Author's Notes:

Rating: G

Setting: For you JH fans out there, this is the second in (what I hope will become) a series of James Henry vignettes. This story is another snapshot in time; it's the same JH as in my prior story but at another moment in his young life. This story takes place approximately 7 years after S5E8.

Disclaimer: The story and characters of Doc Martin belong to Buffalo Pictures. This work of fan fiction is for personal amusement only and no infringement of any legal rights is intended.

I figured out early on in my life that my dad was a doctor and that people came to his surgery when they were sick or hurt and he made them better. However, I obviously wasn't allowed in the surgery when he was seeing patients so, other than the times that he'd taken care of me, I'd never actually seen him doctoring anyone.

All of my friends at school went to my dad, mostly for routine stuff like school medicals, jabs, and the occasional cold or sore throat. Or at least that's what they'd told me because dad never talked about his patients. I'd once asked Dad about one of my friends who was sick. His face had turned to stone and he'd said, "James, I can't discuss my patients with anyone." I wasn't sure what I'd done wrong. After all, what good was it having your dad as the GP when he wouldn't tell you anything about what was wrong with your friends?

Mum had later explained that Dad wasn't allowed to talk about his patients, even to Mum and me. She said something about "ethics" and "patient confidentiality," which I didn't understand at all. She'd then asked how I would feel if he told all of my friends about my medical problems.

I'd responded, "He wouldn't do that because he's my dad." Mum shook her head, rolled her eyes, and gave up trying to explain anything more other than reminding that I shouldn't ever ask Dad about his patients.

What was really tough for me was when one friend wanted the scoop on why another friend – or the friend's brother, sister, mum or dad – had gone to visit the GP. Because my dad was the GP, they not only expected me to know all about the visit, but to share my prized information. I'm not sure they believed me when I said that my dad wasn't allowed to tell me anything.

So, all in all, I was kind of disappointed that my dad was the village doctor. Even worse were the infrequent times when he decided to get involved in non-medical parts of my life. It was one thing for him to come to my football games or school recitals – minimal time at a distance. It was quite another matter when he decided to spend an entire day with my friends and me, like the time my Year 2 class went a field trip to the Newquay zoo.

The night before, my parents nearly had a row about whether I'd even be allowed to go. They'd sent me upstairs to my room early while they "discussed the matter," as they put it, but I'd crept down the steps to listen as my fate hung in the balance.

Dad wasn't keen on field trips to begin with. "Children learn in school," he'd often said when this subject came up, "not spending half the day sitting on a bus and the other half gawking at trees or paintings or something equally useless. He'd be better off staying home and studying his maths." I knew that, if were up to my dad, I'd probably never go on a field trip anywhere, anytime. Luckily, mum had been a teacher and had a somewhat different view.

That night, Mum kept talking about how important it was for me to go to the zoo to see the animals in person, to pet them, to touch them, and to feed them. "You can't appreciate the size and beauty of an ostrich simply by looking at picture books or on the Internet," she'd said.

My dad had called the zoo animals "diseased creatures" and then rattled off a bunch of long and complicated names of things they might "carry" and which I might "catch," which at the time didn't make much sense to me.

And then he started in on how filthy zoos and wild animals were. I shouldn't have been surprised. As long as I could remember, my dad had been unusually concerned about dirt and disease. Clean hands, clean sheets, clean towels, clean underwear, clean socks . . . part of it probably came from his being a doctor. But he didn't seem to understand that fun stuff often caused you to get dirty, like catching tadpoles in the creek or eating a huge chocolate ice cream in the middle of summer. And it made me wonder whether he'd had much fun when he was my age.

He didn't talk much about being a kid. A few times I'd asked him whether he'd done this or that – usually something I was keen on doing myself. Most of the time, he got a faraway look in his eyes and said, "No, I didn't." So I asked what he did for fun when he was a kid, and the stuff he talked about – reading books, playing chess, and learning to play the piano - didn't sound like much fun to me. And I bet he'd never been to the zoo.

"Martin," Mum said that night when my Dad had finally finished with all the bad stuff about animals and zoos, "All of the other children in his class will be going to the zoo. How will it look if James is the only one who isn't there?"

"It will look like his parents are the only ones exercising appropriate parental responsibility," my dad replied.

Mum wouldn't back down and, in the end, Dad had agreed to let me go on the field trip, but only if he could go along with us, which didn't seem such a good idea to me. Dad, I'd learned, could be unpredictable at times, and I was worried about what he might say or do in front of the other kids. I could only hope some medical emergency would call him away at the last minute.

