Arian's Pool Ch. 03

"Shit," said Mike, "That was close." He took a deep sigh, "My fucking clothes are under that tree."

Benny brushed against my legs taking as much comfort from me as he was giving me. As if to put the final mark on the day the sky started to slowly darken and the day lost the remaining heat. The wind picked up and I remembered that it was late September and perhaps I shouldn't have left my clothes a thirty minute walk away.

My rucksack held a foil blanket and as the rain began to fall I quickly opened it with shaking fingers and wrapped it around me and Mike, who was trying to get one from his plastic box having failed to get even close to his clothes, but struggling to move the branches from it. He just managed to retrieve his car keys and his phone, the screen hopelessly smashed.

"Mike," I said, "We should go back to my house and warm up." My clothes were stuffed into a plastic shopping bag and I hoped desperately would be dry when I got there. I thought about my rolled blue Gortex jacket that was in the bag with them. Much fucking good it would do there!

"No, let's head to my car and I'll drive you back. You can borrow my jacket."

I knew that it was about the same distance in either direction, and it made good sense that Mike could come back to mine, warm up, have a meal then let me drive him or get a taxi to where his car was parked.

"But..." I looked at the determination in his face and guessed that this was one neither of us would win.

"How about we both head back to our own places and then meet back here tomorrow, the weather promises to be nice."

My teeth were starting to chatter and just wanted to get moving and generate some heat.

"Back here tomorrow then," I said, "only I have something I have to ask you, a favour."

"No problem, anything." He grinned at me, "If I can get the kit I might even come back tonight; be more comfortable than sleeping in my car."

I walked across to him and kissed him and I held him tight. The low cloud meant it was starting to get dark and I wanted to be on my way before I lost all of the marks I knew so well.

"Goodnight Darling Maggie," he whispered hugging me tight, "I'll see you tomorrow I promise."

"Come back with me," I begged with tears in my eyes, "Please Mike, I'll drive you back to your car in the morning I promise, if we run we'll be back in..."

"My work phone is in my car Maggie, I'm on call sugar." he pulled me tight, "I'll get all of my stuff and come back here I promise." I thought of running back to his car, but my house just seemed so close.

He kissed me again and we both turned in the failing light and started walking, me to my clothes and then my house, him to his car and the spare stuff he had in the boot.

I quickened my pace and quicker than I've ever done the trip before I was soon at my cut log and my bag of clothes that were cold and damp. I decided just to pull my Gortex on and make a run for my back door. I got my back door open and shivered into my kitchen and lit the oven, switched on the kettle, grabbed the tiny hand towel to dry my soaked hair and with a mug of tea headed to my bedroom and then the shower. No matter how many layers I put on I still couldn't shift the chill from my bones, nor the soreness from my anus.

The next day I was up bright and early and ready to set out to the camp site and Mike, then bring him back here for the meal we had never gotten around to having. But once I'd done with my breakfast the skies darkened and the heavens opened. Mike would have to wait; when I thought about getting my umbrella, the thunder and lightning started.

Shit.

I finally struck out into the woods the next day and it was freezing; I debated going at all as no way should Mike have sat in his car for two days of horrible weather.

I walked my usual route and after an hour and a half got quite scared. My route was the same, but I couldn't find the pool. I could see no change on the ground and must have walked around in circles and after two hours headed back to my house using my compass I eventually hit the trail and found my way back to my paddock; that happened the next day and two days after that.

It was like my pool had disappeared off of the map, and I was worried. It was the only thing that Mike and I shared; I'd decided that I was in love with the man and wanted him to be the father of the children he was going to help me have, and now I couldn't find the only way I had of being in contact with him.

Real life hit hard, and checking my emails that evening I saw that my boss was desperately waiting for the book I was working on, and that took the rest of that week and most of the next.

By the time I'd finished, it was almost a fortnight since that day we'd had to dash out of the woods for our lives, but there was a break in the weather and I dressed warmly, packed my rucksack and headed out for one final try.

It was a Saturday and fitted well with the pattern that Mike and I had established almost by accident, and I desperately hoped that not only would I find the pool again, I'd find him there.

