Doc Martin and all recognizable characters belong to Buffalo Pictures. This is a work of fiction and is for entertainment only. No copyright infringement is intended.

Thanks to the "Guest" reviewer who also guessed Mrs. Dunwich correctly! Two trivia masters!

Chapter 20

At bedtime, Louisa found Martin sitting up with a pillow behind his back, reading a medical journal as he so often did. She was afraid to say much and so hadn't asked him about how his note-taking was going. She was secretly trying to make herself feel okay about taking a peek at his notes. She told herself he wasn't bothering to hide them, she was his wife after all, and only wanted to help him. She couldn't allow herself to do it however. She felt that violating his privacy that way would be terrible and so, here she sat, wanting so badly to know what was in the journal on his nightstand

Finally she drew in a breath and asked in what she thought of as an offhand manner, "So Martin, how are the notes coming for Mr. Winchell?"

He looked up for a moment, frowned and said "Fine," and went back to his reading.

She chewed her lip. Oh, this was so frustrating. She knew that these memories, thoughts, conversations, were so important for him to bring to the surface. She didn't know if he could do it though. She had finally broken down and talked to Natalie about it. She needed someone she could trust. Natalie had agreed that seeing a therapist at this point was probably a good idea. Natalie's father had gone through a long bout of depression when he was just past fifty, and she knew the benefits of counseling firsthand. Her advice to Louisa was listen, listen, listen and pray. Pray for strength to allow Martin the time he needed, pray for the right words to say, and pray to allow Martin to rest in God's hands, because these kinds of wounds need the care that God gives so freely.

Louisa had never been one to pray much but she was learning now. Sometimes she wasn't sure God was listening when she prayed but sometimes she would pray on her way to school after dropping the baby off at Anne's home. Being outside with the familiar sounds of the ocean and the gulls allowed her to feel connected with God somehow. She had talked to Natalie about this too. "Often our prayer and connectedness does depend on where we are. Find the place that's right for you and stick with it," Natalie had said.

The "listen, listen, listen" part was not easy either. Louisa liked to talk things out and Martin needed things to be quiet. She thought she probably could have listened if she had anything to listen to, but she tried to make as few comments as possible when Martin did say anything about what was going on. He was keeping her updated on the status of the estates so that had become a good time to practice her listening skills.

Things were progressing well with the solicitor. He had thankfully found out that Martin's father had not been involved in anything unlawful. He had, however, done a LOT of gambling and had become quite skillful at cards, playing often at his club for huge sums of money. Evidently the men who had buried him had done so as cheaply as possible and with not a hint of sorrow because now Ellingham would no longer be taking their money at the tables of the club. When the solicitor had been doing his investigating, the men had learned of it and had presented Martin with the bill from the funeral home, expecting to be reimbursed. Martin had given his solicitor permission to do so and that was now out of the way.

Louisa was very glad to hear that her late father-in-law had not done anything unlawful. She had had quite enough of that with her own father. She and Martin had indeed decided to put the flat up for sale as soon as possible and invest the money for James Henry. The property in Portugal was being purchased by Phelps. An appraisal had been done of the villa and, since they both thought the price was fair, Martin had offered it to Phelps first. The man had gladly taken him up on the offer and the details were being worked out. This money, too, was to be put aside for James Henry.

Still, though, Louisa really wanted to know about the notes. Was Martin able to be aware enough of his own thoughts that he could write them down, or were they buried so deep that he no longer had access? No, she had seen that during times of crisis he seemed quite able to break down his walls and pour out his heart. Hadn't he done that when Mrs. Tishell had taken James Henry? But surely it would not take a crisis like that for him to be able to make strides forward in this therapy, would it?

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Tuesday evening came round quickly and found Martin in the Lexus travelling toward Winchell's home. He dreaded the visit. But, as he knew it would be the last one, he figured he could tolerate it. He had realized during the week, especially after the "dance incident" as he now thought of it, that doing therapy was not a good idea for him. Just as he had told Ruth, he had no problem with his parents. They had been estranged. Those things happened. They were gone now and the loose ends just needed tying up. All of this note-taking was making a problem where none had previously existed. Bringing up the past was a waste of his time.

He was sure that Winchell wouldn't see it that way, though. After all, the man made a living out of this. Well, he won't make a living off of me, Martin thought. I will just tell Aunt Ruth that the sessions are at an end. I am an adult and know what is best for myself.

Martin arrived just at seven and Winchell was waiting at the door. He had a carafe of water and two glasses on a table in the room and Martin accepted a glass this time.

Winchell noticed that he did not see a notebook of any sort on Martin's person. His forehead creased. He had thought sure that Ellingham would at least try the note-taking. Perhaps it was in the inner pocket of his suit jacket, he thought. Best get on with it, he decided.

"Well, Dr. Ellingham, and how have you been since we last met?" Winchell asked as they sat down.

"Fine," Martin answered.

"Have things been busy for you at the surgery?" Winchell asked.

