Got You Back (33 page)

But all in all they had seemed to get on. Natasha was always utterly transparent when she disliked somebody so the fact that she was smiling at Michael as she spoke to him was definitely a good sign. Michael had said afterwards that Stephanie's friends were ‘very good company’ and that Martin was ‘knowledgeable’ and ‘considered’, and wasn't it great that he slogged away in an inner-city state school for next to no money? All of which he made sound like a big compliment.

‘Phew,’ she had said. ‘It's really important to me that you like my friends.’

‘Well, I do,’ he'd said, putting both arms round her in a gesture she loved, which made her feel safe and secure. ‘I had a really good time.’

She had seen James several times since the day he had been there waiting for her and Michael to come home. He liked to drop round and see Finn whenever she would allow him to and, because he still seemed to be on his best behaviour, she was tending to say yes most times he asked. She would leave them to it — she still had no desire to spend any more time with him than was necessary — and the sound of Finn laughing hysterically at some stupid shared joke or other would confirm that she had done the right thing in letting James come by. Since that first time she had always made sure he had left by the time Michael was due to arrive. Not because she was worried about how James would be any more but because it was, frankly, a bit… weird to be making polite conversation with both your husband and your new partner at the same time.

Her phone rang as she was stepping out of the shower and she thought about ignoring it, but when she looked at the caller ID and saw it was Katie her curiosity took over. They hadn't spoken for a couple of weeks. Stephanie had been meaning to call to ask how Katie was coping on her own but she could never quite get up the enthusiasm. Katie had left her a couple of messages, sounding very positive, but still keen to talk about James and what a shit he was, and was there anything else they could do to get their own back? Stephanie had tried to tell her weeks ago that she thought they should move on, get on with sorting out how their lives would be in the future, but she wasn't sure Katie had taken it in. Now, presented with a ringing phone and Katie's name flashing up, she didn't feel she could just
reject the call, so she decided to keep it short and, hopefully, light.

‘Katie, hi.’

Katie launched straight in. ‘Guess what? I just saw James.’ She paused as if waiting for Stephanie to react in amazement.

Stephanie, who had a fair idea why James was in Lower Shippingham, didn't. ‘At the surgery?’ Stephanie said. ‘He mentioned he was going up to sort it out so he could sell it.’

Katie gasped. ‘You knew and you didn't warn me? I nearly had a heart-attack when I saw him.’

‘I didn't think, sorry. He's only there for two days and I knew he'd go out of his way not to bump into you. Or anyone else, for that matter.’

‘How much is he selling it for?’ Katie asked. She had been thinking for a while, she told Stephanie, about swapping her cottage for somewhere she could live that would also accommodate her ever-expanding business. Find somewhere with a couple of treatment rooms and maybe take someone on part-time to deal with her less-important clients. Get a much overdue foothold on the property ladder.

‘No idea,’ Stephanie said. ‘He wants a quick sale, I think. He's nearly out of money.’ As soon as she'd said it she regretted it. It was too personal, too tangible a weapon to give to someone who would have no hesitation in using it. ‘What I mean is, it's all tied up in the house and I have no intention of moving.’

‘Quite right too.’ And then, changing the subject, Katie said kindly, ‘How are you coping?’

‘Oh, fine, you know,’ Stephanie said, giving nothing away. ‘Surprisingly well, actually. I'm over him completely.’

‘God, me too,’ Katie said. ‘But it must be harder for you. You've got Finn, after all.’

‘Finn's fine,’ Stephanie said. ‘We're both fine.’

45

It had been a stressful day so far. Bertie Sullivan, the much-loved pug belonging to Charles Sullivan, Tory councillor for Westminster, was having trouble breathing. He lay strung out on the operating-table, eyes rolling back in his head while James tried frantically to decide what to do for the best. It had been a routine operation. Bertie had had an abscess on one of his back teeth, which had had to be removed. It was a procedure James had done, what? Probably a thousand times over the years. Nothing had ever gone wrong.

