A/N: Hello! Sorry for the extra long wait. I really wanted to get this posted two weeks ago, but I struggled with writing the scene with Penhale. For me he's a hard character to write because it's difficult to come up with those nonsensical lines of dialogue that make him so ridiculous and comedic. I also added quite a lot more than I was planning which took more time to edit. But I hope it was worth the wait, and I should be able to get on track now with updates every two weeks. We're at a point now where the story is getting a little more fun to write! I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter Forty-eight
After the exclamation from Pippa, the entire gymnasium was devoid of sound. No one moved for what seemed like minutes. Eventually, Louisa glanced away from Pippa, suddenly feeling embarrassed for keeping such a big secret from her closest friend.
"Louisa, I'm sorry," Elliot said, this time keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard.
She turned to face him, doing her best to not show her irritation. "It's all right. I wouldn't have been able to keep it a secret for long."
Wanting to escape the awkwardness of the situation, Elliot pulled up his left wrist to check the time on his smartwatch. "I should really get back to the library anyway," he said, moving to pick up the textbook he had set down. He briefly touched Louisa's arm, offering her an encouraging smile. "I know I said it before, but again, congratulations." He glanced down at her midsection for a moment before turning and heading for the door of the gymnasium.
Once Elliot squeezed past her through the door, Pippa finally approached her friend. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, disappointment evident in her tone.
Louisa busied herself by flipping through the sheets of paper attached to the clipboard she was holding. "Because Martin and I want to keep it to ourselves for a while before we start telling everyone."
"How far along are you?"
"Almost three months." Louisa furrowed her brow, seeing the change in her friend's expression. "What?"
Pippa shook her head. "I just can't believe that he knew before I did," she said, gesturing with her thumb towards the door of the gymnasium where Elliot had just exited.
Louisa let out an irritated breath from her nose. "I accidentally let it slip out when we ran into each other at the beach last week. I was going to tell you . . . eventually. It's just . . ." She paused, thinking about the situation with her father. "Other things have cropped up, that's all."
"Are you going to tell the rest of the faculty? Do the school governors know yet?"
Louisa pushed her bangs off to the side as she gathered up the notebook and folder she brought along. "I will in time, I just have other things to concentrate on at the moment. I'm sure you can understand." She gave Pippa a pointed look before turning to leave the gymnasium.
"Well, yeah," Pippa replied, following closely behind Louisa. "It's just excitin', you know?"
"What is?"
"Having another baby. With me, it's only ever been the twins. I don't know if John* and I could have survived having a third."
"Oh, you never know."
Pippa let out a short laugh. "Maybe if I was ten years younger."
They reached Louisa's office. "And how are they? John and the twins?" she asked, setting her folder, notebook, and clipboard down on her desk.
"Still a handful—all three of 'em, in fact." Pippa sighed. "But I wouldn't trade 'em for anything."
Louisa smiled. "I know what you mean."
"And how's Doctor Ellingham taking the news about the baby? Nothing like the first time I hope?"
"No. Martin's been very supportive. It was a surprise certainly, but we're both excited about it. I'm due late October, which will be a bit difficult during the middle of fall term, but, um, I think we'll be able to manage."
"Oh, the school can manage I'm sure, it's just . . ."
Louisa turned her head slightly to the side. "Just what?"
Pippa hesitated, unsure if it was appropriate to address her concerns on such a personal level. "I was just going to say that I didn't think Mr. Keane would be able to manage with your absence. You know, once you go on maternity leave and all."
"Pipper, what exactly are you trying to say?"
Pippa smirked. "You haven't noticed the way he's always looking at you? Or how many times he walks by your office during the day?"
"Well, the classroom he teaches in is just down the hall . . ."
"I think he fancies himself in love with you."
Louisa chuckled, trying not to believe that there was any truth in Pippa's comment. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Do you really think it was chance that he happened upon you in the gymnasium today?"
"I don't know, but there certainly isn't anything going on between us." Louisa crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned back against the edge of her desk. "I love my husband. We're expecting another child, I would never hurt him like that."
"I was only curious," Pippa said, defensively raising her hands. "Remember what almost happened when Danny came back with his church group?"
Louisa narrowed her eyes at her friend. "Nothing almost happened. And Danny may have thought I was unhappy then, but he was wrong. It was my poor judgement that brought him back here in the first place."
"So I take it everything's been sunshine and rainbows at Chez Ellingham?"
Louisa chuckled as she glanced down at her blue cardigan, plucking a piece of imaginary lint from the hem. "I wouldn't exactly call it that." She shrugged, looking back at Pippa. "We're finally happy together. I mean, as strange as you may think it sounds, I don't believe I've felt this happy in a long time."
Pippa raised her chin, thinking seriously for a moment. "You know you do have some sort of glow about you." She shook her head. "Or maybe it's just the glare of the sun shining in through the windows behind you." They both laughed. But just as she turned to leave Louisa's office, Pippa stopped. "So just to be clear," she said, gesturing with her pointer finger, "nothing is going on between you and Elliot?"
Louisa wished she could just bypass this whole part of their conversation. She knew Elliot harbored some semblance of romantic feelings towards her, but she would have thought they had long faded by now after the removal of his brain tumor. "Nothing is going on between us. I've spoken with Mr. Keane on several occasions. He knows that in order for us to work together we have to maintain an appropriate working relationship."
"Are you sure? I mean, he is young . . . and decent looking."
Louisa rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Pipper, that'll be all."
"Alright. I can tell when I'm no longer needed."