"Yes," Martin answered.

"Have you made time for the note-taking we discussed?" Winchell continued.

Martin was silent for a moment. "Mr. Winchell, I began taking notes on the evening that I left. I continued until Thursday and then decided it was prudent that I stop," Martin said. "As I told you last time, I really think that this whole enterprise is completely unnecessary. My so-called "conflicted" feelings toward my parents are, in fact, non-existent. Bringing up the past has not been helpful, the opposite in fact, and I have decided to stop. I appreciate your time but I have decided that I do not need therapy."

Mr. Winchell steepled his hands in front of him. He had expected this, he had just hoped it wouldn't come so soon. Something must have really bothered Ellingham badly this week. He wondered if he had been ill again. He decided that, since Ellingham was a doctor, he would stick to the physical symptoms. "Well Doctor Ellingham," he said, "I am certainly sorry to hear you say this. Of course I understand if you feel this way and you are certainly free to leave whenever you wish. I am curious about one thing though, if you don't mind indulging me?"

Martin sighed internally. Oh God, he thought. Well one question won't hurt. "Certainly," he said.

"I just wondered how you have been feeling physically this week? Have you had any more episodes of illness?" Winchell asked.

Martin was silent. Damn the man, he thought. I do NOT wish to talk about this! I don't have to, he said to himself. You should, another part of himself said. The more he thought about it this last voice sounded a lot like Louisa, Luk, and Aunt Ruth.

"Doctor?" Winchell asked, interrupting Martin's internal conversation.

"Well, actually on Thursday I had a small episode of illness, but I am sure that it came from something I ate. After having the haemophobia, the slightest thing can sometimes make me ill. I believe I developed a hypersensitivity."

"So you were ill soon after you had eaten?" Winchell pressed.

"Actually it was a few hours later, but that can sometimes happen as I am sure you know," Martin replied.

"And were you still seeing patients when this episode occurred?" Winchell continued.

"No, I had finished for the day." Martin replied in a more quiet voice.

"So it was quite a few hours later that you fell ill. Can you tell me what was happening when you started to feel sick?" Winchell asked.

Martin had had enough. "Mr. Winchell, I appreciate that you are attempting to do your job. However, I fail to see how this discussion is relevant. As you know, I am a doctor. I think I would know if there was anything unusual about my sickness on Thursday!" Martin said.

"What makes you think that I think it was unusual, Doctor Ellingham?" Mr. Winchell asked.

"You obviously think so or you wouldn't keep discussing it and asking questions!" Martin answered.

"On the contrary, Doctor, I don't think your illness was unusual at all. I just happen to believe that there is a different reason for it than you do," Winchell said calmly. "If a patient came to you saying that they had vomited this many hours after a meal, would you think it unusual?" he continued.

"No, not necessarily. This could easily be a case of food poisoning," Martin replied.

"Do you think you had food poisoning on Thursday Doctor Ellingham?" Winchell asked.

Martin was almost seething now. He wanted to leave. "Mr. Winchell," he said in his very clipped tone, " I have already told you that I believe I developed a hypersensitivity after several years of having haemophobia and being, by the circumstances of my job, unable to avoid blood. I cannot see why you or anyone would think it unusual that I sometimes vomit easily."

Mr. Winchell softened his tone even more. I will not rise, he thought, although Ellingham's manner was quite offensive by this point. He knew he was close to getting to what really caused the illness - if he could just get there before the man walked out the door. "So are you saying to me that it is not unusual for you to vomit up your lunch right before you eat supper, Doctor?"

Martin deflated. His perfectionism was digging into him. He needed to tell the whole truth. Quickly though, his ire began to rise again. Fine, he would tell the truth, but in such a way as to make this gentleman understand that he was finished here. He began. "Mr. Winchell," he answered more calmly. "Yes, it is unusual for me to be ill from lunch right before supper. If you must know, I had a very bad memory right before the illness. But I do not think the memory caused the illness. Wait!" he said as he saw Winchell take in a breath to begin asking questions again. "It was a memory involving my parents and I must tell you that, as I said earlier, taking these notes has only caused me to bring up a past I have long forgotten because it is no longer necessary or helpful to remember it. If you had not suggested this "method" I would have never thought of this or any of the other memories because I do not think about my parents. I am not hurt or conflicted. I am INDIFFERENT!" Martin ended, speaking more vehemently than he had intended.

Martin stood to leave. Mr. Winchell remained calm. "Doctor Ellingham," he said kindly, "in your best interests, I must differ with you on your last statements. The method we are using only brings out thoughts that are in the mind already, not things that have been forgotten. The note-taking only makes you pay attention to your subconscious. Secondly, your body language and vocal tone reveal that you ARE hurting. And third, I do not believe it is possible for anyone to be indifferent about dysfunctional parents such as your aunt, whose work I greatly admire, obviously believes you had. Maybe one in a million, but that is all. Typically one feels anger, sadness or hurt, but rarely ever does one feel indifference."