Doc Martin 1. Chapter 1

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story is a work of fanfiction and in no way presumes any ownership of or intrusion upon the rights of the copyright holders of Doc Martin, its characters, or story lines. **

_\- - - Sometime after Series 6, Episode 8 - - -_

Louisa was saying, "I really don't know what we're going to do!"

Martin twitched his medical journal as Louisa nattered on.

"Did you hear what I said?" she asked.

"Yes." Martin looked up at his wife, who was clutching a pile of school papers to her chest.

"Ideas?"

"I suppose you'll have to cancel."

Lousia put hands on hips as she glared at him. "Cancel? Cancel? Oh _come on_ Martin, even _you_ know we _can't_ do that."

Martin shrugged. "Find someone else then."

"Well just who? Bert's played Father Christmas for ages!"

Martin sighed. "It's not my fault that Bert fell and sprained his ankle."

"I know, I know. Poor man will be on crutches for weeks."

"I _told_ him that climbing on chairs was a danger."

"He told me that Al borrowed the restaurant ladder for some work at Morwenna's. Good thing he's got Jenny to take care of him. He was only putting holiday lights on the restaurant."

Martin grumpily flipped a page.

Louisa plopped the pile of papers down on the kitchen table, then came to the sofa and sat down next to him. "The children will be _so_ disappointed."

Martin lowered his journal to his lap. "What about Chippy Miller?"

"He'll be down in Perrenporth to visit his cousin. We need someone who's big, tall, got a loud voice…" Louisa put her hand on his knee and patted it. "Perhaps… someone, well, like _you_."

"Certainly not!"

Louisa smiled playfully. "You _could_ be, with some padding around your middle, and a fake beard."

"Eddie Rix then; he's fat enough."

"I already asked him. But Eddie has a black eye; told me he bumped into a door."

Martin groaned. "Likely _not_ a door, perhaps a…"

Louisa raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Nothing," Martin muttered, for he knew that Eddie and his wife still played rough bedroom games.

"Eddie is certainly accident prone. Last month I heard he picked up a nasty burn."

Martin tried to go back to reading his journal but Lousia had him in her sights.

"But, Martin we _have_ to have _someone_ play Father Christmas for the Grotto. I even asked Mr. Gibson."

"Who?"

"Melanie's dad, but he said that was his karate night; but every night is karate night for him." She turned her face to Martin and loo0ked longingly at him.

"Don't look at me," he huffed. "Out of the question."

Louisa grinned then leaned towards him and kissed his cheek. "We'll see."

"See... erh, just see _what_?"

She chuckled, "Like I said…" Just then a soft cry broke into the patter of rain on the house. "Oh, James is awake." She sighed. "Not much of a nap on a Saturday."

Martin stood. "I'll get him."

Louisa clutched at his knee for a moment.

"What?"

"I…" she hugged his leg. "So glad we're…" she cleared her throat, "_together_."

"Yes," Martin sighed, then lightly stroked the hair on the crown of her head. "Counseling…"

"Has worked pretty well, don't you think?"

Martin crouched down to peer into her blue-green eyes. "I…" he cleared his throat, "yes, I do."

She put her arms around him and was starting to kiss him deeply when James gave out a long wail of frustration.

She ducked her head. "Oh the joys of parenting…"

Martin whispered, "Perhaps later," then he went upstairs to rescue James Henry from his cot.

James was standing holding onto the top rail, then let go of the rail putting his arms up in the air. "Da-da, uppy."

"Yes, James. Good. Two word sentences. Very good. You might work on 'Dad pick me up.' But you are making headway." Martin hugged the chunky boy before he checked his diaper. "Yes, it is dirty."

When Martin and James came downstairs, Louisa was holding her mobile frowning at it. "Problem?" He asked her.

"I've talked to Joe – he says he has to be on duty 24/7 as Christmas is a perfect time for perps to rob houses. Al's too busy working at the B&amp;B and fixing up Morwenna's house, and Joe's out, I can't count on you…"

"Louisa, I just don't think that I can."

"Why not?"

Martin found himself face to face with his wife and son who both looked at him disapprovingly. "I…"

"We can put a fake beard on you; use a pillow or two…"

"Now Hold on! Wait just a minute! What about…" he snapped his fingers, "that Mr. Ruggles?"

"Who?"

"Uhm, heavyset, tall, high forehead."

"Oh," Louisa laughed. "Russell. Tim Russell. Already asked. But I do mean it. Yu could do it, if you wanted to." She looked at him beseechingly. "But we'll _see_."

Martin moaned for those words from Louisa usefully meant that he'd already lost the argument. "Now look… I can't think of anything in my entire life I'd rather do less!"

"Martin!" Louisa told him. "It's for the kids… the children." She came over and hugged him and James altogether. "Please?"

He sighed. "What about Mr. Coley, the school custodian?"

"Too prickly, and no he won't; I've already asked him."

"I suppose Stewart James is out of the question."

Louisa smiled. "Or maybe his friend Anthony. No Stewart doesn't like crowds."

Just then Louisa's mobile rang so she answered it. "Hello?"

Martin and James regarded one another gravely. "How about apple slices and some milk?" he asked the toddler who nodded vigorously. Martin put James into his chair, belted him in, then went to refrigerator and half-listened as Louisa talked.

"Yes, this is Louisa Glasson; no, _Ellingham_ now. I'm married. Yep. Last year."

Martin put his hand on the milk carton and a small apple.

"Oh my God," Louisa said with concern into the phone. "No. Really? Oh…"

"What's happened?" Martin started for her knew that sound in her voice it was never a good sign.

She waved him off. "Yes, I guess we could."

Martin stood there holding the fruit and the milk while James cranked his head around wondering where his snack was. "Louisa, is something wrong?"

"Okay," she said into her phone. "Yes. Okay. Right then. Fern Cottage, Rosscarrock Hill, Portwenn. Right, right. Okay, thanks. Bye." She slowly lowered her mobile. "That was the prison."

"Your father?"

"No some official or other." She set her phone on the table and started to softly weep.

Martin put the food on the counter then knelt down by his wife. "What's happened?"

Louisa wiped her eyes with a shaky hand while her shoulders shook. "May I have a tissue?"

Martin snagged one from the carton and gave it to her. "What's happened?" The counsellor had held two private sessions with Martin about Louisa's parental issues. Her mum was selfish and self-centered and her father – a petty criminal – was serving time. Of course he'd dealt with both Terry and Eleanor and would just as soon they'd never have shown up in the village. Now there was clearly more sorrow for Louisa.

Louisa blew her nose. "Dad."

"Terry."

Louisa nodded. "Oh Martin… he…" her pink lips quivered.

"I am… sorry," Martin told her guessing how bad the news must be. "How old was he?"

She shook her head. "No Martin, not _that_. Dad's," she inhaled deeply and blew the air out slowly. "Dad's being _released_. He got..."

"What? Got what?"

"_Parole_," she said, "and he's coming _here_. I… I said he could stay come here for a while." Her eyes looked at him in alarm. "I said he could stay with us, Martin. I hope that's alright."

"Oh God," Martin said to himself but aloud he said "That would be fine."

Louisa shook her head. "I hope so," she replied, then nervously bit down on her lower lip.


	2. Chapter 2

Terry Glasson hoisted a small duffel bag into the back then climbed into the passenger seat. "Thanks Martin." He waved to the person standing inside the gift shop which was the bus stop on New Road.

Martin could not but help notice the abrupt way the shop owner turned away and did not wave back at Terry. He tried not to sneer at Louisa's father as he answered, "I was nearby and knowing the bus schedule I came." Fortunately the bus was on time which was a rarity hereabouts.

Terry rubbed his hands together in the hot air from the dashboard vents. "Bloody cold out there. But thanks all the same."

Martin started the motor then glowered at Terry. "Seat harness?"

"Oh yeah," the man answered. "Sorry. Bit out of practice. No seat belts _in nick_. Louisa couldn't come?"

"It is a school day and as Head Teacher she must be in attendance well after the children have gone and school is locked up for the day."

"Sorry, just wondered." He settled himself into the leather seat. "Nice car."

Martin merely nodded. He'd told Ruth that Louisa's dad had been paroled and she'd cautioned him about an adjustment period.

"You _must_ realize Martin that Terry Glasson has been in custody for... I'm sorry, how long?" his aunt asked.

"About four years."

"Ah."

"He was involved in an attempt to smuggle explosives to blow open an industrial safe."

"I see."

"Terry had an accomplice, a totally off-kilter paranoid schizophrenic named Jonathan Crozier, who, well…"

"No need to say more Martin, I've heard all about it. So give the man time. He was released early so he _must_ have been cooperative _and_ the parole board must have felt there was enough punishment as well as some redemption, or they would not have granted parole."

"Erh, right. Small village – no secrets." Martin could only imagine how tongues would wag when they heard that Terry was back. Terry of the lifeboat fund robbery, Terry of the kidnapping, Terry of the chough explosion; he stopped himself for Terry hadn't blown up the rare birds and their nest. "Ahem, yes."

Ruth smirked. "You do know there are _plenty_ of secrets in the village, right?"

Martin was taken back to the present by Terry saying "Martin, I can't thank you enough…"

Just then his mobile connection in the car sounded. "Shush," Martin said to him then answered the call. "Ellingham."

What came from the dash speaker was yelling and scuffling. "Doc?" a loud woman's voice said over the screeching. "Hey, it's Carole Snell! My son had a bit of a tumble off the tractor and…" her voice was interrupted by someone screaming.

Ice water chilled Martin's heart. "What has happened?"

"Looks like Robbie broke his arm. Can you come? I called surgery and Morwenna gave me your number."

Martin sighed. "Now where are you?"

"You take Church Hill out of town, left at the T, then the next left and end of road."

Martin said, "Right. Five minutes."

Terry instructed, "Doc go down New, over Back, then Fore, straight on to Church Hill. Saves you some time."

"I know that!" Martin yelled as he wheeled the Lexus about making a quick turnabout on New Road.

Terry put a hand in the assist strap hanging from the roof as the car accelerated. "Ah the old village, not much changes." Houses began to fly past the speeding Lexus at a furious rate. "I missed this place."

Martin was concentrating on driving. "I'm certain anyplace would be better than..." he stopped.

"No, that's alright," Terry sighed. "I'm an old lag, I am. Spent far too long behind bars courtesy of Her Majesty." He paused but then brightened up. "But you and my Louisa are _married_. Fabulous! She's been writing me. Told me all about it." He reached across the car and slapped Martin on the shoulder.

"Uhm, yes." Martin managed not to yell at the impact of Terry's hand for he didn't like to be touched. All about it? Hmm.

"And the baby's how old?"

"Nearly eighteen months."

"James Henry Ellingham," Terry said slowly. "Brilliant."

"Yes."

Terry smiled. "His front name is my dad's. He was the village postman you know."

"Right." Martin was trying to drive and this family commentary was distracting.

"When I opened that letter of hers…" Terry stopped speaking so Martin stole a glance seeing the man wipe an eye. "I been a bloody fool Martin, that's what I been."

Fortunately that emotional moment made Terry clam up before Martin yelled at him to shut up. Shortly his car was pulling up to two stone barns, one converted to a self-catering cottage. The first thing he noticed was a lot of wailing, next the fine view down the harbor, and thirdly an overturned and ancient red Farmall tractor in a field near the larger building. "God," he muttered as he got his case and hurried into the field. There was a farm implement – a mower – attached to the tractor, the hitch bent and mangled.

"Doc! Down here!" someone called and he trotted into a field around the tractor and found his patient, a boy of about sixteen, who was cradling both arm and wrist and keening. A woman of about forty years old stood nearby wringing her hands. "I told him to be careful on the slope, but the grass was long and I was inside cleaning for the next weekend guests when I heard a crash."

Martin looked upslope at the overturned machine. "Lucky he wasn't crushed under it." He got down on one knee and tried to examine the boy who tried to roll away as he touched his shoulder. "I'm Doctor Ellingham, let me look."

"Arghhhh. God it hurts! Give me something!" the kid yelled.

Terry looked down at the Doc for he'd chased him down the slope hi shorter legs hurrying to keep up with Martin. "How can I help?"

Martin grunte, "Uhm, right, brace him. Get behind his back. Keep him upright while I sling this."

The boy tried to struggle away from Terry but he clamped a strong hand on his good shoulder. "Steady on, son. Just let the Doc do his business and we'll get you set right."

"What about my arm?" the boy asked. "It's all busted."

"I'll sling it then off to hospital for a cast," Martin told the boy, then looked at the woman. "You're his mother?"

She nodded dumbly.

"You have a car? Just the wrist and forearm, I think." Miraculously the child quit squirming so Martin could next do a quick neurological exam. "Did you hit your head? No? Follow my finger, right, left, up down; good. What is the date and your full name? Age as well." He pulled out his penlight and examined his pupil reflex.

The boy thought for a moment. "Uhm, December third. Robert Charles Snell and I'm sixteen."

Martin nodded. "Right. No head injury, but they'll x-ray him anyway." He took out his sphygmomanometer plus stethoscope and swiftly took a blood pressure and pulse. "Elevated but that's expected. Now for a sling."

The boy screamed once when Martin shifted his arm getting the sling on it, but after swiftly binding it to his body the child relaxed a little. Though the kid was shaking he didn't yell anymore. "Steady." He looked at Terry, who was his father-in-law he realized. The man sat there behind the boy holding him tightly. "Good." Useful; at this moment at least.

The woman was shaking her head. "How am I gonna get this field mowed?"

Terry brightened. "If your tractor ain't broke too bad I could see to it." He cocked his head at it. "Those machines were built to last."

She shook her head. "Sorry. So I know you?"

"Terry Glasson, at your service, ma'am."

"Uhm, oh you must be Louisa's?" the woman frowned.

"Father."

Martin interrupted with, "You really ought to get your son off to Truro. Terry if you would help me get him up this hill?"

Terry and Martin hoisted the boy to his feet then uphill to his mother's car.

Martin watched while Terry assured the woman he'd see to her field. "Don't you worry about a thing, now. Your boy will be fine and I'll get this field taken care of. Ta, ta. Bye," he waved. Terry was all smiles as she drove off but then his face fell. "Got I _hate_ tractors. Tricky things."

"Have you _ever_ driven a tractor?"

He grinned ruefully. "Been a while, but I'll get the hang of it. I'll get the garage up here with their tow lorry. A bit of cable and get that machine back on her wheels." He snapped his fingers. "Like that. Probably have to bend the hitch back into shape, but a little heat from a blowtorch and some hammerin' good as new!"

Martin looked down the hill. "The boy must have mowing across the slope; no wonder it rolled over. Rather steep."

Terry brightened. "Look," he pointed. "This sorta' hill you gotta' go up and down, or you're dead meat. Boy's lucky – very."

Martin put his case into the car. "You're seemed very sure with the woman."

Terry shook his head. "Doc I can turn my hand to almost anything."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"And Doc, I _won't_ be a bother."

"See that you're not."

Martin got into the Lexus and Terry followed.

"Martin, look, I _will_ take care, and I _will_ get this field cut. Don't worry about me, I'm a survivor."

Right then Martin realized that Terry Glasson was two things – both an egoist _and_ a charmer.

Martin put his hands on the wheel. "Just don't… look! I will NOT stand by and watch Louisa get hurt!"

Terry nodded. "Right. I'll be good."

"See that you are," Martin said then started the car.

"She's all I got, Doc," Terry muttered. "Course there's you and the baby as well!"

Martin scowled all the way home.


	3. Chapter 3

Martin was looking over tomorrow's schedule and Morwenna was explaining the day ahead. "I put the Saunders sisters one after the other. Had to shift things a bit…"

"Oh, no!" he muttered.

"Problem with my schedule?"

Martin sighed. "These two; the Saunders... they can be… _difficult_."

"Coming from you that says somethin'." Morwenna looked up from the computer as she heard an unfamiliar footstep at the reception door. "Hello!" she said brightly to the man standing there. "You must be Louisa's dad."

Terry Glasson nodded nervously. "I am. Terry." He stuck out his hand and she shook it.

"Morwenna Newcross."

"You wouldn't be related to Will Newcross?"

"My granddad."

Terry smiled. "A nice man."

A shadow fell over Morwenna's face.

Terry said next, "Erh, have I said something wrong?"

