Rain Check
By Portwenn Hydra
Doc Martin and all of its characters, themes and plotlines are the property of Buffalo Pictures. This work of fiction is written for purely entertainment purposes and no infringement of any legal rights is intended or implied.
Chapter 10
I'd had scarcely a moment to breathe since Louisa and Edith had ventured out into the storm towards High Trees and my ailing son. My post-operative patient needed tending, the preemies needing careful monitoring, their mum needed supervision feeding them, and Penhale's coach-load of pensioners needed everything from sutures and slings to insulin and warfarin. The scouts needed guidance, Morwenna needed a firm hand, and Alec Harrison needed refresher courses on endocrinology, cardiology and infectious diseases. And they needed it all from me.
I, on the other hand, did not need this. Not one bit.
Worry seeped through the edges of my consciousness like a persistent leak, filling me up and threatening to overflow. It informed my every act, and weighed me down like my own personal albatross. This was not a condition to which I was accustomed. Of course I had worried about James Henry, most obviously during the kidnapping, and about Louisa too, particularly when she had been ill. But never before had they both been directly in jeopardy. And, willingly or not, my hands were tied and I was being prevented – by circumstances and duties and bloody Edith Montgomery – from doing what instinct told me was needed, from treating James Henry's illness and reassuring Louisa, and keeping them both safe.
I'd checked my mobile incessantly. Suture a cut, check the mobile. Change a dressing, check the mobile. Monitor the incubator, check the mobile. No missed calls. No voicemail. No texts. No service. Nothing to combat the rising tide of panic roiling in my gut and threatening to spill over my carefully constructed wall of professionalism and sweep me away into a maelstrom. In very short order my inability to have what I needed – news of Louisa's and James Henry's safety – was going to drown me and eliminate any chance I would have to render aid to another soul.
Grasping at straws, I decided that perhaps there was a better chance of catching a signal on my mobile if I ventured outside and climbed to higher ground. From experience, I knew there was usually clearer reception on the top of Roscarrock Hill. Or maybe the landline in the surgery would be functioning. I simply had to find a way to reach Louisa or go mad trying.
Feeling slightly better for having formulated a plan, I found my suitcase under the makeshift reception desk. Rummaging through it, I located an extra pair of socks, my boots, and a jumper that I pulled on over my rumpled shirt, saving the dry one for my return. I wished I had thought to pack a balaclava.
"What's up, Mate?" asked Harrison, coming up behind me as I wrapped myself in my still-damp mackintosh and stowed my mobile in my pocket. "Making a run for it?"
My mind was reeling. "No. Going for more supplies," I improvised. "Can you manage things here for a bit?"
He slowly scrutinized my face before answering. "Yeah, sure, mate. Things seem under control. I'll stick with Jacob and the troops can look me up if they need me." He gave me a hearty backslap and I cringed.
"Right. Good." I nodded, and then with a brief glance at my little sick bay, I headed for the door. I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I walked away.
When I reached the exit, I found Al Large dozing in a chair surrounded by dripping oilskins. He started at the sound of my footsteps, blinking and rubbing his eyes.
"Doc! Wotcher . . . You're not going out there, are you?" Even in his somnolent state he sounded incredulous.
"Al." So much for getting out undetected. "I'm just headed up to the surgery. Supplies." I felt my face flush; deceit did not come naturally to me.
"It's mental out there, Doc! You sure?"
"Yes, yes. I'll be fine. It isn't far." I sounded better than I felt.
"Well at least take some gear. You need more than that jacket to protect you." He scrambled out of his char and started handing me his rain gear from the pile on the floor. "Put the trousers on first and then the coat," he directed. "And take Dad's wellies – he won't need them."
I struggled into the rain suit, realizing he was right; my gabardine topcoat wasn't going to be any kind of protection.
"Put the hood up and tie it too – no way you'll keep a hat on in this gale," said Al, pulling the drawstring tight around my face.
"Right. I can tie it." My nose wrinkled at the smell of the wet slicker enveloping me.
"And the boots. Dad's should be a good fit."
I was glad of the extra pair of socks as I stepped into Bert Large's very large boots. Hopefully two layers of wool would be sufficient to keep any microbes that might be lurking there from infecting my feet.
"Good luck Doc. Lean into the wind; don't let it push you around."
I nodded as he swung the door open and I was sucked out into the night.
The wind was howling and literally pushing me up the hill. Sideways. It drove the icy rain like sharp splinters into my face and down inside Bert's boots. I was grateful for my borrowed oilskins. In between the thunderclaps I could hear the roar of the sea crashing into the Platt. The only illumination came from the frequent lightening strikes. And in the pelting rain, there was very little to see even then.
Going on instinct and the basic direction of "up", I fought my way past the surgery to the flat grassy area at the top of the hill. I was fueled by adrenaline and fear and worry and cold and the smallest glimmer of hope that I would be able to ring Louisa if I could only get to the top. I fumbled with the unfamiliar clothing to get to my mobile and convinced my frozen fingers to manipulate the device. Twice, three times, four times I dialed Louisa only to have the screen inform me that the call had failed. In desperation, I dialed Ruth, only to have the same miserable message repeated. I wasn't able to reach High Trees or Chris Parsons either.
