Chapter 14: See Chapter 1 Disclaimer
Louisa and the children were the first to interrupt Martin's reading. "Martin," she asked, "James would like to set up the train set he got for Christmas in a different place, now that the tree is down. Can you help him with that?"
"Yes. James, where would you think would a good place to set up the train?" He wanted James to think critically about this problem, not just have the only reasonable answer fed to him.
James replied, "Can I keep it in the living room?" Technically yes, Martin thought, but this was not the ideal solution.
"There is certainly space there, but let's think this through, James. Who uses the living room?" Martin prompted.
"We all do. Chicken too!"
"Right," Martin replied. Good start. "How has it been working out when you power up the locomotive and Chicken is in the house?"
"He chases it! And he bites at it if he catches it! And it did hit him once, and he yelped." Martin could see the wheels turning.
"Correct. And what about Mary? What has she been doing recently?" Martin continued to probe.
"She's walking. But she still falls a lot and then crawls," James replied.
"Yes. Are you thinking that the living room is still a good option?" Martin was pretty sure James knew the answer now.
"No. My room is good though. Chicken and Mary don't play there." James' face was briefly sad and then happy, as he ran through the idea of having Chicken and then Mary in his room.
"I think that's a perfect choice. Now, can you box it up and I'll carry it upstairs for you?" Martin suggested.
"Yes, Daddy." James started unhooking the tracks and placing them into the box. He was quite careful to line up the track sections. Martin observed this and wondered if Mike Pruddy's OCD had rubbed off onto James with what seemed to be a useful habit, or if his son was already advanced with spatial relationships.
Louisa commented quietly, "That was well done, Martin. A schoolteacher couldn't have done better with that."
Martin ducked his head self-consciously and said, "Yes. Well, my grandfather used to use words like locomotive instead of the inane choo choo and he would use the species when describing birds, fish, and butterflies. He challenged me to explain myself at every opportunity. I think that helped make me more intellectually curious and confident in my powers of reason, not to mention build my vocabulary."
Louisa replied, still keeping her voice low, "Well, from a joint mother and headmistress perspective, I heartily agree with how you just interacted with James. You are a very good father."
Martin was still unused to accepting compliments, and particularly sensitive to those regarding his parenting skills. Still, he was grateful for the reinforcement. All he could manage was, "Mm."
James had finished putting his train set into the boxes, so Martin carried them upstairs, trailed closely by James, who intended to put everything back together immediately. Martin deposited the boxes on the bed, and James started on the reconstruction. As Martin was walking down the stairs, his mobile dinged with a text message, which said, "Mark here. No mould or powder. On the way with the samples."
The lack of visible evidence of a moisture problem was disappointing. Martin's plan with the samples was to use test kits he could order online which tested for bacteria. He did not want to involve the Cornwall Council this time, after his near miss with slandering the public water supply early on in his tenure. He could still hear his Auntie Joan berating him for causing alarm without proof. He waited in his consulting room for Mark to arrive.
After a wait of about 20 minutes, Mark entered the surgery with the test kits, one labeled Sanders and the other labeled Janice. "I didn't want to put Police on that sample, Doc, just in case you needed to share it with anyone. Wouldn't want anyone to think we were investigating a crime on the down low, now, would we?"
"Ah, right. Thank you. So you didn't see anything suspicious. What about the smell?" Martin asked.
"No, Doc," Mark replied, "Same thing as at the station. Everything smelled normal to me. I did notice one thing though, Doc, but I hesitate to mention it."
"Why?" Martin pressed. He was quite open to suggestions at this point, given his theory of the mould and powdery residue which could indicate the presence of bacteria had been ruled out. "Really, Mark, if you have an idea…"
"Well, remember my sister Sandra, the one who had the holistic shop?" Mark said.
"How could I forget? She was causing harm to my patients." Martin hissed. "That, that charlatan is lucky no one died!" His hiss had grown into a shout.
Mark looked a little sheepish. "Right, yeah, hard to forget. Sorry about that, Doc. Well, anyway, ever since, well, all of that, and you showin' me how my, um, male enhancement pills were just vitamins, I've been a little, I don't want to say hostile, but sensitive maybe, to noticing those organic products lying around. Anyway, I don't want to say anything out of turn, but maybe if I tell you where else I've seen this thing you can tell me if it crosses with your patients?"
Martin thought about that. Yes, that approach could let me confirm Mark's theory without necessarily giving away any patient information.
"Right, okay, Mark. Let's try that."