"No. Granddad's dead. Early this year." Morwenna's face fell further. "Yes he was; a nice man."

"Sorry, luv; didn't know. Been away."

Morwenna smiled up at him sadly. "It's okay. I understand."

Terry looked at the young woman who was togged out in jangling necklaces and bracelets and was wearing a jarring layered combination of brightly colored camis, tops, and sweaters that would make any jumble shop proud. "I'll…" Terry said then ducked his head when he saw the angry look Martin gave him. "Just be out in the kitchen."

Louisa was on edge and touchy the entire day. It had been a very hard day at the school what with student absences from illness and a sick teacher, the Christmas pageant budget had been blown to flinders with new costumes, and in the back of her mind was the knowledge that Terry was coming to Portwenn today.

The students could tell Miss Glasson was out of sorts from the way she yelled at playtime and her teachers knew it when she chewed them out about missing reports, but it came to a head when Ellie, her new secretary, knocked on her door.

Ellie Kernow was fairly new to the school, having moved up from St. Agnes last year. When she saw Louisa resting her head in her hands at her desk and the bin half-full of used tissues she _knew_ things were not sound. "Louisa?"

Louisa peered up at her. "What?" She tried not to look directly at Ellie. "Sorry, somethin' in my eye."

Ellie closed the door behind her. "What can I do? To help?"

"Do?"

Ellie waved her hands. "You know. You said your father was coming into town."

Louisa sighed. "Yep. Today."

"None of my business, but I do know that families can be… _difficult_."

Louisa looked sharply at her twenty-year-old aide. "That says a lot."

"So…" Ellie grinned. "Why don't you let me work on the attendance sheets for the quarter?"

Louisa looked down at the papers covering her desk; the ones she had been staring at for the past thirty minutes without seeing them. "Okay, that would help." Images of the past had been flooding her head and most were unpleasant.

Ellie scooped up the mess and arranged the pages while Louisa watched her. "Sorry, Ellie… I… my dad… he had… has…" she shrugged. "Problems," she finished.

Problems was a good word to describe her dad. Having spent the past four years in prison, he had a long history of dodgy schemes, occasional minor jail time along the way, plus the disapproval of everyone in the village for his previous evils… "But he's my dad, you know?"

Ellie smiled. "Listen, just try to be like a duck and let water run right off your back. That's what my mum always said."

Louisa knew that a lot of her issues with Terry was the way he'd lied to her about the Lifeboat Fund money. Although that theft was over thirty years ago, just when she'd gone to college, Terry had _lied_ to her all those years. She'd lived in blissful ignorance until Martin let it slip that there _had_ been a theft and his Aunt Joan was the witness. Then she had to believe it. All those years of defending him ate at her. Worse was the knowledge that he had let her down. Oh her mum she knew not to trust… but Terry was the parent that had stayed, not run off with a lover to Spain. Terry _had_ stayed – surely that _must_ mean something? But trust was such a _fragile_ eggshell.

Ellie cleared her throat. "Anything else?"

"No thanks, Ellie. I'll…" she took a deep breath, "fine."

"And never you mind what folks might say or think about… you know…" Ellie was new to the village but she had heard about Terry Glasson. "Just let 'em think whatever they want and you keep your head high, right? Bet you can do that."

"Yeah," Louisa sat up a bit straighter. "Right." Louisa smiled for what was worse than a jailbird father? For she was a woman who'd jilted her fiancé, left for London, and returned to Portwenn pregnant and single. "I can do that." Just hearing some verbal support was what she needed.

After Ellie left, Louisa fixed her face, then buckled down to cleaning out her school emails. After the school day was done and Mr. Coley had shuffled away after locking the doors, Louisa told him goodnight then she walked home, dreading that Terry _might_ be there, but _also_ very glad to see him.

Louisa went into their house kitchen cautiously. She felt like she'd been holding her breath the whole day waiting for the next disaster to befall her, so she had to literally stop outside the house and take deep breaths wondering how things would be inside. "Steady on she muttered."

When she opened the door and found her dad making tea, all she could say was, "Hello, Dad."

Terry turned and when he saw Louisa he just held out his arms. "My little girl. Give us a hug daughter."

Louisa put down her briefcase and let him embrace her.

He started to say, "Sorry… Louisa, how can I? All this… sorry, I am."

"You're here now," she said after a moment. "It's all good."

"Martin met me at the bus."

With her heels on she stood an inch or two taller than him and so she could see plenty of scalp visible in his thinning grey hair, his beard and moustache had gone totally white, and he looked like he'd put a on a few pounds, plus his pale complexion from lack of sun made him look sick. Despite their history she felt sorry for him. "Yeah. Cold out." She kissed him on the cheek and stepped back.

He turned back to the cooker. "Kettle just went on. Have it hot in mo."

Martin came in the room. "Hullo. Didn't know you're home."

"Just got in," she said.

"Uhm, I met your father at the bus," Martin said matter-of-factly

"He told me. Thank you Martin."

Terry looked from one to the other and rubbed his hands. "Now _where_ is my grandson? Can't wait to meet him!"

"With the child minder," Martin checked his watch. "She ought to be back soon."

As if on cue the door opened and James toddled in followed by a yellow-haired woman.

Louisa picked up James and walked to her dad. "James this is _Terry_, your granddad."

Terry gazed at the baby in awe. "Oh my, oh my. Well hello."

Louisa glanced quickly at Martin, who flinched. "Dad, would you like to hold him?"

Terry couldn't speak for a few seconds but then gulped. "Oh my yes."

Louisa reluctantly handed James to her father, who cuddled him close. "Hey there little man; oh you are a fine one! I'm Terry. I'm _your_ _granddad_." He tousled James' hair, who giggled and began to tug at Terry's beard.

The lady in the doorway coughed.

Louisa replied, "Oh, and this is Jane Werren our sitter."

Terry smiled at Jane who was around thirty and blonde, pretty in a not-flashy way. Louisa and Martin had scoured the parish until they found Jane; most of the objections along the way due to Martin and _his_ requirements of cleanliness, promptness, intelligence, and skill at care giving. Jane smiled at Terry timidly. "Hi Mr. Glasson."

"Pleased to meet you Jane and _do_ call me Terry; everyone does. Mr. Glasson - well - it sounds _too_ stuffy."

Martin grunted, "Not up on formality here."

"Martin?" Louisa asked him.

"Nothing," Martin said and walked away to speak with Morwenna.

After Morwenna had gone for the day, Martin went in the kitchen and there was Terry bouncing James on his knee while Louisa was cooking.

"And then James," Terry was saying as he held a toy whale, "the great big whale jumped way out of the water onto the beach and gobbled up all the children!" He pushed the toy against James' belly who giggled hilariously.

"Doesn't sound like a very nice story," commented Martin.

"Oh, that's an old story from way back, Martin," Louisa told him. "My granddad used to tell me that one. How was your day?" she asked.

"Ahem, fine," Martin said. "Yours?"

"The usual," she answered.

As James giggled, Terry continued, "But all those kiddies, _deep_ inside the whale's belly, found _pirate_ _gold_, and by poking and prodding the beast, he spat them all back up onto dry land _safe and sound_." He grinned across the room at Martin. "See? No harm done."

Martin commented, "Hope it doesn't cause the child nightmares."

Louisa grinned at Martin. "Dad you ought to write those down. All of them."

"Even the ghost stories?"

"Hmmph," Martin said. "No such thing."

"Well you know Martin these parts seen a lot a things – pirates, the Romans, ship wrecks, the Celts, the pixies… seen a few myself. Pixies I mean," Terry laughed. "Plus the Grey Man."

Martin ignored those comments and belted an apron around his waist. "I'll set the table."

"Ever hear of that one Martin?" Terry asked.

"No."

Louisa was boiling water so said to Martin, "I thought we'd have pasta and vegetables, bread, and a salad."

"Fine," Martin said.

"Dad, Martin is _very_ literal," she said to her dad, then turned to Martin, "You don't _sound_ fine."

"Louisa? Ghosts and magic whales?"

Terry interrupted, "I didn't say _ghost_ Martin – I said _Grey Man_. He comes when people really need help. They say he's a ship captain fell off a coaster in a storm."

"Rubbish," said Martin.

"The whole crew was saved because he stayed at the tiller and held her off the rocks until the lifeboat could get to 'em," Terry told him.

Martin shook his head over all local superstitions. "Utter…" he started to bluster.

"Martin, _stop_," Louisa scolded then changing the subject, "So dad what about a _job_? What are you going to do?"

Terry beamed, "Already got a job. I'm cuttin' Mrs. Snell's field for her."

Louisa smiled at her dad. "Really? Wow that was quick. I'm very proud of you."

Martin's lip curled.


	4. Chapter 4

Early the next day Louisa rolled over and put an arm around Martin, just after he shut off the alarm. "Morning," she whispered into his ear.

"Good morning," Martin told her as he stroked her silky hair. "Louisa is this a good idea?"

"I'm only hugging you."

"No, this is fine, _good_ actually. I meant having your father in the house."

"I don't expect he's gonna live here forever."

"The box room is rather tight," Martin muttered, which was not at all what he wanted to say.

"Where else could we put him? We sold my old house," Louisa told him coolly. "And I really didn't want to disrupt James and his sleeping arrangements so we had to put my dad into the box room."

"At least we got a bed from the farm."

Louisa sighed.

Martin shook his head at her. "Louisa I'm _not_ starting an argument."

Louisa relaxed. "Of course not. But what could I do Martin? Or say? Sorry no, he's _not_ wanted here?" She sighed once more. "He's my dad after all. He took care of me until I went away to college."

Martin nodded. "Yes, I know that."

She stroked his face. "At least I had _him around. _And you? You poor thing shuttled off to school as much as possible when you were young. And me? I got to live in my own village, grow up and go to primary school right here." She buried her face into his shoulder. "I was lucky."

"Mm." Martin knew that was true – the luck part. Both his parents were crap parents and he didn't know when he was a boy that adults did not treat children as he had been treated. "Yes, you were."

She sat up amd brushed her hair back from her face. "I think I was too, even though mum left us when I was eleven."

They heard heavy footsteps across the hall as they plodded downstairs. "Dad's awake," Louisa said.

Martin looked at Louisa, her brows knitted in worry. "It will work out," he said as he sat up then kissed her forehead.

"Thank you, Martin… I mean that."

He sat up. "Better get up."

By the time Martin had gone downstairs after washing and dressing, Terry was well entrenched in cooking. "Morning, Martin," he told him happily. "Bacon, eggs, beans, toast. You want a grilled tomato?"

"No." He waved his hand in front of his face as there was an odor of smoke in the air.

Terry pointed to Martin's fancy coffee machine. "I couldn't make head or tail outa that contraption. Have to be a bloody rocket scientist I'm guessin'. So I made tea."

"That's fine, but you didn't have to make breakfast. I prepare it on weekdays."

"No, no, look, I'm your guest and I ought to try and pull my weight."

Suddenly Louisa rushed downstairs carrying a very sleepy James. She was wearing her dressing gown with her wet hair wrapped in a towel. "Martin? I smell smoke!"

Terry flew to the kitchen door and opened it. "Sorry luv. Spilled some bacon grease on the cooker." He waved a towel letting more cold air inside.

"God, dad! Freezing out there," Louisa said pulling her robe tightly together at her neck.

Terry flapped the towel again then closed the door. "You know me; always making a mess in the kitchen. No worries, I'll clean later."

Louisa looked at the table laden with food. "You cooked breakfast," she said in wonder.

Terry shrugged. "You need to eat. We all got a busy day ahead of us. Sorry if I made a mess."

Louisa handed James to Martin then went to her dad and wrapped her arms around him. "Don't be sorry. Thank you."

James rubbed his eyes as Martin reminded her, "Louisa you'd better get ready for school."

Her frightened eyes went to the clock. "Oops – gonna be late." She let her dad go then fled back upstairs.

"Just like her mum, always running late. Those two…" Terry chuckled. "_That_ way they _are_ alike."

Martin recalled Louisa was twenty minutes late to the church when they actually did get married. "I'll go and dress James."

Terry said plaintively, "Sorry Martin. I guess I bollixed it."

Martin saw platters of fried eggs and bacon, toast done just right and the kettle starting to whistle. "There's tinfoil under the sink, in case you wish to… wrap that… so it stas warm." He turned to go away. "I'd say you've done well."

Terry laughed anxiously. "Thank you Martin and I mean it."

Louisa had her head down over her work at school later when Ellie knocked on the door. "How are things?" she asked.

Louisa smiled. "Bit of an awkward dance at home. My dad's _trying_ to please and not be a bother, while Martin watches him like a hawk. Terry cooked a full breakfast for us this morning."

"Good for him. So he's trying at least."

Louisa stretched. "I know. I love my dad, I do… it's just that…"

"You wish things had been different. If wishes were horses."

"Then beggars would ride," Louisa finished. "Or the way I learned it, 'If wishes were fishes, beggars would feast.' But of course Portwenn is a fishing village."

Ellie nodded. "Duck's back, right? Water off of?"

"Right."

Ellie went back to her desk while Louisa realized what she wanted for Terry was to be both presentable _and_ respected, the two being different things. Terry was going to have to overcome a lot of resentment from the village, not the least from her own daughter.

Late after lunch she was surprised by a visitor.

"Mrs. Ellingham?" Mrs. Snell stood in the doorway. "A word? Sorry to bother you at school."

"Ah, hello Mrs. Snell," Louisa remembered some of their tussles over her son for he had not been either the best of students nor the best behaved. Fortunately the boy was now in district school, so she was shed of him. Louisa put on a fake smile. "It's fine. Come in and take a seat."

Mrs. Snell was dressed as she always did in work clothes for she cleaned houses and tried to stay on top of their small farm. She and her husband just had one child and her husband drove a lorry for parish road maintenance. Louisa noticed the dirty footprints Mrs. Snell left on her clean floor; Mr. Coley will have a fit! "How can I help you? Are you well and the family?"

"Well Robbie got a busted arm yesterday but no concussion, luckily."

"Oh dear. What happened?"

"I thought Martin might have mentioned it."

"No, he doesn't discuss patients at home."

"Robbie didn't listen – stupid boy – and rolled the tractor over. Luckily he jumped off." Mrs. Snell frowned. "Louisa, your dad volunteered to fix up my tractor, and get my fields cut, up the way."

"That's awful. Sorry Robbie got hurt. Dad did mention he had a job. I didn't ask the details."

Her visitor sighed. "I know all about your da; the whole thing…"

"Most do," Louisa grimaced, "unfortunately." So it began; the explaining and the bargaining.

"Look, I don't care about that, because…" she sighed. "It's like this; my big brother was in the nick down Falmouth way for some stupid things he did as a boy before he got some sense."

"Oh."

"So I know, I know how _bloody_ hard it can be for the _family _as well. That's why my mum moved us up to Newquay when in my late teens; all the old ladies gossipin' away. Just horrible. So, I'm just sayin…" she looked hard at Louisa. "We all get tarred with the same brush. Been there and didn't like it much."

Louisa smiled at her. "I thank you for saying that."

"I mean it." Mrs. Snell stood up and buttoned her tatty coat. "Your dad ain't no teen though, but I checked on him today. He got my old tractor up and repaired and is cuttin' as we speak. So…"

Louisa went around her desk and took her hand. "Thanks for givin' my dad a chance."

"Just bein' fair is all."

"I'm sure Terry appreciates it and so do I."

Mrs. Snell dropped her hand. "I'll pay him too – that's what I talked to him about today."

Mrs. Snell went to the door into the hall. "Ain't much, but he needed a chance, right?" She straightened her battered hat on her mass of untidy hair and then turned at the door. "And anything else I need doin', and I got a lot, I'll pass it on to him and put in a good word to other folk."

Louisa felt her heart grow warm for she had underestimated Mrs. Snell. "You're more than kind."

"Fair's fair Mrs. Ellingham."

Louisa needed to wipe her eyes after she heard that.


	5. Chapter 5

PC Joseph Penhale, Officer #3021, being the sort of policeman he was, stuck his thumbs over his equipment belt and strode assertively towards the man ambling past his Police Bedford. The man had passed his truck with nary a turn of his head. "Excuse me sir," Joe said, "may I have a word with you?" He'd been meaning to have this one-to-one a few days back but this was a good a time as any.

