Doctors Smith & Saxon: Purgatory

Chapter 1:

-/-

John had forgotten how cold it could get. In London spring was already underway but it seemed to still be a lifetime away this far up north. For many people revisiting the land of his birth would be a sort of homecoming, but for Dr John Smith it was more akin to surviving purgatory. Not that his protestant upbringing had him in believing in such a place, but if it did exist, John was certain, it was located somewhere around the Glasgow slums he had grown up in.

The last few weeks had seem him tread what was once familiar ground. Yet many of the squalid tenement blocks he had grown up around, had been torn down, and in their place equally squalid concrete tower blocks had sprung up. The roads, the people were alien to him now, and John couldn't count the number of times he had gotten turned around and lost. He was just lucky none of those little misadventures, had landed him in serious trouble. His good quality coat and shoes already marked him out as different.

Still John wasn't completely stupid; he was always safely back in his hotel before dusk. Back to his hotel room, alone, back to his redrafting and the bottle of whiskey that helped to warm his bed. He needed the alcohol, because every moment spent re-reading and editing his own text, was a reminder of the woman who had inspired this latest work. He missed his Marsaili. It was a physical ache, like he had ripped himself open, dragged out vital organs and left them behind. John wasn't sure he could continue to survive with his body in Glasgow and his heart in London; it was just too far, he was certain the connection would snap and he would be left bleeding inwardly.

Yet as much as his heart longed to return his head refused to capitulate. Every night John lay awake in his hotel bedroom, staring at the ceiling, turning the story Missy had told him over in his mind. She wasn't the woman John had thought her to be, and he wasn't sure he could accept the real her. Could he live with a woman prone to such violent outbursts? Could he love her and forgive her and trust her?

Trust…that was at the core of this. John knew he loved her, he probably could forgive her, but could he willingly trust his own life and those of his friends in Missy's hands?

There was now a division in his mind between the woman, Marsaili, he had believed her to be, and Missy, the real her. Warts and all, wasn't that true love, accepting someone for all their faults? God knows Missy had done that with him, and yet John was honest enough to admit, she was probably stronger than him in this regard. Hell she was stronger than him in all regards….well except in regards to regulating her temper.

Scrunching his eyes against the images that played before his eyes John tried to push them away. He could probably learn to accept and move past the drugs, the depression and desire to escape, John knew only too well. The depths someone could be driven to in seeking that escape…

Yes he could.

Walking around Glasgow's streets, John had seen his fair share of despair, of people trapped in a cycle with no hope, whose only release from this nightmare, that was their life, came in a pill or a pipe.

He could probably even come to accept the violence, with which Missy had defended herself, when that bastard dealer tried to rape her. In the wee hours of the night, John had to be honest with himself, if he walked in on someone trying to rape Marsaili; he doubted he would care whether he killed them either. At least at the time, later he might regret it. but at the time he probably would done something very similar.

So if John could understand the why, could accept the consequences, why couldn't he get past this and go home?

Clara….it was as simple and as complicated as his ex-girlfriend.

Missy had hurt her, had threatened her whilst she was laid up in the hospital and that was something John couldn't get past or accept. Clara was still very dear to him, and god knows he and Missy had already been the cause of enough heartbreak for her, yet John drew the line at actual physical harm.

Fear and jealousy; they had driven Missy to threaten Clara to stay away from him. The violence was not part of her past, it was part of what made Missy Missy and John wasn't sure he could ever learn to accept that. How could he live and love and trust her? Wouldn't he always be worried that something, or someone, would trigger that side of his beloved?

So he had run away.

Dr John Smith was good at running away.

And yet this time…this time…

Sitting up in his bed, his shoulders shaking with the force of keeping himself together, John switched on the bedside light, his gaze drifting to half-finished letter sitting their taunting him. He had promised Missy he would write, for a writer that should have come easily to him, and yet John struggled. There was so much he wanted, needed to say to her, but his words muddled and taunted him.

Perhaps he was over thinking this? John's words didn't need to be perfect, not for her. It wasn't like he was writing for his editor, his was writing to his lover…the woman he had left behind…the woman who was probably convinced that despite his promises, John had already decided to abandon her.

Grabbing the pad, John's hand shook slightly as he gripped his pen. His beloved typewriter wouldn't do, not for this letter. Then not allowing his doubts to hold him back John put pen to paper…and somehow this time the words came.

