"Doc, don't you think you should close the surgery?" Pauline stood in the doorway to Martin's office area, perched against the doorframe, clad in her usual bright skirt and equally loud top. Martin looked up from his desk and gestured with his hand, almost shooing her away.
"I have a duty of care to all my patients," he grumbled as he glanced to her and then back to his notes where he was filling out some paperwork. Other than that quick glance to Pauline, he'd not made eye contact with her or even really spoken to her since she'd arrived. Pauline had found him hard at work already, an empty cup of tea sitting at the corner of his desk.
"Doc, everyone, the villagers, well, they understand. Mrs. Norton was one of us, you know, and well, it's perfectly fine-normal even," she sighed, "for you to grieve and be closed. I have been telling people they can go elsewhere for the next few days."
Martin looked to her quickly and pointed with his pen, "Pauline, the surgery is open. I certainly expect if patients call, you are booking their appointments as usual. I instructed you that the only time I will need to be closed in Friday afternoon for ahh, the ahh," he paused and swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. Pauline continued to look at him, waiting for him to spit out the words even she knew he was dreading to say. Finally, after he'd taken a deep breath and with his face now flush, he finished, "I'll only have the surgery closed Friday afternoon for the funeral." With that, he gave a solid nod and looked back to his notes, trying to busy himself.
"Even that, Doc," she sighed loudly, "take the whole day. She's your family, your closest family, especially after meeting your dreadful parents. Oh, Doc," she made a face, "are they coming?"
Martin's eyes snapped up again, and he frowned to her, "No, not on my account. I do not wish to discuss my aunt's funeral plans, Pauline. I spent most of yesterday afternoon doing that, and today, I need to get back to work. The people of this village have already gone without my services for well over week, and it is my job to provide their care. Now, I cannot do more about my personal situation at the moment; for the rest of the workday, Pauline, I expect you to park yourself at that desk," he pointed again beyond her, "and do whatever it is you normally do, or rather, sit there and not do much of anything except gossip. For the privacy of my family, I would beg you not to gossip about the passing of my aunt. Do I make myself clear?"
"Of course, Doc," she said, nodding, her eyes widening at Martin's pleading with her. She gave him a nod and turned, leaving his door open. He didn't call after her, and as Martin looked up again, he saw that she was now at her desk, one eye glaring toward him. He sighed, really wanting that door closed, but at the moment he didn't have the energy to even get up and close it.
It had been a trying couple of days. After receiving word of Joan being rushed to the hospital, Martin had done just the same, rushed to the hospital, as soon as his train had arrived. He'd met a frantic Al in the waiting area of the ER, and without much exchanged between the two, Martin had gone back in search of both Joan and Chris. Chris had met him, explained that Joan was in bad shape, but she was still alive. She'd regained consciousness later overnight, long enough for Martin to tell her that he loved her-something he rarely said aloud, but he was able to do so and to tell her that he would be the husband and father he'd never seen his father be. Joan had been unable to talk, but her eyes told him she registered what he'd said. She'd drifted off to sleep again not long after, and that ended up being the last time he was able to speak to her; she had a second stroke, this one much more severe, if that was possible, not long after, and that led to her passing away. It had been an extremely emotional and taxing night. He'd spoken to Louisa a few times on and off, but honestly, now, Tuesday, it was all hazy. With Joan passing in the early hours of Monday, Martin had spent most of Monday dealing with the hospital and the mortuary. He'd gone by her farm finally on his way home late Monday afternoon and found himself finally breaking down there, almost in the shadow of the village, hidden from everyone else. Thinking back on it now, he had sat down at her kitchen table, a place he'd always felt safe, a place where he'd eaten countless chicken dinners, a place where Louisa had called him back now over a year ago on Christmas asking him to meet her, a place where he just felt loved. That table, Joan's table-it would be no more. He'd taken time to grieve right there, finally getting up the strength to stand and check on the rest of the house. He'd locked every door and window before briefly stopping in her room, her sanctuary. Martin had almost felt out of place stepping into Joan's bedroom, as small as it was, but he finally crossed the threshold. He was almost surprised to see a picture of himself on her nightstand, two actually, one from his childhood and one from his graduation from medical school. A bag on the floor had caught his eye, and he'd found a gift for James and what he assumed was a gift for the new baby. Leaving the house, that bag was the only thing he'd brought with him, silly as it was; there were many things he might want to eventually keep to remind himself of his aunt-mostly just a few mementos and photos, but at the time, he only felt right taking the bag, the gift, as he had some mission to give the contents to the rightful owners, his child, children actually. Oh, Joan. She loved him like a son, his family without hesitation or reservation, and now that she was gone, he wasn't sure how to move forward.
