Doc Martin 1. Chapter 1

Aloha

by robspace54

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

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**Sometimes leave taking can become an arrival.**

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I took a deep breath and pushed open the shop door, carrying parcels in my arms, while juggling my handbag, and a wet brollie.

"Oh here, miss, let me," a woman held the door open wider so I could get inside.

"Thanks," I replied, dazzled by the sheer whiteness of the shop's walls and contents, plus the blue-white tint of the high intensity lighting from the ceiling.

The woman holding the door looked at me curiously; from face to the carton in my hands to my ring-less finger over to my waist then up to my eyes. "Well, have a nice day," she said and went out, the door closing behind her.

I squared my shoulders, tried to quell my fears and approached the shop counter.

"How can I help you?" asked a very bright and chirpy woman who dressed like she was twenty in a slinky and short black dress, but the wrinkles around her eyes and at her neck sent my age estimate closer to fifty; mutton dressed as lamb. Her name tag read Josie and she looked like a Josie.

How can she help me? Well for starters get me out of here! Send me back to that fateful day.

Martin took the envelope and started to open it but watched me in puzzlement.

"It says that I love you, and I really do… but."

"I know," he said. "I wouldn't make you happy."

I shook my head. "No." That was the truth; the truest thing I would ever know in my life. I'd not make him happy.

He looked at me sadly, or at least what passed for sadness on Martin's face. "You wouldn't make me happy either."

What? That was a bit of a shock to hear but I suppose he felt what I felt. "Oh… right. No, I don't suppose I would."

"Is that why you're still here then?"

"What? Sorry, Martin I'm just a bit confused."

He pointed to the sofa. "I thought if I just… sat there… and… uhm, it would be in your best interest."

My face grew hot for fear had notched up to anger. "Humiliating me as I stood in the church _alone_ would be in _my_ _best_ interest, would it?"

"You weren't going to _be_ in the church."

"At least I had to decency to write you a letter!" Now I was gritting my teeth trying to keep my voice level and calm but I felt anything but.

"That's _not_ the point," he blustered.

Then that fool of the village dry cleaner interrupted moaning about his leg and babbling about our wedding and honeymoon; neither of which would happen.

That was my cue for a quick exit. "I'll leave you to it," I told Martin then went out the front door.

But he followed me outside. "Louisa," he called to me softly.

I turned and looked at those eyes of his; the ones that could be harsh and soft – soft at that moment with a bit of a squint. "I know. Me too," I managed to say. Sorry, sad, upset, and muddled, all that; that's what I meant, so I stretched up, kissed his cheek then leaned back. "See you around."

Then I turned and walked away, for if I did not go, I never would. My nerves were stretched tight, ready to snap so I didn't look back, not afraid of what I might see, but I knew if I looked at Martin just then, I'd have run back, begging forgiveness.

I was jerked back to the present. "Now how can I help?" the not-young Josie asked me.

"Ah…" I said. How to begin? "I have this dress."

"And you want it altered?"

"No. I… I uhm, saw on your website that you buy dresses."

"We don't deal in _old_ dresses," she told me firmly.

I put the boxes on the counter and opened the larger. "Here's the thing, I have worn it, for about an hour, maybe less. Barely sat down in it. And it's not old for I bought it in Truro last fall."

"Truro?" She shook her head in puzzlement. "Let me guess? He jilted you."

I had opened my mouth to answer but closed my mouth and nodded at her. "Something like that. Truro, out in Cornwall."

She stared at me for a moment and stole a quick glance at my waist. She nodded sideways at an older lady across the way. "Let's talk to Susan, the owner."

"So anyway… I have this dress… and I'd like to…" my voice broke as I spoke to the manager. "Right. Sell it."

"I see," Susan said softly, looking at me with understanding eyes. I'd managed to sit calmly in front of her desk and draped my coat across my lap, not that it helped.

I waved my hand over the white dress, neatly folded into the box between layers of tissue paper. "I've taken very good care of it."

Susan pursed her lips.

"I even have the shoes," I tapped the shoe carton. "So I wondered… if you'd give me decent price for them."

"I… uhm, I gather things…" she raised her eyebrows.

"No. We decided to call it off – both of us." I was over a hundred miles from Martin and was still defending him.

Susan called over the saleswoman and they had a quiet conversation. "What say we take this in the back and have a look?" Susan told me at last after they had fingered the material and peeked at the shoes.

"Fine," I replied. "Good."

She glanced at her watch. "Perhaps you might come back in an hour, hour and a half, or so? We have a fitting in a bit and we can look at it after."

I took a walk back out in the rain and ended up in a pub. At a snug table out of the way I drank an orange squash and nibble crisps for it was a bit early for wine.

The rain came down and down, a typical London winter day and the cold and wet fit my mood. I fiddled with phone, stared out at the rain, and tried to shift into a more positive mood. Selling the wedding dress would be a step in the right direction.

"You think I should?" I'd said to Holly.

Holly laughed and slapped her hand on the table. "Heavens yes! Why'd you want to keep it?" We were in Holly's favorite pub but I found it all a bit posh and the prices were very dear. Holly swirled her expensive white wine. "Ditch it as fast as you can girl or into the bin with it."

"I couldn't just… bin it."

"Not like you'll use it again."

That made me stop. "Holly, I really don't think you can say that."

"I don't see you running down to Cornwall anytime soon, or have you done so behind my back?" she smirked.

"Now you're being horrid," I told her as I leapt to my feet and went home.

So that was the thing for it was horrid. I paged down the contact list on the mobile and at the 'M's' stopped. Martin it read…

"Martin," I sighed at it.

"You okay luv?" the barman called to me as I was his only customer.

"Fine," I lied.

"Want tea?"

"I would. Tea would be good."

He smiled. "Nothing quite like a hot cuppa on a cold day."

I smiled at him but what he said brought it back.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was raining then too, on a Sunday morning. We'd had an October storm the night before and the wind screaming around the house made it shake.

I tried to burrow under the blankets and get back to sleep but I realized the other side of the bed was empty. "Martin?" I called to him and I heard the toilet flush.

He appeared in a moment wearing a dressing gown. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

I shook my head. "Nope. What time is it?"

"Half seven."

"Ah." I got up, slipped into my robe and squeezed past him in the door. "Sorry." That's what I said but it felt good to be around him; good to smell him, his hair, his clothes, his… he just smelled like Martin. No aftershave scent, only a mild deodorant, a whiff of shaving soap, plus an aroma of warm skin that said 'this is a man' unlike the way a woman smelled.

The floor of the loo was freezing on my bare feet so I finished quickly, flushed, washed my hands and scuttled back to bed fast as I could go.

Martin flinched when my feet hit his. "Sorry, the tile was cold," I said in apology.

"Slippers might have been useful."

"I left them downstairs."

"Mm," he murmured, then scrunched closer his hand sliding up my hip, so I rested my hand on his neck, feeling the little bristles on his neck and cheek.

Martin had fairly soft whiskers which were not too scratchy, although he usually ran his electric razor over his face before we went to bed. But last night he had a late call after we cooked dinner and he had to rush out, so here he was in my bed, whiskers and all. I watched last night as he bolted half his food then rushed off to the car park, where the Lexus was staged in case he had an emergency.

Sometime around one AM he got back when I was konked out cold on the sofa in the lounge, a half empty glass of wine on the table along with a pile of marked school papers.

He was apologetic about our interrupted evening as I sat up and rubbed my eyes hearing the tale.

"Sorry. Fool of a hiker got lost! Found by Stewart James wandering in Snell's Wood."

"Good old Stewart." I'd changed into my pyjamas and had my dressing gown draped over me plus an Afghan rug. I hugged my legs as the downstairs was cold.

Martin opened his wet raincoat and I saw how damp he was underneath. "Man had a raging fever and a bent ankle. _Plus_ a concussion! Had to get him to hospital myself as the ambulance got lost in the fog." His hands shook as he worked at the buttons.

"Oh you must be freezing!" I got off the sofa to get him a towel.

"Stewart claimed that Anthony had alerted him that someone was lost so he got into his Bedford and drove out in the storm to find him. Bloody miracle." He stood there dripping on the slate while shaking his head over our local Ranger. "God knows how he found the man."

"Maybe Anthony is psychic," I giggled and then saw the puddle of water growing under his stocking feet. "God Martin! You'll catch your death." I handed him a towel from the kitchen rack. "And Stewart means well."

"At least this time he didn't fire a shotgun at me." He started to dry his saturated hair. "You're wrong. Germs cause colds and influenza. We don't get sick 'from being cold.'"

"Right." Of course I knew that.

He sighed. "I am wet through; perhaps I ought to go home and you can go back to sleep."

I shook my head. "No. Stay. You go upstairs and bathe. I'll hang your wet things up to dry."

He glanced over at his muddy shoes parked by the door. "Those are likely ruined."

I looked them over. "Plenty of mud. But you polish them so well I doubt they'll be permanently damaged."

He sighed. "My father _insisted_ on well shined shoes. His Navy days."

I saw him wince as he said that, for his dad was rubbish to him. I nodded. "You go clean up and I'll sort these. You want tea?"

He shook his head, hair now dry. "I'm fine."

In short order the water was gushing into the tub upstairs, I scraped most of the mud away from his shoes and stuffed newsprint inside them so they would dry. I reclined on the bed, reading a magazine, trying to stay awake, but next thing I knew it was morning and Martin was shivering as I held my cold feet against his legs. "Sorry about the feet."

"Human female core temperature is maintained by shifting blood from the extremities. Hence cold hands and feet; in your case."

I was acquainted enough with his comments to take that as fact and not as criticism. "Well then you'll have to help me."

"Help you?" he yawned.

I pulled him close and began to kiss his face. "I think you know how."

He almost rolled away but I held him fast and after a while I wasn't cold anymore and neither was he. And that must have been when… well, things happened.

"Here go miss," the barman set a tray of tea and things on my table. "Not much call for tea, but it is middle of the day." He peered out at the downpour. "Like I said. Hot tea makes a cold day better."

Martin looked cautiously at me over breakfast that Sunday morning. I usually had a lie-in on the weekend, but I'd heard his stomach grumbling away so I last relented and followed him from bed and downstairs.

"What?" I asked.

"Uhm… you seem quiet."

"Okay for you to be quiet but not me? That it?" I stopped myself for I'd gotten cross. "Sorry Martin. Didn't mean to snap."

He stirred his tea. "You have every right, if you want to."

He had insisted on dressing in the fresh suit he'd brought while I was lounging in pyjamas and dressing gown. He was so, well _his_ clothes were faultless, suit not a wrinkle in it, brilliant white shirt, tie knotted just so, with a perfectly symmetrical knot. "You never dress down do you?" I asked.

He looked at me oddly. "Dress down?"

"Never loose trousers or blue jeans; no working clothes."

"These are my working clothes."

I stood to clear the dishes. "Yep."

"Have I done something wrong?"

"No, Martin you haven't." I began to rinse the plates and he came to my side.

"I have."

"No."

"Well from your behavior there must be something bothering you."

I put down the plate I was holding and the dish brush then turned on him. "I don't know."

"Well what then?"

I sighed. "You, uhm, we, we're just so formal sometimes; maybe more you than me. We are engaged after all."

"What would you like me to do or be, Louisa?" he asked and from his tone we had a row coming. "Do a jig in the streets? Run about in my boxers and vest?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Hmm. That might scare the neighbors. 'Doc Martin has gone Bodmin.'"

He recoiled but stayed silent.

I shook my head. "Look… I'm just asking if you can relax a little bit. Take off your suitcoat, and that tie. It's just us Martin – nobody else."

He peered down at his shirt. "But I like this tie."

"It is a beautiful tie." I reached over and stroked it letting my fingers run down it and inside his coat. "Just… you don't have to go."

He shook his head. "I have some bills to pay, and I have to my laundry, and have to clean up those mucky shoes."

My hand flicked open the button on his jacket ad wrapped my arms around him. "Martin, it's raining and cold. No one's about and… well," I purred as I kissed his cheek then started to work on his neck above his collar with my lips. "I know what we can do on a rainy day."

He stood rigid for a moment then began to kiss me back.

"Sunday's going to be like this when we get married?" he asked.

"I hope so…" I pulled his tie away and draped it carefully across a chair back. "Mobile off?"

He pulled it from his coat and pushed a button. "Now it is."

I nodded. "Good. That is good."

He smiled just the faintest little bit. "I see."

I tipped my head back and he kissed me deeply and all I wanted was this man forever and ever, despite his faults.

"This is a lot better than hot tea on a cold day…" I whispered into his ear so I took his hand and led him back to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I drank some tea and looked at my mobile once more. The call log showed it had been five weeks since Caroline and I had last spoken.

"What's that?" Caroline Bosman said to me in a tinny voice all broken with static.

"I said… how are you and Tom getting on?"

"Okay. Are you getting used to the new school? And London?

"London is…" I stopped as a loud lorry passed my third floor bedsit competing with a belching bus. "LOUD."

"I can tell!" she laughed. "And your school?"

Ah. "Well the kids are smart but the parents are smarmy. I don't think they are too keen on a country girl teaching their _posh_ offspring." That much was clear when I was introduced at the Holiday Parent's Night. They way eyes were rolled at me and hands were shaken, dutifully, but that was all. It seemed to be that they might consider me a country bumpkin so I'd dressed carefully for the event in my best school clothes and new shoes, which seemed tight which was odd for I just bought them.

The Head Teacher had given me a nice intro so all I had to do was smile and say 'hello' to the assembled parents. "And this is our Miss Glasson who has replaced Mr. George after he left. We are so happy to have her on such notice."

I had seen an elbow nudge or two and at least one mum leaned close to her man and whispered 'Cornwall.'

Caroline snorted. "Well don't feel bad, Louisa, They'll get used to you, especially when the see how well you teach."

"Stranger in a strange land," I muttered. "But they needed a new Maths teacher."

"What happened to the one you replaced?"

"He quit – suddenly – and very." Schools were full of gossip and North London Prep Academy was no different. It was said that he had been a bit too friendly with a child's mother. There was a confrontation in the schoolyard with her policeman hubby and that was that. Mr. George went out like a blown candle. "They were very glad to take me on such short notice." I'll say for they paid me an extra thousand to start by December 1st.

"Well you certainly took off from the village about as fast."

I sighed into my mobile. I know it was fast but I had to go and quickly.

"What?" she asked.

"Never mind."

The silence stretched once more finally broken by Caroline. "So Louisa, how are you feeling?"

Now _that_ was a question. Ought I to say I was sad or go one step further and say depressed? "Uhm, getting on," I answered which wasn't much of an answer for I certainly wasn't dancing for joy, especially since the a few days back. "Fine really."

She sighed into my ear. "Have you called him?"

"No."

"Not once?"

"Listen Caroline… I've _got_ to go. Marking to do."

She laughed. "A step down from being Head Mistress, right? Sorry to say."

"No, no, that's alright." It was true it was a jump down the ladder for I did it on my own. "My kids' papers won't mark themselves. Call me again soon. And Caroline just don't broadcast anything to anyone – I mean, keep our confab private."

"Do you think I'll blab any of this over the radio?"

"Sorry no, just… er, especially _not_ to Martin."

"Tick a lock Louisa. So you _haven't_ called him."

"Goodnight," I told her slowly and closed the mobile. The pile of school papers glared at me accusingly. "Don't you start," I said to them then started to have my way with them by way of a red Biro.

My bedsit was small, sublet from another teacher who'd gone down to the Canary Islands on an exchange program. A blast of rain pattered on the windows and I hoped she was using plenty of sunscreen. I tugged my wool cardi higher then added a silk scarf as my neck was cold. I could hear steam pulsing up from the cellar but the radiator didn't seem to be doing much good. Heat was included but the landlord had the thermostats locked at 68F and it seemed to never get up to 60.

Well I was a Cornwall girl so I was tough; had to be.

After savaging Juliet Timmon's paper with my pen, I made my tea then snapped on the telly. I looked down at the mess she'd made of her paper and thought I'd not improved it. "Juliet," I muttered, "you are a smart girl. Certainly you can do better. Just have to apply yourself."

The show on the telly was a cooking show and the host was interviewing a Mrs. Kelly from Falmouth about pasties. Just looking at them made my mouth water. "Get a grip, Lou," I told myself.

"So here is the _classic_ Cornish Pastie!" gushed the host from the screen.

"No!" I nearly shouted. "It _is_ just a _pastie_! Only you _English_ add the adjective!"

What was wrong with me? I threw down my pen, scooped up handbag, mobile, and coat and went out for a walk.

The rain had now ended and the streets were cold and dark, but this section of town was pretty well lit, so no worries. My boot heels made a clopping sound on the cobbles and pavement and I felt invigorated by the cold air and getting some exercise.

I knew full well what was wrong with me, and I felt a little a little guilty at lying into Caroline. Well at least not even telling even a part of the truth.

I passed the local pub, where a loud crowd was gathered, and I looked inside self-consciously, staring thru the door. I wasn't much of a pub goer, well, I used to be, but not every night, and recently definitely not.

"You going inside or not?" a man's voice asked at my elbow. He was about thirty-five at a guess; blonde headed, blue eyes, slender with a lovely smile.

"Sorry," I told him and stepped to the side clearing the doorway.

He stepped inside then came right back out. "Crowded in there. Sure you won't come inside?"

I shook my head. "Thanks but no."

I saw him scan me from head to toe and I was glad I was wearing my long black coat for it made me mostly a shapeless thing. I had to start loosening the belt though.

He smiled at me. "Coffee instead? There's a nice café right 'round the corner." He pushed the door closed then leaned against the frame, hands casually in his pockets. "I could use a coffee," he said firmly.

I spun on my heel and dashed away before he could follow. No! I didn't want to be with anyone. Not this handsome man, not my sometime friend Holly who seemed to be entirely full of herself too much along with her unwanted advice, or even…

The man was following me now twenty feet or so back so I hurried across the street to leave him.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Sorry! I'm not a…"

I turned at the pavement and faced him across the street and shook my head.

"Oh," his face fell. "I just wondered…"

I shook my head again. "Thanks but no thanks." I started walking but he paralleled my path across the street.

"Okay then," he muttered but it was clear he was interested.

I was not, nor could I be, since I got the news.

All the signs were there; no periods, sore baps, plus nausea, and finally I used an EPT and it was positive. That's when I went to my GP for I had to carry on.

Dr. Spears looked from her computer to me. "You're thirty-seven."

"Yes," I said trying to stay at least partially covered with the stupid paper gown. These things were useless and the room was cold. I was all gooseflesh and not just from the temperature in the examination room.

She looked at me over her glasses. "Single."

"I was going to be married; in October. But we called it off."

"You didn't know you were pregnant."

I shrugged. "After New Year's I suspected." I sighed which I'd been doing a lot of. "So here I am."

"Ah," she said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just ah." She held up a circular slide-rule thingie and spun the top dial. "By dates, your baby is due 27 July."

Your baby. Your BABY. YOUR BABY! Those words… those words… Not just MY baby, now was it? No, it was Martin's as well and how in Heaven's name could I tell _him_ about it?

"Hey!" the blonde guy yelled from across the street. "I have to get home. You okay?"

I snapped out of my reverie. "What?"

He shrugged and waved his arms at the empty and dark streets. "Kinda late and this isn't the best time of night to be out. Not around here."

I looked at my watch and it was past eleven. How far have I walked? I hadn't really paid attention to where I was. "Where are we?"

"Halley Street!"

I wracked my brain but it didn't ring a bell.

"We're just off James Street… look; I'll walk back to the pub with you, right? That work?"

We were the only two afoot other than an old man walking an ancient bloodhound a block away. "Sure."

A Ford passed, tyres hissing on the wet road.

He crossed his arms. "You can walk on that side and I'll stay over here; so you don't won't get nervous."

I thought back to how I told off that tosser Adrian Pitts at hospital when Peter was hurt. I could handle myself. "Don't you get nervous either!" I said to him and he laughed.

"What's your name?"

I shook my head no.

That didn't daunt him. "Oh, well I'm Will, William Baker. Ready to walk?"

"Sure."

Will was as good as his word for he got me back to the pub in a few minutes and suddenly I knew where I was.

He slowly crossed the street. "See? Safe as houses. Can you walk home from here?"

I nodded. "Thanks. Guess I was wool gathering."

He smiled. "Been there, done that. Your accent; uhm… Cornwall is it?"

"Yes."

He took his bare hands from his pockets and blew on them. "Thought so. Had second cousins down that way."

I turned to go but then stopped. "My name's Louisa," I told him.

"Good night Louisa," he said softly and bowed at the waist. "Take care."

I smiled. "Thanks Will. Goodnight."

"Maybe I'll see you around sometime."

See you around. He would have to say that. I managed a grin then turned away and managed a few steps before my tears flowed.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It was the day of my GP visit and I was in London, on my own, in a bedsit, thirty-seven years old, single; pregnant.

I looked around my small place from the faded wallpaper to the scratched wood floor, the flyspecked windows and a damp patch on the ceiling where cracks ran along the ceiling like crazy spider webs.

It was no good; no way around it. I was good and truly… I stopped that thought and took a deep breath.

"I am _alright_ – _everything_ is alright," I said aloud. "Got _everything_ I need." I touched my belly, where nothing showed just yet. "Perfectly normal; all normal," I said more to reassure myself than anything else.

Of course throwing up my breakfast every morning and feeling like a walking gut-busting explosion about to happen the last weeks was normal as well. "Perfectly," I muttered as I looked over the pamphlets I'd been given. "Six weeks on," I read, "nausea in the morning affects 90% of mothers, especially those who are pregnant for the first time."

My GP figured I was about ten and a half weeks along so it was late October, had to be, that rainy Sunday a week before we didn't get married.

I ran a finger around the periphery of my belly button. "So what you think? Shall we discuss this with your father? How to work things out?"

I shook my head side to side when I didn't hear an answer. "No?"

I looked down at my lap, for I still had a lap. "I _even_ sold my car," I said sadly. Considering that money had paid for my move plus the deposit on the bedsit, and a hundred other things that just seemed needed in the capital. An oyster card, new clothes for school, and the shoes I got the other day which were definitely pinching my toes, and food.

Food is always expensive, and I really had to stop eating out or getting takeaway, for down the road this little one will be out and _need_ things; lotsa things. I stopped rubbing my belly. "Like a daddy."

"What would you say, Martin?" I sighed and wrinkled my nose. "Abortion? _Your choice Louisa, uhm, if you don't want it_."

I had no illusions either that he would bustling up here to drag me back to Portwenn or shift himself up here to be with me.

Or he'd sigh over the mobile, "How will you manage? On your own?" And just the way he would say it would be oh so judgmental with a nearly audible sneer. "Ahm, studies have shown children of single mothers lag in early childhood development, especially when they work from their children's early age," I imagined him telling me.

I shook my head again. "Yeah, just like that. That's the way he will sound; sure of it."

Did I want to be with him? "Well I didn't marry him for lots of reasons," I told my baby, for somehow it was MY baby now, not _our_ baby.

I wondered what changes were going on in there? Cells dividing and growing; changing form. It was a miracle and I did not mean getting pregnant, or having a baby, but the thought of two little cells getting together and starting the whole thing.

But of course, it took some doing to get those two little cells together.

If I invited Martin to come to my house, I could usually convince him to stay over, unless he had an emergency call.

He'd look from me to the clock, or his watch, and then puzzle over it for a few seconds. "I have a lot of patients in the morning," he might protest.

"And I have kids to teach," I'd counter. "Don't you want to stay?" I'd have to prod some nights.

But if I had gone to his house for dinner, or if I'd managed to get him to eat out and we went back to his place, I might drop some broad hints. "So… busy schedule tomorrow?"

He'd sigh. "Always."

Once or twice Martin had asked, "Are you staying?" his nervous eyes peering at the floor. I would smile and glance at the spot where my handbag rested next to a satchel which held my overnight things and clothing for the morning for I had planned ahead.

I might give him a smile, or cross the room and kiss him gently, but not too gently or too hungrily for Martin seemed like a timid little rabbit at times about to bolt.

Being too forward with him made him skittish but usually I could get him to, how to say it? _Acquiesce_, a word he actually used once when I asked him to stay over.

But when we did get into bed… I giggled at the memory; there was usually no stopping him as he adored me with his eyes and loved me to pieces with those big hands and tall body. That is after I put an adhesive strip across the bridge of my nose to decrease my snoring.

I almost missed those things.

My right hand had crept down to my belly button again. "Have to think about how to tell Martin," I whispered. "And that's how those two little cells got together," I said to my baby, "how you got started, on a rainy Sunday morning or afternoon, when winds made the house shake."

My fingers tapped slowly then began to rub in circles. "That's how it went, see?"

I used the toilet and stared at the mirror, into my eyes which looked shocked, and upset, yet also satisfied. "No Louisa, you surely can't be thinking you can do this on your own, are you?"

My reflected eyes looked back at me with no answer.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Penelope Harper, the school's Head Teacher sat behind her uncluttered desk and pointed a slim manicured hand at her visitor's chair. "Have a seat. Miss Glasson, how are you finding us?" she said in very toffee London tone.

I sat down on the indicated chair, tugging my jumper straight for it felt twisted so I must have seemed very nervous to her as I arranged myself.

One sign of the way in which the North London Prep Academy was run was the ship-shape and Bristol fashion things were done. From the Head's pristine office to the brilliantly waxed floors it could have been an advert for any extremely posh school, which it was, at least on the surface as I would find out.

But what she asked me was exactly what I said to Martin way back on his first Lifeboat Day. This was right after he he'd moved to the village to replace Doc Sim.

"How are you finding us?" I said to him. The village had showed up to celebrate in typical fashion. True that most of the celebrating had to do with eating and drinking, but there was fun too, with a band and music, games for the kids and craft booths. In his fine gray suit Martin stood out like a bright red beacon on a dark night.

He peered at me quizzically for I was dressed as a pirate in red and black complete with eye patch; but I did need the eye patch due to glaucoma; which he had diagnosed.

He answered me, "Irritating, apart, uhm, from the primary school teacher… who's, uh, a pirate it would seem."

I started to gush all over him about how he wasn't what I imagined he would be… but then he shot off like he had a rocket up his backside, thusly proving our new GP was a little abrupt.

After he ran away from me and was finally dragged back to the stage on the Platt, Caroline jammed her microphone into his hand for he was expected to read the results of the fancy dress competition. I felt sure my Class 6 would win the junior group category, not the least of which was due to their very cute and well-put-together teacher, or so I imagined. I had primped and posed in front of the mirror that day and there was no doubt about it that my fancy dress was smashing.

We all stood below the stage waiting for him to announce the results of the fancy dress contest, as Caroline prompted our new GP. But I guess he was distracted by the fight between Ross, the Colonel, and Susan Brading, for he firmly said "Oh shit," into the microphone.

Right then the whole village and every radio listener found out that Martin was… well, different.

Ross the surfer boy, who'd been bonking Lady Brading, yelled down at Martin in a loud voice. "Ellingham! You _tosser_!"

And that was just one of the many choice words Martin earned over the years. But still - the whole village was irritating but for me? Considering that my questioning during his job examination was so sharp and negative to him, he thought I was NOT irritating. I figured out later that was high praise from him.

"So I hope we've showed you a bit of hospitality?" my new boss asked.

"Oh yes, very nice."

"Ah," she said and folded her hands.

Silence grew between us which was one way Mrs. Harper disarmed people. She'd done the same during our phone interview and in the face-to-face meeting.

"Well," I blurted out to stop the battle of wills, "the children are very sharp up to a point. There clearly has been an adjustment period – for all of us."

She smiled grimly. "Mr. George, whom you have replaced, thought so as well. That is his students were sharp."

I looked around her office, which put my old school to shame. "I love your school – I mean the building is very fine – very… very clean."

She sniffed, no doubt wondering what my old school looked like; likely similar to the inside of a disused tin mine which litter the Cornish countryside.

"I mean," I blabbed on. "It's a lot like my old school – in Portwenn."

Mrs. Harper smiled a superior smile. "Oh."

"Well, uhm, you have students and teachers," I back pedaled.

She smiled briefly. "Yes, we do. And _parents_. Parents who _expect_ that not only will their precious offspring get an education, but that they might also be shown some consideration. Respect if you will."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean."

She opened a drawer and took out a large file which she plopped down in front of me. "Have a look."

I anxiously opened the proffered folder and found about a dozen letters, addressed to her, and all about my marking practices.

"Read one," said my Boss imperiously. "Aloud."

I took the top one and read it aloud:

"_Dear Penelope,_

_We can appreciate how hard it must have been for you to fill a vacancy at such short notice, what with the hasty departure of Mr. George, however we must protest that the new teacher's marking practices seem to be draconian._

_Our little Freddy was pushed to tears by receiving such low marks on his last two examinations. He was quite crushed. His homework assignments are no better; if anything worse!_

_My husband and I have looked those tests over and we can't understand how Freddy could have been doing __so well__ under Mr. George but __now__ seems to be failing._

_Are you are certain that the new teacher is suitable for the school?_

_Please call our home so we may arrange a meeting to discuss this matter in person._

_Signed,_

_Freida_

_Mrs. Freidericka Aldershot-Cribbins_

_p.s. We must do lunch some weekend."_

Ah, so to Mrs. Aldershot-Cribbins I didn't even have a name! 'New teacher' I was called. Humph.

I flipped through the rest of the letters which were pretty much the same, some sprinkled with profanity.

Mrs. Harper glared at me. "Well?"

"I see."

"Do you?"

I knew the school was very posh and very expensive but there were signs that the thing was a lot like an iceberg; all smooth and pretty and glittery on top but underneath the surface of the ocean was scaly and nasty.

I shuffled the letters into a neat pile, slid them back in the folder and handed it back to Harper who snatched it from my grasp. I took a deep breath and held it for now I knew the lay of the land.

"The Aldershot-Cribbins are one of our finest families," Harper said to me in an icy tone. "We really do not wish to upset them now do we?"

Now it was my turn to keep silent but not too long. "I know that I am the new kid on the block, and you must think I talk funny; I'm not from around here obviously… but…"

"But?"