-/-

Dr Missy Saxon was the picture of professional poise. Her hair, make up and outfit was immaculate. She turned up early every morning, greeted her secretary politely, deferring any personal questions, ran her sessions to time, made detailed notes and managed to convince her patients she was invested in their progress. Yet inside she was screaming.

It had almost been two weeks and she hadn't heard from him. No calls and none of the letters John had promised her he would write.

So whilst at work Missy was able to present a veil of control, at home, her flat reflected her internal conflict. She hadn't changed her sheets since John had left, and part of Missy quailed at the thought of all the dried sweat and dead skin and bed bugs, yet she couldn't bring herself to change them. Her guest pillow probably smelt more of her than John, but Missy still clung to it, the material soaked through night after night with her tears.

Takeout boxes were stacked precariously on top of the bin. Missy couldn't be bothered to empty it, who cared if it started to smell, who cared if she left half empty glasses on every surface, so what if she had been reduced to drinking her whiskey out of a tea cup?

Every morning was the same; Missy dragged herself out of bed, head pounding, stomach churning, showered and dressed according to rote. Then the woman that stepped out of her flat appeared like any other fortysomething professional. She grabbed a large coffee on the way to work, plenty of sugar substituting for the breakfast she couldn't stomach. She worked through her appointments, shutting down part of herself was a relief. She worked through lunch, her stomach still not settled, then when Mary threatened to kick her out of the office in the evening, a starving Missy would grab something to eat on the way home.

That was her life now, rinse and repeat.

Sitting at her desk, her notes for her first patient open in front of her; Missy barely looked up when Mary entered. She did force a smile when her secretary set down a full cup of coffee in front of her, yet Mary wasn't buying it, not if her barely concealed concerned expression was anything to go by.

"I've also got some post for you to look through." Mary added surprising Missy, as her secretary normally handled anything that wasn't client related, and that really was few and far between.

Swallowing nervously Mary set down a crisp white envelope, with only one word written on the front…Marsaili…

Leaning back in her desk chair, Missy could feel her breathing pick up. She knew that handwriting.

"How…"

"It was in another envelope addressed to the office, there was a note addressed to me from Dr Smith asking me to make sure you got that."

Nodding Missy could only stare at the letter, at her name written in John's hand. Hand trembling she ran her fingers over the word, feeling beneath her fingertips the imprint of his pen in the expensive paper.

"Thank you Mary." Missy added by rote, her politeness a barely disguised form of dismissal.

Yet either Mary didn't get the hint, or worse, her secretary was about to stick her oar in.

"I didn't know if I should give it to you now…or perhaps hold on to it until after your morning appointments?" Mary offered hesitantly. "I could hold it for you…"

"I am perfectly capable of making up my own mind Mary!" Missy snapped, and by her reaction practically confirming her secretary's caution. "I'm sorry…I shouldn't snap at you."

"I don't mean to interfere Missy, but you aren't yourself, and neither of us knows what's in that letter?….I just thought if it wasn't good news that you might want some privacy and you do have the afternoon free?"

Bless her; at least someone was looking out for her, even when Missy wasn't capable of looking out for herself. Part of her wanted nothing more than to rip the envelope open right now, appointments be damned, another part dreaded ever opening it. John could be ending things between them for good this time, after two weeks without a word Missy didn't expect it to a declaration of his undying love.

It couldn't hurt putting off hearing that for a few hours…to allow herself a few more hours of denial?

It was the sensible thing to do but when had Missy Saxon ever done the sensible thing?

Her fingers tore open the envelope; her haste sent a jagged tear through her own name, an ill portent indeed.

My Darling Marsaili,

The affectionate nature of the address had Missy releasing the breath; she didn't know she had been holding.

I hardly know what to write, in truth have started this less so many times and yet the words I set down seemed infantile and lacking the depth I have striven for. I had not realised so long had passed, and then I began to panic, in truth any words no matter how clumsy must he better than no news at all. I am sorry for the worry and heartache my sudden departure and ensuing silence have caused.

So far so good it seemed and Missy managed to drag her gaze away from the page, long enough to smile and nod at Mary, her secretary seemed almost as relieved as Missy was that it wasn't bad news. She would leave her alone now.

I have been travelling the road of my youth, and I confess it has been a harder journey than I had anticipated. I don't know what I expected to find here, there are no answers in the streets I grew up in. I am no happier here than I would be back home. I miss you.

I imagine you there glaring at the page, reminding me that if I miss you so much that the remedy is in my own hands. In truth love I am stuck, I am trapped between what my heart wants so desperately, and what my conscience can live with. I do love you my darling, never ever doubt that. You are the only thing that brings true joy to my life. The world is grey and dull without you, and no, that is not just Scotland.