Mark may have left policing but that didn't mean he had lost his powers of observation or excellent memory. "Let's see, I spotted this, um, item in the toilets at Smythton, Miller, Hughson, Demick, DeSilva, Pote, and Rudd.
Martin went through that list of households and the only one he could remember offhand who had a household member who was immunocompromised was Hughson.
"Mark, I think you may have just provided us with a clue. You should tell me what this object is, because it could lead us to an answer."
Mark, still a bit unsure, said, 'It's the toothpaste, Doc. It was one of those organic ones, no artificial ingredients, all natural, all that. I think it was some sort of mint flavour. Do you think that's it?"
Martin thought about all the available information. Janice complained about the smell being apparent only at night and in the morning. At the Sanders' house, the boys had just washed up and brushed their teeth. This could very well be it. And if it were, it could explain why only a few immunocompromised people were getting sick and not all. Only those using this toothpaste would be exposed.
"Well done, Mark. I'm starting to feel more optimistic. I'll follow up with Janice, who is closest, to see if the odour is present in her toothpaste. And, Mark, great idea to name households where you saw it. That let me retain patient confidentiality."
Mark literally glowed. Despite failing to establish a friendship with Doc Martin when he had been the local constable, Mark had always respected the man. Mark envied him too, no doubt about that. Maybe this incident could reopen a pathway to some sort of relationship. A man could hope. Maybe Louisa has some female friends too… He decided to play it down a bit, as the hard sell hadn't worked early on. "Right, Doc. Glad to help. Anything else?"
"No, that's all. Um, thank you, Mark. I'll let you know if your theory proves correct."
"Cheers, Doc. I'd like to know that. Felt like old times, trying to solve something," Mark replied with a smile. "I'll be off, then."
Mark saw himself out, and Martin quickly placed a call to Janice. This time, she answered. "Janice, it's Dr. Ellingham. I wondered if I could come to see you. There is a theory of how you may have contracted your infection."
"That would be great, Doc! But is it something in our houses? That would be scary! Where will we go if both mine and Joe's are infected?"
Martin sighed with exasperation. "Stop talking. No. I actually think the answer is simple, but I need to verify. Now, can I come over?"
"Now, Doc?"
Refraining from shouting was difficult, but Martin managed. "Yes, now. I would like to prove or disprove this theory as soon as possible."
"Right-O, Doc. Come on by."
Martin walked to Janice's flat and knocked on the door. She opened and he walked in. Without preamble, he asked, "Where's your lavatory?"
Janice walked towards a hallway, saying, "Low beam" just in time for Martin to avoid whacking his head. She pointed and said, "End of the hall, Doc. Need me to come with you?"
"No, um, if I need you, I'll call."
Martin walked into the lavatory and there, on the countertop, was the minty organic toothpaste Mark had mentioned. With hopeful anticipation, Martin unscrewed the cap and took a careful sniff. There it was! The musty smell of stagnant water with the perfumy overtone of the mint. The combination seemed man made, yet it was just the mixture of supposedly organic ingredients with something that had obviously gone very wrong.
Martin took the tube and walked back to where Janice was standing. "I think we may have the cause. Can I take this?" he said, holding up the tube of toothpaste.
"Toothpaste, seriously? It's all natural, Doc, how can that be bad?" Janice asked, misguidedly.
Martin replied, "Yes, all natural. Just like arsenic."
"THERE'S ARSENIC IN MY TOOTHPASTE?" Janice nearly screamed.
"Nooo, no, calm down, shush!" Martin exhaled. "No, I think there is bacteria in this toothpaste that most people can fight off but many who are immunocompromised cannot. Your pregnancy put you at risk. If this is the cause, then I think we can have the proper authorities alert the public and stop this outbreak quickly. Don't talk about this with others. I want to get the product tested before the word gets out, in case I'm wrong." He thought, a bit belatedly, that perhaps he should have chosen a different patient to visit. Not only was Janice an alarmist, but Martin couldn't imagine her keeping this information from Penhale.
"Right, absolutely, Doc. My lips are sealed." Janice made a little locking motion near her mouth as if the Doc would not understand her meaning.
Martin stifled the response, "Your lips look fine" just in time.
On his way back to the surgery, Martin placed a call to Penhale, under the assumption that Janice could not resist telling Joe despite her promises, and to avert any further spread of the unconfirmed theory. Penhale promised to keep it a secret until he heard back.
Martin then followed up with a call to Cornwall Council's Environmental Health number to report an issue of possible food safety. The council instructed him to send the offending tube of toothpaste by courier to their location and promised a quick test. Martin could do no more until he received confirmation from the council and instructions.