I took another careful breath before I spoke. "I understand Mr. George was loved by all – students, staff, and _parents_…" I accented the last and saw Harper's face blanch. "And from what I have heard – school grapevine – he could do _no_ wrong. None at all. However, when I came here in December I gave my students a fairly simple comprehensive math quiz; just to see where they were as a class planning document seemed to be missing."

"I suppose Mr. George took that with him," she sniffed at me.

"Well, then we can agree that _whatever_ he was doing in class was a mystery as far as the class plan might tell us. But there is more. Marks, Mrs. Harper. _Marks_. My students, and Freddy along with them, doesn't know a blessed thing about intermediate math. Multiplication? Nearly zip. Division? Likewise. Their skills are absolutely appalling. I apologize for _not_ calling this to your attention when I discovered it, but I was hoping to quickly review and reteach the missing material. That has been a struggle, let alone trying to bring them up the curve on pre-algebra."

When I said the word algebra Mrs. Harper looked like I was talking about warp drive; for it totally threw her. Apparently math was _not_ in her ken.

"_Yes_ their marks are rubbish!" I said through gritted teeth. "_Your_ Mr. George was rubbish as well, from what I can see."

She stiffened. "I'll have you know he worked here for nearly _ten years_ and that _I_ hired him."

Thought so. I nodded. "Fine. Then perhaps we might start afresh." I pointed to the door and down the hall towards my classroom. "Facts. Those kids can barely get through a multiplication table let alone do the very basic sort of work they ought to be doing!"

My stomach was roiling for I'd been sick again that morning. Even dry toast and weak tea had not gone down very well or stayed down. This confrontation was not making me feel any better.

"I have been drilling the kids in my class and they are improving, but it will take time," I said softly to her turning my words in a positive direction. "More than a few weeks it will take; but by summer holiday I'll have them where they should be."

Mrs. Harper looked away for a moment and studied her maroon fingernails. "Ah."

"That's it?" I said but shouldn't have.

She flicked her eyes at her wrist watch. "Right. The students will be here in ten minutes. Best get to your classroom. That is all."

I stood up and looked down at her. "I _will_ teach these children. I will get them where they ought to be in mathematics and they will learn. I will do _everything_ I can to get them ready for next form. Their marks will be low until I can make that happen. Shall I arrange parent-teacher conferences? Explain what's going on? I can get their details from your secretary…"

Mrs. Harper waved a limp wrist at me to cut me off. "No. I have a meeting to prepare for. Off to class Miss Glasson," she told me dismissively.

"How are you finding us?" I whispered to myself as I stomped away from her posh office and down the hall. "Irritated; very _very_ irritated."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

My mobile rang late that afternoon so when I saw the caller was Holly I answered.

"Kee-riistt on a bloody crutch! Louisa! What's got into you?" were the first words out of her mouth.

"And a good evening to you, Holly," I snapped back.

"Penny just called and tore a strip off my arse! I can't tell you how much bloody embarrassing this is!"

"Ah." So Holly was only worrying about herself! "Too bad for you." It was too obvious what she was upset about.

"My God, Lou! I pulled a lot of strings to get you in there! And now you do this!"

"So teaching children what they need to be learning is now a bad thing? Thank you very bloody much Holly for your support!"

I could hear Holly panting into her mobile. "Lou, look, it's all very well to have high morals but…"

"But what? What did the witch Harper tell you? I'm caning them? Punishing them? NO! I AM TEACHING THEM MATH! Kee-riistt to you too!"

"Now what a minute! Penny Harper is a very fine woman…"

"Who is _more_ interested in raking in the _dough_ than making sure her students get a decent and well-grounded education! And if Math is in the crapper, what else is? Hmm? Social studies, language arts?"

A chilly silence filled the airwaves then, broken only by a strange sound coming from Holly.

"Holly?" It sounded as if she was blubbering.

"Oh bloody hell, Lou," Holly sniffled. "I thought it would all turn around for you in London! Get out of your tiny school, away from those awful and smelly seagulls, and hopefully out of your funk after dropping that awful boyfriend of yours."

"Martin is NOT awful!"

"Well he's very rude, brash and abrupt! And those ears, my God."

One hand squeezed my mobile tightly and the other went to my belly, right over where I imagined our baby was growing. "He can be; sometimes, but he's NOT awful!" And I quite liked his ears.

"Oh Lou, come on. You didn't marry him and that was not for no good reason!"

I gritted my teeth and locked my lips tight before I said something very nasty.

Holly forged on. "Lou, oh come on. You told me yourself the man could be abrasive. I hope that wasn't the only reason you ditched him. Maybe… uhm… was he horrible in the sack? Did he hurt you? That it? Did he want some awful _kinky_ thing?"

"HOLLY! SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP!" There I'd said it. "You're like _all the rest_ back in the village! Gossiping behind his back! Cutting him down. Winding him up! He's… Martin is a _finer_ man that most of us will ever meet and…"

"And that's why you didn't get married? What other people say? If that's why you broke up you had better get that sorted!"

In some way what she said slowed me down. "No, no. I…"

My note to him was short and factual:

_Martin,_

_I can't marry you – __we__ can't marry. We'll mess it up._

_I'm afraid that we'll end up like my parents or yours; two grumpy people being horrible or worse -divorced. And what if we have children? What happens to them?_

_So when you find this note you'll have figured out I didn't come to the church._

_I'm sorry I've embarrassed you because I know you hate that._

_Please forgive me and I do love you._

_Louisa_

Not much of a reason was it? 'We'll mess it up.' I sighed into the phone. It was as good a reason as any. "We weren't right for each other, Holly. That's all."

Holly blew her nose loudly. "You can say that. He seemed almost robotic to me; creeped me out."

I closed my eyes and bent forward resting my head on the papers I had been marking up. "He, uhm, Martin can seem like sometimes; hard to talk to."

She laughed. "Well, at least you got away unscathed! Now about the school thing, I poured as much oil on the waters as I could Lou. I hope I have saved _my_ reputation as well as yours."

Unscathed? The words from the pamphlet rolled into my brain. And trust Holly to remind me that it was she who had helped me get the job.

'_At eleven weeks gestation, which is actually nine weeks of actual growing, adding two weeks to your last menstrual cycle, your baby is about one and a half inches long and the body is nearly completely formed, looking much like a newborn, just tremendously smaller. The walls of the uterus are thickening and growing stronger beginning to pulse with muscular rhythms for the task to come. Your breasts are much more sensitive as well as larger and your nipples are growing pinker as blood vessels become engorged. The urge to urinate will be increasing, and you may still feel nausea, but hopefully that will pass soon.'_

"Right," I told her testily. "Sure – _unscathed_. That what I am?"

"I'm sure you _must_ be sad, Lou. For Heaven's sake you nearly got to the altar! Anyone would be upset after going through all that. Buying a dress and all."

"Right," I snapped.

"I really think you should get rid of that dress once and for all. Put all that behind you!"

"Right."

"Get on with your life!"

Just like that. Get on with my life? My hand was now cupping my flat belly.

"Louisa?"

"Yes?"

"I could never understand what you saw in the man anyway."

I was on the Tube a month ago and two Americans were sitting across from me chatting away about a book one was reading. They were reading quotes out of it out loud and one stuck with me. _'Sometimes the heart sees what is often invisible to the eye.'_

"I… well, you know, who can say?" I answered Holly. "We, uhm…" the timer on the cooker buzzed. "Have to go Holly. My dinner's ready."

"Think about what I said? Might be best if you got together with Penny and work things out."

"Bye Holly," I said and closed my mobile.

"What the heart sees," I muttered to myself. I didn't know exactly. Why do we like cute puppies or babies? Flowers? Butterflies? Fantastic sunsets? A warm kiss? "Or catching a wave breaking and catching a glimpse of a dolphin."

Given the sea was over fifty miles away I had no chance of seeing a dolphin.

Martin was quiet but strong. Capable yet vulnerable. Quick to anger yet a very tender and considerate lover.

Isobel had said to me, "Well it's nobody's business. What goes on behind closed doors is between you and him." That was on our wedding day, and then poor Isobel her water broke and had her baby out there on the hillside – a baby boy.

I went to the cooker, and pulled out the fish I'd baked with some small potatoes. The fish wasn't terribly large, nor was fresh caught, not like any fish in the village, but it was my supper.

Juggling the hot pan on a tattered oven mitt I slid the fish to a plate along with the potatoes I had wrapped in tinfoil. Some heated leftover beans from the other night plus half an orange and I had a meaL.

I sat down to eat with a glass of milk and looked at the food long and hard.

"Damn you Holly! Damn you to hell!" I hissed and started to cry. "What can I sort out with my new boss who does not care a fig about her own school?"

I ate some fish and roasted potato and felt a little better; not so mad, not so… _helpless_.

This was no good. I blew my nose and wiped my face then got a grip. "Right. Okay. Mum left me and Dad and we got on without her. I went up to London for college and did great. I've put up with snide remarks as a teen about my Dad and got through all that. I was Head Teacher OF Portwenn Primary and it all worked out. But… there's the new GP, see, and well, I guess I fell in love with him. So…"

I craned my head down towards my lap. "Look," I said to my baby, "I will tell your father about you – _eventually_. Just not now."

I began to eat. The meal tasted good, a lot better than the sandwich I bought for my lunch from the school canteen. It could have been the best roast beef but it would have tasted like ashes in my mouth at midday for I was still upset from the morning's meeting with Harper.

"Bitch," I muttered. "What a cow."

I stopped and sighed. "No. That will not do, Louisa. Be strong. Stick to your guns and you will get through this."

I looked at the pile of worksheets from today and having marked about half of them there was some sign of hope, for there were fewer of my red X's today than yesterday. "Right. They are learning for you are teaching them."

Another of those pithy quotes from the book came to my head. _'Never marry someone in hope they will change later.'_

That was it in a nutshell. I could have married Martin, and that would have solved a whole lot of _future_ issues like being single, thirty-seven, and pregnant as I am now.

I wanted Martin to change; to be more talkative, more... I don't know, _warmer_ to others, less gruff and abrupt.

But when he peered at me with those eyes that went soft around the edges, the faintest of upturned corners of his mouth, the way he winced when someone, even me, criticized or made fun of him made me want to help him; hold him. I thought there must be a lost little boy inside, trying to hide way deep down, as the rest of him struggled to act like a grownup – but what came out was impolite and arrogant.

Well it was the nasty Portwenn Girl Pack that made fun of him, not me. At least I'd not done so since Mylow's sister was in the village peddling her herbal medicines, and that was an accident.

The first night we spent together he looked at me in the dimness of my bedroom and asked, "Are you alright? Uhm, have I hurt you?" I suppose the cries I had been making during our love-making alarmed him.

So I wrapped my arms around him kissed his cheek. "No Martin. I'm fine. It was…" Discussing sex was always strange for us; we never talked about it. I mean it was all top-drawer, primo stuff thank you very much, but how to tell my new fiancé that I'd felt the Earth move?

Not only would he not have understand the reference he'd likely have said, "Louisa, I don't believe there was an earthquake. Cornwall isn't prone to them."

"Oh Martin there were plenty of earthquakes, between you and me." I smiled as I shook my head at those happy memories. "Silly man - silly Martin - my Martin - so unawares at times and yet so…" I sighed. "Damn it."

I stared at the remains of my dinner in misery. "Not my Martin - not _anymore_."

Then I started to cry - really let it all out. My sorrow wasn't entirely about my awful school, or having a baby on my own, or being far from home in the big city, or even getting yelled at by my sometimes friend Holly.

No, it was primarily one thing and it was _all_ about Martin Ellingham.

I missed Martin; seeing him, eating meals with him, sitting with him, smelling him, his arms around me, his body pressed against mine, his lips devouring mine.

And it wasn't even about the sex; it was being _without_ _him_ now that hurt the most.

So I had a very long and hard cry.

**Note:**

**The two quotes from the American book are by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

So that was that. I was firmly persona non grata according to my new students' parents, and my boss, and Holly.

No matter. I didn't need their approval _or_ endorsement of my actions or thinking. I dug in my feet, lowered my head, and just tried to keep moving forward like a wild horse out on Bodmin Moor in a winter storm.

The kids started to 'get it' and actually _understand_ math – and then it was no giant bugaboo. After we got thru a nasty reteach on multiplication and division, we started on pre-algebra. When I quoted the rule "when you cross the street you change signs" they must have thought I was barking; but after a lengthy explanation and plenty of exercises – boom – they got it. So my classroom was working at least.

When Mrs. Harper looked at me in the hallway or the teacher's canteen she tried to keep her face plain but her mouth would curl up like she was sucking lemons. I was courteous and friendly to her no matter what it cost me not to snarl. If I dealt with Martin Ellingham at _his_ worst I could certainly deal with a London Head Teacher. Curiously after our single meeting she left me alone about the kids and their marks, so I suppose I had made my point.

As for Holly, well she must have had a back channel to my boss since my former college flat mate did return my calls for two weeks. However, when she did call she acted like _nothing_ had happened and blathered on about how well her school was going without asking me about how I was or how I was doing. I could have been a brick wall for all she cared as she chattered on.

I suppose she imagined I really gave a damn, which I didn't. She encouraged me to meet for drinks but I begged off saying I had a cold. I had checked and although a very little wine would not hurt once in a great while I felt it better to stay away from the stuff until, well, until I was no longer pregnant. Of course that would mean I'd be nursing by then so perhaps sometime next year I might be able to get to the pub. It was not a giant sacrifice by any means – it was what mums did.

So my situation was not completely sorted but I felt it was under control.

If only everything was under my control; like my body.

You know that movie where the space freighter lands on an alien planet and one of the crew gets implanted with an alien egg? Yep that one; the movie that gave us all nightmares. I know the star is now a very well known actress but I can't see her in anything else and not think about her being stalked by the monster. Ughh. I still shudder.

Feeling like that poor astronaut with the parasite I looked down at my belly which definitely now was a bump; wide and not that much sticky out; but it was a baby bump from one side to the other. Since moving up to London I had been wearing pleated skirts to work; that had been my style, My adjustment was to go looser and by adding a jacket or longer sweater could keep the bump pretty well hidden.

However that morning I had to break out a new bra. I mean _everything_ was growing now and my old bras were now far too tight. So while I might be able to go camo over my belly, my upstairs was definitely fuller and not easy to hide if at all.

At some point it would be obvious at school but it was my business, not theirs.

"You must be eating better," quipped our school secretary when I checked my mail box that morning. Her name was Audrey Pickles and she'd worked for ages for the academy, I think. She was a nice old lady, rather short and wizened with pure white hair. Her hands were liver spotted and she wore dresses right from the 80s, which with her white hair looked very dated.

I smiled at Audrey and tried to bluff her. "Oh you know – good old roast beef and pudd."

She came from around her desk tapped my elbow and in a soft voice said, "I been worried. You've looked pasty."

I lied. "Oh, you know; had a bug but I feel better now."

She nodded and her blue eyes twinkled. "Miss Glasson…" she turned her head and looked around the office which was empty but for the two of us. "I _have_ been worried, uhm, more concerned. Now – do you want to tell me about it?"

Suddenly I was on my guard. "What do you mean?"

"I understand this must be… _difficult_… away from home and you don't really know anyone here."

"I'm fine, really. Getting on."

"I have been thinking that me and my hubby would like to host you at our flat for supper. Would this Friday work?"

"That's very kind of you. But don't go to any trouble."

She shrugged. "Six work? I'll give you our address. It's just two stops on the Tube from your place, I checked, plus a short walk from there. That gives you and me time to go home from work and freshen up and I can get things started. My hubby is retired but he doesn't cook."

"That's very nice of you. Okay. I'd like that."

She smiled and patted my elbow. "Not _everyone_ in this school is nose in the air."

Her offer was nice so I looked forward to meeting her outside of school.

Three days later I was out the door of my bedsit, practically skipped down the street to the Tube and in short order was ringing the bell at Audrey's house.

The door was pulled open and an old man stood there peering out at me. "Come in luv. You must be Miss Glasson."

"Yes and you must be Mr. Pickles." He was a little older than his wife, his face a mass of wrinkles but his brown eyes were warm on top of a heavy body. He wore a faded blue cardigan, yellow striped tie, white shirt and blue trousers.

He took my coat then shook my hand. "Been a while since I met any of Audrey's teachers. She must like you. Most of 'em she don't," he winked.

"Or Arthur stop it!" Audrey said from behind him. "So glad you're here. Sorry I was back in the kitchen. I hope you like monkfish." She had changed into casual trousers and a flowered sweater, quite a difference from her old-fashioned school wear.

Monkfish and I were old friends since it was a staple at Martin's house. "Yes that's great."

"Arthur let the poor girl get out of the entry! Do come in. Still raining?"

I shook my head. "Stopped, mostly." I jogged from the Tube to here a short two blocks having forgotten my umbrella.

Audrey looked at my hair. 'Lord. You're all wet. Let me get you a towel."

"No, it'as alright; really."

"Of nonsense. Come on," she took my arm and marched my down a narrow hallway to the loo. "Nice fluffy towel for you and a mirror so you can get your hair right."

I was wearing my hair down so it was just a quick rubdown and then I brushed it out. When I came out I smelled a lovely dinner in the offing. I looked into the kitchen and Audrey was putting the fish in the cooker. "Can I help?"

"No, no. All good here. Arthur's out in the lounge. Why don't you keep him company? Poor sod, he was made redundant five years ago and could not get back to work. I know he gets bored to tears waiting until I get home from the school."

I went to the lounge and Arthur sitting on a comfy looking sofa reading a book.

"Oh hello! Come to keep me company?"

I smiled. He reminded me a little of William Newcross, who had been a friend of my granddad.

"Now," he said. "tell me about yourself."

I sat down across from him and gave him a barebones sketch in a couple minutes. "So, I thought I'd come back up to London. Give it a go," I told him at the end omitting everything about Martin.

Audrey came in the room. "You two getting on?"

"Yup," Arthur said and patted the sofa so Audrey settled next to him.

Audrey looked at her husband then back at me. "Dear?" She smiled.

"Yes?" I said.

"So how far along are you?" Audrey asked. "The baby?"

I felt the floor drop out from under me.

**Notes:**

**Crossing the street and changing signs, like plus to minus, or dividing instead of multiplying, is a handy mental crutch when rearranging terms in an equation.**

**The sci-fi movie is of course "Alien" released in 1979.**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Want more tea?"

I shook my head and lifted my mug to the barman. "No thanks."

"You need anything? Anything else?" he asked walking to the table. "Biscuits or a sandwich? Got some nice cheese back there," he pointed at the kitchen door.

"No, no. Just waiting for an appointment."

He smiled at me. "If you need anything, luv, just say so." What he said zapped me back to that Friday night in Audrey and Arthur's flat.

0 0 0

Yeah, the baby… I suppose my subterfuge had failed. I looked away from Audrey and her husband, biting on my lip. "No, I'm not…" I stopped. I had to start telling someone. "Little bit, yes." After I said those words it seemed a weight lifted off my shoulders and the floor rose back to its normal position.

Audrey smiled kindly. "I thought so."

Her husband nodded slowly. "Aud can _always_ tell. She's been frettin' over you Miss Glasson; frettin' something fierce." He smiled at his wife. "Been saying a prayer every night for you."

"Ah," I sighed. "I… well you can imagine… a bit of a shock. Hadn't quite planned on being a single mum."

"I figured there must have been _someone_ down in Cornwall, for you didn't mention anybody – not friends nor family; not a blessed soul." She smiled at me sweetly. "I said to Arthur from the first week you was under a cloud. He said it might be the strain of moving to the city. From the country to here is a helluva adjustment." Audrey shook her head as she went on. "But I said to him that it was more than that. You didn't smile very much, and even when you did…" she sighed. "Sorry Louisa. We don't mean to intrude in any way. So I told Arthur my suspicions – and that I thought you needed help."

"Just what sorta help do you think I need?" I nearly growled back.

Arthur answered. "Back in the early 70s…"

Audrey put her hand to her face. "Was it _that_ long ago?" she asked with a tremble.

I looked at them sharply for I saw a tear in her eye. "This is not just about me."

Audrey wiped her eye and sighed heavily. "I had this boyfriend and… well I fell pregnant."

Her husband reached over and tenderly took her hands in his and rubbed them gently. "Still hurts."

She nodded silently.

Arthur took up the tale. "Joe, that was his name, didn't want anything to do with her after she told him. He was a rising police constable and things were different back then."

"I wanted to keep her," Audrey said. "And I did."

Arthur kissed her tenderly on the cheek then looked straight at me. "Aud moved from Margate up here. I met her straight away and loved her from the first time I saw her. She was so sweet – so pretty and I was ten years older, but oh my," he winked. "She was a looker then and still is."

Audrey leaned against him and I remembered doing the same to Martin. "Go on."

"You see… mum made me move away. Disgraced the family, she said," Audrey added.

Well at least I had made my choice on my own and I was an adult. "I see."

Audrey rose, walked to a cabinet then returned with a photograph of a woman of about thirty. "This is our Violet."

I took the picture and saw that now Arthur was upset. "What happened?" I asked for all the signals told me things had not gone well.

"Lovely girl was our Vi," Arthur replied. "I loved her like she was my own child. I'd caught a disease and couldn't have kids. Mumps. But…"

Audrey butted in. "Louisa there is a reason we're telling you this. You're a nice girl and we can see you might need help. Like our Vi did – but there was nobody to help her."

I was getting all sorts of horrible ideas so asked them softly. "Your daughter – she's dead – isn't she?"

Audrey looked at Arthur with shining eyes. "She was up Manchester way - teaching. It was a new job; only been up there only three months. She told another teacher on a Friday she had a bad headache. But she blamed it on exam time; you know how that can be. Violet went home alone."

Arthur put his arm around his wife. "She had a burst blood vessel in her brain. They figure she went to bed that Saturday night and never woke up. She'd got her post that afternoon and was seen at the market in the morning. So it happened that Saturday. This other teacher tried to call her on Monday when she didn't come to work – got no answer – so went 'round at lunchtime. Roused up the landlady and the cops and found her there; comatose."

An awful silence filled the room. "I'm so sorry. I… I really am." I would never meet their daughter but looking at the young face in the photo I thought we might have been friends. "Pretty – she was very pretty."

Audrey wiped her face. "The doctor said if someone was there, or had checked on her, they might have been able to do something. By Violet was alone – no friends – I mean no one close; not really."

Arthur dug out two handkerchiefs and gave one to his wife and used the other himself. "Sorry Miss Glasson. We… we'd just like you uhm… consider us… if you need help… and," he waved his hand in the general direction of my lap. "Baby and all. When Audrey said to me she figured you was carrying a child…" he smiled sweetly. "Just in case, right?"

Audrey leaned forward and snagged my hand. "Two good things come of it. Violet had a donor card and we said yes, and she was able to help six other people with her organs. That's one. The other is…" Her hand squeezed mine. "There's too many lonely people in this city," she muttered. "And some, well some just need a kind hand once in a while."

Arthur stood. "Now if my nose tells me anything…" he was saying when a buzzer sounded. "I bet that's the cooker."

I allowed them to seat me but my mind was whirling. Being caught out with the baby but now I'd be a project to these two. The food was very good and I said so.

"Thank you," Audrey beamed. "Mum might a throwed me out but this is the way she baked her fish," she sighed. "It's good wrapped in tinfoil – keeps the juices in."

Dessert, and though I thought I was full after a meal of fish, rice, and mixed veg, was a berry crumble which I devoured, scraping the bowl with my spoon. "That was _very_ lovely. Best meal I've had in a long time."

Arthur winked at me. "I said Aud was a looker and a right fine cook as well."

"Good thing too or Arthur would eat spaghetti-hoops each day if he could."

"Naw," he protested. "They just remind me of when I was a boy."

Audrey looked across the kitchen table at me for their flat had no separate dining area. "How far along are you?"

"Uhm, eleven and a half weeks today."

Arthur laughed. "Next you know they'll have it down to the hour, if not the minute," he guffawed but Audrey whacked his arm so he shut it.

I took a deep breath. "We were gonna be married. Martin is his name, uhm; he _was_ my fiancé."

Audrey looked sad. "I see."

"No, no, it's fine really. We both – well it just wouldn't have worked out. We decided it would be for the best if we didn't get married."

Arthur leaned back in his chair. "But you left your village."

"Yes I did. New start, right?"

Audrey grinned. "Yes, you have."

The way that Audrey said that made me think I didn't know how to reply. I _had_ moved away to start anew. Holly had pulled strings and found me the job, although it wasn't quite as perfect as it seemed. I found a bedsit which wasn't that wonderful but I could just afford it, although the walkup to the third floor would be a killer when I got big for there was no lift in the building.

My hand was resting on my bump which seemed big and tight after all that food. "So here I am," I said at last. "On my own and having a baby."

Audrey smiled. "You'll do fine. I did. Press on Miss Glasson. You can do this."

"That was such a lovely meal. Thanks so much." Suddenly I had to yawn. "Excuse me."

"Being pregnant takes it out of you," Audrey agreed me. "I felt like I'd been hit by a train."

"Well, I do take a nap after school. But yeah, it can feel like that. But I think I'm past the morning sickness." That much was true for the last three days everything I ate stayed where it should. "That's a relief."

"What does Martin do for a living, Miss Glasson?" Arthur asked.

"He's our village GP. You'd think two adults, a teacher and a doctor, would know such things, uhm, I mean, we weren't trying to make a baby. But we did anyway," I nearly giggled for it was almost funny, in a dark way.

Audrey nodded. "These things happen."

Arthur opened his mouth then closed it.

"What? Come on," I told him. "Ask me."

"Have you, uhm… been back home, to what was it?"

"Portwenn."

"Ahem, yes. Portwenn since Christmas?"

"No. Not since I moved up."

Audrey looked from me to her husband and back. "And, sorry luv, but… does he know?"

I shook my head.

"I see," Audrey replied then she rose to her feet. "Arthur why don't you take Louisa to the front room and I'll clear this away. Be with you in a few minutes."

"Oh let me help you!" I protested.

"Come on girl," Arthur took my arm. "What I said to you about Audrey and her cooking? She is a good cook, but she also don't want _nobody_ messing with her crockery. I should know!"

"Arthur you kept chipping my good plates!" Audrey explained. "Now scoot you two."

In some ways Audrey reminded me of my mum on a good day, which was rare, with a huge dash of Joan Norton. Both were generous. Both women, from what I had seen were kind and had the typical British courage we are all born with. "Press on," Audrey told me. That was very akin to Joan's "get on with it."

Arthur made me sit on the sofa as I was yawning. "Tell you what I'll take the bin out back then be with you shortly."

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes just for a minute. The meal was so filling; so tasty, so…

Next thing I knew my eyes snapped open and found I'd slid down on the sofa, there was an Afghan rug over me, and Arthur was in the corner reading under the light of a small lamp for the other lights were switched off. I sat up in alarm. "Oh God, sorry. I fell asleep."

Arthur closed his book. "It's half nine and you were out cold. Audrey's in the kitchen working on her cross stitch where the light is better."

I worked a kink out of my back and stood up. "Excuse me." I folded the rug and set it down. My bladder urged me to the toilet which I used then found Audrey in her kitchen with her craft goods spread before her.

"I do apologize for conking out like that," I said to her. "Don't know what happened."

"Oh that's fine Louisa. You were tired. Needed sleep." Her stitchery was fine and detailed I saw. "Working on Westminster," she showed me. "I'd be very glad to make a baby sampler for you. Boy or girl?"

I had wondered. "Don't know. I suppose I'll take what I get. A surprise – just like being pregnant. Could have knocked me over with a feather."

Audrey nodded. "I remember that. Shock really. At least nowadays people don't get so upset over these things."

Being thirty-seven, single, and pregnant was still quite a _thing_. "I'll just have to make the best of it."

"Martin doesn't know yet? You haven't told him?"

"No, but soon I think."

Audrey put a few more stitches in the cloth, making the outline of a steeple. "You must be afraid to, I 'm thinking."

Audrey was reading my mind. "Uhm... sort of."

"_I_ was afraid to tell Joe," she said softly. "It was long ago but I do recollect it. Truth be told he acted _just_ the way I thought he would. He was angry; my he was so very _angry_."

I nodded my head for that's what I imagined Martin being. Angry. "Yeah." Then I checked my watch. "Audrey this has been great – good food – and… I... appreciate your concern."

She put down her needle and the fabric. "Louisa thank you for letting us dump our horror story on you, but you see, it's changed the way we act and what we do, and who we try to help. What are friends for?"

Friends. Yes I needed friends. I leaned over and hugged her. "Thanks Audrey, your cooking was wonderful and I needed a night out. But I'd better be off home."

She smiled at me, then kissed my cheek. "I'll have my hubby walk you to the Tube. And if you need anything, luv, just say so."

Need? I hugged her all the harder for she and Arthur had filled a giant pothole in my life. "Thank you Audrey. Thank you very much."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Given a huge boost from my evening with Audrey and Arthur I felt I was able to take on the world. The following week my bump had clearly become a _baby_ bump and not just a bulge from overeating, so I wore a loose dress with an empire waist and went with it. My bump didn't show until I sat down, and when at my school desk it was hidden. Standing at the blackboard I could feel it was definitely larger when I turned; a sensation of extra mass being flung about. It would only get worse until it got better.

I'd still not contacted Martin about it; I mean the baby – our baby. Oh I imagined all sorts of ways from calling him, or emailing, writing a letter or even going to Portwenn over the weekend. But I actually couldn't image he'd be _happy_ to see me show up on his doorstep.

The school custodian stopped in one afternoon to clean the floor when I was still there. The kids had been gone for over an hour and a lot of teachers fled just as soon as they could but I had stayed that day.

"Miss Glasson, why hello!" the cleaner said cheerily and it was the most he'd spoken to me since last fall. His name was Jimmy Spencer and he was a man of about fifty with a ruddy face, blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. If he wasn't polishing and scrubbing the building he was running about emptying bins and doing errands. So he was always busy; never seemed to have time for a chat beyond a nod and a wink, usually holding a kerchief to his mouth for he always was coughing or whistling.

