It's a Vet's Life Page 5

  I coax Daisy slowly along the corridor to Kennels where I find her a bed for the day, and ask Emma to stick her on the end of the list for X-rays and a bath. Will takes over the consulting room once more, and I find myself at a loose end. I suppose I should make the most of it because it won’t last. I end up in the office, searching the Internet for tips on how to plan a wedding and set a budget. As well as the dress, flowers and the reception, there are apparently other essentials to consider: underwear that works with the dress, and possibly the hire of a calligrapher to write the names of your guests on the invitations, and favours for the tables. I hadn’t realised how much was involved, or how much it was all going to cost.

  As I sit there, wondering how Alex and I are going to fund it, I overhear voices in the staffroom, Frances and a person of the opposite sex. It takes me a moment to realise who it is. It’s Lenny, the delivery driver, who brings supplies from the wholesaler to the practice at least once a week, often more. Izzy and, increasingly, Shannon deal with the order, checking it as they unpack. Frances is the member of staff who deals with Lenny himself, inviting him in for coffee or tea before he drives on to the next practice on his round, Talyton Manor. Lenny hasn’t been delivering here for long – the last driver was sacked for selling the goods he was supposed to be supplying on eBay.

  I confess that in order to hear what they’re saying, I abandon the computer and wander into the staffroom on the pretence of grabbing a biscuit from the tin.

  ‘Hello, Lenny,’ I say, taking a chocolate biscuit that’s already out on a plate on the worktop. ‘How’s it going?’

  He’s sixty-four – I know because he told us that his granddaughter made him a cake with sixty-four on it – but he looks younger.

  ‘Not bad,’ he says, glancing towards Frances who is perched on the opposite end of the sofa from him. Like Will, she’s wearing new clothes: new shoes, to be precise, red ones with a kitten heel. ‘I must be on my way.’ He stands up, brushing crumbs from his trousers.

  He’s well-groomed, like a recently trimmed schnauzer, with black eyebrows, lots of white hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. He always wears grey trousers, a white short-sleeved shirt embroidered with the wholesaler’s logo, and a tie. Best of all, he’s constantly cheerful, but now I think about it, that could have something to do with Frances …

  ‘Thanks for the biscuits,’ he says as he heads out through the practice, Frances and I following close behind. We wait in Reception, watching Lenny go, heading back across the car park with his trolley to his van.

  ‘Why do we always have chocolate Hobnobs or Bourbon creams on delivery days?’ I ask Frances.

  ‘Lenny has such an early start and a long drive to get here.’

  ‘And?’ I smile. ‘Doesn’t he have breakfast like everyone else before he sets out?’

  ‘Well, yes, I imagine so. It turns out that it’s convenient for him to stop here for a tea break.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s all he stops for?’ I tease. ‘I think you’re blushing.’

  ‘Me?’ Frances touches her throat. ‘Oh no, it’s high blood pressure – Dr Mackie’s given me some pills for it.’

  ‘Well, I hope they start working soon.’

  ‘Who’s going to start working soon?’ says Izzy, emerging from the consulting room.

  ‘The tablets,’ I say. ‘Don’t worry, Izz. What have you done with Will?’

  ‘I told him, he’s going to have to work on his stamina. He’s having a lie-down.’ Her mouth curves with amusement. ‘He’s gone up to the flat for a break. He needs it after the incident with the bird.’

  ‘What went wrong?’ I ask her. ‘Why didn’t you catch it for him?’

  ‘Will wouldn’t let me. I didn’t want to embarrass him any further in front of Peter. He had everything ready, gloves, swabs, and silver nitrate stick.’

  Cocky’s well-known to us. He comes in regularly to have his beak trimmed. If left, it grows crooked and curls at the end so Cocky can’t eat.

  Izzy continues, ‘If Will hadn’t pussyfooted around, he would have got Cocky back within minutes. I can’t believe I’ve wasted so much time.’

  ‘It’ll get better. We’re bound to have a few teething problems.’

  ‘He isn’t a baby, Maz. He’s a grown man with professional qualifications, but it’s like he’s one of those people who’s incredibly clever in theory, but practically useless.’

