Doc Martin and all characters therein owned by Buffalo Pictures. I'm just borrowing them for a bit.

CHAPTER FOUR

The remaining weeks on the farm were very busy ones for Martin, and most nights he could barely stay awake to eat his supper. In addition to taking care of Dinah, he helped Uncle Phil with the planting, learned how to clean fish (which thoroughly disgusted him; he merely watched as Aunty Joan did all the dirty work), made an attempt at milking a cow (and got more milk inside his wellies than in the pail), and was on hand regularly in the kitchen to help Aunty Joan with the meals. The most exciting thing for him, however, was when Uncle Phil had sliced open his hand on a piece of machinery in the barn and had to be rushed into the surgery in Portwenn to be stitched up. It amazed Joan how a child so adverse to touching anything dirty or messy, like the fish, could be completely enthralled by a gaping wound that was dripping blood everywhere. He had even begged to watch the doctor sew it up! Phil said he never took his eyes off the doctor for a minute, just sat there in rapt attention.

'I suppose he does have some of his father in him after all,' Joan remarked. 'Perhaps being a doctor is in his blood.'

'He certainly is an intelligent lad, he could become a surgeon someday,' Phil conceded. 'But God help him if he is anything like his father.'

Joan was pleased Martin had shed his timid, serious nature for a time and took to being a boisterous five year old with gusto. He ran and played in the garden with Dinah scampering behind him, the sun turning the fair skin of his cheeks and nose a bright pink. He loved to gather wild flowers and present them to his Aunty, who always made a point to praise their beauty and hug and kiss him in return. Martin had grown to love the affection given to him by his aunt and uncle. He had never really experienced it before; Daddy was more concerned about his son becoming a well mannered, disciplined young man, and Mummy resented his neediness. After trying many times to put his arms around his mother and being pushed away, Martin had eventually stopped trying. Even Ms. Brown, the nanny who was so good to him, was not the sort of person the boy could go to for a proper cuddle.

Bedtime had become Martin's favorite time of all. After he had put on his pajamas and brushed his teeth, he would sit in Aunty Joan's lap while she read to him. After rejecting a story book and a book of nursery rhymes that Joan had picked up in the village, he had settled on The Hound of the Baskervilles and would not be persuaded otherwise. Joan was certain she would regret it later (more than likely in the middle of the night, as she was sure nightmares were imminent), but she relented in the end. As it turned out, Martin loved the thrilling tale and didn't seem to have any trouble distinguishing between what was real and what was a made-up story. He went to bed without incident and slept soundly through the night, putting Joan's worries of nightmares to rest.

Martin loved being read to, and he loved how Aunty Joan tucked him into bed each night with a kiss on the forehead. She never seemed to be in any hurry and always answered his questions honestly and patiently. She made him feel that what he was thinking or feeling was really important, and she never seemed to mind when he wanted to know more about something and inquired about it. After a while, he came to understand that he could tell his Aunty anything that was troubling him and she would not scold him or make him feel badly. It was because of this deep trust he had in her that he was able to tell her the one thing he had been thinking about that he knew must be very bad indeed.

'Marty, is there something the matter? You have been so quiet this evening, and you seem so sad,' she asked him as she tucked him into his bed one night. Indeed, he had been brooding most of the day and hadn't seemed very interested in his supper or even the chapters she had read to him. 'You know, you will sleep much better if you tell me what is bothering you.'

He looked away from her uncomfortably, his little brow furrowed. 'I don't want to tell you, Aunty Joan. I don't want you to think I'm a naughty boy for saying it. I know it's terrible, and I shouldn't be thinking it.'

'You are not a naughty boy, you are good and kind and very helpful, and I don't like it when you are unhappy. You know you can tell me anything at all. Have I ever been cross about something you have told me?'

'No.'

'Right. And I won't be cross now.' Joan brushed her nephew's blonde hair off his forehead and waited for him to speak. He sighed deeply.