I was sitting at my desk, marking the latest projects and I was pleased to see how my students had improved. "Hello, Mr. Spencer," I answered him when he came inside. When I saw he had a mop and bucket and held a bottle of floor wax I asked, "Am I in your way? I can go."

"Nope." He started to stack chairs on desks and scoot them aside. "I always do half each room then the other. Gonna be long?"

I stood and began to stuff papers into my satchel. "I can do this at home."

"Nay. Stay. Like I said I'll do half the room; start by the windows. I have to wait for it to dry before I can do other half. So you can escape out the door before I come to your side."

"Good. That is, well… my flat is _very_ small. Have to work on my kitchen table." I sat down and pulled out the school papers.

He smiled. "I remember those days. I was outta the Navy, come up to the City, all piss and vinegar. Got a job servicing cars – I was a mechanical artificer rating for Her Majesty – so I knew about machinery. Still do. But oh lord how the cash went; still does. But me and my mate had this little flat, full of bugs and roof leaks. It was tiny as well. No room to swing a cat if we had a cat."

I laughed. "Almost sounds like my bedsit; at least the roof can be a bit leaky when it's pouring."

He worked moving desks while we talked then stopped and looked out at another wet day. "Raining still. Reminds me when I was down in the Falklands."

The Falklands War was back in the early 80s so I revised his age upwards a tad. "I see."

He laughed. "That's the problem with the Armed Forces. They tell them young kids it's all fun and games plus three squares, a warm bed, _and_ a run ration! I got that, plus a lot of hard work, a chief that screamed all the time, and enemy missiles coming down on us." He sighed. "Fun and games," he muttered.

"Sorry."

"Don't be Miss, for I did my bit, like my dad and his dad."

"My granddad was in the Second one."

He laughed. "That was a slog. That was a real…" he stopped as a shadow came over his face. "I best get workin'."

"Oh sure." I put my head back down to work and was soon trying to decipher what in the world Morgan had done with her work. She bollixed up the problem setup so the entire page was rubbish. I decided to grade what there was to be graded – at least she'd get a few points.

Mr. Spencer walked past and peered down at what I was doing. "Mathematics."

"Yes," I sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if they get it at all. But once in a while the light shines."

He grinned. "And their eyes were opened."

I winced. "I'm not sure that Luke had algebra in mind when he was writing what became a book of the Bible. Frequently more like teaching a goldfish."

He laughed then plied his mop. "And how is our London treating you?"

"Uhm, fine," I replied for since Audrey's offer of help I felt I had caught my wind. "Big city."

"Yup. You're from Cornwall. Padstow is it?"

"Portwenn," I corrected. "Very small village and when you live there you pretty much know everyone."

He grunted. "I bet there are people in your building you never met," he said.

That was true for my third floor bedsit was in a building with four large units on ground and first floors, three flats on the second and, four on the top floor, where mine was perched. I'd met four of my neighbors to actually speak to and the others were a passing nod at the large refuse bin in the courtyard or at the postboxes. "True."

He smiled as he mopped. "Never that good with true or false either," he sighed. "Thought about being a copper but I couldn't pass the test."

"So you don't fix cars anymore?"

Mr. Spencer shook his head. "No. All the grease and petrol ate up my skin and the brake dust gave me a bad cough," he cleared his throat for emphasis. He leaned on his mop and seemed to struggle for air.

"You ought to go to your doctor, for that."

He fished out an inhaler, stuck it in his mouth, and gave himself a puff. "Been."

"They X-rayed you? Did lung tests?"

He smiled. "Not much they can do. All that smoking over the years is right killing me Miss Glasson." He stopped then winked at me. "We live 'til we die."

"Oh that's… oh dear." I wondered what Martin might be able to do for him.

He shook his head. "I'll be fine, until I'm not."

"No need to be defeatist. You ought to call your GP and tell him you're not feeling well."

He looked at me hard. "What you know about medicine?"

"A little, not a lot, but I… I used to know a doctor." And was engaged to and took him into my bed.

He grimaced. "All those big words and at end of day not much they can fix."

"I wouldn't say that." I thought about Roger Fenn. "There are cures; people do get better."

He worked the mop back and forth for a minute. "Pretty much gave me bottles of pills, an inhaler, and told me to give up beer, and fags, eat better and get more exercise."

"Good advice for any of us."

He rolled up his sleeve and I saw a nicotine patch on his arm. "No more fags for me." He sighed. "Murder, Miss Glasson. Right murder to not have a smoke." He coughed a few times. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Have you spoken to Mrs. Harper? If this job is too much work for you?"

He looked at me with a shocked look. "God no. I… this is what I got. Don't take it away. I don't think Penny the Penny Pincher would take too kindly to any member of staff that can't pull their weight. Know what I mean?"

"I, uhm… okay. Got it." So Mr. Spencer was leery of Penelope Harper just like I was.

"_That one_ could squeeze blood out a stone," he tossed his head in the general direction of the school office. He finished washing the floor, waited until it dried than started applying wax. "I'll go empty bins and will come back here in a few after this sets up."

"Looks lovely. You do a very nice job. The whole school is spotless." My school was clean but Mr. Colley being Mr. Colley there were a few corners that got cut due to his actions, or lack of, and our funding was always tight.

Mr. Spencer shook his head sadly. "Well…" he sighed than looked about although there was no one else about. "You're new here," he whispered. "A newbie. I got a pretty good feeling what comes in and what goes out. Lots of money comes into this school."

He slid closer to my desk then lowered his head and his voice. "I have seen lots of records going into bins. See? Just sayin' I don't read them, but sometimes…"

I held my breath fearing what he would say. "Yes?"

He shook his head sadly. "All spit and polish on the outside?" He snorted. "Like an apple _ate up_ with worms on the _inside_. And the boss lady don't ever drive an old car; a new one every term. Just sayin' that I see things."

I looked up his at bright eyes and he winked at me. "I'm sure that you do."

He looked away then added. "Mrs. Pickles says you're a good sort, so if you catch my drift, _don'_t get too cozy with Harper and her toadies."

"I do see." I beamed at him. "And of course we _never_ had this chat."

"Chat? What chat? Me? Some folks are naturally talky, but not me." He put his fingers up to his lips then turned them as if he was turning a key.

"Have a good evening, Mr. Spencer."

"You as well, Miss G and take care," then he left whistling a jaunty tune, clearing his throat once in a while.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"I hadn't planned this," I said to Isobel over my mobile.

She laughed. "Who does? I mean… _I_ certainly didn't expect to be up the duff and on my own either. But… it worked out for me and for my Christi."

"Yes, but you met someone; after."

She giggled. "So I did. And he'd so nice, Richard is so… kind. You should come for a visit. You'd like him."

I considered what a long train ride would feel with a sore back, aching feet, an over active bladder and the curious stares of strangers. "Have to think about it."

Considering that Isobel Brown had been in the same situation as me, only she had told the father, she was doing fine. "What did he say? I mean Mick, your… your ex; when you told him."

"He wasn't nice about it. He was _very_ smooth about moving in with me but after I was pregnant, well he was downright _nasty_. He… he moved out the day I told him. Said it was all a mistake."

"Bastard."

"One way to put it. But at least _you_ were engaged. Oh My GOD! Lou-Lou! If you'd married Martin!"

"I know. None of this would have happened; my move to London, a new job," I stopped for going back down that road wouldn't do a bit of good. I was home and lying down with my feet up which eased the pain in my back. As the belly bump grew so did my backache. "No one… well…"

"They'd all have thought he got you pregnant on your honeymoon. I am _so_ sorry, Lou-Lou."

I snapped at her, "Why do some people think that it's all the man's fault? I was there too!"

"Sorry, Lou, I didn't mean it that way. Did you even talk about kids?"

"No, not really."

"He didn't exactly seem the father type did he? Gosh, I shouldn't have said that."

I sighed. "Martin could be out of sorts with _people_; no matter their ages. But…"

"But? He wasn't very nice to me when my eye was hurt but he did deliver my daughter so no hard feelings, I suppose."

How could I say that when Martin and I were together that didn't matter? "Oh we did argue sometimes." That was such an understatement. "And he didn't always understand things, you know? Like he'd been raised in a deep dark well or cared so little for what people thought or even said." He'd mentioned he been sent to boarding school and had been locked in the cupboard under the stair when he was punished. "But maybe he had good reasons for being that way."

Isobel responded. "So why did you? Well you know. Get engaged?"

Good question. "He said I was beautiful and he loved me and would I _please_ marry him. Not all at once mind you. Martin's not that way." And I did love him.

"Men aren't," Isobel laughed. "My Richard treats me and little Christi – well we get along – more than just get along." She sighed. "I used to think I would have to settle – for what came along. That's how I ended up with Mick. But Richard is solid, you know?"

I'd once told Martin he was a stick of rock; through and through. "I do."

Isobel didn't answer that.

"Isobel?"

"Huh? Sorry. Christi is starting to fuss so I'd better get on with it. Bye. Call me next week? Love you Lou-Lou."

"Bye Isobel. Love you."

"And I meant what I said about coming down for a visit. Bodmin Station is just down the road not five miles from the house. Better run! She's crying and I'm leaking milk."

I'd read that a nursing mum will start to leak milk when she hears her baby cry. I patted my belly. "Oh the fun we're going to have."

I managed to get a late afternoon appointment so could go after work so I found myself on my back in a paper gown, while the nurse spread a gooey gel on my belly and I flinched as it felt cold.

The nurse said, "Sorry. This is gel helps the ultrasound go in and come out." She picked up a wand attached to a small device and held it against my rotund stomach. "You'll feel a little pressure so try not to move."

"Okay."

The nurse smiled and held pushed a button on the attached keypad. "There it is. Listen."

I could hear a very fast thumping from the tiny speaker.

"That's your baby's heart." She looked down at a digital readout. "Very nice. A hundred forty beats per minute. Just perfect. Somewhere between a hundred sixty and a hundred twenty is normal at thirteen weeks. You're done with the First Trimester. Twenty six weeks to go."

When I heard that little lub-dub something changed; a little lurch. "Wow."

The nurse smiled. Her name was Maura and I'd seen her the last time too. She was young, pretty, and married and had two young children; a boy and girl. I suppose I envied her.

"Changes things?" she asked when she saw my face then she gave me a handful of towels. "You can use these to clean yourself and then you can get dressed."

I dabbed at the gel. "I suppose…" I had to stop and take a shaky breath. "It's real; _I'm_ going to be a _mum_."

The nurse grinned at me then turned to face the nearby computer. "Weight gain is nice, eating well?"

"Lean meat, chicken, fish, fruit and veg, Plus the vitamins." I binned the tissues and sat up wrestling with the paper garment while feeling a tear slide down my face. "Getting plenty of exercise walking."

"We'd all be a lot healthier if we ate like that every day." The nurse handed me a box of tissues and I took one for I had to wipe my eye. "You okay?"

I nodded. "Will be."

She stood up. "You're on your own, I read here."

"Yes," I sighed, "on my own."

"You have a support system?"

Well dad's in prison, mum is in Spain…

She went on. "You have friends, neighbors, co-workers?"

"I do," I could reply safely to that. Not many in London but some.

She nodded. "Any questions for the doctor?"

I shook my head. "Don't think so."

"Just open the door when you're dressed and I'll come back."

It was real; really real. There was a baby in there and it had a heart and it was beating. I knew it was real of course, but hearing its little heart… changed things.

Like a line in the sand; or crossing a bridge. I sighed as pulled my dress over my head. "Or leaving Portwenn," I said aloud.

I got my clothes sorted and the nurse gave me an appointment for next month.

As I walked down the street I felt… very… my hand went to below where my waist used to be. _Protective_ was the word; _very_ protective. On the busy streets I found myself more alert for charging cars and taxis, thrown elbows by pedestrians, and even potholes filled with rainwater from the morning shower.

I had to wait for the traffic at a zebra crossing so I unbuttoned my coat as the sun had come out and suddenly I felt like I wanted to world to know; to know that _Louisa Glasson_ would be a mum. She was having a baby and _damn it_ she _would_ succeed I felt like shouting. One semester down and two to go!

At a break in traffic I skipped across the street and right as I got across, heard someone call my name.

**Notes:**

**Stick of rock – A stick of rock candy made in Brighton or Blackpool at the seaside and the way the sweet is made there is a slogan thru the center that is readable all the way to the end. "Stick of rock" implies something that is constant – not changeable – reliable and solid.**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Mark and Julie - they were on my mind for some reason.

Mark went for it, when I was fooling around with Danny Steel while trying to keep him at arm's length for I didn't want _Danny_.

But Mark wanted Julie – loved her really, but at the end the revelation of her criminal past put him off. Julie left the village and soon after Mylow was gone as well.

Martin and I were talking about Mark and Julie; well I was talking and he was listening, mostly. "I can't believe Mark up and left like that."

Martin brushed some fluff off his sleeve and muttered, "Whether you believe or not, he is gone. This Penhale has taken his place. Have you met him?"

"Joe? Known Joe for years. He grew up here. But getting back to Mark, he really loved Julie Mitchell; we all could see that. No matter her past," I sighed. "Mark was always pining about like a lost little dog. But with Julie he blossomed."

"Hard to imagine our ex-policeman as a flower."

"Shush. I mean he was laughing, happy, but he was absolutely crushed when she was found out; I mean that she had done bad things."

Martin cleared his throat.

I peered at him. "Something to say?"

Martin shook his head. "No."

"Did he say anything to you? Where he was going?"

Martin squirmed. "No."

I squinted up at his face in the bright sun. "Care for a drink?"

"Not wine."

"Sorry, Martin. Not saying you should have wine. Water? Coffee? Tea?" I omitted saying _'me'_ for he'd likely run away like a scared little boy. "Sorry about the other night."

He shook his head. "It's fine."

Martin and I had gotten pretty drunk drinking wine at his house and said tender words. It was the day I'd told Danny Steel to leave. Of course he was gonna leave anyway with some hot job prospect in London... but then Danny was gone and without me.

Martin got in his cups then told me he loved me and if there was any doubts I had about seeing the back of Danny Steel they went in a flash.

If only Martin hadn't fallen asleep! But he couldn't be woken, try as I might, and he was too heavy for me to move, so I had to leave him sprawled on his kitchen table. I sighed. Of course Pauline found him the next morn and soon photos of Martin cuddled with the gray dog were making the rounds.

"Problem?" Martin said.

"No." I swung my handbag then took his arm. "No worries Martin, Danny _is_ gone." And good riddance I thought. Even I got fed up with his holier-than-thou statements but the thought that _my_ job was so less important, rather that _I_ was so less important than _him_ was the final straw.

During those weeks with Danny I felt like Martin was somehow always keeping an eye on me, but would dart around the corner whenever Danny came on the scene.

Did I imagine it or was it wishful thinking? I'm not sure, but more than once I caught a glimpse of Martin fleeing like his arse was on fire.

Martin nearly smiled down at me. "So you told me."

"So, the pub or my place?"

He peered at his watch. "Louisa I… I have things to do, sorry," he spat out then shrugged off my hand and scurried away like the hounds of Hades were on his heels.

"Well, Martin," I muttered as he left, "At least Danny Steel tried to take me to bed. Seems all you want to do is run away. And poor Mark – as ill-fated as he and Julie were at least he that took the chance; went for it. _Really_ went for it."

I watched as Martin rounded the corner at high speed and was gone. "Well, what's it gonna take for you and me Martin? Hmmm? What might make you and me '_go for it_?'"

"Louisa? Louisa!"

I turned and the fellow from the pub two weeks back was a few feet away looking at me.

"That you?" he asked. "Glasson, right?"

I fumbled for his name. Will Baker. "Hello."

He walked to me. "Hello, I wasn't sure it was you." He glanced down at my exposed pregnant belly with the wind pushing my dress tight across it; his eyes lingered on my bursting baps, and then focused on my face. "Uhm, how are you?"

"Pretty well, thank you. And you?"

He smiled. "Just fine; good actually. I thought it was you." He was carrying a briefcase and lifted it slightly. "Left work a little early today. Dentist appointment."

"I was at a doctor visit."

He stared at me for a minute that looked away. "Sorry about the other night. I just didn't want you to get into any trouble."

"No, no, that was fine. Not a neighborhood I know well, so thank you."

He smiled brightly and I liked the way his face lit up. He looked even more handsome in sunlight than under a dim streetlamp. With a better view I guessed he was younger than I thought, maybe early and _not_ mid-thirties. His blue eyes were very pale in the sun but his blonde hair shone like a golden helmet.

He peered at my bulging shoulder satchel. "Pretty big bag."

"This? School papers. I teach. North London Prep Academy. Math."

"Ah. That's not far from here. And I'm an accountant; math lots of math," he laughed. "Plenty of numbers."

"Right." A gust a wind of wind blew my coat open further and whipped it around me so I grabbed the garment and twisted it back to my front doing up the buttons. "Windy."

"Sunny though." He glanced at my bump, then at my left hand and I was sure he noticed no ring there. He pursed his lips and seemed to be considering something then viewed his watch. "I wasn't going back to my office. Care for a bite? I was in a meeting most of the day and missed lunch."

"You said you were at the dentist. Can you eat?"

"A cleaning."

"Oh." I considered it for I needed to eat.

The thought of Mark _going for it_ came to mind. I wasn't interested in any sort of romance, not now nor was I likely to be. In six months I'd be holding a crying baby so men were off my menu for a very along time.

But how long could I sulk over Martin? Hmmm? A year? Five? Forever? I squared my shoulders and looked at Will Baker carefully. He looked nice, and _seemed_ nice, and so far hadn't made any verbal comments of my obvious pregnancy.

All the men at school were married, confirmed bachelors, or apparently in some sort of relationship. Besides I wasn't looking for a boyfriend. The weight of my belly pulled on my back and I winced.

"You need to sit. Come on," he urged me. "Let me buy you something."

This was a safe neighborhood, just a Tube stop from home, and Will seemed pretty safe. "Yes."

"Good. Let's see, there's the Colonel's Arms, a bit smoky and dark… or there's Maggies? Nice spot. Up-to-date and clean."

"Fine. Lead on MacDuff."

"Shakespeare. You said you teach math."

"And used to teach a lot of other things."

He led me around the corner and down two blocks while he chatted about his work; an accountancy where he was a very junior member. "I do all the little stuff. The big boys get the juicy accounts," he explained. "And most of the money."

I told him about my school. "But I'm new to the city."

"I noticed your accent," he told me. "Cornish."

"Born and bred, yes, but I went to college here then back home for work. I've taught a lot in Portwenn, that's my home, more lately three years teaching up in Wales than went back to my village when they got an opening at our primary school."

He chuckled. "_Our_ school – like you owned it."

"When you grow up in a village of less than a thousand folk you feel that way. And I was Head Mistress."

"Ah, here we are," he opened a newly varnished door into a very pretty pub. The tile was black and white, the walls paneled up about four feet with walls above in a green paper. The high ceiling was white painted plaster intricately carved into fleur-de-lis. Tables and chairs were numerous and had spindle wood legs and backs. With a few potted plants in the front window it felt very bright and inviting.

There were a few people standing at the bar and just four other people seated, all quaffing pints.

Will escorted me to a table. We put down our satchels then he led me to the chalkboard. "I like their fish and chips," he said, "and the sandwiches are good. Uhm... salads as well."

I examined the menu board as the pub man came to us. "Evening," he said in a gruff voice.

"Hello," I said. "I'll have the broiled salmon and can I have a small rocket salad? And an orange squash."

He scribbled on a pad. "Right. You sir?"

"The fish and chips and a pint of bitter."

The barman took me in again. "Have it up shortly." He drew our drinks, gave them to us and we went back to our table.

Will sighed when he sat down. "I usually go to Colonel's but this time of day it can be a bit rough. They all get pissed and scream at football on the telly."

I took a drink of the squash. "This kind of reminds me of a place at home – The Crab and Lobster." I looked around. "This is a little nicer and I'm sure they never serve a rocket salad."

Will sipped at his bitter after slipping off his Burberry. He was wearing a very nice tan sports jacket and red tie. "About the other night – sorry if I put you off."

I had been wool-gathering, quite low as well; lost in more ways than one. "No need to apologize."

He nodded then rubbed his hands and seemed nervous. "Your face…"

"What?"

He interlaced his fingers. "I just thought you might need some help."

"And what made you think that?" I huffed. Now what help did he think an alone, thirty-seven-year-old pregnant woman might need?

He shrugged. "I'm not trying to be a knight in shining armor. It's just that… there you were… on your own and you looked…"

Helpless? I almost said.

He tugged on his tie. "_Sad_. So bloody sad. A pretty woman like yourself at night; alone, and sad. A shame really."

He was perceptive, perhaps too much so. "Was having a bad moment."

"I see."

I excused myself to the washroom. I watched my reflection very carefully in the spotted mirror over the ancient sink. "You be careful Louisa Glasson."

I returned to the table and our food had arrived. The salmon smelled delicious and my mouth watered. It was far better than the leftover chicken hotpot I'd had the night before and it was a damn sight better than the very small sandwich, apple, and carrot sticks I ate for lunch.

"This smells so good," I said and took a bite. "This is delicious. It reminds me…" I stopped as the room spun and I was back in Martin's house who had just served me a broiled salmon filet that looked and tasted like this one.

Will poured vinegar on his fish. "Bone?"

I sighed. "No. Reminds me of the way my fiancé fixes salmon."

"Oh." He sounded disappointed.

I looked down at my plate. "_Former_ fiancé. Sorry Will. Didn't mean to tell you that."

Will nodded. "I see but…"

I put down my fork and put my hands on my bump. "We didn't get married. Called it off."

He drank from his pint.

"So," I sighed, "yes I was sad, and alone and lonely when we met. I'd just found out I was pregnant with him. Obviously I'm going to have a baby."

"I noticed. So your fiancé is?"

"Martin is his name and thanks for not making some snarky comment about my bump."

"Why would I do that? And… this Martin's down in Cornwall?"

I smiled at Will for some reason. Mark _going for it_ was the reason. I _had_ to _move on_. "He is and I'm _here_."

Will tucked into his meal. "Better eat. Your food will get cold."

"Right," I answered.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

So that was it, pretty much. I stared into my tea and thought about Will Baker. He was nice and in another time and place who knows? But there was something; actually _two_ something's in the way.

The most obvious thing was getting larger and larger and I could swear I was measurably bigger from one day to the next. My baby bump was also pressing down on my bladder making me feel like I had to have a wee every five minutes. It was growing down and up, taking my waistline away, getting in the way of everything I had to do from tying shoes to picking up a dropped fork, to compressing my stomach so I felt full even when I'd only eaten a few bites.

And there was the _other_ thing and it, or _he_ rather, was 6'3" tall and was a four hour train ride away plus an hour in a taxi not counting about a half hour to get from my bedsit to Paddington. We've all heard the phrase 'the elephant in the room' or 'the camel in the tent?' Meaning that there was something large and difficult to deal with so we've gotten used to avoiding it or thinking about it.

If I got on my computer and Googled him I could read news articles such as 'Miracle Doc Saves Man's Life,' 'Doctor Ellingham: Do's and Don'ts of Sun Exposure,' and 'Local Doc Cautions About Jellyfish.'

None of those helped me decide how to deal with that elephant. Other articles were the usual: 'Local Doc Ruins Festival,' along with 'An Outbreak of Histoplasmosis in Coastal Cornwall' published by Martin in the British Medical Journal.

So my Martin was still _Martin_ – an angel of life saving, a figure of public scorn, plus a medical-literature writer. Some things will never change; one of the reasons I didn't marry him.

I had thanked Will Baker for the supper, which he insisted on paying for. Then he blushingly asked for my number which I gave to him, so of course had to ask for his.

"Two," he said. He gave me his card. "The top one is the office in case you need me to reach me during the day and the other," he scribbled on the bottom in neat numerals. "My flat."

I wondered why I might need him during the day. "Oh?"

He shrugged at me across the table. "Who knows? If you're sick or… want a walk at night." He smiled. "Or just to talk."

I carefully put the card in my handbag. "I'll think about it." I found him gazing at me. "What are you doing?"

Will smiled. "You're not as sad as first time I saw you. Good."

He walked me home, right to my door, and I was wondering how to end the night. "Will, this has been very nice."

"My pleasure."

"Not exactly my way to let strange men buy me dinner." I was trying to break this off quickly for I really needed to use the loo.

Will nodded. "Louisa, if…" he sighed. "Look I know you're not interested in…" his hand waved where my waist used to be. "And I don't want to give you the wrong idea."

"And what idea might that me?"

He looked up the street for a few seconds. "The way you spoke about your ex…"

"Martin."

"I can see that… well you have things to work out." He looked at me very seriously. "Not my place to get in the middle."

"Right." That was saying a lot in a few words. "One way to put it."

Will smiled his very nice smile. "Just…" he held out his right hand so I shook it. "Nice to meet you, Louisa, and, uhm, see you again soon?"

We'd talked about my school and his work, weather and the food we ate. I'd told him about Portwenn and how pretty it was. He'd countered with a walking trek up in Yorkshire. So it was a nice evening; nicer than I had in a long time. Here was a man who knew how to talk to people, so unlike Martin.

So we parted and I dashed upstairs to the loo and chewed over what I had to do. I couldn't delay much longer.

That was a very nice evening as I remembered it. Will and I had gotten to know one another the last two months and the elephant in the room was still there for I hadn't called Martin.

Oh sure, you'd say, just phone Martin? That was complicated.

I had both his mobile and office numbers in my phone. All I had to do was open it, scroll down my contacts and, yep… my fingers did that. There he was. MARTIN and MARTIN OFFICE.

I stared at the numbers for I don't know how long; so long that the bar man came over.

"Miss? You fine?" he asked, startling me for I was lost in my thoughts.

I closed my mobile and slipped it back in my handbag. Still another half hour to waste. "I'm good."

He smiled. "Pardon my asking but I suppose it's not long now." He was peering at my rotundity.

I made a non-committal noise and said, "Three more months, almost."

He smiled. "My daughter and son-in-law made us a pair of fine grand kids. The oldest, a girl, is three, and her baby brother just was born.

"Congratulations."

He sighed then dug out his wallet to show me photos. "Here they are - little Lizzie and Norman."

I dutifully looked at them. "They are cute." The baby boy looked about three months old and the girl about three years.

He beamed at me then took the wallet back, tenderly slipping the glassine folder holding the photos back into it. "Lights of my life. It's really grand being a granddad. Your parents around?"

My dad was up north in Manchester and mum was far south. So I dodged the question "I'm sure you enjoy playing with them."

"Oh my yes, but like they say, when they start to cry you can always give 'em back!"

That was something I would be dealing with on my own. "There is that."

They bar man was starting to tell me about what great parents his daughter and her husband had turned out to be and I will confess I tuned him out…

Parents. As Martin would likely say – everybody has two – willing or not.

My Dad; Terry, did his best. It wasn't always very good but he was there at least. Mum had run off when I was eleven after months of nightly rows and thrown crockery. She went away for two days, but when she came home with some sort of self-satisfied smirk on her face that's when it happened.

She and dad screamed all night at each other and I heard a Spanish name said too many times – _Javier_, bloody _Javier_. Even the village constable came to the house twice and told them to quiet down. Embarrassing – totally horrible – and not the first time either.

Everybody knew they both were rubbish – crap parents – especially mum. But when you're a kid what can you do? Can't very well ship them to a marriage counselor or send them to remedial parenting class; which didn't exist.

I was at school the next day feeling very low afraid of the next stage in our family drama, while all the other kids whispered about me behind their hands. One of the worst days but it got worse.

School ended that day and I dragged myself home. It was October 7 a day that still hurts. Dad was at work, or least what passed for work and when I went in the house found a folded note propped on the kitchen table between the salt and pepper. It was a sheet of my lined school notepaper, folded in half.

_Terry &amp; Lou-Lou_ was written across it in mum's messy handwriting.

So of course I read it, wishing I could erase those words from my memory.

_Terry &amp; my Lou-Lou,_

_I'm off with Javier. I'll write._

_Sorry._

Short, and not sweet, and to the point. No reasons, no excuses; just 'I'm off.' I knew the last word was an empty one for mum never did _anything_ that she was sorry for. Although she used to dig at my dad with the word.

"I'm _sorry_ I married you," she'd spit when dad was between jobs and the money was gone.

"Eleanor!" he'd protest. "I'm doing my level best to get _somethin'_. I got _feelers_ out. Something _will_ turn up."

That was his standard reply. Terry always had a plan but the plan wouldn't hatch until tomorrow or next week or next month. Or the ship hadn't come in yet.

Mum would laugh and cut him some more using choice words like _bloody tosser_ and _dud_. "I should'a married Timothy Ledford!" who she compared him to all the time. Timothy was a name I grew to loathe.

Dad would sit there taking it until he could stand no more so he'd take his hat and coat and head to the door. "Goin' for a walk," he'd say.

Mum would usually run outside after him cursing and screaming as I plugged my ears from where I sat on the broken-down sofa in the parlor, which really was the end of the kitchen in our tiny house.

She would come back red in the face and all wound up. Mum'd glare at me, stomp upstairs and then I'd smell her cigarettes as she lit up while she played her radio at top volume. I knew she also would take a few belts from the whiskey bottle she kept in the back of the linen cupboard.

I knew the neighbors hated us; even more when dad left about the time I went to college. Nasty rumors about dad stealing from the Lifeboat Box circulated. By then dad wasn't working regular but was keeping an eye on the races, the lottery, and the football pools.

By the time I got off to college I put all that behind me or tried to. It was Holly and Megan, my two housemates, who helped me adjust to London as well as change from a scared little country girl into a rather cosmopolitan student or so I thought.

But back when I was twelve my dad sat me down and in a very jumbled way tried to explain things to me; _important_ things; where babies came from. Dad never finished school for he had to get work when his dad got sick but he tried awfully hard – he just usually failed. But when it was just the two of us we got along. No more fighting, he kept the house clean when he hadn't a job, and there was food on the table. Not always a lot but some.

