To Belong

Doc Martin and others question and rediscover their bearings in Portwenn. Doc Martin belongs to Buffalo Pictures, this author has no rights whatsoever, just having fun.

N.B.: The chapters of this story are quite long because they advance several story arcs at once. Each section or scene does, however, make sense on its own and can therefore be read separately, it is not necessary to read entire chapters in one session to be able to follow the story. Scenes are separated by a divider and numbered for easy retrieval.

Chapter 1 - [1]

It would be difficult to argue that in the small village of Portwenn in Cornwall there lived a more influential family than the Ellinghams. What with Doctor Ellingham, the local GP transplanted there from London a dozen years before, and Mrs. Ellingham, a village native and long-time Head Teacher of Portwenn Primary, no one in the village could easily avoid coming across either spouse's care. All souls in the village knew them well and by and large appreciated their service to the community, although the most fun gossip about the Ellinghams was decidedly in the past. While the couple had been much discussed a decade ago or so with its first failed wedding, child out of wedlock, reunions, separations, reunions, nothing so entertaining had happened of late. The Ellinghams appeared to be conducting a regular family life with husband and wife in well paid and respected professions, and the ideal set of children, a young son and daughter. Of this decidedly mundane turn of events the Ellinghams themselves were very satisfied, if only because it put them mostly out of the village rumour mill.

Doctor Ellingham, or Doc Martin as the villagers called him, well known as much for his extraordinary skills as for his bad temper, had had a long period of adjustment to village life. Everyone except the doctor himself, however, could see that once his marriage had settled he had become not a local, as that could never be, he was too different, but an odd lump fairly well blended into the fabric of daily village life, much like a prize item baked inside a cake. Mrs. Ellingham, or Louisa Glasson as many still thought of her, was her usual fiery self in addressing all sorts of school and community issues, but she was also the warm, caring and beautiful person they had always known, and thus her incomprehensible choice of a rather rude husband had long since been forgiven. And so it was that matters of import in the village did almost invariably end at the Ellinghams' doorstep, as in some capacity or other their counsel or action was sought. That is how on a fine Sunday afternoon, bathed in beautiful springtime sunshine and gentle breezes from the sea, began a chain of events that would alter the perceptions these prominent citizens had about their place in the odd, small, and beautiful community of Portwenn.

Martin sat on a blanket on the rocky and sandy mix of one of Portwenn's beaches with the mildly disgusted expression he always wore at such beach outings, whether he was actually having a good time or not. This day so far had not been too unpleasant. The weather was truly beautiful, the sun shining gloriously on a rather tranquil sea, with boats bobbing in the distance. Children were playing and making noise all around, but as his own son and daughter were among them he could not complain. The picnic basket for once had contained a few healthy choices, and best of all his beautiful wife was sitting next to him, smiling contentedly and humming some old song. What an idyllic picture he thought. If he had forgotten himself he might have actually smiled.

"Louisa… this is nice," he said, "and the children seem to be having fun."

"It is the first really nice spring day, so they can finally run around in the open air. I am glad you are… content?"

As he looked at her intensely he dropped his serious expression as his features softened a little into a fond look. "Yes. I... have a truly beautiful family."

Louisa slid closer and leaned her head on his shoulder. They sat there in companionable silence for a little while, until they were interrupted by the arrival of their children.*

"Dad, dad!" called James "Look, a limousine, like on the telly!"

Martin did not care too much about cars, but since James did he turned around and looked up towards the road. Sure enough one of those absurd extra-long black cars was parked along the edge.

"I have never seen a real limousine dad!"

"Well, now you have James."

"I wonder who it is," said Louisa, "it is really odd to see a limousine here."

As if to satisfy Louisa's and everyone else's curiosity, a uniformed chauffeur exited the front compartment and went to open the door in the back. Now all the people at the beach had stopped what they were doing and were looking up. "What else? We're in Portwenn," thought Martin.

A striking figure of a woman emerged from the limousine. She was tall and lean, with short platinum blonde hair, and wore an elegant black and white dress in an intricate geometric design, and black high heel shoes. She walked slowly towards the beach entrance, stopping to take in the beautiful view from the top.

"Must be some millionaire," commented Louisa. "There is something familiar about her though."

"Yes," said their daughter Joanie with a brooding look. "Can't you see mum? She's Cruella De Vil."

"Yeah," smiled Louisa, "she does look rather like Cruella from a distance, though her hair is not half white half black."