Martin had finally returned to his dark, empty cottage and entering it, it was almost as if he switched modes. He left the grieving nephew at the door and took on his role as village GP, switching into that mode. Now that it was Tuesday morning, he was totally focused on his patients, patient care, and moving throughout his day without dwelling on Joan's passing. It wasn't harsh, at least it wasn't meant to be. Martin simply didn't know how to cope otherwise and felt it was easier to escape to medicine, something that had never left his side.
"Doc?" Martin snapped up his head, unaware he had paused his work and his mind was wandering. He found Pauline back at his door and beyond her several patients. He pushed his paperwork together and cleared his throat.
"What Pauline?" Martin snapped at her and glanced to her.
She gave him a sad smile, "Your first patient, Mrs. Twitty, is here. She'd got some, well, I don't know, maybe a fungus on her foot." Pauline gave him a horrified look and shook her head. He grunted, stood, and he gestured to the card in Pauline's hand.
"Yes, send her in," he said with a nod as he made eye contact with her. As Pauline stepped aside and gestured for Mrs. Twitty, Martin called after her.
"Pauline, no interruptions today, with the exception of anyone calling about the arrangements for ahh, Joan, my aunt," he clarified, his face reddening. "If you would verify actual medical problems with each patient as well because I don't have time or the interest to have idle chit chat with any of these people," he said with a grumble.
"Yes, Doc," she said with a firm nod and encouraging smile. "I won't bother you today. Got it. More tea?"
"No," he said. "Mrs. Twitty, come through."
Martin spent the rest of his morning trying to discern normal medical complaints from people wanting to talk about Joan and offer their condolences. He'd thrown out two already, much to the dismay of Pauline who frowned at him each time he flung open the door and chastised another patient for wanting to be kind. She just shook her head, and she had been trying to screen the patients, but it wasn't easy. The villagers knew Doc, and they knew he was always business so some had masked illnesses to really get into speak to him.
During his lunch, Pauline hovered at the door. Martin slowly ate his soup, something brought up from Bert and Al, and normally he hated food delivered to him, but Al had assured him that the soup was a fish chowder full of vegetables and ingredients of high nutrition, so Martin had kept it. After a spoonful, he glanced over to see Pauline hovering there.
"I sent you to lunch," he said quietly as he turned in his chair to face her.
"I did go to lunch, Doc," she said with a slight sigh. "I went almost an hour ago. I'm back. You're still sitting there eatin'. I'll have to tell Al it was that good, so good you ate the whole hour."
He looked to his watch and frowned, obviously realizing he'd let his mind wander most of lunch. He gave her a frown and a grunt, "No, well, I didn't get to eat right away," he tried to explain it away, hoping she hadn't picked up that he wasn't being truthful. "I don't need to explain myself to you. What is it?"
"Oh, nothing," she shook her head and nodded to the tea kettle. "Mind if I make a cuppa, Doc? Want some before we get busy with the afternoon rush of horribly ill patients?"
He thought a moment and then nodded, "Err, yes, a cup would be ahh, good. Thank you," he said quietly and took one last bite of the soup. He frowned again, realizing it was cold, and he hadn't even noticed. He stood as Pauline watched him. She moved while he cleaned his plate at the sink.
"Full afternoon, Doc, just as you wanted," she admitted to him, raising her eyebrow. "You do still want a full-"
"Yes, yes!" Martin exclaimed as he put his hand on the counter. He was tired of being asked about the schedule. He didn't have time to constantly discuss it. Martin had told Chris that he would get back to his job search next week after the funeral. Chris had told Martin to take whatever time he needed, but Martin had fired back to Chris that Joan would want Martin to be with his family, and he was pushing forward with his move. "I'm perfectly fine," he snapped again at Pauline, and as he said that, he raised his hand in an almost apology. He looked to her and frowned again.
"A full afternoon is expected. I've been gone, and many have reason to see me. Chris, ahh, Chris Parsons, my friend and-"
"Yeah, I know who he is, Doc," she nodded.
"Right," he said with a firm nod. "He will be coming by this evening. We have things to discuss, work matters, and he insists on bringing me supper."
Martin busied himself while Pauline finished the tea. She watched him; he could feel her eyes on him, and she finally spoke when she handed him his tea, "I'm glad Dr. Parsons is coming over Doc. Food is a natural thing people bring when someone, well, you know," she shrugged. "Many in the village want to bring you food, Doc. I've had a few calls at the surgery, and I've told them you most likely don't want food brought up here."
"No, I'm fine, but it's coming anyway. I've got platters there," he gestured, and Pauline looked over to see small cakes and breads. "Those came at lunch. Just take them."