Terry Glasson turned about his spirit falling when he saw the dark blue uniform approach. "Hello, Officer. Terry Glasson," he said and stuck out his hand. "You must be Joe Penhale."

"_Officer_ _Joseph_ Penhale, to you," Joe replied not taking Terry's hand. "I been meanin' to come by and see you." Joe started to circle Terry like a child going round a maypole.

Terry ducked his head uneasily. "Figured you would or _somebody _might."

Joe pointed to his chest. "Well _this_ somebody wants to let you know that _I'm_ keepin' an eye," he jabbed two fingers towards Terry's eyes then at his own. "No… _two_ _eyes_, on you."

"Look, officer. I'm just mindin' my own business." He smiled down at the brown and white dog which seemed to be trailing him. "Me and my friend just taking a walk, right?"

Joe squatted down and tried to pet the animal which skittered away. "Buddy, come here, I'm not…" Giving up, he stood up and tugged his jumper down so it wasn't wrinkled. "Me and him – crime fightin' mates, you see?" he said to the dog.

Terry smiled at him, for he'd heard about Penhale the copper in the village. "And I can see it is workin' too."

Joe glared at him. "Mr. Glasson, it's _my_ job to _keep_ the _peace_. And what are you doing with Buddy?"

Terry muttered. "He'd been out at the farm a lot with Al Large, while Al gets Jan Norton's farm set up for this B&amp;B." He smiled down at the dog who looked up at him in a happy doggy way. "I was helping Al with some paintin' and I guess the animal took a liking to me. Martin doesn't want him around the house though. And as for _peace_…" Terry looked up and down the quiet street which was empty of everyone but him, Joe and the Buddy. "It all looks _very_ peaceful just at the moment."

Joe grabbed his jacket. "I heard about you – _and_ your _explosives_!" he snarled. "You other stuff too!"

Terry held up his hands. "Now, now calm down. Firstly – _yes_ I was involved, secondly – I never _actually_ used them, and three – I've _served_ my time; _paid_ my penalty. I find the fresh ocean breeze and salt air very invigorating, don't you? Much prefer _this_ to _that_. Being_ outside_ to _inside_, right? I have _no_ desire to back to the_ Clink_."

Joe stuck his nose right in Terry's face. "You _blew_ _up_ the rare birds! A nesting pair!"

Terry's eyes flared. "_Officer_," he peeled Joe's hand off his lapel and brushed the spot, "I'm not arguing the point. But if you go back and read the files, you may find that I did _not_ drop those explosives on the choughs."

"Poor little birdies." Joe shuddered. "It was _your_ friend, _Mr. Crozier_, then. The file was a little thin on certain details…"

Terry shook his head. "Officer Penhale that's all over and done with." Terry did not want to implicate Martin, for he was the one who'd thrown the explosives off the cliff onto the nest. "Over and done, right? I done my bit, served it up courtesy of Her Majesty, bless her soul, long may she reign…"

"Don't you bring the Queen into this!"

Terry blinked at him. "Fine. Yes; all good then."

Joe glared at Terry. "I'm gonna be on you like skin on a… on a… raspberry!"

Terry smiled at the sudden interjection of fruit into the conversation. "Okay. _Whatever_ you say Officer Penhale."

"And how'd you get out of prison in _only_ four years?"

Terry placed his right hand over his heart and bowed. "I did a service to the Crown."

"You?" Joe sneered. "You? Terry Glasson a common thief…"

"Now, now let's all be friends, right?"

Joe stared at him. "This is _my_ patch – _nice_ and _peaceful_ Portwenn."

"And I'm sure it's all very peaceful here. Nice and quiet like." He moved towards Penhale and slipped an arm over Joe's shoulder. "I'm Louisa's dad; you know that, but I can guess what you must think of me."

"You have _no_ idea!" Joe shrugged him off. "Like I said…" he repeated the finger to eyes gesture.

"Fine," Terry replied. "I did a bad thing and I got punished. You haven't even begun to give me a break have you?"

Joe shook his head and squared his shoulders, "Citizen," he said and did his best cowboy saunter toward his vehicle.

Terry said to his back. "I stopped a jail break if you must know. Turned them in – names – times – all that. So they seen fit to let me go. Parole – _probation_ – whatever you want to call it."

Penhale stopped and looked embarrassed. "Oh, I didn't know."

"So here I am."

Joe shook his head. "All the same – blueberry – no, I mean _raspberry_! Got it?" Joe turned and climbed hurriedly into his truck.

"Okay, Officer; I get it." Terry picked up Buddy and rubbed his head. "He's bloody bodmin, that one," he whispered for Louisa had warned him about Joe's likely response to his living in Portwenn. "Ah well," he sighed as he watched Joe drive away flashing daggers at him with his eyes. "That is one silly copper, Buddy," he groaned and started walking again.

Ruth Ellingham had watched and heard the complete encounter from the corner of the street and grinned to herself for it gone about the way she expected; Penhale blustering from under his badge laden chest and Terry Glasson playing a repentant and rehabilitated prisoner. She waited until Joe drove away then walked close to Terry.

"That one's looking under beds for bogey men that ain't there," he was whispering to the dog but Ruth heard him say it.

"Hello," she said. "And you are right for Penhale can be a bit intense at times."

"Hullo," he said, a little down. "You got that spot on."

Ruth stuck out her hand for a shake. "I'm Martin's aunt, Ruth Ellingham."

Terry put Buddy back on the ground, wiped his hands on his old jacket and took her hand. "Charmed. Well, well; Martin's other aunt. I heard about Joan Norton; sorry she's kicked it. Nice lady."

"We all _will_ do that, _kick it_ as you say. But thank you. Yes she was – nice."

Terry checked out her smart tweed skirt and heavy coat. Her flat-soled shoes looked very professional and he supposed she was a weekender or some such, but no he remembered what Louisa had told him. Ruth had money or a bit of it.

Terry ducked as a seagull flew past right overhead. "Sorry. Not used to birds yet."

Ruth craned her head to look at the soaring bird. "You know I've quite gotten used to them; except for when they splatter my car," she looked up again anxiously, "or my hair or my jacket."

That made Terry laugh. "I missed 'em. Noisy, dirty, but still they are free. Free as a bird." He pointed down to the harbor. "Just look down there. Seeing the ocean makes me think a lot about things. That's what I was doin'; just looking at it. I seen too many blank walls without windows in my life and I swear I won't see another."

Ruth nodded. "Louisa talked to me about you."

He sighed. "And she told me you're a shrink."

"Psychiatrist – retired."

He looked up the street where Joe had stopped and was waving his hands excitedly at a bicyclist. "You had a look at that one?" he shook his head. "I seen a few in my days, but oh my word."

"Oh don't mind Joe. He's trying to do his job in the way he knows how."

"Easy for you to say; you ain't been behind bars."

"Oh, but I have," she grinned. "I worked at Broadmoor Prison for years. My specialty was dealing with the criminal insane."

Terry's face fell. "Well, well, well." Now he was concerned. What ought he to say next? Was she sorting him out right now?

Ruth stopped speaking. "Need a moment?"

Terry sighed. "I think I do." He'd been through psychiatric counseling a number of times but it never quite seemed to stick. "_Retired_ you said."

Ruth smiled. "That's what I claim on the jacket of the book I wrote. Retired…" She took his arm and stood close, saying, "Mr. Glasson, Martin and Louisa did _not_ send me to spy on you. I just wanted to say hello and introduce myself. Watching Penhale give you the third degree gave me an opportunity – to do it – say hello. So please relax."

Terry laughed. "Hello then."

"Now," Ruth said, "I feel need for red wine. Do you drink wine?"

"Beer's more my style."

Ruth peered at her watch. "Nearly five; come on – I'll stand you to a pint."

In the pub Terry sipped at the pint. "A little early for me."

Ruth smiled, lifted her glass and drank half of it. "Not for me."

"Wrote a book you said."

"Yes about my work - former work - but Louisa told me you've been doing odd jobs around the village."

He nodded and pulled at his pint. "Jobs here and there – Mrs. Snell's been keeping me busy," but then he sighed. "I think she trusts me a bit." Terry dropped his voice and said to her, "Most don't here abouts, or like me much."

Ruth nodded. "Yes. Like a certain nephew of mine."

"I hear he's a fine doctor."

"Oh yes he is, but his manner can be off-putting. The village relies on him for medical treatment but most don't actually like him."

Terry nodded remembering the way Martin had fixed his arm. "Yep." At the moment he had a knife sticking in him he didn't much care whether the Doc was rude or kind. Terry chuckled next. "I was bouncing little James Henry on my knee other evening when Martin's mobile went off. Lord you shoulda' heard the nastiness come out of his mouth."

"Martin brooks no patience with fools."

"Too right. But did he have to be so ill-mannered?"

Ruth held up her wine glass so Terry clinked his pint against it. "Then we agree on something."


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh little town of Portwenn, how still we see they lie…" Bert Large muttered to himself on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

"What's that Bert?" Jennifer, his new wife asked. "And I think the word is _Bethlehem_."

"Oh, nothing," Bert sighed, fiddling with his crutches as he stood at the window of his and Jenny's sitting room. "But I can't believe that in this whole village we can't find _one person_ to play Father Christmas."

"Bert, Louisa says she's working on it."

"Well in just a couple a weeks we'll have the Village Hall ready to go – Grotto and all – and _no_ Santa," he grumbled.

Jenny sighed to herself. "They'll find someone. I know it's upsetting to you."

"I been playin' Father Christmas for over twenty years," he huffed, "and… and…"

"But you don't see how anyone else can do it, that it?" Jenny put her counted cross-stitch on her lap and looked at him the way that only a wife can peer at her husband. "Can't let it go, right?" Jenny had a feeling that even if Saint Nicholas himself magically appeared Bert would not approve of his replacement.

"Jenny, it's _more_ than just putting on a red suit and shouting ho-ho-ho! You have to _really_ get into the spirit of the thing!"

"Oh pish. What about Clive Tishell?"

"Too tall, too skinny and his nose is too large." Bert laughed. "He come by the other day tryin' out his ho – ho's on me. Tosser sounded like a _distressed seagull_! Plus Clive's totally tone deaf. Poor bugger can't carry a note in a bucket and Santa has to sing all the holiday songs as well as have the kids tell 'im what they want. No beard either."

He put his weight on the crutches and good foot and turned for he'd heard a noise downstairs. "Who's there?"

"Just me, dad," said Al as he came upstairs. "Uhm and Morwenna," he added.

"Hi!" Morwenna said brightly.

"Morwenner," Jenny answered. "How're you keeping?"

Morwenna glanced at Al and cracked a grin. "Oh, pretty well."

Jenny caught the sly look from Al to Morwenna for she could see the electricity practically shooting from one to the other. "Stay for tea you two?"

Al looked at Morwenna. "That okay?"

"Sure," Morwenna smiled at him. "Fine." Al had moved into Morwenna's house but he was not staying down the hall for ever since that day on the beach when they'd saved Caroline Bosman's life they'd been together like fingers in a glove and she liked it. Things were moving along more than satisfactorily for she'd taken a page from watching the Doc and Louisa put things back together. Each night she and Al cuddled on the sofa and talked about the day and the next – just chit chat over some wine.

Al cleared his throat. "Dad, you think I could borrow some of your tools – the plumbing sort? The boiler at Ruth's farm finally went bust. So I'm putting in a new one; well two actually for the spring when we can have guests stay at the B&amp;B."

"Okay, son. What's mine is yours." He hobbled over to where Jennifer sat and pecked her on the top of her head. "'Cept for Jenny; she's mine!"

Al grimaced seeing his dad still using crutches. "Ankle still bad?"

"Swoll up like a beached and rotten dolphin," Bert said. "When I think of the disappointed look on the faces of them little tykes at the Christmas Fair when Father Christmas does not arrive…" he sniffed for effect, "it makes my heart ache."

"Why can't Santa be on his throne and have the kids come to him?" Morwenna asked.

"No! No!" Bert shouted, "Father Christmas _must_ arrive on a hay wagon with his attendants, then ceremoniously be welcomed into the Village Hall, and only then can he parade – _jubilantly_, mind you – into his grotto. Then the kids can have their turns visitin'!"

Al nodded. "Tradition."

"Exactly my point!" Bert answered. "That's the way it's been done for longer than I been doin' it! We can't change it now!"

Morwenna took Bert's elbow. "Well go on and sit down for goodness sake." She slowly guided him to his rump-sprung green chair.

Bert grunted thankfully as he sat. "Thankee, young lady."

"Ankle's no better? Maybe you should see the Doc."

Bert shook his head. "He don't need to see me," he said but he winced as he shifted his body on the hard cushion.

Jenny put her craft things down. "Morwenna, what say we go work on tea?"

Morwenna followed Jenny downstairs to the kitchen. "Bert is not happy."

"Oh," Jenny grimaced, "he gets so down. Winter and all and the restaurant's basically shut down for the season and now he can't play Christmas…" she sighed. "He had his heart set on it; like always he's told me."

Morwenna put her arm around the older woman. "But you're fine?"

Jenny smiled. "Of course. Christmas here will be different." She shivered slightly. "Colder too. But I so hate to see Bert so low. This Father Christmas thing is driving him _batty_ and _me_ with him!" she laughed.

Morwenna nodded. "Speaking of batty I thought for sure that the Doc would go totally bodmin with Louisa's dad staying with them. But I was wrong."

Jenny put the kettle on and got a tin of biscuits from the pantry and a loaf of bread. "Ham and mustard?"

"I like cheese and pickle. You make the ham and I'll work on these."

The women set to work. "Morwenna," Jenny said, "How are you and Al?"

"Oh fine," Morwenna smirked. "Al's… well, Al's… uhm, eager."

Jenny smiled. "Like his dad, then."

Morwenna relaxed. "I thought at first he just had a thing for the Doc's receptionists but…" she sighed. "He makes me happy; kind of."

"Goin' anywhere? Sorry, shouldn't have asked."

Morwenna grinned for when she was with Al it was never any doubt that he was going _somewhere_. "I think so." A lot better than poor Mike Pruddy, who tried, but there was no spark between them. "You know when I'm with Al, well, now that's working on his B&amp;B project he's a lot happier and that sorta spreads into everything else. Know what I mean?"

"Oh yes," Jenny nodded.

Morwenna worked on her on sandwiches putting the pickle relish just so on top of the sliced hard cheddar. She put the lid on the sandwiches and sliced the crust off then cut them into triangles. "So… other than Bert getting down, how are you?"

Jenny smiled. "Fine, fine. With Sally taking some time off I can fill in for her at the pharmacy."

Morwenna shook her head. "That day on the beach when Caroline got zapped, I thought Sally was really off her rocker. I said so, I guess. Not my best moment."

"She's a lot better now and I think Clive being retired has helped her a lot. Those long weekends they been taking away have changed her outlook."

"A visit up to Doncaster would not be on my bucket list," Morwenna giggled.

Jenny grinned. "Me either. But I heard it was no big secret she'd been mooning over the Doc and I heard tell she was after old Doc Sim as well."

"Guess she just likes doctors."

Jenny stopped herself before she said something about Al and medical receptionists. "You were saying something about Terry Glasson?"

"Oh yeah. You know Terry is fine; does chores around their house, helps with the baby, and he's been helping Al too and Mrs. Snell. Plus when Louisa's child-minder complained about a roof leak. Boom! Quick as a flash he was up and out and on her roof setting a patch on it."

"Oh, really?"

"And you know what? Mr. Glasson can sing. My word what a lovely voice he's got! He came in all muddy from Mrs. Snell's farm late yesterday and I heard him a singing away in the shower upstairs."

Jenny turned her head when she heard Al helping Bert come down to the kitchen. "That is _very_ interesting."

"What's interesting?" Bert asked.

Al's eyes flicked at Morwenna for he feared she might have spilled the beans. "Oh, likely nothing much," he mumbled. "Is there?" He had hoped their undisclosed secret might wait.

Morwenna shook her head 'no' so Al relaxed.

Jenny announced to Bert, "Morwenna says that Terry Glasson's got a singing voice."

Bert sat down heavily at table. "Oh no! I know what you're thinking! Not on my watch, Jennifer Cardew Large! Not ON MY WATCH! I'll not have a… COMMON THIEF filling in fer me!"