"What are you talking about?" asked a puzzled Martin.

"Silly daddy!" exclaimed Joanie smiling at her father. "She's that evil lady in the 101 Dalmatians."

"Ah, the one with all the ghastly dogs. What a nightmare, 101 dogs!" shivered Martin.

"So, Cruella," said James rather fascinated. "But I'm not scared of her. Do you think she would let me see what the limousine looks like inside?"

"No James, we do not know her and you should not bother her," replied Martin very firmly, as he knew James would otherwise insist.

"OK," mumbled James a bit disgruntled.

Then the lady decided to walk down to the beach. She took long, elegant strides until she came off the pavement and on to the beach itself. At that point she started walking more slowly, picking her way here and there.

"I bet those shoes cost one thousand pounds," said Louisa.

"Those shoes, with such heels, are not very practical for this beach," said Martin. No sooner had he finished saying it that the lady swayed, instinctively throwing her arms outward to maintain her equilibrium, but losing it nonetheless. One of her heels had become stuck among the rocks and broke off with an audible crack, while one knee twisted and landed fairly hard on the ground, with a hand quickly coming down to stop the rest of her falling body. The chauffeur, who had been leaning on the limousine, jumped up and started running down to the beach, but Martin was closer and could reach the fallen lady in a few long strides, though he was preceded by a running James who was yelling with as deep a voice as he could make: "Out of the way! Medical emergency!" in a fair imitation of his father.

The lady looked up with a grimace but said to James: "You are rather young to handle a medical emergency, aren't you?"

"No, my father is the doctor," replied James and pointed at Martin.

"A doctor? Lucky me," said the lady, "maybe you can take a look at my knee." She had sat on a larger rock that happened to be near her.

"Yes," said Martin, kneeling down and taking the lady's long and very well shaped leg in his big hands. He moved it this way and that, with the lady grimacing a bit, and then said: "It's not broken, just a bad twist. It will probably swell. And there's a cut, which needs cleaning. Let me see your hand," he commanded in his usual curt tone with patients.

The lady put her left hand, which had broken her fall, into Martin's.

"Mmm, slight cut and bruise, it needs disinfecting as well."

His secure, commanding tone, his height, his very elegant appearance and above all the touch of his warm hands on her bare leg all had an unforeseen but unequivocal effect on the sophisticated lady: she was unmarried, very experienced, and rather bored, so that one of Cupid's smaller darts did find a tiny target in her rather hardened heart. It would really be an exaggeration to say that it was for her a coup de foudre, as she was incapable of such deep feelings, but her senses were definitely stirred by the doctor. Martin, meanwhile, was meditating that, had the woman not been wearing such a ghastly perfume, he would have felt much better. As we all know, Cupid is a nasty little boy who doesn't really care what havoc he might create with his small or big darts, so the fact that Martin's heart unassailably belonged to his wife was of no concern. If the woman had been nice you might well have felt sorry for her, but don't bother, as nice she was not.

Louisa had joined them by now, together with a lot of other curious people. A close look at the woman revealed a rather stunning beauty made of perfect lineaments further embellished by delicately applied make-up. Louisa judged her to be a very well maintained forty-years old or thereabouts.

"I do not have my medical bag with me," said Martin, "but my surgery is near if you like."

"Thank you Doctor…?"

"Ellingham."

"Thank you Doctor Ellingham… You are not what I would expect a country doctor to be like."

Martin just looked at her with a puzzled expression: what did this have to do with fixing her abrasions?

"Why, what did you expect?" asked James.

"Not a man in such a suit, on a Sunday afternoon at a small village beach… But yes, thank you, if your surgery is not far I'd appreciate your help." She tried to get up, but obviously her knee hurt as she swayed a bit. Martin caught her and she leaned on his arm, with half a smile and an unmistakably coquettish look, which he completely overlooked. Louisa, however, did not.

The chauffeur intervened: "Ms. Williams, let me help you walk to the car. Where is the surgery doctor?"

Martin was about to answer when Ms. Williams said: "Doctor Ellingham, you can ride with me."

"Can I ride too?" said James, not able to contain himself.

"Mmm… you are a bit too full of sand and mud young man," replied Ms. Williams coolly dismissing James.

"Louisa," said Martin turning to his wife, "if I ride I'll get there faster, so I should be back shortly." Louisa knew that Martin was perfectly oblivious of Ms. Williams' flirtatious looks towards him, but she was irritated by the woman's brazenness.