  ‘Oh, I hope not,’ I sigh. ‘Izzy, let’s not rush into making judgements just yet. Let’s give him a chance.’

  ‘How long for? Remember the trouble we had with Drew?’

  How can I forget? Drew was our locum a couple of summers ago now and he really messed up, amputating the wrong leg – one of the healthy ones, not the one with cancer in the bone – which meant the dog, a Great Dane called Harley, had no chance of survival. I could have forgiven him if he’d faced up to what he’d done, but he disappeared, flying off back to Australia where he came from.

  ‘Drew was a one-off. He didn’t care. Will does.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Izzy says sceptically.

  ‘He likes the animals. You should have seen him with Tripod earlier on.’ I pause. ‘Izzy, it’s the poor guy’s first day …’

  ‘Well, I’ll be watching him,’ she says, and I smile to myself. Everyone will be to start with. Frances has already reported a couple of requests coming from clients asking to see the new assistant with their pets. They want to check him out. In fact, I’m surprised that a representative of Talyton’s Meet and Greet Committee hasn’t made an appearance yet. Fifi Green, Chair of Talyton Animal Rescue, local councillor, and well-meaning busybody, takes her role very seriously.

  I go and help Emma in Kennels. We X-ray Daisy’s chest before Shannon bathes her, and soon, the room is steaming up with the scent of medicated shampoo and wet dog. The smell clings to my clothes, and is still there when I get home at the end of a long day.

  I pick George up from the Manor where Sophia is trying to unblock a pipe at the base of the washing machine. George is ‘helping’.

  ‘This happens every time I put the horses’ numnahs in,’ she grumbles, referring to the cloths that go under their saddles. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Maz?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’d better go and put dinner on.’

  ‘George has had a huge helping of cottage pie for lunch.’

  I thank Sophia again. ‘I’ll see you later,’ I add before making my escape, holding on to George’s hand so he can’t rush back to continue sticking his fingers in the slow flow of grey water that’s coming out of the machine.

  When we go inside the Barn, George wanders off to find his favourite car to play with. I find Ginge lying crashed out in the sun. I touch him, he lifts his head and hisses before realising it’s me. He blinks and stretches out one paw in apology, claws sheathed now.

  ‘If I were you I’d go and sleep upstairs on the bed, if you don’t want your tail pulled,’ I whisper to him. I’m proud of Ginge’s restraint. In spite of starting out half wild, he’s settled down, and it seems as if he knows how precious George is to me, because, when George did pull his tail the other day – not out of malice, but more as an experiment to see what would happen – Ginge leapt up, yowling. He didn’t lash out or bite. I felt really guilty because I hadn’t been there to protect him. He’s an old boy now. He doesn’t deserve any hassle at his age.

  George and I eat pasta (again), and I’m putting him to bed when Alex arrives home. Alex opens a bottle of wine and we sit down later, once our son is asleep, just the two of us, and I think, this is how life should be.

  ‘We need to talk about the wedding,’ I say eventually. ‘We have to decide on a budget. I’ve been Googling. I didn’t realise how much everything was going to cost.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, Maz.’ Alex leans back into the sofa. ‘It costs what it costs, and I think I can rely on you not to go too mad.’

  ‘Alex, I hope you’re going to take on some responsibility for t
his wedding.’

  ‘Mother’s keen to help,’ he says, with a cheeky wink.

  ‘You’ve told her then?’

  ‘Of course. I’d let her take some of the strain, if I were you. It would make her very happy.’

  ‘I doubt it would have the same effect on me.’

  ‘She’s already dug out her hat.’

  ‘Not a riding one, I hope.’

  ‘Her wedding hat. She’s worn the same one for years.’

  ‘As long as she doesn’t wear that hideous fox fur with the glass eyes and moth-eaten tail … I couldn’t have that in the photos.’

  Alex chuckles, yet I feel a little guilty for not wanting to involve the future mother-in-law, or my mother, in the planning of the wedding.

  ‘What about the reception?’ I say.

  ‘I thought here, at the Manor.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that.’

  ‘It won’t be the same as my first one,’ Alex says, reminding me with a jolt that this will be his second marriage. It’s history and, although he has contact with his ex-wife through their two children, I don’t feel that she’s a threat to our relationship in any way. However, I am still seized with irrational jealousy at the thought that Alex has done this before.