Only later did I figure out that the Norton's, Platt's and a lot of other folk would slip him a packet of eggs, or a fresh-killed chicken, a bag or spuds or the baker would send home sweets "for little Louiser."

James Glasson, my granddad, was the village postman aftrr he goildnt work in the quarry and was very nice. He and my granny were a very good couple and until I was seven they were big parts of my life. But gran had high blood pressure plus a stroke which killed her and then granddad pitched off a ladder three months later and died in hospital. So that was it. My mum's parents I never knew.

With them gone and mum left it was just me and Dad, so when he was pointing to the pamphlet with the color drawings showing how men and women were made I sort of freaked.

"Louisa," Dad was telling me. "Boys…"

"Dad!"

"No I _need_ to tell you _something_." He opened the pamphlet he got from Doc Sim for I'd seen them in a rack at the GP's plus we'd studied Human Reproduction in school so this was too awkward.

Dad cleared his throat. "Louisa, boys… and men will want things… um, a thing from you."

"DAD!" NO!"

"No you listen, Louisa. Birds and bees. Right. I know you study about this sort stuff in school 'cause I looked at your Health text. Women and girls, make eggs. Boys make sperm. When they..."

"I know!" I shouted. This was supposed to be told me by my mum, but she was gone, thousands of miles away and not a letter since she left. "I know all about it!" I protested. Not really but Alice Patience was thirteen and had whispered it to us after PE when we were supposed to be showering.

"My sister is sixteen and she said it was so great! Like heaven!" Alice told us as we huddled around her in a tight circle. "Just like in the books!"

I keep my mouth shut while the other girls asked questions, which Alice answered best she knew how. As I think back Alice had got the mechanics of the act right but for two things - contraception and disease control.

Out of our circle of nine girls, two had babies by the time they were fifteen, one at sixteen, and another had to go see the Doc every week and get injections.

I didn't take that road, not that I wasn't tempted. There was Danny Steel who would have been quite glad to play house with me, even when I was twelve. But there was plenty of time for that I thought so I read my books, worked hard at school, won school prizes, and entered all the contests, so when I was seventeen, got my A levels and went to teacher's college.

You see I had _plans_. I was going to be a teacher and maybe I could come back to Portwenn and teach in my home village. I could be like Miss K; Sally Kellford, the best teacher in our school.

Took me years to figure out why Miss K never got married, but I suppose all the adults knew she was keeping house with another young woman, Miss Jenkins who ran the market. I don't think it shocked me when I found out for by then society had changed.

So mum was gone to Spain, and no other family to speak of, since our branch of the Glasson's always had only children. So no aunties or uncles; only second cousins 'up Bath way' I was told when I asked.

Our little happy home. Not. So no, mum and dad would _not_ be available to help me and the baby. I don't suppose dad would drop whatever he was doing and come south. A call once in a while or a letter was about it and I hadn't told him I had moved or that I was going to have a baby.

My money was tight. Prices in London were fierce, and though I had a leaser for my house in Portwenn that money only went to pay for my house payment in the village. When the baby came I'd need a bigger place. My bedsit was tiny. I could barely move in there it was so small, let alone stuff a cot and a pram in it.

So I had to tell Martin. I tried to write a note, but each one sounded as horrible as that awful note mum left me and dad. Too short, too factual, too desperate they all seemed. I knew that for I'd typed out at least seven or eight to email. But email did _not_ seem like the right way to tell a man he would be a father.

Nothing felt right – not one email I had tried to write said it in a way to tell him that… I rubbed my bump for I felt a little thump in there. We were going to have a baby – like it or not.

The bar man saw my hand move to my belly. "Kicking in there?" he laughed. "Amazin'!" he laughed and not unkindly.

The most amazing thing of all is that I was going to have a baby on my own and couldn't bring myself to call the father.

You see I was allergic to notes for I knew how much the very short ones could hurt.

**Note:**

**I once explored Louisa trying to send an email to Martin while she was away in London. See my story "Dear Martin."**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

I had been begging off seeing Holly for a few weeks so when there came a knock on my door and upon opening it found her standing there, I was startled. "Holly?"

The fact that she had actually come to my place was nearly as shocking as seeing her after a month's-long gap.

"Louisa, oh good Lord! You're… you're…" her eyes were practically jumping out of her head as she stared at my pregnant body with her mouth wide open.

I looked her square in the face and said with confidence, "Having a baby."

She practically collapsed in the doorway scrabbling at the frame for support. "Oh Louisa, I... I don't know _what_ to say!"

"Just say _hello_ and I'll say come inside."

I was almost accustomed to surprised looks and semi-snarky comments from my fellow school teachers as it was clear I _was_ having a baby.

Some of my fellow teachers sought me out to see if the rumors were true that _Miss_ Glasson was pregnant. Others made it a point to actually avoid me in the halls or the school office as if what was growing inside me might rub off.

"You're not married, then?" asked Mr. Saunders, our head history teacher. Gene was about fifty or so, with his hair early gone all white. He reminded me of Roger Fenn for he played for a band as well. He also spoke in a gravelly voice but this morning it was accompanied by a slight cough.

"No. I'm not." We were standing at the office mailboxes and he was crammed nearly against me in the converted closet.

He looked over his pince-nez glasses. "Hmm."

"A women doesn't _have_ to be _married_ to have a baby," I told him trying to keep my voice factual for he had pissed me off.

He smiled but not unkindly. "I know. Just… hmm. Trying to… say… well good luck with it."

I wasn't sure what to make of his faint praise. "Thanks."

Suddenly Audrey was looking in at us. "Morning Louisa."

"Morning Audrey."

Audrey looked over at Frank. "And you?"

"Have a bit of a cold I'm afraid," he coughed into a crumpled handkerchief and I recoiled.

Audrey nearly exploded. "Well for goodness sake quit breathing on Miss Glasson! She doesn't want your nasty germs and neither do I! And go wash your hands before you touch anything!"

Gene took off, but stuck his head back thru the doorway. "I am sorry Miss Glasson about my reaction. I was taken aback is all and I do mean it – good luck."

"Thanks Gene," I managed to say before Audrey dragged me over to her desk.

"The _harpie_ hasn't been bugging you has she?" she asked me quietly.

Harpie was what some called Mrs. Harper, the Head Mistress, behind her back.

"No, and that is _odd_ considering the way she was up in arms about my math classes."

"Hm, well that makes sense. All about appearances that one; about as substantial as a mouthful of candy floss. She was tearing into the PE teacher this morning about how the children smelled after running, she then got after the school nurse, and also went after poor Mr. Spencer because there was a dusty spot in the hall. So watch out for her."

I didn't mind what Gene said to me half as much as the dreadful cold which he had passed on. When Holly arrived at my bed sit a few days later my nose was clogged and I felt both hot and fatigued; not in the mood for a set to with an old housemate. At least whatever this bug was confined to my sinuses and throat and not below; I had enough issues with my lower end.

But Holly being Holly she screeched to me, "My God, Louisa! Oh good Lord! _Look_ at you!"

It almost sounded like I had a terrible disease. I pulled her inside and closed the door to the hall. "Take your coat off. Have a seat."

She dramatically pulled off her anorak, threw it on a chair then sank down in apparent despair onto my sofa. "I'm just… just shocked!"

"Wasn't planned if you _must_ know and yes it is Martin's."

"Oh you _poor_ thing."

Poor was right for my bank account was nearly flat, but _not_ my spirit. "I'm doing _fine_, thanks for asking."

She shook her head. "Sorry Lou, I'm… just upset."

I sat down on a hard chair as that didn't make my back ache. "Ah. All about you is it?"

She rocked back. "How can you say that? I'm just _concerned_ for you is the thing. Is it Martin's?"

"Of course it's Martin's. You think I've been bed hopping on my nights off in the big city? And it's not an _it_, it's _a_ baby; MY baby."

"Baby then. What did he say?"

"Not much." This was true for I had not communicated with him.

"Figures. Men are all alike – love 'em and leave 'em! Get us up the duff and run away!"

"Have you ever been pregnant Holly?" I inquired thru gritted teeth.

"Of course not," she huffed. "I always use precautions."

"And I didn't? This wasn't on purpose." I wouldn't say the nasty word _accident_ and the GP called it a _contraceptive failure_. "Then just shut up! You have _no_ idea what it's like; being sick, ungainly, gaining weight in places you didn't know you had places, aching feet and back, having to wee all the time…" I caught myself for it wasn't her fault. I took a calming deep breath but felt my pulse still racing and my aching head pounded. "Not to mention stares from some sorts. Sorry Holly. Not snapping at you."

She had covered her face with her hands during my outburst. "Oh God! I am sorry Lou. Really really sorry."

"Sorry that I'm preggers, sorry for what you said, or sorry for just _what_ exactly?"

Holly lowered her hands. "No you are right and I _am_ sorry that I went off on _you_. Plus sorry that you are in this fix."

"Nothing to fix. I'm not in a fix."

"What are you going to do? How far along are you? I had no idea that… you _ought_ to have told me, Lou! We're friends, aren't we?"

"Let me see. One - I will have this baby. Two - I'm sixteen weeks along and three - we are friends, I hope." Although at times Holly remained the center of the world for it revolved about her, or so she imagined.

"Sixteen weeks?" I could see her doing a mental calculation. "Oh my God! You got pregnant before you moved? Before you wedding?"

"I didn't very well get myself up the duff did I? And yes it must have been about two weeks before we didn't get married."

She looked shocked. "I know how it works. Uhm, what did he say?"

"Who?"

"Your boyfriend Martin _bloody_ Ellingham?"

"No need to be rude Holly."

"But… what did he say to you? I hope he will help!"

I drummed my nails on the table, then took a tissue and blew some bogies from my nose. "Look. I _don't_ need Martin for anything."

"Just like that? Is that fair? To you? To the baby?" she said looking at me with some actual concern. "He ought to send you _money_ if nothing else."

Fair? I actually hadn't thought about it like that. "So what brings you here?"

She shook her head. "Ah. Well I was going to a pub, by myself thank you, and missed my stop. So at the next stop; here I was? So I thought… we could go out… but…" her hand waved towards my belly. "Doesn't seem likely you'll be able to go."

"I could go to a pub, if I wanted to. Not that I want to." Holly likely wanted wax la-de-dah over an expensive glass of wine, and tell me all about the wonderful things she had going on. But I doubted she want to hear about my haemorrhoids.

"No, well, I was going to call you. But since I was close by. Uhm, have you spoken to Penelope lately?" she replied.

"Only in passing."

"Here's the thing. Penny has been sending some very odd signals my way."

"Oh?"

"Yes. So I wondered if she said anything to you."

"About what?"

"Money, students, how there aren't enough – students or Pounds it seems."

"As far as I know enrollments are very good."

Holly nodded. "Well she's likely battling with the budgets the way we all do. She'll work it out I'm sure." Then she shook her head. "So, what are you going to do?"

"Do? I'm having a baby Holly. It's not a disease. Women do it all the time."

She grimaced. "That's a thing I have _managed_ to avoid so far." She smiled. "Boy or girl?"

"I don't know; said I didn't want to know ahead of time. I'll take what I get. Long as it's healthy."

Holly surprised me by crossing the gap between us and hugging me tightly. "Lou you'll have to tell him. It was a mistake to get mixed up with him. You know that now."

My baby kicked in protest at her squeeze and I took it as a sign. "I do wish it had turned out differently. But…"

"Yes, yes of course," she moaned in my ear. "Better if it had never happened and now you're stuck."

"Holly! That what you think? Stuck? Nailed? Good and truly screwed? Is that what you think? Miss Glasson's got a bun in the oven! I thought… thought I might be able to.. . rely on you for support."

"God Lou, don't make it worse than it is!" She squeezed me again. "Of course you have my support."

I pushed her back so I could see her face. "Holly. I want kids, always did. I waited until I found the right man; and I thought he was, but he wasn't right for me. Wouldn't have made me happy." I didn't mention Martin had said to me 'you won't make _me_ happy.'

"He wasn't exactly suave was he?"

I looked around my dingy room. "Gonna have to find a bigger if not better place."

"Of course you will! I know people! We'll sort it all out! Right?"

"Okay."

She brush a strand of flyaway hair away from my eye. "Lou, what can I say?"

I stood up. "Say come on Louisa, I'm buying you a nice supper."

"Alright. Sure."

**Note:**

**Candy floss – What Americans call cotton candy.**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"Why _did_ you get engaged to him?"

That was her question. I stared at Holly in the crowded pub and pondered that question. My answer went a little like this:

He asked me to. No more than that. I was pining after him, yearning for I don't know how long. Here was this strong, smart, solid type of man; the sort I had always sought; and yes he did have faults. But we all do.

He could be shy and gruff, awkward yet also direct. Poor Martin was entirely too frank most times and that seemed like rudeness to people. Was it rudeness on his part to tell the sunbather with the huge dark mole on the exposed part of her breast that she needed to have it looked at for she was flirting with cancer from too much UV exposure?

Granted that made more sense to me to make that diagnosis in the doctor's office behind a closed door. But to Martin the time was _now_ and the need _immediate_. Many of the villagers knew Martin could be that way – very abrupt – very quick. 'Doc Martin's quick as flash,' I heard them say. But not in all things…

Meanwhile he had been nurturing a desperate longing for me from the first we met. It started with a glance as he stared at my face, then my eyes, then _one_ eye. Of course his intense staring I might have interpreted as a very sassy pass, and if he'd chatted me up a little it might have seemed flirtatious and not cheek.

Not Martin's way. Forward, abrupt, sudden and unforeseen. Like his marriage proposal.

"Please Louisa, I can't bear to be without you."

I will never forget those words of his and I knew that although I was hundreds of miles from him he was sitting in his cottage, working on his clocks, or reading the BMJ and he likely missed me still.

Just as I missed him.

Of course I was interested in Martin Ellingham the new GP. He always wore clothes well and the suit he had on had money stamped all over it. How many men in west Cornwall wore an expensive and high-quality suit such as that? Hmm? Answer: none. If they did wear a suit it was shiny at arse and elbows from years of wear.

And there were my own desires; my own cravings. From the first he set a lot of my bells ringing. The way he could look at me head on, plus he was tall and handsome in a sort of rugged way, from his fleshy lips and big ears to his large hands and sturdy frame. Not a fashion model type but if his looks were not handsome they were countered by his self-assurance and intelligence, and his competence at being a doctor.

He saved my sight, right? With a single glance he saved my sight sending me to an expert who set me right.

And he could be so sweet in such an awkward sort of way. Martin's a grown man but he can act like a teenage boy, or younger. The way he got nervous when I stood too close so he would change the subject to some abstruse bit of medical knowledge, a comment about the ice cream I held in my hand, or the amount of potassium in potatoes.

Too smart by half poor bugger.

He and Peter Cronk were cast from the same mold at least from birth – shyness, smart, and didn't fit in with the rest of us. But Peter had a loving mother while Martin's were quite cold.

"And maybe that's why we love the Peter's of the world," I told him in a taxi. "Because they will always stand apart." I loved Martin so much when he saved Peter's life yet I'd seen how that bully Adrian Pitts had spread the nasty truth about Martin's fear of blood. Martin was not my child when I told off Pitts in front of his registrars, but he may as well have been from the protective shield I threw up for him. Martin needed me and I responded to defend him just as much as I had to those kisses in the taxi.

Holly looked at me across the table. "But Louisa all _that_ and you _didn't_ marry him? From your description he sounds like a _maiden's prayer_."

"Well you asked why I said I'd marry him."

Holly leaned forward so I could hear her over the background din of drinkers, dinners, and the telly. "Lou," she waved a hand at my bulging midriff, "so what was it like? Or was it just the once?" Holly would pry.

Martin in the bedroom was… well… he always seemed nervous asking me to stay or if he ought to _go_ home if he was in my house. Playing house with Martin could never be easy. He was always a mile and half ahead of me, or so I thought, his mind racing from medical matters to how a sunbeam lit up the wall of my bedroom, to a tender stroke of his hand that might last for five minutes; one single motion or the feeling that here was a man – a _real_ man – that made me complete. Some times at least.

"No it wasn't just the one time!"

"If it was I'm sure you could forgive yourself. I thought he was _luscious_ until he opened his mouth." She smirked at me and drank some of her white wine. "Just wondering."

"Well you can wonder all you like, Holly. That's all I'm telling you." I certainly would not tell her how considerate he was behind closed doors, not wanting to be forceful or needy, just – hell – _tending_ to me like he knew exactly what I needed and wanted. I suppose it was a counterbalance to his gruff actions with the public that he knew how to be with a woman on very personal and private terms.

Of course there had to be the _medical_ thing. Had Martin studied books on female sexual response? He must have, or he had a very skilled teacher, or an excellent fantasy life. I never asked if there had been other women in his life before me. But there must have been for when he made love to me (and me to him) it was…

"Louisa?" Holly snapped her fingers. "You look like you were in a trance."

I shook myself. "Sorry. Just remembering."

Holly slapped the table. "I don't suppose you'd want to remember out loud? For a friend? My love life hasn't been very good since back surgery. Not blaming the surgery but I was out of action for three months."

I felt myself blush. "Holly! I _won't_ tell you that!"

She rolled her eyes at me and winked. "I think you were _somewhere else_ for a few seconds. Well, maybe some other time," she leered then drank the rest of her wine. "I need more."

I smiled and sipped my tea. "Go ahead."

Holly rolled her finger around the rim of the empty glass. "No. So here you are and him down there, and right in here," she put the palm of her hand on my belly, "is a baby – yours and his. Now what?"

"It's… a little bit… complicated." Unbidden I know I started to chew my lips.

"If you went back, to Portwenn, in _all_ its biscuit-tin glory, would you marry him?"

"Not going back, Holly."

"Oh? There was a fire burning in your eyes a moment ago and it wasn't the madness of anger, if I'm any judge. It was the smoldering of this thing we call love."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Or maybe it was just lust?"

I could have slapped her. "You think that little of me?"

"Just teasing. You said this…" again a hand wavered over my belly, "was not on purpose."

"Right. And don't be absurd."

"Oh? Am I? Being silly?" She leaned closer. "You _have_ to call him, if for nothing else to say that _you're _carrying _his_ child." She stood up. "I've changed my mind. More wine."

I had to hold my head as she sashayed into the crowd at the bar, all slim and bleached-blonde, chatting up the fellas as she squeezed her fairly tight bum past theirs. In our student days she was a brunette, until she met that bloke from the bank and suddenly she was blonde and had been ever since. Well she could play that game while I had my baby and took care of it. I'd defend this little thing to the death – mine – and I'd care for it and love it and… do WHATEVER it took…

It hit me right then that I was going to be a mum, a mother, and have a child, a boy or girl. Of course I knew that fact, but there was _vast_ difference from the words 'you're pregnant' to 'you are going to be a mum.'

My baby thumped or rolled over; a very funny feeling to be stretched from inside like that. It was kind of a rolling-pushing thing, beginning on each side at waist level then a poke and a tiny patter of feet or hands. Automatically my hands went to my bulge and held them there.

Holly returned with a lop-sided grin. "Feeling the moment?"

Right that moment I felt sorry for Holly. She always wanted to run with the fast crowd; drinking, dancing, taking parent-sponsored trips to Cape Verde or Spain, all the sorts of things she liked to brag about. New shoes, a fancy dinner in a posh place, the moneyed bloke she spent a weekend with away and he never called her again.

"But," she laughed as she told me about that mini-break, "he was sooo good, sooo luscious I could eat him up. And I did. Well, fun while it lasted."

Holly was short-term and temporary; always the moment of fun. She never felt anything for the long term. She was like bright shiny soap bubble on a spring breeze, destined to pop sooner than later. I watched her sit down and wondered why we still stayed in touch. We weren't that much alike. But school days – meals on the cheap, weak beer and blokes that were no good for us, cramming for exams – cemented us. We were together when we were young and daring and scared sometimes.

"Fun bunch that," she pointed suggestively to the male scrum pressed against the bar. "I think I might get some headway there." She brushed her hair back with a long-nailed hand.

That was not for me. I was a bit longer term; permanent like. I was carrying a baby, a child, and for as long as she or he lived I would be its mum and they would be my child.

"Fun while it lasts," I said and her head twisted to stare.

"And you're going to be saddled with the baby for at least eighteen years or more!"

"I know," I rubbed my swollen belly under the tight dress which didn't seem _fat_ anymore. I was carrying a seed which was fertilized and sprouting – someday.

Holly glared at me. "Why didn't you get married again?"

The note I wrote him came to my mind:

_Martin,_

_I can't marry you – __we__ can't marry. We'll mess it up._

_I'm afraid that we'll end up like my parents or yours; two grumpy people being horrible or worse - divorced. And what if we have children? What happens to them?_

_So when you find this note you'll have figured out I didn't come to the church._

_I'm sorry I've embarrassed you because I know you hate that._

_Please forgive me and I do love you._

_Louisa_

I looked her straight in the eye. "I was afraid to," I said and that was the truth of the matter.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Arthur Pickles laughed at his own joke. "And then the bartender says, 'What? Is this some sort of a joke?'"

It was the one where a polar bear, a walrus, and an Inuit native walk into a pub and I'd heard it before but I chuckled for his sake.

"You well?" he asked. Audrey was doing the washing up having shooed us away from her kitchen.

"Pretty much, yes." Another two weeks had flown by and I could tick another two off the calendar, rather like a prisoner in gaol counting down the time to release. My release would be when I gave birth. My belly had grown huge, waist totally gone, no way to bend over, only to the sides now, and even that was awkward so any chances of wearing any of my old things was long gone. The maternity shops were pricey, which I found was very grabby, considering how little time these sorts of things get actually worn.

I switched from wearing dresses to trousers and blue jeans, and loose tops since they were cheaper. In class I could see the kids taking mental note and whispering each Monday, almost like they were keeping score. I imagine they feared I might pop in front of their eyes, but when you're ten and eleven you can imagine those things.

He smiled and nodded. "School? Audrey's been muttering a lot lately."

"Oh, you know how work can be."

"When I worked for the insurance firm there was always some intrigue. Who was on their way up, who going down, and who was shagging who?" His eyes darted at me. "Sorry. In my day… well that sort of thing went on."

"Still does."

He looked down at his book. "Been reading this book about King Edward and your know that back in the 1200s they had the same issues? Battles over the crown, fiefdoms, blackmail, and who was bedding whom. Plus warfare, disease, bad harvests on top of all the other things."

Bedding was one way to put and with reliable birth control out of the question one had to be either very lucky or very controlled to get away with anything out of wedlock. But it happened anyway. Of course fat lot of good birth control did for me but I wasn't complaining; this might be my only chance to have a child.

I was sleepy after a very good meal of roasted chicken this Sunday so I yawned.

"You want to go have a lie-down?" he asked.

"No, I'm fine right here."

Arthur stood, crossed the room and returned with an Afghan rug. He gently tucked it around my lap and legs. "There. Might as well be warm."

I smiled for these are the sorts of things that reminded me of my dad when it was just him and me. "My dad used to tuck me in that way, when I lived at home."

He nodded then bent down and kissed the top of head. "There, there, girl. We all need someone to take care of us."

I found that Audrey and Arthur had almost adopted me. Dinners on a weekend, and even mid-week. Audrey went shopping with me for clothing and she emoted over the frilly baby clothing in the stores. I felt quite pampered by the old couple, like I was their surrogate daughter, which I came to be in a way. At least with these two I could let someone take care of me, which as any pregnant mum knows, can be very restful and satisfying.

The rest of the time though it was a struggle. The margins of my finances were razor thin and I had contacted the state agent to see if I could adjust the payment for rent of my house.

"But Miss Glasson you have a signed lease. You can't change the terms now," Mr. Turner told me.

"I'm just asking."

I heard him sigh over the mobile. "Not possible. Ah, I suppose you have found that London is expensive; more than you expected?"

"Little bit."

"Then you ought to seek better pay for your employment or seek additional income. Or cut your expenses."

Disappointed, I thanked him and rang off. That's when I put out some feelers through Holly about doing a little tutoring. In short order I was leaving my school Tuesdays and Thursdays at four, hopped (well waddled) onto the Tube and in fifteen minutes I'd be at my new student's house.

I managed to set things up to tutor a thirteen-year-old girl was really good at algebra but was suffering from the time honored stigma that girls were not smart and they certainly did not do well at math or science. Her math scores were top notch, way ahead of her class, but science was a sticking point. Holly had advertised me as a teacher who could teach anything; and I could, so I was hired for twenty-five Pounds a session to help this little girl.

While her friends daydreamed about music, boys, and makeup, this one spent all her time running off intricate math problems on her own. The child, to use the vernacular, was a math-geek.

Morgane looked up at me with weepy eyes. She was a very pretty girl with long chestnut hair, hazel eyes, and large glasses. She was tall and thin, a bit gawky but from her budding curves she had the potential to be tall and leggy and a knockout in time. When she got in one of these flustered states it was like watching a storm from afar, building and building until the rains came and washed you away.

"But I don't get it!" she wailed. She was attending Holly's school which did have some accelerated learning and the girl was in the throes of a major panic attack. She threw her pencil down then fled the room.

Her mum came from her office on the back of their Georgian. Mrs. Foster was an author so she was into writing and literature, areas that she did not overlap with her daughter's skills or interests. "Again?" she sighed.

I heard a door slam upstairs. "Yes."

"Her father and I have tried to deal with her…" She peered at me thoughtfully. "_When_ you have that baby you will know how difficult raising them can be."

I tried to smile. "I have been teaching for fifteen years and I have had other students like Morgane. She is smart - really smart - but there's these little voices in her head telling her to be… difficult."

A door slammed repeatedly somewhere overhead.

"There she goes again," Mrs. Foster complained. "Puberty; love it."

"May I go speak to her?"

"Be my guest. Second door at the top of the stair. Good luck with it. What's set her off today/"

"Continental drift - Earth science."

Mrs. Foster raised her eyebrows. "Doubt that would ever end up in one of my mysteries." She wrote the sort of stuff that had lurid bodice ripping on the cover over a dead body on the floor. Not my taste in a little light reading.

I excused myself, climbed the stairs, and knocked on the door.

"Yes?" a teary little girl asked.

"It's Miss Glasson. May I come in?"

I heard a heavy sigh. "Yessss."

Morgane was sitting on the window seat in her room, a very nicely furnished and bright room that was nearly twice the size of my bed sit. She had her knees pulled up, arms hugging them to her chest as she moaned, "I'm too stupid."

I tried not to sigh audibly. "You are not stupid."

"I don't get all that science stuff. Who cares about how deep the oceans are or that the continents float about on the crust or why gases expand when you heat them or any of that… I'll _never_ understand it."

"Does it make you feel better that learned scientists of the day didn't Wegener's theory of continental drift either? He proposed it in 1912."

She shook her head. "Who cares?"

"Or that he was meteorologist and not a geologist?"

"No wonder nobody believed him," she moaned.

"Nobody believed Charles Darwin either when he proposed the theory of evolution. Ever been to Westminster Abbey?"

"Too many times," she moaned.

"Darwin is buried there and Isaac Newton. Not bad for people that no one wanted to believe at first. They were made fun of when they first proposed their ideas."

She stared out the window but didn't protest so I went on. "Darwin's Origin of Species wasn't accepted either and as for Newton nobody understands gravity any better than he did. But it still works."

"But Sir Isaac Newton invented the calculus."

"Yes, _the_ calculus. How do you know about that?"

She turned to me and wiped her wet face. "I read about it."

Calculus was a powerful math tool used by scientists and engineers to compute the outcome of time-varying phenomena. "And I _have_ studied it. Not much call for me to teach it in primary school. But I did learn it."

"But you're a teacher, _not_ a mathematician."

It finally dawned on me. "You _really_ love math."

"Oh yes. The numbers and equations; and I can't wait for calculus."

"Why?"

"I found a book in the library about trajectories," she winced when she saw my confusion. "Rockets," she added like I was an idiot.

"Rockets?"

She shook her head. "I want to build them some day. Maybe fly to Mars."

"And studying mathematics is _all_ you want to do."

"Mum writes and dad works for a bank. She doesn't care about math and all he needs is to add up numbers. But I… I want to do more."

"Being a student is more than just being good at _one_ thing, Morgane." I crossed the room and squatted down so I could peer into her intelligent face. "We have to learn about lots of things; how to read, write, do sums, sing or play music, all sorts. Earth science is just one of those things. And how knows?" I smiled at her. "Maybe you will get to Mars, but you have to learn many things before you do. Not always your favorites, I know, but it is necessary."

She looked at me her lip trembling. "I see."

"I know a man who is a doctor but he knows a huge amount about lots of things. History, music, science, and literature, all that, but they don't necessarily mean that he needed to know it all to be a doctor. And he is a _very good_ doctor. You see that's why we call it university; for all things are taught there."

Morgane looked at me earnestly. "So I have to study science too?"

I smiled. "Yes. But you have the smarts to anything you wish. Throwing books and pencils when you get frustrated or upset does not help that."

How many times had I heard Martin bellow and yell when he was frustrated? Was his behavior a sign of his intellect or it was just that we needed the world to conform to his ideas?

She sighed. "Fine so how does continental drift work? How can rocks float anyway? And why is the inside of the Earth so hot? They say it's all melted; way down deep. How does that happen and why?"

I stood up carefully and held out my hand. "Good questions. Let's go back down and see what your science book says about it. Hm?"

Morgane reminded me of Martin. He thought he could only be a surgeon, but in my estimation he was a better GP for he could help so many other people and I was an example.

The thirteen-year-old rocket designer followed me downstairs meekly. She seated herself at the table and picked up her book. "Where do we start?"

I smiled at her but at the same time wondered how I never could have a conversation with the father of my baby that went 10% as well as the one I just had with a young math-whiz, for Martin and I too frequently ended up arguing.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Morgane's mum was full of praise with the change in her daughter's progress with classes and with her marks. Mrs. Foster quickly put out the word, that there was "this teacher from Cornwall" who was able to turn kid's heads from video games, primping at the mirror, or staring moodily off into the distance.