Finally, he called Mark Mylow. "Mark, you were right, at least for the source of the smell. It is the organic toothpaste. I have called the Environmental Health number to get it tested, but I have high confidence this is our root cause. Please keep this information private until the test results are back but, um, again, well done. Good detective work."
If smiles could travel through mobile phone connections, Martin would have been blinded.
Monday morning arrived without fanfare, but with the relief that there was a good chance the Pseudomonas aeruginosa infections were sorted. All of Martin's patients were recovered or recovering, and Dr. Niles reported that no one had taken a turn for the worse.
The morning caseload was filled with hangovers and minor injuries from weekend incidents, with an ear infection and case of strep throat thrown in for good measure. Midday arrived and, with it, Martin's call with Nigel St. Aubyn.
Martin rang the solicitor, who answered quickly. "St. Aubyn."
"Yes, this is Martin Ellingham, calling to discuss my mother's affairs."
St. Aubyn launched into the agenda. "Right, good afternoon. I have your talking points in front of me, so I will cover them to the extent I'm able. Let's start with the easy ones. Regarding outstanding bills, Margaret's cremation and interment had been preplanned and prepaid when your father was still alive, which is fortunate. She and your father are interred at Highgate Cemetery. I will include the location of and a photo of the monument with the package I'll be sending."
He continued, "Beyond The Telegraph, which was interested in publishing her obituary as the wife of a prominent surgeon, there have been no other inquiries. I took the liberty of providing an obituary in the manner that I think your mother would have wanted, given my long association with your parents. As the obituary will be published after the interment, there will be no cost." Frankly, St. Aubyn didn't care if Dr. Ellingham approved of the obituary he had provided. He had known the senior Ellinghams a long time, and was intent that Margaret would have a decent writeup. It's not as if their son could fire him.
"Regarding other costs, that gets complicated. Your mother had been living with Susanne Matlock. Does that name mean anything to you? Apparently, your father and Susanne's late husband Barton were well acquainted. I believe Barton was an anaesthesiologist."
Martin replied, "That's not familiar. But my father and I didn't speak often."
"Right. Well, I'm going to give you the contact information for Mrs. Matlock, as she has some of your mother's personal effects and has expressed a great interest in speaking with you. I gather there may be some issues of a personal nature that she was unwilling to discuss with me."
Oh god, Martin thought. Will this never end? "Mm. Very well. What is her number and address." St. Aubyn provided the information and Martin jotted it down.
St. Aubyn continued, "That brings us to the terms of the will. Your mother no longer owned any real estate. She has a few investments, which were providing her with approximately £140 per month. Your father's pension ended upon his death. Her bank account contained £8328. Liquidating the investments would net approximately £34,000 before taxes. You are the sole beneficiary, so once I handle the investments and pay all fees, taxes, accounting, and legal costs, you will receive the balance. That is, of course, unless Mrs. Matlock has some claim on anything. I don't like to speculate, but she didn't seem to be the type who would be charging your mother rent."
Martin exhaled. Although he knew he'd been breathing the whole time, his body felt as if he'd been holding his breath. He rolled his shoulders and neck to ease some of the tension. "Very well," he said. "I will expect to get a package with the information you outlined, and I presume we will arrange for the balance to be transferred to my account when it is available. In the meantime, I will contact this Mrs. Matlock. Are we through?"
"Yes, Dr. Ellingham. I believe we are through for today. Has this conversation been satisfactory?" St. Aubyn asked.
"Um, yes, thank you. Quite professional."
Dr. Ellingham's response surprised St. Aubyn. Perhaps this man wasn't completely to blame for the schism between himself and his parents. "Right, then goodbye, Dr. Ellingham. I'll be in touch."
Martin hung up the phone and took a breath. He needed to get something to eat before his patients resumed for the afternoon, so he put Mrs. Matlock's contact information aside for later.
One of Martin's afternoon patients was Maureen Fenn. Roger came to the surgery with her. The first item of business was to register as patients with Martin. Now that the Fenns lived closer, it made sense to return to Portwenn Surgery. Roger had picked up the family's records at their prior GP to facilitate the move.
Maureen went into the exam room, not nearly as nervous as she used to be around the Doc.
"What seems to be the problem?" Martin asked, after Maureen took a seat.
"Well, Doc, I'm all tired again and I just can't shift this extra weight. I'm pretty sure I'm not pregnant at my age, so I'm figuring maybe this time it is the thyroid." Indeed, Maureen's shirt buttons were pulling a bit uncomfortably.
