Family Matters

Chapter 4 – Humbug

Martin was focused on getting dinner on the table when he heard a tap on the back door. He set down the knife and wiped his hands on a tea towel before opening it to admit his Aunt Ruth.

"Good evening. I'm not too early, am I?"

"No. I'm just finishing up. Have a seat."

"And hello to you too, Martin," she said, tartly, removing her coat and looking around for a place to put it.

"Er, yes, hello." He took her coat and hung it up before returning to his work.

"What are you cooking, then?"

"Bass with fennel and mushrooms, roasted beets and turnips, and a salad with poached pears. James gets sweet potatoes."

"Lucky James. Where is he?"

"Louisa took him upstairs about an hour or so ago. I'll check on her directly."

Martin tested the fish for doneness and turned off the heat under the pan. Ten more minutes on the beets. The sweet potato he had steamed for James in the microwave needed to cool before he pureed it.

"Go on, then. Why don't I make myself useful and lay the table."

"Good. I'll be down in a minute." He stuttered "thank you," when she glared at him. He picked up two parcels that were lying on the table with the rest of the post and headed up the stairs.

When he reached the nursery, there was no sign of James or Louisa so he poked his head into the bedroom he now shared with Louisa. What a sight they made – James sleeping soundly on his back, thumb firmly in mouth, with Louisa coiled protectively around him, also asleep. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was spread across her pillow. He'd always thought she'd make a wonderful mother and here was proof.

"Louisa?" he said quietly, touching her on the shoulder. "Louisa."

She stirred and gathered the baby closer to her before her eyelids fluttered open. "Martin. Hello." She looked down at the baby and then carefully transferred him to Martin's arms so she could sit up. "Mmm. What time is it?"

"Half past six. Dinner's ready."

"God. I didn't mean to sleep like that. I thought he and I would just lie down for a minute after I got him changed." She stretched, arching her back and raising her arms above her head.

Martin cuddled the baby against his shoulder. "He feels a bit warm to me."

"Probably the tooth. Amanda said he'd been drooling more than usual." She addressed the sleeping baby as she stroked his head. "Poor little mite – it's hard work getting teeth, now, isn't it?"

Martin felt inside James Henry's mouth. A hard bump on the bottom gum in front was very pronounced. "She's right. If he's fussy after dinner, I'll give him some Calpol."

Martin watched as Louisa rubbed the bridge of her nose and wrinkled her forehead.

"Are you feeling well? Anything the matter?"

"Just a bit of a headache. A scratchy throat. Nothing serious."

"Let me be the judge of that." He felt her forehead and frowned. He supposed it was too much to hope she'd avoided the streptococci that were apparently lurking about the school. "You feel a bit warm too. Paracetamol should help. After we eat, I'll take a look at that throat."

"Don't fuss. I'm sure it's nothing." "What are those?" she asked, pointed at the parcels he had placed on the bed when he came in.

"Came in the post. One addressed to you and one to James Henry Ellingham. I thought you'd want to be the one to open them."

"Oh – this is something I ordered for him online!" She fairly beamed as she opened the one addressed to her and pulled out something small and red. She held it up – a fuzzy footed sleeper with "My First Christmas" embroidered on the front. "And the hat," she said triumphantly, pulling a smaller piece of red from the box. A tiny stocking cap. "Won't it just be adorable?"

Martin was dubious. "Erm. What is that for? For sleeping? I'm not sure he cares what he sleeps in."

"No, silly. It's for the photo of course."

"Photo?"

"Yes, the photo. You know - the one for the card."

"What card?"

"Honestly Martin. The CHRISTMAS card – the one we'll send to all our friends and family. With a photo of James on the front. The one conveying our best holiday wishes to our nearest and dearest? Even if you haven't sent them before, surely you've received one. From someone, surely. Chris and Tracy? I'm positive they must send you one every year with a photo of the kids." She was getting more and more agitated, watching his bewildered face.

Martin patted the baby on the back to mask his irritation. Yes, he knew what Christmas cards were. He'd even sent one or two in his life, most recently to Louisa the year before last. But he hadn't anticipated this.

"Who are you planning to send them to?"

"Well to Isobel and Holly of course. The teachers at the school. And my Dad. Mum if I can track her down. Caroline and Tom, Roger and Maureen. My Auntie Kate in Brighton. And whoever you'd like of course – your parents? Pauline perhaps? The Parsons, and maybe some of your mates from London?"

Martin blanched at the thought of sending greetings to his parents. He hadn't communicated with either of them since their disastrous visit to Portwenn more than two years ago. "Well we can discuss this later. Dinner is on the table. Aunt Ruth is waiting."

"Oh, of course. Let me just open this one. It has a French postmark so I'm sure it came from Mum." She carefully pulled open the large squashy envelope. Out came a Christmas stocking hand knitted in red with "James Henry" worked in the front in green. She held it up and smiled broadly.

"Oh no, you don't. Not again." His voice was tense and his mind was racing.

"Martin? What does that mean?"