In very short order four nights a week I had students to tutor. That was good, for the money was so useful and I could save up for when the baby came in the Summer Holidays, but I felt I was burning my candle at both ends.

Fatigue had been nipping at my heels every day, so helping kids away from my school Monday through Thursday afternoons wore me out very quickly. It was the old dilemma of the lady of the tiger? I could choose to not do the tutoring, or cut back, but I needed the cash. My landlord very graciously had just raised my rent, and that drove the wedge in even further.

So by the time Saturday's rolled around I was knackered.

It was a Friday afternoon and the kids had just gone. The school was fairly quiet and Mr. Spencer was making the rounds switching off lights and emptying bins one last time. I was seated primly at my desk marking the last of the day's quizzes, when Jimmy Spencer shuffled in.

"Hello, Mr. Spencer, how are you?" I asked.

He smiled as he lifted my bin to dump it into his wheeled cart, but he grimaced as he did so. "Sorry. Been feeling poorly."

"You told me you'd been to the doctor," I replied for I had been after him to do so.

He pulled an inhaler from his pocket and took a blast from it. "I did. They put a name on it. COPD."

"Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease."

"Oh, you heard of it."

"I have a… I used to… _know_ our village GP." Martin had explained to me the slow insidious condition which robbed lung tissue of elasticity for he had several patients in the village. It could be the effects of smoking, air pollution, inhaling toxic dust, plus genetic factors.

"Well then you might a knowed what they said. Not much they can do. Give up the fags, eat better, and use this steroid thing."

"Steroidal anti-inflammatories."

He laughed which made him cough for a solid fifteen seconds. "Yep that's it. Sure you're not a doc?"

"Oh believe me Mr. Spencer, I am not a doctor." Far from it - but my baby's father was. "But there is this cold bug going around. I just got over mine."

He sniffed and blew his nose on a grimy rag. "Yep. I know all about it."

"Oh, well, I hope I didn't give it to you." I had been over the worst of the cold for a few days.

"Naw, probably one of the little darlings running about in the building five days a week." He cocked his head. "You're well then?"

"Oh, sure." It was easier to say that then that I was about ready to drop.

"You look a bit tired to me Miss Glasson and I suppose…"

"Suppose what?"

He sighed. "Long time back I knew a girl, well, a lady friend; had a baby by herself. Her well, her guy friend, didn't want to have anything to do with the baby. A cute little girl turned out. So I suppose… the father… of _yours_… missing in action as well." He looked nervous as this came out. "Sorry if I'm stirring up bad memories. None of my business the way some women have babies nowadays. I'm just a silly old bugger so don't mind me."

I sighed. "We were going to get married but we didn't." I smiled at him. "So here I am and I'm having this baby – by myself."

"He, your bloke that is, a good sort?"

"Yes, he is."

"A good man?"

"He is. And yes I just said that he is."

"And he's just where?"

"In Cornwall."

He looked at me with an intense look and then cleared his throat. "You're here though. Audrey, uhm, Mrs. Pickles says you're _not_ together."

"I like London."

He grimaced. "Best city in all of Europe they been sayin'. But if I was your fella, _former_ fella, and you being so pretty and all, and having his baby, up here in the City, I'd by a damn sight be right at your side."

"Mr. Spencer that is so sweet of you, but Martin and I…"

"He has a name – wonders." He winked.

"Yes Martin and I decided we were not suited; to be married."

He came closer to my desk. "Miss Glasson, I like you. You treat me fair and I can see what you been doing for your students after that George fellow got the sack. I like that; you're fixin' things, patching them up, boosting them on to higher places."

I thought of Morgane who was calculating rocket trajectories to the planets. "I try do to my best; what I can."

"You're doing a damn sight more than that. Pardon my language."

"Thank you for saying so."

He shook his head. "Now that baby you're carrying, and I'm sure you will be a fine mum, but going it alone will be hard, like my friend found out. She had a tough time of it. Money was always tight, but she made it. Wasn't easy; no cake walk."

I tried to cut him off. "Thanks for the compliment, now if you don't mind…"

He turned and pushed his cart away then stopped by the door and looked back. "So it strikes me Miss Glasson that while you been running around teaching and tutoring; tryin' to sort out these kids… well…" he winked. "Don't you be forgetting that you too might need sorting." He held up a hand as I opened my mouth to protest. "None of my business, right? But when you told me his name, I could tell it wasn't just a word – a name. He's still a real live person to you."

"Mr. Spencer, that is between _me_ and _him_." I tried to stay calm when I answered, but I was shaking.

He nodded slowly. "I know and I'm sorry but I think of you as a friend, see? If I was the father of your baby, I'd surely want to know you was doing fine with it and if you weren't I'd want to know that too so…" he cleared his throat. "Think about second chances, Miss Glasson; like these kids. Maybe somebody needs to tell _you_ that you might want to be giving yourself a second chance as well. You might want to follow that lead, right? Ta-ta."

I had never before had such a conversation with a school custodian and it went right to the quick. I was using a tissue to wipe my eyes when I had to change gears.

The door to the hall slowly opened. "Are you Miss Glasson?" A tall woman of stately dimensions and imperious bearing was at my door.

I stood up. "Yes, Louisa Glasson." I quickly slipped my feet back into my flats.

"I'm Freddy's mother."

Freddy? I had five boys and one girl named Freddy in four classes. "Hello."

She crossed the room and took my hand. "Mrs. Aldershot-Cribbins."

"Oh right. " That one of the nasty letter. "Yes. I can assure you Mrs. Aldershot-Cribbins that your Freddy is doing very well."

"Oh _pleeaassse_ call me Frieda," she gushed. "I was down the way speaking with my friend Penny, uh, I suppose Penny has all of you call her Mrs. Harper, but I soooo wanted to come in and meet you at last. Freddy actually is enjoying mathematics! It's a wonder; just brilliant! He seemed to have high marks from Mr. George, but that seems to have been made of whole cloth."

Taken aback by her comments, so different from what I imagined, I was stunned. "Good then. That your son is learning, I mean."

"Oh yes, why the other night Tom and I, that's my husband Thomas, were discussing having new carpet put down by the information we had was all in square meters and we were totally flummoxed. You see Tom and I both grew up with the Imperial system – so much more sensical. But with these goods shipped in from the Continent in those silly metric things, where got so confused. Freddy pops up, helps his father measure the parlor with a tape measure, in feet mind you, then our son whips out a calculator and tells us how many square meters of carpet we shall need and what the cost would be! I was shocked; just shocked Miss Glasson."

"Freddy's class has been working on unit conversions." Frieda's eyes took on a blank stare. "Converting from square feet to square meters and so forth," I explained. "We had a similar problem in class assuming we were laying tile on a bathroom floor. The children were given the floor dimensions in inches – width and length – but the tiles were 300 mm by 300 mm. I'm glad it proved useful."

She smiled at me. "See? I could never do one of those to save my life if I had to. I was just telling your boss how pleased I am with you. Freddy is making headway then?"

"Mrs. Aldershot…"

She cut me off. "Please - Frieda."

"Right, Frieda. You see I _was_ going to speak to all the parents of my students who had Mr. George; that is those who were having issues in class. But… uhm, Mrs. Harper asked me not to."

Frieda laughed. "Oh that's Penny! Never to one to ruffle a feather!"

Clearly the face that dear old Penny showed to her friends and patrons was far different from the one her employees saw. "Well… I was new, still am in fact, to the school, so I could only do as she suggested."

Frieda shook my hand. "And I see you're having a baby."

"Summer Holidays."

She smiled. "Best wishes then?"

I did not want to discuss my baby with any more people today. "Thank you for stopping by."

"Oh you do know we have a mutual friend? Holly."

"Oh, you know Holly."

"Oh yesss... Holly and I go waaayy back."

"Well, thank you coming by and if I have any news to report I will call you – about Freddy."

"Good, good," she said. "And follow my lead, you may not want to get too near Mrs. Harper. She's… well, let's just say she is on the prickly side lately."

I nodded. "I see."

Frieda laughed. "Seems Penny may have bitten off more than she can chew. Things might not be too…" she stopped herself. "Ah. Sorry; loose lips. I must be off."

"Bye," I said to her retreating back. "No what was that last bit about?"

I gathered my things, locked my desk and left school letting my belly lead me to my bedsit.

Once there I ate a day-old scone and drank a cup of tea then curled up in my bed to relax just for a little while which was my plan, but I soon fell into a troubled sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

I was sitting across the kitchen table from Martin; _his_ kitchen table and I had been drinking, which made sense for he was as well.

"It is rubbish all the things that people say…" he slurred. "Just… rubbish…"

I put my hand on his lips. "Shush. You're not obliged to spoil it. No talking."

But he didn't stop. "Happiness? What is that anyway? It's not something you can bottle, but if I could I'd make a _bloody_ fortune."

Of course, I rebutted his statement. "Martin! It means contentment and satisfaction; feeling joy."

He lifted his glass to his mouth and took a mighty slurp. "Rubbish."

"No it's not!"

"I'll tell you what's rubbish. You swanning around with your holier-than-thou architect friend."

"I told you Danny was gone; back to London."

"Oh," he grunted. "Good."

"I think so as well."

"Can't for the life of me understand what you saw in _him_."

"I… I… didn't want him. I…" I started to fiddle with my blouse at the neckline. "Well what was I supposed to do, Martin? Hmm? I don't think if I stripped down and ran from the school to here you'd even notice."

"I'd sure as hell notice… uhm… them... I mean… that… uhm, want some more wine?"

I prodded the empty bottle. "Sure."

He stood up unsteadily then, rummaged around in the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a bottle. "White."

"Whatever." The room was spinning and I knew I shouldn't be here, but sitting with Martin, even if I was arguing we seemed okay somehow.

He pulled the cork and poured me another glass so I tasted it. "Good I think. Not that my taste buds are in any shape. Sort of numb."

"Oh?" he came around the table. "Let me see. Stick out your tongue."

I opened my mouth and he stuck a finger onto my tongue. "No," he said after a quick touch, "You should be able to feel."

"I didn't say _feel_, I said taste." I looked up at him and wanted him to touch me further.

He shrugged. "No matter." He unsteadily got back in his seat. "Where were we?"

"Uhmm," I tried to screw my fuzzy brain back into shape. "We were – yeah. You never notice me."

"Rubbish."

"You don't."

"Codswallop, Louisa, I _always_ notice you. I'm always incredibly aware of you; how you look, the color of your dress, whether your hair is up or down, how your eyes flash even if you are angry, the type of shoes you wear on those feet of yours, how low your neckline goes…"

My hand went back to my blouse but I was well covered, perhaps too well if this was it seemed. "Oh? Really. Why?"

He stared at the ceiling. "I… can't say. A mystery."

"So you're saying you've been stalking me?"

"No, no, not like that… God Louisa! You make it sound…"

"Like _erotomania_? I seem to recall you accused me of that."

He sighed. "Perhaps…"

The room disappeared and I was staring at the dark ceiling of my London flat and when I turned my head the clock showed me it was midnight. I shook my head of sleep, laboriously rolled off the bed and used the loo. I drank a tall glass of water, munched some bread, then brushed my teeth and used mouthwash, and put on my pyjamas. The bed was cold when I crawled back under the covers so I lay there shivering until the sheets warmed up; one of the drawbacks of sleeping alone.

I was so exhausted after my long week and lugging the lump of my belly around I didn't even bother about my hunger pangs or trying to read; just rested my head back on the pillow.

I was wearing my wedding dress and Isobel was on the ground in front of me straining. "See what happens when you get married!" she bellowed at me.

"Isobel you're not married. And you don't have to be married to get pregnant."

"Like I don't know that!" she grunted. "When's that fiancé of yours getting here?"

Martin jogged to my side. "Problem?"

"Isobel is in labor."

Martin knelt down. "Yes, I see. Perhaps you could… uhm…"

"Have you ever delivered a baby Martin?" I whispered to him.

"No, not… OB isn't my thing. I read about it."

"Just do what you can," I told him.

He looked up while catching her baby. "Louisa, why are you wearing that wedding dress?"

"It _is_ our wedding day, and hadn't you better tend to your patient?"

He wrapped the baby in a towel than gave it to Isobel. "I'm a surgeon and this is not a surgical case."

The ambulance arrived cutting off further discussion and in short order watched as it drove away carrying Isobel and her baby. "Uhm, better go change," he said looking at his grass-stained trousers. "And you?"

Magically I had remained pristine, my beautiful dress undamaged by the birthing and the grassy slope. "I'm ready."

He sneered. "Are you?"

"Of course I am," I protested but my heart was thumping in a panic.

"Humph. As you say."

We walked back to his house and there he said, "I'll see you at the church."

"Yes," I took a step and something felt wrong so I stopped.

"Louisa?"

I felt pressure in my belly and back and in a few seconds my wedding dress was straining away from my body under the strain of a massive swelling. I staggered but Martin took my arm.

"I've got you," he said to me caringly. '"I'll keep you safe."

Whatever was happening continued until I couldn't see my feet due to a huge mass that grew and grew, my balance was all off, my knickers were tearing into my skin, and my bra was stretched far too tight.

Suddenly Martin's head jerked up. "Louisa… you're pregnant!"

I bit my lip and put a hand on my belly, which seemed rock hard, but chose to ripple and strain as a baby kicked in there. "Yes, yes, I am," I told him. "_Our_ baby."

I jerked awake and now the clock read 1 AM.

I closed my eyes. "Twenty weeks," I muttered. "And I can't seem to summon enough courage to call him. _Plus_ Louisa you are receiving plenty of undesirable advice to phone this little baby's dad."

There was no way out of it; I had to tell him for I couldn't very well _not_ tell him. After all; he was the father, and he needed to know he had a child coming. There were practicalities to discuss if nothing else. What about child support? Would he want to be at the delivery? Likely not interested, I thought, for there would likely be some blood and he'd be barfing into a bin in the corner while I pushed his baby into the world.

"But all the same," I said chewing my lip. "This baby is half yours and half his. He has rights too."

I rolled onto my left side and felt a little elbow or foot moving around under my ribs.

"Fine," I said as I rubbed the spot. "You get a vote too. Just have to find the right moment."

Truth was _the moment_ was in December when my early pregnancy test read positive.

I'd let it go on far too long; _far_ too long and that was the thought that must have been in my brain when I went back to sleep.

The taxi dropped me off in front of his door so I walked around to the back. I took a deep breath and knocked on the blue door.

Martin jerked the kitchen door open as he held a mug of coffee for I could smell it. "Louisa? Oh It's you."

"Hello Martin." I squared my shoulders for I'd been rehearsing this moment for quite a while.

"I… uhm… this is unexpected… when did you arrive?"

"Just now."

"Want to come in?"

I bent down, and then lifted up the infant carrier so he could see what was in it. "Martin, I had a baby."

He recoiled. "I…" his eyes grew wide in surprise.

"It's _yours_ Martin _and_ mine. It's a girl and her name is Emily."

He looked away for a few seconds.

"She's the sweetest baby," I added for I could see him about to turn away.

His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for water when held in the air. "Uhm…"

"She was born in July; end of."

I set his coffee down then peered into the basket.

I smiled. "Six pounds, eleven ounces."

He popped his neck. "I see. What do you want from me?" Then he closed the door in my face.

That woke me up for the rest of the night. I was shaking and sweaty, and my stomach tied in knots. I levered myself upright and leaned back against the headboard resting my head in my hands. I was miserable; not just for being pregnant and alone, but feeling poor and beset by troubles. How could I care for a baby on my own?

Well dad did it, but I was eleven, and Bert Large did it when his wife Mary died when Al was tiny. Yes, I could, if I had to, if I wanted to; or perhaps needed to.

I was a hot mess that was for sure.

No matter what I thought about Martin I knew _he_ wouldn't change and it was wanting him _to change_ that had made you call it off. His rudeness, brashness, arrogance, always knowing the answer no matter if it was very clear that I might have an idea about the matter. He never gave me flowers unless they were passed on from a patient! And even the bloody engagement ring was secondhand even if it was his grandmother's.

No; he wouldn't change, not willingly, and if he did, would he be the same Martin? I told him I liked him the way he was; solid, firm, defiant, and sure of himself. Those were the things I needed, I suppose from my days when mum and dad were at each other or after she left when I felt very alone and frightened. I felt so much anxiety back then, probably one of the reasons I worried too much. Would dad have a job next week? Or get one when he got sacked? Would the money hold out? I needed new things as I grew and the money never went far enough.

It was only when Joan Norton or Joan Pratt took me shopping for new things when I started growing into a woman. that was special; nice of those two.

So it was no wonder Martin seemed to me to be so stable and dependable. Oh yes I could depend on him to yell and bluster, but… but he also sweet in his own shy way like Peter Cronk. They were the same, intelligent but awkward and trapped in their heads behind walls of fear and shyness. Had I hoped to save Martin? To get him to join the outside world?

But when we slept together he was different. Yes he was shy, but… well, I in some ways felt _he_ needed me more than I needed him.

"Louisa, this is a fine fix," I mumbled to myself finally picking up my mobile. My contact list opened with a stroke of a finger and I was looking at his mobile number. But it was nearly three AM! I couldn't call him now.

I set the phone back down. "No. No! Get a grip, Louisa. Call him in the _morning_. These things are always better dealt with in broad daylight."

I pounded my pillows back into submission, with one behind my head and one between my knees as I scrunched down on my left side. Then the baby started kicking. "Sorry, I bothered you," I whispered. "So sorry." I kissed my fingers then passed the kiss to my bump.

"There, there," I said soothingly. "It will turn out alright. Just give me a little more time. Okay?"

Maybe what I said made a difference for she or he stopped squirming and finally went to sleep. I wish I could have done the same but my thoughts and fears grew as black as the night outside my window.

"What do you want from me?" he had asked in my dream and the thought that he would have _no idea; _clueless really, ate at me like acid.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

When I finally did get back to sleep I was so exhausted by my tortured dreams that it was nearly noon before I woke. I barely managed to waddle to the loo in time and then stared at my sleep ravaged eyes. "Louisa Glasson, get a hold of yourself."

A long shower in the tiny cubical did wonders for me though by the time I was washed, dried, and dressed, my stomach was screaming. The kettle was slow coming to a boil, and the toast was a bit stale but I cooked up the last egg and ate an orange with it. Breakfast or maybe lunch done, I needed to go to the market and the laundry, as well as pay the bills, and… In other words it was a pretty typical Saturday.

I took my shopping bag from the cupboard, took another look in the pantry which was pretty bare, as I needed a lot, and set off. The family-run market was a few blocks off and I liked their fresh produce as well as seafood. It was a fine day, cold but clear, and we had a promise of two or three days of sunshine, so the streets were thronged with people.

The market owner, a nice man older gentleman named Bob, was very friendly and always complimented me on my looks, especially since I was pregnant. He had a pregnant granddaughter who was due about the same time as me. She also worked there, so he'd drag her from behind the register to compare our sizes. This was done joyfully and he wasn't making fun. I didn't mind.

"Louisa, this is… bigger, than last week?" he asked. He was about my dad's age, grayer perhaps, but certainly happier.

"Oh course it is, the incredible exploding woman," I chuckled. What else could I tell him?

"Like my Angie. Angie! Come over here!" he yelled out and his grand-daughter a spotty-faced teenager a few years older than my students slouched over. "Ah, here is my Angie. We're having her wedding next week! And look – you two – side by side. Like twins!"

"That sounds lovely," I told her.

Given that Angie had visible tattoos, multi-pierced ears plus a nose ring, and was a ginger, we were not twins by any stretch of the imagination; only in the gestational department.

Angie cracked her chewing gum and rolled her eyes. "_Whatever_."

She must have been about eighteen. "You're not happy about the wedding." Her granddad got called away by the butcher just then so I was trapped talking to a very unhappy girl.

"Naw. If it makes my grand's happy and my dad, okay. Plus Jack is excited – my man."

"I see." Her man was likely just the same as her, bjut I was judging them unfairly. "What does she do?"

"Drives a lorry when he can get work."

She looked me up and down clearly not enthralled by my sensible shoes, blue and white flower print dress, and a yellow sweater with my Burberry worn open. She was wearing a washed-out denim maternity skirt and a faded tie-dyed T-shirt which was about three sizes too large even accounting for the pregnant body underneath. Her feet sported tatty trainers which looked about five years old from the scuffed toes, knotted laces, and gray material. No socks and unshaven legs finished the ensemble.

She rolled her eyes at me. "What _is it_ with grandparents?" she whispered. "Driving me bloody batty."

"Oh they just want what's best for you."

She sniffed and tilted her head. "_I _don't care if I get married or not."

"Doesn't make you happy?"

She shook her head. "This baby's comin' whether I'm married or not."

"There is that."

I saw her check out my ring less fingers. This morning my fingers were swollen so I didn't wear the one made from a single spoon.

"You?" she asked. "Single as well."

"It's complicated."

She smiled. "I'd be just as happy staying on my own. Got this job thanks to granddad, so I'm fine the way I am."

"Your choice."

She looked over her shoulder at the meat counter where granddad Bob was mediating some issue. "Yeah. But no. They expect it and I don't want my little girl to be well…" she waved a ringed hand with black nail polished fingertips.

I smiled a meaningless smile. "Better get to my shopping."

She turned to go. "Bye," she said softly to me.

"Bye Angie." I fled into the biscuit aisle and was considering a box of chocolate digestives when there was a male presence by my side.

"Hello, Louisa." Will Baker was standing there grinning ear to ear.

"Hello Will. I didn't know you lived nearby." So far I had managed to avoid seeing Will too often. Oh he treated me to dinner twice and a lunch and he had called a few times. But then I sighed. Clearly he was interested and it was awkward – well difficult – or had become so.

He smiled. "Other side of the street and up a bit."

"Yes," I blindly dropped two biscuit boxes into my cart.

"Digestives?"

"I… like the chocolate ones."

"More of a HobNob man myself."

I grinned.

He tilted his head nervously. "So, uhm, I was thinking… well I need to finish my shopping…"

"Me too," I said and that's when he took my hand; gently, but firmly.

"Louisa, I've been thinking about you."

I sighed. "Really." I was beset by Martin in my dreams and now Will was playing Romeo under my balcony. My balcony was normally rather compact and not flashy, but the last two weeks it had really grown and I could see he was staring at it, er, them.

Suddenly I was extremely aware of him. He smelled like aftershave and deodorant, a nice herbal conditioner maybe and his smile was nice – good teeth – and his eyes… hell! I backed up a step but he was still there. Tall and handsome, wearing a brilliant shirt and jeans under a new coat and my bells were going off – both alarm _and_ romantic.

He tugged on my hand and looked deeply into my eyes. "I know this might be…" he stopped. "_Sudden_ and uhm, but… I wanted… you to know. I feel deeply for you."

Deeply? Were the words truly and madly about to come out of him next? I panicked. "Will, I simply _must_ be going." I got my hand away from him and rapidly got my cart to the register and bought my things.

I was muttering to myself as I tromped away practically running down the street. "Bloody hell."

A lady at the corner asked if I was okay.

"Fine," I told her but of course I wasn't.

I had traveled five blocks and was nearly home when Will came trotting up behind me puffing and panting. "Louisa, wait!" he gasped out when he got close.

I had my foot on the stair up to my building and I glared at him. "Why?"

"Because, uhm, I asked you to."

I closed my eyes. "Will I don't want this," I said, but it wasn't true so I stopped. "Will, I appreciate your friendship, if that's what this is, but…"

His face fell. "There's still this Martin fellow."

I put a hand on my baby bump. "Yes."

"If I… I'm not trying to come between you and him, but you're here and he's not."

"That is _not_ your concern." I climbed two steps and he snagged my hand on the railing.

"Louisa… _right now_ my concern is _you_, Louisa! I… what are you going to do when the baby comes? Who will take care of you?"

"I am _perfectly_ capable of taking care of _myself_ and _my_ baby!"

"I could help; would be glad to."

I sighed. "Will, now is not a good time."

"Well, when is a good time, Louisa? Hmm? Next week or month? This summer after your baby is born and is crying all night and your need a break from it? How will you sleep? Work? Get to the market?" he slowed down and looked pained. "I'm just offering my help, that is if _you_ want it."

What scared me the most was I this close to saying 'yes I _might_ need help' but for one thing. "Will," I sighed, "it's not about _you_. It's about _me_. What I _want_…and _need_ for my baby."

He squinted up at me in the brilliant sunshine, his blue eyes piercing my soul. "I'm _not_ asking to _be_ Martin; you told me he was done. Surely you must want… something else?"

I shook my head. "No…" What did I want?

Did I want Martin to be my lover, my baby's father, or my husband? Did I want him to send me a big fat cheque once in a while to pay for carrying his child? Did I hope and expect that one day I'd board the Western Express with the baby and spring the little thing on Martin at his doorstep; a fait accompli?

Will Baker _was_ nice – he looked nice, smelled nice, and acted nice; treated me very kindly. If I could transplant those qualities, suck them out of Will and inject them somehow into Martin, what might happen?

I wanted Martin to have treated me the way Will did. Martin _never_ said nice things to me, only facts about medicine or the potassium in potatoes or how he apologized that he had kissed me too long and he feared he'd given me a love bite.

But I _had_ to be practical. What if I could get Martin to do those things?

Oh he'd hate it. Being nice _wasn't_ in him. I think he had forgotten how or it had been torn out of his soul. He'd said his parents weren't nice to him at all. My parents were crap but at _least_ they never locked _me_ under the stair.

I looked down at an expectant Will baker; expectant in a different form than me, but he was hoping that something would happen.

Something was going to happen for I'd be having mine and Martin's baby in four and a half months, twenty weeks, and I had to be ready. Having Will Baker worshiping at my feet was a detour I couldn't take.

But what did _I_ want? I wanted to get my shopping in, have a wee, get to the laundry and call Martin. I had to tell him that we were gonna be parents; together, like it or not and that we were gonna be connected for the rest of time by this baby that was doing jumping jacks on my bladder.

What _I wanted_ or _what Martin wanted_ didn't matter anymore. Somehow the two of us needed to sort things for our baby's sake. I was resolved that had to happen; an accord of some kind had to be made and it had to start with one phone call. Just a bloody phone call which I was going to make as soon as I got rid of my wannabe suitor.

But then Will said something that shredded my plans. "God, Louisa, I think I'm falling in love with you." He looked up at me his blue eyes blazing like stars.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"Miss?" the bar man was looking down at me.

I was startled by the sudden return to reality. "Sorry, sorry. Just thinking."

He smiled. "On a mucky day such as this not much else to be but to go down memory lane. I could see you were elsewhere."

Dad had taught me to be polite; that good manners cost nothing. "I was," I sighed. "I apologize. You were talking about your grandkids."

"Naw, you don't wantta hear me nattering on. You're gonna be a mum soon enough. Your first?"

I nodded.

He smiled. "I'd best get back to my cleaning before the afternoon crowd floods in."

_Afternoon crowd_. That was a phrase I never heard until I came to London for college. London was crowded. People, buses, the Tube, cars, taxis, sightseers, were always around. In the village it was usually peaceful except for when the kids were coming to school or were leaving at the end of the day. Plus everyone in the village I knew and they knew me, which was comforting most of the time.

Here in the capital, the largest city in Europe, and the most expensive, I might know perhaps fifty people, and how many were my friends?

Back home… that work stuck in mine brain… home.

I sighed, for I wasn't home. This wasn't home. London would never be home. I missed the ocean, and sea breezes, and even the noisy and dirty seagulls.

The baby thumped down below. I know, I thought, you've never seen the sea. But I touched it and pressed against my warm solid bump, "You will, soon enough."

Will was earnest and I appreciated, uhm, him, but for all that he was he wasn't who I wanted to see.

"Louisa, please, let me," he looked so deeply at me there on the steps. "In time perhaps you'll love me too."

Love – love was a loaded word. Love meant being together, being close, being… "No, I won't," I told him. I pulled my hand free and turned so I could face him directly. "Maybe in another time or place, Will, you and me?" I had to stop myself so I shook my head. "But no."

"I see," he answered and he ducked his head. "I had to try."

That made me smile so I went down a step so I could hug him. "I do appreciate it. I do, for I haven't felt very attractive lately."

"My God Louisa you're beautiful!"

I shook my head. "I can't be with you. I…"

"The baby. I know that."

"No, Will." I kissed his cheek and back away. "Sorry." I left him outside the door and climbed to my bedsit.

I got my purchases sorted and put away, then reached into my handbag and pulled out my phone.

What would I tell Martin? How could I tell him I was carrying his child?

Ought to be easy. Three words; Martin, I'm pregnant.

No, he might think the baby wasn't his.

Martin, we're pregnant. Not sure he'd get that.

Martin, hello this is Louisa. How are you? Good. Me? Fine, fine. But…well here's the thing.

No matter what I said it wouldn't soften the blow. Why hadn't I called him sooner?

My God Louisa you are an idiot! The baby will be here in twenty weeks! Twenty _bloody_ weeks, and you can't, no, _won't_ call its father.

I set down the mobile and stared at it.

Why Louisa? he would ask. Why didn't you call me right away? I can help, he would tell me.

Did I want Martin's help? I certainly didn't want Will's help.

I had no good answer other than to say I was _afraid_; shaking in my shoes, ready to wet myself, bone-quaking fear of telling Martin. What if he had suggested an abortion? Pressed me to have one? Or worse came dashing up here and dragged me back protesting and kicking to his house where he'd make me marry him?

I didn't want any of those choices. No – together Martin and me were oil and water – as much as we might have dinner, watch the sunset, eat breakfast together, _or_ shag all night, we were too different.

And when I thought about trying to make him less different, I'd bollix him up. Mess him up and that would not be fair – not to him or me.

Hobson's choice. Take Martin _as he was_ or _not at all_. I didn't like that thought hence no ring on my finger, no wedding, no happy little village ecstatic over the good news that their Head Teacher and their GP were adding to the list of inhabitants.

Choices; I was a kid, well I was seventeen, and soon off to college and I had a boyfriend. Had Danny Steel been my boyfriend? Really been my boyfriend? Oh we'd known each other from when we were kids. His dad died when he was eight and my mum left when I was eleven so we each understood that feeling of being left behind.

