Chapter 3: Last Patient Out the Door

His beloved clocks now safe, Martin gestured to the patient. "Thank you, take a seat." He probed the man's injured shoulder.

"So how come the surgery is closed?" Arthur said.

"I'm moving to London."

"That's ironic, I've just moved from there."

"That's not irony, that's a coincidence."

"You're right, good point." Arthur was a genial, polite man who tolerated Martin's gruffness, even as he groaned when the doctor hit an especially sore spot.

"You've dislocated your shoulder," Martin said. "I won't take your jacket off. How did it happen?"

"Something of a midlife crisis. I had the smart idea of buying a farm to escape it all but it seems I'm not smart enough to put up a fence. I was hammering in posts with a sledgehammer and…"

Martin had heard enough. "Stop talking. I'll put your shoulder back in. This is going to hurt." He pulled the patient's arm gently and snapped it back in place, as Arthur groaned again in pain. "I'll put it in a sling. You need to rest for a few days."

Arthur massaged his shoulder in relief. "Feels better, still really hurts though."

"If that persists take paracetamol and ibuprofen together for the first couple of days."

"Could be worse, I suppose," Arthur said. "Have you ever tried putting in barbed wire? As experiences go I wouldn't recommend it." He chuckled.

Martin had no interest in anything to do with barbed wire. He put a foam sling on the patient. "Hm. Keep your arm in that position."

"I still have to vaccinate my cows. Is that going be all right to do?"

"I just told you to rest your arm. If you need help hire someone. There's no shortage of idle people in Portwenn."

"So if you're leaving, am I your final patient then?"

"Yes, you are." Martin began to usher him out.

"Well, it's an honour to be last out the door. Thank you doctor and good luck with your move."

"Yes, remember keep your arm up," Martin replied, as they went out into the reception. "It's very important to keep any stress off your shoulder."

Arthur thanked him again and left through the crowd, as Louisa said she was going to pop out to meet Pippa. "Are you all right to keep an eye on everything?"

"Yes." Martin looked at his watch and announced firmly to the crowd: "All right, you've got two minutes. Make your final purchases and then we're closed, thank you."

Louisa wanted to soften the announcement pleasantly before she left. "And just remember it's for charity, it's for the lifeboats, so do give generously."

When Ruth walked in the chemist's shop, she saw Sally Tishell vigorously scrubbing some small items.

"Today's the day, Sally. How are you feeling?"

"Wonderful, wonderful, just keeping myself busy by cleaning some coins," Sally replied, still scrubbing away.

Ruth was dismayed at the obsessive behaviour. "Do you want to do this?"

"Well, I do have a lot more coins still to polish."

"Come on." Ruth was relieved that Sally let her usher her into the living quarters behind the shop. It was obvious the obsessive pharmacist knew exactly what the sympathetic psychiatrist was referring to. In the bedroom, Sally opened a cupboard door, where a secret shrine to the village GP was revealed. There were newspaper clippings and pictures of him taped up, documenting his various heroic deeds and clashes with the locals. She took a framed photo of him and kissed it.

Ruth took out a rubbish bin bag. "Put it in the bag. It's all part of the process. You have to let it go. Come on."

Sally began to comply, while snapping the elastic band she kept around her wrist – a sure sign that she was trying to manage a high level of anxiety. "Have you seen Martin?" Ruth asked, gently.

"No, he's been busy. I thought he might come to the chemist's but Morwenna's even closed the account."

"You should come to the farewell party."

Sally began stammering with indignation. "Why would I want to stand around celebrating the village losing the finest doctor they've ever had?"

"You need to say goodbye. You'll regret it if you don't."

Sally said nothing but at least she continued putting the items in the bin bag. Ruth thought that was progress.

Down at the Platt, a small group was gathered by Al's Spice Express to plan the farewell party. Penhale was checking things off in his summons notebook: The PA system was sorted. Al's food van would be on hand. Caitlin Morgan was in charge of the drinks – both soft and alcoholic.

"I've distilled a very special whisky for the party as well – the Ellingham Single Barrelled Malt," Bert Large announced.

As usual, Al was sceptical of his father's statement. "How? You haven't got a still, you blew it up. Plus, we only decided to organize a farewell party a few days ago, you cannot distil whisky in that time!"

"That might be a trade secret, Boy."

"Or you just printed new labels and stuck 'em on old bottles."

"The Doc won't know the difference, he don't drink," Bert replied.

Penhale continued with his list "Janice? Decorations?"

Janice Bone was sunbathing nearby, dressed in vibrant pinks and oranges and looking like a ray of sunshine herself, Penhale thought. "No, I'm looking after James and Mary all day tomorrow," she said.

"Oh, you did say you'd help," Penhale said.

Janice looked over her sunglasses at him. "Are you paying me? Because the Doc and Louisa are."

Caitlin offered to supply some bunting and decorations from her shop.

"You're very well organized, aren't you," Bert teased her.

"Careful Bert, you'll make me blush," she teased back.

As his father and Caitlin smiled flirtatiously at each other, Al walked away, annoyed at the latest curve in their rollercoaster relationship.

Penhale was very concerned that everything should go well. "Okay, let's give Portwenn the best leaving party it's ever seen!"

Later, Caitlin was directing things with authority, having the bevy of local teenage girls move and stack hay bales for seats.

Bert leaned against the Spice Express, watching. "She's very well organized, isn't she."

Al leaned out the van's chilli pepper decorated window. "I thought that's what you didn't like about her. You said you were trapped like a bird in a cage."

Bert was exasperated by having his own words repeated to him. "Well, I think I might, you know, miss her more than I realized."

"Ask her for dinner or a drink."

"I don't know what I'd say."

"Be direct," Al reassured his father. "She'd appreciate that."

"Ooh she's coming. Could you do it for me?"

"Dad!"

Caitlin walked up to the van window. "Just a water please, Al. Are you okay, Bert?"

Bert was doing his unconvincing best to appear casual. "Oh yes, I just wanted to ask you something, I was wondering if you, uh, if you might want to…"

"To what?" Caitlin said, as Al handed her the water bottle.

"To sell me some more napkins for the caravan park I manage."

"How many? Five hundred? A thousand?"

"A thousand would be great."

"I'll get that set up for you," Caitlin said. Then she walked away to yell at the teenage girls. "I told you not there, over there!"

Al poked his head out the window again. "Well, on the plus side, at least you won't run out of napkins."

To be continued…