"If it's alright, Doc, I'll hand out this afternoon during surgery. I know you don't like food around, but this gets rid of it for you. That okay?"
He frowned at the idea, but before he started back to his office, he waved at her, "Just get rid of it, whatever that entails. No food during exams. That's an order."
Two hours later, Martin was at the end of his table, examining the foot of Mr. Hedge. He heard a commotion out in the waiting room, and he tried to let it be. He finally sighed, looked up at elderly Mr. Hedge, who shrugged at him, and Martin stood.
"What is the bloody problem out there?" Martin asked, throwing open his door, wanting to know why he was being interrupted in his surgery. "Pauline, what is the problem? I'm trying to run the surgery!"
As Martin yelled into the waiting area and stepped into it, he abruptly stopped, noting it was standing room only to see him, but his eyes quickly fixated on the center of the room.
"Doc, I was trying to not take you by surprise," Pauline jumped in front of him, her eyes widening. "You said you didn't want people coming by to offer their condolences about Mrs. Norton."
"Louisa," Martin said, almost pushing around Pauline, who jumped out of the way. There stood Louisa in the middle of the room with James in his pram, eyes wide, looking up at Martin. Martin glanced at the two, and he locked eyes with Louisa who gave him the warmest and yet most sympathetic smile. He thought he would melt right there. She gestured to James.
"We couldn't stay away, not for this," she admitted to him.
"Oh dear, bugger," Pauline shook her head, patting Martin on the arm. "Doc, it seems Miss Glasson here has gone and gotten married. She jilts you and runs off, obviously to the arms of another man. Doc," she leans in slightly and whispers loudly for the entire room to hear, "she didn't waste a minute, locking down some chap. You might have dodged it. One little man there and well, my eyes might be mistaken, but it looks like another bun in the oven, Doc. See the size of that ring, too, Doc. You think you know someone and maybe none of us did know her."
He took his eyes from Louisa only as Pauline continued to go on and on, trying to convince Martin that Louisa had run off with someone else. Martin seemed to be in a trance, and he was almost unaware the entire room was watching everything. Instinctively, Martin reached over, his eyes still on Louisa, trying to digest that of all things, returning to Portwenn was the one thing she didn't want to do. They'd been talking on the phone constantly the last two days, and at no point had they discussed her coming. Perhaps that had been her plan to not even offer it to Martin as an option. Martin put the back of his hand on James' forehead and while putting the rest of the room out of his mind, locked eyes again with his wife.
"James," he said, feeling for his son's cool forehead. He nodded to Louisa, "We didn't discuss you coming."
"Right, I know that," she said, nodding to him, and as she did, her eyes darted around the room. She gave Martin a nod, trying to convey they were being watched. "I didn't want to just barge in through the kitchen door even though that-" Louisa trailed off, letting Martin infer what she didn't have to say, that they were married, and she could enter the house wherever she wanted.
"Err, ahh, Miss Glasson," Pauline asked, trying to get Louisa's attention. "Err, Louisa, sorry, but I don't even know your married name-"
Of all the things that snapped Martin out of his trance, out of the now reality that his beloved wife and son, as well as his soon to be second child, were standing here-in Portwenn-at the surgery to help him grieve for his beloved aunt, Pauline commenting about Louisa's name drew his attention. He snapped his head from Louisa's gaze and looked to Pauline.
"She's my wife, Pauline!" Martin exclaimed at the same moment Pauline registered Martin's comment from before.
"Wait, Doc, you said the boy is James? How do you know that?"
Instantly, Pauline jumped, and her eyes widened, looking between the two. Martin closed his eyes, not wanting to get into any of this right here, and Louisa bit her lip and shook her head as well. Martin finally glanced around and clapped his hands.
"Oh, stuff it!" Martin snapped to the room. He gestured for Louisa to move toward his surgery door, and as he stepped aside for her to move beyond him, he reached down to unstrap James and pick him up. He felt all eyes on him, and when he finally situated James in his arm, his eyes met Pauline's eyes.
"What?" Martin asked, patting James on the back. Pauline shook her head, her mouth open as she stared at him.
"Doc, I don't know what to say," Pauline admitted, nodding to James. "He's a cute one, but he's really yours?"
"The only thing you need to say right now, Pauline," Martin paused as he shushed James and then turned back to her, "is that there will be a slight delay with appointments this afternoon. I have a family matter at the moment." At that, Martin turned, abandoned James' pram, and he stepped toward his surgery where he saw Louisa standing in the room now, her hand on the small of her back. She'd been complaining her back was sore, and he was sure the trip hadn't helped. For now, his wife and son were here, under one roof with him. He could face the rest of the week. Joan's funeral and the village inquisition-no telling what would be more uncomfortable.