Downstairs, Louisa had taken up a reflective pose; leaning back, bum against the countertop, thoughtfully drying glasses; absently holding them up to the light to examine their state of clarity and cleanliness.

She watched Martin march purposefully across the kitchen, arms full of bedding, and she felt a sudden contraction of her chest, a shortness of breath and pain in her heart. Was he preparing to leave?

"Martin?" She called out, involuntarily. "What are you doing?"

What does it look like I'm doing, he thought to himself, somewhat crossly.

"Who was that on the telephone?" He replied, more harshly than he'd intended. "Auntie Joan?"

Louisa suddenly remembered the phone call.

"Oh yeah, sorry." She said hurriedly and, in her embarrassment, began verbalising her vague and protracted internal monologue. "Seems she's had to run around half of Cornwall to get the...the, ummm, the bits she needs for her car and now she won't be home in time for lunch. So, ummm...She also asked me to ask you nicely if you wouldn't mind driving me to the village later on this afternoon so I can take my things to Ms. Freethy's cottage. Apparently they're still waiting for the paint to dry...I wonder what colour she painted it? Mrs. Norton didn't know...I've always wanted to paint my room but dad always said that, cos we were only renting, we weren't allowed to...you know what would be cool?...something really dramatic like black walls...but I don't think she'd go for that... I hope it's not pink though...anyway, mid afternoon. Is that okay?"

Her voice tailed off and she glanced up awkwardly at Martin, who stood with his mouth half open, scowling back at her in bemusement.

"Yes, ummm, fine." He said firmly, after taking a moment to process her convoluted insrtuctions. "Shall we say three o'clock? If you could be all packed and ready to leave by then, that would be helpful. It won't take me long to load your boxes into the car and then we can be off."

"Right." She replied slowly, thinking that Martin was perhaps too keen to remove her to the care of the schoolteacher. "I'll just finish these and then I'll go up and strip the bed."

"Yes, mmm, good." He agreed, before adding somewhat sheepishly. "And, ummm, Louisa, you wouldn't happen to know if Auntie Joan has any, aaah, isopropyl alcohol, would you?"

"Any what?" She said blankly.

"Umm, aah, rubbing alcohol? Or Tetrachloroethylene? Umm, dry cleaning fluid?"

She shook her head at him and smiled.

"Next you'll be asking me for a Bunsen burner and a pickled frog." She said, and started to laugh. "You goin' to do a few experiments to keep yourself busy this afternoon? Can we do that one with the Condy's crystals? I really like that colour!"

Ignoring her mirth, he shot her a disapproving glare which only served to make her giggle again. He waited until her amusement at her own joke had abated and then he spoke again, formally and with his most professional tone.

"Louisa, are we feeling...ummm...you are obviously feeling better this morning? No more dizziness?"

She watched him push the bundle of bedding into washing machine, save what appeared to be a pillow slip which he folded briskly and set to one side. Ever since she was tall enough to reach the handle on the wringer, she had been responsible for the family laundry. Her dad only really went into that dismal dank shed because he used it as a storeroom for whatever he was trading in at the time, so it was a pleasant surprise for her to see a man actually taking care of the washing.

"No." She replied evenly." No, I think everything just got a bit much there yesterday for a minute but I feel a lot better today."

She smiled at him, and brushed her hair back from her face. Martin observed that her eyes, though they still looked huge and childlike, were clear and bright and had lost that glassy, apprehensive stare. He wanted to make her realise how imperative it was that she eat properly, that she kept hydrated and that she got plenty of rest. But how to offer her the benefit of his medical advice without inciting one of her extraordinary displays of sarcasm?

"Louisa, you must look after yourself." He said as gently as he could manage and, immediately, he noticed her brow wrinkle and her mouth twitch. He braced himself but she said nothing, merely fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt until she regained her composure.

"That's the thing though, isn't it Martin? I always have. Looked after myself I mean." She explained, matter-of-factly. "And, just sometimes, I get a bit tired of it. Always having to know what to do and all that."

"Yes." He replied, with discomfort, wondering how he might explain that he had actually been referring to her diet. "Yes, ummm, I can see how that must be, ahhh, draining."

"Can you though?" Louisa asked, "I mean, it seems to me that you always know what to do."

