Chapter 7 – [1]
The big day of the village meeting about the King's Mart hypermarket plan had finally arrived. Obviously Ms. Williams knew very well what she was about. She had obtained a permit to hold the meeting just outside the pub down by the Platt and invited the entire village to attend at 17:00, with free drinks for all from the pub, and job application and vendor forms available. A podium had been installed, with microphones and speakers, as well as a large portable screen to illustrate the King's Mart plan. Thus it was no surprise that both the pub and the space outside filled up that night, as a very large number of villagers had come down to the Platt to be present at the meeting. In addition to King's Mart advertisement, the "No King's Mart in Portwenn" committee had also circulated flyers and made announcements on Portwenn Radio, encouraging everyone to come. Thus just about everyone was present, excluding only those who were too old and feeble.
Both Al and Morwenna had duties to perform during the meeting, and both came early to make sure they would have enough time for all they needed to do. On both their lists appeared the word "proposal." Thus it was no surprise that a good hour before the meeting was to begin the two young people were looking for each other. Morwenna's mobile buzzed. It was a text message from Al: "I need to talk to you."
"Where are you?"
"Pub. Can you come now?"
"Yes, there in a minute."
Morwenna walked quickly to the pub, went in and looked around for Al. There were quite a few people already, so she saw him only when he got up from the table he was occupying at the very back. He was waving her there. She walked over and sat down, right in front of him. There were a few tense moments with neither knowing how to start. Then Morwenna said: "I wanted to talk to you too." There was a softness in her words and her tone that pleasantly surprised Al as she had been cold and distant lately, making him fear she really wanted to end it. This encouraged him to take her hand and caress the back of it with his thumb.
"Morwenna… I know I'm a great lump… I'm probably no fun at all…"
"Al, yes, you are a great lump sometimes, but you are a good, good man. And I love you Al."
Al was stunned, this was so sudden after receiving a cold shoulder from Morwenna for so many days. He squeezed her hand tighter, and in a voice sweeter than he knew he had he said: "I love you too, Morwenna. That is why I wanted to see you. I have never said it well enough, but… it's very clear for me: I love you and I want to marry you Morwenna."
He took out a small box and gave it to her. Now it was Morwenna's turn to be stunned. Where did that sweet voice come from? And he had finally actually said it, he was proposing marriage! She was silent for a few moments and Al grew worried. He looked at her with an inquisitive and really worried air that Morwenna found very endearing. She took the little box and opened it. Of course there was a ring in it, with a blue stone in the middle, not very large but beautiful, sitting among some tiny diamonds mounted in an intriguing geometric pattern. It was stunning, Morwenna loved it instantly and wondered how Al had had the good taste to pick this particular ring. She would have guessed him for a man who favored something much more traditional.
"I hope you like it," said Al, still expectantly.
"I love it, it's wonderful. Al, I came here with something for you too."
"Ah, thank you… but… will you marry me then?" he asked scratching the back of his head in doubt.
"Look at this first, love." Morwenna fished inside her handbag and took out a small box, not unlike the one she had just received. She placed it in front of Al and said: "Go on, open it."
Al was extremely perplexed, having no idea what could be in the little box. He did as he was told and opened it. There were two rings in it, two simple golden wedding bands. He stared at them and then took them out and saw they were engraved on the inside. On the larger one's interior he read "Morwenna," and on the smaller one he read "Al." Al shook his head, looked up and smiled, his eyes shining. He was so touched that he felt a small tear might escape his eye if he wasn't careful. So he did the only thing he could do. First he took the blue engagement ring and put it on Morwenna's finger, and then he took her into his arms and kissed her. After a while he just held her and whispered: "When? Do you want a big wedding?"
"Not too big. But as soon as the vicar can do it. I'm tired of waiting, aren't you?"
"Yes. I do want you to be my wife as soon as possible."
"Al… I don't have anyone really. Do you think your dad would give me away?"
Al smiled widely now, nodded vigorously and kissed her again. But, speak of the devil…
"Oh my, children!" said a well-known voice. "Being naughty at the pub?"
Al and Morwenna turned around and laughed. They looked so happy, and then Bert spotted the ring on Morwenna's finger and jumped in surprise: "Al, my boy, have you finally done it? You proposed? And she's obviously saying yes!"
The two young people nodded, all smiles.
"We're getting married as soon as possible dad," said Al.
"Bert," said Morwenna, "I know this is the other way 'round, but would you be so kind as to give the bride away?"
Bert's laughter resonated as an interior, deep rumble, which made his entire big body quiver. He sat down, took Morwenna's hand and said: "I'll be honored my dear girl, honored. You know, I had been wondering how to keep myself busy, useful, in my old age. I will help small business ventures in Portwenn, but… now I know: I'll be a grandfather some time soon, I'm sure of it, looking after the progress of the next Large generation. You'll never need another child minder, you two. You have made me a happy man, children, a very happy man."
Chapter 7 – [2]
Martin of course had come to the village meeting as well, both to support his wife, and to keep an eye on the children. While walking about the Platt nervously, he saw the Rowe family coming toward him. He exchange their nod, and Jasmine ventured a small smile at the doctor, something which he had not expected and which, to his surprise, really touched him. At that moment a group of teenage girls started walking directly towards them. They all immediately recognized the pack of girls who had attacked Jasmine. Jasmine felt rather safe, flanked as she was by her grandparents and the doc, yet she squeezed herself closer to her grandmother, who put a protective arm around her shoulders. The girls approached. They were not wearing their usual mocking expressions. They were very quiet and, Martin thought, nervous. One of the girls came forward, quite close to Jasmine, holding a small parcel. It looked like a present wrapped in colorful paper and tied with gold and silver strings. It appeared to have been prepared with a lot of care. "Jasmine," said the girls' leader, "We are very, very sorry. This is for you." And she proffered the small parcel to Jasmine. Jasmine was half fascinated by the beautiful wrapping paper and ribbons, half scared as someone suspecting a hidden bomb.
