Are You Happy Now?

by robspace54

I sat by myself at a small table in a nearly empty pub in Newquay, having come down here to… well… just to get away from the village. I held a glass of ice water, bottled, in my hand and watched as beads of condensation slid slowly down the outside of the glass. The glass was hand blown, not machine made, so the thick walls were wavy. I lifted the glass to the light and turned it seeing how the varying thickness changed the character of the light passing through it.

"Taking up crystal gazing, Doctor Ellingham?" a voice rang in my ear. "That it is you, isn't it?"

I turned to see Mr. Porter, smirking at me by the table.

"Oh, it's you." I lowered the glass and tried to keep a straight face.

"Yes, it's me! Ellingham! You didn't show up!"

"What of it?"

"Neither of you did! Now why is that, do you suppose?"

"Why aren't you tending to your pigs?"

He looked around the pub. "What? No friends to sit and drink ice water with?"

"No. Why don't you sod off?"

Ported crossed his arms. "My pigs are quite capable of taking care of themselves, at least for short periods. Do you think I spend all my time with them?" He pulled out a chair and sat.

"Did I ask you to sit, Porter?"

He seemed not to hear me. "You answer my question; I'll answer yours. Why didn't you and Louisa Glasson, fair maid that she is, not come to the church?"

I rolled my eyes at the insufferable man. "Must we?"

"Yes, we must, Ellingham. You know your patient, my prize and beloved pig is doing quite well now. The vet said you did a fine job. Have you perhaps thought of practicing medicine on the porcine members of the Mammalia?"

The memory of crouching in a muck filled pen with my finger stuck into the anus of the patient in question, a large pink and black porker, still gave me nightmares. I drank some water. "Yeah. Great. Have her send me a thank-you card, would you?"

He laughed. "Oh! Good shot, Ellingham! I do love good repartee!" He tapped on the table. "Now answer my question."

I sighed. "Louisa and I…" I stopped.

"Come on, you can do it!"

"I don't like this game."

Porter slapped the table and glared. "Game, man? No, Doctor Ellingham! NOT a bloody GAME!"

"Just what do you want, you fool?"

He nodded at me. "Good question. I want…" he held up a glass to the barman, "another of these." He looked at me invitingly. "Join me?"

"No. Alright." I waved to the publican. "Give him what he wants."

There was blessed silence while another glass was brought to the table. "Nice," he said as he drank. "Vino Veritas! You do know the meaning, don't you?"

Why was I even talking to the man? The man who had ruined… no, not true. I had done that on my own. "Yeah. I do. Vino Veritas – in wine there is truth. Get them drunk and they babble."

"Yes. Good. Your education is very good. I suppose all the medical schools require Latin or Greek."

"Latin and I learned it from sixth to twelfth form."

"Now," he cradled his wine glass. "Your answer, the church and all. We waited – all of us – or at least as many as cared to see the spectacle. But somehow… you missed it, both of you."

I bristled. "None of your damn business!"

He shook his head. "No. Not true. It is my business. You see Ellingham… I pride myself on understanding people. As flawed and obtuse as they may be. But… well, I had the feeling that your absence, as well as the blushing bride, had something to do with me."

I looked around the pub. "Just what are you doing here, anyway?"

"I might say the same to you, Ellingham."

"I, uhm… none of your business and the other as well!" I had parked the car and took a long walk along the River Gannel then came in here for a drink, such as I prefer.

"Ah, yes." He drank more wine. "What say I get a glass of this lovely fruit of the vine for you?" He swirled the glass at me. "Drink a little, and as the Latin phrase says, maybe the truth will out?"

I sneered. "No. Thank you. I mean – no thanks."

"I thought not, man of science – must keep a clear head." He sneered again at me. "Yet here we are – the two of us – no crowd of Portwenn onlookers, no gossip mongers; and oh yes their tongues do wag, don't they?"

I stood up and towered over the former vicar. "Why don't you lay off the juice yourself, Porter? Or are you always this sarcastic?"

He laughed. "Touché. Well played." He put down his glass. "I deserved that."

I felt my blood boiling. "You arrogant… bastard!"

Porter nodded his head. "Yes, I am that. You would know, though, wouldn't you? But you do know what people call you behind your back, as well as to your face. But – answer my question. Why did you and Louisa skip out from the wedding – your own wedding?"

