy idea of a restaurant seemed to be working at last, now that Al has taken over management. Louisa and I had eaten there a few times, some more enjoyable than others, but I'd not been there for weeks, ever since Louisa returned. The thought of sitting, by chance, at some table where she and I had dined was too much to think of. It was another reason to leave Portwenn – village was filled for of reminders of what used to be.

I got into surgery and slammed the door before my cheeks got too wet from the tears that were starting to leak out. The sound of the closing door echoed to my ears like the closing of a tomb. For once, Penhale was right.

0000000

I helped Tasha get her kids and the other class sorted, then got back into my office. I slowly closed the door.

I flipped opened my notebook and pulled the large manila envelope out and held it warily. The metal clasps opened with little effort and a solid package of printed figures and a thick schedule came out. Clipped along the edge was a packet of cheques, each one dated a month later than the next. A quick look showed that I held in my hand some twenty thousand Pounds running from now up to the end of the year.

There was a note on creamy white letterhead stapled to the backing of the packet. In printed block letters in Martin's hand, it read:

Louisa,

These cheques should provide for the baby until this year's end. If you require more money for any reason please do not hesitate to contact me. I shall send by insured post another packet January next for the following year's expenses.

Note that per the enclosed spreadsheet, the amount will increase year by year, as financial necessities for school and care increase with the age of the baby. I have also made allowance for inflation over time as the economy changes, so adjustments are included.

I have provided an ample allowance for the child and for you as well, since a mother requires certain other things, beyond the needed children's clothing, food, toys, books, and medical care. I leave it to your discretion to determine how to spend those monies.

At the same time I am endowing certain financial accounts which shall accrue and provide larger lump sums at various times (see spreadsheet 2) to provide for any housing or educational expenses beyond the scope of daily upbringing.

It was signed in looping script:

Martin Ellingham

I held the packet in my hands, pulled it to my chest and hugged it. I might as well have been hugging a wooden door for all the comfort it gave.

After a time I packed it all up back into the envelope, and put it inside my briefcase. As I snicked the latches closed, it sounded like the latching of a closing door.