"Take it Jasmine," said Mrs. Rowe nodding at Jasmine, and smiling both at Jasmine and at the girls. Jasmine then took the parcel.
"Go on, open it," encouraged her Mrs. Rowe.
Jasmine understood and started opening the small parcel very carefully. She did not want to break the paper, she wanted to keep it, and the ribbons too. It took a while, but when the small parcel was finally open it revealed a silk scarf in a blue design that included "I love Portwenn" written across. It was obviously bought at one of the local souvenir shops, but it was one of the higher quality and more expensive scarves, as it was genuine silk, and the design was quite tasteful. Jasmine thought it was wonderful, how had they known blue was her favorite color? She spread it out to show her grandparents and the doc. Mrs. Rowe pronounced it very lovely and thanked the girls, Mr. Rowe said it was a good gift, Martin said: "Right." Then Jasmine took off the older scarf she was wearing, the same one the girls had pulled from her head, passed it and the glossy paper and ribbons to her grandmother, and wrapped the new scarf around her neck and hair. She looked really beautiful in it. She turned to the girls and smiled at them.
The gift had clearly touched something in Jasmine who, despite all her misadventures, had a tenacious belief in human beings. Jasmine went to each girl in turn and briefly hugged each one, nodding and smiling. The girls were speechless, and felt more ashamed of themselves right then than at any other time before. Martin read the girls' shame on their faces, cleared his voice and made a discreet gesture with his hand to send them on their way. They left, for once not thinking that the Portwenn GP was a tosser. Joanie then arrived and started a one-sided conversation with Jasmine on the beauty of the new scarf. The Rowes and Martin watched the two girls walk off together, and that was when Martin realized James was gone, probably playing with some other boys somewhere else, he thought, not really worried.
Chapter 7 – [3]
The questionnaire had arrived in the mail the day before. Mrs. Tishell had opened the envelope with some trepidation, hoping with all her might that Ms. Williams had indeed been delusional, that the doctor had never had any Freudian slips, that he was not ill or unstable, but the great man she had always known him to be. She had understood a long time ago that, as far as she herself was concerned, Martin was an impossible dream, but she did nonetheless need to keep admiring him atop that pedestal: it fulfilled a deep seated inner desire to aspire to something higher and larger than what Portwenn had ever had to offer. Having Martin in Portwenn somehow reconciled Mrs. Tishell to the village, made her feel happier to be there.
When she opened that envelope and read the contents, all her hopes were fulfilled, to a point well beyond anything she could have imagined. She read and re-read the questionnaire several times and sighed, shook her head and dreamed that Clive could write about her like this. She decided she could not keep it. This sheet of paper was not meant for her, it belonged to Louisa, one hundred percent. She folded it neatly and put it in a clean envelope, sealed it and wrote "Louisa Ellingham" on it, and she was pleased to notice that, after so many years, this was the first time that using that surname in conjunction with that first name did not bother her at all.
As the crowd busied itself getting free drinks both inside and outside the pub, Mrs. Tishell searched for Louisa. She eventually found her as she was just moving off the table where the "No King's Mart in Portwenn" committee was collecting citizens' signatures.
"Sally, have you signed?" Louisa asked her.
"I will in a minute. May I… have a word?"
"Mmm… yes. Beth, I'll be right back."
Louisa and Mrs. Tishell stepped aside.
"Louisa," started Mrs. Tishell, "before I talked to you and Ruth… when I thought the doctor might be having a psychotic episode… I told him I was writing an article about mid-life crisis… to try to figure out whether he really was in crisis or not."
Louisa's expression was becoming troubled, as it ever did when Sally broached the subject of Martin. Not that Louisa was worried, but she was annoyed. "And?" she asked raising a suspicious eyebrow.
"And he told me that if I was going to write an article, rather than interviewing people I should put together a written, anonymous questionnaire, so the subjects of my study would answer honestly, because they would have privacy."
"You put together a questionnaire?"
"Yes."
"And you sent it to Martin to fill out?"
"Yes."
"And you read it?"
"Yes… Don't be angry Louisa… He is perfectly sane and… and… and I hope you know you are one very, very lucky woman. Here it is, you should have it." Mrs. Tishell put the envelope in Louisa's hand, turned around and left, too embarrassed to talk any longer.
Now Louisa's curiosity was piqued: what could Martin have written? She walked a little further away from the Platt, found a lonely spot in an alley, opened the envelope and saw that the questions had to be answered on a scale of 1 to 10, where 1 was either "very little" or "strongly disagree," and 10 was "a lot" or "strongly agree." She read the following:
1. Are you married: Yes
If the answer is yes leave the next three questions blank and go to question 5.
Many middle-aged men experience feelings of doubt about whether their marriage has fulfilled their expectations and whether they should not rather seek other partners or different experiences. Please answer the following questions honestly:
5. I feel happy when I am with my wife. 10
6. I find my wife still sexually attractive. 10
7. I am satisfied in my intimate relations with my wife. 10
8. I am still in love with my wife. 10
9. When I see sexy, beautiful women in person, or on television or other media, I fantasize about them. 1
10. I think about having sex with women other than my wife. 1
11. I have been unfaithful to my wife. 1 Number of times: 0
12. I think about engaging in sexual practices that involve a form of violence or cruelty, either with my wife or other women. 1
Comments: (the comments were typed) Problem: Why does this questionnaire interpret mid-life crisis as reflecting mainly on sexual behaviour? A change in sexual behaviour is by no means the only manifestation of mid-life crisis. Now suppose a man is as much in love with his wife as when he first met her or married her, and he and his wife are still very compatible and have no medical problems with their libido, in that case hardly any parts of this questionnaire would be relevant for him. If he had a mid-life crisis that does not manifest itself via changed sexual behaviour, this questionnaire would be totally ineffective in collecting that data. Your study will thus be flawed in all areas that do not relate to sex, and possibly also when a man answers a 10 to question 8 (which should in any event be number 5). Question 12 is really odd.