As I walked that well beaten track I started to prepare the speech I'd use to get him to think about me more seriously and consider me as his girlfriend. Then I would throw in the 'Can you really help me get pregnant?' speech and hope that it wouldn't have him running back to Barts without me.

I was going to bite the bullet and mention the 'L-word'. I was so on love with him, and I hoped desperately that the feeling was reciprocated.

Benny ran on in front of me and it boded well that I might find the pool. This time I didn't get blasé about the weather and kept my clothes on and to my delight I rounded that familiar bend and there was the pool with steam rising from it.

I ran across to it.

"Mike!" I shouted, "Mike!" Much as I tried to hide the desperation my voice I knew that he wasn't there as Benny would have found him. I searched the whole area including the glade where we made love on that wonderful night, and while I couldn't find Mike, I didn't find what was left of him either - a worry that had been settling in the back of my mind for the two days I couldn't get back for our agreed rendezvous.

The autumn colours looked wonderful and I sat down, broke out my pocket rocket and my metal mug and made my coffee. It was just as warm and refreshing as it had been five months ago when I first came here. I'd thrown a towel into my bag, and as it seemed warm for the time of year I stripped off and dipped a toe into the water that had been belching stinking gas and getting too hot to sit in two weeks ago. It was perfect again and I wondered what could have caused the change.

With my hair tied up, I stepped into it and settled back onto the seat I knew to be there and relaxed. The thermal did what it always had done and I felt safe, warm and relaxed for the first time since that horrible day.

I sat there for as long as I could, but knew that the nights had started to draw in again, and it was time to go home. I did.

I tried to move the tree and see if his clothes were still there but to no avail. With a slightly less heavy heart I headed home and for my centrally heated home and the large pan of hot stew I'd prepared, just in case I met someone to share it with of course.

That happened once a week. I'd walk to the woods in all weathers, even the snow and strip naked and climb into the thermal spring to sooth and warm away my thoughts of my lost love and any thoughts of a child.

Christmas came and went and I stayed with my Dad in Bristol; he had taken early retirement and was at home on his own these days, but he still knew that something was amiss with me but I hid it as well as I could. He had never liked my ex and had always thought him a screaming queen and could never see what I saw in him.

I eventually managed to convince him that we should go visit family; I had a huge reason to be in London of course. I'd been working my way up to my last option which was actually going to London and looking for him. I was missing my pool and its therapeutic qualities and feeling a bit emotional.

We jumped in my car and drove with real butterflies in my stomach, and we saw Theresa and hubby and children between Christmas and New Year and she even said how well I was looking and how Wales must really suit me. I smiled, not letting on about my actual sadness for my lost love.

I woke early on the second morning, showered quickly and jumped on the Tube and went to St Bartholomew's hospital. I followed the signs for The Urology Department and was met with the standard lack of staff over the Christmas break.

The one grumpy receptionist on duty knew Mr Clarke very well and when I asked if he was on duty, she asked my name and said she would look me up.

I was buzzing with excitement, this could be it; months of loneliness could at last be at an end!

"Mr Clarke now only works part time at Barts, he's taken some time off, for all I know he's left the bloody country!" she said.

"Could I leave him a message?"

"Give me your name and patient number and I'll see if one of the other Doctors can see you." She said coldly.

"But... I'm not one of his patients, I'm an old friend."

"Well I'm afraid this is a hospital not a friendship bureau."

"But..."

"Nor is it a lonely hearts column. Now if you have no MEDICAL issues, I'm afraid I've lots to do."

"Could you give him a note?" I spat in desperation.

"No I could not give him a bloody note," she snapped back, "if you're that much of a friend then you should have contact details for him; as I said I do have rather a lot to do, more than dealing with women with a crush on their doctor!"

My mouth flapped open a few times; I had no answer for that one.

Yes, if we were that committed to each other than we should have swapped phone numbers and email addresses, and been to each other's houses and all of that regular relationship stuff.

"The door is that way!" snapped the receptionist, and she closed her statement by standing up and walking through the glass doors behind her desk.

