At Rest

The characters, places and situations of Doc Martin, are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.

Spoiler alert: If you have not seen all 9 episodes of Doc Martin Series 10, which includes the 'Christmas Special' then please stop reading now.

Chapter 1 - Process

Louisa rolled over, the mattress surging, and put her arm around my waist. "Martin, you ought to go, and I'll come as well."

We were in bed, and it was early, the pre-dawn light dimly filtering through the murky clouds. I knew the weather conditions for I had checked earlier when I had to use the loo. "Uhm, no. Not necessary," I said and tried to lift her arm away, but she wrapped her hand around my waist even tighter.

"No, Martin, it is essential," she said, then she snuggled closer and kissed my shoulder. Next she sighed deeply. "We go up on the train, see to it the next morning, and then come back on the third day. So, only two nights away."

I put my arm around her shoulders. "But the children…"

"Ruth and Janice can manage them."

I cleared my throat. "Well, we'll have to ask them if they…"

"I already have, and they both said yes. Anything to help out, they told me."

I sighed, having the feeling I had been outmaneuvered before I even had a chance to mount any sort of defense. "We haven't even taken the Christmas Tree down."

"No matter." She went on, "So, what you think?"

"I… well… what would be the purpose?"

"Oh, Martin. There's always a purpose to these sorts of things. I know it will be hard; but…"

"But?" I asked.

She sighed and kissed my cheek. "It's all part of the process. I think you should do this."

Process? Like poking at an old scar, I mused. "This what your counseling training taught you?" I murmured into her fragrant, silky hair.

"No. Yes… but it's what's done. Customary. Here in the village, it's always done, and everyone comes. No matter their feelings."

She smiled slightly. "Please?"

She lifted her face, so I kissed her cheek. "Fine," I said, but I groaned inside.

=0=0=0=

"You okay?" Louisa asked me as we entered the church, the ancient stones sucking the warmth from out bodies. She wrapped her coat tighter about herself. It was a cold and windy morning outside but even colder inside the building. Her gloved hand reached out and took mine.

"Mm."

She looked up at me. "Not very definitive, was that?"

I sighed. "Uhm, no. It's only…"

A slender middle-aged man in a dark suit and tie approached us as we took a few steps inside the doorway. "Are you Mr. Ellingham?" he asked.

"It's Dr. and this is my wife, Mrs. Ellingham," I answered.

He extended his right hand for a handshake, so I did the acceptable social thing and shook it briefly. "Yes, of course," he replied. "I am Timothy Sinclair, the director," he announced and then turned to Louisa. "I am so very sorry for your…"

Louisa took the man's held out hand for a few seconds and then dropped it.

"Yes," I said to cut him off.

"Loss," the man finished. "It is not usual for our firm that the affair has been pre-arranged for the entire…"

Louisa interrupted. "Ceremony."

"But" he continued, "in this case, we have followed the arrangements made to the letter." Then he stepped back with a slight bow of his head. "Please come this way."

He led us down the side aisle to a side chapel which we entered as he bade us to enter.

The casket lay on a bier at the end of the small room. Several bouquets of flowers flanked the thing. The lid was open and there she lay.

"Oh, Martin," Louisa half-sobbed.