Thanks to everyone in this lovely community who continue to be so encouraging. I really appreciate your reviews and messages so very much. I have decided to break the next chapter into two because there is a LOT going on. Please let me know what you think.I'm always interested (-:
PS If you really want to really channel how Louisa is feeling, the albums she is listening to are The Smiths: The Smiths and The Cure: Seventeen Seconds.
"Edith." Martin said coldly. "What are you doing here?"
In that moment, for Louisa, the world seemed to stand still. Scudding clouds, whipped along by the coastal breeze, passed in front of the sun, and the house was momentarily enshadowed. It felt colder and gloomier. The draught whipped through the room and she was brought back to reality by the sound of her papers fluttering wildly on the table behind her. Her mind had registered that Martin knew who this strange, flame-haired lady was but, when she glanced across at him, he was frozen to the spot, a look of distaste on his face.
The woman gave a low moan, and Louisa gasped as she watched her sink to her knees on the rough stone pavers, her wretchedness palpable.
"Martin! Do something!" Louisa hissed at him, but he stood motionless, like a tall, disconcerted, ill-at-ease statue.
It was too much for Louisa; her compassionate nature rendered her incapable of ignoring such obvious distress. Placing her hand gently on the woman's shoulder blade, she squatted down beside her.
"Are you okay?" She said gently.
Suddenly Martin sprung to life.
"Louisa! Don't do that. I mean...I wouldn't...aah...touch...aaah...just give her some space."
Bemused by his response, as if she were attempting to pet a ringwormy hedgehog, Louisa opened her mouth to object. One look at the woman's face, however, was enough to alarm her and she snatched away her hand and stood up, backing towards the kitchen. The woman then turned her head to look up at Martin, her eyes glittering dangerously. Robotically, he held out his hand to her.
"For goodness sake, get up." He said sourly, but she ignored his gesture and, instead, scrabbled to her feet unaided, smoothing her skirt and adjusting her blouse.
Louisa observed her angry demeanour with some anxiety. As her dad used to say, the woman looked like she'd been dragged through a bush, backwards, but who was she, and why was she so upset? And, most importantly, why did Martin seem so unhappy to see her? Louisa watched them glare at one another across the threshold and began to feel very uncomfortable.
"I was just going to make a cup of tea, actually." She blurted out. "Would you like one?"
Edith looked at her as if she were something unpleasant on the bottom of her shoe.
"Make yourself one, if you must, and then bugger off. The grown-ups need to talk." She spat.
The insult stung Louisa's sensitive soul and she immediately took umbrage, torn between displaying the respect for adults she'd always had drummed into her, and a strong desire to defend herself. She shot Martin an indignant glance before realising that he was as appalled as she was. When he saw the expression on Louisa's face, he realised with horror that she was about to launch into a spirited response and he gave her a pleading look, followed by an almost imperceptible shake of his head. To his enormous relief, she acquiesced.
"Suit yourself." Louisa said, sucking in a deep breath, and squinting at him reproachfully, before turning on her heel. She stomped back into the kitchen and over to the table where she made a show of picking up her brochures from the floor before slipping back to lie on the couch, where she'd decided that she couldn't be seen.
As soon as she was out of sight, Martin spoke; his voice low, enunciating every angry word.
"What the hell do you mean by just turning up here, uninvited?"
Edith stared back at him in disbelief. This was not the reception she had imagined and she lifted her head and looked at him down her nose, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"Clearly, I'm interrupting you, Ellingham. Whatever you were up to."
"I came to spend time with my aunt, if you need to know. Not that it's any of your business."
Edith waved her hand in the air and gestured behind him.
"So, she's your aunt? Really?"
"What?" He snapped. He looked over his shoulder but there was no sign of Louisa. She had disappeared.
"Is that your thing when I'm not around?" She added bitterly. "Have I discovered your naughty little secret, hmmm?"
Martin stared back at her, perplexed, until, suddenly her inference dawned on him. His lip curled in disgust.
"You really are quite odious and vile, Edith, do you know that?" He said coldly.
She continued to stare back at him, unblinkingly, for a moment and then she turned and gestured at her suitcase.
"Take it up to our room, I need to freshen up." She said icily. "And then, Ellingham, you can get me a cup of hot water."
He stood rooted to the spot, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again, as he tried to identify the feeling that threatened to engulf him.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" She demanded and, despising himself, Martin did as he was told. As she walked past him, he was struck by the cloying, acrid fragrance of budget hygiene products, and, instantly, he identified his mystery feeling: it was revulsion, pure and simple.
In the next room, Louisa lay on the couch, breathing as quietly as she could, and listening intently to them. As she heard the footsteps ascending the stairs, she experienced a sensation that she realised must be what people meant when they said their blood ran cold. She gave an involuntary shiver, and bit hard down on her lip. The floor boards above her creaked loudly with every angry footfall.
Upstairs, Martin dropped Edith's case down next to his bed. She looked around her with an expression of distaste and then looked back at him
"It's hardly Manderley, is it, Ellingham?" she said with disgust. "Honestly, what a dump. I can't believe you of all people would agree to stay in a place like this."