  ‘It was summer for a start,’ he goes on. ‘We had a marquee on the lawn. It’ll be too cold for that in December.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I’d be quite happy if we held it in a pub like Izzy and Chris did, at the Talymill Inn.’

  ‘I’d prefer somewhere a bit more upmarket like the Barnscote,’ Alex says. ‘It will be cosy there at Christmas with the open fires. Elsa will do me a good deal – I treat her pigs, the happy ones.’ They’re called happy pigs because they’re free-range, not because they don’t get eaten. ‘It’s local, and not too far from the church,’ Alex continues. ‘All we need is good food, somewhere everyone can warm up, have a few drinks and catch up, especially for those of our guests who meet only for hatching, matching and dispatching. It needs to have good acoustics for the speeches.’ Alex cocks his head. ‘Or poor acoustics, maybe, so no one can hear what the best man’s saying.’

  ‘Have you asked Stewart yet?’

  ‘He offered as soon as I told him we’d set the date. I dread to think what he’s going to drag up, what secrets he’s going to reveal. Have you decided who’s going to give you away?’

  ‘I shall do it myself.’ I giggle. ‘I’m not some chattel to be handed from one man to another. It’s a ridiculous tradition and I’m not going along with it.’

  Alex grins. ‘You’ll be the talk of the town, Maz. You rebel.’

  I rest my head against Alex’s chest and listen to his heartbeat. He smells of antibiotic, the outdoors and musk. I can see a few dark curls of hair on his chest where the top buttons of his faded blue chambray shirt are unfastened.

  ‘So, are we any further forward?’ I ask.

  ‘I’ll get in touch with Elsa and arrange for us to go and have lunch or dinner there to refresh your memory of what the Barnscote’s like, if we can find a babysitter.’

  ‘Your mother spends enough time with George already, and Shannon’s too busy revising for her exams to babysit at the moment.’

  ‘What about that friend of hers who came with her the last time?’

  ‘She gave me the impression she wouldn’t do it again, not because of George, but because your father freaked her out, shooting at a rat in the yard.’ I pause. ‘You know, Alex, I wonder if we could just book the register office and go and get married on the quiet. You, me, George and a couple of witnesses.’

  ‘You can’t do that, Maz. I thought you wanted the big white wedding. Anyway, everyone would be so disappointed.’

  ‘We could still have a party.’ Do I want the big white wedding? I didn’t think so, but I realise that the pictures in my future wedding album include me in the fairy-tale dress and Alex in top hat and tails, surrounded by family and friends. I feel almost sick with anticipation. With a bit of organisation and planning, it will be a wonderful day. I glance towards my gorgeous husband-to-be. I’m not sure how I’m going to wait until Christmas.

  Chapter Four

  From this Day Forward

  A WEEK GOES by, and the wedding plans fall by the wayside for a while, but I console myself with the thought that there’s plenty of time … It’s summer. There are months until December.

  On the Tuesday, when I go in to work in the morning, George is grizzly because he’s overtired.

  ‘I’m sorry, George,’ I say, because he really doesn’t want to go to nursery today. I don’t know what Sophia was doing with him yesterday, and I resent that. It should be me looking after him, but I need to work too.

  Fleetingly, I yearn for the days when all I had to look after was my patients and myself. I used to think how tough it was. Now I know it’s a doddle compared with parenthood, especially when your partner has deserted you. That sounds dramatic, but that’s how it feels, with Alex working late most days now that the light evenings are here. I have no right to expect anything else, because I know very well what his job entails, but I’m sure he didn’t put in quite so many hours when I first met him.

  I leave George with Flick, the manager at the nursery, trying to restrain myself from running back to him, and feeling like the worst mum in the world. I walk along to Otter House, catching up with Shannon who’s bringing Daisy in for her check-up. Shannon’s mother has always worked, and she brought Shannon up alone from when her dad died, and she’s turned out fine. I tell myself to take comfort in that and not fret so much.

  ‘Mum’s busy making up orders, otherwise she’d have brought Daisy along herself,’ Shannon explains.

