Doc Martin' and its existing characters is the property of Buffalo Pictures, Ltd., of which I have no affiliation – only admiration. I love the characters, and the actors who bring them to life, and do try my best to treat them with the utmost respect. This post season 6 story follows where 'Then We Must Change' left off, so reading that one first should make a lot of things a whole lot clearer. No intended spoilers, but I do reference events from throughout the series. 'DCI Banks' is the property of Left Bank Pictures, no copyright infringements or existing case spoilers are intended, I'm just borrowing a character or two and a quote here and there.

Thanks again for the reviews, they are always appreciated, and happy reading. -DC

Time Travel

Chapter Thirty Eight – "Cues and A's"

"–Yeah, gottit Mr. Pentane. . . . "

"Penhale, Miss – that's PC Penhale to you. Sole keeper of the lawr and peace in this village; Beat Manager if you will. I turned down an esteemed offer from the guys on the Fifth Floor in the Big City to protect these villagers."

We'd barely made it down the steps to this terraced restaurant my sister had insisted on before running into the local Law, such as it were.

"So, like I was saying before, Miss, I noticed that Louiser, which I've now deduced to be you – her sister, came close to a vehicle-versus-man, well . . . Mrs. Tishell . . . crash earlier this morning, down by the Platt–."

This is news to me, considering I was within 3 feet of most structures and people the entire drive to the receptionist's house – and back.

"–And, as such, it is my duty to inform you that it is vital I gather information, even if technically I'm on my refreshment break. In my profession, I'm on the job 24/7 – no rest for the wicked. Not that I am wicked, what I mean is –"

" – Joe, please . . ."

Louisa is trying to keep this volatile moron quiet, to no avail. Leeds isn't spared our share of oddballs by any means, and I certainly see all sorts on-the-job . . . but not usually on the job themselves.

"Right. Now I know what you two are thinkin' – 'get to the point Joe'. Well, it is my duty to question you regarding this traffic incident for an official entry in my ARB, the Accident Report Book. When I ran the Land Rover off the Platt . . . and later, after Dennis Dodd smashed the window out of it, well . . . I only had to question myself. This time 'round, however, I'll be questioning you and entering the facts – even if the end result is an NFA, as in No Further Action."

I still haven't an inkling as to what he's on about, nor does he apparently, but a waste of my time regardless.

"So, Miss, exactly who are you and what do you think you are doing here in our village?"

"Helen Glasson Morton – that's DI Morton to you, and I'm visiting my sister, obviously. And NO, you certainly don't know what else I'm thinking."

Idiot.

I snag a table as far from this embarrassment to my profession as possible and take a seat, Louisa quickly following.

"Sorry 'bout that, Helen. Joe means well, he's just . . . well, he's . . . Joe. I think he may've taken a kick to the head some years back, but he makes up for it in community spirit."

"Everybody in this bloody village 'means well', Louisa. What does that mean, exactly, hmm, a ban on common sense and civility?"

As to the latter I'm finding myself at the end of about a dozen dumbfounded stares, fronted by the large figure from Louisa's kitchen yesterday – the man I've since pinned down as Al's father. This show-and-tell of my sister's was an altogether bad idea, I don't like people . . . crowds. But, to give her credit where credit is due; she seems to have realised it and is attempting to make amends.

"Um, Helen, why don't we switch seats? You should be over here with James, having a view of the brilliant ocean and not the . . . um, people. Martin usually sits on this side as well, keeps him from evaluating the villagers as medical cases, you know – diagnosing them. I learnt that lesson early on, easier that way . . . doesn't always work though."

And with that we'd switched seats and despite having felt the burn of two dozen eyes on my back and heard my sister's voice repeating ad nauseam in question and answer form an abbreviated story of our lives up till this point, I'd managed to feed both James and myself a decent lunch while occasionally nodding in response on my sister's cues.

