Dorothy Sillock stood behind the counter and watched the minutes on her digital watch count down to one o'clock. At that exact moment, she would walk across to the door of her chemist shop, flip the 'open' sign to 'closed', lock the door, and make her way upstairs for lunch. Saturday was always a half day, and had been since Dr. Sim had arrived in the village and reluctantly introduced a Saturday morning surgery. At first, she'd tried to resist any weekend opening but living above her pharmacy had only meant the villagers who needed a script filled just became more persistent. So Dorothy had given in.
Four minutes to go. Outside on the front, throngs of holidaymakers mingled with locals, and fought off aggressive sorties from rapacious seagulls. Upstairs, Dorothy could hear her daughter moving about in the kitchen, preparing their lunch. Sally had returned home briefly before commencing her post graduate placement and, for the most part, she had welcomed the company, and the opportunity to discuss the latest in pharmacological developments. She wasn't too thrilled that university had seemed to turn shy, studious Sally into a dreamy coquette, who spent all her spare time reading budget romance novels and mooning about over every young man that walked past the chemist shop. It was undignified and not fitting of a medical professional, in Dorothy's humble opinion.
Two minutes to go. She straightened the corn plaster display absently, and made her way around from the back of the counter, making a mental note that large bunion pads would need restocking before Monday. Any time now, the crowds would thin out as the villagers returned home for lunch and the tourists sought out the religious experience of a genuine locally made pastie and a pint of room temperature ale. Standing by the door, she watched through the large glass windows as one of the local dogs, a renowned opportunist, made off with a small child's ice cream, disappearing through the legs of the crowd like the canine equivalent of the Artful Dodger. She smiled to herself as the father, pointlessly, gave chase. Thirty seconds to go.
Dorothy reached for the closed sign, pausing momentarily in observance of the clock. As far as she was concerned, her week was over; the aroma of cottage pie had wafted down the stairs and her stomach had given a low growl in response. Her watch gave a single beep to announce the hour. She smiled.
"And we are cl..."
Suddenly, the door was wrenched from her reach. She was both startled and annoyed to see that the doorframe was filled by a very tall, young man; well dressed, with very short hair and a serious expression.
"Excuse me," Dorothy said, indignantly. "We are closed."
He ignored her and strode purposefully to the counter, standing stiffly, his hands clenched together behind his back.
She flipped the sign over, and locked the door with a loud tut, before returning to the counter, and standing in front of him, arms folded, thin-lipped and with her nostrils flared.
"Are you the Pharmacist?" He said, abruptly.
She looked at him sourly.
"Dorothy Sillock. Masters Degree in Pharmacy. Registered with the Gee-Pee-haich-Cee. Owner and proprietor." she replied, icily. "And you are?"
"Dr. Martin Ellingham. You may know my aunt, Joan Norton? I'm staying with her for the weekend."
"Aah, yes." She replied, a little less tersely. "Joan's nephew. How may I help you Doc-tor Ellingham?"
Martin looked down at her and let out a sharp exhalation of breath. Where to start, he thought, and pulled his wallet from his hip pocket.
"I have a slightly unusual request, Miss..aaah Mrs..aaah...Slocock. I trust that I can rely on your absolute confidentiality?" He fixed her with a questioning stare.
She said nothing, but nodded uncomfortably. With his imperious manner and his authoritative voice, Dr. Ellingham seemed like type of person that was used to giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed. She would not like to refuse him anything, she thought.
"Right." he said. "I'm assuming that you are familiar with a young village girl, Louisa Glasson?"
Dorothy nodded, her mouth falling open a little.
"I need to ensure that her medical needs are taken care of. What I am proposing is that you set up an account in her name, and I will be responsible for payment. I am happy to pay in advance, since I am not local, and I ask that you send me a statement every month, to my London address."
Dorothy stared at him. Everyone seemed to be falling over themselves to help that ragamuffin child, even this posh London doctor. She certainly didn't know what they all saw in Louisa, but she couldn't see any reason to refuse his request even if she dared.
"Yes, of course." She muttered.
His expression relaxed slightly. He removed five twenty pound notes from his wallet and handed them to to the pharmacist.
"I have your guarantee that no one else will know about this? The details of any purchases will stay between you and Lou...aaah, Miss Glasson? I don't need or want to know the details, just the amount I owe. Is that clear?"
"Yes, of course Doc-Tor Ellingham, and may I just say that it's a very gen.."
"I'm in quite a hurry so if you could just take down my address details." Martin interrupted, sharply.
"Yes, yes, of course..." Dorothy replied, rummaging under the counter. "I know it's under here somewhere.."
As she searched, muttering to herself, Martin glared at her, and began to tap his pen loudly on counter, impatiently. Suddenly, from above, they heard a voice calling out: "
"Mother? Mum? Where are you? Lunch is getting cold."
Martin heard the resounding thuds of someone descending the stairs, and was aware that a person had appeared at the corner of the stairwell. Dorothy stood up, an exercise book in her hand, and she slid it across the counter to him.
"Sorry, dear. I'll be up in a moment," She said over her shoulder. "I'm just looking after Doc-Tor Ellingham here."
A non-descript young woman, in a shapeless, pale green, woollen skirt and matching pullover, stepped forward from the shadow. She had limp blonde hair, held back from her face by tortoiseshell hairslides, and very large, watery, pale blue eyes which began to blink incessantly.