"Hello," said Louisa, "I'm Mrs. Ellingham." Her lips were smiling, but her eyes had daggers in them and conveyed this clear message to the other woman: "Hands off!" However, to Martin she said: "Sure, go ahead, and no need to come back. It's almost time to prepare dinner anyway. The kids and I will gather our things and come home, right after you."

"Are you sure?" asked Martin a little surprised.

"Yes, I'm sure, we'll be there shortly."

"Fine then," answered Martin. He turned to his new patient and said: "Let's go then Ms…?"

"Nigella Williams," she introduced herself, still flirtatiously.

"This one is used to getting anything she wants," thought Louisa, looking on while they walked away, "but she's in for a surprise with Martin."

James stuck his tongue out behind Ms. Williams' back, put his hands on his hips and imitated that right-left swinging of female hips: "I'm Nigella-Cruella, and I'm scared of sand in my limousine, oh dear!" he said in a pretend girly voice.

Louisa laughed: "She's lucky if your dad doesn't call her Cruella to her face by the time he's done with her."

When Louisa and the children arrived at the surgery the limousine was still parked outside, rather obstructing traffic. The chauffeur was leaning on it smoking a cigarette. James stopped to take a good look at this unusual, luxurious vehicle. The chauffeur smiled at him and winked: "Hey little mate, you can take a peek inside while she's with the doc. Just don't touch anything."

James smiled back and gave the chauffeur a silent high-five. He opened the car door and jumped: "Amazing!" he yelled.

Louisa and Joanie shook their heads and went inside. As they entered the surgery they almost ran into Ms. Williams who was limping towards the exit with some help from Martin.

"If it gets very swollen come see me tomorrow, Ms…?" Martin was saying.

"Nigella," the woman said again, a bit perplexed: how could he keep forgetting her name?

"Yes," mumbled Martin.

"Why, I thought you were a tourist passing by Ms. Williams. Are you staying in Portwenn?" asked Louisa.

"Just for a few weeks on business, I have a room at the Castle. I am a manager with King's Mart. We..." answered Ms. Williams.

"She's here about the King's Mart hypermarket plan," interrupted Martin to cut explanations short: the woman had been forward enough in his consulting room that even he was beginning to have a vague inkling that she might have been flirting.

"Ah, the King's Mart plan!" replied Louisa rather fiercely. "You're not here to present the plan at the Parish Council meeting, are you?"

"But I am," stated Ms. Williams a bit puzzled by Louisa's tone.

"Well, don't be surprised if Portwenn is not going to be too friendly to you, Ms. Williams," said Louisa in a rather cold tone of voice. "You will find strong opposition to your plan."

"Yes, we generally do in small villages. We generally win though," Ms. Williams said this looking at Louisa at first, but then turning to Martin, with a knowing look as if to an accomplice. He merely stared uncomprehending, while Louisa took it as one more act of flirting.

"You won't win here, no King's Mart hypermarket will ever be built that close to Portwenn. Goodbye," concluded Louisa in a decisive tone to assure herself just as much as Ms. Williams, and marched off to the kitchen.

Martin felt himself caught between a rock and a hard place right then, and rather awkwardly explained: "The villagers think that a King's Mart hypermarket would damage the local economy."

"Ah, that… I can hear your wife is Cornish, but you're not. London?"

"Yes."

"So what brought you here?"

"Oh, Cruella, that's personal. Goodbye," Martin concluded opening the door for her to step outside.

"Cruella?" Ms. Williams thought momentarily puzzled, then suddenly enlightened she told herself: "Oh, interesting..." And she left him with a little knowing smile which predictably he did not notice, while the chauffeur helped her to her limousine.

Later at bed time Louisa asked: "Why did that minx from King's Mart look at you as if you were on her side?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Come on Martin, she gave you that look that meant she and you understood each other."

"Really? About what?"

"Martin… you did not notice anything, did you?"

"No, what was I supposed to notice?"

"That she assumed you were on her side, King's Mart side… and that she was flirting with you non-stop."

"Flirting? Was she? I thought she might be, a little."

"Oh yes she was."

"Maybe she was just being… confident, sure of herself. And why would she assume I'm on King's Mart's side?"

"Did you talk about King's Mart?"

"No. Louisa… I think you are making her sound a lot worse than she was. She's just a professional woman from London and she finds herself working here in Portwenn… well obviously she will find everything and everyone to be… provincial."

