Chapter 6 – The Doc IV

The next evening after Pauline had gone and surgery was quiet, I was about to prepare my supper, when I heard a knock at the kitchen door. I found Mrs. Marrak peeping in. "Hello," I said to her, not having any idea why she was here.

"'Lo Doc, I was in ta' village and wanted to come by with this." She handed me a metal tin, the top sealed with kitchen foil. "Sorry about the lid, lost it somewhere."

I took it and it was of medium weight, so the contents must be dense. "And what is this?"

She shrugged. "Baked some fairings for you." I must have looked puzzled for she added, "Biscuits. You know. Fairing biscuits. I suppose you English call them ginger biscuits."

You English; of course, she must mean me. "My aunt baked them for me when I was a boy."

"I heard you was a summer visitor back in the day."

Her smiling face gave me a clue how to respond, so I said, "Yes, uhm, thank you for these."

She shook her head. "And back to Town with you rest of the year. Poor lad. Dirty city air, no clean sea air."

And no dirty gulls in London. "I'll try these later."

Mrs. Marrak looked away, but then asked, "You been able to get things movin' on the Frank matter?"

I sighed. "I have spoken to Miss Glasson about the matter at school and how your son is…"

"Unsettled is the word I bin usin'." She wiped at her cheek. "Poor lad."

I tore a sheet off the kitchen roll and gave it to her. Seems I was surrounded by weepy women lately.

She dabbed at her face. "Sorry, Doc. I just get a little down at times."

I opened the door wider. "Come through." I set the tin on the counter then waved her to a chair. She slumped down and then rubbed her hands together. "Tell me what is troubling you," I prodded her.

"I heard from Frank's da the other night. Outta the blue he called. Says he wants to come back; I mean move back in with Frank and me." Her face took on a darker hue. "But I dunnoh."

"And this is why you feel down?"

"No. It's just that… I know if I let him come home, it'll start all over again."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, he'll be really nice for a time, and then the words will start up. Critical of this and that. The floor looks dirty, or the bed sheets are wrinkled, or maybe a bath towel is stained," she sighed. "And then he'll start in on me. Can't I do something with my hair? Or dress a bit fancier, or oh, I don't know."

I understood what she was telling me. "And from there he will become more and more negative and then he will strike you."

Her eyes looked alarmed. "Now who told you that? He never hit…" she stopped her denial. "Well maybe once or twice."

"Mrs. Marrak I am not about to tell you how to run your life." Listen to yourself Martin, you got Louisa pregnant, did not marry her, and now you are at loggerheads. Like any advice you might give would be useful. "However, in my earliest examinations of your son, I noticed how your left cheek was swollen, and another time you had a faint bruise inside your elbow in the shape of a large thumb, and then you were limping another time."

Now her eyes had gone wide. "Uhm yeah, like I said once or twice, maybe."

"Did your husband beat you?"

She looked away. "No, not very often, just might come out of nowhere. Boom." She struck one hand with the other. "Temper, right?"

His father was likely an abuser and he himself had likely been abused as a child. "Do you think it is safe to have him come back?"

She shook her head side-to-side. "Oh God no."

"You should speak to PC Penhale."

Her face went white. "I… I'm not sure I had better."

I looked straight at her. "You should not let this man come home. Of this I am sure. And you should also speak to Joe Penhale strictly off the record what happened before, just in case... well so there is a record."

She rubbed her face and I saw how her hands trembled. "Bullies are everywhere," she whispered.

I didn't know what to say to that.

"I'm wrong," she added. "You're not one." She nodded at the tin. "You're alright in my book. And neither are most people. Sorry."

"But your husband is mean."

She nodded. "Right."

"Mrs. Marrak, your husband's behavior is not your fault. And if he had mistreated you, what about your son?"

"Oh he'd never hurt Frank. I'm sure of that."

I decided to ask more pointed questions to address here being 'down'. "Have you been sleeping well?"

"Fine."

"Do you have a normal appetite?"

"That's okay," she chuckled. "Too much of one."

"And are you nervous about things that you normally do? Unusual worries?"

She shook her head. "That's all good. Just Frank; worried about my boy." She shrugged and then stood. "Better be getting home. Frank stayed late at ta school for some catchup work. Your Miss Glasson's seein' to that."

"My Miss Glasson? But we're not…"

"Together?" She tossed her head. "But you ought to be. Baby on the way. Hard to be a woman alone with a child, especially a baby. Oh, my Frank isn't usually a problem, but… all the same."

I watched as she went to the door and took the knob in hand. "You enjoy them fairings, Doc. Night then."

I replied, "Goodbye."

She grinned as she left.

As I worked over my supper, I thought about what she had told me. Those who have been abused are ashamed of it, as if it is their fault. That line of thought led into my own past, and too many memories, so I quickly finished my meal, cleaned the kitchen, the stepped out on the terrace to watch the sunset.

Mrs. Marrak was right about the sea air. As I took in invigorating breaths, I spied a tiny figure across the harbor standing outside Portwenn School. It was Louisa! I saw her turn and look my way, and I almost raised my arm to wave, but then I saw her turn abruptly and walk around the corner of the school leaving my sight.

She said the pregnancy was not my problem, that she would take care of it. Not my problem, but certainly my cause. What can I do about that now?