I smiled at those shared memories. He'd certainly introduced me to beer and wine and making love, your first time. His too he'd admitted which was a shock since he always had the girls gathered about; his laughing face and curly hair and magic ways such a magnet to the pretty girls.

What happened was nearly an accident. His mum had gone down to Newquay to see a sick cousin leaving him home. So that day after school he invited you out for a walk, which you took and it started to rain so you rushed back to his house.

I shook my head at the foolishness of young love (well it was sex and not love but I didn't know that then), the snogging, fumbling in the dark and finally the shagging. It felt odd, funny really, to be in someone else's house in his bed, but… well, it happened. And I was _so_ happy at least for a couple of weeks. I liked Danny, not enough to marry someday, but _someday_ was a long way off.

So that afternoon one thing led to another and he did have a condom handy so it was safe and lovely. Then he had to go after that witch Allison and she _was_ the sort that shagged and _told_ and then didn't I feel foolish?

I had learned right then that the practicalities of life could get in the way of the heart's yearnings.

Mum had followed her heart to Spain; all the fault of that very handsome Javier who cruised through Cornwall on an extended pub crawl. I didn't like him for he had helped to ruin my parent's marriage; not that it was on very stable ground anyway.

But that summer, my summer before college when mum came back and wanted you to go to Spain? Javier was with her on her return and he seemed very smooth, oily and slick, and I didn't like the way he undressed me with his eyes.

So it was up to London for me, per plan, and to college to be a teacher.

Plans. My baby kicked to remind me it was here, here and know and coming soon.

Will Baker was not part of plan, not on my radar, a brief interlude. He wanted what I could not give. Oh I might have settled for him, or someone like him, but it would have been false and I hated dishonesty.

I did not look back at Will as I left him on the sidewalk. He was the past, like Danny Steel, or even Holly. Not dead and gone just done.

Maybe that was my problem? I wanted to be in my village but I _couldn't_ stay there with Martin. It hurt me too much; tore my heart away every time I saw him in the market or up the street, no matter the harsh words he might utter. Because… because he was _Martin_.

But I knew we'd mess it up – together. So I had to leave him. Sold my car to get cash for the move, quit my job, rented my house to the new Head Master of the school, and in less than five weeks I was in London, in a tiny bedsit, with a new job, but by myself, and puking my guts up every morning.

I hadn't wanted to get pregnant and then be single. But… the baby kicked and I held it softly… it was here - would be here and I was its mum; now and forever. And if Martin could or would be a father to it? Only the future might say.

Will thought he was falling in love with me? Could a few looks and two dinners do that to a man?

Maybe that's what happened to me and Martin?

I shook myself. Well, come what may someday Martin would find out he was a father, but not just yet. Maybe Monday I'd call him. Give me another day to tell the man that I loved that he was a father.

But I knew it would never be Will Baker because he _wasn't_ Martin.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Monday lunch time I bolted my sandwich, carrot sticks and a gherkin, washed it down with a carton of milk then retreated to the teacher's loo. I closed the door behind me and beheld at my mobile after making sure no one was using the facilities.

"Now or never, Louisa," I muttered. I brought up the contact list scrolled down until I saw MARTIN"S OFFICE. I tapped the icon and the number appeared, the phone icon highlighted ready to dial.

My watch showed it was 11:50, and I knew Martin stopped for lunch from noon to one. But I had to call now for I was slated to monitor playground time today. The weather had improved a bit so the kids were getting fifteen minutes to run about in the puddles on the macadam play yard.

"Okay," I said aloud. "Make it short and to the point."

I took a deep breath, stroked the button and my mobile started dialing.

I wrestled with this moment for too long; far too long and I was ashamed, no, _humiliated_ to be in this spot.

Louisa Glasson was waiting for the right man to come along, not that I hadn't actually sought them out for I had. Oh I had one or two flings – uhm, fling was too strong a word. The most serious was Dave from college. He was a history major, two years older, with a good head on his shoulders. We dated for months, it wasn't that serious; I knew it and he knew it.

When Isobel Brown, my bridesmaid said to me (on my wedding day), "Oh you think you will just settle. Right?" I thought of Dave for whom I thought I was ready to settle.

Dave had a bad temper and sometimes he might forget we had made plans for the weekend. But then he'd apologize, he had schoolwork to do, or he and his football mates decided to play an extra game and he was too tired, etc… The excuses were varied.

After one of these ruined dates, it was Holly who said to me, "Lou, you have to realize, he's just not that into you. Not as much as you care about for him."

It was like being told that your best mate only liked you because you always stood them to drinks in the pub.

So I was starting to feel used being with him, but the decision got made for us.

We were eating Italian one night and had to plans to go see a play. I'd made us a simple meal on the two-burner cooker. Suddenly his mobile went off, so he stopped speaking to me and answered it.

He listened intently then said into it, "At the platform? Early. On my way." He hung up. "Have to go."

"What's going on?"

He already had stood and was pulling on his jacket. "Me and the boys…"

"Dave! We made plans! What about our tickets!"

He looked away. "Luv, you go; without me."

"But Dave!"

He looked down at me. "Louisa not that interested in seeing a bloody play."

"Oh? So you'd rather be drinking with your mates?"

That stopped him. His shoulders slumped. "Louisa, I… know this girl."

"Ah. I see."

"She's from Leeds and she told me she might be coming down tonight. She's here. Now."

My stomach lurched. "Oh. A girl." Dave was from Leeds, I knew.

"Ah, more of a… an old friend."

I rose and crossed my arms getting the picture. "Friend as in _girlfriend_?"

He blushed. "I… we broke it off… months back."

"Broke it off – you and _your_ girlfriend."

He nodded his eyes darting nervously about. "Yeah."

"Not a girlfriend then? More of a… _fiancée_?" I said for it had that vibe.

He stared down at his boots. "It _was_ over. Honest it was, but she called me about a month back. And…" he sighed. "We talked and I told her I'd see her… uhm... if she came down."

All I could see was red. It all fit. So I was the convenient girl in London – the one who put out. "_Fine_, Dave," I hissed, "You _do_ that. Go SEE her!" I sat back down and scooped up a forkful of my spaghetti.

He came back to the table. "I'm sorry."

I lowered my fork not being brave enough to look at him. "Dave… you had _better_ go and right now."

Holly was right – boy was she right – and I never saw Dave again.

Waiting for the telephone to be answered on the other end, this must have been how Dave's friend felt when she was calling him after they had ended things.

The baby rolled and stretched it was so sudden and sharp I almost dropped my mobile, grabbing the sink for support.

There! A _click_! I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself.

"Portwenn Surgery!" Pauline Lamb screeched in my ear.

Suddenly my throat locked and I couldn't get any air.

"Hello?" she asked. "Al Large if this is you playin' games…"

All my thoughts of what I was going to say such as 'May I please speak to Martin?' went in a flash.

"Hello?" Pauline tried again but I couldn't speak.

Stage fright it's called but I wasn't on the stage but no, it was the stage of _my life_.

Shakespeare put in in _As You Like it_:

_All the world's a stage,  
And all the men and women merely players.  
They have their exits and their entrances_

This was my entrance, or re-entrance, perhaps having exited in Act 2 and now in Act 3 was about to come back on from the wings.

Martin didn't call me, or try to, as far as I knew. We were over as far as he was concerned, but knowing him as I did he would presume that if I left for London, without a word (which was true) we were done. Finito, the end, drop the curtain the play is over.

So why would he expect me to contact him now? The reason was growing under my ribs.

"Hello?" Pauline tried one more time. "Listen! If this is one of you little creeps playing a trick on the Doc and me when I find you you're gonna _get it_!"

Before I could make a sound, she slammed down the handset.

Before I could move, or even consider calling Martin back on his mobile, the loo door opened and Audrey came in.

I must have looked a fright. "Louisa? Oh my dear what _is_ the matter?" she asked and took my arm.

I shook my head. "It's fine, I'm fine," I said to her.

She peered at me for a moment then hugged me. "No it's not. Want to talk about it?"

"_No_, I have to get to the play yard."

Audrey didn't let me go though and when she put her motherly arms about me I felt the slow trickle of tears down my face turn from seepage into a flood.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

I thought of myself as a strong person, that is I tried to be or worse I had to be when it counted. But what good was that strength if I couldn't call on it when I needed it?

Audrey took me to the nurse's office and closed the door behind us.

"Miss Glasson is not feeling very well at the moment," she told the crusty school nurse. "She needs a few minutes to compose herself."

Nurse Barnes turned her eagle-like visage at me as Audrey eased me down on a small sofa in the office. The nurse shook her head. "Well, put her there," she said with as much emotion as someone might say 'put the post on the table,' but I suspect she had seen too much drama in that small room.

So I slumped there with head in hands, not crying really, _shattered_ really; like my nerves had been torn apart. This was _all_ my fault – not getting pregnant, for that took two and it _was_ unintended. No, this gap between me and Martin _was_ my fault and at times I felt like that gap was getting as deep as the dream chasm that that swallowed me once upon a time. *

I could have stayed in touch – called him once a month, but I hadn't planned on it. It would have hurt me too much – in fact it never quit hurting.

I still wanted Martin – but on my terms – I wanted him to change; to be nice, smoother, more, well… reasonable. But that would have not been fair and I had no right to force it or even to expect it. If he tried to change me I knew I'd fight him like a tiger; so no.

So here I was and he was… there – in Portwenn, my home.

Audrey handed me some tissues. "The kids will be off the play yard in twenty minutes," she whispered. "Can you pull yourself together by then?"

I blew my nose loudly. "Have to." Real life was always on a bloody timetable.

"Are you sick?" Nurse asked. "Need a basin? Most who sit there do."

Audrey came to my rescue. "She's not _sick_, you stupid _cow_! But she is _very_ upset."

Nurse pushed Audrey away and knelt down so she could look at my weepy face. "Mrs. Pickles get outta my space and I'll take care of her. _Now!_"

Audrey patted my shoulder my shoulder and left.

Nurse gave me another tissue. "Now… what's this about?"

"I'm pregnant…"

"Can see that girl. Not blind."

"And…"

"And? You're upset about it?"

"No."

When dad came home and read mum's note he went outside for a while and smoked a cigarette. I was cowering inside teary-eyed, wondering what was going to happen. How could mum leave? And who was Javier? After a few minutes dad came back inside and washed his face at the sink then dried himself. He took out a skillet, opened a can of beans and poured them into the pan after the cooker had been coaxed to life. "Set the table Louisa and make toast."

"But dad, what about mum?"

He smiled a crooked smile. "We'll eat then we'll talk." He barely seemed upset she was gone.

So in a bit we ate beans on toast and I drank a glass of milk and dad had a cup of reheated coffee. After we did the washing up which took less than two minutes, he sat me down at table. "Louisa, here's the thing… mum has… gone… _away_… for a while," he said, his voice cracking.

"Will mum come back?" I asked but I sensed his answer.

"Don't know."

"But why? Dad why?" And that's when I started to cry.

Dad sighed then looked at the ceiling, but he shook himself, and handed me his handkerchief. "Dry your tears my lovely girl. Crying won't fix this."

But I didn't feel very lovely. "Is it… is it…"

"Just ask it Louisa."

"But where? Where's she gone?"

"Oh somewhere warm I suspect. She always said the winter wind cut to her bones."

"Dad?"

He was running his finger around in circles on the table. "Hmm?"

"Who's Javier?"

"A man." The way he said it told me that if this Javier person was here Dad would fight him. Dad was short but strong.

"Oh?" It hit me then. "And mum…" I had to take a deep breath. "She's with him? Now?"

He gazed at me for a long time. "The way of the world dear girl."

"But go get her! Bring her back!"

He laughed long and hard. "Oh Louisa, if I dragged her back kicking and screaming, what good would that do? I'd have to tie her up to keep her here now."

I stood up and glared at him. "But dad! You're married! You and mum…" I gulped. "But dad!"

He stood up and hugged me tightly. "She don't want _me_, Louisa… she wants." He stopped and after a long wait went on. "Remember your granny had that little bird?"

I remembered a little goldfinch the size of my tiny hand. "Yeah. It flew away. She left the door open."

He nodded and I felt the bristles on his face catch in my hair. "Mum's _a bird_ Louisa… and she _hates_ cages."

So we were a cage for mum? I was only eleven but that made sense to me. I knew she had been unhappy for a long time. "So… is it because of us?"

That made dad laugh long and hard. "Little bit. Eleanor _hates_ being responsible." He held me away and he grinned. "Me and you though – we're _different_. We're the sort that want, no need, things to be sorted; ordered." He looked around our messy kitchen and squared his shoulders. "You done your homework?"

"Did a lot in school. Just some reading later. Bedtime."

He smiled in just a certain way and I always remember that smile when things got hard. He peered around the kitchen. "Now, Louisa, let's get this tip squared away."

Get the tip squared away… that was it. I was in the tip and I didn't know how to clear it away.

Nurse Barnes handed me another tissue and stayed squatting down at my feet. "Mrs. Pickles mentioned you got a man down in Cornwall."

"No. He's not mine. And just for your information I am NOT upset that I am pregnant. I _chose_ to have my baby. But, I will say, uhm that _I _left him and then I came up to London."

Came to London, Louisa? No, more like _ran_ away. Bloody hell just like mum. Had Portwenn turned into a cage and Martin my jailer?

She sniffed. "Heard you were engaged to this bloke."

"Yeah… and…" I grinned. "You can see we… uhm…" my hand went to my bump. "This was _not_ planned."

"Right." She moved back to her chair.

I wiped at my eyes. "I was trying to call him."

"And he snubbed you? Bastard."

He snubbed me? Quite the opposite. "Something like that."

Nurse went to the sink and gave me a damp washcloth. "Just lean back, put this on your forehead and rest. Right? Give it ten minutes and you'll feel like a new woman."

A new woman? I rather liked the old one. But this new version of Louisa Glasson took some getting used to. It was more than an exploding belly, sore baps, aching back, and an ever full bladder. Something was coming my way, being not just a utero-mum, but a mum in truth with another human being depending on me for everything.

In some ways that scared me a lot more than being afraid to talk to Martin.

But I did choose to have this baby and I was still trying to convince myself that I could be happy keeping it from Martin. So perhaps that was why I broke down crying?

I had to be strong - _had_ to be...

**Notes:**

**Tip – a garbage dump; a place where garbage and refuse is disposed of**

*** - At the beginning of Series 2, Louisa dreamed that an outing picnic with Martin was ruined by an earthquake. In that dream he saved her from plummeting into a huge chasm.**


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

I needed to find a larger place, also buy a baby cot, and a pram, plus find a baby minder for when I went back to work when summer holidays ended. The mental list was long but right at the top was item number one and I winced when I steered too close to it.

Sometimes I wanted to go back and start over.

I had a nice life, well ordered, fun sometimes, a job, a school rule book, and codes of behavior. I was in a place where I could thrive and do more than just survive, but live. I was home, well, I had been in Wales for a while, but had been back teaching in my village when it all changed.

Along came this man and he was arrogant, brash, and a know-it-all, but the village needed him for he was our new GP.

Why hadn't I fought harder during the interview? Why didn't I protest louder and longer? Not that it would have done any good, I knew for the rest of them were so pleased to have him. Best I could do was to warn them that any damage he did was on their heads.

So our new GP was irritating, but… here I would stop as I rolled things over in my mind… but a _brilliant_ doctor _even if_ his manners were _lacking_. But I watched as he sliced open poor Peter Cronk and practically stick his whole hand inside the incision and saved the little boy's life; kept him from bleeding out from a ruptured spleen. That ruptured spleen was an accident but one that I had helped to happen by encouraging Peter to get involved in PE. He got hurt and would have died but for Martin.

So yes, Martin _was_ rude and brash, awkward as well, but a genius because I still had two good eyes due to his medical astuteness and one of my student's was still on this earth.

I sighed, remembering his uncomfort in the taxi, and mine, until I grabbed his hand and threw myself at him trying to suck his lips off. But for that crack about bad breath I'd likely have taken Martin to bed that very morning.

But fate was messing with us for Danny Steel came back to wedge himself between us for too long. Then there was our wedding day filled with disasters and bad omens. The florist got arrested and all the flowers were locked away, the vicar fell and got a broken hip, Bert and Al worked very hard, as they do, mucking up our reception. Meanwhile I was eating myself inside worrying, about Martin, and about me, and about us.

If we'd have got married then all the wisecracks would be nudging and winking thinking the Doc and Louisa had it off on their wedding night and boom she got up the duff straight away. All would have been well – hidden away – just a little secret that we got pregnant before the wedding and perhaps the two of us might not have known either.

Would I be any happier if I'd married him in the fall? I always heard my dad say that we can choose to be happy. Even in the darkest times if we decided 'this is not that bad' we could get on, make do, keep plowing ahead with dogged _determination_. But that's how dad lived his life and I suppose I had done so as well.

Determination. Yes _that_ was it. Get on with it; do your best, a best effort. Maybe not make you happy but you could move ahead.

I got through the rest of that Monday keeping a half-smile plastered on my lips thinking that if I could only be determined, stay determined, then all would be right.

The baby was kicking down below and the kids would giggle when I stopped and felt it putting my hand down there.

"Baby coming now Miss?" one of my girls, Tonya Fields, asked.

"No. All's well, now in the quadratic equation…" I went back to writing the equation on the board.

"But Miss what you going to do when it comes?"

I turned away from the chalkboard knowing it was a ploy of hers to avoid the math. "Tonya, all in good time."

Sally Ferguson raised her hand. "Yes Sally?"

"But when?"

"Summer holidays. Now back to this equation. Derrick?" I called on one of the slackers in the back row. "How can we take this equation, separate out the terms and use the quadratic equation to find the roots?"

He mumbled something into his hand and the boys nearby laughed.

I slowly set down the chalk and marched back there. "Yes? You were saying?" I said in my best and iciest teacher's voice.

He sheepishly looked at me. "Nuthin."

"Are you being snarky with me? Making a joke?"

His face went white. "Sorry Miss Glasson."

I stared at him. "This is my class and I will _not_ have any of this sort of behavior. Right?"

He slowly nodded. "Yes Miss."

I looked around at my other students. "Just so we understand one another. This is mathematics. It is not play time or PE." I slowly went back to the board. "Derrick come up here."

When he arrived I handed him the chalk. "Solve the equation for us?"

He slouched at the board and gave me a dirty look, so I took him by the arm and marched him to the hall. "Derrick, explain yourself." Derrick Platt was twelve years old, and a handful. His mum had written one of the nasty letters and hers was one of the most venomous – filled with misspellings as I recalled.

He tried to dig a hole in the lino with his shoe. "Uhm…"

"Out with it."

He sighed. "My mum says you're not a _fit_ teacher."

"Oh, does she?"

"She and some other ladies, Tom's mom, and Joey's too they're saying the same."

I stiffened for a cold breeze had sprung up. "_Whatever_ they were saying let's keep it out of class, yes? And I'm sure they were just talking; parents do that."

He stared at me for a minute. "I don't think that Miss G. I mean…"

Miss G, that's what some of the nicer kids in Portwenn School called me.

He added, "I mean, you're teaching me math, right? I think I'm starting to get it."

"Your marks _have_ improved. But I wish you'd turn in your homework on time."

"Sorry. But what I can't figure is why some of the parents don't like you? I mean. What's havin' a baby got to do with how you teach?"

That cool breeze suddenly turned into a frigid gale. "Let's go back to the board and we'll work on the quadratic equation together. Right?"

He let out a small sigh. "Okay. But I will get stuck."

"I'll help you. Now no more gossiping please?"

He looked up sheepishly. "Sorry Miss Glasson."

We went back to the board and worked on mathematics while my mind was racing.

That afternoon Jimmy Spencer came in grumbling. "What's your problem?" He wasn't whistling which was not a good sign I thought.

"Oh the Harpie's blowing up again; got me pretty good today when I asked why she switched cleaning supplies. This new floor soap she's buying is _rubbish_ – doesn't move a bit of crud."

"Perhaps a new supplier. Costs are always dear for a school, especially a large one like this."

He coughed mightily then said. "No, same supplier. I talked to the delivery lady. Just a cheaper brand. One-third the cost she told me."

"Well perhaps she thinks cost savings is appropriate."

He grunted as he pushed on his mop scrubbing at a stubborn spot. "Well it's making a hell of a lot, sorry, Miss, of _extra_ work for one bloke - _me_."

I watched as he worked quite hard and worked up a sweat which I'd never seen him do. "Don't wear yourself out."

He laughed. "What can I do?"

I nodded. What could any of us do? Clearly something was going on for we'd all been put on a strict ration of paper using the office copier, the coffee in the staff lounge had risen to a £1.50 and tea was £1 when it had been half that before, causing much grumbling. And now the soap was a less expensive and effective type, making poor Jimmy kill himself.

"Look," he pointed at the spot he'd been scrubbing. "Two bloody minutes and that stain will not move."

I dutifully looked at it and agreed. "Doesn't look clean does it?"

"No Miss, it sure as hell, sorry, ain't."

Just then Gene Saunders stuck his head in the door and he seemed agitated. "Mr. Spencer I thought you cleaned my room."

"I did Mr. Saunders."

"Well I think it looks worse than before. Do it again will you? Hello Miss Glasson."

"Hello."

He walked in skirting puddles. "How are you?"

"Fine. Can I help you?" I didn't know Gene very well, other than from staff functions.

"Done for the day? Perhaps we might walk out together."

"Not quite finished here…"

"We need to talk," he whispered, "and I think we ought to be away from the school when we do it."

"About what?"

He looked over at Jimmy who was now scrubbing the floor like mad. Gene lowered his gravelly voice to a low tone. "Penelope is not happy with a number of people, including me."

"Why are telling me this?"

"We ought to go. Get your coat." He walked towards the door. "Come on then."

I got my handbag, satchel and coat. "You'll be alright Jimmy?"

He was now red in the face. "Got it! Right. Just need a lot more elbow grease."

"For heaven's sake… uhm just take care."

"I will, Miss G. G'night." He turned to the door. "Goodnight Mr. Saunders."

Gene waved. "Good Lord man, don't kill yourself. It's just a floor and forget what I said about my room. I'll not have you drop dead over it!"

I went to Gene and told him. "Mr. Spencer doesn't like the floor soap he's been given."

Gene laughed. "Wait until you try the latest consignment of loo-paper. It'll tear your hide off it's so cheap and rough." He stopped startled at what he'd said. "Just… uhm… letting you know."

I followed him outdoors and the gray skies of the last few weeks had broken into blue sky with spotty clouds. I felt my mood lighten just being in the late afternoon sunshine. "What's this about?" I asked when we got off school grounds.

He looked down at my rotundity. "Can you walk? I mean…'

"It's fine."

"There's a little park 'round the way. Benches. Let's go there."

He led me two blocks to a pocket park tucked between three buildings. "This was a bomb site from the War. Never rebuilt it – hundreds died you see."

I saw a marble column across the square. "Oh dear." I had seen this on my trips to school but had never ventured in. It was about a quarter city block square, edged by a quiet street and three office blocks.

Gene waved his arms. "All this was a large aid station and shelter – took a direct hit – a V2. Then the fires did the rest."

London had many spots like this where citizens gave their lives. "Terrible."

He nodded. "My great-uncle told me about it. He was a warden during all that. Helped to pull them out; and not many survived" He sighed. "Let's have a rest." He pointed to nearby bench so I sat and he took the spot next to me. "I like this place. Trees and that fountain, these benches; a nice respite from the city."

He was right. We were far enough away from the major nearby street it was quieter. I felt myself relax after the meltdown at noon. "Now, Mr. Saunders, what _is_ going on?"

He looked straight at me. "Harper has a list and I saw it while she was ripping me about my student's marks. You and me; a lot of others on it."

"Did the same to me but it was when I was marking their _actual_ performance not what my predecessor Mr. George was writing down. He was making it all up. They all were star students according to him. But not. So, Mr. Saunders why now?"

He smiled first time I think I'd seen him do that. "Call me Gene, if you would."

"Alright. Louisa."

"Fine Louisa, our Penny's been playing this game more frequently. She does it about every two years just before she's ready to bump up the school tuition."

"Really." I knew the fees were quite high already not that is was reflected in my pay. "Can she do that?"

"The Board of Governors are all retired teachers – _her_ teachers – and the school accounting firm is owned by her cousin. It's a very tidy setup you see and Harper holds all the cards."

"What have the student's marks got to do? Oh _right_. If she can show the kids are getting superb marks it is part of her justification for higher school fees!"

"Got it one, but you are smart." He sighed. "You're new to our oh-so-tidy little school and I thought I ought to warn you."

"But if she's jiggering us, and the student's marks, why suddenly are school supplies in short supply? Like our strict ration to use the copier; putting it under lock and key?"

Gene smiled and leaned back. "Oh the beauty of it! It works both ways. While dear Penny is pumping up the marks, or trying to by leaning on _us_, she'll be increasing the tuition, while she's also cutting down the expenses."

"And the money? Lining her pockets?"

"Right," he laughed. "Audrey heard the Harpie on her mobile the other day talking to an agent about buying _another_ home in Barbados. An expensive home – nothing but the best for her."

It hit me like a thunderbolt. "That rat!"

"Yes," he sighed. "And we my dear math teacher are square in the middle of her putrid nest."

"But how can she pressure you? You've worked at the school for years."

"I've been able to resist her for a long time, but… now… now she's got me by the pension and you're on a short-term contract, am I right? So she can hold that over your head."

"Bloody hell," I muttered.

Gene nodded. "Oh indeed."

**Notes:**

**Quadratic equation – I have been bugging you with this, so here goes. When the student is trying to solve an equation such as: A X^2 + B X + C = zero, what is X? **

**X^2 denotes X squared or X times X and A, B, and C are the **_**terms**_** of the equation**

**The solution is X = [ -B +/- (Square root of (B^2 – 4 A C) ) ] all divided by 2 A**

**Most of the difficulty comes from turning an equation such as: **

**(X + 4) (X - 1) = zero into X^2 + 3X – 4 = zero **

**So then the terms are A = 1, B = 3, C = -4**

**which can be plugged into the quadratic equation for solution.**

**by the way… X = -4 and X = +1  
**


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

"Yeah?" Stu MacKenzie answered his mobile with a growl.

"Stu… uhm… this is Louisa, Louisa Glasson. Sorry to call you so late."

"Louisa! My heavens girl! This _is_ a surprise! How are you?"

"Fine thanks and you?"

"Middlin' you know. These early spring storms been making my bones ache. But I'm thinkin' that's not why you called. How can I help? How's London? You keeping fine?"

"Yes," I told him. "But… well I was calling to pick your brains."

"Ha! Not much left up there any more but you can try!"

I sighed. "When you were one of our school Governors I always knew I could count on you."

"Somethin' wrong?"

"No, no, not with _your_ school."

"Well I'm not on the Portwenn School Board any more but I heard our new Head Master's a handful. _Bloody awful_ some are sayin'. I wish you were back _down here_ and not _up there_. I even heard people muttering that other day in the market."

I bit my lip. I hadn't met Mr. Strain, only knowing his name from the lease papers for my house, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. "I _know_ I left in a rush and the school was left wanting. The man likely needs time to settle in, is all. He's only been there a short while."

"No he's shite all." Stu sighed deeply. "Miss Glasson it was right terrible what happened between you and the Doc and I feel terrible for you; both of you. Wish I coulda done somethin' for ya; you and the Doc comin' apart like that. But this Mr. Strain…"

I didn't call to talk about me and Martin. "Yes, thanks for sayin' that, but that's not why I called you."

"I had to visit the Doc for this cold of mine last week and he looked _miserable_, but he always does! Miserable grumpy bugger. But you don't want to hear about Doc Martin anymore, now do you? So out with it then. Why _have_ you called?"

Martin looked miserable? Did he feel as badly as I did or it was his usual irritable self? My turn to sigh. "I've got a bit of an issue up here in London at the new school." I explained how the Head Mistress was bollixing things up for her financial gain.

"That's a _rum_ job," he muttered. "Go to your Board, Louisa, straight away! Tell 'em what's goin' on!"

"That's the _thing_; you see they're all her people – _her_ toadies."

He laughed. "Well then you are _banged_, pardon the word. Unless?"

"Yes?" I had been banged (how I hated that word) and the biological result was growing bigger every day.

"The way I see it, there's two ways then – the press or the parents. One is sort of slimy – the press – but I can't see you feeling too good about that, knowin' you as I do."

I laughed. "Not exactly my style. Not quite my style."

"I don't suppose an anonymous letter to the papers about things goin' wrong would do much. So then tell the parents, quiet like for I don't think your Head will be much pleased if you she finds you lighting a fire under her arse!"

Stu confirmed just what I was thinking. "Thank you Stu. I knew I would get good counsel from you."

He grunted. "Oh, I don't know much. But you can bet this woman will be _very_ angry if someone upsets her apple cart."

"Yeah, she won't get her new house in the Caribbean."

"So you be careful, hear? If you're trying to stop her doin' what she's done before, then you might be in for a world of hurt. Caribbean?"

"Barbados I was told."

"That's her game? Bloody hell and here and I'm freezing my bum off these last weeks and some sorts have their eyes set on white sand, palm trees, and warm sunshine. Damn."

I looked around my bedsit and it needed a good sorting and washing up. "Thanks for the advice."

"Perhaps you can sorta' mention it to one or two parents and let them carry the ball. Have to be selective. In the Navy they'd call it mutiny but in your school?"

"Insubordination. But that is an idea. Thank you."

"Any time, any time. And you are faring well? Never could stand London myself. Too crowded."

"I'm…" the baby kicked me and I lurched, "fine. I am believe me"

"Really? You don't sound fine to me Louisa. Under a lot of strain I'm thinking. But if London's getting you down you oughta' come for a visit. Everybody would be so happy to see you."

I knew one in particular who would be gobsmacked. "Thanks for saying that Stu."

He laughed. "Why would I lie? I bet even the Doc would be surprised."