"Alright, ah, Maureen. I'm going to take your hands." He quickly clarified, "Just to check if they are cold." Martin recalled the last time Maureen had complained of possible hypothyroidism symptoms.
Mauren smiled, "Yes, I remember." She gave Martin her hands and he felt each one with both of his.
"Mm, yes, they seem a little cold. Have you noticed your hair becoming thinner or brittle?"
"Maybe a little, Doc," Maureen answered.
"Right, let me take your blood pressure." Martin attached the cuff of the sphygmomanometer to Maureen's upper arm, pumped it up, then listened whilst allowing the air to escape. "Yes, the diastolic is a bit high. I'm going to order blood tests which will give us a definitive diagnosis, but I am quite confident that you do have hypothyroidism. It's an easily treatable issue. Once confirmed, I'll start you on a daily hormone replacement tablet that provides what your thyroid is no longer supplying."
"Well, I guess I'm not that surprised. And I'm chuffed to bits that I'm not pregnant. The twins are more than enough for Roger and me."
"Yes, right. Was there anything else?" Martin asked.
"No, all done, Doc. I'll see myself out. Thanks."
"Yes," Martin acknowledged. He annotated Maureen's notes, then took them out to Morwenna. Roger was helping Maureen with her coat.
"Martin, mate, how are things?" Roger asked, with the newfound enthusiasm he had since partnering up with Maureen.
"Fine. Uh, how are you?" Martin responded, thinking back on Louisa's hand puppet.
Morwenna's eyebrows shot up at hearing a spontaneous inquiry about Roger's wellbeing from Martin.
Roger replied, "Very well, thanks. Enjoying spending more time with the boys, writing some music now that I have more time."
"Mm, good. Right, well, goodbye." Martin turned back to the consulting room. "Next patient!"
Ah, Morwenna thought, back to normal then.
Martin's afternoon consultations proceeded without incident and Louisa took the initiative to make a chicken casserole for dinner. Chicken and turkey were acceptable to Martin and she and the children enjoyed the break from fish. Still, Louisa was pleased that both children ate fish as if it were the most normal thing in the world and, for a Portwenn villager, that was as it should be.
Martin cleaned up after dinner, whilst Louisa got James Henry bathed and ready for bed. Mary typically went down around 19:00 and James 30 to 45 minutes later, which was a nice gap to help make the bedtime chores doable. Louisa read another dragon slayer book to James, as he certainly enjoyed the first and had no trouble comprehending it, despite its target audience being 6-8 years old. In fact, James was managing to read most of it to Louisa instead of the other way around. Louisa was justifiably proud of James Henry. He was a well-behaved child, highly intelligent, and the play dates with the Fenns should help to improve his social skills and bring him out of his shell a bit. The first one would be Wednesday, as she had a client coming after James' school ended. Given that Janice was no longer infectious, she would mind Mary for the afternoon. Louisa was still unaware of Janice's pregnancy, as Janice and Joe were not sharing their news as they had a few more weeks of agonizing uncertainty ahead.
Martin went to his consulting room so that he could call Susanne Matlock. She picked up on the third ring with a recitation of her phone number, which gave a hint to Martin that this was a land line and confirmed Susanne was probably of his parents' generation. "Ah, yes, this is Dr. Martin Ellingham. Am I speaking to Mrs. Susanne Matlock?"
"Yes, this is she. I assume you received my information from Nigel. My condolences on the loss of your mother. Might I call you Martin?"
"Ah, yes, that's fine. Ah, Mrs. Matlock, Mr. St. Aubyn indicated that you wished to speak to me personally regarding my mother and that you might have some personal effects of hers. I also understand that she was living with you." Martin suddenly realized this could be awkward. Why was Margaret Ellingham so short of money that she had to move in with someone else? Well, there was nothing to be done. Mrs. Matlock, like all his parents' friends, probably already thought of him as the useless son.
"Yes, that's correct. She came straight here from her visit to you in Cornwall. She explained her situation, that she had tired of Portugal after your father died, and that she planned to find something suitable in London and just needed to wait until her property in Portugal sold. Of course, that was years ago, and that sale never came through."
"Mm. Ah." Martin wasn't sure what to say. Margaret had had no remaining property in Portugal when she visited him. Could she have been lying to Mrs. Matlock?