Once Pippa finally left her office, Louisa sat down behind her desk, her gaze immediately centering on the most recent family photo she had of herself, James, and Martin, taken on the beach last summer when they spent the day in Newquay.
. . .
After the emergency at the school, most of Martin's morning passed without incident. A series of sore backs, runny noses, and the occasional cancer scare was nothing new when compared to some of the more peculiar consultations he's had in the past. As he was tidying his desk for his next patient, a strong, flowery odor wafted in through the open door of his consulting room. His nose twitched and immediately he looked up, turning his head towards the waiting room. "Morwenna!" he shouted. "I thought we agreed you weren't to wear strong perfumes!"
A moment later Morwenna approached the doorway to his office, shaking her head. "It's not me, Doc." She sank her teeth into her lower lip to try and hide her smile. "Your next patient is here," she said, handing him the sleeve of notes. "Mr. Brody." She turned around to face the waiting room. "He's ready for you now."
Martin couldn't help but cover his nose with the back of his hand as a tall, middle-aged man walked through into the consulting room. "Um, take a seat, Mr. . . ." He glanced down at the patient's notes. "Brody." After closing the door he moved to sit back behind his desk. For a few minutes neither Martin nor his patient said a word. "What seems to be the problem?" Martin finally asked, needing to get up to open the window.
It took Mr. Brody a moment to answer. "I think I'm goin' mental," he said, letting the sentence escape quickly.
"And why's that?" Martin asked with a sigh, once again sitting down behind his desk.
Mr. Brody leaned forward, causing Martin to scrunch up his nose at the strong smell the man seemed to be emitting. "Because I hear things I shouldn't be hearin'."
"Like what?"
He stared intently back at the doctor. "Everything."
"Could you be more specific?"
"It's like a loud, swishing and scratching noise whenever I move my eyes. Every movement my body makes I can hear it—so loud and distinct it's drivin' me Bodmin."
Martin pulled out the man's patient notes and began writing down the symptoms he described. "Has this been recent or ongoing for some time?"
Mr. Brody leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. "Ongoing. Maybe two . . . three months ago."
"I see. And you haven't had your hearing checked prior to today's appointment?"
"Well no. Hospitals can be quite loud sometimes. The noise . . ." Mr. Brody tapped the side of his head with his index finger. ". . . it makes me feel a bit funny."
For a moment Martin was unsure of how to respond. The man's strange odor still lingered in the room, more so whenever he leaned forward, making it somewhat difficult to concentrate. "In what way?"
"Hmm?" Mr. Brody flicked his head to the right as if he hadn't heard the question, once again leaning over the desk towards the doctor.
Martin's nose twitched at the smell. He leaned back in his chair, studying his patient's eccentric behavior. "I asked in what way does the noise at the hospital make you feel funny?" he said, slightly raising his voice.
Mr. Brody covered his ears with both hands at the doctor's raised voice. "No, stop it!" he whispered harshly to himself.
Martin frowned. "I beg your pardon?"
The patient waved one of his hands in the air. "Shh!"
Martin sniffed the air in front of him, unsure if he recognized the smell or not. "Do you have a cat, Mr. Bond?"
"What?"
"A cat," Martin sighed. "You have a peculiar odor. It smells like a cat, or some flowery perfume or cologne."
"Hmm? No, no pets. But I've been using this." Mr. Brody pulled a small brown-tinted bottle from his front trouser pocket, placing it on the desk in front of him.
Martin picked up the bottle to read the label. "Lavender oil?"
Mr. Brody nodded. "Yeah. My wife suggested it. Supposed to help with relaxation and alleviate headaches, she says."
"Does your wife have a medical degree?"
"No. She's an accountant. As am I. If ever you need—"
"Then be quiet then," Martin interrupted, setting down the bottle with enough force to cause Mr. Brody to wince at the noise.
"Please," he said, rocking back and forth in his chair. "Just make it stop."
Martin furrowed his brow, turning his head slightly to the side. "Do you get headaches frequently?"
Mr. Brody began massaging his temples. "All the time. They never seem to stop. Paracetamol doesn't work. So I've been using the lavender oil to help keep me relaxed."
"This lavender oil? Have you been applying it topically to your skin?"
"Yeah. My wife says it's more effective that way."
The corner of Martin's lip curled upward. "Oh, does she? How often do you apply it?"
"Three, maybe four times a day."
"For goodness sake!" Martin shouted. "Using too much lavender oil at its original concentration can exacerbate the skin! It can also affect the nervous system, thus worsening your headaches!"
Mr. Brody turned his head to the left. "Oh. Well the website didn't mention any of that."
"Of course not. Because the internet is just full of self-proclaimed experts who have no idea what they're actually talking about."
"So if I stop using the lavender oil my headaches will go away?"
"You should feel some relief, yes."
"And what about my hearing?" Mr. Brody asked. "Can you make that stop as well?"
"That depends on what the actual problem is."
"Please, Doc," the man said, "I can't take it anymore. The constant noise—it's drivin' me mental."
"Alright." Martin stood up and pointed at a spot in the middle of the room. "Stand up over there."
"Why?"
Martin turned around and opened the door of the cupboard that was behind him, taking out two thick medical books. "Because if there's a problem with the bone of the affected inner ear it would impair your balance as well." He held up the two books, one in each hand, next to the patient's left ear.
Mr. Brody flinched, twisting away from the doctor.
Martin frowned. "What do you think I'm going to do, hit you with them?"
"Well, aren't you?"
"Don't be stupid. Now stand still." Not giving his patient a moment to relax, Martin swung the two books together next to the man's left ear, creating a loud, sharp smack!