"Right." And he won't be jumping for joy. "One other thing?"

"Sure. Name it."

"Don't tell anyone we talked; about my school thing."

"Righto. Got it. And likewise about goings on down here."

"Of course. Goodbye Stu. Nice talking to you."

"Anytime Louisa. Anytime at all. Goodnight."

I put my mobile down nodding at what Stu had told me. "You are so right Stu and it's just what I was thinking."

After my talk with Gene I had been very worried, on top of my thing that day at noon, but by the next day I felt better. That is I felt better about myself _and_ about school.

"Right," I said to myself. "Got to get the parents in the know but gently. At the same time, ought to be considering moving to a new school, at least for the Fall Term." Knowing what I knew I couldn't work for Harper after this year. Her behavior made me mad for a school is about learning, education for the betterment of students for a school was prepping them for _their_ future, and should not be a vehicle to enrich a bank account.

I felt Glasson determination growing as surely as the baby was growing in me.

"Right. Got a plan now do it," which is what my granny used to say. "It might not work out quite the way you want it, and you might have to change along the way, but it's better than twiddling your thumbs fretting."

I thought back to my school – Portwenn. It was not perfect by any means but I felt it was mine; that is I had stewardship of it for the kids, their parents, and the village. I was proud of my work there, unlike the mess that was building at North London Prep Academy.

The kids came in every morning – happy, giggling, well as happy as primary schoolers can be being herded into class when they'd rather be larking about outside.

My sink was full of dishes, there was a pile of folded but clean, laundry on the sofa, the cooker was a bit crusty from a boil over, and the stack of bills on the table was glaring at me. Not to mention my unmade bed, dirty knickers on the floor next to the clothes hamper, and the general state of despair and disarray that suffused my room.

I took one look at the mess, sneered at it, then slipped into my coat, took up my handbag and went for a walk.

London was quiet that evening, for the tourists hadn't started their annual descent with the warmer weather. I looked around the empty street and set off away from my usual way. Isn't it funny that even in a large city, or a small village, we can get into a rut?

I usually went right out my door up past the market to the Tube and away to school, or skirted the Underground Station and made a big circle, more of a square. Tonight though, I turned left going into a neighborhood much nicer than mine with cleaner buildings, actual trees along the streets, giving a sense of a more genteel London.

The sun had gone so early evening it was and as I crossed streets, dodging cars and cars, it took me a while to realize what I was seeking. No matter how far I went, even if I took the Tube down to the Thames, I'd not smell the sea.

The sea was always at my doorstep, practically, and if the house faced the other way, you could still smell it, feel the breezes off it, and hear waves. All I heard now was traffic, two horns honking at each other somewhere, plus the high-pitched wah-wah of a police siren engineered to eat into your brain. Or it might be an ambulance or a fire crew saving someone.

I stopped and rested my head against a tree and feeling the rough bark, smelled the scent of sap. It wasn't the ocean and a tree never could substitute for the salty tang in the air, the way you can taste it in a storm, the way…

Hell. I wanted to sit on my back terrace and look down over the harbor, have a glass of wine, and watch the gulls soaring. I wanted…

I wanted to be home and I realized that no matter how much I pretended or wanted it London _never_ would be.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

The OB nurse looked sharply from the sphygmomanometer (others would call it a blood pressure gauge but I knew the proper word) to me.

"Problem?" I asked when I saw her concerned look.

"Pressure is a bit high this morning. Have you been under stress?"

We say stress but we ought to say strain. I once dated a fellow in school who was in pre-engineering and he'd explained that strain is a determination of the actual deformation of something, like stretching a rubber band, while the word stress is a measure of the forces inside that rubber band.

Before I could reply she added, "Not that unusual at 21 weeks to be under stress – the baby more than halfway along – work, home and so on. When I was having my kids I was on bed rest as my BP went too high, but that was late stage. So, is there anything that is bothering you? Beyond just the pregnancy is there anything else?"

The pregnancy; it sounded so clinical, like talking to Martin. The case, the patient, the wound… I stopped myself. "Oh, you know. Work and everything."

"Well you must rest more. Pace yourself."

I nearly laughed. Pace myself? What with the normal school day and tutoring four kids after I was always busy and staying up late last night to tidy the bed sit was not exactly restful. It had felt good to put things to rights though; no matter I got to bed late.

"But you have been eating well? Weight gain is perfect."

One of the few times a woman's weight gain was both expected and appropriate, although I hated to think I had gained a just over ¾ of a stone.* But eleven pounds? God. And how many more to go? Fifteen or twenty pounds? The baby books said 25 to 35 lbs was normal. I shuddered for I'd seen photos of huge mums who had gained three of even four stone; far too much. Thank the lord I wasn't having twins.

But… and now I went into Martin speak… stress in this case is a reaction of an organism to a _stressor_ or an environmental change which causes ones physiology to react; which is what most would call stress. We had studied stressors in college, part of teacher's ed., about how children can be affected by home. Things like violence, depression, parents out of work, all the usual. Illness in the family, parents separated… I touch my belly, which filled me side to side and from my crotch to well above my belly button.

Sorry, baby. Sorry you don't know your dad. Separated parent – I _was_ one. "I… have been under stress; at my school," I answered.

"That's _right_ you are a teacher. I thought about that but nursing called instead." She smiled. "Why don't you rest for a few minutes and we'll take it again? Would you like some water?"

Considering my bladder was magically full once more, "No."

The nurse left so I lay there staring at the ceiling tiles thinking they ought to at least put a painting up there.

So after I fretted for couple minutes, the door opened and Dr. Spears walked in with the nurse. "Miss Glasson, good morning."

"Hello."

"Feeling fine?"

"Yes." I didn't like the look on her face or the tone of voice. "Something wrong?"

"Katie says your BP might be a little high. Let's take it again." She did the test and chewed her lip. "You're thirty-seven?" She gloved up and examined me down there. "Relax."

Easy to hear that word and not to do it, but I tried.

She put the instrument down and smiled. "All looks lovely. You can sit up. Let me take your blood pressure once more."

She did it while the nurse looked at the wall-mounted gauge. "Right." The doc turned to the computer and stared at the numbers then typed on the keyboard. "Not too bad, but I think you ought to watch your salt intake." She looked down at my bare feet and ankles. "Swelling when you stand?" She poked and prodded from toes to ankles.

"I teach so I _have_ to stand at the chalkboard a long while. I have noticed a bit at end of day though."

She nodded. "Sit when you can, wear loose shoes, and no tight hose. Can you use a chair when you write at the board?"

"Perhaps I could use a stool?" I could likely get one from Jimmy; had to be one about.

She smiled. "Good idea. You and your baby are doing fine." She shook my hand. "Keep up the good work."

I tried to relax. "You're sure?"

Dr. Spears smiled. "Your weight gain is on track for your pregnancy, everything else looks good, but what say you come back in two weeks?'

Fear hit me. "Then something _is_ wrong."

"No, no. I'll just want to monitor your BP."

"I um, hard to take time off – school, uhm, my boss can be a bit of a tyrant."

"Because you are pregnant? That's illegal!"

"No, she gets all spikey, uhm, _prickly_." I saw the nurse grinning behind the doctor's back. "Bosses can be that way sometimes."

Dr. Spears pursed her lips. "I can give you a form and you could have your school nurse make the measurement. Would that be better? She can fax it over, if that's alright with you." She turned to the nurse. "Katie, give Miss Glasson the BP record form as well as the permission form for her nurse to do the test and see the results."

I smiled. "That would be so useful, thanks."

"If you feel dizzy, or light headed, sit down and contact us."

I nodded. "Got it."

She smiled at me. "We'll let you get dressed than back to work, shall we?"

In short order I was back on the pavement and off to school, rushing as I'd said I'd only be an hour and half late. I ran into the station and just as I got down to the platform the train left. "Damn."

"Be another in soon," a businessman holding a briefcase said to me. He looked at his wristwatch. "Barely nine."

"Late for work already."

He smiled. "No need to rush so, uhm, in your condition."

I waddled to a bench on the platform and tried to calm down. The train would be here soon enough and I'd get to the school. I had been thinking about which parent I might contact. "Frieda!" I snapped my fingers.

"Pardon?" the man asked.

"Nothing."

He smiled. "Our daughter is having a baby. First grandchild."

"Right. Congrats."

"Thank you. Uhm, you?"

"First one," I answered. That was one of the problems with being pregnant; everyone knew it, could see it big as a house, so your belly became a magnet for comments. Was that what attached Will? "I'm sorry?" I said for I'd missed what he said next.

"Miracle of life," he repeated. A train was coming in but it wasn't mine. "Take care then. Best of luck," he said then went to the train and was gone.

Luck – I'd need it.

In the back of my mind I knew that if I was still with Martin, or that he knew I was pregnant AND my blood pressure was elevated, he'd be bombarding me with questions. What had I eaten? Had I exercised? Was I watching my salt intake, avoiding alcohol, taking my vitamins…

I bit my lip knowing that was _his_ way of worrying; trying to manage things from a medical perspective.

But would he ask how I was feeling and _not_ have at its root an underlying question about medicine? Would he ask about my work? How were the students and their parents treating me? Did I get along with the other teachers? Or about my bedsit? What color were the wails?

I sighed while waiting for my train. I knew he'd not ask if I missed him or say that he missed me. He didn't do that; not ever. Even his professions of love had to lubricated with a bottle of red wine, with rather disappointing results. I sighed again at the lost chances.

There was no pill or treatment he might take to change him the way I'd want. Expecting him to be different for me wasn't fair to him, or to me. False pretenses; a deception and a huge presumption on my part to even think it.

Magical thinking would not change things. So here I was in London and on my own.

My train came to the platform; I stood, and headed to school.

**Notes:**

**Stone - in the UK they like to use this old measure of weight, ****stone****, which is equal to 14 pounds (lbs) or 6.3503 kilograms. [ Don't get me started on the whole kg ****weight**** versus kg ****mass**** thing! ]**

**A ¾ stone would be about 11 lbs.**


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Of course as soon as I arrived at school my blood pressure shot up for as I went down the hall to my room, I could hear Mrs. Harper yelling from inside. "No! NOOO! You're doing it wrong!" she was screeching so I expected a battle. I got one.

We had been working on 'the train problem.' Everybody hates those for they go like this: A train leaves Paddington Station going westbound at 50 miles per hour. At the same time another train leaves Bath heading east at 40 miles per hour. The track from Bath to London is 115 miles long. How long will it take for the trains to pass each other assuming that neither train stops along the way and maintains constant speed?

The problem type can use trains, buses, planes, rocket ships, anything that moves; even the hare and the tortoise. The kids hated these and since there are at least three methods to solve and it can get confusing. But it was the classic rate and time problem.

The thing was to get the students to think about how they can take the facts; speeds, distances, and time, and arrange them logically into equations. The most direct way is to add the speeds of the trains, giving the _relative_ speed and then divide by the distance. Of course the answer is just under 47 minutes.

Derrick Platt stood drooping at the board while Harper hung over him like a raptor about to swoop on a rabbit. "But Miss Glasson said…" he squeaked.

"I don't care _what_ she said. This is the way…" Harper yelled at him. Her hand flung out at scribbled notes on the board done in her hand; some table of what looked to me like the outmoded estimator-iteration method; what one of my professors called 'if in doubt guess.'

"Mrs. Harper?" I said as firmly as possible. "What is all this?"

Penny turned her angry face my way. "Oh! Here at _last_!" She cocked a hip and planted a fleshy hand on it. "Honestly! Late!"

I put my satchel and handbag and the desk and stripped off my coat. "I told Mrs. Pickles I had a doctor's appointment last week. You saw the note, for you initialed it. I thought the school temp would be here. Where is Mr. Rand by the way?" Rand was a semi-retired teacher who worked as our fill-in; a nice man if a bit dotty. I always set out worksheets for my students for him, but I'd not expected the Harpie to have swooped in.

Mrs. Harper puffed herself up. "Mr. Rand _no longer_ works here so _I_ have stepped in! In _your_ absence!"

That took me aback. Mr. Rand was sweet and unassuming; a bent-over man of seventy who retired long ago. "He's gone?"

"Yesterday, _if_ you'd not heard," she sniffed then turned her attention to Derrick who stood trembling, staring at the chalk in his hand like he'd never seen chalk and had no idea what to do with it. Trust Harper to pick one of my worst students.

"Now, young man," she said to him with venom, "continue your twaddle."

"Mrs. Harper! There is _no_ need to pick on _Derrick_," I whispered and her entire manner changed. "If you have a problem with me then say so."

"Oh _right_… I forgot," she said in a syrupy voice. "_Miss Glasson_ is teaching. Excuse _me_." She snatched the chalk out of Derrick's hand and slapped it into mine. "I shall leave," she said imperiously, "and leave you to it."

Her quick exit left a very startled and upset class looking from me to the door and back. I shook my head. "Ok class, since Mrs. Harper was _so good_ to review you…" I looked over at Derrick. "Take your seat Derrick."

"Yes, Miss," he said, lip trembling. "I _was_ doing it right."

"I know you were." I smiled at the class and tried to slow my thumping heart. "Good. Now." I cleared my throat and erased the confusing scribbles Harper had left on the board. "Let's review all the methods to solve these sorts."

I got into full teacher mode, reviewed what I'd taught (and the kids _did_ know it), and had two pairs of students go up to the board and work in teams to solve some problems. That gave me a chance to sit at my desk and try to get myself together.

It almost was like she had set me up. Mr. Rand would have had the kids do the work sheets and that would have been that. But clearly… things were afoot, as the famous detective would say.

I looked towards the hallway feeling rather how a soldier might feel under fire.

"Miss Glasson?" Tricia said from the board. "Is this right?" she pointed to the answer that she and Billy had derived on the board.

I smiled at her. "Yes it is. Perfectly. Good work."

My class was watching the clock which was nearing the hour. "Right. Let's clear away for the next lot."

I'd been asked to stay calm – reduce my stress levels. I watched as the kids switched rooms as they went to history and the next batch came in. Here we shipped the kids from room to room so I was facing my next maths lot.

"Morning Miss Glasson," they told me, seemingly ready to learn.

If only I was ready to teach.

I did the best I could, going over the material, collecting homework, answering questions, but in the back of my mind, I felt like a sandcastle on the beach about to pummeled by a very large wave. Bit by bit my underpinnings crumbled that day as my heart beat far too quickly and more than once I saw spots before my eyes.

The ocean now seemed very far away but I felt the need to feel seawater on my bare toes even if the water would be ice cold.

**Notes:**

**Haven't we all worked for a boss that was a total waste of oxygen? I did once upon a time.**

**"No! NOOO! You're doing it wrong!" is a direct quote from that person. Of course they were wrong, really, really wrong...  
**


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

End of that awful day Audrey came to me after the kids had gone. "I heard."

"Who didn't? So anyone else in the firing line today? I heard about Mr. Rand."

Audrey stood sadly by my desk. "Poor Mr. Rand got quite teary, for he came to me and turned in his key. He said he was sad but sadder for the rest of us."

"The rest of us?"

"What he said was at least the axe fell swiftly for him. He was worried about rest of our staff, see?"

I sighed as I tried to get piles of homework sorted but my hands were shaking.

Audrey reached out and took one holding it steady. "You're upset."

"Of course I'm upset! Sorry, Audrey. Not yelling at you."

She pursed her lips. "I hate that woman."

"I'm angry at the way she treated my students, and me, plus the stupid way she was attempting to teach them. Quite badgered one of the boys."

"Yes," Audrey said. "But you ought to know that just before I came to see you that boy's mum had called to speak to Mrs. Harper. The woman practically bit my head off and all I did was answer the phone!"

"Mrs. Platt? Derrick's mum."

"That's the one. Harper's _still_ getting an earful. One of the reasons I came to see you because I could hear what she was saying, so loud she was. It was _not_ very nice; nasty even."

"I'll call Mrs. Platt and explain what happened." Considering what Derrick had told me his mum might not be that interested in anything I had to say but I would try. "Might help."

Audrey smiled. "I wouldn't bother trying to help Harper. She's made her bed."

"No, I mean explain that Derrick wasn't at fault."

She patted my hand. "We'll miss you. You're a good teacher."

"Miss me?"

"Louisa, you told me about the tutoring you're been up to plus I've heard from others how you've whipped things into shape."

"I've tried to."

"Done a lot more than just _tried_ from what I've heard."

The door opened and we both turned to see Mr. Saunders standing there. "Need any help?" he asked. "Word's going around about the…about Mrs. Harper thing today."

"No, no, I'm fine," I protested. "Mrs. Pickles and I were discussing, uhm, school supplies."

He grinned. "Oh right. Going home? I'll walk to the Tube with you."

Audrey smiled at me. "Ally," she whispered. "Good night then Louisa."

"Good night." I picked up my things and locked my desk after Audrey left. Gene waited patiently. "Ever wonder why we do this? The teaching?" I asked him.

"Somebody has to. It's more than that. A noble profession. I like to think thousands of years ago people in tribes would impart what they knew to the youngsters."

"And perhaps not always the smartest one?"

Gene laughed at my comment. "But lack of some skills might kill you if they were wanting."

I stamped my foot on the pavement where we'd stopped to cross the street. "But, that _woman_ made ME feel like I didn't know _what_ I was doing, whereas she…" I stopped and sighed. "Never mind."

"Louisa don't get so worked up. The baby…"

I felt my head pounding and that was not good. "I understand. But still Harper has become more than _just_ irritating."

Gene coughed. "One way to say it. I'm glad I'm nearly done with it."

"Oh? What's that mean?"

"Another couple years ought to do it. I can grit my teeth and manage that far. You?"

I sighed. "I've been… oh, just wondering if I belong here."

"Where does anyone belong?" he waved a hand to indicate the busy sidewalk and streets. "I grew up here and London _is_ my home. If I moved to Cornwall I'd be at sea."

I laughed for the sea _had_ been on my mind. "You'd make it down there. But you'd be a grockle."

"Grockle?"

"Visitor – _outsider_. Usually that's reserved for tourists who clog up the roads on holidays, vie for the best parking places in the car park, fill the pubs and hotels, and rent or buy too many houses. Don't get me wrong, we Cornish _are_ English – we like being part of this country."

"But you are _Cornish_."

That hit me. Yes I was Cornish through and through like a stick of rock. "Suppose so." He took my arm to step over an especially large puddle in the road. "You do miss it."

"Thanks," I told him when we stepped onto the kerb. "I do, uhm, and always will."

"Why stay then?"

There were lots of reasons. "I'm here now."

He stopped me. "Louisa, it's all temporary. The school, the city, even our lives…" he stopped. "Nothing is forever but for one thing. Those kids and what goes into their heads - me in history, you math - will last. Oh the details might change and there will be new knowledge that comes along and eventually filter down to us to pass on, but that stays."

I thought about the European Dark Ages. "Things get lost."

"Not for lack of us trying is all I'm saying. Look," he said, "don't you lose _your_ self-confidence, right?"

I sighed. "I will try to hold on." The fierce look of Mrs. Harper as she berated me with acid words that morning had made me mad; more for the awful way she treated Derrick and my class. I was a grownup; I could take it. But no one deserved being spoken to that way. I was a professional, had been teaching for nearly fifteen years and I did know what I was about.

But lately I had been feeling less than perfect, my blood pressure, the baby coming, money, the awful Mrs. Harper, Martin…

"Louisa," Gene smiled, "you can do more than just hold on. You've got _determination_ and you can teach anywhere you wish, Miss Glasson. You're _good_ so don't you let a dunderhead like Harper get to you! She's gotten worse this year; mean and vile. If I was you…" he stopped himself. "No."

"No? What? What _are_ you telling me Gene?"

He held up his hands. "Shouldn't say for it is none of my business, my dear math teacher. I'm just an old bachelor seeing the end of the tunnel for me. But you – you've got a long way to go."

I stepped out of the way of a porter pushing a cart loaded with cartons. "You heard she sacked Mr. Rand?"

He sighed sadly. "I did. Rand's a widower and God knows what he'll do to keep busy. I'll call him tonight and check up on him."

I touched Gene's arm in friendship. "I wasn't sure what you were about back, uhm… I… didn't think you _approved_ of me about me having a baby."

He smiled. "My great-niece has a baby. Divorced. Not married a year and there she was preggers and on her own. She moved back in with her mum and dad. Hard you know, for them. But I was concerned for you; still am."

"I don't have that solution available Gene. My mum's living in Spain and my dad is…" I had to stop for a moment. "He's up north." No need to say he was in prison.

Gene fell silent as we got to the Tube station. We scanned our Oyster Cards then went down to the platform. He looked at the board and pointed to a bench. "Might as well sit. A few minutes yet. Going home?"

I took a seat on the handy bench and looked at my watch. "I have to get to my tutoring anyway."

"Audrey mentioned that. Told me you was running about all the time."

I didn't want to discuss my finances. "I don't mind."

"I've been making some calls to parents; about the grade inflation thing. None are happy." He smiled as he said it. "Might have a right good revolution if we can manage to hold on."

"Oh we are awful," I laughed.

He laughed. "A fifty-eight year old and a pregnant teacher fomenting…"

"We're not _fomenting_ anything!" I bristled. "How can you say that? Just telling the truth; sticking to the facts."

He shook his head. "We're a couple of fine conspirators aren't we?"

"I thought when I moved… up to London… I might…"

He looked at me sharply. "What exactly?"

"Nothing." I was going to say leave conflict behind me.

"Louisa, Audrey told me a little bit about you. Not gossip, just the facts. Right? Said your engagement broke up."

"Ah, true."

"Running never fixed anything, unless you're in the bloody marathon or chasing a train." He stood. "And here's my train." He bent down and hugged me briefly about the shoulders. "Buck up my dear. We will get through this, no matter _what_ the Harpie tries. She needs us more than we need her."

I kept that thought with me until that evening when I called _Freidericka Aldershot-Cribbins, Freddy's mum._

"Miss Glasson, you _must_ be joking," she said breathlessly after I told the tale. "Penny wouldn't _do_ that."

"Sorry, but she is – making the teachers cut corners, teach less or less effectively, and jacking up your children's grades so she can justify a hefty tuition increase." I heard silence for a few seconds. "All for more money for her."

"But… I know that you have done wonders for our Freddy, so…"

"I'm _not_ telling tales, Frieda. Not making any of this up. Why would I? If you don't believe me you can call Mr. Saunders, you know him?"

"I do, yes."

I cleared my throat. "He'll tell you the same thing. Harper's likely playing this trick with the other teachers as well; she'd have to be."

"I am _shocked_," Frieda said slowly. "Ashamed of her really."

"Mrs. Harper is cutting her nose off to spite her own face, as they say, for if the school goes… well so does she."

I heard Frieda sigh into the phone. "This is _terrible_. I ought to speak to her."

"Perhaps it _might_ be better, if you first talked to a few other parents. Uhm, I'm in a difficult position as it is…"

"Oh I see! Yes. Of course! But this is _awful_! We must get some other parents involved – oh _yes I shall._ I'll work on that. So sorry that things have gone to worms."

I laughed. "Oh the school is still open and I'm fighting a read-guard action. But…" my turn to sigh. "It can be a bit difficult at moments."

"This must be very hard for _you_ as well and I _do_ apologize."

"Thank you, but let's see if we can correct this moving forward."

"Thank you for telling me. I'll get on this straight away."

I put down my phone and drank some tea, then called Derrick's mum and explained what happened at school that morning.

"Mrs. Platt, hello, this is Louisa Glasson, from Derrick's school…" I said when she answered.

"Miss Glasson! Derrick has been _most upset_, came home crying, about what Mrs. Harper said to him! He told me over and over how awful she was to both _him_ and to _you_. That bloody woman! I called her straight away after he got home when I heard his story and laid into her!"

I listened for a few minutes while Mrs. Platt ran on and on about how terrible Mrs. Harper was, there had been times in the past she had acted just the same, and so forth. She ended with, "And here I was wondering what the hell was going on with you! Shame on me. Beg pardon."

"No, no that's alright. I'm new to your school…" I hadn't let on knowing that Mrs. Platt was involved in a whispering campaign against me. "So you don't know me."

"All the more so that I should have talked to you first… when Derrick's marks went down so."

"Ah, yes seems Mr. George my predecessor would rather let the kids do puzzles in math class than teach them. Not the best sort of instructions as you might guess. I wanted to let all my math kids parents know, but Mrs. Harper stopped me. That was back in December and January."

She sighed deeply. "So what have me and my mister been paying for! Oh my God! What's to happened next? Will the students catch up?"

"They have improved, quite a lot, back up to where they should be."

She laughed. "I… I have misjudged you then. For I was talking to… well some of the _other_ mums… and I heard how their children had suddenly gotten excited about math class. Good for you then Miss Glasson. Brilliant. Thank you for going to bat for us."

We discussed the morning blow-up a bit more then I rung off after she promised to fill in a few other parents, as well as call her uncle-in-law who was some sort national school's inspector.

I put down my mobile from the second call, feeling both relieved and awful for I hated conflict, even if the battle was a righteous one.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

I paid my bill, thanked the bartender and went outside after using the loo. The afternoon London sun felt warm, or at least warmer than it had been for a few days for the rain was now gone. I made my way back to the dress shop wondering what sort of arrangement we might come to. I had given them an extra half hour to sort things so I was hopeful that the thing would go in my favor, for lately things had definitely gone the other direction.

I stepped inside the shop taking a deep breath while contrasting the bright lights and white walls with my own spirits which had gone dark.

The clerk smiled as I approached the counter. "Hello. Have you had a chance to, uhm… look at my dress?" I asked her.

Josie smiled. "I think so. Can I offer you a seat in the manager's office? Being on your feet," she pointedly looked at my bump. "Must be tiring."

"That would be fine, yes." I followed her to the back of the store and sat down.

"Need anything? Water?"

"No I'm fine."

Josie smiled. "Susan is with another customer, just now."

"I'm not in any hurry."

"You baby's due when?"

"Late July," I replied.

She grinned. "I had my kids in the summer as well. Thought I would die I got so hot."

How to respond? A lot of mums wanted to tell me about the agonies of childbirth, the discomforts of toilet issues, haemorrhoids and back ache, and how they gained a shoe size. I could write a book about the many ailments I had heard from other women and I was never quite sure if they were sharing their stories in a moment of maternal solidarity or warning me of things to come.

"I… yes," I answered.

"Just be a mo," she told me then walked away while I bit my lip. I needed the money, for as Holly reminded me the dress wasn't doing me any good at all packed in a carton in layers of wrapping paper.

The store manager walked to her desk and sat down. "It is in _very_ good shape; your dress. You are sure you want to get rid of it?"

I looked her square in the face. "I shan't be needing it, as I told you."

"The shoes are nice as well."

So far so good and this was better than the more recent negotiation I had.

"Miss Glasson, I have been hearing things about you," Mrs. Harper told me that Wednesday. It was just three days back bust the exchange ate at me for obvious reasons.

"Oh? What things?" I tried to keep my voice bland and my expression calm.

She smiled and I thought of the look a shark takes on before it bites a seal or a swimmer. Penelope leaned forward. "I have gotten the word that you have been engaging in tutoring after school."

"I have, yes."

She smiled again. "Outside of _this_ school?"

"There a problem?"

She grimaced. "Might be; perhaps. You see it has been our policy that our teachers do not engage in extra-curricular activities of that nature."

"Mrs. Harper I am tutoring other students, that much is true. How does that concern you?"

She picked up her letter opener and began to play with it, twisting it to and fro. "Ah, so you don't deny it."

I half-laughed. "Why would I deny it?"

Harper leaned back then stared at me levelly. "All my _other_ teachers know that I do _not_ approve of that. We have a school-based tutor system here at North London Prep Academy – administered by me."

"Mrs. Harper I am tutoring four students and none of them attend this school."

"Oh? Well then you must give me their parents' names and addresses, an accounting of the time you have been spent teaching them and your hourly rate of pay."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Come again?"

"Plus I will expect a 25% commission on each of those students. Then we will forget about your apparent disregard of the policies."

I crossed my arms. "They are _my_ students, which I have found outside of school and no I shall not pay you one red cent! And just so you know I already have looked over the school written policies and my contract and _where_ is there this _policy_ of _yours_ that I OWE YOU MONEY for work I do ON MY OWN TIME?"

Her pig-like eyes flashed fire. "You heard me!" she growled. "You traipse into _my_ school, muck up _my_ systems – and THIS is just ONE MORE way Miss Glasson that you have NOT been fitting it."

I gritted my teeth. "What I do on my own time is strictly MY affair, and it is _none_ of yours. And as for fitting in…"

"Oh? Really." She put down the letter opener, stood up, and came around the desk, the old power ploy of standing over the one who you are berating.

Two could play at this game, so I stood up and she stiffened as I took a step towards her. "I am _doing_ my job – the one _in_ the contract; the one that I signed."

She hissed through her nose. "Not fitting in, arguing with me, disturbing the school…"

"What are you talking about?"

She sniffed. "Come up from Cornwall to the big city and you just do NOT know the rules of the road!"

"So you don't like me because I have a country accent? That it?"

Penelope shook her head. "Oh no, Miss Glasson. I do not care whether you speak English the way that you do, as _strange_ as it might sound to the rest of us, and hail from some biscuit-tin village that no one has heard of!"

She said what I had felt for a long while. "Yes! I talk funny! But that is _not_ the issue, is it?" I said back to her and immediately regretted it. "Out with it then."

She smiled in a sly way. "Not fitting in," she told me and waved a hand in the general direction of my football-abdomen. "About as well as you might fit into a pair of well-fitted blue jeans at the moment."

I was shocked. "Right. There we have it! So _you_ are not comfortable that one of your teachers is pregnant? Not against the law."

"Oh no, my dear." Another hand wave. "No rings on a finger and not even any pretense of being engaged or newly married for if you were I might excuse that."

"Excuse? Mrs. HARPER it is none of YOUR bloody business whether I am pregnant, single, married, or any combination thereof!" My voice bounced off the walls and I heard Audrey in the outer office mutter something.

"And we have impressionable students…" she muttered.