'Aunty Joan...' he began, 'I was thinking that I don't miss my Mummy and Daddy at all! I know it's awful of me, but it's true, I don't want to go home, I want to stay here with you forever!' Tears welled up in his eyes and he tried his best to keep them from falling. 'I can't help it, Aunty Joan, I've tried all day to think about them and miss them but I just...I just like being here, I like taking care of Dinah and helping Uncle Phil, and I like being with you!' Martin sat up in bed and threw his arms around Joan's neck, crying.

Joan struggled to keep her emotions in check. She would have loved nothing more than to keep him and raise him as her own child; she had caught herself thinking about it quite frequently since his arrival. But she knew that it was an unrealistic dream, that he would soon be going back to London and there was nothing she or Phil could do about it. It broke her heart and caused her concern and worry, but Martin had two parents at home...such as they were. Even though she knew her brother and his wife were not giving him the love and attention he so deserved, she didn't feel it was enough to justify him leaving home and being raised in her house. Christopher, being a very prominent surgeon, saw having an heir as a sort of status symbol. He would certainly not allow such a blow to his ego.

'My dear,' she began gently, 'I am glad you enjoy spending time here with us, and we love having you here. You are not bad just because you are having a little bit of fun! This is your vacation time, just as Mum and Dad are having their vacation. And you know you are welcome here any time you want to come and visit us. I will have a talk with your father and make arrangements for you to come back in the summer. How does that sound?'

'Why can't I just stay here? It's so much nicer here than in London,' Martin replied, sniffling.

'I expect you would start to miss your Mum and Dad very much, and they would certainly miss you.' Even as she said it, Joan was not entirely convinced that it was the truth. 'Now, let's not think about it anymore for tonight. You still have nearly two weeks here. We will enjoy our time together and cross the bridge of going home when we come to it.' She gave him one last hug and settled him into his bed. 'Go to sleep now; we have a lot of work to do in the morning.'

After Aunty Joan gave him his kiss and left the room, Martin stayed awake a bit longer, thinking about what she had said. For the first time, he thought maybe that Aunty Joan was wrong. He didn't think Mummy and Daddy would miss him at all. They hadn't even called to make sure he had made it safely on the train; Aunty Joan had tried calling them all evening, and finally reached them late that night to let them know he had arrived. The sad truth was, he had been at the farm for over two weeks and he hadn't heard from them once.

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Despite Martin's best efforts to make time stop at the farm, the day did finally come when the phone rang and his father was making arrangements to travel to Cornwall to collect his son. He would be arriving by train in two days' time and would take a taxi to the farm. Joan was to have Martin packed and ready to return home the following day. She had hoped her brother would stay a few days before going back to London, but he was anxious to get back to work at the hospital after being in Spain for so many weeks.

Martin certainly tried to put on a brave face for the remainder of his visit, but Joan immediately observed he had started to revert back to his quiet, brooding ways. He wouldn't let her out of his sight for a minute, and nearly panicked when he called out to her and she didn't answer right away. He had become like her little shadow, even going so far as to sit outside the lavatory door while she tended to her business inside. What most concerned her, however, is on the night his father had called about coming to collect him, Martin had wet his bed; it was the first time it had happened since their little chat at the beginning of his visit. Joan felt completely helpless, knowing that her dear little nephew was in distress but could do very little about it. She already planned to have a long chat with her dear brother when he arrived, though she was fairly certain it would be like having a conversation with the garden fence. After all, Joan didn't have a child of her own, so what gave her the right to lecture him on parental matters? Christopher was sure to be a pompous ass, as per usual, but she had to make an attempt for Marty's sake. She couldn't bear the thought of her little fellow being unhappy after he went home.

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Christopher Ellingham's taxi arrived late in the afternoon on the proposed day, and Martin was in the front garden with Joan, waiting to greet him. The first thing he noticed was how blonde his son's hair had turned from being outdoors, almost white against his pink cheeks and nose. He looked a bit taller standing there beside his Aunty, but still wore the same serious expression, all eyes and large protruding ears.

'Hello, Joan. Hello, Martin. What on earth are you wearing?' he exclaimed as he carried his travel bag from the boot of the taxi to the garden gate.

Martin looked down at his attire. 'They're my play clothes.'