Across the street, Louisa was folding laundry and could swear she heard a very angry Bert Large yelling at the top of his lungs. "Wonder what that's all about?"


	7. Chapter 7

The directions from Morwenna were less than helpful, the rutted road wavered all over the edge of Bodmin Moor, and when he'd finally found the isolated house his prospective patient said he was "fine now."

Martin looked around the tiny stone house and reflected that this was old age at its worst. "I'm here so I'll examine you anyway."

"Sorry Doc," old Mr. Cannon told him, "must have been those eggs I had for lunch other day. They smelled a bit off, but I cooked them up. My mum taught me not to waste food. But been sicker than a sick dog – lurky, a fever, and cramps to beat the band, but it's passed now."

Martin took his temperature and gave him a general exam anyway. "Yes," he sighed, "your temperature is normal." Palpation of his abdomen elicited no flinching, so his system had eliminated what was ailing him but blood pressure was slightly below normal and his heart sounded slow. He looked around the smelly kitchen piled with a jumble of dirty dishes, old newspapers, and broken furniture.

Cannon waved at the room. "About the mess, Doc; been meaning to clean up."

"Here," Martin gave him a small plastic specimen cup. "I need a urine sample."

"A what?"

Martin sighed. "Pee in this cup."

The man stumbled to his feet and shuffled thru a door. "How much you need Doc?" Cannon called out.

"Just… try to get some into it then bring it back. Try not to spill it." Not that it would matter in this stinking hovel.

As Cannon shuffled back to him Martin more closely observed as he slid his feet along the floor. "How long have you been walking like that?"

"Like what?"

Martin stomped over to the small fridge and opened it, nearly vomiting from the horrible odor. "Oh God!" he slammed the door and opened a window. "I'm surprised you haven't poisoned yourself before this! The food poisoning you had – past tense – was likely salmonella from contaminated eggs!"

The old man plopped heavily back into his rocking chair. "Salmonwhat? I didn't eat any fish!" Mr. Cannon grinned toothlessly. "And power's been off a while; that last storm."

"That was four days ago!" Martin grumbled. "Idiot." He observed further the grubby clothing the man was wearing and inhaled carefully for there was a clinical stench to the room beyond cigarettes, rotten food and a long unwashed body. "Take off your socks and shoes."

"Why?"

"Take off your socks and shoes!" Mr. Cannon was nearly eighty and was a widower. "You have any family to speak of?"

The man shook his grey head. "Not any more. All gone. Me and the wife never had no kids; wife's dead, all my cousins passed. Even the neighbors are gone or dead." He tipped off his shoes and pulled off his ragged socks.

Martin stared at the brownish toes and with a few swipes of an alcohol pad saw that under the dirt one toe on his right foot and two on the left were purplish and cool to the touch. One even had a touch of blackness to it. "You have dry gangrene," Martin told the pensioner. "How long have those toes been like this?"

"Like what?"

Martin explained that loss of peripheral circulation can cause death of tissue – specially toes and fingers. Cannon's fingers were warm and functional, although nicotine stained and filthy. "And you haven't noticed any loss of sensation?"

"Nope."

Martin massaged the damaged tissue and felt out pulses in his ankles which were good. "You're going to hospital."

"Why?"

Martin knew better than to try to explain but as he tested the urine sample for sugar, he tried anyway. "I think that you have either diabetes, _or_ peripheral atherosclerosis, either of which can compromise – erh cut off – blood flow to your toes. When the tissues don't get enough oxygen and nutrition through your blood…"

He watched as his chemical test kit showed no sugar in the urine, so he turned to stare at Cannon. "You have smoked for how long?"

"Since I were ten."

"Smoking can cut down blood flow, especially when aged. _Atherosclerosis_ then, which also explains your lower blood pressure and heart rate." Martin cleaned the cool toes and their healthier neighbors with a foaming cleanser then bandaged them with gauze pads and soft bandages. He looked up as Cannon reached down and patted his head. "Thanks Doc. That feels good. Warmer like."

Martin dusted off the knees of his trousers not that it would do any good. "Your phone…"

"Dodgy. I only managed to get a call through to your girl this afternoon when I felt so poorly."

"Morwenna's not MY girl," he sighed and pulled out his mobile. No signal bars showed. "Can't call for an ambulance," he muttered, so he put his things away and closed up his case. "Now Mr. Catton."

"_Cannon_. Peter Cannon."

"Right, let's go a ride."

"Where to?"

"Hospital." Martin supported the old man and got him into his Lexus shuddering at the smell he'd leave, so he turned up the heater but opened his window an inch as he drove away.

"Ah," Mr. Cannon rubbed his hands on the leather seat. "This is a mighty fine car, Doc."

Martin nodded slightly.

"Must be nice for you – a car, a decent house," he coughed and hacked and Martin watched as spittle flew over the dashboard. "And married to _Miss Glasson_. Ah," he sighed, "a looker."

Martin never knew how to reply to comments like that so he kept silent.

"And a baby boy as well. I hear he's named for Terry's dad?"

"Ah… yes."

Thankfully Cannon drifted into sleep, so deep that Martin feared he might have died like Selkirk had on the train, but when the old man started to snore and twitch Martin decreased his alert level.

The A&amp;E at Truro Hospital was crowded as always but Martin rapidly stirred up the triage staff when he told them, "eighty-year-old with dry gangrene of the toes and a dicky heart."

In short order Cannon was tucked onto clean sheets in a bed in a small exam room. Martin fidgeted until a registrar arrived and introduced herself. "I'm Dr. Collins."

Martin filled her in on his findings.

The young doctor was breathing thru her mouth as the smell of the unwashed body and filthy clothing filled the air. "Oh Jesus," the doctor whispered when Martin unwrapped his damaged toes and part of one fell off.

Peter Cannon stirred on the clean sheets. "So warm in here. Really nice."

"Yes, those toes are rather…" the registrar gulped as she prodded the dark tissue.

"_Dead_," Martin told her.

That's when the registrar leaned over a bin gagging.

"You'll get used to it," Martin told her. "Mr. Cannon, I'll be going."

Peter grabbed Martin's hand. "Sorry about all this," he said politely. "You know with Christmas comin' up and you was fixing my feet it reminded me of the story 'bout Jesus washin' the feet of the poor."

Martin knew the man was trying to thank him so he stayed silent. 'If you can't say something nice Martin… then don't.' How many times had Louisa told him that? Or another time when she was holding a shotgun on Bellamy the Bodmin hermit. 'Good manners cost nothing!'

The registrar straightened up, her face blanched. "Never seen a case like this before."

"You _will_," Martin told her. "The old and sick…" he turned to look at Cannon who was smiling. 'Uh, the old and sick _patients_ can be prone to poor diet, malnutrition, damaged hearts, diabetes, excessive smoking…" he sighed. "It's our job to care for them – heal them – if we can. And they're NOT cases, they are people!"

Peter Cannon smiled and took Martin's hand shaking it. "Thanks Doc, I'm obliged."

"Good manners cost nothing,' Martin thought. "Yes, you're welcome. Glad to uhm, help."

The young doctor looked at the old for she had heard of Martin Ellingham and his abrasive manners and words. Why it was almost like he was being _nice_ to this old codger!

"Now," Martin told her. "Clean him up, check out his cardiovascular system. Do another check for diabetes and I noticed his urine is cloudy so likely working on a kidney stone in there as well. These toes…" he sighed. "Mr. Westmore may want to have a look – your vascular man."

"You know Mr. Westmore?" she asked.

"Yes," Martin grunted. "I recently retrained him to embolize arteriovenous malformations." He dropped Cannon's hand. "I'll see that District Health checks in on you Mr. Casson."

"Cannon. And Doc? How long am I gonna be in here?"

"A few days," the registrar answered.

"Right then," Cannon replied and grinned at the pretty lady who was poking at his feet. "Come on fix me up."

Martin binned his gloves. "Do as he says."

The long drive back to the house got him thinking so when he got inside the door he went upstairs for he'd heard Louisa up there in James' room.

"Oh you're home," she said. She saw the stressed look in his eyes. "Problem?"

Martin shrugged. "Hard day."

"Dad's got James on a walk because it's dry out."

Martin looked at the clock. "When do you expect them back?"

"I dunnoh. Maybe a bit. Why?"

Martin slowly put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close.

"Oh! What brought this on?"

Martin kissed her ear. "Glad to have you and James."

Louisa slid her arms around his waist. "Me too." She kissed his cheek then sniffed at his clothing. "What _is_ that smell?"

Martin groaned. "Old patient, smelly house, the usual."

Louisa backed away. "Sorry Martin…" she waved her hand past her face. "That is a strong odor."

"I'll change."

Louisa smiled. "You don't have to change completely."

Martin was taking off his coat. "What?"

Louisa kissed his ear. "Let me help," she said and loosened his tie.

In a few minutes things were _just_ starting to get interesting when they heard the kitchen door open.

"We're home!" the throaty voice of Terry called up from below.

"Damn," Martin froze.

Louisa tousled his hair. "Later," she whispered then went to the door and called down. "How are my son and father?" Her hands swiftly re-buttoned her blouse.

Martin ducked into the bathroom to wash but he was grinning.


	8. Chapter 8

Morwenna waited to speak to Louisa until Jennifer gave her a prearranged eye signal.

Jennifer had just helped a hobbled Bert limp into Doc's surgery so when Louisa came downstairs Morwenna pounced. "Louisa, got a moment?"

Louisa was tired after not getting much sleep the night before plus a long day at school. Martin had slipped into slumber right after the two of them had… well… gotten friendly… _anyway_ Louisa didn't get much sleep for worrying about the school pageant and the Father Christmas debacle. She was about ready to implore Penhale to play Santa, but that would be _awful_. Joe Penhale's version of the jolly old elf would likely caution the kiddies about being 'good' or the local constable would throw them into his jail. So she sighed when Morwenna wanted a moment.

"I'm just going to have tea," Louisa answered her. "Want some? We can talk out in the kitchen."

Morwenna followed her and Jenny trotted along behind.

Louisa looked askance at her sudden group tea. "Jennifer, I didn't know…"

"Louisa," Jenny said, "We need to talk about Father Christmas. Bert's being' seen to by Martin so it's a good time."

The Head Teacher sighed deeply. "I know, I know. Less than two weeks… and I've got nobody."

"Bert so wants to do it, but he can't or won't," Jenny said. "You know how men can be; stubborn."

Louisa flashed on her previous night and smiled for Martin was rather… insistent. "Sometimes stubborn can be good."

Morwenna cocked her head for she sensed there was something else going on under the surface but she let it go. "Your dad…"

"What's Terry done this time?" Louisa asked harshly. "I _know_ you don't want him here. But where else can he go! I can't very well throw him in the street! So what is it? Littering? Jaywalking? Feeding seagulls?" She slowly sat down in a kitchen chair and hung her head.

"No, no! It's…" Morwenna stopped. "Louisa, your dad's done _nothing_ wrong far as I know."

Louisa's head whipped around. "Really?" she said softly. "Oh."

"Lotta good actually, from what we've heard," Jenny replied. "Oh yes there is _talk_… but I don't care about that old stuff."

Morwenna sat down next to Louisa. "It's like this, Terry – your dad – we were thinkin' that he could do it; be Father Christmas."

Louisa lifted a gloomy face. "No…"

"Yes," Jenny said.

Morwenna took Louisa's hand. "Yep. We figure he's got a beard and he's a bit portly, plus he can sing. I've heard him."

Louisa looked at the two women. Did they mean it? Were they that anxious that Louisa had not found a solution? Granted Terry was trying very hard to be a model citizen, despite Joe Penhale hiding behind every corner checking on him, but Father Christmas? Really?

Jennifer interrupted her train of thought. "He'll be perfect! The kids will _love_ him. We've seen how he dotes on your James."

Louisa sighed then wiped her eyes. "Nice of you to suggest him."

Morwenna rubbed Louisa's hand. "No; not nice. _Practical_. He can do it. The village kids will love him."

"Just the adults we have to convince," Louisa mumbled.

Jennifer smiled at her. "We can deal with them."

"No, no, no, and double _no_!" Bert was muttering and definitely not under his breath, his voice booming in the Village Hall.

Chairs had been set up in a circle, for Louisa knew that way everyone in the circle was equal. If it worked for her students it ought to work for adults, right? Portwenn's Head Teacher could see that she was wrong.

Bert's face had turned purple as he blustered, three of the lifeboat crew were shaking their heads, Penhale scowled, Mrs. Edie rubbed her arms as if in distress, Pippa Woodley was shaking her head, Chippy Miller glowered, and so forth. Only Al Large was the exception as he thoughtfully rubbed on his chin.

Louisa wanted to interject some civility into the proceedings, but while Bert was shouting, that was a non-starter, so she let them all vent for a minute or two.

The front door opened and Clive Tishell bumbled in. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered. "Late – sorry." He took the last empty seat and brightly said, "Now, what have I missed?"

That started a flood of shouting and near threats.

Louisa shrank inside for it was _not_ a good meeting of the Portwenn Christmas Fair council.

Jennifer's eyes flashed fire as she shouted at the noisy crowd of twenty or so. "Can it you lot!"

Clive looked at the assembly. "That's better. Now what's all the shouting about?"

That started another round of yelling and shouting.

Clive smiled vacantly when he heard what was afoot. "Terry Glasson? Well why not? Out on the rig we had this one fella… mean as a snake when he was liquored up but when he was on the job… life of the party!""

"Oh shut it!" shouted Chippy.

Clive ducked his head. "I was only sayin'…"

"And for Louisa to be proposing her _own_ dad…" Louisa heard someone yell and her heart fell further.

That was the point at which Morwenna jumped to her feet and with eyes filled with fire lay into them. "Shame on you! All of you! It's _not_ Louisa that proposed this! It's _me_ and Mrs. Large so you can just take your anger and redirect it at _me_ and _Jennifer_! That's right!" That took the wind out of their sails at least for a few seconds. She let the silence sit for a few seconds then asked, "So what's wrong with Mr. Glasson?"

"But _think_ about what you're saying," Penhale moaned. "We can't… uhm; it wouldn't be _proper_…" he looked abashed at Louisa. "I mean, we can't have… uhm, well, what would other…."

That's when Louisa rose to her full height and crossed her arms. "Morwenner, sit."

Morwenna took her seat next to Al and he took her hand but she still looked upset.

Louisa turned slowly orbiting the rough center of the ring. "This is not about… _Terry_… my dad… it's about having Father Christmas _here_, in _this_ Hall in ten days," she told them. "The Fair _will_ go on; it _will_ _be_ _held_. We _need_ a Father Christmas… and none of YOU are _willing_," she looked at Bert's long face, "sorry Bert, or _able_ to do it."

She took a deep breath. "Now the children of this village _will_ see Father Christmas; _here_; in a week and a half." Then she made another revolution so she could see everyone's face. "Any volunteers?"

Clive crossed his arms while Bert glared at her, but most looked at the floor or away from her.

Al raised his hand slowly. "Louisa I could do it."

That started a chorus of _boos_ and _no's_.

Morwenna leaned close to him. "Al – as much as I admire your volunteerism, _no_. You're too skinny and your voice is a little on the thin side." She pecked his cheek. "Sorry sweetie."

Her last words drew a chorus of catcalls and whistles from most of the men as Al blushed, drawing some needed laughter.

Miss Meeker of the Church Benevolent Circle raised her hand. "I think it's entirely practical for Mr. Glasson to do this." She paused. "After all, the Good Lord ate with tax collectors."

"I'll take a tax collector any day," muttered Bert, which earned him a swift kick in the ankle – his good one – from his wife.

Louisa was starting to grind her teeth when the door opened once more and Carole Snell stood in the doorway, her battered hat in her hand.

"Am I interruptin'?" the woman asked.

Louisa shrugged.

Mrs. Snell came forward and stood behind Chippy. "Getting' the tar and feathers ready?"

Penhale shook his head. "No… that would be… illegal."

Jenny nodded, "Yes. Mrs. Snell." She glared around the room. "That's about right."

Carole looked down at Chippy Miller. "Shove over," she told him and squeezed herself between him and Mrs. Edie.

Miss Meeker cleared her throat. "You want to support Terry Glasson, I suppose. He's okay with me."