Snorting at John's attempt at humour, Missy swallowed down the tears that had sprung up at his declaration of love. She had begun to doubt it. If he truly loved her like he said he did, then how could he leave her? Still to go to Scotland, and at least a temporary stop in Glasgow, it was so far and yet Missy took some semblance of comfort, that at least if he was far from her, he was also far from Clara Oswald.

I will write to you soon, even if it is only a few words, I won't leave it so long again. Stay safe my darling, look after yourself in my absence. I will be very cross if I found out you have been neglecting your health because of me.

All my love

John.

-/-

John wasn't sure what mad sprite caused him to come here. This trip had been about clearing out his own old ghosts, giving himself breathing space, to decide where his life was headed, and who with. Perhaps it was just that he was tired of Glasgow, that there were fewer answers there than anticipated. He had planned to head over to his old university haunts, yet instead his feet had taken him to the train station, where the announcement of the local service to Ayr had tempted him too much to resist.

It was prettier than John expected, far different than the slums he had grown up in, although he was sure it had its run down areas as well. Some money had been spent on the promenade at least and John had savoured the strong sea breeze. It had blown away any cobwebs, even if it had made his already wild hairstyle look like a birds nest.

There were no answers here either it seemed. Being in the town of Marsaili's birth had not brought her any closer to him. It had been foolish to think he would find anything of her here; it had been years since Missy had lived here.

Determined to head back to Glasgow and continue on with his journey John was so intent that it wasn't surprising when he got a little lost. The residential area he found himself in was decidedly lacking in any shops or café's, in which to ask directions, and John was just considering trying to retrace his steps back to the sea front, when it began to rain. And not the light drizzle that he normally had to put up with in London, but a heavy deluge that quickly threatened to soak through his gabardine overcoat.

Swearing under his breath John jogged through the rain, glancing about for any sort of shelter…There that was open.

The church door was open and John happily stepped out of the rain and into the vestibule. Shaking off the water that had gathered in his curls, John glanced up at the darkened sky.

"Damn."

"You know laddie most people might shy away from blaspheming in the house of God."

Startled John all but jumped out of his skin. He had assumed himself alone, yet just inside the inner church doors was a vacuum wielding lady, of undetermined years, yet she was definitely 60ish.

"Sorry…I didn't realise…"

"Anyone was listening aye, well in the house of God someone is always listening." She chuckled, blue eyes glinting with mirth as John squirmed a little. "Don't worry sonny I'm just joshing with ya. Now come on inside, you'll catch ya death if you go back out in that, I'll even put on the kettle."

"Really I am f…" John tried to insist, yet she had already turned and vanished back into the church, and an ungrateful John felt himself compelled by politeness to follow.

It was a little warmer inside the great cavernous structure, yet it wasn't the cool air that made John shiver. He had never felt particularly comfortable in any church, his grandmother was a dedicated Protestant, John had never held any real religious views of his own; even so it still felt alien to step into the very Catholic Church.

Following the lead from the vacuum John walked along the aisle before ducking down and through into a little side room. It held a table and a few fold up chairs, a single sink set against the back wall and the same smiling pensioner.

"Ah now take a seat, it won't take a minute for the water to boil."

Smiling politely John took a seat, watching absently as his companion fussed with the tea things over the sink before turning back to him.

"Sugar?"

"Ah yes please…three."

"Sweet tooth." She added with a smile that seemed almost wistful for a moment. "So many of you youngsters seem to have it plain these days." She babbled on. "One of my grandies won't even have milk!" She added as though the idea of tea without milk was clearly ludicrous.

"Yes well." John supplied, more by rote, it wasn't like he really needed to contribute to the conversation, she seemed quite happy to prattle on as if he hadn't spoken at all.

"I've got a bit of shortbread stashed away if you fancy a piece."

For a moment John opened his mouth to politely refuse, yet before he could, a large piece of the treat was being plated up and placed in front of him.

"A tall boy like you needs feeding up." She tutted whilst she finished the tea. "There now isn't this lovely."

Again it was more of a statement than a question and John managed to avoid answering by taking a large bite of the shortbread. It was buttery and crumbly perfection, and John did his best to stifle a moan of delight.

His pleasure must have shown on his face because his companion smiled broadly, taking her seat as she slid over his mug of tea. "It's my mother's recipe. I've been offered actual money for it but I won't ever let it go…" She paused, the same sad expression flitting over her face. "Somethings should stay in the family."

