A Knock on the Head

It was an evening like any other or so I thought. At least it began that way. I do remember a horrible noise, the Lexus swerved, and then the airbag burst into my face. Stunned in a cloud of sodium azide smoke the airbag had vented, I was extremely disoriented. The door was pried open and the concerned face of Mrs. Tishell peered in at me.

"You all right, Doctor Ellingham?" she asked.

I coughed. "Don't know what happened!" My head felt like a cricket bat had contacted my cranium. "God, my head!" More coughs arose due to the dusty smoke.

"You just stay there. I'll call for an ambulance." I was expecting her to lift a mobile to her face, but instead she lifted a black radio and spoke into it. "This is Tishell on the North Moor Road, past the Morris farm, and we'd have had an auto accident. It's …"

"No, I'm ok! No ambulance!" I grabbed her arm. "Stop! This will pass." I took my pulse, a bit fast, but that's expected after an auto crash. I released the safety harness and climbed from the car.

"Well, you're sure you feel alright?" she asked.

"Yes, if you could just give me a ride home…"

She looked concerned. "If you're sure."

"Yes, of course!" I shrugged off her supporting arm and took a good look at her. Her hair was longer and pulled back. She was wearing a white shirt with black epaulets, black trousers, and heavy police belt. I saw her return the radio to the holster, arrayed with other bits of police gear. Just then a wave of dizziness struck me and I wavered.

"Oh, watch it there doctor!" She steadied me with both hands. "Come on; let's get you to the Bedford."

"My bag, can you get it?"

"Right! Into the car, now. I'll get your bag in a minute." She walked me to the car as the world whirled about me. She settled me into the front seat and clicked the safety belt in place. "Stay," she commanded.

I watched as she went to my Lexus, poor car bashed once again, and retrieved my medical bag. The silver car was wound around a roadside boulder like teenage lovers in the heat of passion. The insurance company would not be at all happy.

As Mrs. Tishell came back to the Bedford, I was trying to decipher why she was wearing a constable's garb. Perhaps she had a costume party to go to later. And why was she driving Penhale's vehicle? I was too muddled just then to sort it out.

The door slammed. "Now, doctor," she went on, "you just sit there nice and quiet and I'll get you home."

I followed her advice as my headache reached a new summit.

I heard her mutter, "Looks like one-half of the dynamic duo is down for count! Never thought I'd see the day Sally, that Doctor Martin crashes his car, twice in one week."

I closed my eyes and must have dozed.

"Here we are doctor! Safe and sound!"

I looked up and we were outside the surgery on Rosscarrock Hill. The sun was setting in the autumn sky, much later than it had been before. I fumbled with the door handle as Mrs. Tishell came and opened the door.

"Sure you don't want to go into Wadebridge or up to Truro to get checked out? I'd take you; just have to call for backup while I'm gone."

"No." I said firmly. "I'll just lie down, be right as rain in the morning."

"Alright, doctor! You call if you have any difficulties, right!"

I gave her a feeble wave, more of disgust than anything else. I managed to open the front door, drop the bag on the floor, and wearily made for the stairs. Stumbling into the lav, I gulped down two paracetamols, stripped off and tumbled onto the bed. I lay there as the room spun, and my headache rose, until all was darkness.

-x-

I was awakened by fishing boats starting their engines; loud diesel bangs echoing from the harbor. All I could do was lay there for a few minutes. I took stock. I was in my boxers, shirt and socks, my suit a crumpled mass on the floor and my head still hurt. My face stung in spots and my chest, neck, and knees felt sore.

"Damn Martin," I said aloud. "Another car crash. And that was a hell of a knock on the head too." I groaned. I probably should have let Mrs. Tishell take me to hospital. Likely a bit concussed as your brains sloshed up against your cranium.

My alarm clock read six AM. Almost time to get up. After a few minutes more I levered myself upright and made it to the bathroom tripping over my shoes I'd left strewn along the hall

After I used the toilet, I stared at my face in the mirror. Eyes seemed unremarkable, but my left eye's schlera - the white of the eye - was minorly bloodshot. I suppose getting hit in the face by a mass of fabric traveling well over a hundred miles per hour will do that to you. There was also an abrasion on my cheek and chin. Must have had my head turned a bit from the direction of travel when the airbag went off.

I showered, feeling some of the headache and muscle soreness wash off with the sweat. But my rib cage felt tight from where the seat harness had restrained me in the crash. I also had a bruise over my right clavicle and both knees were slightly bruised from striking the instrument panel.

Martin, you've really done it this time. Still no idea what caused the crash? No, not a scintilla of a thought. Just the noise, the swerve, the big thump. At least that as much as I could recall. I downed two more paracetamol tablets. No alcohol for you old son, not that you touch the stuff, generally.

I then shaved and dressed, putting the crumpled suit into the bag for the cleaners. It smelled of the airbag residue. I'll likely be coughing for a while yet, feeling that well known powdery feeling in my throat; like eating a moth. I managed to dress, although my sore chest muscles made tying the tie a tussle.

Breakfast made me feel better; eggs, toast, and coffee went down fine. As my blood sugar levels rose and the analgesics kicked in, my headache subsided. Perfect. Now I could pretend to be interested in my patients' tale of woe, pain, and discomfort.

I was rinsing the plate and frying pan when I heard the front door lock turn and the door open. My watch read almost nine, so my secretary / office assistant / clerk / main pain had arrived. I went through to my surgery and washed my hands with disinfectant.

From the waiting room I could hear the creak of the desk chair, banging of a desk drawer, and the whirring of the computer fans as it started.

I took a deep breath and marched through to confront my headstrong secretary. She was in the chair, bending over messing with a shoe or something, mostly hidden behind the desk. I went to the files, pulled open the top drawer, and took out the plastic box in which every night we stage the patient records for the next morning.

"How many patients today?" I asked staring at the catci on the top of the cabinet.

"Twenty-two," was the muffled answer.

The voice sounded odd. The figure in the chair rose up, dressed in the usual eclectic and flouncy fashion that was uniquely my clerk. Her dark brown hair, grey eyes, and pale face looked up at me.

My God! "Louisa! What are you doing here?" This made no sense!

"What?"

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you at the school?"

"School?" she said and cracked chewing gum. "Why I haven't been in school for…"

"No!" I yelled. "Not in school, teaching school!"

"Me, teach school? You're daft doc. Right lot of good you'd be to the village of Port Ismay if you've gone Bodmin!"

"LOUISA! I have not gone Bodmin! Believe me! And where the bloody hell is Port Ismay?"

"Port Ismay, doc. It's here, right here, in Cornwall; where it's always been."

Not Port Wenn? "This must be some sort of joke. Right? Now what are YOU DOING HERE!"

"I work here!" she sniffed. "Unless you're planning on firing me…"

This was insane. "Louisa. Tell me straight, what are you doing here?"

"Now that's a fine how-de-do, doc, considering I been working for you since Elaine left!"