It was not to be and, the next morning, Dad was at the school car park at the appointed time, dressed in his usual suit and carrying his large medical bag. I didn't really understand why he needed his bag but, knowing him, he was probably afraid one of the animals would take a bite out of one of us, or something like that.

At first I was proud of Dad for riding with us on the school bus rather than driving in his car. He sat in the front, right across from our teacher, Miss Devonshire. He looked really uncomfortable on our small unpadded seats, hunched over with his knees almost pushing through the seat in front of him.

"I'm so glad you were able to join us on this field trip, Doctor Ellingham." Miss Devonshire said to him early on in the trip. "It's always hard to find parents willing to chaperone."

"Yes."

"This is an excellent zoo; it will be a wonderful experience for the children."

"Uh-huh." Dad wasn't even looking at her.

"I'm sure James is happy to have you along."

"I doubt that," he replied, and I wholeheartedly agreed.

Miss Devonshire apparently decided that my dad wasn't much of a talker because she turned away and didn't speak to him again during the ride.

I almost died when Dad asked the bus driver why all of us weren't wearing seat belts, listing all of the possible injuries we might suffer in the event of a crash. Our driver, Mrs. Perkins, assured him that the law didn't require seatbelts and that we were perfectly safe. He said no more but didn't look convinced.

When the bus went over big bumps in the road, all of us jumped high out of our seats and screamed loudly. The first time we did it, Dad turned around, all red in the face, like he wanted to shout at someone, but didn't.

The second time it happened, he did.

"Quiet! Shut up! The lot of you! How can you expect the woman to drive the bus safely with all of you shouting like that."

He pointed at Jessica, one of the girls in my class whom I rather liked, although I'd never tell her. "You there! What are you doing out of your seat? Sit down before you fall down and cut your head wide open!"

Several pairs of eyes – including Jessica's – immediately flicked to me, and I couldn't decide if they felt sorry for me for having this raving tosser as my dad or were blaming me for letting him come along. I slunk down in my seat and fervently wished I could sink right out of the bottom of the bus or that whatever gods existed would whisk me away. I should have stayed home, I told myself. This trip was going to be a nightmare. I should have skipped the stupid zoo and stayed home.

When we finally arrived at the Newquay zoo, everyone wanted to get out of the stuffy bus and into the fresh air. They pushed their way to the front, chatting excitedly about what we were soon to see. When I'd clambered out of the bus, I pulled Dad aside while the others all raced toward the zoo entrance.

"Dad, please don't," I begged softly.

"Please don't what? What am I doing wrong?" he asked in a loud voice, and I quickly glanced around to see who might be listening. Thankfully, everyone else was more interested in getting their tickets and being the first through the turnstile than watching me talk to my dad. Or, more likely, after my dad's explosion on the bus, they didn't want to get near either of us.

"Please don't . . ." How did I say to my dad, "Please don't be you?" How did I explain to him that the other kids found him really smart but a bit weird and that, when he acted the way he had a few minutes ago in front of my friends, I was the one who ended up suffering at their hands.

I tried again. "I know you don't much like animals." The look on Dad's face confirmed that much. "Maybe you could wait for us . . ." I searched the area for someplace he might find comfortable that would be well away from my classmates and me. As we walked toward the entrance, my eyes lit upon the zoo's small café. "Might you get a cup of tea, maybe, while we're inside?"

He frowned down at me. "That rather defeats the purpose of my coming, doesn't it?"

As I was trying to think of another way to tell my dad that he was embarrassing the heck out of me, Miss Devonshire came up to us.

"Doctor Ellingham, as long as you're here, perhaps you could stay with the back of the group as we move through the exhibits. With a class this size, it's sometimes hard to keep all of the children together. You could help make sure we don't lose anyone."

There were only a dozen of us so it wasn't like we could run off in too many directions at once. Still, the expression on my dad's face made clear that he wasn't excited about the prospect of overseeing a group of unruly children.

"It would be a great help," my teacher added.

"Yes, um, all right," Dad said without enthusiasm.

"Wonderful!" Miss Devonshire gushed.

I had somewhat the same thought. If I couldn't keep Dad from going with us into the zoo, at least he'd be in the back of the pack and maybe less likely to make some comment that I'd regret later.

My teacher beckoned us forward. "If you'll just follow me inside; the children are excited to get started."

Well, most of the children, I mentally added. The child of Dr. Martin Ellingham - namely me - headed into the zoo with a tight knot in his stomach and a short prayer that this day wouldn't turn into a disaster.