"Thank you." John replied not knowing what else he should or could say.

Pulling the tea close, it took a long sip from the hot liquid, feeling it warm him up from the inside.

"Much better?" His companion asked in her usual rhetorical manner before continuing. "My Mam always said there ain't much that can't be put right by a good cuppa."

"So…" She sat back in her chair, blue eyes twinkling mischievously as she stared at her captive audience over the wisps of steam from her hot tea. "You're not from round here are ya?"

"No. I just came down from Glasgow on the train today." John replied, a sense of dejavu washing over him for some reason, which was ridiculous, as he didn't make a habit of drinking tea with strange old women in churches, regardless of denomination.

"And you no a Catholic neither." She added the hint of a smug smile playing about her mouth, as John's eyebrows shot up. "Oh dunnie worry laddie God won't mind."

Swallowing down his mouthful of scolding tea John could resist asking. "How did you work that out?"

"Because ya didne cross yourself with the holy water when ya came in." She added tapping her head, "Observation will teach ya more about a person than what comes outta their mouth, ya ken?"

"Aye." John had to concede that much.

"So did ya find what ya were looking for?"

"What makes you think I was looking for anything?" John questioned, his eyebrow dropping into a deep V.

"Just tha look upon ya face, like ya lost a pound and found a penny."

It was blunt, and more than a little prying but John couldn't deny that she was right. "I'm starting to think what I am looking for, can't be found by just travelling somewhere." John answered softly.

"Aye often that's the truth, still if you want some help, Father Michael will be in to take confession after two."

"No…no thank you." John insisted politely but firmly. He knew she probably meant well, but he doubted talking about this to a man in a dress, through a wooden screen would help him. At least it wouldn't help him.

"It's bound to be about some girl." The old lady tittered knowingly, "I've seen that look before young un."

"You do realise you are probably only ten years older than me." John countered, this woman's unerring ability to read him was starting to make him nervous, as was her blue gaze, it pinned him to his seat.

"You're young compared to me because you're just starting on life's merry go wheel, I'm old because I've been around and thrown off more times than I can remember. It's picking yourself up and having another go that ages you."

"So is it better to sit out and stay young?" Malcolm retorted, not surprised when his companion looked like at him like he had said something particularly stupid.

"Laddie you'll still pop your clogs like the rest of us whether you play on the merry go round or no. Do you really wanna meet your maker not having lived your life first?" She added slyly, taking a sip of her tea.

"Aye life might knock the stuffing out of ya, but it's not worth giving up on til ya have ta. If you met my twin sister you'd be counting your blessings, she's got the cancer. Spent her life working her fingers to the bone to support her bairns cause that no good drunk she married cannie be bothered to get off his fat…well you get the picture." She added with a hint of devilry. "She lost two of her wee babies, one when he was a baby, just fell asleep in his crib and never woke up, then her poor girl…fell in with the wrong lot…she just vanished."

"She sounds like a remarkable woman." John remarked his throat suddenly dry, his brain was making connections and yet it couldn't be; this wasn't one of his novels.

"Aye and yet she still drags herself her for morning service every Sunday. She comes here and counts her blessings, thanks God for all the good things she did get, and doesn't moan about the bad."

"Your sister…" John began, unsure just how he could ask this without sounding mad, yet it niggled at him unwilling to let go until he knew. "Would she be interested in telling her story do you think? I'm a writer and I am always looking for interesting life stories."

Surprised by the sudden question his companion's eyes narrowed, and John felt scrutinised from head to toe. "Well I don't know she might."

"Do you think if I came back on Sunday I might be able to ask her?" John pressed on. "You could introduce me?"

"How can I do that since we haven't even been introduced?" His companion shot back smugly, standing up to wash up her now empty mug, chuckling along at her own joke and John couldn't help but laugh at her point.

"Dr John Smith." John offered along with his hand as he stood up.

"Oh a Doctor, well please to meet you Dr Smith, I am Mrs Clyde…Marsaili Clyde."

Swallowing down his heart which had practically jumped into his throat, John did his best to steady his hand when Mrs Clyde shook it. Following her back into the main body of the church, John stood around a little awkwardly as she began to gather together all the cleaning supplied that had been left out.

"Marsaili that's an unusual name."

"Aye I suppose it is nowadays, now it's all Jades and India's and the like, still it's a family name."