Martin looked at her in surprise. From his experience, she seemed to resist being told what to do quite strenuously.

"Perhaps I have had a few more years experience than you." He replied, wryly, eliciting a bashful smile from her in response.

"And I thought, after our discussion yesterday, that you seemed to have, ummm, at least an idea of the opportunities you wanted to pursue. It is a lot to digest and, ummm, perhaps you, ummm, perhaps you ask too much of yourself on this particular weekend? it has been ummm, rather unusual."

She sighed.

"I do, sort of, know where I want to end up. It's just there are so many decisions to make about how to get there. It's quite daunting. Doing it on my own you know?"

"That's to be expected, especially under your present circumstances, don't you think? I mean, umm, without wanting to state the obvious you..."

"Yes, Martin, I know." She interrupted quickly, glaring at him. "I don't need to have it pointed out to me again. Thank you."

"Louisa, I, ummm, I was just going to make the point that, from what I have seen this past weekend, you are most definitely not on your own." He said gently but firmly. "The policeman, ummm, he mentioned, didn't he, how the whole community wanted to support you. The schoolteacher too, ummm, inviting you into her home. They both seem sensible people. Aaah, there's my aunt. Ummm Joan. I have always found her to be an excellent sounding board."

She nodded. "Mrs. Norton has always kept an eye out for me. I'm very lucky, I know that."

Martin gazed at her thoughtfully. Feeling lucky was all relative he supposed. Did it indicate that somewhere inside the fickle and feverish teenage girl there was an element of grace and humility? They were agreeable traits he believed, and he hoped that she could cling on to them, despite the immense challenges she was facing. He felt another flash of anger at her disgraceful parents. God, they were irresponsible, infuriatingly so. He supposed that there must be people who brought children into the world for unselfish reasons; who nurtured and supported the delicate, developing personalities of their offspring; who allowed them to become the best they could be, instead of cruelly and deliberately snuffing out anything that was ever sensitive and worthwhile in their character. But neither he nor Louisa would ever know parents like that. Life had dealt them different, but equally unfair, hands in many ways and, at that moment he fervently hoped that, as he had been forced to do, Louisa would find her own way to make a place for herself the world.

Louisa noticed with alarm the sudden change in his expression. For a moment he appeared to drift away, before his face froze in anguish, as if he were haunted by some traumatic vision.

"Martin?" She said quickly, her concern giving her voice a sharp edge. "You okay?"

Immediately, he sat up straight, and appeared to compose himself, lifting his chin and glancing back at her with such a look of dignity and stoicism that her heart melted just a tiny bit, and she could not suppress a fond smile.

"Mmm, yes. "

"You were pulling quite a face. You looked a bit upset."

"Was I?" He replied, vaguely. "No. Umm, I'm fine."

"Well 'scuse my french but your weekend's been a bit shit too. Are you really fine?" She asked cautiously, and grimaced slightly. Exploring the emotional state of adults was foreign enough territory for Louisa, never mind attempting to console the inscrutable Martin. She held her breath and waited for his inevitable cold response, indicating that she should mind her own business, but he surprised her and remained silent.

Of course, Martin had no intention of discussing anything about himself with Louisa but, this time, he wanted to choose his words carefully because, somewhere in his deepest self, a very tiny part of him appreciated that hers was genuine concern. He pictured her as that small neglected child again, touching his cheek and telling him so sweetly not to cry. God knows, he didn't want to be responsible for crushing her kindness as others had crushed his.

For a moment, he was assailed by a vision of Edith's supercilious expression and he cringed inwardly as her scornful words reverberated in his head. He knew with absolute finality that she had never for a minute actually cared for him. In fact it seemed like she'd taken amusement from his numerous failings and, for the most part, in his vulnerable state, he'd concluded that it was all he deserved. But, coming down to Cornwall and visiting with his aunt again, even in somewhat trying circumstances, he'd again felt the comfort of her nurturing love. Even Louisa, a glib and sarcastic teenager, with her own mountain of problems to face, could show concern for his well being. Although she and Edith might share traits of resilience and determination, that was about where the resemblance ended, he thought.

He met Louisa's worried gaze and gave her an almost imperceptible upwards nod of his head.

"I really am fine." he said gently, and the barest hint of a smile flickered across his solemn face