The younger woman drew a loud, sharp intake of breath, and stared at Martin in a way that made him feel slightly unnerved. He wrote his details in the pharmacist's book as quickly as he could and was about to hand it back when he felt it snatched from his hands by her intense and slightly alarming daughter. He took a step backwards and let go of the book but she followed him, staring up at him, her eyes still blinking madly.
"Doc-tor Ell-ing-hammm." She cooed, tracking him as he backed across the shop to the door. "Allow me to introduce myself."
"Aaah, no, too busy." He spun around and grappled with the lock, feeling her hands gripping his arm. In desperation, he shrugged her off and managed to pull the door open.
"Good day!" He shouted, slamming the door behind him and staggering our onto the pavement. As soon as he could push through the crowd, he broke in to a run, and he kept running up the hill until he was positive that the horrifying young woman couldn't have pursued him.
As he slowed to a brisk walk, and caught his breath, his mind went back to her predatory expression and madly blinking eyes, and a cold shiver swept down his back. He was relieved when, a few moments later, he found himself back at Louisa's cottage.
He let himself in without knocking but, when he saw Louisa sitting on the couch, apparently absorbed in a magazine, he gave a gentle cough.
She looked up at him, her face impassive.
"Got your note." She said simply.
She looked refreshed after her bath, and the colour in her cheeks had improved. Her hair was still damp, but she'd changed her clothes, and she looked older and a lot more presentable now she was out of her unflattering and badly creased school uniform.
Martin walked over hesitatingly, and perched himself on the arm of the couch, at the opposite end to where she sat, calmly watching him.
"Louisa, I...ahhhh, I embarrassed you earlier." He said quietly.
A look of alarm crossed her face.
"So, now you're bringing it up again?" She replied tartly, and pulled her knees up to her chest defensively, wrapping her arms around her shins.
He cleared his throat and kept his eyes down, fiddling with the ring on his right hand.
"Well, ummm, as you so observantly pointed out, I am the, aaah, bloody doctor and I would feel as if I'd failed in my duty if I hadn't said anything. Please understand that."
Louisa remained silent.
Martin looked over at her and noticed her slumped shoulders and her down-turned face, a sprinkling of tiny freckles across her nose, and her long dark eyelashes, prominent against her pale skin. She looked vulnerable and raw, and he raged internally at her absconding, irresponsible mother.
"Louisa, I understand that this conversation, aaah, must be very uncomfortable for you." Martin said, as gently as he could manage. "And I'm...I'm sure you've been doing the best you can under the, aaah, circumstances. But, as a doctor, I have to tell you, Louisa, that your current method of, ummm, of...managing... has implications for your health. You will have a far greater risk of ongoing thrush, and urinary tract infections...these are unpleasant enough but, if persistent, can have an adverse effect on your fertility.."
He paused.
"If you were wondering where I've been, I went down to the village and spoke to the chemist...ummmm..." Martin paused as her name completely escaped him.
"In any case, I have set up an account there for you. It's important that you have easy access to, umm, to any sanitary needs that you have. In fact, aah, any over-the-counter medicines and healthcare you require, you can book it up through the account."
He sighed uncomfortably.
"I won't, ummm, that is to say, whatever you purchase will be totally confidential and just between you and the pharmacist. No one else will know. I won't even know."
Louisa ran her slender fingers up through her fringe but did not say anything. Martin began to feel uncomfortable and he grasped at words, desperate to get her to respond. His voice when he spoke again was low and imploring.
"Please Louisa, allow me to do this little thing for you."
She lifted her head up and rested her chin on her knee.
"It just feels like more shame." She said in a small voice.
Martin felt a flicker of anger and he replied more vehemently than he'd intended to.
"Your mother, who should be here guiding you. Your father, who should be providing for you...they should feel ashamed. Not you, Louisa, not you."
Finally, she looked up and their eyes met; she saw his face, creased in a concerned frown; his grey eyes compassionate and kind. He looked back at a hurt and overwhelmed child and, in that moment, for a split second, they were kindred spirits, united by the negligence and indifference of their respective parents.
Feeling tears begin to prick, she bit her lip and looked away quickly.
"The worst thing is that I don't know how I'm ever going to pay everybody back. I appreciate that you're trying to help me, really I do, but it's all just a bit overwhelming."
Martin sat up a bit straighter, and folded his arms thoughtfully.
"Louisa, let's not worry about that now. Are we finished here? For now, I mean? Shall we go?"
A few cheeky rejoinders flashed into her mind but, to her surprise, she faltered. She realised that there had been something in that moment that she couldn't put her finger on. She'd felt so vulnerable and humiliated and yet his concern for her had been palpable. It was almost as if he actually understood how she felt. And, maybe, it was alright to let her guard down just a tiny little bit. The imminent tears disappeared.
She reached out with her foot, and gave the toe of his severe black brogue a playful nudge. He looked at her with surprise but he didn't speak, still too stunned by the fact that he seemed to have negotiated his way through such a difficult conversation for them both, and come through it, seemingly, without triggering her tears or, worse still, her wrath.
Louisa stood up and gave him a dazzling smile, and he was smacked by sideways by such a phenomenal wave of relief that, quite shockingly, he almost forgot himself, and smiled back.