Louisa smiled and clutched the questionnaire to her chest. "Oh Martin," she thought, "this is yet another scientific comment to say that you're still head over heels!" She walked back to the Platt, but she did not look for Martin. She looked for Mrs. Tishell. After a few moments she saw her, moving off from the petition table. Louisa quickened her pace, and when she was close enough she called: "Sally!" Mrs. Tishell stopped and turned around. She had a very worried, perhaps even scared expression on her face.
"Yes?" she said very tentatively.
"Sally… While I do think it was very odd to write this questionnaire for Martin and send it to him, to make him believe it's for an article… "
"I was really worried about him!"
"I know... As odd as it is... thank you for giving it to me, Sally. Not just because of Martin's answers, but because you decided to give it to me in the first place. It seems… well… what they call closure, doesn't it?"
Mrs. Tishell's lips were trembling, she gulped and her eyes seemed to be filling with tears.
"I am sorry Louisa. I…"
"Shh," said Louisa, patting her on her back, "I understand. Let bygones be bygones, OK?"
Sally could only nod in the effort to control herself, which she finally managed. She felt as if an enormous weight had just been lifted from her shoulders, and she finally could produce a small smile.
"Right then," she said in a small voice, "see you around."
"Yes," replied Louisa smiling, "yes, see you around."
Chapter 7 – [4]
"Have you brought it?" whispered Joanie to her best friend Melanie.
"Yes," whispered back Melanie, "It's nice and soft already."
"Good, we need to do it now then. I have one of my daddy's gloves in my pocket," said Joanie.
"How do you know which is Cruella's chair?" asked Melanie with a frown.
"It says 'Ms. Williams' on it. James called it a direct chair."
"What's a direct chair?" Melanie was really puzzled.
"No idea," answered Joanie. "But never mind what it is, it's her chair anyway, 'cause her name's on it. We go up the steps where they put the chairs, and do it."
"But why do we have to do this Joanie?"
"'cause she tries to kiss my daddy. I hate her!" replied Joanie fiercely, scowling at the memory of that little scene on the moor, when Ms. Williams had hung as close to the doc as she possibly could. Joanie shivered.
"What if they see us?" asked Melanie, whose motive was not so personal, just gratuitous mischief.
"Nobody's looking now. You can stand in front of me while I do it, and I'll be quick 'bout it."
So the two girls climbed the podium's steps and appeared to be innocently looking about. Joanie had already put her small hand inside one of her father's large surgical gloves. It did not fit at all, as her five fingers fit comfortably into just three receptacles. No matter. Melanie surreptitiously passed a small packet. Joanie put her gloved hand into it and took up a handful of soft butter which she very quickly smeared on the black seat of Ms. William's director chair. She spread it quickly, but very evenly so that it could not be easily spotted. Then, as she had seen Martin do several times, she held the butter packet tight in her fist and wrapped the glove over it as she was pulling it off her hand. She then threw the whole mess into a waste bin.
"Done," whispered Joanie.
"Too bad though," commented Melanie, "Cruella is wearing a really pretty dress."
"But when she gets up it will look like she wet herself!" replied Joanie. The two girls giggled rather wildly at that, in anticipation.
"It's a great idea, Joanie."
"Not my idea. James'."
"Ah, of course."
"He helped me practice take off the glove while wrapping the mess inside it."
"Why didn't he do it himself then?" asked Melanie. It was rather unlike James not to carry out his mischief himself.
"He said… he had bigger fish to fry."
"Ah. What sort of fish?"
"No idea."
Chapter 7 – [5]
"Martin!" called a smiling, manly voice.
Martin turned around and at first could not identify the source of the call, but then he looked down and was surprised to see Arthur Davis.
"Arthur! I'm glad to see that you feel well enough to come out here today," said Martin with almost a smile.
"I think I owe that to you, Martin."
"Well… once it was clear what Lahm was up to, stopping the treatment was the logical course. That's all we needed to do to make you better."
"Yes, but you uncovered the crime, which was the necessary first step. As I said, I owe it to you if I'm almost back to where I was a few weeks ago when we first met."
"Your right hand?" inquired Martin.
"Still no sensation there."
"Maybe it will come back in a while. There is no way to tell, I'm sorry."
"Oh, I know. I'm glad I was here though, when it happened. I cannot imagine what it would have been like if I had been by myself, in London." Arthur shook his head. "There is something to be said for living in a small village, a beautiful small village at that, where everybody knows you…"
"And knows your business, whether you want to or not," added Martin, less bitterly than he would have done just a few days ago.
"And knows when you need help too," said Arthur. "For better or worse this is a closely knit community. It can be very annoying, I agree, but it also has its merits. I hope you realize that, Martin. Though most people do not appreciate your bedside manner as much as I do," and here Arthur smiled again, very amused, "you've done right by this village, they all know it, they all appreciate that. An old woman told me that when you don't yell at patients they worry about you, they wonder whether you are sick or having problems with Louisa."
Martin stared at Arthur in astonishment at this last sentence. So it had become a game to them all, let's go see how much Doc Martin yells at me today, and at you too, an let's compare notes. And laugh about it. About him… And what was wrong with that after all? The important thing was that over the years the villagers had learned that his medical advice was sound, his diagnoses almost invariably correct, his prescriptions exact. They had all learned to do as he said, they had by and large abandoned their home remedies and embraced his treatments.
