"Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn . . ."
Chapter 29 – Christmas Eve
Author's Note: This chapter contains mild spoilers for Season 8.
Ruth awakened the next morning to the sound of male voices resonating throughout her cottage, Sally's laughter mixed amongst them. Whatever her friend had gotten up to, she could manage nicely whilst Ruth prepared for the day. Not fifteen minutes later Ruth entered her kitchen to find Barry Johnson, Al Large, and a uniformed man drinking coffee, all apparently enchanted by Sally Hocking.
"Ruth, darling, little wonder you love Portwenn. Al and Barry are terribly charming along with this young man - sorry, I didn't get your name."
"I'm from Cornwall Courier and have the rush Christmas delivery for Doctor Ruth Ellingham. I'm Justin Thyme."
"That would be the books from my publisher." Ruth was relieved that Nicola had expedited to Portwenn. "Have you the other carton for Saint Peter's?"
"In the van. I'll drop them after the office parcels from London. Why go on holiday if you can't leave work behind?"
"Why indeed?" Sally asked as she escorted the courier to the door. Barry hastened from the table and poured coffee for Ruth from the French press Louisa insisted she buy in Wadebridge. "I've brought everything to make breakfast for you – salmon, eggs from Treweth farm. . . "
"And marmalade," Al interrupted. "Morwenna said you like the orange with a bit of ginger. Is this right?"
Ruth examined the label on the jar Al offered and was touched by his eagerness to please. "As long as it doesn't contain fish heads, it sounds delicious, especially the marmalade. Sally has a bit of a journey today, so I'm sure she'll appreciate a hearty breakfast."
"But I'll enjoy the company more," Sally beamed at the two young men. "I'll dress and collect my last bits and bobs. Chris should be here shortly. "
Before Barry cracked the first egg, the knocker banged sharply against the cottage door. Ruth rolled her eyes, wondering if yet another man learned of Sally Hocking's presence in the village. Instead, it was Olivia Parsons who didn't seem in a mood for anyone.
"Oh, these bloody awful Cornish roads. Between the bloody lorries and the bloody Londoners who can't drive properly it was a bloody nightmare getting here. I left at half seven and should have been here an hour ago. Bloody Chris! He didn't have a bloody emergency meeting - he bloody well didn't want to make the trip from Truro!"
During her brief tirade, Barry had the good sense to prepare a cup of coffee for the new visitor and place it at the spot vacated just in time. Al stood, and politely reached for Olivia's coat: "Let me help you, then. My mate's making breakfast, and we'll have you back to Truro in good order."
Not ready to end her pout, Olivia demanded: "Who're you then?"
"Olivia Parsons, these are my two business associates," Ruth gestured toward both, "Albert Large and Barry Johnson. They work with me on the bed and breakfast – my sister's farm. We are converting it to a fishing lodge – for Londoners – or for anyone, really." Ruth wondered why she believed that the venture would amount to anything. It only gave Barry and Al false hope for the future.
After more whinging from Olivia, Sally entered the room and immediately mollified her niece. "Olivia, gorgeous girl, what an effort you've made to fetch your old auntie. What a fantastic niece you are. Let's move into the dining room whilst these gentlemen prepare what I'm sure will be a feast for the gods. It's nearly Christmas. We mustn't be grumpy."
The scrambled eggs and salmon did go down a treat, but Ruth was relieved when Sally declared it time to leave. Barry and Al hauled her friend's packages to the waiting car amidst wishes for a Happy Christmas and promises to meet on Boxing Day. The cottage became very quiet as Ruth retreated to her greige chair and her business associates cleaned the kitchen. Before leaving, they presented Ruth with a poorly wrapped gift which she ceremoniously placed beside the crèche brought from Havenhurst Farm. In return, Ruth handed each of them a calendar diary with a 50 pound note tucked inside. If they were organised around dates, perhaps they could do a better job of setting and meeting goals. She had tried this with her Broadmoor patients to little effect. But Al and Barry were not criminally insane – or not that she had noticed – so the scheme might be useful for them.
Ruth waved the two off toward Large's Restaurant and closed her door against the wind. "Guests are best after they've left," was one of her dear Russell's many aphorisms and today Ruth agreed with him. She had a rather quiet life in London, and found the liveliness of Portwenn a bit overwhelming at times. If it weren't for Louisa and James, she would lock the door and emerge on 27th December. But Martin's fiancée took so much joy from her tiny family that Ruth simply could not disappoint her.
Using a letter opener to slice into the carton of books, Ruth brought forth two: one for Morwenna's present to Al, and one for Louisa and Martin. She signed them with her name and "Happy Christmas." Her young editors had devised many clever inscriptions for her book signings, but in Portwenn she was Ruth Ellingham – nothing more. Why try to embellish what was a perfectly good name and a perfectly good life?
Now that might be something Ismail would say. Russell Fairhill and Ismail Rahmanzai. How had she fallen in love with two so very different men? But she had. Fate had other plans for her: one man returned to his dying wife, and the other died weeks before their wedding. She missed both of them terribly and now had only their memories.
She reached into her desk for a small, worn envelope sent by Joan whilst Ruth was testifying in Montreal. It might have been missed amongst the accumulated post, had Joan not alerted her to it: "Did you see the bit from 'The Guardian'? The Queen has made Doctor Rahmanzai a Commander of the British Empire. Not quite a Dame but better than an OBE. I thought you'd want to know."
Ismail had been honoured for establishing the Brain Mapping Unit at Cambridge University. He never returned to Broadmoor after his wife's death, although a long paragraph extolled his accomplishments at the hospital. A one sentence paragraph noted that his wife, Nasreen, was deceased and that his son, John, was a lecturer in Medieval Literature at Durham University.