However, it's what would come later on that was to really put me on the map with this village and its curious people; put our family at the centre.

And, as I had yet to realise at the time of our lunch; amongst Louisa's people . . . fleeting limitations are oft outdone by fierce loyalty.

– Civility and family defined.

XxXxX

Martin had been in no mood to be social after surgery, but I'd made it very clear that I wanted to show Helen the school and so forth, as planned. So rather than expose my grumpy husband to the inevitable scrutiny of my colleagues, as they've no doubt caught on the village gossip and Helen's presence by now, I'd decided to have James put down for a proper nap at the surgery with his Daddy. At least one of my men may then enjoy what's left of this Saturday once we head out to the farm for the night later. . . .

Though I'd expected many of the village folk to be milling about the school; even Mr. Coley had made a show, I'd not expected to be on the other end of pregnancy news myself . . . and definitely not from Hana Newton. She'd found out herself just yesterday, so in the early days still. Nonetheless, she'd already realised she'd not be able to mind James and our little one along with her own two and now a third on the way.

Whilst outwardly exchanging mutual congratulations and wishes of healthy pregnancies, truthfully . . . I was gutted. Now I'd not only need to plan for a car and a house, but we'll again be in need of a minder to boot – and his time for two little Ellinghams, which I reckon will mean twice the scrutiny from Martin.

Halfway down the hill to the fishmonger's, Helen surprises me by having picked up on my worries, which isn't normally her strength.

"You'll find someone, Louisa, I'm sure the majority of people here are in need of employment – killing two birds with one stone."

"Oh, well . . . um, thanks Helen, but see the thing is . . . well . . . Martin. Nobody in this village wants to work with him, for him. Every time we've been searching for and deciding on minders we've ended up having horrible rows. All I can be sure of are the majority of our discussions ending in killer rows. . . ."

"Mm .. . yes, right."

'Least Helen doesn't give sisterly advice when she doesn't have any, yet some words of encouragement would've been welcome right now.

I hug about myself and walk on across the Platt whilst my sister distractedly pulls out her mobile, seemingly looking for something.

As if the inferred baby blues hadn't already brought me down, the last thing I needed now was for us to have a run-in with Billy Kestle on our way home. He'd been a year ahead of me in school and as miserable a sod as his ruddy old dad.

Today of all days . . . and no doubt he'll have come primed from the Crab, as is his way.

Surely Martin would blame this slip on my pregnancy brain and I really don't see any other explanation myself for how I could've forgot the Liberal Club's annual billiards tournament and fundraiser happening this weekend.

Other than the minor fact that I've been trying to ignore the event for the past several years . . . or decades really.

Upon rounding the enclosed alley for the fishmonger's, Billy falls in step with me, but has yet to spot Helen following just a few feet behind with her face in her mobile.

"Well, well – if it isn't Louisa Glasson herself, hangin' about the village on a Saturday just like 'er lowly father always did do, up to no good. Up the duff as well I'm 'earin. Just can't stay away from easy money you lot, be it the Lifeboat Fund or the Village Doctor."

"Just leave it be, Billy, you're drunk."

"Oh, but I'm not, you see. Got the billards later on and I've some prize money to collect, when I win. Now, I would consider donating my winnings to, oh . . . say your precious School or even the Lifeboat Fund, but . . . that would be like giving even more money to the Glassons in a way, know what I mean? And I just don't think my conscience could properly take it. . . ."

He looks me up and down and I thank my lucky stars Martin isn't here.

"– We're not all without standards 'round 'ere you know."

I look back at Helen who appears stone-faced, yet having clearly heard more than enough, as Billy prattles on with his back to her.

"And a real shame your Doc doesn't have the balls, and can't pick up a cue, as I'd enjoy beatin'im at a game of billiards. Puttin'im in 'is place for hangin' with the likes of you."

This is where my sister chooses to chime in, causing Billy a right jump.

"– Billy, was it? When exactly is this tourney?"