Martin nodded and said: "Something happened when we were chasing Lahm... I don't want to go into it, but suffice it to say that now I do see your point much better than ever before."
"I hope you also realize you are one lucky bastard to have landed a wife such as yours. She would not leave you if you got sick Martin, not Louisa, never."
"I know," answered Martin in a soft voice, "I know… When we met you asked me how it felt living in Portwenn after a dozen years… Well, I think I'm finally finding my bearings in this place…"
Right then nurse O'Malley approached, but off her uniform Martin did not recognize her. All Martin saw was a smiling, blonde, buxom woman in a tight colorful blouse leaning down towards Arthur and planting a fond kiss on his lips. Martin was startled and it showed. Arthur laughed again, but did not explain.
"Hello Doctor Ellingham!" said O'Malley smiling broadly. Martin stared at her, not comprehending.
"I'm nurse O'Malley, remember me?"
"Oh, the nurse! Yes," said Martin, but he still looked puzzled.
"Don't be so shocked Martin," said Arthur, "it seems I had underestimated my charms. She really likes to kiss me."
"Ehm, that's good," said Martin, "though a bit… sudden?"
"How long did it take you, doctor, to know you really liked your wife?" asked nurse O'Malley.
"Ah, that… ehm… no time at all."
"See? Where is the problem? Arthur is a wonderful man."
"I did not mean it's a problem…" said Martin embarrassed.
Arthur had his ironic smile and said: "Martin… I take every day as it comes. If O'Malley is with me, it's a much nicer day, and it does not need to be explained any more than that, does it?"
"No. I'm pleased for you both."
"And I'm so pleased I almost want to thank that Lahm fellow," joked Arthur.
"NO!" answered Martin sternly.
"No, no. Just joking. Well, I have a few items to discuss with the committee before the meeting, so… bye," concluded Arthur, abruptly driving his chair away, followed by O'Malley who looked back and winked at a bewildered Martin.
"Right," mumbled Martin to Arthur's retreating back, and thought with satisfaction that in Arthur he had met a kindred soul, one who did not waste any time in useless niceties.
Chapter 7 – [6]
Ms. Williams had prepared a presentation, to be delivered after the first round of drinks. She was not surprised to see her opposition up front: the doctor's wife most prominent, with a man in a motorized wheelchair; another, late thirties brown-haired woman; a thirty-something, slightly balding, blondish man of average build, and a skinny old lady were clearly all together. Evidently a lot of villagers had brought their children along, as there were quite a few of them at the back, playing games and making noise, but sufficiently removed from the podium that they would probably be unable to interrupt her. Some parents were holding back as well, closer to the children, probably to keep an eye on them. Among them she could not miss the tall, distinguished looking doctor, wearing yet another stunning suit that would have fit better at a London business meeting than here on the Platt. She sighed: there was not enough time and opportunity to figure out and pursue this puzzling man any further. While he had shown he was uninterested in her, she had too much confidence in her own seducing abilities to believe that. She concluded he must be either too scared of his wife or having potency problems. Too bad.
Ms. Williams cleared her voice in an audible manner through the microphone and then began: "Good evening ladies and gentlemen of the beautiful Portwenn. I trust you have had some time to quench your thirst at the pub, and if you have not, remember, tonight you are the guests of King's Mart, do help yourselves. I am Nigella Williams, King's Mart West Marketing Manager, and I would like to provide some details concerning King's Mart plan to build one of our largest hypermarkets at the edge of the village, just off the coastal path. We believe our plan will not only bring convenient one-stop shopping to this area, it will also create a number of jobs. To that end we have brought job application forms. Additionally, and many of you may not be aware of this, the hypermarket will have a department devoted to local Cornish products, therefore we also have applications available for any of you, farmers, fishermen, artisans, who may choose to sell items at our stalls in the hypermarket. Let me illustrate now the building plan," and she went on to explain how many acres would be reclaimed, what spaces would be devoted to what type of groceries or merchandise, where the huge car-park would be located, and all manner of other details, all of which, taken together, made the whole plan sound impressive and grandiose. She used slides and short videos projected on the large portable screen very effectively.
Louisa, Arthur, Beth and Al exchanged worried looks: Ms. Williams' pitch was excellent. They had their arguments of course, but they needed to come across as convincing as Ms. Williams', or better in fact. As the appointed spokesperson, Louisa had the chief job of presenting the opposing view. So when Ms. William's was done with her pre-prepared materials and asked: "Any questions?" Louisa waved immediately with her list. While Louisa had no problem speaking publicly at village meetings, Ms. Williams was indeed intimidating, exuding certainty and self-confidence. Louisa felt her stomach contract: this was like going up for a very public examination. She might have been even more disconcerted had she known that at this very moment her husband's stomach was tied into much bigger knots than hers, as he was very nervous about his wife's performance. There were various floating microphones for questions from the public, and a King's Mart employee passed one to Louisa. Unbeknownst to Louisa and all the King's Mart personnel, however, one of the microphones had been… borrowed by two members of the public, one very… large, one rather small, and could not be accounted for till much later.
Louisa took the microphone and said: "Good evening. You all know me well, so I don't need to introduce myself."
A chant, as if of many voices saying: "LOU-I-SA! LOU-I-SA! LOU-I-SA!" surged from the speakers. Puzzled people turned around, but there was no obvious source of this interruption, so it only worked as an invitation to some clapping. Louisa herself was a bit startled, but encouraged nonetheless.
