Nasty Things
The next day Martin went to his new job in Truro, grumbling all during his morning prep that he hated the drive, the bloody imbeciles would be lined up to chat him up, why did he take the bloody job, and so on. One of the many things I could count on Martin Ellingham to do was to let his feelings be known; at least in the complaint department.
As for other realms of emotion when he left that morning I was slumped with my head over toast and jam, and I practically had to tackle him to get a hug and a kiss as he dashed out the door. In the same house, sharing one loo and shower, one baby too, but still sleeping in two beds.
Our brief moments of passion in the loo, and then the Gwinnel's came pounding on the door, the surgery that ruined my table, a long lonely night, and the tête-à-tête with Doctor Exley, we'd not really had a chance to continue our conversation. I wiped my eyes and sobbed for a moment. Stop it Louisa! I said to myself. But what was I going to do?
I sighed as I cleared away breakfast dishes and made plans. I'd go to market and the fishmonger, needed to pick up some things from Mrs. Tishell, and if I had the time try to talk to Pauline, but I should likely start with Al Large.
I got ready, fed Philip and played with him, strapped him into the baby carrier and we set off. At The Large Restaurant, Bert was carrying in produce from his van.
"Morning, Bert! How are you?" I asked.
His beefy face broke into a broad smile when he saw us. "Louisa! My goodness girl, how you shine this morning!"
I was wearing one of my mid-preggars skirts with a sweater set and the colors, green pastels, went well together. "Thank you, kindly, sir! Just what a new mum likes to hear!"
He bent over the carrier. "And little Philip!" he now whispered. "How is this bouncing baby doing?" He cocked his head from side to side. "Ah, asleep. Reminds me of when my boy Al was this size. A bit bigger he was when his mum… died… but I remember indeed I do!" He sniffed and cleared his throat.
I patted his arm. "Bert… it still hurts, doesn't it?"
Bert pulled a much used kerchief from a pocket and dabbed his eyes. "No, no, Louisa. Just allergies, you know." He sniffed. "They been botherin' me something fierce."
"Have you been to see Doctor Exley about it?" Nothing ventured.
"Nah, just… well, you know… I did hear that the other day Doc Exley was out of communication, as it were, or somethin' and Mrs. Gwinnel had to come see your Doc Martin about it."
I sighed. "Yes, that is true. That was an emergency. Martin didn't really want to…"
"That's not what I heard," said Bert. "Seems to me that…"
I shook my head, pony tail flinging about. "No! Bert, just go see the man, will you? You do remember when Doctor Ellingham was getting started? All weird and everything?"
Bert chuckled and his entire body shook. "Yes, yes. Poor bugger. Poor Doc Martin. Bodmin." He paused and scratched his head. "You're right, of course." He broke into a smile. "I'll go up there this morning and sneeze all over him. Give him something to do."
I kissed his cheek. "You're a dear, Bert large. Knew I could count on you."
"Thankee, mum," he beamed. "Now if you don't mind these here lettuces and carrots won't carry themselves inside. Best be to 'em."
I turned to go. "Is Al in?"
"Yes," Bert's face fell. "There's summat goin' on there. Things with Paul are off, if you know what I mean, and Al is none too happy. I heard the two of 'em going at one another the other night, and I don't mean in the bedroom, either. All verbal." He shook his head. "Al was washing down the terrace when I last looked. Go down, dear, and give him a chat. Lad is a sorry bugger today. Maybe he'll talk to you."
I followed the sounds of a hosepipe spraying water on the flagstones of the restaurant terrace. Al was grimly playing a stream of water back and forth, and from the look on his face you'd think he was watching the ocean rise and flood all of Portwenn. He saw me and Philip approach and shut off the stream.
"Louisa Glasson and little Philip. How nice to see you." He said sadly.
"Morning Al! Nice day for a wash up."
He squinted at the blue sky. "Yes, another fine summer day. I asked Pauline if she wanted to take the day off and go on a picnic, but…" he stopped and started coiling the hose.
Just as Bert had said. Off. "A problem, then?"
"No, not really." He put the hosepipe into a storage bin and came back over. "How about some juice, eggs, whatever we've got?"
A puffing Bert walked past us hauling vegetables.
"Hadn't you better help your dad?" I asked.
Al grinned. "Exercise is good for him. He's lost another half-stone." He took my elbow. "Come on; let's get you some juice."
We sat at one of the outdoor tables and admired the sea view. The tide was in and the boats were out. The juice was good; ice cold and apple, and as I drank it, Bert plopped some fresh scones on the table.
"Eat up you two! Bought 'em fresh today and if you or Al don't eat 'em I'll be tossin' 'em to those seagulls," he added.
Al drooped over a mug of black coffee and his face was hard. He sighed.
"Al, you are definitely not very happy."
"Oh? Really? I hadn't noticed." He twirled the mug on the table. "No, you're wrong. Everything is brilliant. Wouldn't change a thing."
I shook my head. "Oh, come on, tell me what's going on with you and Pauline. You'd mentioned the other day, they weren't ideal."
That made him laugh. "Ideal they are not, Louisa. I told you how she was working extra hours and such. Doesn't say a whole lot. But what she does say is that everything she had done for Doc Martin, is now wrong. And then the other day, she gets this letter in the mail, and she was all hush-hush about it. I didn't see who it was sent from, but she pulled it from the pile and 'went for a walk.'" He drained his coffee and slammed the mug onto the table.
"Oh, dear. And she won't talk to you about it? The letter or Doctor Exley?"
"No. The only thing she'd say about it was 'she missed the blood.'" Al stood up. "You can stay as long as you like, Louisa, but I'd better start on the lunch things. Great to see you." He bent and kissed my cheek then leaned over the sleeping Philip. "What's it like to have one of these little things?"
Before I could even think of an answer to disguise fatigue and hard work, not to mention the nastiness of Martin when I came back to Portwenn pregnant, and trying to get back in the villager's good graces, he spoke again. "Always wanted to have kids someday; just to be a dad, you know?"
I could only sit there and watch his back as he disappeared into the building. Curious. Bert came outside.
"See?" he started. "Every time I try to talk to him or to Paul, they act odd. They're together, but they're not, you know? How was the juice?"
"Fine, Bert. Very nice."
He looked over his shoulder at the open kitchen door. "I wish I could say the same about my boy and his girl." He dropped his voice. "That's one thing about being a plumber. Most nasty things you can flush down a pipe. But people… bah, they back up on you!" Bert laughed. "A fine mess."
"Well, if they won't talk, what can we do?"
His heavy face wrinkled up as he thought. "I don't know, Louisa. But you being a teacher and all…" he stopped, patted my hand, and winked. "You'll find a way."