Although his wife died many years ago, Ismail did not contact Ruth nor she him. Each had honoured the pact they made on that long ago Christmas in Portwenn. They would not create their happiness on the grave of Ismail's wife.
During school half terms, Nasreen always returned to Lahore with their son, leaving Issy to Ruth. Parting the lounge curtains, she saw only a sliver of the cottage where they spent their last time together. Her nephew would be at the farm for the two week half term, and Joan diplomatically suggested that she and Issy stay elsewhere. Martin had trailed her lover around the farm during their summertime visits, asking countless questions that impressed the noted psychiatrist. Now approaching puberty, Joan worried that Martin's questions might concern the relationship between Auntie Ruth and Doctor Rahmanzai rather than medicine.
Martin accompanied them on the train from London to Portwenn, and the three had an engrossing conversation about John Bowlby's maternal deprivation hypothesis. Martin was particularly interested in Bowlby's "44 Thieves Study" of juvenile criminals. Ruth was horrified that her nephew might somehow believe he would become a criminal because of Margaret's neglect. She tried to re-assure him, but she, too, had concerns. Her nephew blithely dismissed them: "Don't worry, Auntie Ruth. I only want to understand this from a clinical standpoint. It has nothing to do with me. I'm fine."
After a delightful Christmas Eve with Martin, Joan and Phil, she and Issy returned to the somewhat rustic cottage, heated only by logs burning on the grate. Issy added more wood before joining Ruth under several feather duvets. He was only a bit taller than Ruth and also slight of build. Their bodies easily fit together, and they made love, thrilled once again to be together in Portwenn.
Awakening near dawn, Ruth playfully kicked her lover and ordered him to stoke the fire. He pulled a duvet around himself and added more wood to the grate. The flames ignited again, both in the grate and between them.
After dozing well into the morning, Izzy quizzed Ruth about Martin's parents. For a young child to focus on a mental pathology was unusual, no matter how precocious he might be. Ruth admitted that she shared his concern, particularly with a change she noticed in Martin between the ages of four and six years. Despite his mother's disinterest, he had been well loved by his grandparents and aunties as a baby. Around age four years, he became a withdrawn, solitary child given to bed wetting and morose silence. Ruth wondered if Martin was, indeed, psychologically affected by maternal neglect.
"He very well could be. The bedwetting and lack of communication at age four indicate an infantilization of himself, still trying to win mummy's attention. His parents likely sent him off at an early age, so that the school could deal with his issues. British public schools have no sympathy for a boy like Martin, and he would have been thrown into the thick of it. Losing his last attempt at a mother's love at age six and then being booted from the family harmed Martin." What Issy said did not surprise Ruth. She had been worried about Martin for many years.
"You really should encourage your brother to have the boy evaluated. His problems will only grow worse in adolescence. The wards at Broadmoor are filled with men who were children like Martin, except they are not of his class. His intelligence will allow him to function, but he will never be healthy until he resolves his abandonment issues. The father is secondary to his problems. Mark my words, Ruth, Martin will be undone by his longing for a loving mother and family.
"Now my son probably has the opposite problem – too close to his mum. Nasreen could have only the one child and, with no family here, she dotes on John. It's been difficult, but I've made an effort not to let that affect him. Both of us are content to read the day away, but I've involved John in sport to help him separate from Nasreen as he matures. He's quite good at cricket, and I enjoy his matches. He's only a bit older than Martin, and you should see him play, Ruth. He's a father's joy."
There it was! That pang that crushed Ruth when Ismail spoke of his family. He was doing for his son what she longed to do for Martin but could not as an aunt. What was she playing at? Another woman's husband, an innocent child's father! How would it affect John if he knew of her? Ruth had tried to "enjoy the moment," but could not. Just as Martin might question her relationship with Issy, John might question the relationship between his father and mother. Did he understand that their arranged marriage was based on custom rather than love? Even so, that did not excuse Ruth's behavior. It had bothered her from their first kiss, but she sacrificed her integrity to banish loneliness. Issy had done the same.
Ruth put on a brave face for the rest of Christmas Day, although the traditional charades with Martin were challenging. Phil and Issy laughed uproariously as she and Joan gamely tried to work out their nephew's five word book title. Completely stumped by the first word, they moved on to the second. Ruth quickly deduced "cannon" from Martin's clues, and then Joan - not surprisingly - guessed "medicine." Finally, when Martin pointed to a painting with a birdcage, Joan shouted, "aviary." But it was Ismail who uncovered the title: "Avicenna's: The Canon of Medicine," he declared.
"Right, Doctor Rahmanzai! I thought you'd know Muslim medical practices." Ruth was stunned. Always perceptive, she wondered how much more Martin knew about Ismail. This had to end.
And it did. Gathering their luggage from the frigid cottage, Ruth turned to her darling Issy:
"I love you more than anyone or anything I have ever known. But we both know that this is wrong. It will end now. We will have no more contact with each other. Ever."
Issy removed his dark rimmed spectacles and inhaled deeply before finally speaking:
"Ruth, my wife is very ill. She's gone back to Pakistan to be with her family, and I am taking a sabbatical from Broadmoor to join her. What happens will happen, but we cannot make our happiness because of Nasreen's death."
Ruth nodded agreement because she simply could not speak. The pain was that great. She stoically endured their return trip to London, reading and talking little beyond the necessary. A few days later, Ruth returned to Broadmoor and the news that their beloved Doctor Rahmanzai was on sabbatical. Patients and staff were terribly saddened by his departure. One of her registrars was particularly distraught: "You really don't understand the depth of his genius, Doctor Ellingham. He's a fine man too. So devoted to his wife and son. Who takes a sabbatical to be with a dying wife? I have never met a physician or man as good as he is, have you?"
Ruth had to walk away quickly, taking yet another secret with her.
Continued . . .