'Well, they are absolutely ghastly. No son of mine is going to be seen looking like an urchin. Go and change into your proper clothing at once.' Martin frowned a bit, but did as his Daddy told him.

'Well, lovely to see you too, Christopher,' Joan said sarcastically. 'You couldn't even get in the front door before you began berating the poor child, I see.'

'Really, Joan, has he been wearing those things the entire time he's been here?'

'Of course he has; you don't think I was going to let him run and play around the farm in the junior funeral attire he was sent in, do you?'

Christopher's expression showed his distaste. 'I daresay Martin is not much of a runner and player; surely he didn't take too kindly to stomping about in the mud or consorting with the cattle?'

'Marty has had a perfectly lovely time doing just that, as it happens, and I would kindly ask you to refrain from spoiling his final day here by chastising him. He is only five years old and he deserves the chance to enjoy being a child,' Joan really hadn't intended to start this conversation before they had even made it into the house, but that brother of hers managed at all times to infuriate her at the word 'go'. She took a deep breath and went on, 'come in and have some tea. Phil will be in from the field shortly.'

The rest of the afternoon went quickly. Martin still chose to stay close to Joan, but he had begun to tell his father about some of the interesting things that had happened on the farm while he had been there. Daddy seemed interested in the tale of Uncle Phil's injury, and looked at the wound himself to make sure it was healing properly. After confirming the GP had done an adequate job, Martin began to tell him about Dinah and how he had been taking care of her since she was born. Christopher was predictably appalled. Phil took that as his cue to return to his work repairing the fence in the sheep pasture; he knew if he stayed to listen to Christopher's next tirade, he would end up saying something he would regret later.

'Joan, you have allowed him to hand-feed and play with a sheep?' he asked angrily. 'Do you know how many germs and bacteria are carried by those animals? It's a wonder Martin hasn't been ill the entire four weeks!'

'Oh, for heaven's sake, don't be so silly,' Joan replied, rolling her eyes. 'He has been perfectly fine, not so much as a runny nose. He has been very responsible and has taken care of the animal wonderfully; you would be proud to see what a caregiver he is.' Martin gave a tiny smile to Aunty Joan, pleased.

Christopher smirked. 'Well, I certainly don't plan to go traipsing to that filthy barn to stand and watch my son cavorting with a sheep. Martin, seeing as how I am here and we are leaving tomorrow, you will have to turn over your duties as wet-nurse to your Aunty Joan.'

Martin looked at his Daddy, confused. 'But...Dinah has two more feeds before I go to bed, I can still do them tonight, can't I?' he asked quietly.

'No. You will be busy getting ready for the trip home in the morning, and you will be going to bed early. There will be no more trips to the barn.'

'But Daddy...at least let me go say goodbye to Dinah. That would be okay, wouldn't it, if I just went for one minute? She'll wonder where I am,' Martin pleaded.

'I said no and that is what I meant. There will be no more discussion.'

Joan watched as Martin tried to keep from crying. He opened his eyes widely, blinking, his mouth contorting as he tried desperately to control his emotions in front of his father. Joan didn't understand. What was the harm in letting the child have five minutes to say goodbye?

'Christopher, at least let him see her one last time, he loves her so...' she began.

Her brother slammed his palm down on the tabletop, causing the dishes to jump. 'I am the boy's father, and now that I am here, the decisions regarding Martin are mine. This is none of your concern,' he said in a cold, controlled voice. Joan could feel her anger rising.

'This is still my house,' she began, 'and while you are in it, you will not speak to me in such a manner. Furthermore, Martin is a wonderful, thoughtful, well-behaved little boy and has been a joy to both Phil and me, and I see no reason in causing him so much distress over a five minute visit with his pet. Look at your son, Christopher; he is just a little boy!' Martin was crying now, not just because of Dinah but also the heated argument that was taking place in front of him. His father's glance turned into an expression of contempt.

'Yes, Joan, look at him, blubbering away like a sissy...no doubt your influence has attributed to this behaviour,' he sneered. 'Martin, stop that crying at once and leave the table. Nobody wants to be around you when you are sniveling like a baby.' Joan gasped, her mouth gaping.