"You mean she'll find us all to be stupid."

"Well, not you, no. But a lot of the villagers, yes, and if not idiotic then… bodmin, as you'd put it."

"Yes, only you Londoners are smart and know everything, right?"

"I didn't say that Louisa! I am just saying she does not fit in and will probably not get along with the locals."

"Which you know from personal experience?"

"Yes."

"After all these years living here, you still feel that way?"

"I am not a native, not a local person… But everyone knows me and I know them, so it's not as bad as it used to be, no… I could never belong like you and the children though."

"No, I guess not," admitted Louisa. "But Martin… The villagers do respect you. They may not like your bedside manner, but I think they do consider you part of the village, in your own way, even if you are not like anyone else… As for that woman… she thinks she's better than us, and come to think of it… maybe that's the source of that conspiratorial look she gave you, you two smart Londoners who are better than us country bumpkins… But she's not better than us, we'll show her… and you, too."

"Oh, that's unfair now, don't lump me together with her. I didn't think she was that unpleasant, but it's not as if she were suddenly my best friend," protested Martin.

"I sure hope not Martin, I really, really hope not," concluded Louisa quite fiercely and switched off her lamp, while Martin silently prayed never to come across the King's Mart manager again. Little did he know.

Chapter 1 - [2]

On Monday morning Martin sat at his desk poring over his new patient's notes and medical history. It was a rather thick folder and there was no time for all the details, but the general situation was clear enough.

"So Mr... Davis," said Martin looking at the folder on his desk "you were diagnosed with the relapsing-remitting form of multiple sclerosis fifteen years ago, but last year you had a turn for the worse and the diagnosis shifted to the secondary-progressive form of MS. Hospital stay of three months in 2014 after septicemia caused by an untreated urinary tract infection and a long recuperation period… One bed sore treated successfully… Pneumonia from food aspiration, twice, thus the feeding tube… and a catheter to drain your bladder… You were prescribed Baclofen and Tizanidine … pretty standard symptoms management there, and Clonazepam to sleep at night. I also see here you tried the Interferon Beta as well as a few other experimental treatments, but none have worked for you. Does that sum up the most important points correctly?"

The gray-brown haired, mid-forties man sitting on a motorized wheelchair across the desk was staring at Martin in wonder. Then he shook his head slightly and said:

"They told me you were good, but you got all of it in just five minutes. You know, most GPs couldn't do that."

"Mmm…" Martin had his usual difficulty with compliments. "You have come back to Portwenn. I am not a neurologist so you will need to make an appointment in Truro and then we'll work together."

"Yes, my neurologist in London gave me a contact, Bernard Lahm."

"Yes, I have heard of him, he does specialize in MS research. My receptionist will try to get you an appointment as soon as possible. I can continue to prescribe the drugs you were already taking for now, but I'll want to consult with Lahm. At the moment you are on a mere symptom management regimen, so I am wondering whether Lahm will advise a more aggressive treatment with any new drugs."

"In fifteen years what I have understood is that all the drugs indicated for MS work best, when they work, on the relapsing-remitting sort, but none are proven to work for secondary-progressive MS. Still, the London people said Lahm is developing a new experimental treatment for primary and secondary-progressive, so that's an added reason to go see him."

"Yes, research is an ongoing process, thus we can always hope for new drugs. But that's really not for your GP to decide. I'll be in charge of your… of overseeing your daily regimen and care. You are obviously in no condition to live alone."

Arthur Davis smiled: "They told me you are very direct. I actually like that, no useless beating around the bush. Correct of course, I'm a wretched invalid who cannot pee or defecate on his own, cannot eat by mouth, and definitely not get it on with a woman anymore."

Martin was a little startled but appreciative of this brutal honesty. It did save time.

"So have you considered an assisted living community?"

"No. My sister… I think you know my sister, she teaches art and music at Portwenn Primary."

"Oh, you're Mrs. Holmes' brother?"

"Yes. Beth, her husband Mark and little Melanie live in the house where we grew up, though they have fixed it very nicely now from the way it was back then. Our father was an old farmer who did not really care for good floors and nice furniture or large, clean windows overlooking our beautiful Cornish coast. Beth and Mark also transformed the old barn into a very nice guest apartment and when my wife left me…"

Arthur looked up with an ironic and bitter look which Martin recognized immediately as that of a man betrayed by someone he had trusted. Martin knew all about that from his youthful days, before he had become fully armored in his own short temper and bitterness not to be made a fool again.