Mr. Brody winced at the cacophony of noise vibrating through his ear. He felt dizzy and staggered back, but the doctor caught hold of his arm before he could fall to the floor.
Quickly setting down the two books, Martin held the man's left eyelid open, watching with fascination as Mr. Brody's left eye twitched up and to the right towards the middle of his face.
"I dont feel too good," Mr. Brody groaned, confused as to why the doctor was staring at him with such an odd look.
"Shush!" Eventually Martin snapped out of his observational trance and stepped back, making sure his patient was steady enough to stand on his own. "Can you cough?"
Mr. Brody furrowed his brow. "What?"
"Just cough. But into your arm please."
Mr. Brody complied and coughed into the crook of his arm. Again he felt somewhat dizzy and immediately Martin pulled up his left eyelid, seeing that the eye made the same vertical twitch as when he smacked the two books together. "Can I sit down now?"
"No," Martin said. "We need to test the other side to see if the problem occurs in both ears or just the one."
Mr. Brody sighed, bracing himself for the coming onslaught of deafening sound.
After completing his rudimentary test, Martin found that Mr. Brody's problem seemed to lie somewhere in his left ear. "I'm going to refer you to an ENT specialist in Truro," he said, pulling out a blank referral form from his side desk drawer.
"Easy, Doc," Mr. Brody said, closing his eyes at the sharp sound of the drawer being slammed shut. "Not so loud."
Martin glanced up at the patient, feeling somewhat sympathetic for the man and his unfortunate condition. "Mm, sorry." He scribbled down the necessary information on the form. "I'll also schedule you for a CT scan of the affected ear." He slid the form across his desk to his patient.
Mr. Brody picked up the piece of paper. "So I'm not goin' mental?"
Martin shook his head. "As far as I'm concerned you seem well in control of your mental faculties. But based on your symptoms: distorted hearing, headaches, impaired balance, I would suggest you have superior canal dehiscence syndrome."
"That sounds bad."
Martin folded his hands atop his desk. "It really isn't. The, um, bone covering the superior semicircular canal in the inner ear can become thin or have a small opening or hole, thus leaving the canal exposed to the connective tissue of the temporal lobe of the brain. Internal and external noise, as well as intracranial pressure—from coughing or sneezing—causes motion of the fluid in the canal to alter the function of sensory receptors present in the inner ear. Which is why you're sensitive to loud noises. You've probably had the problem with your ear your entire life, its just worsened over time, making it more noticeable."
"So all of this is because I have a hole in one of the bones in my ear?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Can it be fixed?" Mr. Brody asked, looking desperately back at the doctor.
"After imaging, if there is evidence of a small hole or thinness of the bone it can be repaired through surgery."
"And all the internal noise and headaches—they'll go away?"
"If the procedure is carried out correctly, then, yes, your sensitivity to loud and internal noise should lessen significantly."
Mr. Brody stood up from his chair quickly, needing to brace himself on the edge of the desk to prevent from falling. "Oh, Doc!" He reached out and took the doctor's hand, shaking it vigorously. "Thank you! Thank you! You have no idea how relieved I am! Ow!" He brought his other hand up to the side of his head, feeling another headache coming on.
Martin curled his lip at the man's outward display of emotion. "Mm, you're welcome," he said, pulling his hand free from his patient's strong grip. "But stop using that lavender oil. It's doing you more harm than good."
"Well what can I do to help keep me relaxed then?"
"Find a quiet place that doesn't exacerbate your hearing."
"There isn't a medication you can prescribe me instead?"
Martin looked up at his patient with a frown. "Mr. Baird, I don't prescribe medication for fun. You're better off not to become dependent on incapacitating drugs."
"But—"
"Shush! If you stop being so stupid and go to hospital for the scans I referred you for, the better chance you have of saving your hearing." He angled his head down as he began making notes for the patient's record. "Or perhaps the internet could provide some suggestions for relaxation," he muttered sarcastically.
"Fair enough," Mr. Brody replied, neatly folding in half the referral slip he was given. "But I'll tell my wife you thought the lavender oil was a load of codswallop. She won't take too kindly to that."
"Good." Martin didn't look up as he heard Mr. Brody leave. He continued scribbling down notes, half-listening to Morwenna making small talk with those waiting in reception.
A few hours later, after dismissing his last patient before lunch, Martin sent a text message to his aunt Ruth, asking if she was free for lunch. It wasn't his normal habit to skip out in the middle of the day, but something had been weighing on his mind over the last week, and there wasn't anybody else, other than Louisa of course, whom he trusted with such delicate matters. While tidying his desk he heard the sharp ping of his phone, alerting him to an incoming message. Unlocking the home screen, he was relieved that his aunt was free for a visit. He typed out a reply, suggesting they meet at the outdoor café on the Platt.
"I'll be taking a full hour for lunch today," he said, walking through the waiting room to inform Morwenna.
"Just remember your next patient is at 1," she replied, watching as he put away the stack of patient notes in the green filing cabinet to her right. "Tell Louisa I said hello."
Martin didn't stop to correct her that he wasn't having lunch with his wife. As much as he appreciated her as an employee and friend, he didn't have time to get caught up in idle chit chat with his receptionist. He left through the front door of the cottage, nearly stepping on Buddy, who had been patiently waiting for Martin out front on the stone terrace. "Stupid dog," he muttered to himself, remembering the last time he tripped over the furry canine.