Mrs. Snell nodded. "Too right. You know he's been helping me on the farm. I can't pay him much but I do," her voice trembled. "Ain't much but it's what we can afford. And the other afternoon he was up on Janie Werren's roof in a strong wind again, trying to get slate rehung on her old house."

She sniffed and turned around. "None of you was up there with him on a slippery roof," she commented. "But here you sit, on your arses, pardon ladies, cuttin' the man down. I know fer a fact Jane paid him with a cake 'cause she had no money."

Louisa spoke up. "And a very good cake it was." Then she thought to herself that perhaps they needed to raise Jane's pay a bit. "Look everyone; we need Father Christmas, right?"

Mrs. Snell smiled. "I hope like 'ell that you all get some religion," she glanced down at Miss Meeker, "Sorry Katie, 'cause you're bein' a bunch of hypocrites! You need help, Terry Glasson can do it. Just…" she stopped and her voice trembled. "Let the past _be_ the past. Live and let live. I wish like 'ell you knew… you knew… how bloody much it hurts when you're the butt of gossip."

Louisa crossed the ring and put her arms around Carole who put her head on her shoulder for a minute.

"Sorry Louisa, you know what I mean," Carole said into her ear.

"Small village," Louisa answered softly. "Yes… I _do_ know." There were some in the village who had never forgiven her for 'getting herself pregnant' without benefit of marriage. "Thanks."

Mrs. Snell nodded. "We Cornish are tough – we have to be."

Louisa dropped her arms. "So everyone, what's it to be?" she asked the assembly.

"Have a bloody heart," Carole Snell told them loudly. "Ain't like none of you never done nothin' wrong. You gonna' forgive Terry Glasson? Or just keep pourin' salt in an old wound? Or do some of you want to keep him locked up forever? Would that make you feel better? He got paroled, so get over it! Yes he done wrong _and_ he got punished."

Al Large stood up and started to clap. "Let's hear it for Terry Glasson. Come on everybody! Come on!" he urged the rest.

Grudgingly and perhaps ashamedly the throng muttered their assent, but for a few long faces and pouts.

Louisa put her arm around Carole and hugged her "Thank you so much."

"Like I told you – fair's fair," Mrs. Snell nodded her head. "Now I best be off. Things to do."

Morwenna and Jenny went over to Louisa and told her, "Congratulations," together.

"Right," sighed Louisa. "Now I have to convince dad."


	9. Chapter 9

Emboldened by what ought to be called grudging acceptance of the Fair council, Louisa headed home to talk to her father. There were many things which she wished were different between her and dad, but even with their rough patches, there was a huge difference between them and Martin's parents – who were parents in _biology_ alone.

Louisa had resolved to be direct, yet supportive, but was bracing herself for a refusal; which when it came would put her in a real bind. So she ran back and forth over Terry's likely refusal as she tried to decide what she would reply to each protest. That being said by the time she got into the house she'd chewed her lower lip almost to pieces and had a pounding head and a twitching eyelid from tension.

Terry was snoozing in a chair in the front room when she went into the house. She could hear Martin doing something with James upstairs and surgery was closed, so this was the time; as good as any.

She shed her coat and bag then crouched down by him. "Dad?" she called to him.

He trembled then opened his eyes. "Oh, hullo sweetheart."

"I… uhm, how things go today?"

"Oh," he yawned and stretched, "you know. Middlin'."

"Right."

Terry looked at her and saw the concerned lines around her eyes. "What's going on?"

She sighed. "Got something to ask you."

Terry sat bolt upright. "Louisa, sweetheart, we been over this."

"No we haven't," she said. "This is about… well…"

"Look," Terry spread his hands wide, "I was _desperate_. There was this horse…"

"Dad, stop."

"No, no! Let me finish! I took the lifeboat money because I had a hot tip on a race horse – and when it won – we'd be in the money. I…" his lips quivered, "I wanted to help you; knew you'd need things for school up in London."

Her head drooped. "I didn't really know that little detail – about school."

He went on, "And don't you think I know what people have been sayin' behind my back _and_ in earshot? I hate it, Louiser; it cuts me to the quick."

Just then Martin carried James downstairs, re-latched the baby barrier at the foot of the stairs then followed their son into the room, for James Henry had been walking very well for some months. Sensing a family discussion, he scooped up James and said to him, "Come on James, let's go back upstairs."

"No, no, Martin you and James can stay," Terry said. "No secrets and it's _your_ house. Louisa that's _why_ I left the village; you ought to know. People knew or would figure things out that I took the cash box. You were up to London soon after so I did a bunk. Went far and wide and only came back here when you was done with school once in a while, but when the tongues got waggin' _too much_ or _too loud_ I'd leave once more. _Inexcusable_, I know. But I had this one little problem…"

"Your gambling," Louisa said sadly.

Terry laughed. "It was only being in the nick that I could get off it. Them's that was hooked on liquor and drugs had a rougher time than me. Oh yeah we'd bet cigarettes on the cockroach races but…" he sighed. "I been pretty stupid."

"If you have a gambling problem there are a number of groups…" Martin ducked his head, "from whom you can receive counselling."

Terry grunted. "I know. Was workin' with some of those afore I come down here."

Louisa shook her head. "Dad…"

Terry said, "So I'm sorry. I'll be sorry the rest of my days and after if I get that chance." He sat up straighter. "So the _honest_ and _narrow_ path for me forever more." He ran his hand across his eyes. "I know I'm an _embarrassment_; a _failure_, and can guess how you must _resent_ me. You the Head Teacher and look at me, what have I got?" Then he jumped from his chair and went to the window and looked out at the harbor. "I shouldn't have come back."

Louisa stayed as she was crouched by his vacant chair. "Dad… you could always come back. I know…" she gulped, "I know things aren't…" she cast a panicked look at Martin.

"Perfect," Martin added.

"Too right," Terry grunted.

Martin sighed, stuck between Louisa and her father. "Mr. Glasson, people make mistakes. We… erh," her stopped for Louisa was now looking very intently at him as a memory struck a spark in his brain. "It's what makes us…" he went on, "_human_."

Louisa peered up at Martin in wonder. Had he actually said that – admitted that people were people? That making mistakes made us human? Well, counselling must be helping more than she knew so his comments merited a quick smile from her.

Martin knew very well where and when he'd heard that phrase. It was at the Coach and Four pub where James Henry was born and Louisa had been trying to tell him that the prostate and insensate taxi driver didn't mean to poison himself; all that just before she went into labor. "Too, uhm, human at times."

Louisa stood up. "Dad?" she called to his rigid back.

Terry squared his shoulders and turned around. "I'm gonna go away, I guess. Have to square it with the parole chap." He sighed. "Leastways then I'll be outta your hair."

James chose that moment to wander over to Terry and tug on his trousers so Terry picked him up and cuddled him. "Guess you'll be better with me gone. I'll miss you little man."

"But…" Louisa responded. "We, uhm, _I_, don't want you to go."

Martin stood aside wondering what he ought to say. Support Louisa and ask him to stay? He wasn't happy with the man's history but he certainly could not fault _anything_ he had done in the last two weeks under their roof.

Louisa looked over at him and waved her head sideways at her dad.

"Uhm, yes, don't feel…" Martin blurted out. "That you must leave." That about said it all. Not exactly accepting but not rejecting but then he recalled his own grandfather Henry who'd given him a frog to dissect when he was five and a pocket watch when he was six. Family was not just parents he knew. Family was beyond the strict biological as well.

"James… James _might_ like to know his grandfather," Martin said next, which resulted in Louisa going to him and taking his hand.

"And besides, dad," Louisa said next, "who will be Father Christmas for the village children if you leave?"

Terry's head swung up. "What?"

"Father Christmas – in the Portwenn Christmas Fair," Louisa said. "We, uhm, the village _wants_ you to play him."

At that point Martin felt a sharp twinge in his hand as Louisa squeezed it tightly, a sign from their joint counseling to keep his mouth shut. He just stared at her.

"Okay dad?" Louisa said her throat thick with emotion. "Just stay."

Terry flinched. The villagers wanted him? "You're all daft." He shook his head. "Desperate like."

Louisa shrugged. "Whatever."

"Bloody Christmas miracle," Terry muttered in wonder.


	10. Chapter 10

Ruth bumped into Martin outside the market. "Good afternoon nephew," she told him.

"Uhm, yes. How are you?" he asked

"Fine. I was shopping in Truro the other day and I could have sworn I saw your car whiz past me by hospital."

"Yes," he said. "Patient. Elderly. Sick and decrepit."

Ruth grinned. "You could be describing half the county."

Martin grunted. "Dry gangrene of three toes."

"That sounds serious."

"Yes. They may have to take only one of the digits."

"Sounds like you've taken a personal interest in the case."

He shrugged. "Man's house was a…" he searched for a proper word to describe the horrible state it was in. "_Hovel_."

"Must be Mr. Cannon. I heard one the church ladies discussing him in the cafe."

"Lives alone; no family to speak of…" he stopped. "Ill and on his own. Sad actually."

"Like I said to you, nephew – a personal interest?"

"He's a patient and note I have not identified him; you guessed his name."

"Ah. Which you just confirmed." Ruth smiled. "I do believe living here has civilized you."

"What?"

She gave him a twisted smile; almost a smirk. "I'll wager in London you'd not have cared at all about a patient's home state."

Martin recoiled. "Wait. Stop right there!"

Joe Penhale stuck his head around the building corner. "Doc? Uh, I mean Doctor Ellingham?"

Ruth looked at Martin and then at Joe. "Which one?"

Joe ducked his head. "The one that's not retired…"

Martin sighed. "Do you have a medical problem?"

The question made Joe's eyes roll in their sockets. "No. Not really. More of a …"

"Then go away."

Ruth shook her head at his rude response. "Perhaps it's more of a non-medical issue?"

Joe snapped his fingers. "Right."

"Stands to reason I might be able to help then, unless you really wish to speak to your GP."

Martin moaned, "Oh God."

Joe sighed. "It's like this, well you remember when Mags, uhm, I mean Maggie, my ex, was down here? She… she sent me a text message other day, saying we should talk."

"So?" Ruth told him. "Talk to the woman."

Martin looked at his watch. "I must be going." He hefted his shopping and turned to walk away.

"But wait, Doc! I Mean Doctor Martin Ellingham," Joe laughed nervously. "Too difficult this two doctor thingy. But anyway, I was asked to ask you if you might consider doing the honors of pressing the button to switch on the Christmas lights for the village."

Martin shook his head. "No."

"But it's quite an honor."

"No."

Ruth listened as Joe pressed on about the village really wanting Martin to do it, while Martin continued to refuse. Ruth shook her head. When she met Louisa the sad day of Joan's funeral, the girl had told her that things between her and Martin were 'a little bit complicated.'

The determined way in which Martin stood toe-to-toe with Joe over such a simple request made her sigh. Martin _had_ come a long way since his and Louisa's crisis last summer, but she knew he needed some gentle guidance. Taking a breath she interrupted the pleading constable and the stubborn GP. "Joe, perhaps what Martin is saying is that he needs to check his schedule to see if he can indeed do it."

Her nephew turned open mouthed to her. "No! Aunt Ruth!"

"And Joe, he'll get back to you," she finished.

Joe smiled. "Thanks so much Doc. Uhm, both Docs."

Penhale swaggered away as Martin blew an irritated blast through his nose. "I didn't need that!" he said angrily.

"Yes, nephew you _did_. If Terry Glasson is going to be Father Christmas then you can certainly throw a switch."

Martin shook his head. "No."

Ruth grinned at him. "Yes you can."

"I won't do it," he was saying to Louisa as they prepared dinner.

Louisa shook her head. "Why not? Can't hurt. Has to be more enjoyable than judging the Pig of the Year Contest." She checked the oven and the temperature was just right for the chicken. "Hand me that hot mitt please?"

Martin put the mitt on his own hand and picked up the earthenware dish holding it ready.

Louisa opened the oven door then closed it after he put the dish inside. "Forty-five minutes and the chicken hot pot will be done."

He set the timer on his watch.

Louisa patted his arm. "Thanks." She turned back to the table. "We need to put the Christmas tree up this weekend."

Martin winkled his nose. "Have to buy one first."

"That too. James will enjoy it." Louisa looked at James who was playing with blocks in the front room, then back at her husband. "You're not happy."

Martin shrugged knowing there was nothing to say.

"I thought you came down for school holidays at Christmas."

"Ah, yes, sometimes," he answered recalling a particularly horrid year when he was one of the five boys left to board over at school, when all the other students had gone. "Not after I was eleven."

Louisa sighed. "I love Christmas; lights, food, presents, time with friends."

Martin looked at his watch. "I have some email to read," he said and he left the room.

Louisa sank down on a chair for a minute then checking to see that James was not in any danger, chased after Martin into surgery.

Martin was logged into his computer and checking the latest medical news board items when Louisa waltzed in, spun his chair away from the desk and plopped herself onto his lap.

"Ooof, Louisa!" He squirmed.

"No. _Stay_." She sighed while she stroked his hair above his collar. "I'm sorry you are down here because you can't do surgery anymore, I'm sorry that you have to be a GP, and I'm very sorry that your blood phobia is still trying to come back, _but _I am _not_ sorry that we are _married_, or that we have a _son_, or that _Christmas_ is just around the corner."

"Louisa that's not the point."

"Well what is? We had a nice time last Christmas; at least I did."

"You bought me these cufflinks I am wearing and… you wanted those mystery novels."

"Which Santa brought and the new nightdress, thank you." She snuggled into his lap and his arms slowly came up to surround her. "So don't be a grouch, please? I know! You and dad can buy us a tree."

"Louisa, I am _not_ marching into the forest."

"Heaven's no… just up at the carpark stand. A little tree is fine and then we can decorate it. In fact I think you should go this evening."

Martin audibly sighed.

After they had eaten Martin had wanted to take the car but Terry forced him to walk.

"Come on Martin! Let's walk!" Terry had said, all excited. "Fresh air and a clear night, good exercise…"

As Terry chattered on about what Jane had said that afternoon, or Carole that morning, or the way Buddy the dog had taken to following him about, or how smart James seemed Martin shivered in his suit and overcoat. He almost wished he was wearing rough corduroy trousers such as Terry was wearing for they had to be warmer.

So Martin followed Terry up to the top of the village to the stand where a sign read 'Santa Trees.' The place was lit by two bare bulbs which did not give much light. Trees and pine ropes were stacked in two long aisles, with a few trees roughly propped up in front. The scent of pine, fir, and resinous sap was heavy in the air.

Terry smiled at the sight for he had missed doing this. "Now, Martin pick out a tree; a nice one."

Automatically Martin bent down and grasped the first tree he laid his hand on which was thinly needled and was only about three feet tall. "This one."

The tree vendor, an old fisherman named Larry Meadows, shook his head. Doc Martin at his finest he thought. Poor Miss Glasson married to a git like this! "You really want that one, Doc?" he sniffed. "Crooked at the bottom and there's a hole big enough to throw a dog through!"

"Not that one." Terry rubbed his hands. "Larry, find us a tree. A decent one."

"How tall?"

"Doc?"

"Whatever," Martin grunted.

Terry instructed Larry, "About five feet I guess, not too thick. Narrowish."

Larry rubbed his head and squinted. "Got some over here…" he wandered down an aisle piled high on either side by trees tied up in rope.

"Doc," Terry said.

"Yes?"

"Come here. Outa the lights."

"Why?"

Terry went into the shadows waving him to follow.

Grudgingly Martin followed. "What's this about?"

"Let your eyes adjust. Look up."

It was a clear dark night and in a few seconds stars popped into view, blasting Martin's retinas with their number. His mouth fell open in wonder.

"Look at that Martin," Terry whispered. "And the moon over there in last quarter goin' down." He breathed deep. "I missed this inside."

"Prison."

"Yep, prison." Terry dug his hands deep into his pockets. "Never to see sky at night or feel rain or… see stars…" his voice trailed away.

Martin said nothing; just stood next to his father-in-law and watched a meteorite burn itself up fifty miles overhead; a tiny streak of light fading to nothing.

Terry went on. "Or Christmas trees. They hung a string of lights up in the canteen one year until hooligans busted them up."

Martin looked at Terry Glasson and for the first time felt sorry for him. "I am sorry."