"It's not from your mother. I recognize that knitting. Mrs. Tishell made that." He snatched it out of her hands and ransacked the wrapping, remembering both the embarrassing incident with the personalized yellow jumper and of course the dreadful day of the kidnapping.

"What? Are you sure?"

"Is there a note? A return address?"

Louisa searched through the wrappings. "I don't see anything. Do you really think it is from her? It came from France."

"Can't be sure but her husband took her off in that caravan – they could be anywhere." A shiver went down Martin's spine at the thought of Sally Tishell and what she had done to his son.

"I thought you said she got medical help."

"She did. But who else would send this?" Martin shivered as he looked at it. "Creepy." He took the stocking and its wrappings and carried them down to the kitchen bin to be buried under fish scales and turnip peelings.

X X X X X

After dinner, Aunt Ruth went home. Martin sat on the floor and rolled the ball to James as he had observed Michael and Kevin do this afternoon. Louisa watched from the sink where she was finishing the washing up. She smiled, watching how happy James was and how seriously Martin took this exercise.

"I'm putting the kettle on, do you want some?" she asked.

"No, not for me. Your voice sounds scratchy – are you having throat pain? I noticed you didn't eat much."

"Don't pester, Martin. It's just a cold."

He looked at her again sharply, then abruptly stood up and left the room.

Louisa watched him go with resignation. She picked James up and carried him over to the sofa and sat down to feed him. "Fill up, mister. Your dad and I are enjoying having you sleep like a champ." Breast-feeding complicated her life and left her feeling literally drained at the end of the day, but she wouldn't have given up these moments for the world. His hand clutched a strand of her hair and he watched her with his intense blue eyes. She stroked his cheek and hummed a bit of nonsense as he suckled.

Martin came back with his medical bag and Louisa sighed. There were pros and cons to living with a doctor. "Give us a minute, Martin."

She noted with some satisfaction that he didn't leave the room this time. They were getting more comfortable around each other after a couple months in the same house. He still had values that she found positively Victorian, but at least he no longer avoided making eye contact when she fed James. This time he brought her tea over and sat down beside her, watching James and rubbing her shoulder.

"So when are we going to get the Christmas tree? It's the tenth already." she asked.

"It is in a box in the cellar. It fits nicely on a table. I usually just put it over there on the kitchen dresser as there is an outlet there."

"Oh, Martin, not a tiny one. It will be James Henry's first Christmas. We need to go all out. A real tree, holly garlands, poinsettias."

Martin shifted uneasily in his seat. "Real trees are fire hazards. And they drop needles which James might put in his mouth. Not to mention being dirty and possibly bringing in mold or insects. And holly and poinsettia are known to be toxic. Plus he's too little to know what is going on. He'll never miss it."

"Oh, Martin, really?" She couldn't hide her disappointment. "This is the perfect year for a real tree. He'll enjoy the lights so much. He's not crawling yet, so the needles shouldn't be a problem. And he's never alone so he wouldn't have a chance to pull it over. Next year we might have a problem, but this year, this year we should have a real tree. We could move that little chair over and there would be a nice place for it, right in front of the window."

James was drowsy and had lost interest in eating. Deftly she burped him over her shoulder. By the time she was done he was sound asleep.

Martin took this chance to stick a thermometer in her mouth. Before she could protest, he clasped her hand to measure her pulse as well. When the thermometer beeped, he read it and frowned.

"Just as I thought - elevated, and not just a little." He opened his case and took out his little torch and a tongue depressor. "Open."

She gagged as he poked the tongue depressor in her mouth to look at her throat and then took a swab. He had the rapid strep test waiting. They both watched to see if the color changed. It did.

"It appears you have a streptococcal infection. Just like everyone else I've seen from the school today."

"Really?"

"Yes. Honestly, is there any hand washing at all going on up there? With the deplorable lack of hygiene in the village, it's no wonder we've got a rash of cases."

"That's a bit harsh." She rubbed her throat.

"Well you especially want to be careful, for James Henry's sake if not for yours."

He pulled a little bottle out of his case and wrote some notes on it then handed it to her. "One of these, three times a day, starting now. I'll get you a glass of water."

"Are they safe? I mean when I'm nursing?" she asked, frowning and gazing down at the sleeping baby in her lap.

He sighed. "Of course they are safe. I wouldn't prescribe them if they weren't. They do test these you know. Amoxicillin isn't excreted in breast milk."

"Right." She looked at the bottle dubiously, but recalling the episode with the antibiotics during her pregnancy she dutifully swallowed one with the water he brought her.

"And you're staying home from work tomorrow. Doctor's orders."

"Martin, I need to be there. I have lots to do at school. They rely on me."

The impatience dripped from his voice. "I'll bet they do. And do they need your bacterial infection as well? You can't possibly want to put the children at risk of disease."

Of course she didn't. He knew that. She gave in, even as she realized he knew just what buttons to push with her. "Ok. But only until the drugs kick in." She gave him a long look. "And I still want a real Christmas tree."

Martin didn't say a word. He took his case and went back to his consulting room while she carried James up to his cot.