"Sorry to hear that," said Martin softly.

"As long as I could function my wife stayed. I had a very good income… I was a well-regarded barrister in London, commercial law. My wife was younger than I, and when I was thinking maybe it was time for children she was not interested, she wanted a career of her own..." then with more bitterness in his voice "… but during my long hospital stay she got herself another man, an up and coming barrister himself, and left me… So much for in sickness and in health… But I'm not the only spouse who got dumped upon a bad diagnosis… and... the inability in bed, you know… she's not the type to go without that."

Martin looked at the man intently and then lowered his eyes. This was an intelligent, professional man who got struck fiercely by a consuming disease with no cure, brilliant career destroyed, and dumped to rot by himself. He was lucky to have a loving sister to take him in and rescue him from the probable indignities of a nursing home.

"So, how are you set up with home aid?" asked Martin.

"Social services do provide home nursing several hours a day, and luckily I also have a very good private insurance which makes it possible to have additional nursing help."

"Good. Then you will come at regular intervals to change your catheter, and so that I may monitor the course of any new medication Lahm may prescribe. I will give you my mobile number as well in case of emergency."

"Why, thank you Doctor Ellingham… I'm surprised."

"About?..."

"You."

"Me? Why?"

"Judging from what other people said I was expecting a sort of four-headed dragon."

Martin looked Arthur in the eye and said: "I see no reason to lose my patience with you… yet."

"Well doc," said Arthur laughing, really amused now "as long as you always tell it like it is, which you seem perfectly capable of doing, you'll have no problems with me. To hell with medical niceties, I have completely lost patience with those."

"So have I, though most people seem to like a lot more sugar-coating than I'm generally willing to provide."

"You know… for me coming back to Portwenn is a difficult step to take, I did love living in London. Yet in so many ways this is home, I grew up here, I always came back to visit family. I'll miss London, but it won't be strange. I know everyone and everyone knows me. But you… it must have been quite strange… difficult for you to come here from London."

Somehow Martin found it easy to talk to this man, who was obviously very inteligent. "It was," he answered, "I knew nobody but my aunt, and nobody knew me, or just a few old friends of my aunt's remembered me as a boy."

"And now?"

"And now… That's a difficult question and really none of your business, is it?"

"Ah, I have made you lose your patience, eventually," said Arthur with an ironic smile. "Well, maybe some other time you'll tell me what it's like for you to live here now after… how many years?"

"A dozen… Well then, I have a room full of patients out there. We'll let you know about the appointment in Truro as soon as possible."

"Speaking of no niceties…"

Martin shrugged and opened his consulting room door. Arthur drove his motorized chair through.

"Morwenna, call the disability transport van for Mr. Davis. Next patient!"

Arthur smiled. He had always been an excellent reader of people's character, and could see through Martin with ease: fierce exterior, heart of gold. A great find, the doc.

Going back to his consulting room Martin thought: "Were they all like this patient, my days would be a lot easier." But the man's final inquiry had Martin thinking. What was it really like for him, the London man, to be living here in this small village after a dozen years? His automatic response was that he did not fit in much more today than he had when he first arrived. But was it just a mental habit to think that? Was it still true? As he walked back into his consulting room he had the courage to silently confess to himself that he did not really know the honest answer to Arthur Davis' question.

Chapter 1 - [3]

Louisa, simply but elegantly attired in a flowery dress that accented her natural beauty, sat behind her desk in her office at Portwenn Primary with a perplexed expression. Across from her sat a small group of people, all known to her except for the young girl, perched on a chair on the side, who had all the appearance of a scared young animal, given her lithe appearance and large, beautiful gold-brown eyes that shifted around from place to place and generally downward, with no intention of stopping anywhere in particular. She put Louisa in mind of a scared young doe. The other three people were Mr. and Mrs. Rowe, local sheep farmers whom Louisa had known all her life, and social services employee Amelia Trewin, an old schoolmate from when Louisa and Amelia had themselves attended this same primary school.

"So Jasmine here is not understanding anything we are saying?" asked Louisa.

"Right, poor girl, she really has no English at all," answered Mrs. Rowe shaking her white haired head disconsolately.

"When did she arrive in Portwenn?"

"Just a week ago," replied Amelia. "She went from the care of the Foreign Office to Mr. and Mrs. Rowe just last Monday."

"How old is she?"