A scientist John could allow for the law of coincidence and yet something had brought him here today, had guided his footsteps to Ayr, and this church and this woman. It was enough to almost have him believing in a higher being, or fate, or some such nonsense.

"So can I come back on Sunday and meet her?"

Shaking her head in disbelief Mrs Clyde smiled. "Aye it's a free country, if I see you here I'll introduce ya, I cannie promise she'll want to talk to ya…I mean you're a stranger, but I suppose the Lord works in mysterious ways and perhaps he has brought you here to do some good?"

-/-

John was nervous, and when he was nervous he either retreated into himself, a more recent practice, or he was overly gregarious. Yet neither of these approaches would help him today. His nervous energy and long frame meant it was difficult for John to sit still on the hard wooden pews. Even harder was it to feign interest in the service, there was something unsettling for him a non-believer to be surrounded by those who had faith, he felt like an interloper, setting foot on ground that was forbidden.

Yet what yet him from awkwardly shuffling past people to make a quick dash for the exit, were the two ladies sitting across the aisle and several pews further forward. John had arrived early for the service, so he had seen Mrs Clyde and her sister arrive. Marsaili Clyde had noted his present, an amused expression playing about her face, yet she only acknowledged him with the barest of nods before assisting her sister to her seat.

It was deliberate John was sure, making him wait through the whole service, perhaps it was a test. Whatever the reason John did feel like a child waiting to hear if he had passed on failed.

Finally the service was over, and the parishioners began to drift around, some greeting old friends, some approaching the front of the church and lighting candles and saying private prayers. Mrs Clyde and her sister were part of the later group and John waiting impatiently for their private devotions to be concluded.

Was she lighting a candle for her daughter?

John's heart clenched at the thought. If this was Missy's family then they honestly thought she was dead, and he hadn't yet decided what he was going to do or say about that. Should he say anything? Surely it was Missy's choice; she had chosen to leave her family behind and in the dark about her new life. What right did he have to swoop in here, turn all their lives upside down, expose Missy to who knows what ghosts she was probably ill prepared to deal with, especially as he hadn't even decided yet whether he could stay in her life.

Not to mention all of this worrying could be for nothing, it could just be a coincidence….

Yeah one extremely unlikely coincidence…

"Well young man my sister tells me you want to talk to me."

It was a statement and not a question and John's eyes whipped up. Catching her gaze John's breath caught in his throat. Right no coincidence. It was Missy, well an older version, short dark hair heavily streaked with grey, cheek bones you could open bottles with and those eyes.

"I thought you said he wasn't an idiot?"

"Sorry…" John cleared his throat. "I was just surprised."

"Well you're not mute but I will reserve judgement about whether you are an idiot."

"Aye Mary give the lad a chance." Mrs Clyde tried her best to sooth ruffled feathers. Clearly John had a tentative ally there but it was one best to hold in reserve and instead do his best to work on her sister.

Looking John up and down, Mary's raised eyebrow said more about what she really thought, yet her sharp tongue remained bridled. "So do you have a name?"

"Dr John Smith…Mrs…"

"McDonald…Mary McDonald."

"A pleasure." John added and he did his best to mean it.

"So why on earth would you want to talk to me Dr Smith?"

"I'm a writer." John replied, girding his loins as best he could in the face of such familiar icy reserve. "I am up here finishing off my next book and your sister mentioned you had an interesting life story…"

"If you're just interesting in peddling some gossip piece…" Mrs McDonald broke off. "I've had quite enough of that from these old biddies." She added, glancing around at the clearly eavesdropping ladies, who had found excuses to hover close by, who now scattered like a flock of birds.

"Well perhaps you can judge that for yourself." John replied, retrieving the bag he had brought with him, and fishing out a newly purchased version of one of his best known and most acclaimed novels.

Opening the cover to where his picture was emblazoned, it was a few years old now but it was still clearly him. Then he handed over the book to a surprised Mary McDonald.

"I have written my mobile number in the back. I am really interested in talking to you Mrs McDonald, perhaps when you have read through what I can do, you might be interested in giving me a call?"

Accepting the book Mary looked at him with something approaching appraising respect. He had surprised her; clearly Mary McDonald was used to people being a disappointment. It was a sad thing to realise, yet for all their physical similarities, this was the one thing that brought home that this was Missy's mother.

"You are a conundrum Dr Smith." Mary McDonald insisted, yet she did slip the book he had given into her bag. "But I suppose there is no real harm in you."

It was damning praise but right now John would take any progress, now if he could only sort out his own head this trip might actually have turned out to have been a good idea after all.

-/-