Terry shook himself then smiled as he grabbed Martin's elbow. "Come on then Doc. We got a tree to buy."


	11. Chapter 11

"Come here, little boy," Terry said to James. James walked to him and his grandfather picked him up. "Got that tree ready there Martin?"

Martin had his head down trying to nail two cross pieces to the tree's stump. "Almost…" he grunted.

"Want me to do it?" Louisa asked.

Martin shook his head. "No, I almost have it." Martin then managed to nail the tree trunk to the wood laths and get them square. He put down the hammer and lifted the tree so it sat upright on the cross pieces that Terry had pried off a broken pallet he found by the Platt.

"Well, look at that," Terry said. "What you think James Henry?"

"Treee, ttree," James replied then he bounced up and down in Terry's arms.

"That's right," Louisa answered him. "Ready for the lights?"

Martin set the tree into the far corner of the lounge and stepped back, having no real idea what he was doing. Last year Louisa had bought a small tree and put it up while he had a house call, leaving Martin baffled then and now how it was done.

Louisa cocked her head. "Turn it a bit."

Martin did so.

"No, other way."

Martin tuned it anti-clockwise not sure what was going on.

"That's it, right there," Louisa told him. "What you think dad?"

Terry looked at the tree and could not speak. "I…" he gulped. "Most beautiful tree in the house."

Louisa opened a large carton on the coffee table. "Here's the lights, Martin. You want me to put them on?"

Martin brushed at the knees of his trousers. "If you wish."

Louisa smiled at her husband knowing it was his way to tell her that if she wanted it done, she had better do it herself. "Right." She took three strands of white mini-lights out of the carton, plugged them together and into a wall socket and by a miracle all the bulbs lit up. "Joy."

She looped the strands about the tree at the top, having to nudge Martin who stood in her way, then back and forth across the visible branches. When she'd finished she turned to face the three men in her life. "Come on boys, ornaments? Tinsel? Garlands?"

Terry started showing James how to hang an ornament on a branch but stopped himself. "Martin here. You show the lad."

Martin was startled. "Me?"

Terry handed him a red ornament. "Show the boy how it's done."

Martin appeared not to know what to do with his hands and Louisa caught his uncomfortable look. "I bet you helped Joan and Phil back in the day, am I right?" she prodded him.

"Uhm…" a faded memory slowly surfaced in Martin's brain. "I suppose."

He took James from his father-in-law, held the ornament by the hook in his other hand and told James to hold it with him. "Now… we find a branch… and hang it."

James managed to get the hook over a small branch and the ornament swung back and forth. That's when the memory actually hit Martin in full. "And James…" he murmured, "that is how we decorate a tree."

It was their gardener cum-handyman who put the tree up in his parent's house and it was that man, Ted Something-or-other, who'd enlisted a very tiny Martin to help him decorate it. As that memory played out Martin remembered a crash followed by a female a scream and his mother yelling at Ted that he had "let the boy" break a _precious_ ornament and therefore "the both of you have _ruined_ Christmas!"

Martin stood motionless, wheels of memory spinning, segueing to another Christmas, this one at the farm. He and Aunt Joan had strung popcorn and made ornaments of ribbon and bits of shell and wood. He'd eaten far more popcorn they he'd used to make a garland, but Joan had chucked him under his chin and popped more. So Martin sighed then kissed James' cheek.

"Problem?" Louisa asked who'd draped garlands around her neck to keep them untangled.

"Uhm, no," Martin replied. "James, let's take another ornament; you pick it."

James grabbed a large gold one, with the words 'Our 1st Christmas' painted on it in white script.

"Careful with that sweetie," Louisa said and flashed a brilliant smile at Martin. "That one's special."

Martin cleared his throat. "Ahem, yes, let's do be careful."

Terry coughed so Louisa and Martin looked at him. "It… uhm, it's all very nice looking. The tree, I mean," he said quietly.

"Come on then dad, help us," Louisa said to him. "It won't put itself up."

In short order the tree was decorated, even as James moved ornaments around at the bottom until there was a cluster of bright balls packed together in a space about a foot across and as high as he could reach.

"That's my lad," Terry laughed. "Yer mum used to do just the same when she was a little 'un."

Martin on the other had been forbidden to touch the ornate tree at his boyhood home, for it was set up strictly for display and "not for touching." Such a difference in temperament and style he mused between his mother and his wife.

Louisa was beaming at him from across the room and he actually had no idea why she was smiling so. Another mystery he thought; one more of the enjoyable puzzle that was Louisa Glasson Ellingham.

He was still trying to adjust himself to her moods, nudges and winks, a soft touch of her hand, or her stepping on his toes under a table. Many times he got it wrong what those signs meant, but tonight he thought he might have some clue. Louisa was _happy_… that's what that smile must mean.

After James had a bath and gone to bed, and Terry had gone out for a walk to "clear his head," Louisa patted the sofa next to herself so Martin sat down next to her.

The tree in the corner glowed softly. "Looks very nice," she whispered.

Martin squinted with a critical eye. "Bit crooked at the top."

Louisa cocked her head. "No matter."

"That star up there is rather battered," Martin muttered.

The tree topper was very old and made from a pie tin and Louisa distinctly remembered when her dad had made it.

She must have been about six or seven and had been reading a book of Christmas stories. She'd read aloud to her mum and dad about how a Christmas tree needed a star at the top. She'd pointed out that theirs had a bare top. There weren't many ornaments on their ragged tree but her dad went to work with scissors, file, and hammer and awl and in an hour a large aluminum star adorned their tree.

Terry got very teary when she'd taken the old thing from the bottom of the carton. "Oh look at that," he sighed. "You kept it."

Louisa nodded slowly, her eyes suddenly very wet. "I did."

That's when Terry fled to the kitchen to make tea and set out a plate of biscuits. When he came out with the tray, Louisa could not but notice his red eyes.

"You okay?" she asked him and he nodded dumbly but she knew he wasn't okay at all.

So with her dad outside, she mentioned her suspicions to Martin. "I think dad was really touched by the tree and all. The ornaments."

That's when Martin told her what Terry had said to him at the tree vendor's – about missing stars and the night and Christmas.

"Oh…" Louisa said softly. "That's…oh… so…" she put her arm around Martin, buried her face in his shoulder and had a very good cry.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"Steady on!" Terry yelled while Jennifer Large tried to fit the red and white costume to him.

"Just stay still for Heaven's sake!" she said back.

Terry groaned. "This is all a mistake."

"You're tellin' me," Bert grumped from behind his newspaper and rattled the pages for emphasis.

"Bert! A word?" Jenny downed tools and marched over to her hubby. Bending over she put her nose an inch from his and through clenched teeth ripped into him. "Nip it! Enough with your snarky comments!"

Bert sulked. "Just repeatin' what _he_ said."

Terry tried to not listen but in their small lounge it was impossible.

"If you weren't so darn _stubborn_ and had gotten up on a ladder instead of a chair, you'd NOT have fallen and mangled your ankle!" she hissed further.

"Well, I'm defending… the defending the uhm…" Bert stammered, "The uhm…"

Jenny shook her head. "Shut it! Why are so prickly about this? Hm? Is it because you can't play Father Christmas or because Terry Glasson's gonna do it?"

Bert lowered his voice. "Yes and especially YES."

Terry had had enough. "That's it! I'm done!" he started to unbutton the red jacket. "I've had it!" He shook his head violently. "You don't want me, I know, but… what the hell can I do? So here," he marched across the room and threw the garment at Bert's feet. "Stuff it." Then he turned on his heel and stomped out the door, taking his coat with him.

Jenny sighed trying to muster her strength. She looked down at Bert whose jowls were quivering. "I'll deal with YOU later!" Then she ran out after Terry wrapping a shawl about herself.

She saw him marching away up the hill so she followed. At the very top of Lobber's Point, the high headland that guarded the village on the west, she caught up with him. He turned his head when he heard her approach.

"Oh, it's you," he said grumpily.

"Yep; me," Jenny answered.

Terry fished out a cigarette and started to light it but stopped. "Managed to quit but even now I get hankering for a smoke."

Jenny wrapped the shawl tighter about her upper body for the wind was perishing. "Terry…"

He sighed sadly. "It's all so hard, you know?"

"Right." Jenny had plenty of experience as a pharmacist examining people and she could see that Terry was under stress. She knew it had to be very hard for the man, all his sins exposed, but she also sensed a lot of strength in him. "Not many would be here in Portwenn, I mean… would have _come_ back."

He shook his head. "Where else could I go? Sure as hell not to Spain for I can't leave the country." He put the cigarette back in his pocket. "Not that Eleanor would have me." He sniffed and rubbed his arms in the stiff wind. "Besides _she_ left me; not other way around." he stared at his feet miserably. "All a giant cockup."

Jenny shook her head. "Not me nor Louisa nor anybody can fix that, or what happened; can't change a word of it."

Terry smiled and recited,

"_The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, _

_Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit,_

_Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,_

_Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it." _

He smiled at her. "That Omar Khayyam could sure write good stuff. Knew a bloke in the nick that knew all his poems by heart," then he blushed. "Even the naughty stuff from old Omar."

Jenny smiled. "I understand what you are saying. No one can go back and change what happened. It's history. And my Bert's bein' a pain."

Terry shook his head. "And I'm to be hung for it forever more. But Bert's not the worst, by the way. Him and me used to be mates, closest I had when Louisa was little."

"I know." Jenny let the silence between them lay for a few seconds. "So now what? You think you can show them how strong you are? Make 'em eat their words?" Jenny had heard nasty things said about Terry, but for that matter everybody in a small village bore a burden for in this place no one ever forgot anything. "Wouldn't it be better if you could do that; for you and Louisa and for James and Martin? Call me a silly old woman but that's what my head and my heart are telling me."

Terry looked up and winked at her. "My dear, you're not old." Then he laughed. "Guess I oughta suck it up and let you fit that suit on me."

"Good," Jenny answered. "Now let's got home afore we freeze to death!"

Terry laughed. "I'm thinking a hot cuppa would thaw us out. You think I should have a word with Bert?"

Jenny took his arm on the way back down the hill. "I think that's a very good idea."

In the house, Bert watched guardedly as Terry brought him a steaming mug of coffee. "Jenny said you like it white with two sugars."

Bert looked at the mug suspiciously then took it in his meaty hand. "Thanks."

Terry sat in the other chair an arm's length from Bert. "So," he began, "I'm thinkin' you're not very happy with me or with…" he waved his arm around then brought his hand back so his fingers pointed at his own chest, "me."

Bert blew across the top of the hot coffee. "You're smarter than you look."

Terry smiled at the dig. He'd heard worse. "Bert, listen, I've done bad things; wrong things. I can't jump into that _blue box_ and go back into time and stop myself. Right?" He laughed. "And if I could I'd likely foul things up worse."

Bert sipped his coffee. "That's the one thing we agree on." He glared at Terry. "You _are_ a _tosser_!"

Terry grinned ruefully. "Too right. That's me. I'm an idiot, a dunce and I've screwed up things so many times…"

Bert laughed. "You see when you go on like this I actually agree with you. Go on then! More! I'm enjoyin' this!"

Terry shook his head. "Way back I was a tryin' to raise Lousier on my own, after Eleanor flew the coop, and there you were a widower raisin' little Al. After your Mary died I didn't know how you'd manage to keep goin' but you did."

Bert put his coffee down on the side table. "Weren't easy, that's for sure."

"But look at 'em now. Your Al and Morwenna Newcross; like that," he held up his index and middle finger intertwined on his right hand. "A cute couple."

"Yep; they're getting' on."

"And my Louiser, married and a mum, Head Teacher too."

"Your Louisa is the gem of the village," Bert exclaimed. "She's had a hard road but she pulled through it all."

Terry shook his head. "You and me; our kids; I'm thinkin' we're more alike than different."

"Oh?" Bert said suspiciously.

"You and me – single dads – never had much to go on or work with, but for one difference."

"What's that?"

Terry took a deep breath then plunged on. "_You_ got it done. Weren't easy but you worked for your dad plumbing. Me… I took the other path; the sneaky one – I cut corners – tried to _finagle_ my way through life. You on the other hand, didn't. You spent a lot of your working days with your hands in the guts of a leaky toilet or worse."

Bert nodded slowly. "Got that right – 'bout the toilets," then his eyes snapped up towards Terry. "That's some of the smartest words I ever heard you say Terry Glasson."

"Good. Then we understand one another." Terry leaned forward. "So mate, here's the thing. Other than Louisa and her baby there ain't much of anything I got that's worth a tinker's damn." He looked at Bert earnestly. "For old time's sake if nothing else. Get off my back and give me a break; just this once? I'm not asking for a free road, just… just ease off, please? I'm begging you."

Bert looked at the floor for a good while but then he looked at Terry full in the face. "Okay, Santa." Bert picked up his coffee and held it out towards Terry. "Cheers mate."

Terry held out his too so they clinked their mugs together in silent agreement.

**Author's notes:**

**Omar Khayyam – Persian and Sufi mystic, philosopher, poet, mathematician, and astronomer of the late 11****th**** and early 12****th**** centuries. His best known poetry work is the **_**'Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.'**_

**Blue box – Doctor Who's TARDIS – a time machine**


	13. Chapter 13

"So here we are," Joe Penhale addressed the crowd outside the Village Hall, "All together. I think the last time I saw this many folk all at once was at the weddin' of the fine couple standin' behind me."

Louisa and James were pressed right against Martin's arm and their warmth on this cold night felt good to him, despite the intense feeling of embarrassment trying to overwhelm him.

Louisa had urged her dad to come to the Hall but he'd refused.

"No, no," he protested. "I'd be a distraction. You three go on." So Terry stayed home reading a book.

Louisa felt Martin tense up, which was silly, but at times he acted like a scared little boy.

"Now," Joe cleared his throat, "why are we here?" He looked proudly around the small square thinking there were more attending than last year.

"Hurry up Joe!" somebody called out. "I'm fookin' freezin'!"

"Steady now! Give me a minute! Ahem… as part of the village of Portwenn, we all gather one week before Christmas Day to see the Christmas Light Up!"

Martin saw Penhale was smiling a lot, almost maniacally, so he wondered if his dosages needed to be changed. He bent his head towards Louisa. "Do you think Joe seems… _agitated_?"

"Martin! Shush!" she answered him quietly.

Joe went on, "Now, this has been a tradition longer then you and me been around, even longer than any of us been around."

Martin shifted from one foot to the other. "Lord."

Louisa nudged him so he went quiet.

"Now, tonight! We have! Doctor! Ellingham!" Joe went on announcing each word as if he was addressing a crowd outside of Buckingham Palace, instead of the forty of so gathered on this night. Most of the village was empty in Winter since a lot of homes and cottages were now owned by weekenders from London and Exeter, but all the same, they kept up what traditions they could. Joe smiled happily at the people, _his_ people, he thought of them with more emotion then he might at any other time.

It wasn't only because it was nearly Christmas; that was part of it, but he _had_ called Maggie and they had, as she put it, "a nice chat."

"Soooo Joe, when you get some _time_ off," she had purred at the end of the thirty minute call, "I want you to come visit."

"Oh?" he'd told her his voice shaking. "Visit?"

"Yeah. Me. Come visit with me."

"Ah, ahm… well…"

"Joooe," she drawled slowly, "it's not like Bude is a million miles away, now is it?"

His mouth had gone dry. "What about that other fella?"

She had laughed. "Joe, that's over and done and I do want to _see_ you… well maybe more than just _see_ you and chat over coffee. Or make stew… You could stay for a weekend."

Joe knew that when Maggie, his ex-wife, had come to Portwenn she had been confused and had lost a few years of memory. She thought they were _still_ married and that _he_ had _run away_ to Portwenn. The Doc figured out soon enough that Mags had something called TGA – transient global amnesia – likely brought on by stress and a detachment disorder.

It had taken all of Joe's reserves not to get romantic with her, for even he could tell she was ill straight away. So he'd been a man, not the Clint Eastwood sort of man, but he'd done the right thing and not touched her beyond a chaste kiss and a quick hug; although clearly she had wanted a lot more.

Joe had ended their phone call that morning thinking that perhaps the New Year might be bright after all.

"And now, without further ado," Joe turned and waved Martin to come to the microphone, "I give you, _Doctor Ellingham_!"