  I can’t help wondering if she’s just too embarrassed after the last time.

  In the practice, I spend the morning consulting while Emma guides Will through his fourth list of ops. He’s doing as well as can be expected, but we’re not completely confident that he can cope alone. Emma and I decided who was to do the honours this time by tossing a coin. I won.

  I help Shannon coax Daisy onto the scales in Reception, watched by a cat that looks on from its carrier with a supercilious expression, as if to say, you’ll never catch me on one of those.

  Shannon checks the display. ‘She’s lost loads. That’s unbelievable.’

  ‘Yes, and I don’t believe it either.’ I move closer. ‘It’s impossible.’ Then I laugh out loud. Daisy’s on the scales, but she’s also leaning against the wall. The wall is taking the strain. Daisy rolls her bulgy eyes and growls when we ask her to move, but eventually she settles in the right place.

  ‘She hates people going on about her weight,’ Shannon says.

  ‘She does appear to be developing a complex.’ I stroke Daisy’s coat. I still don’t kiss her. Her skin is greasy, her hair rough and bristly. She isn’t in great condition.

  ‘What should we do next? Cut her food down even more?’

  ‘How much walking is she doing?’

  ‘Not a lot, to be honest. Mum’s been feeling under the weather, and it’s a pain walking Daisy with Seven, because Seven wants to run around playing, while Daisy drags along behind. I take them out separately after work, but I’m not usually up in time in the mornings …’

  ‘You’ll just have to get up earlier then.’ I’m teasing. ‘Shannon, you’ve got enough to deal with. Let’s reduce her food by another quarter for the next two weeks and see if that makes any difference. Has she had any extras?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ Shannon says. ‘She’d love to get hold of Seven’s food, but I stand over them so she can’t. Oh, one thing – I found her drinking out of a bucket that had flower food in it – it’s sugary, but there can’t be all that many calories in it, can there?’

  ‘Does she drink very much – water, I mean?’

  Shannon thinks for a moment. ‘I don’t know. She isn’t drinking any more than normal.’

  ‘It might be worth measuring her fluid intake over twenty-four hours. I
t would be a useful practical task to link with the theory you’re studying at college.’ Shannon is doing her second year of a vet nursing diploma on a day-release basis.

  ‘I’ll try. It won’t be easy with Seven and the flower buckets all over the place.’

  ‘I’ll leave the logistics with you. Let me know how you get on. Otherwise, we’ll book Daisy in for another appointment in two weeks’ time.’

  ‘Will do,’ Shannon says brightly.

  Next, there are seven Springador puppies, Labrador-springer spaniel crosses, to check and give their first vaccinations. The owner has enlisted the help of several family members to bring them to the practice.

  ‘Hello, Jan,’ I say, letting the trail of people and pups in arms into the consulting room. Jan is a longstanding client who is married to the local oyster farmer. She’s slim, blonde and freckled, and in her late twenties, quite cool in a surfer-style printed cotton dress and flat sandals. Whether I’m imagining it or not, she always seems to bring the scent of the sea with her.

  ‘I’ve brought everyone with me,’ she smiles. ‘I don’t want my boys and girls padding around on the floor until they’ve had all their jabs.’

  ‘They’re very cute,’ I say, having tried and failed to shut the door with so many people crammed into what is really a very small room. ‘How do you tell which one is which?’ To me, they are all very similar: black with wavy coats, ears and paws that are too big for their bodies, and soulful brown eyes.

  ‘They’re colour-coded with nail varnish. Look.’ Jan shows me the paw of the puppy she’s holding. It has one claw painted pink. ‘This is Bonnie. She’s the naughtiest of the bunch.’

  ‘So we know which one is which,’ I say. ‘That makes it easier. I’ll check them all over first, then inject them. That way they’ll be less likely to upset each other.’

  I examine each puppy, one at a time. Shannon takes notes for me on the computer.

  ‘They’re great, Jan. All fit and healthy,’ I pronounce, before looking towards Shannon who’s squatting down, almost inside the fridge under the workbench, pulling out box after box of vaccine. ‘Shannon, is there some problem?’ I ask, with a growing sense of unease.