Buddy jumped up on all fours, scurrying to catch up with his human companion. He let out a series of high-pitched barks as he stopped in the middle of the narrow street, watching the doctor stride down the hill away from him. He turned around in a circle and decided to wait for Martin's return, heading for the back door of the house.
By the time Martin arrived at the restaurant, Ruth was already waiting for him at a table in the back under the marquee. "Hello," he said, pulling back the aluminum chair to sit down across from her.
Ruth poured each of them a glass of water from the filled carafe that was sitting in the middle of the table. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked, casting him a curious look.
Martin picked up the menu, flipping forward to the seafood section. He angled his head to the side, unsure of what to order. "I figured it's been quite a while since the two of us met for lunch."
Ruth tried to stifle her smirking laugh, but to no avail. "Martin, you and I both know there's always some ulterior motive. It's not in your nature to casually dine with your aunt. Louisa . . . maybe, but you . . ."
Martin cleared his throat. "Well, forgive me if I've been worried about your state of mind lately."
Ruth's eyes widened. "My state of mind? You know as well as I do that I'm far from being senile."
He shook his head just as their waitress stopped by to ask for their drink orders. "Nothing for me, thank you," Martin said, not even turning to look at the young woman who was waiting on them.
"I'll have a glass of white wine—Pinot Grigio if you have it."
"I didn't mean to say you were senile," Martin continued, once their waitress had gone. "I only meant to say I've noticed you seemed quite distant lately."
Ruth raised an eyebrow. "I haven't noticed."
Martin ran a finger down the seam of his menu. "I care about you, Ruth, I just . . . I don't like seeing you unhappy."
"Who says I've been unhappy?"
"Well, um . . ." Martin reached over for his glass of water, feeling his throat go dry. "Ever since you've taken an interest in Mr., um, Hanson, you've seemed somewhat melancholy."
Ruth paused in what she was going to say, smiling briefly at the waitress who set down her glass of wine. "I assume you're referring to William Hammond. And before you start lecturing me on signs of depression, is it too much for a woman as old as I am to want to do something meaningful with her life?" She took a long swig of her white wine.
They quickly placed their lunch orders when the waitress returned. Martin glanced down at the polished wood of the table, feeling as if he overstepped his boundaries. "You're not old, Ruth."
"Mm, thank you for that."
"Hasn't your work as a criminal psychologist been meaningful?" Martin asked. "All the time you've spent at Broadmoor must have meant something. You're a credible author—"
"Well, yes," Ruth interjected, "and I'm still fond of the occasional case study that slides my way, but I just feel as if something's missing."
Martin readjusted himself in his chair, trying to think of an appropriate response. "That irritating dog that Auntie Joan used to take care of is still available I think."
"I don't mean a pet, Martin, I . . ." Ruth paused, turning her head so she was looking at the harbor. "You know I enjoy yours and Louisa's company. And I adore James. I'd just like someone other than the criminally insane to help fill my days—to give what's rest of my life meaning." She shook her head. "I don't know, maybe I'm feeling nostalgic for times gone by." Her gaze turned back to her nephew. "I don't want to spend what time I have left on this earth as a lonely old woman."
Martin's features softened. He wasn't sure if he ever heard his stoic and reserved aunt speak with such longing and regret before. Without even realizing it, Martin's eyes began to water. "Ruth, I . . ."
"It's all right, Martin. I know I'm far too old to try and create the life I wish I had. But you, Louisa, James, and the baby are my family." She let out a wistful sigh. "I suppose it's rather foolish of me to take an interest in a man who's dying."
Martin shook his head, pushing back the tears that had formed in the corner of his eyes. "Realistically it does sound foolish, but if taking care of him is what makes you feel meaningful, then I won't stand in your way." He looked down at his hands. "I've already ruined my mother's life." He glanced back up at his aunt. "I won't do the same to you."
Ruth reached across the table and covered one of Martin's hands with her own. She smiled weakly, feeling as though she had her father's approval for the first time. "Thank you, Martin."
"Mm," he grunted, feeling emotionally spent from their conversation. "It's a bit warmer out than I thought." He reached up and adjusted the knot of his tie.
Ruth hid her widening smile behind the lip of her wineglass, knowing that he was changing the topic on purpose. She always felt that she and Martin were more alike in their personalities. What she lacked in emotion, Joan had made up for in affection. Which is why she would be forever grateful for her younger sister, knowing that Martin hadn't always not been loved.
Not long after their conversation shifted to a more mundane topic, their lunch had arrived. They ate mostly in silence, enjoying the warmer outdoor weather of spring and listening to the fishing boats coming and going from the harbor.
"I know you didn't just plan this outing so we could talk about me," Ruth said, noticing the detached demeanor of her nephew.
Martin paused for a brief second as he was cutting the last section of his piece of fish. "What else is there to talk about?" he replied, finally glancing up at his aunt.
Ruth shrugged as she swirled her fork around in a circle. "How's work going? Everything well at home?"
"Yes."
"And I take it Louisa's been well—health-wise, I mean?"
Martin wiped the corner of his mouth with his cloth napkin. "Yes, relatively speaking."
"You sound hesitant."
"No, I don't."
"Well, something's obviously been troubling you about it. Is it because she's older?"
Martin set down his cutlery and straightened his back, sitting up taller in his chair. He disliked how his aunt could always pick up the slightest change in his tone or expression. "It's a high-risk pregnancy, yes, because of her age, but that's not what troubles me exactly."
"Then what is it?"
"We listened to the baby's heartbeat yesterday and I thought I heard something abnormal."
"Mm, that does sound troubling," Ruth agreed, drinking the last of her wine.