"Come on Doc!" somebody shouted and that call was joined by others turning into a raucous chant of "Doc Martin! Doc Martin!" along with applause.

Louisa rubbed Martin's back when she felt him stiffen. "Go on. It's fine." She was nearly poised to push him forward when he took a step of his own accord.

Martin looked around at the people crowded outside the Village Hall and tried to keep his face blank. There stood Eddie and Gloria Rix next to the Colonel, Al was seeming to make an attempt to conjoin in public with Morwenna from the way his hands roved all over her, Bert smiled and laughed though he was propped on crutches and braced by his wife, Mrs. Edie and Miss Meeker stood by primly, Clive was there was well, but his wife was absent. Aunt Ruth was at the edge of the crowd and he could see her smiling slightly as she spoke to the Vicar who stood on one side with Chippy Miller on the other.

"Go on, Doctor Ellingham," Penhale whispered. "They're all waitin'."

Martin looked back at Louisa who smiled at him, so he stiffened his spine and stepped forward.

That afternoon, Louisa wished to go into Truro and finish shopping so Martin had closed the practice to take her. "Don't you trust me?" she teased.

"No, uhm… I do, but I need to check on a patient in hospital."

"That would be Mr. Cannon."

"What _is_ it with this village?" he bellowed. "Are there _no_ secrets here? You must know that I _don't _discuss medical…"

"Martin, there is no need to get upset," she said to him. "Why don't we leave here at half eleven, have lunch in Truro, then we can visit with him, and go shop?"

"I… uhm… this is a _medical_ call."

"Of course," she pecked him on the cheek. "Grab your coat."

Lunch was adequate and Martin had listened with feigned attention as Louisa filled him on the doings at her school. The counselor had tried to teach him that being a good listener was just as much a part of marriage as talking. He nodded occasionally but actually had no real interest in the doings of her new secretary, or what Mr. Colley had fouled up most recently, or which bright spark amongst her students had aced this or that test.

"You listening to me?" she asked when their salad and soup had been consumed.

"Yes."

"Listening or hearing me?"

"You've said that your secretary, although new, warrants a pay increase if the new school governors would approve it, Mr. Colley seems even more forgetful than usual, and Timmy Wilkens is nearly as bright as Peter Cronk."

"Oh," she said a bit disappointed. "You have been listening then."

"Perhaps I ought to examine Mr. Colley if he is getting as scatter-brained as you say."

Louisa dabbed her lips. "I'll encourage him to make an appointment."

"Good," he nodded. "Ready to go?"

At hospital Louisa made an excuse to stop in the gift shop.

"Why?" he asked her.

"You might be having a medical visit with Mr. Cannon but _I'm_ buying him flowers and chocolates."

Martin closed his eyes. "Practical."

"Oh? Look you do whatever you do when you look at his records; take his temperature and so on. I'll visit."

Martin looked at her smiling face and recalled what the counselor had said to him. "You must realize that Louisa grew up in her village and she knows these people better then you ever will. You might live there with her, as her husband, but she will _always_ be one step ahead of you knowing about people, their history and so forth. You will always be a bit of an outsider trying to figure of their ways. And in thirty years or so and they might accept you. That's the way it is Martin. So follow her lead."

"Right," he said to Louisa and she looked a bit crest fallen that he'd not given her an argument.

He walked to the magazine rack and picked out a football mag and a news magazine with a lurid cover. "These as well."

Louisa was shocked. "Oh?"

Martin ducked his head. "He may like to read."

Their purchases made they went up to the third floor.

Mr. Cannon was noisily sleeping, mouth open and face slack to the world. His wrinkled hands clutched at the bed linens spasmodically while Martin busied himself reading the chart. The bed sheets were supported over his feet by a frame so Martin pulled them away to survey Cannon's bandaged feet.

Louisa sucked in a breath when she saw the huge wrappings. "Oh God…"

"He's fine," Martin told her. "Surgery was minor. But he has lost two digits."

Louisa grimaced. "Still."

Martin checked the settings on his IV pump. "Be back in a moment."

Louisa pulled a bedtable nearby and arrayed her purchases on it.

With a snort, Cannon awoke. "Louisa Glasson? Well as I live and breathe." He flinched as he moved his arm the one with the IV needles in it.

"Hello Mr. Cannon," Louisa said brightly. "How are you keeping?"

"Fair, fair. Foods alright. Got a lot of bright young things around me," he winked. "Just like you!"

Martin came back to the bed. "Mr. Cannon."

"Oh hi, Doc. Still here you can see."

Martin nodded. "Your feet are healing well I have been informed."

Cannon smiled. "They been takin' real good care of me Doc." He turned to Louisa and added, "He's a keeper is our Doc Martin." He winked at her. "Guess you know that. But for him I mighta lost more toes or worse."

"And you _will_ stop smoking," Martin harrumphed.

"Already have," he grunted. "They got these patches on me."

"Good." Martin reviewed his medical treatment and follow-up as well as changes to his diet, the medications he would be on and what physical therapy he would receive. "Understand all that?"

Cannon shook his grey head. "Not really."

"I have spoken with district health and they will be assisting in your follow-up and evaluating if you need additional help."

Cannon smiled. "Thanks Doc. Good to have folks like you on the ball."

Louisa looked proudly at Martin then asked Mr. Cannon, "And you're feeling well?"

"Better than I have in years!" he laughed. "Oh flowers."

Louisa smiled at him. "And magazines and some candy. Happy Christmas."

That's when the old man started to cry.

Outside the Village Hall Martin stepped to the microphone, took a breath and spoke. "Hello."

"Hello," some said back, peering at him, likely wondering how their GP might bollix things up.

Martin looked to the side and saw Joe holding a push button of some sort, with wires trailing away from it.

Joe held it out proudly. "Just press it Doc."

Martin knew that this was all for show, so he pushed the button. "Happy Christmas," he said softly into the microphone.

As the button was closed and the circuit completed, a little bulb connected thru a crude electrical lash-up around the corner illuminated. That was the signal for one of the lifeboat crew to launch a red signal flare, which as it arced overhead, was the sign for dozens of homeowners to switch on their Christmas decorations as well as plug in extension cords which led to the twenty of so light strands strung across some of the street and lanes.

"Ooh, ahh," people exclaimed and cheered.

"Thanks Doc," Joe shook his hand. "Brilliant."

"Right," Martin grunted and saw how red James' face was from the cold. "Better get the boy home," he said.

Louisa put her hand over Martin's where he held the buggy handle as they walked. James slumped sleepily in his buggy so his bath time would likely be skipped that night. "Thanks for that."

Martin shrugged.

"No I mean it," she told him.

"Nothing much."

"More than that, I mean. Not just the Light Up."

"Oh?" He stopped as she turned to face him on the narrow street under a strand of softly glowing red, white and green lights.

"In hospital."

"I was only checking on my patient."

She shook her head and her eyes adored him. "What you told him."

As Cannon blubbered, Louisa gave him a tissue and rubbed his shoulder until he could speak. "Sorry, I'm an old man," he mumbled. "Chokes me up."

Martin cleared his throat and sat down next to the bed. He looked over at the old man. "I know it is no fun at all to be left behind and to feel alone," he said, then stood up. He reached down and took Mr. Cannon's hand and shook it, then looked at his wife and then back at Mr. Cannon. "Especially at Christmas."

The old man smiled at them both. "Doc, you and your missus made my day."

Standing in the street, Louisa asked him, "Where did that come from? Back in hospital with Mr. Cannon."

Martin sighed and then said, slowly and haltingly, "When I was twelve… I was in boarding school… and at Christmas… holiday… my parents… were… traveling. I… I was left at school during the break."

Louisa's heart broke when she heard that. "Oh Martin…"

"It was after my father wouldn't let me go to Joan's farm anymore."

"So you had _nowhere_ to go."

He looked at her sadly. "No, not really."

Louisa hugged him fiercely and protectively. "Now you do. Come on husband - let's go home."


	14. Chapter 14

Suddenly it seemed that every moment Jane Werren was in the house, speaking to Louisa, picking up James, or dropping him off, she made it a point to ask after Terry, or if he was around to talk for a few minutes.

Louisa picked up on it right away and had to discuss it with Martin. He scoffed at the very idea that a woman of thirty might be interested in a man thirty-five years her senior. "No, Martin, _something_ is going on," she told him, chewing her lip. "_Unless_ I'm wrong."

Morwenna on the other hand, being like Argos, the mythological giant who had a hundred eyes, was uniquely placed to note Jane's comings, goings, and more. Just this morning she'd found Jane and Terry chatting amiably in the kitchen when she made tea, _and_ in the lounge when Jane was getting James ready for a walk, and then she watched while Jane ambled beside Terry as _he_ pushed the buggy. So Morwenna was quite certain the Cupid had been plying his bow and not just in her own direction.

"Oh, Janie," she muttered to herself. "You really want to do that? With Louisa's dad?" Then she stopped herself, given what had been going on under her own roof. "Ah, well, her funeral."

Surgery went crazy; well it always was crazy, with new patients popping in, cancellations left and right since people were too busy although sick to come by, along with any surprise emergency when the Doc would sprint off.

"Morwenna!" the Doc yelled at her from his office door. "How do I get to Dales Farm?"

"Take the B road up to milepost elven, right on Hector lane, then onto Dale Road," she told him. "You been there before."

"Have I?" Martin screwed up his face as he marched towards her desk nearly bowling over old Mr. Coverly who was creeping back to his seat from the loo.

She smiled at the Doc. "Yeah you do. A broken foot and trapped up in the attic? Leastwise it was last time."

"Yesss," he sighed at her. "The oaf went into his attic to retrieve something and broke his foot slipping off a rafter beam. Fool!"

"Accident?" she suggested. "Can't imagine anybody would do that twice or on purpose."

"Well he _did_, but now it's the _barn_ and a hayloft – and now the _other_ foot," he grumbled.

Morwenna smiled. "Then you best be off." She rose and opened a file. "Billy Dale – here," she gave Martin the slim folder of patient notes. "And don't forget he's got COPD as well," she whispered.

"Right, better take some O2 in case he's out."

Morwenna looked at him and found his eyes scanning her from head to toe. "What?"

"You were late _again_ today." Martin looked sharply at her. "That makes three times this week and it was four last week?"

"Sorry Doc." Morwenna frowned as he went back to surgery and she to her desk. The Doc had noticed something. Damn! She twitched at the pleated skirt she was wearing so it sat fuller across her.

"You alright dearie?" Mrs. Mills asked her. "You went white as a sheet there."

Morwenna smiled. "Fine, just fine. I'm okay," she said but she wasn't fine. Well; no she _was_ fine, just not _totally_ fine… she sighed in her head.

The inner door flew open again and Martin ran out like a madman dragging his medical case. "Hold my patients. I'll be back in an hour!"

"Hour and a half," muttered Morwenna and adjusted her skirt again, trying not to call attention to her waistline.

At school Louisa was in the gymnasium helping Pippa set out the props for the pageant.

Louisa was at school and Pippa Woodley came in to help her set out the school pageant props and costumes.

"I thought it went pretty well," Pippa told Louisa. "Last night."

Louisa smiled. "I do like the Light Up."

Pippa crossed her arms. "How are things at your house?"

"Oh, fine. Need to wrap the presents and such but things are…"

"Oh yeah," Pippa sighed, "my two boys are climbing the walls thinking about goin' to the Grotto to talk to St. Nick. You wait until James is a little older."

Louisa had seen her dad the other day in the altered costume for Santa and it made her quite weepy for some reason. "Dad?" she whispered as he checked himself out.

Terry saw her in the mirror as she stood behind him. "Sweetheart? Something amiss?"

Louisa sat down on his narrow bed. "Oh, I don't know. Just… missed chances."

Terry sat down next to her, pulled off his red cap and rubbed his face. "I know."

Louisa thought back to the years that her dad had been alone, after mum left. "It was hard, I know, for you; so hard."

He sighed and shook his head. "Harder for you than for me. I left but you came back to the village."

She shrugged. "Home."

He nodded but then chuckled. "You recall the time me and your granddad decided to build bonfires out on the seawalls for Light Up?"

That made her laugh. "You both got a bit burned as I remember and the Lifeboat crew had to go get you."

"Well, you know I didn't actually _fall_ into the harbor. I was trying to fish your gran outta the drink when _he_ fell off the ladder from his dinghy."

Louisa laughed then set her head on his shoulder so he put an arm around her. "My little girl," he said. "All grown up; married and a mum."

"Not necessarily in that order," she muttered.

Quietly they sat together like that for some time but then she looked up at his bearded face. "Thanks."

"Fer what?"

"For being my dad."

Terry gulped hard. "I won't let you down, not any more, and not when I play Father Christmas in a couple days."

Louisa stood up and looked around the tiny room. "I wish we had a better room for you."

He waved her off. "Listen this is a palace, a _palace_, compared to some places I been."

"I can guess that."

He smiled. "Leastwise I can be Father Christmas or try to be."

"Don't try to play anybody else, just enjoy it. I mean you don't have to try and imitate anyone else. Just let the…"

"Spirit of Christmas," he said slowly. "Bert's been coaching me."

Louisa smiled. "Martin's just finished bathing James. Want to read him a bedtime story?"

Terry stood up and started pulling the red coat and pants away. "Just stop me."

Louisa went to the door and looked back. "And you must have been lonely."

He eyes twinkled. "Well things worked out in that department. I… uhm, was alone but not…" He stopped. "When your mum left, well we never divorced, see, so I figured…"

Louisa cocked her head to one side. "You and Eleanor – never – got divorced?"

He shook his head. "Never had the money. We just went our separate ways."

"Oh, I always thought…"

"And I never been lonely," he added then he shook his head. "Now a story for James?"

Louisa was pulled back to present as Pippa switched on the address system and checked it out. "Good to go," Pippa told her. "And I was right proud of your Martin last night. There was some taking bets on the side he'd either not show or…"

"Well he did!" He did show up!" Louisa nearly yelled.

"Sorry love. Just…"

"Yeah," Louisa snapped. "Let's help Mr. Colley get more chairs in here."

Martin made it to Dales Farm and back and he was dirty after scrabbling up a ladder into an ancient stone barn, treating the victim who was stranded in the loft. Fortunately his ankle was not broken but badly sprained but he lambasted the farmer for climbing about with a cast on his other foot.

"Well _howinhell_ am I gonna to get things done around here?" Mr. Dales argued as Martin guided / half carried him out of the loft.

"Hire someone," Martin told him as he looked around the prosperous farm. "I see you have a new tractor, you could afford that."

Muttering under his breath while Martin wrapped his bent ankle it was the ending to another typical home visit. So when Martin returned to surgery so late, his waiting room was empty but for Morwenna who sat at her desk addressing Christmas cards.

"I'm not paying you to do personal things!" he admonished her.

Morwenna put her pen down. "Right. Where are your shoes?'

"Kitchen – muddy – and where _are_ my patients?"

"Gone home, left; gave up."

Martin tiptoed across the linoleum trying not to leave mud from his wet socks on the floor. "Get a mop at least and clean this up. Do _something_."

The girl shook her head. "I got something for you though." She held out a manila patient packet and he took it.

"Who's this?"

"A patient," she stood up. "Me."

He sighed. "Come in then."

Morwenna twisted her hands together. "Uhm, so…"

"So?"

"Well… you see…"

Martin got his blood pressure cuff onto her and took her vitals and a temp. "All normal."

She pursed her lips. "That's good."

"Any reason it might not be?"

Morwenna stared at the floor.

Martin sighed. "Morwenna? What _is_ the matter?"

"You said I was late to work, and that's true…"

"Tell me something I don't know."

She left the room then returned with a small vial. "I think you oughta check this."

Martin peered at the small capped container filled with fluid. "What is this?"

"It's mine," she said softly. "I... I wanted to buy one of those things at the chemist but Mrs. T bein' all nosy and everything," she shrugged. "I come to you."

Martin looked at her more closely paying attention to the skin of her face and neck and the backs of her hands. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Me and Al…"

"Stop! I _don't_ want the details!"

"Well they're gonna come out anyway. Me and Al are gettin' married."

"Ah." Martin replied. He looked at the vial once more. "When did you collect this? If it's what I think it is."

