Having spent the greater part of a rather cool and sleepless night attempting to process the events of the day, Martin awoke early, still aggrieved, and teeming with resentment.
He had no doubt that the unfamiliar, rural, dawn chorus would soon rouse Edith and he was utterly determined to avoid any further contact with her, however dishonourable and undignified it might seem. He had lain on the lumpy couch, his lanky frame contorted inelegantly, but thankful for the bedding that Louisa had brought him, which had at least allowed him to snatch a few hours of sleep. At some point, with the clarity that sometimes strikes in moments of resounding silence, he had decided that his preferred course of action was to be dressed and out of the house at sunrise; locking all his belongings, securely, in the boot of his car before taking himself for a long walk along the cliff tops. If he could absent himself for a couple of hours then surely Aunty Joan's plan to escort and deposit Edith at the station herself was a sound one, and she would shortly be removed from his life forever.
As he crept up the stairs and past her room, to his great relief, no sounds emanated, but his constant companion of the previous night, the spectre of Edith's furtive acquaintance with his father, returned with a vengeance, fomenting a further flush of aggravation within him.
In the bathroom, he washed his face, shaved and dressed as quickly as he could, not daring to risk a shower lest the groaning pipes awaken the household. Briefly, he stared at his own reflection, remonstrating with himself for being such an unutterable coward; his steady gaze into the foxed and speckled glass becoming a dissatisfied and exasperated scowl. From the garden, he heard the first vocal stirrings from the hen house, meaning time was getting on. Gathering up his things, he slunk silently back to kitchen.
As he sat at the table, tying his shoelaces swiftly with impossibly neat, surgeon's shoelace knots, and as the sky began to streak with faint daylight, he realised that this cottage had always been a haven for him in more than just name. In fact, he thought, it was his sanctuary; the only place he'd ever actually felt close to being loved. Under this roof he'd been accepted and encouraged, and he'd been shown genuine affection, kindness and gentle guidance, all in equal measure. And now, he thought with extreme bitterness, by her intrusion, and her insulting and obnoxious behaviour, Edith has defiled it.
Slipping quietly out of the back door, he inhaled the fresh morning air deeply into his lungs. He was relieved that the day had dawned fine, even if it was a little brisk. The rooster was now in full voice. Jogging up the narrow path, Martin prepared to, somewhat shamefully, follow his aunt's guidance; He was going to abdicate all responsibility, and temporarily vanish in to thin air.
Balled up at the foot of the bed, in a crumpled mound of blankets, with her hair plastered across her face and a mouth that felt like the bottom of a budgie cage, Edith awoke. Taking a moment to recall exactly where she was, the memories of the previous dismal day flooded back to her, and she groaned. With an extra pang of disappointment, she realised that Ellingham had failed, overnight, to join her. Attempting to disentangle herself, she was hit by a powerful wave of nausea and, as she struggled to sit up, she realised that her head was pounding. Oh god, she thought bitterly, Quaalude hangover.
In despair she groped about on her bedside table for a glass of water but there was nothing, and she cursed in frustration. Staggering across to the wall she flicked the light on, shielding her eyes from the glare, and casting around for something to slip over her naked, bony frame. As she bent down to retrieve her clothing from the floor, the room shifted, and she staggered, clasping her head in her hands and letting out a low moan. Should have stuck with the Benzo's, she thought angrily, since bloody Ellingham stood me up anyway.
With some difficulty, she managed to drag a shirt over her head and lurch her way somewhat inelegantly to the bathroom, clutching her toilet bag under her arm protectively. The door slammed behind her but she was beyond caring about disturbing anyone else; yanking on the string and illuminating the damp, drab room in a cold white light, before filling her glass and gulping at it messily. Rummaging in the bottom of her toilet bag, she retrieved several pill vials, clawing the lids from each, tipping her head back and throwing a selection of capsules and tablets quickly down her dry, scratchy throat. She stood like that for a moment, eyes closed and breathing deeply, before her hand went to her head and she began to rub her temples.
It took several moments before she felt able to move, and several more before her cocktail of drugs began to take effect. The room had stopped spinning, her headache was abating and, with a smug smile, she felt a slight rush as her mood began to elevate. She turned the hot water on, slipped off her shirt and stepped under the shower, welcoming the feel of the heat as it seared into her skin.
She stood there for some time; the sound of the water, the saturating warmth and the extraordinarily pleasant sensations resulting from her self-medication obliterating everything from her mind. She would have remained in her trance-like state indefinitely, or at least until the hot water ran out, but for an aggrieved pounding on the bathroom door that jolted her back to reality.
Reluctantly, she turned off the tap and reached for her towel, noting with some surprise that there seemed to now be rather a lot of water all over the floor, until it dawned on her that, in her mildly strung out state, she had failed to utilise the shower curtain. Time to evacuate, she thought with amusement, gingerly edging her way across the dangerously slippery linoleum to the door. Laughing, slightly manically, she wrapped the towel around her waist, clasped her shirt to her chest and, snatching up her toilet bag, heaved the door open and stumbled out into the hallway.
Louisa had been awoken once again by the sound of the pipes. She lay patiently in bed, in need of the loo, for several minutes before wandering along to the bathroom. After waiting in the cool, draughty hall for some time, she'd stomped back to bed and lay back down but necessity had eventually got the better of her. Slipping her school jersey over her nightie, she stomped back, frustrated to hear that whoever was in there seemed in no hurry to vacate the room and make the ablution facilities available to any one else. Crossly, she knocked on the door.
There was no response. Louisa tapped again, this time more forcefully but still the water continued to run and the door remained closed. She banged again, muttering under her breath but, still, her enquiry received no response. It dawned on her that the only person in the house that would be this selfish and inconsiderate would have to be Edith and, with that thought, any vestige of her patience evaporated. She thumped on the door, heavily, with the bottom of her fist and, after a moment, was relieved finally to hear the cessation of the running water.
When Edith eventually emerged, she was surprised to discover the angry figure of Louisa who stood glowering back at her with her arms folded and her back against the hall wall; her mood not improved by the derisive smirk that spread across Edith's flushed face as their eyes met.
"Oh, it's you." Edith said coldly.
"Finished?" Louisa barked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wouldn't want to rush you."
Edith regarded her for a moment, teetering slightly as her stare became colder and meaner.
"Of course. You'll be in a hurry to put your best frock on again." She sneered derisively. "Where are we off to today? Fishwife school? Breaking into cars at one of Port Wenn's tourist hotspots?"
Louisa was momentarily shocked into silence as she was stung by Edith's venom. Overcome by a red mist of antagonism and loathing, her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed dangerously. She took a step forward.
"I tell you what I won't be doing. I won't be sitting on a train like a lonely old spinster 'cos my boyfriend dumped me." She said, in a tone so malevolent she even surprised herself.
With a dismissive toss of her head she pushed determinedly past Edith, who was momentarily stupefied, and who stood aghast, her almost permanent smirk wiped unceremoniously from her face, replaced with a gaping, open-mouthed stare. After taking a few seconds to shrug off the girl's particularly well aimed insult, she spun around and fired a string of vile and bitter expletives at Louisa but she was too late, the door was already closed; the only response was the sound of the crunching privacy bolt as it was slammed home ferociously. Incandescent with rage, and feeling both burned by the painfully accurate insult that had pierced her soft underbelly and livid that she had been unable to have the last, mean-spirited word, she threw her toilet bag at the wall. Still muttering lewd insults, Edith took a few unsteady steps back toward her room before the looming figure of Joan, hands on hips and staring down at her coldly, stopped her in her tracks.