"I don't know how to explain it to Louisa because I don't fully know what's going on either. This morning I was looking up articles on the subject, but nothing's helped."
"Martin, you do realize that the heart of your worries isn't the medical reasoning behind the anomaly. It's the love and care you have for Louisa and the baby."
"Yes. But I find comfort in science and medicine and logical reasoning."
"Of course you do. You're a doctor. But you're also a husband and father."
Martin looked down at the small bit of fish and rice that was left on his plate, then towards the direction of the school. "I just don't know if I could cope if something were to happen to them."
Ruth's eyes softened as she gazed at her nephew. It always seemed to be a struggle for him when dealing with emotional relationships. She'd been witness to the near dissolution of his marriage, but she's also seen how tender and caring of a man Martin really could be. She remembered stealing a glance when they embraced after finally rescuing James from Mrs. Tishell. Even their first kiss after being declared husband and wife was soft and tender, despite looking a bit awkward. And the way he always remained patient around James, not once had she heard him raise his voice at his son. But to see him looking helpless and without answers . . . she felt a slight pang deep in her chest. "What does her obstetrician say?"
"I don't know. We're going to discuss it during her next appointment."
"I'm sure everything's fine," Ruth said, trying to assure him. "There could be many reasons for what you heard."
Martin finished the last bit of his fish and rice. "Yes, I know," he replied, wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin. "I said the same thing to Louisa yesterday, but I don't think she believed me."
"Both of you have a right to be concerned, but I wouldn't dwell on hypotheticals until you know exactly what's going on."
Martin nodded his head, steepling his fingers together on the table in front of him. "I suppose you're right."
"I don't hear that too often," Ruth joked, smiling slightly.
Martin pulled up his left wrist to check the time. "I should be heading back to the surgery soon. I have a patient at 1."
"Mm, by all means. I might have another glass of wine before I make my way home."
Martin raised an eyebrow as he signaled for their waitress. "Are you sure?"
"I think I'm more than capable of handling another glass of wine," Ruth replied, feeling somewhat offended.
"Yes, but, um, that street you live on has an uneven incline leading up to your footpath. Sprained ankles and head trauma doesn't sound like much fun."
"I'll be fine, Martin. For a woman who's seen as old and frail, I'm quite sturdy on my feet."
Martin didn't pay her remark any attention. "Just be careful, will you?" He handed his empty plate to the waitress as she arrived with the bill.
"Yes, Martin, I'll be careful."
"Thank you." He reached into the inside pocket of his suit for his wallet.
As he made his way up Roscarrock Hill to the surgery following his lunch with Ruth, Martin couldn't help but think about their conversation regarding the state of Louisa's pregnancy. Although he enjoyed the challenge of a medical mystery, when it came to his wife's health, Martin wanted nothing but the best for her. If only he had the slightest idea of what was wrong, at least then he would be able to sleep better at night.
Entering the surgery from the front door, Martin could hear PC Penhale talking with Morwenna in the waiting room. He frowned when he heard his receptionist's cackly laugh.
"You're back early," Morwenna said, straightening her back so she sat up taller in her desk chair.
For a moment Martin eyed Penhale, hoping the man wasn't stupid enough to waste his time by asking for money for some unknown charity he had no real interest in. "No, I'm not," he said, walking through the waiting room to pick up the next patient's notes.
On her computer, Morwenna clicked back to the window of her appointment scheduler. "Your next patient isn't for twenty minutes."
Martin looked down at the name on the sleeve of notes then up to the policeman sitting across the room.
"Since I'm early, Doc," Penhale said, smoothing the palms of his hands over his upper legs, "I thought we could, um . . ." He gestured with his eyes and a jerk of his head towards the consulting room. "I mean, I'm ready whenever you are."
"Right," Martin replied, his frown unmoving. "Come through."
Penhale made a fist with his left hand, bringing his arm in close to his chest in a celebratory fist pump. Morwenna gave him two thumbs-up from her desk.
"Penhale!" Martin barked from the doorway of his office, his impatience already starting to wear thin.
The constable jumped up from his chair, placing both hands on his utility belt. "Never one for messing around, eh?"
Morwenna shook her head, knowing full well that the doc was not an admirer of jokes.
"Are you still feeling any discomfort in your chest?" Martin asked, once Penhale sat down across from him in the consulting room.
"Not really," the policeman replied, shaking his head.
"Do you have any medical complaints at all?"
Penhale paused for a moment, thinking. "Not that I know of."
"For God's sake! You do not use appointment time for social calls," Martin said, sharply tapping the surface of his desk with his middle and index finger. "There are people waiting with genuine medical complaints. I don't need my time wasted by discussing inanities with the village policeman."
"Well, to be fair, Doc, there wasn't anyone else waiting with me in reception."
Martin set down his pen, trying to quell his growing irritation. "Then what do you want then?"
"You remember I wanted to go over the details of your role as best man? Well I thought that making an appointment to see you would be easier than trying to track you down. This way we won't be interrupted."
"Right."
Penhale leaned forward in his chair so he could pull out the notepad from his back pocket. "I have a list. Now where to start?"
Martin, noticing that Penhale was flipping through several pages, curled his lip in annoyance. "Why don't you just start at the beginning?"
Penhale looked up at the doctor and snapped his fingers. "Smart. That way I won't forget anything."
Leaning back in his chair, Martin let out a defeated sigh.
"First order of duty . . . your suit for the wedding."
"I already have a suit."
"It has to match."
Martin shook his head. "Match what?"