"Ms. Williams made a very good presentation, but we do have serious questions. The first question relates to the visibility of the hypermarket both from the coastal path and from the sea. Can you unequivocally guarantee that the very large structure you have just described will not be visible to the thousands of tourists who come here every year to admire the natural beauty of our coast and the old villages along it? Because my fellow villagers, if this large structure is visible then it will, as we suspect, be an ugly eyesore spoiling the pristine nature of the area and therefore the tourist trade. And we all know that when one large construction project is allowed it becomes easier for yet more development to occur later. So would the hypermarket be visible, Ms. Williams, or can you guarantee that it won't be?"
"That is a question we cannot answer with absolute certainty as of yet, though so far our architects have told us that the proposed site would be sufficiently inland as to reduce its visibility from the sea."
"In other words you offer no guarantees at this time?"
"As I said, we will probably be able to do so later."
"Well, maybe later is good enough for some other people, but certainly not for me. We expect King's Mart to have a firm answer to that question before Parish Council votes on the hypermarket plan."
Cheers from the crowd followed this statement, but the mysterious Greek chorus said: "CRUELLAAAH! NO CHEATING, NO LIES!" in multiple deep and ghostly voices this time.
Everybody looked around again puzzled and quite a lot of laughter broke through the crowd. Martin looked bewildered, as for a moment he thought he recognized the inflection in those voices, though it was obviously altered. At the use of "Cruella," Ms. Williams instinctively looked towards the doctor, who kept looking around for his kids, and could still not see James.
Louisa was beginning to suspect who might be the Greek chorus ring leader, but she kept that surmise to herself.
"Second item," she announced, "about the jobs you mentioned. We assume you will be hiring personnel at the hypermarket. How many jobs will be guaranteed for local people, as opposed to people from anywhere else? We assume that you would be legally bound to accept any applications from anywhere in the UK and in fact the EU as well? So what guarantees do we have that you would be hiring local people? None we fear. How many will be full-time jobs and how many part-time jobs? What sort of contracts will these workers be offered? Would these jobs be numerous enough to substitute for the inevitable losses of income that will occur once local retailers will have to close shop unable to withstand King's Mart competition? And if the pay-rates reflect the average King's Mart pay-rates around the country, how can you say that people who make a decent living now, with their shops here in the village, would be able to carry on at the same standards of living IF they become employees of King's Mart? For instance you mentioned your plan to include a pharmacy in the hypermarket. That is guaranteed to drastically cut the earnings of a long-established business here in the village. If Mrs. Tishell were hypothetically to accept employment at the King's Mart pharmacy, at current King's Mart pay-rates her income would drop, we estimate, by a third."
Here a frantic looking Mrs. Tishell got a hold of another microphone and cried: "NEVER! Never will I leave my business! I have been an independent businesswoman for more than twenty years, and you have no right, no right to come here and destroy my business! Or to hire me for less than my more than twenty years expertise is worth. NEVER!" she screamed at the top of her lungs with one of her typical manic quirks.
And the Greek chorus intoned: "HURRAY MRS. TISHELL! SHE'S SURE BODMIN, BUT ONE OF US!"
More guffaws from the public.
Ms. Williams, a bit upset now, said: "We will of course uphold all the laws as required, and we will offer the same advantageous contracts which all King's Mart employees enjoy. At least one third of the jobs are expected to be full-time."
"Not good enough," said Louisa, "not good enough Ms. Williams. This is no guarantee that the hypermarket won't destroy the livelihood of many families here in Portwenn. Not good enough."
Greek chorus: "NOT GOOD ENOUGH! NOT GOOD ENOUGH! SHAME ON YOU, CRUELLAAAHH!"
"Third item of business!" announced Louisa, who by now felt a lot more confident. "The sale of local Cornish products. Naturally King's Mart will want to sell those for a profit, as everything else. If you are re-selling our fish and vegetables at market price it means our farmers and fishermen will have to sell them to you for less than that, which is less than they would make if they sold those products here themselves. You would in fact become an intermediary between the producers and the public, would you not?"
"Yes," replied Ms. Williams, "but we could guarantee a larger volume of sales."
"So catch more fish for less money? Grow more vegetables for less money? Is that it?" retorted Louisa quickly. "The local producers will make as much as they make now only if you deliver a rather larger volume of trade than exists now then. How can you guarantee that? When the town is full of tourists they sell in large quantities and bring home all the profits of their work. Why should they turn over some of it to King's Mart? Wouldn't some cheaper, frozen and boxed fish in your frozen foods sections cut into the fishermen's sales instead? And if we bankrupt all of our local fishermen we may well have to end up eating farm-fed frozen fish from who knows where, fed who knows what!"
A spontaneous chorus of disapproval and disgust rose from the crowd. And the Greek chorus: "OH EWW! WE WANT TO EAT OUR OWN FRESH FISH!"
The crowd: "Yeah!" "Yes!" "Hear, Hear!"
Greek chorus: "FRESH FISH! FRESH FISH! FRESH FISH!"
Here a lot of the crowd started chanting rhythmically: "FRESH FISH! FRESH FISH! FRESH FISH!"
The microphone was making its way through the crowd.
"Same goes for my vegetables!" said an old lady farmer. "We don't want frozen produce. Fresh Vegetables! Fresh Vegetables!"
The Greek chorus decided not to call for fresh vegetables.
The microphone arrived to Ruth, and she said with much wry humor in her voice: "Well, fresh chicken eggs do taste much better than the supermarket sort... Fresh eggs!"
Greek chorus: "FRESH EGGS! FRESH EGGS! FRESH EGGS! AAAAND… MOOORE… FRESH FISH! FRESH FISH! FRESH FISH!"
Fresh fish was very popular evidently, so the fresh fish chant enjoyed a sonorous encore from the crowd.
At this someone got the microphone and said to Martin who, not having anything to object to fresh fish, was nodding unaware of doing so, he who could not stand the frozen fish that came out of a supermarket box: "Doc, fresh fish is very healthy and good for you, isn't it?" and he passed the microphone to Martin.