Fuck.

I jumped on the tube back to Theresa's house with a heavy heart. I'd been planning that meeting since October and in none of the run-through's in my head did it ever end like that. Perhaps that cow of a receptionist was right.

Mr Clarke was evidently back at work and not dead under a tree or frozen in his car and had even started to work part-time. He was 'out of the country', she said.

It finally hit me that after all our loving, all of our coffees, bacon and egg rolls, tinned meals warmed up over our fire, our long loving talks into the night as we stared at the stars and the moon and weekends together I actually had no claim on the man and he may just have moved on.

Fuckety Fuck!

I got off at my stop and grabbed a skinny latte from the nearby Costa, one thing my lovely village couldn't supply, and slowly walked back to Theresa's house.

As I reached the park I saw Dad walking Benny, and it warmed my heart on the cold winter day. Dad had never been a 'dog person' but quickly fell under the spell of Benny who curled up in front of his fire, never bothered him and would sit in companionable silence with him, content to sit and stare into the flames, while I read the paper or one of the hundreds of books that Mum and Dad had collected over the years.

Dad had walked Benny back in Bristol, and was amazed that my big boy would walk to heel, not pull on the lead and would come back when called. I walked back to Theresa's with them and Dad took my hand.

"It'll be alright love," he said still not knowing what was troubling me, "You'll find that life has a way of sorting itself out." He squeezed my hand and I rested my head on his shoulder.

After one of my sister's spectacular high teas, we headed back to Bristol, my Nephew and Niece begging me to bring Benny back to see them soon.

We drove home listening to Radio Four and a collection of interesting programmes that were interesting enough to listen to and create some discussion but not to leave an uncomfortable silence between us.

At Dad's place, he got out and went straight for Benny's lead and said he'd walk him around the block before bed time. After a quiet New Year's Eve that we both slept through, I was amazed when Dad said that I should bring the dog back for his birthday in February as they got on so well.

I went home.

After the piles of food I put away over Christmas I started to notice some tenderness around my belly, and I figured that my rare, quick and occasional menstrual cycle had finally decided that my damaged genitals were not worth the messing around with and I'd hit my menopause a few years early. Like fifteen years early.

At least that's what I told myself. In my heart of hearts I was terrified that whatever infection had taken away my ability to have children had mutated into some kind of cancer of my womb or my one remaining ovary or something, and I was preparing myself for a couple of days in hospital and a hysterectomy.

When I'd first moved to my village, I'd checked in with the local GP Dr Gethwynn and he arranged for my notes to be sent from my old Doctor in London. I had a quick check up and was formally welcomed to the surgery.

I didn't think I'd need to see him, I normally enjoyed excellent health and he'd complimented me on it. I think it was as much to do with living here than anything else.

As I sat in the waiting room I was sure I could feel a lump in my abdomen which I was convinced had swollen somewhat, and started a run-down of what I would need to put in order if I should die.

As the first few patients went in, I sat feeling more and more nervous about things, and made to get out a notepad and write my last will and testament, with instructions for my funeral (I wanted my ashes spread around the pool) and that Jess should look after Benny then spread his ashes with mine once he passed on. With tears in my eyes I heard, "Miss Wagner?"

There was Doctor Gethwynn, with a huge smile for me.

"Hello Margaret," he said beaming at me, "Won't you come through?"

I walked across to him barely controlling my tears. In his office, I took a seat and he leaned back in his high-backed chair.

"Well Maggie," he said, "what can I do for you today," he steepled his fingers, "I must say you've been looking extremely well seeing you around the village?"

"I feel a bit out of sorts Doctor, you know with my sterility and everything?" I said, "Well, my abdomen feels a little tight; I'm concerned because my very occasional and light periods have stopped altogether now, I'm worried..."

"When did they stop?"

"Three or four months back now, I think."

"Don't you worry Maggie," he said, "If there's anything to worry about we'll find it and sort it." He stood with a jump, "right, let's sort all the usual stuff," he grabbed a tiny sample jar and handed it across to me, "Pop next door and fill that for me."