"The color scheme. Doc, have you never been to a wedding before?"
"You know I'm married, Penhale."
The constable snapped his fingers again. "Right. Yes." He glanced down at his notepad, feeling flustered. "So the suit," he continued, "we're going with a royal blue jacket and trousers, white shirt, and a yellow tie for the groomsmen. I'll be in uniform, obviously, and Janice will—"
"No."
Penhale furrowed his brow. "No, what?"
"No as in I'm not wearing a blue suit with a yellow tie."
"But, Doc, Janice and I already chose the colors."
Martin shook his head. "I'm still not wearing a yellow tie."
Penhale scribbled down a note on his list. "We'll come back to that one later then. Next . . . the rings." He reached inside his front trouser pocket. "That's funny. I could have sworn I put them there." He checked the other pocket, still unable to locate the wedding bands.
"Did you check your breast pockets?" Martin said, pointing at the policeman's uniform with the tip of his pen.
Penhale patted his chest down, finding that the rings were inside his left breast pocket. "You see, Doc, this is why you're my best man. Al just wouldn't be as persistent." He placed the small jewelry holder containing two silver wedding rings on the desk in front of him. "Don't go losing those," he chuckled. But his smile soon faded. "I'm serious though. They were quite expensive."
Martin pulled out a plastic sample bag from one of the side drawers of his desk. He labeled it appropriately and placed the box holding the two rings inside. "Will that do?"
Penhale held his breath for a moment. "As long as that's sterile?"
Martin's brow crinkled. "Yes, of course it is." He dropped the bag containing the rings into the bottom drawer of his desk.
For the next half an hour Martin was forced to listen as Penhale went over the details of every item that was on his list. With all the talk about wedding preparations Martin couldn't help but think back to his own wedding. Despite nearly the entire village showing up for the ceremony and reception, it had been a day he would always remember.
"And I can't forget the stag party," Penhale said. "You and Al both said no to camping, so why not The Crab and Lobster? Doc?" He snapped his fingers to get the doctor's attention.
Martin was pulled from his reverie. "Hmm?"
"My stag night. At The Crab and Lobster."
Martin adamantly shook his head. "No. I don't drink."
"You'll just be our designated driver then."
"The pub is only a few minutes' walk from here."
"Better to be safe than sorry though." Penhale flipped to the next page in his notebook. "Then there's the speech—"
"No, no, no," Martin interrupted. "I thought we agreed that I wasn't to make a speech."
"But, it's tradition, Doc."
"No, it's twenty minutes of contrived drivel made to embarrass the groom and entertain the guests. I'm a doctor, not a comedian."
"Maybe we could cut it down to ten instead of twenty?"
"No."
"No, as in stay with twenty minutes or no as in no speech at all?"
"Yes."
Penhale tilted his head in confusion.
"I'm not giving a speech." At the constable's dejected look, Martin further tried to explain himself, "I agreed to stand next to you at the ceremony, that's it. I don't have time to plan a stag . . . whatever or write some ridiculous speech. I have a busy medical practice to maintain and a family to look after. I'm already stressed as it is over my wife's pregnancy. It doesn't help by you pushing your wedding plans on to me."
"Wait," Penhale said, unsure if he heard correctly. "Louisa's pregnant?"
Martin, now realizing what he had let slip, folded his hands down in front of him on his desk. As dim as Penhale seemed to be at times, Martin knew he wouldn't be able to cover up his mistake. He had promised Louisa not to say anything about the pregnancy, and he agreed, preferring to keep their personal lives to themselves. But sooner or later, the village was bound to find out. And knowing Penhale, their secret will most likely have made its rounds through the village by morning.
"Yes, she is," Martin finally replied, clearing his throat.
A wide grin stretched across the policeman's face. "Doc, that's . . ." Penhale didn't know what to say. "That's terrific! Congratulations!"
Martin tried to hide his smile. "Mm, thank you."
"Aw, how great is that? A little brother or sister for James Henry." Penhale relaxed back in his chair. "I can't wait to have kids of my own."
"Really?"
Penhale suddenly leaned forward towards Martin. "Could I be the godfather?"
"Um . . ." Martin trailed off, desperately searching for an excuse. "I really can't say. It wouldn't be right to not discuss it with Louisa first."
"Good thinking. Don't want to upset the missus. I learned that the hard way," Penhale said, referring to his failed first marriage with his ex-wife Maggie.
The room then grew silent, and Martin was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. Across from him Penhale wouldn't stop smiling, his eyes sparkling as if he was the one becoming a father for the first time.
"It's gonna be great," Penhale said, shaking his head in disbelief. "One day our kids will play together and the dynamic duo will live on for another generation." He reached up to wipe at his eyes. "I think I'm gonna cry."
"Well don't," Martin said, scrunching his nose at the constable's exaggerated display of emotion.
"I think this is the happiest day of my life."
"For God's sake!"
"I'm serious, Doc. I'm getting married soon and having a baby. What more could I want?"
"First of all, Louisa and I are having a baby, not you. And second, parenthood is a lot of responsibility. It's not a game or something you can just pick up on a whim. You have to do the work. And it's something you and, um . . ." Martin was struggling to remember the name of the woman Penhale was planning to marry. "It's something you and your . . ." He waved his hand in a circle in front of him. ". . . fiancée should discuss beforehand."
"Of course Janice and I want kids. At least I do."
Martin leaned back in his chair, hoping their conversation would soon be over with.
"When is the new arrival expected?" Penhale asked, breaking the sudden moment of silence between them.