"The bathroom is at the end of the hall." He replied flatly, without looking at her, and left the room.
Louisa heard the sound of his distinctive, rapid steps as he came back down the stairs. He strode across the room and, when she heard the tap running, she was brave enough to sit up. He had his back to her so she spoke quietly so as not to surprise him.
"Martin, what's going on?"
When he heard her voice, he placed both hands on the countertop and hung his head for a moment.
"Louisa, please, not now."
"Ok, but, just so you know, I didn't really like being told to bugger off, especially when I was just trying to help."
"Mmm, yes. That was ummm..."
"It was rude, Martin." Louisa interrupted crossly. "A bit like sitting here talking to your back."
'Yes." He replied uncomfortably and, reluctantly, turned around to face her.
She folded her arms and fixed him with her indomitable stare. He felt it boring into him, despite being unable to look directly at her, and he held his breath, and waited. Eventually, she spoke again.
"Is she your girlfriend?" Louisa said quietly.
He cringed but was silent and looked pointedly at his shoes. He was not going discuss his complicated personal life with anyone, particularly a fourteen year old girl and, especially, not an impertinent one whom he barely knew.
But, to Louisa, it was a rhetorical question. She knew the answer, and was horrified by it. She'd lain awake for years and listened to the derisive taunts, insults and vitriol of a soured and irretrievable relationship. She stood up and took a couple of steps toward him.
"You sound like my mum and dad." She said, matter-of-factly, before pausing thoughtfully. "And we all know how that ended up."
It was a discomfited Martin that turned back to attend to the kettle. He very much wanted to tell Louisa to mind her own business but, upon reflection, he decided that might be akin to pouring petrol on the embers.
He rummaged in the cupboard for a clean mug and, as he stood up, he had a sudden flashback to something Chris Parsons had said to him, many months ago. Of course, Martin had expertly shut down the conversation as soon as veered towards anything vaguely personal but not before Chris had thrown an accusation at him that had not only pierced his armour but fomented a considerable amount of discomfort in his soul.
"Mart, you do realise that Edith is just a better educated version of your mother, don't you?"
At the time he'd ignored Chris but had his words sparked the discontent that was now threatening to overwhelm him? Martin was horrified by her foul insinuations which went against the fabric of everything she should know that he stood for. How could she think so lowly of him? But where would he draw the line? Would he acknowledge his disgust, or simply steel himself and carry on as if nothing had happened?
Probably, he thought despondently. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, here he was, less than five minutes after she had accused him of all manner of depravity, obediently making her a hot drink; doing what he was told, assuming everything was his fault and always trying to make amends. Trying to be worthy. The feelings of self loathing returned with a vengeance.
Worse still,he was well aware that there had been whispers about Edith for a while but he had always chosen to ignore those too, even though it had become only too obvious to him that she was an expert exponent of the convenient lie.
He looked down at the empty mug and took a deep breath.
He'd just experienced a minor epiphany. He'd fallen into this relationship by accident and he had remained in it for so long simply because he was simply not sure how to end it.
The kettle whistled and he removed it from the element, before reaching for the tea towel and, painstakingly, drying his hands. If Edith wanted a hot drink, she could make her own. Then, without a word, he walked purposefully across the kitchen and out through the open back door.
As he walked up toward the barn, he had a slight qualm of conscience for having left Louisa alone to deal with an ignored and enraged Edith. But, on reflection, and judging her on today's efforts, perhaps she could hold her own. To be honest, he had enough of both of them and longed desperately for the quiet, calm solitude of his flat. He briefly contemplated bolting back to London; abandoning his belongings upstairs and making a run for it before his Aunt returned. Appealing as it was, he realised sadly that the consequences would be even worse than the hornets nest he'd just escaped from.
He bent down and dusted off an upturned crate before moving it out of the wind, and settling down, mercifully out of sight, to await the return of his aunt. He winced at the thought of the explaining he would have to do.
Louisa had watched him go, feeling a strange sense of disillusionment. Not so much with him personally; she still liked him more than she cared to admit. But why would he want to be with someone like that horrible cow? What was her name? Ethel? She was just really awful. And rude. It was so discouraging that, when it came to relationships, it seemed Martin was just like every other adult she knew. Unhappy, disappointed and, well, hopeless really.
There was a loud thud from the boiler, and the water pipes began to grumble and groan. Louisa raised her eyes skywards and pulled a face in the general direction of the bathroom. Whatever her name was, just when things were looking hopeful again, she'd turned up and ruined everything. Cautiously, Louisa stood up and listened carefully. Satisfied that the water was still running upstairs, she tucked her folder and her pencil case under her arm, scampered out of the room and tiptoed nimbly up the stairs.
Closing her bedroom door gently behind her, she emptied out her bag onto the floor and rummaged through her cassette tapes, eventually locating her choice, a tape Caroline had recently copied for her. She unplugged the bedside lamp, connected her little stereo to the power source, and lay down on the bed. She was in just the right state of dejection to listen to The Smiths and The Cure at full volume. Cuddling her pillow to her chest, she sighed heavily, and closed her eyes.