"Yes, baked as opposed to fried is best, plenty of lean protein, one of the best sources in fact," declared Martin automatically, and his well-known voice boomed through the crowd. He went on: "In fact it is best to eat small-sized, wild caught fresh fish, not because farmed fish is necessarily worse, but because often we do not know how the farm fish was raised, what it was fed and especially whether it was fed antibiotics… The flavor of just caught fish is best of course, as the inhabitants of the village know full well… "
Greek Chorus: "THANK YOU DOCTOR ELLINGHAM! FRESH…"
"I'm not finished!" said Martin, his voice still booming through the speakers.
Greek Chorus: "SORRY!"
"Seasonal vegetables and fruit that have just been harvested also offer maximum nutritional value and best taste," Martin kept lecturing everyone. "Frozen vegetables do not necessarily provide less nutritional value than "fresh" vegetables shipped from afar that have been sitting on a supermarket shelf for some time. You are more likely to reap the highest nutritional value, therefore, from fruits and vegetables grown locally and consumed almost immediately after harvesting or picking. From a nutritional point of view probably the greatest danger presented by the hypermarket would be the availability of a wide variety of cheap pre-cooked, highly processed foods. When you pay attention to food labels, as I do, you discover that even supposedly simple foods are actually concoctions of multiple ingredients, often including chemicals used for preservation, hydrogenated fats and…"
Greek chorus: "THANK YOU FOR THE LECTURE! HURRAY FOR DOC MAR-TIN, HO-NO-RA-RY CI-TI-ZEN OF PORTWENN!"
Martin shrugged and let go of the microphone which made its way back to Louisa.
"Thank you Doctor Ellingham for your support! Fourth item of business!" Louisa announced, now exhilarated, riding a wave of husband, crowd and chorus support. "Traffic on the road to and from town. We have at least two problems here: in tourist season traffic is already difficult. The increase in traffic projected with the construction of a hypermarket would make it very time-consuming for citizens and tourists alike to come into and leave Portwenn. This might even divert tourist traffic elsewhere. The other problem has to do with the rare breed of sheep from Rowe farm grazing very close to the road. These sheep are listed as a rare breed. The increase in traffic will be a direct danger to them, and each individual sheep is a rather valuable animal. Can King's Mart guarantee the safety of this rare breed of sheep? We think NOT!"
Greek chorus: "BAAH! BAAH! BAAH! LET ME LIVE CRUELLA, LET ME LIVE! BAAH!"
The crowd laughed with gusto at this. The microphone made its way to the Rowe family that was standing fairly close to Louisa, and Mr. Rowe said: "We would make sure to take King's Mart to court if any of our sheep got killed." Cheers from the crowd.
Arthur was able to stretch his arm out, take the microphone from Mr. Rowe and say with a fairly firm voice: "And if you have to do that Mr. Rowe, I offer you the best legal counsel in Portwenn, free of charge!"
Cheering from the crowd for the barrister.
And now a small miracle happened. Jasmine, who had silently been learning more and more words, mastering the basics of a foreign language with the rapidity of an agile young mind, took the microphone from Arthur's hands and brought it toward her own mouth. As if by magic the whole crowd quickly hushed, in amazed anticipation, as by now everyone knew the sad story of the mute girl. And Jasmine… spoke! She said in a trembling, very soft voice, magnified by the microphone: "I love…Portwenn," this clutching her new scarf, "Portwenn… my…home…with sheep. Baah!" Then she burst into tears of joy, and so did her grandmother and her best friend, little Joanie.
As for the Greek Chorus, it ran riot: "HURRAY FOR JASMINE ROWE! SHE'S ONE OF US! JAS-MINE, JAS-MINE, JAS-MINE! HURRAY FOR THE ROWE SHEEP! BAAH! BAAH! BAAH!"
"King's Mart will ensure the construction of additional lanes where needed," said Ms. Williams, desperately trying to be heard, "to ensure the flow of traffic into and out of Portwenn."
"Not good enough, not good enough!" replied Louisa. "You cannot build more lanes into Portwenn itself. The tourists can stop at the car-park, but residents would have a hard time getting home, and more lanes where they can be built might mean more dead rare breed sheep. Not good enough!"
Greek chorus: "BAAH! NOT GOOD ENOUGH!"
At this point Ms. Williams did not have enough answers to give to appease the villagers. She threw daggers at Louisa with one look and then said into the microphone: "Citizens of Portwenn, your objections have been noted and your questions will all be addressed by the King's Mart planning committee. Rest assured that we will have answers for you in time for the Parish Council meeting. Please help yourselves to one more round of drinks at the pub. King's Mart thanks you for your participation, it has been very informative!"
Louisa intervened: "For those of you who oppose the construction of the hypermarket there is a petition to sign at the table occupied by Parish Councilor Bert Large. The more signatures, the more difficult it will be for Council to approve the construction of the King's Mart hypermarket."
At that point there were a few polite claps and grumblings and many boos directed at King's Mart, as well as a final comment by the Greek chorus: "GO HOME CRUELLA, GO HOME! KING'S MART GO HOME! KING'S MART GO HOME!"
Then the image on the screen somehow changed from Ms. Williams' last slide to a looping video that elicited laughter, applause, catcalls and appreciative whistles alike: it was PC Penhale's heroic struggle against a dangerous perp in Doc Martin's consulting room, with shots of the perp taken into custody by an idiotically smiling Penhale, who was now standing by shaking hands with anyone who cared to.