"Been about six weeks since, well I'm late, see?" She blushed. "Collected that this mornin' after I quit throwing up."

Martin slid into the back of the school gymnasium under the watchful eyes of too many parents and teachers and he knew they'd be making comments about how he was late once more. He stood against the back wall trying to remain unobserved, but for him to hide in plain sight was both ridiculous and impossible.

The kids were singing some silly song, at least to him, about a how a magic whale had carried Father Christmas on its back when his reindeer were sick and couldn't fly.

Louisa sidled up to him. "You are late," she whispered.

"With a patient," he told her. "Sorry."

"I didn't think you'd show up."

The test was positive so Morwenna took a tissue and blew her nose. "Al already asked me to get married and I said _yes_. We were gonna get hitched in the Spring after the B&amp;B gets goin'. Figured your Aunt Ruth would be happy if he could put all his attention on the business for a while." She sighed. "We didn't tell _anybody_ and then… _this_." She waved at the strip which showed the results in a tiny window.

Martin said to her, "Not planned then."

"God no."

"Not the end of the world."

"You and Mrs. E… well," she shrugged. "That wasn't quite our plan."

"Does Al know?"

"He suspects… well, he's been buggin' me to come see you."

"You have." He stood and went to a file cabinet. "There is literature you should read and I can give you a starter pack of vitamins. Now, I'll examine you, unless you'd rather see someone else."

"Now's fine. I guess this is an early Christmas present, ain't it?" she smiled up at him.

Louisa stood next to Martin when the Pageant was ended and the kids were slurping punch and munching biscuits while Martin sneered at the consumption of unnecessary sweets.

"Anyway, Martin, I am glad you showed up; a nice surprise," Louisa told him, squeezing his hand once before she walked away to speak to parents.

Martin looked around at the kids downing calories they did not need, especially the chubby ones, heard the hubbub of people and quivered slightly. "Surprise, yes. A surprise."


	15. Chapter 15

Inside the Village Hall, all across the stage, had been transformed with bare branches, small fir trees, pine boughs and strands of twinkling white lights. An ancient dinghy had been cut down and tipped upright as a backdrop to the throne of Father Christmas.

Tables along the hall were being set up to display various bake goods, homemade crafts, and tables of biscuits for the village children. The entire Hall was a hive of activity making all ready for St. Nicholas in less than an hour.

On the stage Morwenna and Miss Meeker were sprinkling some of the branches with fake snow, a chemical product, which when put onto wet surfaces fluffed up.

"Shame no snow – the real kind," Miss Meeker said to Morwenna.

"Oh, I don't know. It works, I guess." She bent down to tuck and extension cord out of sight and her stomach flip-flopped.

"You okay up there?" Jenny Large asked her for she'd seen how Morwenna jumped when she knelt down.

Morwenna steadied herself then stood up, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow. "Just a little, uhm warm. Musta been a bad pasty. Excuse me." She left the stage and ran to the restroom.

Morwenna was washing her face with cold water when Jenny came in after her. "Morwenna, you okay?" the woman asked her.

Morwenna wrinkled her nose. "Yeah… no," she said and ran to the toilet again.

Jenny heard what was going on and opened the stall door after the second flush. Morwenna crouched on the concrete floor in obvious visceral distress, her face pale, strange of hair hanging down her face, and a bedraggled appearance overall.

Jenny crossed her arms and added it all up. Morwenna had been pale, off her feed, Al said she was very tired, and she'd heard the girl had been late to work, and now she was throwing up. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure this out, she thought. "What can I get you?"

"A new stomach. Help me up."

Jenny walked with Morwenna to the sink and pushed a wad of dry paper towels into her hand then soaked another with water and pressed it to the back of the girl's neck.

"That feels good," Morwenna said. "Sorry." She dabbed at her icky lips.

"Not a pasty, I'm guessin'," Jenny replied. "When you feel a little better I'll get some plain biscuits from one of the stalls and a bottle of water for you."

Morwenna looked at Jenny and pressed her hand. "You're a smart one."

"Pharmacist, remember?"

Morwenna's nerve nearly broke. "Never been sick in the evening before."

Jenny nodded. "Well. They call it morning sickness but it can be anytime." She brushed a strand of hair away from Morwenna's face. "Does Al know?"

"Told him last night. The Doc confirmed it yesterday afternon."

Jenny hugged her. "How far along? You happy about it?"

"Six weeks. Oh, Jenny, we're gonna get married soon as we can." Morwenna smiled. "Al and me, well, we were going to get married anyway… a surprise. Just things moving along quicker than we thought."

"Congrats then." Jenny chucked her under the chin. "Our secret until you're ready to let the village know."

"You know, it's a funny thing," Morwenna told her, smiling. "Just knowing for sure makes a difference."

"You and Al are going to be great parents."

Up the hill, Bert was supervising the stacking of hay bales on a flat wagon. "Put another here. No! Not there!" He shook his head and turned to see Terry approach. "Well, as I live and breathe."

Terry Glasson's guts were fluttering, his mouth gone dry, and his head throbbed. God Terry, he thought, don't bollix this up! He gulped under the critical eyes of his predecessor. "I'm here," he said faintly. "What you think?" Terry pulled on his white gloves and adjusted his cap.

Bert waved him over, from where he sat on a low wall. "Turn around." He inspected every inch of Terry with a critical eye. "Suit looks good and so do you. Beard looks pretty good. One year I did the whole thing and later found I had a bit of tape stuck to my ear." He sighed then adjusted Terry's red cap. "But I think you'll pass muster. Kids won't mind a bit if this year's Father Christmas is a little shorter than last year's, or a bit slimmer."

Great discussion had been held about padding or no padding and it was finally decided that padding around the middle was not necessary.

Terry sighed.

"Oh you can do it, Terry," Al Large told him who was preparing to tow the wagon to the Hall. "Got yer elves I see."

Robbie Snell and his mate, Tom Preston, had been pushed into service as elves, and although there was a cast on one arm, it was felt the little kids wouldn't mind. The older boys were dead set against it until some of the village teen girls let it be known that it was 'cool' to help out at the Fair. After that, and the thought of female hormone-driven appreciation was in the offing sealed the deal.

"You boys good on the wagon?" Al asked as they settled themselves.

"Sure," Robbie replied.

Tom laughed. "Let her rip."

"I just hope you two like Christmas music," Al chuckled then switched on the boom box hidden under the bench where Santa would ride.

Bert gingerly got up on his crutches. "The time is nigh, mate." He reached out and patted Terry on the shoulder, then winked at him. "Good 'un."

Terry shook his head. "Gonna make a bloody fool of myself," he muttered then mounted the wagon.

The other night when Louisa thanked him for being her dad, had nearly done him in right then. All his fears about moving back to Portwenn had vanished in a flash, replaced by trepidations of tonight – the ceremonial arrival of Father Christmas.

Bert looked at him sympathetically. "Terry you will be fine. Just carry on." He'd miss playing Santa but at least, at least, he felt that terry would pull it off.

Jenny had been telling him for a week that Terry would be fine, would do a good job _and_ would not bollix it up. She'd said as much the previous night when they went to bed.

"I hope you're right, Bert answered, and then lay awake all night worrying. But in the morning, with the rising sun, he recalled his promise to Terry. "Just give me a chance, Bert," the man had asked him.

Bert limped over to Penhale's police truck. "Ready Joe?"

Joe smiled at him and flipped on his flashing blue lights to lead the tractor pulling the wagon. "Righto."

Bert climbed in with the constable. "Merry Christmas Joe," he told him then sighed.

"And to you. You know, Bert," Joe replied, "I think he's gonna do right well. I been keepin' tabs on him, so much so he musta thought I was his bloody shadow. But you know what? He's been a model citizen."

Bert looked at the overzealous cop. "Maybe we just needed to put a little faith in the man," he told him. "And mercy like." They heard Al beep the tractor horn so the short procession to the Village Hall began; the Police jeep, and the tractor towing a hay wagon.

The entire student population of Portwenn School, plus a raft of younger brothers and sisters, plus some older who went to the secondary School were outside the Hall, the front lit up in colored lights and white floodlights. The students were backed up by parents and grandparents, neighbors and friends, most to see not only Father Christmas and attend the Village Fair, but to see how Terry Glasson (that tosser) faired.

As the Hall came into view, Terry had to shake himself. The crowd must have numbered a couple hundred; no more, he saw.

"Gosh look at all the birds!" Tom cackled when he saw all the pretty girls, but he shut it when Terry caught his eye with a disproving look.

"Alright boys, let's bring Christmas to the village," he told his elves. Just then the boom box, properly queued when Robbie pushed the button, starting playing 'Good King Wenceslas' just as the wagon came to a stop.

Terry stood up and the people cheered and clapped. "I can do this," he thought to himself especially when he saw the happy smile on Louisa's face. He slung a big bag across his back, filled with sweets for the children, then stepped onto the ground. Martin stood by Louisa holding James and Terry reserved a special wave for them – his _family_.

Martin had dragged his feet until the last minute, manufacturing excuses, but then stopped. "No, I'll come," he told his wife.

"Well I should hope so," she huffed. "What with all… I'd think you'd want to…" she stopped herself before she snapped further. "Sorry."

"What were you going to say?"

"I…" she bit her lip, "I know you're not crazy about my dad."

Martin cocked his head. "Perhaps I don't know him as well as I ought to." He'd seen how Terry had taken insults, outright abuse, and grudging acceptance, all without much of a word. There was steel in the man's backbone; a bit rough at times but from the way he'd seen Terry help out with James and the caring and the kindness in him… "I… I do believe he is quite _different_ from my _previous_ perceptions."

Louisa came across the kitchen and kissed him full on the mouth. "My dad can be… well..." she screwed up her face, "he, uhm, _sometimes_… he gets off the path."

Martin nodded. "We know something about rocky roads, don't we?"

"Or muddy paths through the forest."

"It was a wood, Louisa."

Louisa kissed him again. "Come on, grab James and let's get up to the Hall."

As the crowd cheered the arrival of Father Christmas, Martin found it remarkable in the sea change of the insular villagers. People were laughing, clapping, and smiling as Terry made has way from wagon to Hall.

As Terry walked to the door he was waving, singing along, and smiling, the perfect image of what everyone expected and wonder of wonders he felt like he WAS Father Christmas!

Standing near the Hall door, between Louisa and Aunt Ruth, for Pippa had saved a spot for the four of them, he recited something from heart. Louisa heard these words he whispered in her ear:

"_The quality of mercy is not strained._

_It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven_

_Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed:_

_It blesseth him that gives and him that takes._

_'Tis mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes_

_The thronèd monarch better than his crown._

_His scepter shows the force of temporal power,_

_The attribute to awe and majesty_

_Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings,_

_But mercy is above this sceptered sway._

_It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings._

_It is an attribute to God himself._

_And earthly power doth then show likest God's_

_When mercy seasons justice."_

"What's that?" she asked him.

"Merchant of Venice – Act 4, Scene 1 – Portia's speech."

"It blesseth him that gives _and_ him that takes," she repeated. "Yesss. I do think that Shakespeare got it right."

Martin put his arms around his wife and child as they watched a triumphant and very happy Father Christmas enter the Village Hall.


	16. Chapter 16

A few days later Christmas Day came and by then Terry was still being stood to pints by villagers. Some actually shook his hand and slapped him on the back.

Even Bert had told him, "Terry, you done a _proper_ job."

"Thanks Bert," Terry replied in relief for in some ways Bert had been the harshest critic as well as the yardstick the village would compare him to.

"Now you was a _little_ rough on the Jingle Bells song, but figurin' it was short notice… well, anyway," Bert held out his hand to Terry. "Put 'er there."

Al and Morwenna had also found Terry when he was repairing a garden wall for Mr. Meadows and thanked him as well. "Mr. Glasson, I do think it was a good job; reminded me of my granddad when he did it," Al said to him.

"Sorry I broke the family tradition," Terry murmured.

"No, no, it' quite alright," Al told him. "And…" he smiled down at Morwenna who blushed. "Maybe someday you can do it again and maybe… well maybe one of _our_ little un's can sit on Santa's lap."

Terry was no fool and caught the drift and the swift glances between them. "Ahh," he whispered, "Well, we'll see what happens, right?"

"Right," Al chuckled.

"Maybe sooner than later," Morwenna muttered and then they left him to his work.

It can't be said that things in Portwenn were perfect for there were still those sorts that turned the other way when he passed or gave him the fish-eye, but he knew that's the way it would be. His parole officer had made that quite clear; he'd always be a bit under a cloud.

Yet Terry knew that in the village there had been a step made of forgiveness, call it mercy, given him and for that he would always be grateful.

Terry had laughed. "Story of my life, mate," he chuckled to his case officer. "Tell me another."

At noon on Christmas Louisa was checking the chicken roasting in the oven when Martin finished dressing James. A program of classical holiday themed music was playing on the radio and the house smelled of food and cheer.

Louisa had insisted on a lie-in that morning, along with other things… so Martin pulled his mind away from that happy encounter…

Their kitchen counter was covered with dishes of food either finished or in preparation. "Uhm, do have we enough to eat?" Martin sneered slightly.

She smiled. "Well, you, me, James, dad, Aunt Ruth and Jane. Six in all."

Martin shook his head. "I do not know what Jane sees in the man," was what he wanted to say, but he clamped his lips firmly. "Mm. We do have room for six."

Louisa put her arms around her husband and son. "Love you two."

Martin kissed her cheek. "Uhm and we love you."

She looked at him closely. "This was an _unexpected_ Christmas; I mean _full_ of surprises."

Martin thought about Morwenna and the surprise she and Al were bearing, Mr. Cannon healing in hospital, Bert ceding his spot in the village festivities, and Terry Glasson who was the biggest surprise of all. "Yes, surprises."

Martin looked towards their Christmas tree standing in the corner of the lounge with Terry's battered tree topper star made from a pie-tin atop it. "Both old and new, I suppose."

Louisa watched his face soften; surely he must be thinking of past Christmas days, both good and bad. She slipped her arm around his back. "Here and now?"

He looked down at her tenderly pulling his mind away from sadness. "Yes, this is… uhm… _today_ is _good_."

Louisa and Martin exchanged glances when Terry escorted Jane Werren into the house. From the way they acted with each other, with dancing eyes and gentle touches, it was very clear that their friendship was growing by leaps and bounds. So when Terry proposed a toast at table Martin and Louisa waited cautiously for his words.

Ruth held up her wine glass. "Master Glasson, or should I say, _Father Christmas_… hold forth."

Martin lifted his water glass, while Jane and Louisa lifted their wine. James chewed on a biscuit wondering what it was all about.

Terry cleared his throat and lifted his glass but froze.

"Go on, Terry," Ruth urged him.

Jane squeezed his knee under the table. "Come on Terry, say something."

He hesitated once more and his mouth went dry but when he saw Martin give him a slight nod he knew it be alright, so he cleared his throat and spoke.

"I… didn't deserve nothing this year, or for a lot of other years as well, and for that I am truly sorry. Louisa, sweetheart, thank you for helpin' me, you too Martin. I was hungry and you fed me, naked and you clothed me; a stranger and you took me in. I was a prisoner…" he had to stop for a minute, "Just want say thank you for havin' faith in me _and_ in Father Christmas and I am truly grateful."

He looked around the tight little room, the table piled with food, a twinkling Christmas tree in the corner with gifts under it, his grandson looking up at him with wide eyes, his beautiful daughter smiling and even Martin nodding at him. Terry sensed the warmth of the young woman sitting by his side and he grinned for who knew where that story might lead? He sighed.

"Dad?" Louisa said tenderly as he wiped at his flowing eyes.

"I'm glad I got a family is all," he gulped and added, "Now Happy Christmas to all!" he said with pleasure. "Happy Christmas!"

Ruth smiled and replied, "Father Christmas _did_ come this year. Cheers to all."

They all drank then celebrated Christmas.

**= THE END =**

**Thank you for reading along on my "what if" tale of post-Series 6 Doc Martin and thanks for the many reviews and private messages.**

**So I say to you, since I am across the pond, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! May your celebrations of Christmas and Hanukkah be merry and bright.  
**

**Maybe we will meet in Portwenn some day!**

**Cheers.**

**Rob (robspace54) **


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Doc Martin, Drama, Romance