Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Four

Martin left shortly after the police doctor had gone. The police would want a statement from him but they wanted to process the scene first. They'd asked him to be available in the morning so he'd told them to come to the surgery; it would be disruptive but not as bad as if he had to go to the police station.

Afternoon surgery was officially over but Martin went back to the surgery to check that nothing urgent had come up. As he came into the waiting room his heart sank; the Baker family were waiting to see him. It was now eleven days since Sam Oakwood had crashed into the school and since Chelsey Baker had desperately tried to pull her friends to safety but had had to listen to them die instead. At first, Martin had been hopeful that Chelsey would recover quite quickly but she was having continuous nightmares and was hardly eating. Martin had sent Chelsey to a counsellor but Chelsey had found her 'horrid' and had refused to go and see her again. Her parents were at their wits ends. The appointment this afternoon was to try to decide what to do next. The doctor inside Martin was glad that they had waited but there was a small part of him that longed to send them away so that he could take Peter to see Louisa. Sternly reminding himself that he shouldn't be thinking about his personal life when there were patients needing treatment, he asked Pauline,

'Are there any urgent messages?'

'No, Doctor Ellingham. Is it true?'

'Is what true?'

'Was Anthony Oakwood murdered?'

'That's for the inquest to decide.'

'So he was murdered.'

'I didn't say that,' said Martin, annoyed.

'But they wouldn't have all those police if it was a natural death,' said Emily Baker.

'No and Joe Penhale's dashing around telling everyone how it's not his fault,' added Pauline.

'Joe Penhale's a congenital idiot. I shouldn't believe anything he says, if I were you.'

'So it is his fault, then?'

'No, it isn't. He's not expected to monitor people in their own homes.'

'So, he was killed indoors?'

'That's where the body was,' replied Martin, curtly.

'So, what was it like? Was he covered in blood?' asked Pauline, eagerly.

Irritated by their inability to understand that medical confidentiality made it impossible for him to comment or to confirm the obvious, Martin changed the subject,

'Pauline, call Mrs Norton and tell her I won't be going to the hospital until later so can she take Peter in to see Miss Glasson.'

'Yes, Doctor Ellingham,' replied Pauline happily. Being told to ring Joan Norton gave her the opportunity to find out what Joan had heard and exchange rumours.

Turning to the Baker family, Martin said,

'Come through.'

Once everyone had sat down, Martin asked Chelsey,

'How are you feeling?'

'Tired and I feel sick all the time.'

'Any vomiting or diarrhoea?'

'No.'

'Hmm. You may have an infection. Hop up on the bed for me please.'

Martin quickly examined Chelsey. There were no signs of infection; her temperature was normal, she didn't have a rash and her ears and throat were a healthy pink. Her abdomen wasn't tender and her heart and lungs sounded normal. Unfortunately, she was noticeably thinner than she had been a week ago. Never an overweight child, Chelsey was now too thin and could end up in hospital if she didn't start eating properly within the next few days.

'You can get down.'

'Is it an infection?' asked Mrs Baker.

'No. It's still the trauma, I'm afraid.'

'What do we need to do, Doc?' asked Mr Baker, anxiously.

'I think more counselling's probably the way to go.'

'No!'

Chelsey's voice was adamant.

'Why not?' asked Martin, surprised by Chelsey's vehemence.

'Counsellor's are stupid.'

'What makes you say that?'

'She thought that I would feel better if I pretended it was a bad dream! If it was a dream Jack and Laura would be alive.'

'True.'

'And when I said that she said that I was making a fuss about nothing.'

'I see,' said Martin, feeling furious on Chelsey's behalf.
Telling a child who'd been through major trauma that she was making a fuss about nothing was inexcusable. He clearly needed to have a discussion with Chris Parsons about the quality of his staff and in the meantime, he needed to make sure that the incompetent idiot didn't treat any more of his patients. Pressing the button on his intercom, he said,

'Pauline, cancel any appointments that any patients have with Mrs Saunders, please, and let the patients know.'

'Yes, Doctor Ellingham. What reason shall I give?'

'That she's an insensitive ignoramus with the bedside manner of a troglodyte and the brains of a retarded slug.'

'Okay,' said Pauline, slowly, trying to imagine how bad the counsellor must be for Doc Martin to think that she was insensitive.

Looking thoughtfully at Chelsey, Martin asked,

'Who would you be willing to talk to?'

'You.'

'Me?'

'Yes.'

'But I'm not a qualified counsellor.'

'I don't want a counsellor. I want to talk to you.'

'But I'm no good with people.'

'I don't care.'

'But…'

Before Martin could vocalise his objections more fully, Mrs Baker said,

'Could we try it? Just for a few days?'

Martin was about to refuse but the pain and despair in Mrs Baker's eyes stopped the words dead. Reluctantly, he agreed,

'But if there's no improvement in a few days we'll have to think of something else.'

'Yes, Doctor.'

They agreed that Chelsey should come to see him every afternoon at five o'clock and the Baker's left. Martin sighed and made a mental note to look through his medical journals and read as many articles on child trauma as he possibly could. He'd never found treating people's minds easy but he was going to have to improve immediately.

He left the surgery and was walking down the hill when his phone rang,

'Ellingham.'

'Doc, you've got to come quick. I think Dad's having a heart attack!'

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