Ms. Williams found the entire meeting and the hijacking of King's Mart audiovisual equipment very irritating, and it showed. She turned around, away from the microphone she had been using, and for the first time since she had risen from her director's chair her backside became visible. Unfortunately for her the line of people waiting to sign the petition was filing right in front of the podium, thus everybody saw that her behind appeared… well, wet really, as if she had had a bladder malfunction. While the adults did not think too much of that, one boy noticed and said very loudly: "Mum, look, Cruella wet herself!" and started giggling wildly. Soon all the children had joined the giggling and laughing fit, including of course Joanie, Melanie and James, who had by now reappeared and was leading the taunts. This became loud enough that Ms. Williams began to pay attention to what the children were yelling, and eventually realized there must be something very wrong with her very expensive dress. She walked as indifferently as she could to her secretary who was gathering her things and whispered: "I think those ghastly kids are laughing at me, my dress… is there something odd on my back?" In the most discreet way he could the secretary peeked at Ms. Williams' backside and frowned.
"Ehm…," he whispered, rather embarrassed "the back of your dress… it is… wet… or looks wet."
"What?" said Ms. Williams who impulsively touched the back of her dress, and then retracted in horror a very greasy hand.
"What is that?!" she said, very irate at this point. But before she could investigate Martin, who had heard the children's clamor and eventually noticed the state of Ms. Williams' dress, set aside his personal dislike for the woman, walked up to her and said: "That is unfortunate, Cruella, but bladder problems are not rare in middle-aged women, and there are various treatments, as well as Kegel exercises, that can help with the problem. I could refer you to a brilliant urologist in London. She…" Before Martin could finish, however, all of Ms. Williams' pent up frustrations with this man, as well as her present anger at being made a fool by some trickster, were vented in a sonorous slap that landed on the poor doctor's cheek. "I hope that's cruel enough for you, you spineless twit!" hissed Ms. Williams and marched off, turning around once to add: "And I'm NOT middle-aged!" Martin stood there, flabbergasted, massaging his cheek. What had he ever said?
Joanie walked up to her father and asked: "Daddy, did Cruella hit you?"
"Yes, I don't know why."
"I'm sorry daddy. She's just evil. Does it hurt?"
"A little," Martin answered, still rubbing his cheek. Joanie then thrust her arms up to be picked up, which Martin did instinctively, and then she kissed her father's cheek and said: "There, it's all better now, isn't it?"
"Yes, all better," sighed Martin holding his sweet daughter close. "Joanie… do you happen to know whether your brother had anything to do with that… Greek chorus."
"I didn't hear any singing, daddy."
"No, I mean those voices that chanted "Fresh fish, fresh fish," specified Martin.
"Ah, that might have been James, yes, he did say he had some bigger fish to fry, so maybe that was it?"
Martin was rather perplexed by that answer, but he put down Joanie who ran off with Melanie somewhere. As he was mulling over the question of James, fried fish and the Greek chorus, he saw the Rowe family approaching again, walking through the thick line of people waiting to sign the anti-King's Mart petition.
"Doc, could you help us a moment?" asked Mr. Rowe.
"Yes?" said Martin questioningly.
"Jasmine is trying to explain something, but does not know enough words. Do you have that translating thing in your mobile?"
"I imagine so, let's see."
Martin checked his smartphone and sure enough the translation application was there. Then he looked at Jasmine.
She haltingly said: "Story… of…" and then she pointed at her own neck, just where the scar was.
Martin wrote "scar" and Arabic appeared. "Yes," said Jasmine.
"Scar," said Martin.
"Story… of… scar," repeated Jasmine.
"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Rowe, concerned about what might be revealed.
"Men… take me… be…" said Jasmine, then indicated the mobile. Martin thought they might need an Arabic keyboard, but then he saw one could write with one's finger, and he showed Jasmine. She then wrote in Arabic something which the application could read and translate as the word "wife."
"Wife?" said Martin stunned. "Men took you to be a wife?"
"Yes. Men… take… girls… be wife."
Martin looked at Jasmine's grandparents and said: "I read of this actually, they kidnap young girls to make them become wives, wives for these terrorists."
"She was someone's wife?" asked Mrs. Rowe in shock.
"She's too young still, but no doubt she would have been made to wed as soon as she was old enough… probably thirteen or fourteen… I mean… right after puberty."
Both Mr. and Mrs. Rowe looked utterly horrified.
"I run," said Jasmine.
"You ran away?"
"I run… men… take me. Men… do…" and she pointed at her back.
"They caught you and hit your back," interpreted Martin.
"Yes… after … I run."
"After they hit you… you ran again?" asked Martin.
"Yes…men… take me…do… scar," said Jasmine pointing at her neck.
"They tied you by the neck, after catching you again… what beasts!" said Martin in a mix of anger and horror.
"After… I run."
"You ran a third time?" said Martin astonished, "after they gave you lashes, caught you again, and tied you by the neck, you managed to run again?"
Martin and Jasmine's grandparents were silent, staring at the girl in wonder. Mrs. Rowe appeared deeply saddened, and Mr. Rowe, his voice shaking, said: "You are your father's daughter Jasmine, strong like him, you didn't give up. You saved yourself, and us too. He'd be so proud of you." And he instinctively hugged Jasmine, which he had never dared to do before. Jasmine had obviously not understood, so Martin typed what Mr. Rowe had said and showed Jasmine the Arabic translation. She nodded and said: "Thank…you… grandfather… Rowe." Mr. Rowe, old rough farmer though he was, couldn't help himself and broke down, letting tears stream down his face even when he had been unable to cry all these years since his son's death. Martin was also very affected by this scene and accompanied the Rowe family back to their car and said: "Tonight I will order a bilingual dictionary for you online, you should receive it in a couple of days. But I'm sure Jasmine is going to learn very quickly now." The Rowe family thanked Martin, and left, sad and happy at the same time.
