Chapter 3: Choose From the Following Statements…
One Week Earlier
Martin walked down toward the Harbour Café, Jonathan's voice playing in his head. "Sadness. Choose from the following statements the one which mostly applies to you: I do not feel sad, I feel sad much of the time, I feel sad all of the time. Pessimism…"
Louisa's father had brought the mentally unbalanced man to the surgery so Martin could provide a prescription for the medication the man so clearly needed, and, in addition to obsessing about the smoke detector on the ceiling, the patient kept mocking the written test Martin wanted him to take for bipolar disorder.
"How 'bout you Doc? Do you ever feel helpless? Do you feel totally helpless, a little helpless, not helpless at all? Choose from the following statements the one which most applies to you…"
Sadness. Pessimism. Helplessness.Martin needed to focus, to prepare his arguments for the review panel. He would stick to his record of medical care for the village, which was exemplary, no one could argue with that. They were lucky to have him, rather than making do with some tea-and-biscuit-serving mediocrity as they had before his arrival. He had dazzled the original interview panel that had hired him and he was certain he could do it again.
As he rounded the corner into the harbour front, he was dismayed to see the pasty-eating contest was about to commence. Despite Martin's stern lecture the day before about the baker possibly having a stomach infection, there he was in his chef's whites presiding over a panel of competitors, including Bert Large, all poised to stuff their faces with the potentially contaminated meat pies.
Martin had to intervene for their own good, but the ungrateful mob only pelted him with pasties before he could confiscate them all.
By the time Martin arrived at the restaurant where the panel had convened, he was late and thoroughly aggravated. All his carefully prepared arguments were gone and he was left with a sense of profound frustration. He strode into the room, still clutching the black bin bag of pasties, and was confronted by the smug, disapproving Gavin Peters.
"Can we push this along? Something I have to attend to. I also have potentially infected processed meat in my hair." Martin was painfully aware that this was the third time he had to face the unctuous, platitudinizing eunuch whilst some noxious substance soiled his face or clothing.
He cut short Peters' officious blather. "All right, look. You've carried out your investigation, you've got lots of evidence, and I don't doubt that you've reached your conclusion. So why don't you just cut to the chase."
It was Louisa who saved him. "You know, I'm actually quite surprised by some of the people that you've chosen to interview about Dr. Ellingham," she said, calling Peters out for focusing on the testimonies of those who, as she put it, "enjoy whinging."
"Miss Glasson, what's your point?" Peters demanded.
"Well… even I find Dr. Ellingham a little bit… frustrating,at times."
Martin ignored how the two silent members of the panel nodded slightly at this. He recognized them both, having treated the woman for shingles and the man for haemorrhoids, yet neither of them seemed willing to mention that fact. More ungrateful morons.
"But I also know that we are very lucky to have him here in the village, you know so do most of these people," Louisa continued. "So my point is… "
Peters cut her off. "Thank you Miss Glasson. Dr. Ellingham, there is a recent initiative. A training course focusing on people skills."
"Oh God," Martin muttered.
Peters ignored him. "It's two weeks, and it will teach you how to relate to your patients as people. Not just medical complaints. After that, I'll return to see how you've taken it on board."
"And what if I choose not to attend your initiative, Gavin?"
"Well then, I'll recommend you be removed." Peters was at his most unctuous, oozing with feigned concern. "It really is down to you Dr. Ellingham."
"Right," Martin muttered. He took the bin bag and left.
Sadness. Pessimism. Helplessness.Outside, he dumped the bag on the ground, strode up the hill and into the surgery. Pauline was spraying air freshener in the reception. He quickly retreated to his office and slammed the door.
He was so tense he began filing a metal cog on his clock project, anything to calm down, and he barely heard a knock at the door. He resisted the urge to tell whoever it was to bugger off. "Come!"
It was Louisa. "Was that really necessary?"
"No, it wasn't." He meant the whole charade of this Peters bully having the power to ruin what was left of his career, but he knew that she meant his own behaviour.
"You, you… you do realize how serious this is?"
"Yes, I do."
"Martin, they want to get rid of you. Don't you even care about that? Look, I know that you've never really fitted in around here and I know that you've never really tried and you're not interested in doing so, and I've always tried to understand that about you, because… because... well that's just you, that's what you're like. But I don't even think this is about that. I think that you deliberately wanted that review to go wrong, and I think that you want them to replace you and to send away from here. Well, Martin, you know, for what it's worth… I would like you to stay. So there."
She wanted him to stay. He had only just managed to get back in her good graces over the erotomania misdiagnosis, only to drive her away again with his bluntness about her father's thieving ways. And still… she wanted him to stay. It was worth more to him than she could ever imagine.
Maybe all was not lost. At that moment, he knew he would do whatever it took to be able to stay. "Louisa…" he began.
That's when Jonathan barged in.
Martin's thoughts were interrupted by the mechanic knocking on the driver's side window. "Dr. Ellingham. Your car's ready."
To be continued...