"Martin, may I speak frankly. I knew your parents had a strained relationship with you but, frankly, my husband and I had a poor opinion of them, except for your father's skill as a surgeon, which was top notch. My husband Barton and he worked together frequently. Barton did the anaesthesia and your father did the cutting. I understand you were even better than Christopher, from what the other surgeons' spouses used to say at our get togethers. Your parents used to brag about you constantly, until you moved to Portwenn. Strangely, they never shared a single story of your life or how much they enjoyed your company, as if they had no personal relationship with you at all. All they focused on were your grades in school, skill as a surgeon and that you were Imperial's Head of Vascular Surgery at such a young age."
Martin was speechless. There was an extended silence.
"Martin, are you still there?" Mrs. Matlock inquired.
"Um, yes. Yes." Hearing how his parents bragged about him to others for their own self-centered purposes whilst treating him with utter disdain made him start to feel sick and dizzy, so he clenched and unclenched the hand not holding the phone. Ruth's instructions in isometric techniques had helped him avoid fainting several times before.
"Well, I also expect that Margaret was lying to me about her situation. But your father had performed life-saving surgery on our youngest son when he was fifteen. I really didn't care what Margaret's situation was, I was happy to help as a favour to your father. We owed him everything."
"Ah, well, you are correct that Margaret was lying. My father had apparently invested poorly and left her with very little when he died, and she had come to Portwenn expecting me to support her. I, ah, really don't want to discuss details but there was no love lost between my mother and me."
"Martin, you don't need to explain. I've known your mother for years. I saw her interact with my own children. It was entirely transparent to anyone with eyes that she wanted nothing to do with children. In fact, she seemed to dislike them intensely unless there was something to gain by pretending otherwise. She only had eyes for your father, and he only had eyes for anyone young, female, and attractive, before and especially after you were born. Once you moved to Cornwall, they stopped talking about you altogether. I really can't believe I'm saying all this, but something happened when Margaret arrived that just made me feel that you have probably been disrespected by your parents for your entire adult life, and I don't even want to think about your childhood."
"Hang on," Martin said weakly. He promptly vomited into the consulting room sink, grabbed a paper towel to wipe his mouth, then picked back up. "I'm back. Sorry."
"That's fine," continued Mrs. Matlock. "I have one question. When can you come to London? There is something of mine that I feel I should give to you."
Martin was feeling quite lightheaded, so he continued to tense his fist, and he added his abdominals and quadriceps to the mix of isometrics to keep blood flowing, trying desperately to remain conscious. "Ah, I have patients to see this week, but I could come on Saturday if that would work."
"Yes, that would be fine. How about I expect you for dinner, to give you plenty of time to get here from Cornwall. You are welcome to stay overnight with me. I think I would enjoy meeting you."
This proposal was making Martin's physical response even more severe, so with reduced defences, he mumbled an agreement. They said goodbye and ended the call. Martin put his head between his legs until the he felt as if he could sit up without toppling over.
Once Martin had recovered enough to walk, he went back to the kitchen to find Louisa nursing a chamomile tea.
After one look at Martin, Louisa stood up and went to his side, grabbing one hand. "Martin, you look completely grey. What happened?"
"Ah, I spoke with the solicitor for my mother's estate at noon today, and he gave me the contact information for the woman with whom my mother has been living for the past several years. This woman, um, said some things about my parents that were, ah, unexpected."
"Like what, Martin? What else has that harpy done?! My god, if she weren't dead, I'd… OH, I'm so sorry, Martin. Oh. Really, I'm sorry, I shouldn't talk like that."
"No, Louisa, that's what was shocking. This woman, a Mrs. Matlock, knew my parents for decades and it seems that she and her husband, who worked with Dad, saw right through them. I can't describe how it felt, except that I felt ill and then vomited and thought I was going to pass out. To get off the phone as quickly as I could, I think I actually agreed to go see her in London on Saturday."
"Oh, Martin, how are you feeling about all that?"
"I'm drained. I can't think about it for a moment longer. I'm going to go to bed."
Louisa needed to be satisfied with that, as it was clear that Martin was spent and had no additional emotional energy. He went upstairs, leaving her to tidy the kitchen and lock up for the night.
Author's Note: Thanks again for the reviews. They are so helpful and encouraging. I'm delighted you are enjoying the story.
Here's a question to think about? I have chosen to largely keep pronunciations out of the written text. My thinking is that we all know how these folks sound, and you will be able to "hear" them if I use the right words and construct dialog well. For example, I'm not spelling out Louiser with an R, even though Bert and Al would say that. Is that working for you? Are there characters I'm failing to capture well?