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

Chapter Fourteen

As Martin drove back to Port Wenn he found himself thinking about Anthony Oakwood's murder. It was clear that his death had been carefully planned, unless the sedation had been self-administered. But why would Anthony Oakwood sedate himself? It was much more likely that the murderer had drugged him so that he wouldn't put up a fight. So it was someone he knew. Martin snorted exasperatedly; they already knew that Anthony Oakwood knew his killer. The villagers were so nosey that any stranger going to visit the Oakwood's would have been noticed and interrogated. Martin continued to think about it for a few minutes before concluding that the new information made no difference to his opinion regarding the murderer's identity. Of course the police seemed clueless but that could just be because the inspector didn't trust Joe Penhale not to tell the entire village all the details. Anyway it was not his job to catch Anthony Oakwood's killer; he had living people to keep healthy. Even if they brought most of their problems on themselves by ignoring his advice. Why people found it so hard to follow simple instructions he had no idea.
For the rest of the journey, Martin put Anthony Oakwood out of his mind and prioritised the tasks waiting for him back at Port Wenn.

By the time Martin walked into the surgery he was forty-five minutes late and the waiting room was already crowded. Mindful of the extremely large number of jobs waiting for him, Martin decided to see if he could get rid of some of the time-wasters,

'Quiet! Anyone who can wait until tomorrow, leave now.'

Three people got up to leave, including Mrs Carter. Concerned, Martin said,

'Not you.'

'I only came to collect my prescription and show you this,' said Mrs Carter, handing Martin a printout.

Martin looked at the printout; it was a list of recommended meals for diabetes sufferers produced by the British Diabetes Society. He quickly scanned the contents and was surprised to find that it had been compiled by someone competent.

'Seems acceptable. Do you understand it?'

'Of course I do. I'm not a moron!'

Martin eyed Mrs Carter sceptically,

'Keep to these recipes and call me if you feel ill.'

Martin reached into his pocket, took out his prescription pad and quickly wrote a prescription out. Tearing it off he handed it to Mrs Carter, saying,

'You can go now.'

'Thank you,' said Mrs Carter sarcastically.

Martin ignored her and turned to Pauline,

'Any messages?'

'No, Doctor Ellingham, but a long fax came from Truro hospital. I put it on your desk.'

'Good. Send the first patient in. And I need you to compile a list of people who can help Miss Glasson with Peter when she comes out of hospital. I want someone intelligent and responsible so none of your layabout friends.'

'My friends are not layabouts!'

'Yes, they are.'

Martin ignored Pauline's outraged expression and went into his consulting room,

'Next!'

Martin got through his patients as quickly as possible but no matter how many times he shouted at them, they would insist on talking to him. Why they couldn't just come in, tell him their symptoms, listen to his diagnosis and leave, was beyond him. Probably another consequence of in-breeding. No doubt logical thought was impossible for them.
As a result, it was already a quarter past five when Chelsey Baker and her father came in.

'Take a seat. How are you feeling today?'

'Okay.'

Chelsey's voice was unenthusiastic but Martin noticed that her colour was better and she seemed less jumpy.

'Have you eaten today?'

'Yes. I had scrambled egg for breakfast and a sandwich for lunch.'

'Good. Have you had any fruit or vegetables?'

'No, because we've run out of bananas.'

'Why not have an apple instead?'

'Apples have maggots in them.'

'Not usually. You need to have five portions of fruit and vegetables each day.'

'I know. Miss Glasson taught us about healthy eating at school.'

'Good. Try to eat more healthily.'

Chelsey sighed but reluctantly nodded.

'Right. Um, I thought you might find it helpful to read the autopsy reports on your friends.'

Martin took the medical sections of Jack's and Laura's autopsy reports from the pile on his desk and handed them to Chelsey. Chelsey took them gingerly and looked at the text with a frown,

'Ke…ruh…e…br…el…ha…e…mor…hage…'

'Ah,' said Martin, feeling stupid. He'd forgotten that Chelsey was only six; the highly technical language of the autopsy reports would be much too hard for her to read,

'Would you like me to explain it to you?'

''Yes,' replied Chelsey hesitantly.

'Well, what this report on Jack shows is that he suffered massive head injuries along with numerous broken bones. Laura's injuries were even worse; her spine was crushed by one of the roof beams and her liver and spleen were shredded.'

'Doctor, why are you telling us this?'

Mr Baker's voice was anxious and Martin looked at him in surprise; surely telling Chelsey some medical facts couldn't be a problem?

'I want Chelsey to understand that there was nothing that she could have done to save them. Even if she had been able to pull them out of the rubble, they would still have died. It wasn't her fault.'

'Are you sure?'

Chelsey's voice was a whisper but her eyes were full of dawning hope.

'Yes. The autopsy report is quite clear.'

Martin made his voice as definite as possible and saw some of the tension leave Chelsey's face.

He was about to ask how she was sleeping when his intercom buzzed. Annoyed, he pushed the correct button and barked,

'What!'

'Mrs Norton's here with Peter and she says she has to go.'

'Well you'll have to look after him until I've finished.'

'Sorry, Doctor. It's not in my job description.'

Pauline's voice was frosty and Martin wondered what was bothering her now. Frustrated, he flung open his surgery door and stormed into the waiting room,

'How am I supposed to provide proper care to my patients when you keep interrupting me?'

'It's not my job to babysit!'

'Well, find somebody to do it!'

'Well, I would but you said that you didn't want any of my friends taking care of Peter.'

'No, I didn't!'

'Yes, you did! You said that you didn't want any of my layabout friends helping Louisa with Peter!'

'Well, I just meant that I wanted someone reliable,' riposted Martin, weakly, aware that he'd been insensitive, again.

'Fine. I'll see what I can do but what are you going to do now?'

'Actually, Doc,' said Mr Baker, 'we should be getting off home now. If that's all right with you?'

Relieved, Martin agreed to see them again tomorrow at the same time and he and Pauline closed the surgery.

Martin had taken the repeat prescriptions home with him so he could catch up before the start of surgery tomorrow so after supper he put Peter on a blanket with some toys and started checking and signing the prescriptions. Unfortunately, Peter was in a fractious mood and after a few minutes Martin had to pick him up and give him attention. In the end he didn't get back to the prescriptions until Peter had had his final bottle and gone to sleep.

He finally finished the last prescription at eleven o'clock and was getting ready for bed when his mobile went,

'Ellingham.'

'Doc, I'm sorry to bother you but it's Dad. I don't know what to do; he won't come out of the kitchen.'

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