The pent up exhaustion collided with the new despair and the lurking worry creating crashing waves of emotion inside me to match the fury of the storm that buffeted me outside. I felt deflated - an empty vessel, adrift and at the mercy of the weather. King Lear and Captain Ahab and that poor sod from Titanic rolled into one.
Going back towards the surgery was treacherous. Gravity pulled down even as the wind blowing off the sea threatened to topple me over backwards. I remembered Al's advice and bent into the wind, pushing with my shoulders as I would against a physical obstacle. Agonizingly slowly, I battled my way back to the surgery until I found myself at last facing my own front door.
X
Inside, the house was cold and dark. Any vestiges of heat had long since dissipated. I heard the disheartening sound of water dripping in the kitchen, a sign that the window leak I'd hired Al to repair last summer was back in full force. I dropped like an anvil into the chair in my consulting room and reached for the phone.
The line was dead.
It was the final straw. This camel's back was broken and I had no idea what to do next. I had no way to get to Louisa or James Henry and no way to contact them. You couldn't get a smoke signal through in this weather. I was in the wholly unfamiliar position of being emotionally overwhelmed. Not even in the depths of my despair when the haemophobia began or when Louisa left for London had I felt as helpless as I did now.
Using my mobile's screen for light, I dragged myself out of my chair and through to the living room. Though the kettle was electric of course, if the gas were still on, I might be able to light the cooker with a match and make some tea. The idea of a hot cup of my own tea brewed to my own liking in my own kitchen spurred me on. Or at least it did until I tripped over an unfamiliar obstacle and fell flat on my backside.
I was beyond surprised when said obstacle let out a yelp and then put its paws on my shoulders and began to lick my face. What the bloody buggering hell was Aunt Joan's orphaned dog doing in my kitchen?
"You. Out. Out with you. OUT!" I bellowed, shoo-ing him toward the kitchen door.
The beast began to whine and skitter away until I could only see his eyes, glinting in the darkness.
"Fine." I gave up. "Have it your way. But you're staying in here." And with that I slammed the door and stormed upstairs. At least I could find some more warm dry clothes and clean up a bit.
There was not hot water of course. But I did manage to towel off and brush my teeth, which was an improvement. Hand sanitizer served to remove whatever canine-born filth I had encountered. Feeling cleaner, I layered on my warmest clothes and sank onto the bed with the duvet wrapped around me. The duvet had Louisa's scent, and being wrapped in it reminded me of swaddling James Henry. My heart cracked just a bit more at that, and I knew that despite the fact that it was four am and I had been on my feet for hours and hours, I wouldn't get any sleep here. Not without my family.
I resigned myself to returning to the Village Hall. That is where Louisa would expect me to be. With my patients. She and Edith hadn't batted an eye before assuming I would be better off staying with my patients that going to the aid of my son.
They were wrong. So wrong. But even I realized that if past behavior was any indication of my proclivities, they couldn't be blamed for jumping to that conclusion. Work had been my life. My first duty had been with my patients. But not any longer. Not now. I needed my family. More than anything else. And I needed Louisa to understand how important it was to me that this be formal and official and REAL. No takebacks. No do-overs. We'd been through that morass and come through the other side and I had never been surer that I could not let her slip through my fingers again.
I headed for the supplies cupboard. Harrison and Al Large would both be expecting me to bring back at least something useful. When I first saw the mess the cupboard was in, I swore under my breath. Morwenna had been in here of course. And Louisa. And Harrison, probably. And Penhale and Edith and even some of the scouts, as I thought about it – sent running for supplies all through the evening. I supposed that I shouldn't have expected everything to be all ship shape and Bristol fashion. But why were there gauze bandage rolls open on the floor? And nitrile gloves scattered everywhere? Who would leave a box of tongue depressors upended on the bottom shelf?
Then I heard scratching from the kitchen. And I knew who my culprit was.
"That is IT, you bloody bastard! I have had enough." I barreled through the kitchen door, ready to tear the beast apart and throw the pieces in the sea. "You flea-bitten, mangy, mongrel whoreson of a mutt! ENOUGH. I am THROUGH with YOU!"
I picked up the broom and ran at him, just as he came towards me. He barked wildly and raced between my legs, escaping back into the surgery. Brandishing the broom, I gave chase, back through the door, into the consulting room, around reception, down the corridor to the supply cupboard.
"I've got you now. There is no escape." I blocked the corridor and lunged towards him in the dark, expecting to grab him and make for the door. Out he would go, storm or no storm. Good riddance to bad rubbish.
"Oof." I fell flat on my face my arms closing around nothingness where the dog had clearly been moments before. Blast. Where could the rotten scoundrel be now?
I pushed myself up and turned around wildly. I heard the broom handle hit the wall as I stepped on it and then felt rather than heard the dog gallop out from under the supply shelves towards Morwenna's desk.
A loud clap of thunder was followed immediately by a blinding flash of lightening, giving me a crystal clear view of my enemy. And when I saw the dog running off with the last surgical pack in his mouth, I knew that my night had gone completely to hell.