"Blimey, what the –"

"– I asked you a question. Time please." Helen keeps her voice firm and authoritative.

"Um, you are . . . must be –"

"– Time, and be specific."

"Tourney starts at five, but –"

"Good, I'll see you there at five – don't be late." With that my big sister hooks my arm and walks us away from a flustered Billy in the direction of the the seafood tables.

"That was . . . that was brilliant. I didn't know you play billiards, Helen?"

"Now you do. And I'm assuming we're here to pick out the fish for our meal at the farm this evening? Well, in my billiards absence, so to speak, you'll have to eat for two."

'Course I've already started that up again, as I'm sure Martin would be the first to point out. . . .

Just then Joe's voice could be heard in the street outside shouting out a series of garbled commands as a dishevelled young man comes bustling through the open blue doors heading straight for us, a white Chemist paper bag in hand. He manages to flip a box of fillets and ice to the ground and Joe, not really focussing on anything but the runaway, goes down hard with a distinct slap as he lands on the now wet, slick and smelly slate floor.

"Joe! Are you alright? Don't move, let me help you."

"Louiser, is that you? I . . . this villain got a bag of drugs off me, that I was taking up to High Trees - lots of drugs. Mrs. Tishell and I, we could get in trouble if we can't get them back, as I would have to report it."

I gingerly move a piece of cod from under his head, though I reckon it might've saved him from splitting his head open this time 'round.

"Owww, that really hurts. . . . This is why I usually stay away from drugs – it's a slippery road from aspirin to crack."

Or, in Joe's case – to cod.

He lays back down on the floor, loudly moaning his misfortune.

"That's it, I'm phoning Martin right now."

I start looking through my handbag for my mobile and upon locating it briefly inform Martin of what happened. Meanwhile my sister's police persona seems to kick into gear.

"–Louisa!" She throws me her mobile and makes a run for it and by some measure unclear brings the suspect to his knees and apprehends him – in short order and without much fanfare.

And by the looks of the bugger she's got a firm grip on him.

By now Mrs. Tishell has joined this little impromptu outing, crouching down to Joe's level and shaking him frantically asking about the drugs. Joe, initially appearing rather sheepish, is beginning to look more desperate, as my sister is now also verbally trying to get his attention.

"–Cuffs, Louisa, I need the cuffs from Pentane. He's got them on his belt."

At the sound of Helen's voice all three of us peer in the direction of the unfortunate thief currently in her clutches, and I note the exact moment when Mrs. Tishell makes the connection that there are two of me, promptly collapsing on top of Joe, complicating things even further.

"Joe, you think you can hand me the cuffs please?" I ask when he doesn't seem to pick up on Helen's request.

"No, 'fraid not Louisa, these cuffs are police issue only – not a job for untrained civilians and, oww . . . I'm also possibly wounded and under a lot of, um, pressure."

Helen gives me a dark look and I sidestep the fish awkwardly, attempting to free Joe of both Mrs. Tishell and the cuffs he is partially sitting on, just as Martin comes running. My husband's got his doctor's bag in one hand and our son on the other, both staring at me like I've lost my mind.

"–Isch, 'otsa isch!"

James points excitedly at the scattered fish on the floor and I wonder, for just a second, what Helen must think of me at this very moment.

"Louisa, are you okay?" Martin's voice is worried, which is sweet really.

"We're fine, Martin. Helen is fine as well, or will be, as soon as she gets these cuffs on the suspect over there. Can you help, please?"

I nod to the cuffs a long Joe's backside.

"Oh God . . . Step aside."

After handing me James, and clapping his hands loudly at the village chemist, my Dear Doctor manages to pry the cuffs from Joe and takes them to Helen who places them on the suspect and pulls him to his feet in front of Martin, who immediately assesses him.

"Lacerations to the forehead, do we know from what?" He looks to my sister who is looking rather proud of herself right this moment.