I got right into Harper's face as close as I might with my belly sticking out. "I know what this is all about. I don't like you Penelope and I know what is going here! You are doing a very good job destroying your own school. Now why is that? The teachers are not happy, nor the parents."

She stiffened.

"This isn't about me is it?" I asked her. "You can do whatever you like to the others, they're all cowed by your bully ways. But not me; not Louisa Glasson. But I am a threat to you for you fear losing control of the situation. Am I right?"

I crossed my arms and glared at her the fire in me jumping out. "I wasn't sure before but now I am. You have been engaging in a pattern of harassing me. My students from outside the school, the fact that I am pregnant - and I quite enjoy it thank you very much - plus interfering with the way in which I teach my classes. _You_, Mrs. Harper, are breaking the law."

I snatched up my handbag then turned back to face her. "And you don't know a _bloody thing_ about algebra I'll have you know; even my dumbest students could see that!" Perhaps I should not have said that last part.

She looked away and took a slow breath. "Miss Glasson please leave my office."

I stared at her long enough to make her flinch. "The object of a school is to _teach_ – to prepare the next generation of students to run the world and their lives – and it is NOT the purview of someone who has created a personal little fiefdom to line their pockets!"

She stared at me and I stared back until I saw her flinch.

"Now," I said to her, "I am so glad we have had this little chat. Goodbye."

I got to the door feeling her eyes burning holes in my back. "Miss Glasson," she said.

"Yes?" I said my hand on the knob but didn't dare turn back.

"Good day," I heard her say as I rushed past Audrey who sat there with a horrified look on her face.

"You alright Miss?" the store manager asked me.

I shook my head. "Uhm, yes, just obsessing about work."

She smiled. "Work can be a bugger. Now about selling your dress…"


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

I needed good news, especially after Friday.

Thursday was spent in breathless expectation after the explosion of the day before. I even called Isobel that evening and poured out my rage and frustration.

"Oh poor Lou-Lou," she commiserated. "Maybe you don't fit in if _that's_ the sort you have to contend with."

"Isobel Brown! No! It's not a matter of fitting in! This woman…" I clamped off my words for I knew I was getting far too upset. I started taking deep breaths and after a few felt my heart rate slow.

Isobel said next, "Lou-Lou? My heavens this doesn't sound very good to me at all. Are you okay? How's the baby coming along?"

"The baby's fine, Isobel. I just wish…"

"Wish what? You were back with Dr. Grumpy?"

"Don't call Martin that."

"Well he wasn't very nice to me."

"Isobel, that was Martin's _first_ baby delivery, so of course he was a little distressed."

"He was distressed? It was my first baby too, in case you have forgotten."

"Sorry, sorry. Of course it was. How is Christi?"

"Fine, fine, starting to creep a bit more and I'll have to get serious about keeping things picked up. I found her trying to eat a fuzz ball the other day."

"Ick. They will get into things. You'd be surprised what some of the kids at school will do."

She laughed. "Miss it? Portwenn?"

Of course I missed my village. "Yes."

"Going from Portwenn to London would be a shock to anybody," she giggled. "And the prices must be shocking."

"You just have to…" I stopped for a sigh, "carry through – muddle along."

"Don't we all? Oh Lou, look, Christi needs a feed and my baps are killing me. So buck up."

"Right. Will do." If London got through The Blitz I could deal with Harper, at least so I thought.

Friday – bloody, bloody Friday – it all went to pieces.

As I mentioned Thursday was tip-toeing on eggshells the whole day. Several teachers cam by at break or lunch and whispered to me that they too were under pressure from Harper and that they'd all been pushing back on her. That didn't help my situation but at least I felt as if I wasn't alone.

Audrey was the most supportive. "Louisa, that woman… oo! I could claw her eyes out!"

"Grim satisfaction. I was thinking more about digging her heart out with a dull spoon, but I fear once I got in there I'd not find anything; only an empty shell."

Audrey laughed with me grimly. "She's late this morning."

"Oh?"

"Yes. After you dropped the bomb on her Wednesday she stayed in there until at least I had left. Mr. Spencer told me when he was cleaning the hallway down this way he heard her crying behind her closed door."

Maybe the Harpie did have a heart after all. "Likely worried about her second holiday home," I whispered.

Audrey erupted in a loud guffaw. "Oh, God, Louisa… stop!"

"Better get to it," I told her and sped off to my class for I had heard the kids starting into the building.

Jimmy Spencer was waiting for me. "I heard she was pestering you."

"Not the first time."

He grunted and coughed. "I talked to my doc the other day and he's putting in some paperwork for me to go on disability."

"Oh Jimmy, I am sorry."

"No, no. It's better. The job's getting me down and I really can't bear to deal with that woman anymore. But how about you? Are you okay?"

I nodded. "The kids are here. Later."

"Sure." He patted my arm then left pushing his floor mop ahead of him.

The kids came in and got seated, I greeted them, took the roll and then we pushed into a review of distance and time problems for I had scheduled a test for Monday. But of course other things got in the way.

It was ten o'clock and I was just starting my third class when Audrey appeared at the classroom door with a guarded look about her. "Miss Glasson, a word please?"

"Just a moment. Class if you please review your homework with your neighbors and discuss where you had difficulty." I waddled to the door and saw a tear in her eye. "Audrey?"

"Harper wants to see you."

"Oh." I watched as Audrey screwed up her face. "My class?"

"I don't know. Just told me to get you and she doesn't look very happy."

"When does she?" I turned to my class and told them. "I must go see the Head so be good and no horse play."

Audrey took my hand as she walked me to the school office and that human touch was something I needed for my heart was in my throat, which was silly. Why did anyone let this women intimidate us? It was more than power and fear it was a feeling of _helplessness_; that was the word.

But I was wrong, I knew. No one is helpless. Each of us has choices and in the back of my worried head I already had lined up my choices. By the time we walked to the office I was calm as I might be.

Harper sat behind her desk with a determined look and my heart sank, but I smiled at her for this was in no possible way as bad as things had been for me last Fall when I left Martin.

"Miss Glasson," Harper said while steepling her fingers in front of her face.

"Morning," I said and sat down.

She nodded at me. "I have spoken to a number of… others… and it strikes me that _you_ are a problem."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really."

"A problem." She opened a file folder and slid a piece of paper towards me.

"What's this?"

"This is a formal disciplinary action that I, uhm, _the school_, is taking for you are insubordinate, obstinate, and unruly. Read it and sign it."

I picked it and up and read it. Missing any curse words it was similar in some ways to the letters some parents had written to the school when I started. In other words it was just as dripping with menace and peril. I looked at her knowing where this was going. "So now it's in black and white."

Harper picked up a pen and held it out. "Do you understand it? Then sign and date it."

I needed a job; a teaching job, but not this one. "Says here that I shall every day review what I have done in the classroom and will do the next day, all subject to _your_ approval."

Harper said smugly, "We'll get _you_ sorted."

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply but then stood up. "I will be back in a moment." Make a plan and do it, granny used to tell me. Carry it out.

I opened the office door and saw Audrey and Mr. Spencer there pretending not to be listening. "Will you two come in to Mrs. Harper's office?"

"What's this?" Harper bristled.

I saw Jimmy give me a grim smile and Audrey's sad eyes spoke volumes so I faced Harper squarely. "Mrs. Harper I suspect that you have not liked me from the start. Not my teaching methods or the way I talk, and yes I am Cornish and _proud_ of it, nor are you comfortable that I am having a baby."

She stood up and the anger in her came out in a blast of profanity laced with rage. "You little XXXXing skanky XXXXX! You trollop! YOU COME IN HERE! RUIN MY SCHOOL! And… and…" she started spluttering. "_Try_ to tell ME… what TO DO!"

I answered her coolly and levelly. "It's not _your_ school Penelope. Oh you may run it, and believe that you own it, and on paper you might, but you can't run it as if it's here strictly for _your_ benefit. The student's here are NOT getting an education that the parents believe they are paying for. They either know it or are beginning to suspect things are not very smooth under your well-polished and expensive façade."

"Get out!" she yelled.

"Not yet," I told her then bored in. "I don't like you. Never have and never will. Your administration methods are Machiavellian; you throw your weight around like you are better than anyone else, and you my dear Penny, DO NOT HAVE A FREAKIN' CLUE in running a school."

Harper glared up at me. "Get out, now."

Audrey poked me. "Louisa stop!" she hissed.

I grinned at her. "Audrey, I _don't_ know what I'm doing, but it's the right thing – for me."

I turned to face Harper who'd now taken on a very funny color, sort of purplish-red in the face. "Almost done," I told her then threw the last card I could throw for with what I had told her I'd greased my own exit. "I have quit _better_ jobs than this and as for this one…" I stopped for a few seconds and you could have heard a pin drop. "So I do _resign_ _here_ and _now_."

Audrey gasped but Jimmy gave a quite cheer.

"Have I made myself clear?" I asked for Harper looked confused. "I quit."

Then Penelope Harper's face quivered with a mad gleam. "Are you finished?"

I picked up the disciplinary paper from her desk and tore it actress several times then dropped the pieces one-by-one back on the gleaming surface. "Now I am."

When I cleaned out my desk in front of my astonished students, it was like a great weight had been lifted from me. I would miss the kids, and Audrey, Jimmy and a few others, but… I squared my shoulders feeling that something else was calling me.

Curiously when I walked out the school door, Audrey, Jimmy, Gene, and quite a few others stood there to see me off. Most of their sentiments were that I had done what they wished they were able to do.

I would miss some and others I barely knew. But Audrey and her husband Arthur, plus Jimmy, I had made friends for life. But I'd quit my job and would need another very, very soon so any good feelings I had about being righteous faded quickly.

I was rid of Harper and her ilk, but I needed to work, and tutoring would only go so far. By two o'clock I was feeling quite miserable until my mobile rang and Stu Mackenzie told me surprising news.

Susan, the dress store manager cleared her throat. "So… how much were you hoping for?"

I sighed. "What will you offer? What's it worth I hope."

She looked at the ceiling. "Can I offer you three hundred?"

My heart fell. "It cost me six-fifty and it even has the veil."

She pursed her lips. "Well…"

Desperate I said, "Take the shoes as well and give me four hundred?"

She smiled and held out her hand. "Done."

We shook hands. She quickly counted out a stack of bills, wrote a receipt and gave me cash and paper. "Sorry we took so long."

"No, it was fine. I had some mental clearing out to do."

She nodded. "All a good thing to sweep out the cobwebs."

I thanked her and stood. "Thank you."

"Not raining out any more is it?"

"No," I told her, "it's all quite nice now."

I got onto the pavement and looked back at the store briefly and somehow was happier than I had been for a long time. "Now to buy a ticket."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

I was rid of Harper and her breed, but I needed to work, and tutoring would only go so far. I got home in a daze, dropped my satchel and bag on the floor and literally collapsed onto my bed. "Brilliant Louisa," I told myself. "Bloody daft more like it!"

It was done – horribly and awfully finished. I'd mucked that up about as badly as my marriage to Martin. But at _least_ I couldn't get pregnant twice from my London experience.

Things happen in our lives and I ought to have held my temper, yet if I'd caved to Harper I'd have become one of those trembling horde in her awful school. No – that was not me – and never would be. If I wasn't true to myself then what was I; who was I?

My mobile buzzed a few times and I ignored it being in no mood to talk. I did glance at the numbers though. Audrey called and Jimmy, even Gene Saunders during lunch hour. Last was Frieda and she had left a message which I listened to later.

"_Louisa, " _she said,_ "I just heard what that awful woman tried to force you to do! Good God! Well shame on her and the news is spreading like wildfire! I'm so sorry it came down to this. You do know that I will pass the word about… well… the facts? Oh and you may be slightly interested to know my husband's uncle has started an inquiry into the Academy. You might recall he works in the National School Licensing Bureau? Seems that it's been a while since they passed muster on a school inspection, and…"_ she laughed. _"I bet things will surface that Penny does not want to be discovered. You are a fine teacher Louisa, so don't let this get you down. If there's anything I can do for you…"_

By one o'clock that Friday afternoon I was feeling miserable. I hated to leave the kids in Harper's clutches, but I could no longer tolerate what she was doing to them or to me. I had to leave. The baby had been kicking away since I left school but lying down for a while helped the little thing calm down. I'd read how maternal problems can be passed to the foetus thru hormones and blood. Was I stressed? Of you bet.

But after I'd eaten a cheese and tomato sandwich and rested I felt better physically, if not mentally. I needed a job and right _soon_, for the money I'd squirreled up for the summer and the baby's needs I dare not touch but when the cupboard ran bare, I'd have to.

Around about two I got off my back and popped open my computer to start looking at short-term teaching postings just as my mobile rang. I recognized the number right away. "Stu! Hello!" I said.

"Hello Louisa," he answered in his low voice. "Yeah this is MacKenzie. Hope I'm not disturbing you. Figure you're still in school; surprised you answered."

"No I have a few minutes." I looked around my dingy room. "Not a problem at all."

"I thought you might be interested in knowin' something."

"Go ahead." I hoped this wasn't about Martin for he'd not been far from my mind, try as I might to push him away but he seemed like a disproving ghost in my head. With what I did this morning I imagined him sneering from the background, not that I needed his approval. I had my own life to live and I would take of this baby I was having whether he approved or not.

No job, no father for your baby, living in a bed sit, alone thirty-seven… I stopped that train of thought. Those were all facts; facts that I had to live with for there _wasn't_ much I could do to change them. Except for one – get a new job.

"Right," Stu mumbled to me. "Seems our new head had a teacher quit on him."

Suddenly there was a dimly-lit path through the dark wood. "Really?" I said slowly but my heart took a leap.

"Yes, really. Seems one of the teachers quit. Stan Rollins, one of the current governors, called me other night and said they are desperate for help."

"Who is it? Uhm… who left?"

"Your Brittany Meadows."

"Brittany's gone? Oh dear." I had hired Brittany last year for the Year-Threes. I'd found her to be steady, composed, and knowledgeable. Unflappable really. "What happened?"

"Stan tells me she got a temp job up Bristol way. You do know she was engaged, right? Well I guess the two love birds can't be apart so she legged it. He works up that-a-way. The other school paid her a packet to jump in straight away. She's gone; left Wednesday."

I was hanging on his words, chewing my lip in anticipation. "Go on."

He laughed. "Of course as soon I heard about it I called Sally Chadwick, the school secretary, and she says the Head will take _anybody_ right now. Mid-term though and they're right up the creek. Pardon my sayin' this, but Louisa you're not just _anybody_."

I sighed before I said anything. "I'm not sure. Might be a bit… awkward."

"Louisa, for Heaven's sake! When we talked other week I could hear the way you sounded when we talked about the village and school. And there was something else."

"What's that?"

He laughed heartily. "Like I said the Head is a tough nut, but if it was me, I'd high tail it back here straight off. London's not for you my girl."

My turn to laugh. "Uhm, yes it was a big change."

"Louisa come on home. We need you; your school needs you."

My school? I had to bite my tongue for I wanted to burst out crying.

But Stu told me next, "Portwenn is _your_ village Louisa and besides I could tell that London is fitting you like a bad pair of shoes. I suppose if you got a big enough hammer you can make any square peg fit into a tiny hole, whether the peg is happy or not. London is tough on anybody…"

"I… I've done fairly well," I said quivering, clutching the mobile tightly. "So, uhm, _perhaps_ I will… call the school."

He laughed happily. "That's the spirit, girl. If I can do anything for you, let me know."

"Right. I… thanks for the call."

"Anytime. Take care Miss Glasson."

Was it Providence? Fate? The tricks of Life? Without thinking I dialed the school.

Sally Chadwick answered briskly. "Portwenn School!"

Just hearing her voice made me a bit happier. "Hello, Sally, this is Louisa."

"_Louisa_! Goodness! How are you! Haven't heard a word from you _or_ about you since, goodness, _forever_."

"Been…" the baby rolled and stretched. "Fine, doing fine," I said while I rubbed my belly. Silence stretched over the phone.

Finally I said it. "So, Sally, I understand that… the school… has…" my throat locked in fear. Was this the right thing? Well, damn me, I'd made a thorough hash of things up here… "That is… Portwenn School has an opening – for a teacher."

"My," she laughed. "Good news _does_ travel fast."

"I've… been wondering if I… oh… if I _might_ talk to someone about that spot."

"Brilliant Louisa. My gosh yes! I know Mr. Strain is with parents at the moment. I'll speak to him when I can and then call you back? So you're saying you are interested in the spot? Guess you heard Brittany left us."

"I, uhm, yes… did hear that. Shame, I mean she's a fine teacher."

Sally lowered her voice as she said, "Just between you and me, Brittany is well glad to see the back of Mr. Strain. Not telling tales out of school, mind. Just, uhm, those two didn't get along."

"Oh? Is he _difficult_?"

"No, no," she whispered. "More _moody_ lately, I'd say. Oh there go the parents; Megan Tanner's folks. She's been a discipline problem lately. I'll get right to him. Back in a sec. Hang on."

With Sally away I stuck my mobile between ear and shoulder so I could use two hands on the computer. The wi-fi was slow but I finally got the train schedule to come up. "Right," I said. "Catch the ten-fifteen and be there… late Monday."

Magnets attract bits of iron and steel and I felt the pull on me just the same way. Portwenn – ancient and tiny, old and bright all at once. The back of beyond, but it's where I was raised. My anchor in a storm.

Sally came back swiftly. "Louisa! Monday's out, but how about Tuesday morning? That work?"

I sighed. Is this how Julius Caesar felt when he crossed the Rubicon. Likely. What was I to do?

"Louisa?" Sally said. "Still on the line?"

"Yes, I am."

"Will Tuesday work for you? Nine in the morning?"

Work for me? I'll tell what would have worked for me. A Head Teacher here that wasn't daft, a smaller city, village really nearer to the sea. I cast the dice and spoke. "Right. Will do. See you then."

"Wonderful!" Sally laughed. "See you then. Bye! Have a nice weekend!"

If I could sell my dress, I'd have plenty for a trip to Cornwall and back if it came to that.

"Bye Sally," I answered and hung up, the train schedule displayed on my laptop blurring before eyes brimming with tears.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

We are defined by the choices we make and I don't mean what we eat for breakfast.

Of course there are things that we have no control over; when it rains or if the sun comes out, or if that fish we bought at market will taste good or bad. But we_ can_ decide how we deal with the things that happen. So I didn't hate Penelope Harper, just _intensely_ disliked what she was doing for it was wrong. For that matter I chose to keep Holly as friend though she could be and was self-centered at times, but we had been good friends in collage and those ties stay.

Just in the same way I didn't hate Martin for being the way that he acted sometimes. That was Martin through and through. Rude, grumpy and abrupt yet also clueless of the world. He must be broken in so many ways, otherwise why hide behind that rough exterior? Only sometimes does his armor slip and the real person inside peek out. He was an insecure as me I think.

Of course it was our insecurity and anxiety that stopped our wedding. I looked down at the football that had replaced my flat belly, now residing under a plain green dress. That did not stop what we had already started though.

Like I said before if I could take Martin's bad bits and strain them away, he'd be different, but he wouldn't be Martin. Who was I to do that to him? Some self-help guru might wreck what he was: intelligent, forthright, honest, and direct. Too direct sometimes and entirely too honest. If he didn't like something he said so. If he thought the canapés were a swarm with bacteria from being made by unclean hands and then were improperly refrigerated, he told you. Or when he said that he knew Roger Fenn was giving me away because my dad was in prison. I Martin I knew it. Thank you, Martin for the reminder; loads.

But I don't really think that he meant harm when he said things like that. Honest above all. No the way he was honest could cut like a razor.

Words failed him in so many ways or at times when we were together and silent such as the way he'd caress my face with one finger, or touch my hand briefly, or duck his head in embarrassment when he saw me without any clothes. So he was sensitive and awkward, embarrassed sometimes, and I think, too often not sure what to say, so he'd either stay quiet or blurt out the first thing that came to mind.

But inside the man? He'd mentioned his mum would lock him under the stair or his father used to hit him with things, a cricket bat, or a tennis paddle. Was that fair? Certainly other people had gone through that, and far worse, and it had not damaged them too badly. But Martin was… Martin. If he was that sensitive did his mum treat him badly in other ways? Was he broken way back then?

He could be sweet not nearly enough though for the long run. That was refreshing sometimes, But despite all that I _did_ choose to be with him (the baby kicked and boy had I been with him!) if for a time. That was a choice to get engaged to Martin. But that time had passed.

So you see I had a bit of a problem for I thought I did still love Martin, a little, just not all of him. I had been certain that he would be miserable if we were married in turn he would make me miserable.

We were too different – he silent, me talky, him gruff and me kind and polite.

I was holding my belly thinking that we had this little life between us. It was growing bigger and bigger and one day I would have to share it with him. Legally and morally we owed that to this child-to-be, our child. No matter that Martin and I had made such a mess of things, we were gonna be parents. Until out dying day we would be parents and whether we were together or _not_, we must make things the best we could for our child.

The train ride was long yet as the hours ticked by I felt my spirits lifting. London was behind me and Portwenn was ahead. Going west always made me feel that. The western direction was home, my land, and my village.

I had decided I would go see Martin – go right to his door and knock and see what happened. That was my choice. I had failed to tell him before and now of course, there was no going back.

That was a choice just as huge as any I'd made in the last few months. But I was strong, was a Glasson for we were Cornish and we were strong. Had to be. Oh I could stay in London but the city fit me like those too-tight shoes Stu had mentioned.

I'd need a place to stay and I would ask Martin I might use his spare room for a day or two. I had to show him the evidence that we were parents well before the village found out and with my sticky-out belly they would know quick as a flash.

Audrey looked at the mess in my bed sit, where I was filling two large cartons with my things. "Louisa what are you doing?" She arrived unexpectedly that Sunday noon after many calls from her which I did not answer. "I am worried about you. Why didn't you answer my calls?"

I lowered the books I was holding into a box then rubbed my sore back. "Getting ready to go."

"Quitting your job does not mean you have to leave!"

I sighed. "Yes it does."

"No, no - my word, your baby…"

"Audrey the baby is fine, but its father is back there in my village. I'm going there and I don't plan on coming back."

"But you don't have a job!"

"I have an interview Tuesday morning and am certain I'll get an offer."

She looked stunned. "Harper was absolutely horrible to you! Don't do this!"

I sat down. "I _will_ miss you and Arthur. You've been… good friends. But this isn't home."

She smiled apologetically. "Country girl to city girl and back again?"

"Guess I'm gonna be. I'm gonna try."

She glanced around my room. "You're taking all this with you?"

"No. Not right away. The rent's good until end of the month. I'll take my small case with me; that's enough for three or four days if I cram everything in."

"Then what?" She moved a pile of cardigans off the sofa and sat.

"Oh, I was hoping I could leave my spare key with you? And when I get settled I could have you ship it. Just these cartons and my larger suitcase."

She looked at me sadly. "You really are going then."

"I have to."

Arthur and Audrey collected me Monday at my bed sit and went with me all the way to Paddington. He wouldn't let me touch my case, carrying it the whole way while Audrey held my hand or arm like I was made of spun glass and needed careful handling.

"Audrey!" I protested. "I'm, pregnant not an invalid!"

She bit her lip before she said. "I know, Louisa. I know." But that did not stop her contact.

Finally we sat silently on a bench, the three of us, waiting for my train. There wasn't much to say. I was sad and each time I looked at my friends they seemed old and grayer. I suppose I had become a surrogate daughter for them – Louisa replaced Viola in their hearts. I was thankful for their help for they had gotten me through a rough patch.

The speaker told of my approaching train so I stood and Audrey jumped up holding me tightly.

"Call us?" she said into my ear in a sad whisper.

"I will. Thank you so much."

Arthur hefted my case. "I'll hand this onto the carriage for you Louisa." He sniffed and I saw his eyes were wet.

"Arthur I will be okay," I said, the usual thing to say. "Thank you."

The train slowly rumbled up and stopped and we walked along it searching for my carriage number. There it was number six. I turned and hugged them both then kissed their cheeks. "I will miss you. Good bye."

Both squeezed me tight, and both were crying.

"I'll be fine," I assured them. "Don't be sad."

Arthur patted my arm after lifting my case onto the train as Audrey wiped her eyes. "Good luck!"

"Thank you and I will miss you," I told them, but inside my heart was torn. Go or stay? Tough it out or leave? I managed to peel myself from their hugs. "Better go."

I climbed the steps and then waved down to them. Choices. I made mine.

Years ago when I was studying about other places one of my kids wrote about Hawaii, that Pacific Ocean state of the USA. They use a word there; _aloha_. A funny word for it can be used at both greeting and parting – hello and goodbye all in one. It is also a blessing.

The last few days I felt like that word – aloha. Both hello and goodbye jammed together. I'd say hello to Portwenn and goodbye to London all at once. Would I miss London? The crowds and smells, traffic and noise, the museums and posh stores where I couldn't afford to shop, the chic restaurants and the smoky pubs?

I would. But I was also missing the sea, noisy gulls, fresh-caught fish from the sea, dolphins in the harbor, my old school, the people I knew my whole life, the… yes I had been missing Martin. Sticky-out-eared, tall and bodmin Martin Ellingham, rude and sweet, grumpy and stiff Martin. So those things were my magnet and I the iron filing.

The train ride across the country made me think a lot about my choices. What I had done or not done, paths taken or ignored. Ought I to have stayed in Portwenn? Or married Martin? Certainly phoned just as soon as I knew we were pregnant. But I did leave the village and I did not marry him and I had ignored a duty to the baby I was carrying to tell its father long before.

I'd fix some of those things and it would be hard – but necessary.

The train got to Bodmin Parkway and as I climbed down from the carriage I felt I could get a really good breath at last. I had called ahead for a taxi for no one really wanted to go out to Portwenn. It was too tiny, too out of the way, but it was my place – my spot. The landscape near the station was green and open, few trees but a rolling green plain and I could see the peaks of the moor up north. Cornwall. Home.

Other passengers left the platform, not many got on or off, but I saw a lone taxi outside the station. "Waiting for me?" I asked the driver.

"You Glasson?" he said in a brusque Cornish voice and I smiled when I heard his accent.

"That's me."

"Mum." He got out, took my case then held the door for me as I got in the back.

"What's the weather been?" I asked.

"Middlin' but a freshnin' breeze. Nice and warmer."

I closed my eyes as he started to drive us. Aloha I thought. Hello and goodbye. Goodbye to London. Hello to my village.

My heart thumped happily when I saw the sign at the top of the hill. '_Welcome to Portwenn. Please drive carefully through our village.'_

Those too-tight shoes back in London released their hold right about then.

Evening was close by the time I got out of the taxi and paid the man. I went around the back of Martin's house figuring he'd be in the kitchen. The light was on back there but I had to stand outside and get a grip. My lip was taking a beating from my chewing but here I was; at last – at his door.

My palms were damp and I needed a wee and my throat was tight. But as I tried to calm my trembling I knocked three times on the back door. I heard footsteps and my throat went dry then the door was pulled open.

There he stood in his typical nice grey suit, pale blue shirt and dark tie. I'd put this off far too long and truth be told I was glad to see him.

He was clearly astonished when he saw me. "Louisa?"

This was it – the moment. "Hello Martin," I said trying to make my smile as bright as I could; trying to be confident.

"How are you?" He looked at me more closely his eyes sweeping lower but then his green eyes went wide. "You're _pregnant_," he said in awe.

We are defined by the choices that we make.

I chose to leave and not tell him we had made a baby. But I did choose to come back. Try as I might somehow I always come back to Martin, shame on me. Now why is that?

Was I actually coming back to _Martin_? Certainly I was returning to the village and I did need a place to stay if only for two nights and I hoped he'd ask me in; that would save me a few Pounds.

He was probably thinking at rapid-fire speed trying to come to grips with a pregnant Louisa on his doorstep; trying to process the information. He was also likely calculating how pregnant I was, when this happened, and was it his? It is ours dear Martin and made with tenderness and love on a rainy Sunday morning I was pretty sure. Yes Martin I am pregnant with your baby – _our_ baby.

You see I had to come back for I didn't like London and my school was horrid.

Did I love him? At that moment I was more afraid of him than in love but I did see softness about his eyes; tiny wrinkles that I'd seen them before. When we kissed or made love or he asked me to marry. I'd also seen that look on our wedding day. It was a look of shock – loss – all that, but _also_ one of sadness.

If only I could solve the puzzle of Martin as readily as I could solve equations in front of math classes.

I touched my bump the way mums do, looking down at it to both to reassure myself and the baby, then looked back up at him. "Yes – I _am_."

He didn't say anything else so neither did I.

Of course it was a shock to him and I hated seeing his stunned face. What would happen next? Would he yell? Scream? Cry? Take me in his arms and smother me with kisses?

_Aloha_ I thought waiting for what was coming next. Goodbye and hello. Goodbye to what was. Hello to what might be.

Oh my _lord_ who is that ginger-haired woman sitting in his kitchen?

THE END

**Author's note:**

**Aloha to what was and to what might be; both goodbye and hello.**

**Thank you for letting me take you on this journey as an off-screen Louisa tries to make her way in London. It started in my head as I wondered what happened to her wedding dress from Series 3. We never saw it again or heard any more of it for in Series 6 we see another and different one. Might she have sold it? **

**I decided she must have sold it so 30 chapters later I will stop here (at 1 minute and 29 seconds into Series 4, episode 2).**

**If you want to read more of what this fanfiction author thought might have gone on in Louisa Glasson's head in Series 4, then please read my story "Home." That story uses an alternate version of her adventures in London far from the biscuit-tin village of Portwenn.**

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. My story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**I will share an observation made by Claudia Black (star of Farscape and Stargate SG-1) who said, **_**"Fanfiction helps the characters live on beyond what we see on the screen."**_

**So to any established or nascent or wannabe fanfic authors – go for it! Make your favorite characters ****live** **beyond the screen****!**

**Thank you for reading and your many reviews.**

**See you in Portwenn, perhaps!**

**Rob (robspace54)**


End file.

Doc Martin, Drama, Romance