"There is no absolute certainty in terms of birth certificates or passport, which she does not have, but she herself was able to write her own date of birth in Arabic, which was translated at the consulate. She is twelve," said Amelia. "Besides not really knowing any English, at some point during her journey here she stopped speaking altogether."

"What, she does not talk at all?" asked Louisa raising her eyebrows in surprise.

"Correct."

"But… how did that happen?"

"Good question. Nobody really knows," said Amelia, while Mrs. Rowe wiped her eyes because some tears were gathering there. The girl, for her part, continued with her jittery, furtive looks toward Louisa, distractedly pulling on a scarf wrapped around her neck and head, which was probably not silk though it looked equally light. She was obviously a very scared child. Louisa sighed. They were asking for help, but she could not make any decisions with as little information as she had.

"Amelia, Mr. and Mrs. Rowe… let's begin at the beginning please," asked the Head Teacher, "I really need to understand the whole story, or at least gather as much information as you have. I need information to be able to make a decision."

Amelia took the initiative to begin answering Louisa's request: "Jasmine was brought to the door of the British consulate in Thessaloniki, Greece, about a month ago. She had traveled mostly on foot and precarious boat transportation with thousands of other Middle Eastern refugees. She comes from a small village in Iraq. Her entire family was killed when militias captured the town in 2014. Her neighbors took pity on her when they were fleeing the city and took her with them. They are our only source of information on Jasmine since she does not talk and will not write anything about her past. The poor child has obviously been through a lot and will need a lot of care, but it is difficult to help her now given that she does not understand any English."

"Why did this family, the neighbors, leave her then?" inquired Louisa "It seems like they had adopted her."

"In a way they had. The head of that family told the British consul in Thessaloniki that Jasmine was lost for a time while they were stationed for months at a refugee camp in Turkey. When they found her again she was mute, and never told what happened to her. The neighbors did not know what to do with the child anymore, but they did know something about her which, they concluded correctly, would probably help her as she made her way west. They knew she was an illegitimate child, born of a union between the girl's mother and a British officer stationed in Iraq. Jasmine carries a photograph, which she never separates herself from. It's a picture of her mother hand in hand with Major Jonathan Rowe. He had written his name on the back of the picture together with his address in Portwenn."

"What?" exclaimed Louisa, "Jonathan had a daughter in Iraq?" Portwenn was a really small village, Louisa had known Jonathan quite well.

Here Mr. Rowe intervened: "He probably never knew, Louisa. He wrote us a letter the day before he was killed in action, the letter we received after we were told he was dead… He did say in that letter that he had met a wonderful girl in Iraq, a nurse, though we do not know where exactly. Louisa, you know our Jonathan was awarded the George Cross for saving the life of his men by giving his own… So the British consul took the matter to heart and called us and… to make a long story short he told us to do that test to see if it was true that Jasmine is our granddaughter."

"DNA test," specified Amelia.

"Yes, that," continued Mr. Rowe. "Jasmine is Jonathan's daughter, no doubt they said. And it seems she has no other relatives in the world but us. The consul was able to have her come to Portwenn pretty quickly after the test confirmed she's half British, poor girl, and the daughter of a hero."

"He was a hero, Jonathan," nodded Louisa.

"We were shocked but so happy when we heard about her!" exclaimed Mrs. Rowe. "As you know, Jonathan was our only child, and Jasmine is a gift from God!"

"Well," protested Mr. Rowe "God has a strange way to give presents then. The poor girl must have… we have no idea what it must have been like Louisa, but can you imagine, running away from those… those terrorist killers, walking most of the way from Iraq to Greece… and disappearing for a time… What on Earth happened to our granddaughter? Look at the poor child! She's like a scared rabbit! Gift from God, woman! Don't misunderstand Louisa, we do love the girl already, we can see Jonathan in her… But if there is a God how can he let all this happen to a child? I bet we don't even know the worst of it."

"I see a bit of Jonathan in her myself, Mr. Rowe," said Louisa "she does look rather like him… What a horrible situation, poor child…"

Mrs. Rowe was in tears now and said: "She eats very little, either she does not like our food or… I don't know. I'm afraid she'll get sick…"

"Well, you can take her by the surgery and register her there, and either you make an appointment or I can see whether Martin can let you come in today. He'll be able to confirm Jasmine is in good health, hopefully. But as to the matter at hand… If Jasmine is twelve she is one year older at least than the eldest child at this school."