I had crouched in the smelly muck of his pig pen trying to correct the rectal prolapse of his prize pig while he asked all sorts of questions. I had been warned about him, his scornful face probing and prying, that marriages were not his thing. I answered his questions with some desperation, as I didn't want to disappoint Louisa, given I had helped to break the Vicar's hip.

Porter looked across the muck at me as I knelt in pig shit. "No, Ellingham! Not 'she makes me happy'" he smirked as he said it. It should be 'I make her happy.'"

That was it. I looked down at Porter, who had given up his vocation as a pastor, because, I'd heard, he'd gone a bit Bodmin. Had started railing away during a wedding ceremony how the sacrament of marriage had destroyed far more lives than it had saved. He'd quit before the church deacons had demanded his departure. So he'd retired to a farm where he slopped swill to his pigs and swilled wine to excess. I suspected the man was drunk even now.

"Porter, why are you badgering me? Go home and sleep it off!"

"Do you think I am drunk, Ellingham?"

"No. I suspect you are well accustomed to the effects of alcohol. But I do think you are a…"

"A snoop?" He nodded and drained his glass. "Well, I may be a snoop. But tell me anyway." He looked around the empty pub. "Secrets of the confessional, Doctor."

I looked down at the disagreeable man. Someone must have hurt him very deeply. "You are so very bitter. Why?"

He laughed. "You might be a rude tosser, but you have X-ray vision! Yes, she – left me. Married my brother, you know."

"What?"

"My fiancé married my brother, after suitably breaking our engagement and my heart in the process. They then ran off to Aruba and happily settled there running an inn and pumping out squalling baby after baby. A friend visited ten years back and reported they had five children at that point including twins just born." He rubbed the table and I realized that his hands shook.

"Mr. Porter, I notice your hands are shaking. You may be experiencing a nervous system disorder from your longtime imbibing of wine and beer. I suggest a complete neurological workup…"

He stopped me with a slap on the table. "No! This," he held up a quaking hand, "is the early stages of Parkinsonism. Parkinson's disease; already diagnosed."

I sat down, now concerned. "Ah. There are a number of drugs which may be useful…"

"Ellingham, stop. Please! I am not your patient, and believe me; you would not want me as one! You and I in a small room – imagine! The fireworks would be quite amazing. I have a doctor in Truro and yes, I am stopping my drinking." He held the empty glass. "This was the last."

"That's good, then. I mean, stopping the drinking."

"Yes. My doctor thinks so too." He turned his coal black eyes towards me. "Now why didn't you and Louisa come to the church?"

Back to that again. "She… uh… I…"

"Got cold feet, yes?" he smiled as I nodded. "Thought so."

I shrugged. "We…" I faltered and stopped. Why as I even talking to the man? The man who had planted that seed of doubt in my head? But… there were signs all was not well, long before that Saturday. My awkwardness with Louisa, our frequent silences, the odd way she looked at me as Isobel the bride's maid was taken to hospital with her newborn. No, the seeds of doubt were well planted and had grown into full-fledged weeds – ones with long and thick roots and thorny leaves.

"So now here you sit. Alone." Porter observed.

"Yeah." I finished my water.

"So, if you didn't make her happy, and she didn't make you happy… well, there's just one more question isn't there?"

"What's that?"

"Are you happy now, Ellingham?"

"God no!" I couldn't help it. The words just flew out.

"You know, Ellingham, there's not a day that I don't think about Janine. Janine Spencer, my fiancé, former fiancé, now sister-in-law." He lifted his glass and drained the last drops. "Ahhhh. The last is always the best." He rolled the glass in his hand and looked into it. "I shall miss this… just like Janine."

"You are a pitiful creature."

He smiled. "Thanks. From you that is a compliment. I'll go then." Porter stood. "Take a care Ellingham." He stood and stalked out.

It's been three weeks since Louisa and I called off the wedding and I've blundered into her several times. Each time has been painful and regretful. Too much 'what might have been.' There was nothing for it. Just have to muddle through.

Porter had asked me, "Are you happy now?"

I sneered at the memory, but it hurt; far too much to consider. I went to the publican and dropped a five-Pound note on the bar.

"No thank you, sir. The other gentleman paid for it."

"Oh."

I left the ancient building and saw Mr. Porter drive past in his car. He gave me a grim smile and a half-hearted wave.

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