Chapter 13 – Solutions

After that shocking monetary revelation, we finished the meal with Wilkes in tense silence, then Louisa and I departed from him after more handshakes and a brief hug the man gave my wife. Back at the hotel, Louisa gave me space as it were, time to think, remaining silent until I decided to address the elephant in the room.

"Louisa, I don't want the money," I stated and as I said it I felt the tension in the air only increase.

Louisa was reclining on the bed, so she rose, came to me and took my hands, looking at me with soulful eyes. "Martin, before you, say anymore, have you thought about something else?"

"Such as? Burn it?" Nearly a half a million in Pound notes would make quite a pyre.

"Mar-tin," Louisa whispered. "Please, don't."

Her tone of voice made me look at her more closely. "Louisa, sorry, but… I..."

She nodded as she squeezed my hands. "You don't have to make any decisions now. Just let it sink in over a few days or weeks, months even, and then make a decision about it."

I closed my eyes, the vision of my late mother in my crashed car flashing in my mind. The way her image sat there, smirking, telling me to give up. "Oh, Martin, what makes think I am here to help?" her ethereal appearance said as she urged me to stay in the cold car and freeze to death.

She'd sighed, or I imagined she did, "Now… sit back here and listen with mother."

I put my hand on the door handle and unlatched it, and as I swung the door open to exit, then icy cold wind and snowflakes swirled inside. Then I said to her, "Just for the record, I forgive you."

She smirked as I stared at her image. "No, you don't."

"Shut up!" I yelled, slammed the door and stomped away. I took one brief glance behind me, and I could tell there was no one in the car. The vehicle was just a cold and empty shell – an analogy of my birth parent. The woman who was cold, hateful and soulless. As I plodded across the snow, searching for Maitland's house, I tried to force the mental image of my mother from my mind. She had not been there, any more than she had ever really been 'there' for me. Margaret Ellingham was in some way a ghost in life, without any real substance and feeling. As I turned about, lost in the wood and fields, my mobile rang, and it was Louisa.

Hearing her voice was a lifeline, as I told her what had happened: I crashed the car, was slightly injured and hypothermic, my dead mother appeared to me and all that. As I told Louisa what happened, I felt confused and upset, but then I saw the light from Maitland's farmhouse through the snow.

I shook my head to clear it; back to the present. "Louisa, the money? Her money? I have no interest in it at all." Perhaps burning it would finally eliminate her malevolent personality. An exorcism of sorts. I was good at math, but the thought of that amount made my head spin. It was a strange equation to try to solve – how to dispose of it all.

My wife squeezed my hands and moved a little closer, tilting her neck back to fix me with a loving look. "If that's what you want, then don't take it."

"You have no idea how it makes me feel," I muttered. "Her money? I want nothing of hers; nothing to do with her."

Louisa winced but then cleared her throat. "Uhm, yes, I do have a sense of what you are feeling, but, Martin, please consider this for a moment. What if you donated the money? Gave it to a worthy cause?"

I inhaled, about to shout, but Louisa's cool hands on mine made me pause.

She ducked her head. "Martin, in my new profession – child counseling – I know of a few places, centers, which might be able to put it to effective use. To help…" her voice caught in a tiny sob, "to help children who have been…"

"Right," I finished for her. Children with an upbringing like mine; those abused and neglected.

"Yes," she said, smiling at me.

Louisa knew better than any other living soul, even my aunt, what I had undergone. So, I closed my eyes, and Ruth's words before we left Portwenn on this journey came to me. "Martin, you are in control of your feelings; just do not let them control you." But suddenly, my stomach churned, and hot bile rushed upwards… "No," I muttered, then started to run to the washroom, but I stopped myself.

I just stood there, until I felt the strength to speak despite the burning in my throat. "Sorry, I just," I gulped, "what it we just let the matter rest for a time? Until."

"Until, what exactly?" Louisa asked while biting her lip.

"Until a suitable beneficiary has been identified."

"Oh, right," she said with a little smile.

"That would be a resolution to the matter."

She hugged me. "A very good solution, husband."

000

The next morning was rainy and foggy, so rather than linger we shifted our noon return tickets to an earlier departure. Paddington Station felt damp and cold as fog blew in across Platform 1 from the open doors. I hunched my shoulders deeper under my topcoat, while Louisa left to inspect a shop. We had plenty of time, so I found a bench to sit upon, and tried not to dwell on the disturbing events of the last few days.

I thought that I could be emotionless coming to Town for my mother's funeral, but it had stirred up things from long ago. Did I actually forgive my mother? I said as much to the imagined image of my dead parent. A patient once told me, 'He who forgives forgets.' I didn't believe that maxim. A more apt saying may be, 'He who forgives moves on.'

Louisa returned from her shopping bearing a plastic sack.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Oh, some things for the children. I bought stuffed Paddington Bears for each of them," she said happily. "After all this is where the story began." She pointed. "The statue is just over there."

I'd noticed a statue of the statue of the fictional bear sitting on his suitcase under the clock when we entered. "Right," I muttered.

"I think James and Mary will love these, don't you?" She opened the bag for me to see inside. "Some books as well."

Love; that word again. We treasure those whom we love and those that love us, and that emotion binds us as human families, friends, communities, and nations.

I must have been staring at her for she ducked her head and asked, "Something wrong?"

She was so very happy thinking of how James and Mary would cuddle the toys. "No. The children will enjoy the toys."

She took my arm and laid her head on my shoulder.

"And," I said, "here's the train."

Aboard, we got settled. Louisa opened a glossy magazine, and I took out a medical journal. The train left the station and then, magically just outside, as we sped up the fog parted, and London was arrayed outside the window.

My mother was gone at last, and she could no longer harm me.

My wife gave me another brilliant smile, and I felt – finally – at rest.

- The End –

Thank you for reading my little tale of Martin and Louisa post-Series 10 Doc Martin. I felt his mother's death needed a tiny bit as an epilogue.

Can I now lay my Doc Martin fanfiction 'to rest'? Set this subject aside for other things or hobbies? We shall see. :)

Thank you for reading and for those who have left reviews since I appreciate them greatly.

Rob

p.s. Doc Martin spanned 79 TV episodes and 3 films. What an amazing and wonderful gift that we fans can watch and enjoy over and over again!