Martin stood there wondering how so much cruelty and suffering had not broken the spirit of this brave young girl, how she could choose to see the better side of people and turn sorrow into joy. He thought he had had some cruelty to endure in his own childhood as well, but his faith in humanity had indeed been gravely tarnished. It didn't take long to understand the difference though. Jasmine had been mistreated, tortured even, but not only she knew she had been much loved by her family in Iraq, she had also accepted her Cornish grandparents' love immediately, without fear of loss or suspicion, because that was what family was supposed to be: love. Martin had never had that, or only briefly with Auntie Joan, and then only as a grown man with Louisa. "Oh Louisa," he thought, "you and your gifts, James and Joanie, you really did save me." And if Jasmine could so easily belong here because someone here loved her, why couldn't he?
Martin's musings were interrupted by the arrival of Ruth.
"It all worked out for the best in the end I think. Louisa was worried about facing off with Ms. Williams, but she held her own, " said Ruth.
"Yes… she had some help from those voices though," commented Martin.
"Yes, our Greek Chorus, rather a good trick I would say," answered Ruth with her usual lopsided grin.
"OUR Greek Chorus?"
"Yes, of course, who did you think it was, Martin?"
"I rather thought it might have been James. I swear that boy thinks of a new trick every day."
"Well, he executed, to be sure, but… it was this old girl's trick this time though," said Ruth briefly pointing at herself.
Martin stared at his aunt, amazed.
"YOUR trick?!"
"Yes. Is that so strange?"
"Yes it is strange! That you… you…"
"Oh, come off it, Martin! It was all in good fun, and it worked rather well."
"But how did it work?"
At that the chief accomplice arrived skipping merrily.
"Dad! Aunt Ruth! I say, it's a glorious day!" exclaimed James with a big smile.
Martin rolled his eyes and said: "You little rascal, how did you get your aunt to do it?"
"Do what?"
"Really Martin," intervened Ruth, "it was MY idea, and I enlisted Al and James to carry it out."
"Ah, the chorus!" said James smiling even more. "Aunt Ruth is a GENIUS dad! She whispered to Al what the Greek Chorus should say, and Al sent a text message to me, using her mobile. I had Al's mobile. Then I played back the text messages with the voice app… sometimes I whispered it and changed it a little, I added some fresh fish… but it was mostly aunt Ruth's text messages."
"But where were you? And how did you have a microphone?" asked Martin, mystified by both his aunt's and his son's trickery.
"I was under the podium, of course. Bert snatched one of the King's Mart microphones for us, nobody noticed. We didn't steal it, we put it back."
Martin looked intently at his son, and then his aunt, and then said: "Ruth… you realize you are encouraging my son to play tricks, do mischief?"
"It was harmless fun Martin, except for Ms. Williams, and it worked. Look at the line of people signing the petition against King's Mart: the Parish Council vote is a foregone conclusion now. And James… he's a good boy, doing what his old aunt asks him to do." Martin frowned, not sure whether he should believe this or not.
Louisa arrived then and asked Martin with a worried expression: "Martin, Joanie says that woman slapped you. Are you all right? What did you tell her?"
"I'm fine, and I said nothing to provoke her! I was just providing some medical information."
"Ah, that explains it then," said Louisa matter-of-factly. "They are all signing the petition, isn't it wonderful? I think we've won already!"
"You seem surprised," said Martin.
"Well, I really did not know how this meeting would go, you know? I mean… it was me, just your old Louisa from Portwenn, going against that London model of professional achievement. I was not really sure how we would fare."
Martin looked intently and very tenderly at Louisa and then said: "Ehm… Ruth, James… could you give us a little privacy?"
"Come James," said Ruth, "let's see if they need any help at the petition's table."
"OK," said James shrugging, but happy every time he saw that loving look for mum in his father's eyes.
Martin walked silently arm in arm with Louisa away from the crowd. The rest of the village seemed really empty. He led her to a small, deserted alley and said in a tender voice:
"But my old Louisa from Portwenn… is not old, and she can hold her own against anyone. She's a smart Head Teacher, the best they ever had, she's a wonderful mother, a loving wife, and…so beautiful. Cruella can't hold a candle to you, and that's all there is to it."
"Really? You don't admire her at all?
"No. She's a fine business woman, with a commanding presence, but… she does not have a particle of the fire that is in you Louisa. You know I love you for it. It started immediately, on that plane, and at the meeting where I was interviewed for the GP post. You were so beautiful, and so full of that fire. I fell for you right then, you know that, don't you?"
Louisa pulled his head down and kissed him. For once, in that deserted alley, he was not embarrassed. He requited the kiss and felt really happy in her arms.
"You know Louisa… I have been thinking a lot about the village, or my place in it… asking myself whether I will ever feel like I belong here… But in the end, it's clear: I do belong, I belong to you, and to the children. So I'm not a local, I could never be that, but if you are loved by your family, and respected, appreciated by the people around you… for once Bert put it right to me a little while ago. He said I'm like an honorary citizen of Portwenn. That is an apt metaphor. The men who saved James off the cliff… they think so too. I can be content with that Louisa, that's belonging enough. If I have all this here in Portwenn, then I think I'm better off here than I ever was as a surgeon in London. And I'm definitely not having a mid-life crisis over this."
Louisa smiled and looked at him intently, then incongruously whispered: "Bless Mrs. Tishell, no crisis at all," and kissed her husband again.
And so it was that the Ellinghams continued with their good works in the village of Portwenn. Mrs. Ellingham was reconfirmed in her certainty that she had made the right choice of abode, career and especially husband, and let her passion on the issues inform her always. The doctor continued with his usual brusqueness, and his utter lack of patience for stupidity, but learned to detect the small but frequent signs of gratitude from patients among the "tosser" that were still addressed to him from time to time. To be sure the muddy pickup with two yellow-clad men often passed him on the drive to a house call or another, but it always slowed down and made space for him to pass.
The End