I did, and coming back into the room I handed it across. He proceeded to weigh me, take a blood test, and asked me to lay on the examination table behind him. He looked at me, stopped, turned back to his bench, messed around with some stuff behind him, then turned to me and lowered my jeans and panties and raised my sweater and felt around my abdomen; I felt no pain.

He pursed his lips, and turned his back on me to look at whatever he had been working on before.

"So Margaret," said the old Doctor, "have you been trying for a baby?"

"I..." I stuttered; I wondered if my salacious behaviour in the woods was that obvious, perhaps my pussy showed signs of the hard use it had undergone in the last few months, I got my breath and thought better of my genitalia, he hadn't looked that far. "No Doctor, I'm... functionally sterile," I said with a choke in my voice, "I've scarred fallopian tubes, my womb lining is shot to bits and my one ovary is polycystic; I will confess that I was in a relationship a while back but no," I sighed, "I stopped trying to have a baby after my the operation to remove my other ovary and the consultant told me there was no point, well not without the support of a petri dish and some surgery at least."

I wiped an unbidden tear from my cheek and the old GP's face broke into a smile.

"I think your consultant was mistaken," he said shaking his head.

"What?" I said, not getting his meaning at all.

"Your consultant said you were functionally sterile yes?"

"Yes," I said, "it was about two years ago, had the surgery in October so two and half now I come to thi..."

"Whatever your consultant said about your scarred tubes and your war torn womb, I don't care about how poly-wassname your sad single ovaries is, it doesn't alter the fact that you are pregnant."

"It's a shame because I really did..." I paused as my mind heard what my ears had picked up. I looked across at him and he was holding a pregnancy tester with blue lines in each window. "I'm... what?"

He smiled.

"You're pregnant darling."

My mouth flapped fish like as my brain worked out the import of his last statement.

"Preg... Pregnant?" I said with a daft sounding squeak at the end of my sentence, "Like nine months of baggy T-shirts, morning sickness, craving chocolate pregnant?"

"I expect you crave chocolate anyways sweetie, but yes, you are most certainly pregnant but based on that growing swell on your normally flat and healthy belly and that you haven't come on in all that time. I'd say you don't have nine months to go probably more in the five or six kind of region." He stood up, "I'll give you an appointment and you can head down to the clinic in Maerbont and have the proper scan and check that it's nothing more sinister that that. They'll give you the due date and everything." He extended a hand, "Congratulations Margaret, I just know you'll be the most wonderful mother," he squeezed my hand, "don't worry Darling," he leant forward, "it's the best feeling in the world, you won't regret it I promise you."

I stood, gave him a hug, and walked out with him to the reception desk where he loudly asked the receptionist to arrange a day visit to the clinic at Maerbont for the 'full work up'.

I saw two women clutch their handbags and look across at me. I guessed the Clinic at Maerbont was one step up from being cast into the home for unmarried mothers and I looked across the room at the two harridans figuring if I stayed for much longer I'd have my head shaved, be covered in tar and feathers and dragged to the village pond to be ducked before I was thrown over the boundary to the shame of my family.

I took the printout the receptionist had prepared and with the most self-satisfied and annoying grin I could muster I went outside and walked to the village square and sat on the bench before the duck pond, and with a grin tried to work out where the ducking stool would be set up for me.

I read the print out again, and held the tiny pot for my early morning urine sample.

Next to me without me even realising it was an old Welsh lady, dressed in a black coat against the autumn chill and a matching hat.

"You look like you've 'ad a bit of a shock Ceri?" she said in that wonderful warm Welsh accent I was growing to love.

"You could say that," I said.

"You live in the cottages that back onto the wood don't you." She said, not as a question but a statement.

"Yes," I said, "number seven."

"Awwww well!" she piped in a sweet voice, "That explains it then."

"Explains what?"

"Explains how a gorgeous single girl like you that never thought for a second you'd ever fall pregnant, suddenly finds herself expecting."

"How... how did you know?"

"Magic!" she said, waggling her fingers.

Her black eyes sparkled and for a moment I stopped talking. It was rubbish of course but it did stop me for a few moments, then I smiled at her.