"Um, late October," Martin replied, glancing down at his watch for the time.
"October. Great time to have a baby." At the doctor's frown, Penhale tried to correct himself. "I mean, any time's great to have a baby. But in the fall the weather's cooler, the leaves are changin'. . . Maybe it'll be born on Halloween."
"Is that relevant?"
"Halloween, Doc. You know, witches and monsters . . . the supernatural."
Martin shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. Do you think we could wrap this up? I have other patients to see."
"If you think so," Penhale said, flipping his notepad shut as he stood up from his chair. He moved towards the door but stopped. "Doc, be honest with me, do you really know what you're doing? For the wedding, I mean. Because it seems like we're a little outta sync."
"I'm going to stand beside you at the ceremony. I'll have the rings, there's nothing more to it. And I'm not making a speech. If you want one so badly ask Al."
Penhale smiled. "Thanks, Doc. You're a true friend."
Martin shifted his gaze away from the policeman. "Mm."
Before he left, Penhale snapped his fingers. "Oh, and don't forget to talk to Louisa about me being the godfather of your baby."
"Yes."
"See you around, Doc."
"And Penhale," Martin said, "would you mind keeping the news of the baby to yourself? Louisa and I aren't ready to tell everyone yet."
"As an officer of the law you have my sworn oath," he replied, placing one hand on the center of his chest.
"Thank you."
Once Penhale had left the consulting room, Martin finally felt he could relax. Talking about weddings was exhausting, especially when the groom was the village policeman.
"He seemed happy."
Snapping out of his reverie, Martin turned his head to find Morwenna standing in the doorway. "Mm, well . . ."
"It isn't so hard is it?"
"What isn't?"
"Being nice." She handed him the sleeve of notes for his next patient. "And congratulations—both you and Louisa."
Martin frowned. "Penhale!" he shouted, looking out at the waiting room.
"Don't worry, Doc, I won't tell anyone," Morwenna promised.
"Well there's no point now! Anyone who's been waiting in reception would have heard!"
"Just calm down. I'm sure it won't travel that fast."
He gave her a hardened look. "How long have you lived here?"
Morwenna thought for a second. "Yeah, everyone's gonna know. But you should have thought about that first before you blabbed to Penhale."
"I didn't blab," Martin sputtered. "I accidentally let it slip out."
"I mean, that's not something Louisa can hide for long."
"Yes, I'm well aware of that."
Morwenna waved a hand, causing her bracelet to jingle. "Doc, I just had a scary thought."
"What?"
"Mrs. Tishell. Do you think she'll go nuts again? You know, because she's still obsessed with you."
"She isn't obsessed with me," Martin said, shaking his head in disagreement. "And she didn't go nuts. She had a psychotic episode because she self-medicated with a combination of drugs that made her delusional."
"Well with Mrs. T you never know." She turned to leave. "But seriously though, Doc, congratulations. I'm really happy for you and Louisa."
Martin cracked a brief smile. "Thank you, Morwenna."
. . .
When Louisa and James arrived home that evening, the sharp spices of Asian cuisine invaded their senses. "Something smells good," she commented, hanging up James's knapsack, along with her school bag and purse, next to the kitchen door.
Martin turned to face them from his position at the stove. He watched as James rushed to the living room for his crate of toys. "Honey and ginger chicken with sweet potatoes, broccoli, and peas. I've set aside a lightly seasoned piece for James."
"Mm, my mouth is watering already." She moved towards him and, with one hand on his left shoulder, leaned up to place a quick kiss to his cheek.
His left arm made its way around her waist, holding her to his side. "Optimal nutritional value," he said, turning his attention back to the meat and vegetables he was sautéing in the skillet.
Louisa gave his middle a gentle squeeze before extracting herself from their embrace. "As always. How was your day?" she asked, picking up the bottle of surface cleaner and a new dish towel.
"Quite busy. I had an interesting case today."
She glanced up at him while cleaning the table. "Oh?"
"Distorted hearing caused by a hole in the bone of the inner ear. It's very rare. I've never come across a case in person before."
"That doesn't sound like fun."
"Mm. Constantly hearing the inner workings of your own body. Seems quite maddening to me."
"Will they be all right?"
"They should be. As long as they seek the recommended course of diagnostic tests and treatment." He hesitated for a moment. "I, um, also had lunch with Ruth today."
"Really?" Louisa moved towards the hutch for plates and glasses.
"Yes. Louisa, I can do that," he said, gesturing to the dishes she just picked out. "You're meant to be relaxing."
"Martin, I've been sat at my desk nearly all day. I think I can manage with setting the table."
He tipped his head down at her admonishing tone. "I know. I just don't want you overdoing it."
Louisa half rolled her eyes. "How was your lunch then?"
"It was fine." He pulled open the oven door to check the potatoes.
"Just fine?"
"My fish wasn't the best."
"I meant how was Ruth?"
He shook his head, wondering to himself why she couldn't have just said that in the first place. "She's fine. She's thrilled about the baby."
Louisa pulled out one of the chairs at the table and sat down. "Mm, about that. A few of the staff at the school found out."
Martin let the wooden spatula he'd been using drop with a clack onto the hard surface of the countertop. "Did Penhale drop by the school at all?"
Louisa pushed her bangs off to the side. "No. Why?"
He reached up to scratch his ear. "Because, I, um, may have accidentally let the news of the pregnancy slip out while he was here at the surgery today."
"Well, I guess we both can't keep a secret."
"That idiot, Penhale," Martin sneered.
"Martin!"