Martin stood up, his fists clenched, and yelled through his tears, 'I don't care what you say! I am going to say goodbye to Dinah!', and ran out the front door. It was Christopher's turn to gape, but his astonishment soon turned to pure anger. Martin had never deliberately defied his authority, and he was not about to let a five year old get the upper hand. He rose from the table and began to undo his belt buckle.

'What are you doing?' Joan exclaimed, horrified. She watched as Christopher wrenched the belt free from the loops on his trousers.

'No son of mine will behave that way, I simply will not have it. He is going to be properly punished, and I assure you, when I am through with him, he will never think to defy me or raise his voice to me again!' He doubled the belt in one hand and took a step toward the front door, seething.

That was all it took for Joan to react. She didn't care that Christopher was Martin's father, that he stood eight inches taller than she, or outweighed her by fifty pounds. She didn't care that her brother looked like he would injure anyone who got in his way. She was going to protect Martin if it meant her bodily harm or certain death. No one was going to hurt her nephew, not if she had it in her power to stop it.

'CHRISTOPHER!' she said at the top of her lungs, grabbing the kitchen chair and slamming the legs onto the floor to get his attention. He stopped and turned toward her, surprised. She swiftly opened the drawer nearest to her and retrieved the knife she used to clean and scale fish, holding it in front of her as she hurried toward him. She stopped within inches of where he was standing and pointed the knife at his chest. Her brother drew in a breath, his eyes wide.

'I will only say this once, so listen very carefully,' Joan began in a calm, menacing voice. 'If you ever, EVER lay a hand on that boy, whether here or at home, rest assured that when I get wind of it, you will never have the privilege of seeing your son again.' Christopher made to speak, but Joan cut him off. 'And if you think for one minute I can't or won't do it, take another step. You'll see just how sharp I keep this knife.' Hesitating for a moment, Christopher took a step back and laid his belt on the table. He stared at Joan warily, wondering what the bloody hell had gotten into her.

'Sit down and listen up,' she commanded, and he did as she asked. 'Martin is a good boy, kind and clever and very smart. He needs a chance to play and get dirty and be silly if he chooses to.' Her brother rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

'I am not trying to undermine your authority as a parent, nor am I saying he should be allowed to be disrespectful or disobey the rules. But I love him, and I want him to be a normal, happy, loving child who will grow into a fully functioning adult. Forgive me for losing my temper with you, but your son is very precious to me and I can't abide you hurting him.' Joan crossed her arms and raised her chin, clearly making it known she was not about to back down on the matter. Christopher had seen his sister like this many times before, enough to know there was no point in arguing. He knew when he had been defeated.

He sat for a moment, staring at the table. Finally, he said, 'I appreciate the care you have taken with him while we've been away; he clearly enjoys being here, and the fresh air and exercise seems to agree with him. I know you want what is best for Martin, as do Margaret and I.'

'We have had a wonderful time having him here, and I do hope...for my sake, as well as Marty's...that you allow him to come back here as often as he can. He will certainly be welcome. I am going to miss him terribly; I have gotten so used to having him around,' Joan said frankly. 'I was actually hoping he could return in the summer for a while, if you are agreeable.'

Joan and her brother sat at the table for a few minutes more, working out the details of Martin's next visit. The anger between them had dissipated, the incident seemingly forgotten as they chatted. However, the memory of Joan standing before him with a knife was very clear in Christopher's mind. He knew she had meant every word she had said. She was a tough, determined woman-she would have no qualms about eviscerating him if she had to. He knew he would have to govern himself accordingly in her presence from now on when it came to Martin. Still, it was a small price to pay. Margaret would be thrilled to hear of Joan's eagerness to have their son stay at the farm. Not only would they not need to employ a full-time nanny, but his wife would be free to travel more often, and delve more readily into her charity work. She was always so busy with meetings and luncheons and events; now she could pursue them, unencumbered. Christopher felt that it was a perfect arrangement for everyone involved.

Author's note: This chapter was a tough one for me. I've grown to love little five year old Marty, and writing about him being mistreated has been a challenge that has caused considerable frustration (and a few tears as well!). Thanks for reading; more to come!