"Mm, shellfish."

"Shellfish?" Poor Martin looks puzzled, as honestly am I, whereas Helen seems unfazed.

"Yes. I apprehended the suspect, applying reasonable force and by taking advantage of the circumstances at the time."

I spot a bag of cockles on the ground by their feet, as seemingly does Martin – and Joe.

" –Using a bag of cockles?" Our Constable seems to have come back to life and stands back up.

"Yes." Helen practically beams at Joe, before turning back to look my husband affirmatively.

"Mm, I see. Have Joe stop by the surgery and I'll clean him up, shellfish contains a lot of bacteria, but he won't need sutures,"

"–I might, Doc, it's really hurting now. Oww."

"Not you, HIM! You're fine and I expect to see the two of you in my surgery in 10 minutes, is that clear Penhale."

"Yeah, gottit Doc. Though it may be more like 15 minutes, with my injuries and all I may not be able to be very efficient today."

"I'm aware of that, Penhale, however that has nothing to do with your perceived injuries. Goodbye."

By now all the commotion had rather excited James and it was all I could do to keep him from the pile of scattered seafood. As Martin ushered us into the street, and Helen joined us, cigarette in hand, the fish was quickly forgotten as Portwenn's newest, and decidedly unusual, family began striding on up the hill with the village Doctor leading the way – ever efficient.

And that was the last the village saw of us before we all showed up at the Billards Club that evening. After all that we'd forgot to buy the fish earlier, so we'd be eating out anyways . . . the whole lot of us.

XXX

Having caught wind of Helen lined up to play at the billiards tournament, Uncle G. had convinced Ruth and Al to take him to the club, certain she'd win the tourney I reckon. I'd insisted on going, 'course, and with James in good spirits after a proper nap he'd been quite intrigued by the billiards game and colourful balls rolling about. Even Morwenna had hobbled on down to the Billiards Club, once she'd got word Al would be in the village, much to Martin's dismay. So, here we all are, no questions asked.

My sister chalks the cue tip as she gets ready to finish this tourney.

"–Top right."

And with that and a right loud 'clink' from the cue ball, Helen had pocketed the 8-ball in the last game of the evening, putting a stop to Billy Kestle's winning streak and returning the Glasson family's honour properly to order with all ranks of villagers – even the Kestles.

Later, after we'd finally sat down for our fish supper at the pub across the way rather than at the farm as planned, all eight of us, well . . . nine really, must've been the talk of the town as our presence caused an anticipatory silence to settle over the pub.

That was our cue to make a move and Uncle G. stood up and started speaking to the crowd.

"As many of you have surely guessed by now, I'm Terry's older brother, Ben Glasson – guilty as charged. And my guesses are that the lifeboat that's sat over there on the bar is more than just a collection box for the Lifeboat Fund."

"–Got that right!" Mike Chubb is waving his bandaged hand in the air as Uncle G. continues on.

"I've learnt that this vessel has travelled through many a villager's and visitor's hands over the years, picking up donations to keep her afloat so that the rest of her fleet can weather your storms and save your fishermen. Yet once she was stripped of her valuable cargo, by my brother, causing rough seas not only for her and her villagers. . . but also for those directly associated with Terry. Those who have always done everything they can for the Lifeboat and the Village folk."

Suddenly all eyes are on me . . . and Uncle G. motions to Mark behind the bar to bring the wooden replica box on over to our table.

"This year this village collectively brought in over £3000 through the billiards tournament and my Helen here, together with her sister Louisa, could think of no better place for the winnings to land than right back in the hull of this boat."

By now the rowdy crowd had started clapping and shouting, practically drowning out whatever Uncle G. was about to say next.

" – As for me I would like to buy you lot a round of beers. 'To the Lifeboat Fund!'"

Little did they all know, nor did I for that matter, that another £7000 would be transferred into the Fund on Tuesday – from Dad.

XXX