"We know that," said Amelia "but we have agreed that to send her among her peers at this point would be a mistake. You know how cliquish girls can be at her age, not to mention they'd be culturally quite different from Jasmine. We figured it would be very difficult for Jasmine to socialize, given her lack of language skills and her emotional state. Adolescents can be pretty mean to each other even under the best circumstances, can you imagine when presented with such an easy target as Jasmine? The last thing she needs poor soul is some school bully to start tormenting her. Our thinking is that if she were allowed to come to school here she could begin to learn some English and to relate to people in a far less threatening environment, as she would be surrounded by younger children. Then come next term we'll see. Social services will also provide counseling, though we need to find someone who speaks whichever version of Arabic she does, and that may prove difficult."

Louisa favored them with a long, very perplexed look. "Well" she said at last with a sigh, "this is going to be quite difficult, for all of us… But I see your point, and I agree that dumping Jasmine among her same-age cohort immediately might be shocking… Alright then, we can give it a try, but I expect someone from social services and Mr. and Mrs. Rowe to be reachable at all times in case we have a crisis we cannot handle."

"Of course," answered Mrs. Rowe.

Louisa turned her attention to Jasmine, who was now looking at her. Louisa gave her her best, warmest smile and said: "Hello Jasmine." Then pointing to herself she added: "I am Mrs. Ellingham." Then pointing at herself again she repeated "Mrs. Ellingham." Jasmine stared at her with her big gold-brown eyes and then gave Louisa a minimal nod.

"Mrs. Rowe, I'll talk to Martin during the lunch hour and I'll explain Jasmine's situation to him. I'm sure he'll be able to see you soon, maybe this afternoon. Would that work for you?"

"Mmm… yes if the doc won't yell at Jasmine, I don't need to tell you what the doc's like, Louisa."

"Once he knows Jasmine's situation he'll be very gentle with her, I assure you. He's not the ogre he still pretends to be," said Louisa smiling.

"If you say so…"

"I do, and in any case you'll accompany Jasmine."

"Yes, of course."

"Good. Now I have an idea. I know one little girl who is very sweet and who can be a friend to Jasmine. Wait here."

Louisa left her office and reappeared a few minutes later followed by a little girl who looked very much like the Head Teacher, but who had a rather shy air about her, as she seemed rather taken aback by so many unknown people in her mother's office.

"Joanie, this is Jasmine. Jasmine does not speak English. She is an orphan whose dad was Mr. and Mrs. Rowe's son. Would you be very nice to Jasmine and try to make friends? Perhaps you could draw some pictures and tell her a few words. She will probably not answer anything, but she might learn English words if you tell her some."

"You mean she has no mum and dad?" asked Joanie in a really sad tone of voice.

"Right," replied Louisa, sShe does have grandparents though. I used to go to school with Jasmine's dad."

"Not having a mum and dad is very sad though. Poor Jasmine. Will she want to be my friend then?" asked Joanie.

"I hope so. You will be nice to her I'm sure, and she will be nice to you too I would think."

"OK."

Here Louisa was afraid that her shy daughter would not progress towards meeting Jasmine on her own, and certainly she did not expect Jasmine to take the initiative. But Louisa had underestimated her daughter's powers of empathy. Joanie had been peering at Jasmine and recognized immediately, instinctively the signals of social fear, because she herself was often very wary of being among strangers. Though Joanie could not fathom the depths of despair in Jasmine's heart, she recognized sadness too when she saw it. Thus, without really thinking about it, Joanie stepped towards Jasmine, smiled at her with a very warm, even glowing smile and said: "I'm Joanie and I'm going to be your friend." Joanie took Jasmine's hand in hers. Jasmine did not recoil. She looked down at Joanie and did see a friend in that smile, a rather small friend, but a friend nonetheless. She therefore gave Joanie a tiny nod of her head and let Joanie lead her by the hand out of the Head Teacher's office.

"Well, that was easier than I thought," commented Amelia.

"Yes…" replied Louisa "Joanie does have a winning way about her when she feels safe. I guess she did feel safe with Jasmine." Turning to Mrs. Rowe Louisa saw that the old lady was silently shedding copious tears now.

"Shhh," said Louisa, patting Mrs. Rowe on her shoulder.

"Oh Louisa!" said Mrs. Rowe among sobs. "That's the first time I see Jasmine accept anyone so quickly."

Louisa smiled: "As I said, my Joanie does have a sweet way about her."

*The personality of these two children as I imagine them is described in Christmas Imbroglio.