After placing his things quietly in the box room at the end of the hall, Martin made his way downstairs again. At the bottom, he hesitated, took in a couple of deep breaths and felt composed enough to run the gauntlet of the space between his current position, and the safety of the back door, the garden, and beyond. Mustering all the dignity he could manage, he stalked across to the sink, inspected a glass from the drying rack carefully, and filled it with water from the tap.
It was so quiet in the house, you could hear a pin drop, and Joan, seated at the table, could not contain herself any longer.
"Everything alright, Marty?" She asked solemnly.
Remaining with his back to them both, he muttered a string of affirmative grunts and, still holding the glass, strode purposefully from the room and disappeared out into the wilderness that might be politely referred to as the garden.
Joan and Louisa both watched him walk away, each struggling somewhat with their emotions. Joan, because she could sense his distress; realising his turmoil but knowing better than any one else how unwelcome and unpalatable any offer of assistance would be to her emotionally shutdown nephew. She began to feel very angry and resentful towards the ghastly young woman who had so arrogantly and callously invaded their weekend.
Both she and Louisa had borne uncomfortable witness to the expressions on the young couple's faces as they had both stormed through the room minutes earlier. Louisa fidgeted in the chair next to her; the tension and the animosity now seemed to fill the whole house and Joan felt compelled to reach out and place a comforting hand on her arm. She glanced across at her young charge and smiled reassuringly. Louisa, always so sensitive and clearly unable, or unwilling, to mask her emotions, merely stared after him in dismay.
Well Marty, Joan thought uncomfortably, there is one person in this house casting admiring glances at you, hanging off your every word, and lighting up when you walk into the room. Sadly for you, it's not the woman who's purportedly your girlfriend.
It was clear that the situation had now progressed beyond inconvenience and mild irritation, and Joan realised, with some urgency, that it was time to intervene. She went over to the dresser and began to rummage in a drawer.
Outside, somewhat instinctively, Martin made his way to the little gazebo that he remembered from his childhood visits. It was bathed in the late afternoon sun and, mercifully, somewhat sheltered from the breeze. Withdrawing yet another handkerchief from his pocket, he dusted off a spot on the bench, and eased himself down, viewing the weathered surface suspiciously. The view was, once more, spectacular and he felt his breathing steady. As the sun's rays heated the dark material of his impeccable suit, he felt comfort from the warmth, and the bilious disgust that had threatened to overwhelm him began to subside.
Martin did not tend to dwell on things. He took a mouthful of water from his glass and pondered the sensation he was feeling; fairly sure in his mind that it was one of relief, and that must be a sure sign that he had made the right decision, mustn't it? He knew that whatever the twang was that he was experiencing, it wasn't sadness. He knew that feeling rather too well and this wasn't it. Somewhat encouraged, he found his thoughts drifting back to Med School, and snatches of conversations he and Chris Parsons had shared were replayed in his mind.
"Mart, there's women you sleep with, and then there's women you marry. Make sure you know what category she falls in to." Chris had told him earnestly after one particularly persistent and unpleasant rumour of Edith's licentious behaviour had surfaced.
At the time, he'd felt insulted and slightly disgusted by his friend's advice but now, Martin realised, those around him had clearly seen Edith for what she was. It was only he, emotionally stunted Martin Ellingham, who had been too naive and stupid to understand. He felt a pang of remorse and an even greater stab of humiliation.
Chris and his girlfriend Jenny were two of the very few people he was acquainted with in whose company he felt relatively comfortable. The remorse came with the realisation that they no longer really even spoke. Edith couldn't abide either of them and the feeling was mutual. It pained him to admit it but neither Chris nor Jenny had the ability to advance Edith's career so she had no interest in either of them. Down-to-earth and not particularly ambitious, neither of them come from the social circles Edith aspired to, nor did she see any value in their respective personal qualities. On reflection, he realised that Chris was warm, empathetic and kind and, quite frankly, Edith was none of those things. It was painful that, despite not exhibiting any of those qualities himself, he valued them so highly in those he allowed closest to him.
He wriggled his jaw from side to side and swallowed several times, licking his lips and breathing deeply, feeling the tension ebb away. The way forward would be total and utter dedication to his chosen field. There would be no distractions, physical or emotional. He was determined to be the best vascular surgeon he could be and, if that meant avoiding painful and confounding relationships then, in his mind, which was still in the grip of abject humiliation, he reiterated to himself that he must do it alone. Unfettered by exhausting emotions. He was already very accomplished at self control, he would just have to be even better. Inviolable.
Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back slightly and felt the warmth of the sun on his face. He had spent the last seven years of his life watching on, impassively, as his peers had sought ways to deal with emotions brought on by constant exposure to gore and grief, exhaustion and death. The pressure was relentless and the expectations high. The over-riding presumption was that one must remain calm and stoic in the face of everything medical training chucks at one. The difference for him was that while his fellow students didn't know what to do with the emotions they experienced, Martin didn't believe that he actually even felt them. Invulnerable.
As evening approached, the breeze was dropping and now the gentle zephyr caressed him, ruffling his hair and bringing a pleasant coolness to his exposed skin. He began to close doors in his mind. He was so accomplished at this, it had become second nature to bury thoughts so deeply that they became lost in the fathoms. Unlike most of his fellow med students, compartmentalisation has never been a struggle for him. Unwittingly or otherwise, Martin had been constructing the walls effectively and impenetrably, since he was a small child. Untouchable.
After Joan had sent her on her errand, it hadn't taken Louisa long to find him; it was almost as if she had a sixth sense about his whereabouts she thought. She stood quietly to the side of him, undetected, wondering if he was asleep. With the sun on him, she thought he looked positively angelic, everything about him seemed to glow. He swallowed and she was transfixed by his Adam's Apple, fighting an urge to run a finger down the soft smooth skin of his exposed neck; her fingers twitching by her side as her heart seemed to speed up and her breath caught in her throat. The intensity of the feeling caught her by such surprise that she was somewhat alarmed and, embarrassed by such an unfamiliar sensation, she let out an involuntary, raspy giggle.
Instantly, Martin opened his eyes, sat up straight and, slightly relieved to see that it was just Louisa, he turned to face her. He knew that he would only have to suffer through a typically ridiculous, but ultimately harmless, conversation with the girl which was hugely preferable to facing another round of the Wrath Of Edith. He leaned forward slightly as something about her had caught his doctor's eye; a definite flush to her complexion, bright red cheeks, evidence of tachypnea, even a slight tremble where her hands grasped the container she was holding. It was the last thing they needed now, a sick child on top of everything else, especially on a Saturday night, he thought grumpily, and wondered where the nearest A&E was.