"I told him to keep it to himself, but he had to go and blab to Morwenna. Now I'm sure everyone who was in reception probably heard it too."
"Martin, you know Joe can't keep something like that to himself for very long."
"Mm, and he had the nerve to ask me if he could be the baby's godfather."
"What did you say?"
"I told him I had to discuss it with you first."
Louisa held her chin in the palm of her hand. "Well, what do you think?"
Martin turned off the burner and moved the skillet containing the vegetables and chicken to a cloth hot-pad positioned in the middle of the table. "About what?"
"About Penhale being the godfather to our second child."
"I think it's a ghastly idea."
"Oh, Martin."
"Do you really want Penhale that involved in our children's lives?"
"I mean, in a way he is kind of like family."
He turned around to remove the sweet potatoes from the oven. "I still think the man's a complete cupcake. For instance, he wants me to wear a blue suit with a yellow tie to the wedding. Can you think of anything more galling?"
"There are worse fashion choices out there." She stood up and walked around the table, giving him a flirtatious grin. "I don't know, I think you can pull off wearing a blue suit with a yellow tie." She leaned up on her toes to kiss him properly. "Let him be the godfather. It'll make him happy until he has kids of his own." She patted him on the chest. "I'm going to go wash up."
Martin watched her leave. She stopped briefly in the living room to run her hand over James's hair before continuing on towards the stairs. As long as the constable kept out of his way and didn't do anything stupid, Martin decided that it wouldn't be the worst idea in the world to let Penhale be the godfather to his second child. But deep down he had his doubts.
Later that same evening, once the kitchen was cleaned up and all the downstairs windows and doors were locked, Martin and Louisa put James to bed. The toddler drifted off to sleep after just a few minutes into his nightly bedtime story.
"That was fast," Louisa remarked, once Martin returned to their bedroom.
"Mm, he was tired," he replied, unbuttoning his suit as he moved towards the dresser for his pajamas.
Louisa continued reading while Martin changed in the bathroom. Once he climbed into bed next to her a few minutes later, she set aside her book. "Did you know James has a friend at nursery?" she asked, turning to face her husband.
Martin was busy adjusting his pillow. "No."
Louisa smiled as she thought back to earlier that morning. "His name's Owen. I met his mum just as I was leaving. Oh, Martin, it was the cutest thing—seeing James interacting with others. Stephanie—that's Owen's mum—she suggested that James have a play date over at their house. What about this weekend? Then maybe you and I could spend the day together, just the two of us?" To persuade him she reached over and ran a hand suggestively down the center of his chest.
Martin turned to look at her, his brow furrowed. "Why?"
"Because, Martin, it's been a while since the two of us had some time to ourselves."
He shook his head. "No, I meant about James."
"Don't you want him to have a friend—you know, someone he can grow up with as he goes through school?"
"He'll have a younger sibling. I don't see why—"
"No, of course you don't," Louisa said, interrupting him. "Just because you didn't have friends as a child doesn't mean James shouldn't have any. I don't want him to feel alone outside of our home. Sooner or later he's going to grow up, Martin. He's not going to want to hang around his parents his whole life."
Martin breathed out through his nose. "I didnt mean to suggest that. I just—my mind is preoccupied with your health at the moment. I don't want to have to worry about James as well."
Louisa's expression softened. "Martin . . . Everything's been fine up to this point, hasn't it? We'll just take it one day at a time." She reached up and brushed the back of her fingers against his cheek. "As for James, you know better than I do that he has to be exposed to some germs, otherwise how will his immune system get stronger?"
Martin smiled weakly. It didn't happen very often, but whenever Louisa managed to outsmart him with his own knowledge of medicine, it made him feel proud. "Yes, to an extent."
"So," she said, continuing to caress his arm and chest, "can we leave James with his friend for a day?"
"I suppose so."
Louisa smiled as she leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Thank you. I'll call Stephanie tomorrow then."
"Who's Stephanie?"
Switching off her lamp, she rolled her eyes. "The mum of James's friend Owen."
"Mm."
Once the room was dark, Louisa curled up beside Martin, wondering how to best broach the subject of their anniversary without making him feel annoyed. "Martin?" she said, feeling his legs shift against hers underneath the bedsheets.
"Hmm?"
"Have you made any plans for our anniversary?"
"What plans? Louisa, I'd like to go to sleep."
"I know. But I found a brochure for a bed and breakfast in Scotland while I was cleaning out the pockets in your suits this morning. I thought maybe you were planning to make reservations or something."
A long yawn escaped his throat. "Mm, Mrs. Tishell gave it to me the last time I stopped by the pharmacy."
Mrs. Tishell? Louisa wondered. "Oh. I see."
"She noticed I was looking at it so she let me keep it."
Louisa pressed her cheek against his shoulder. "Oh. Well I think it would be a lovely holiday."
"Mm."
"Romantic even." She didn't hear a reply. "Martin?"
Only the sounds of his steady breathing could be heard between them.
Realizing that he'd fallen asleep, Louisa relaxed beside him. She took hold of his right hand, which had been lying next to his side. "Goodnight," she whispered, finally closing her eyes as she thought about the two of them alone in Scotland together. Before she could completely drift off to sleep, she made a mental note to leave the brochure out where he would see it, hoping to inspire him to plan a much needed holiday away from Cornwall.
A/N:
*In regards to Pippa's family, I remembered that in series 5 episode 3 she was talking to Louisa about breastfeeding outside the school and she mentioned her twin children. I assume she's married, but we're never told who he is, so I'm just giving him the universal name of John for someone who's unidentified.