This morning, though, he hadn't been thinking straight. Tony, the estate agent, had been on the phone to say that after several weeks of no interest they had received an offer on the surgery. A very low offer but one that, Tony said, reflected the state of the place and which he would advise James to accept, given that he was in dire need of the cash. The offer, he told James, had come from a Miss Katie Cartwright, a very nice lady who had nothing to sell and a very healthy bank balance, due to her thriving business. Maybe you know her, he said, ‘Lower Shippingham being such a small place and all.’ She was very pretty — James would remember if he'd ever seen her. In fact, he was thinking of asking her out himself because she'd mentioned she was single. James hadn't bothered to comment. To say now, ‘Oh, yes, I used to live with her,’
seemed to be extending an invitation to a conversation he didn't want to find himself having.

He had told Tony he would need to think about it, mull it over for a few hours. The offer was so low the money was hardly going to enable him to set up a whole new life, but on the other hand he could pay off his debts and put down a deposit on a tiny flat in a not-too-dodgy part of London. Somewhere that Finn could come and stay overnight, even if James had to give up his bed and sleep on the sofa. He had to get out of the Chalk Farm Travel Motel, there was no doubt about it. The longer he was there the more he could feel himself turning into one of those hopeless single men you saw in sitcoms. He felt like a 1970s travelling salesman, living out of a suitcase, wearing increasingly threadbare clothes, eating takeaways and counting the pennies. And Stephanie would never see sense and come back to him while he was living like that. There was also the Katie factor. If he sold the surgery to her at a knockdown price then maybe she would feel she had evened the score a little. Maybe he would feel a little bit better about the way he had treated her.

He was trawling through the pros and cons, and indulging himself in his usual routine of beating himself up about how he had behaved in the past, when he noticed that Bertie was choking. He poked about in the dog's mouth and could see, lodged far down in the back of Bertie's throat, a piece of cotton wool, dropped in there, no doubt, when James had been calculating how much the estate agent's fees would be or which solicitors in Lincoln were the cheapest. Amanda, the nurse, had nipped out to check on another patient while he was
finishing up. After all, hadn't he done this a thousand times? He thought about calling her, then decided it was simpler and quicker if he just dealt with it himself rather than explain how he had managed to drop a swab down a valued patient's throat. He didn't need to panic, he just needed to get it out. James poked about with his fingers and then forceps, growing increasingly edgy. Before he could even think about whether he should perform an emergency tracheotomy Bertie went limp. Once he was apparently unconscious, James was able to fish out the offending swab easily. He dropped it on the floor. When Amanda breezed back in she found him trying to force oxygen by tube into a dog who, apparently, had been in perfect health until five minutes before.

‘What happened?’ She rushed over to the operating-table to help.

James reluctantly turned away from Bertie. ‘I have no idea. He was fine a minute ago.’

He couldn't bring himself to confess. Not now — not with everything else that was happening. He had lost patients before, scores of them in different ways, of course he had, but never, as far as he knew, had he killed off an animal because he had lost his concentration. OK, so everyone made mistakes, but there was no way he could own up to the fact that he had fucked up the most basic of procedures because he was thinking about his personal life and what a mess he had made of it. It was hardly going to be a comfort to Charles Sullivan that at the moment his beloved dog had died James had been wondering whether to look for somewhere to live in Swiss Cottage or Queen's Park. Better that he never knew.

Better that they could imply that Bertie must have had an undiagnosed weak heart or dodgy bronchial system. Better that Amanda could testify to the fact that James had been desperately trying to save the dog's life, rather than that he was responsible for its death in the first place.

Charles Sullivan, when James called to give him the bad news, was distraught but grateful for the efforts that had apparently been made to keep his pet alive. He declined an investigative post-mortem, as pet owners always did, and asked instead if he could collect Bertie's body so that he could bury him in the park. When he arrived, his eyes red from crying, he gave James a manly hug and thanked him again. James, who was feeling like a prize shit, shed genuine tears when he told Charles how sorry he was.

It happened to every vet at some point in their career, death by human error, he knew that, but the guilt he felt was almost overwhelming. He thought about Finn and how he would feel if anything happened to Sebastian, and he tried not to think about Charles's ten-year-old daughter who had come with him when he had first brought Bertie in. By the time he got to Belsize Avenue at six fifteen for his prearranged visit with Finn, he was feeling thoroughly miserable.

‘Hi, mate,’ he said, as Finn opened the door, his face alight at the prospect of spending some time with his father.

Stephanie was in the kitchen, talking on the phone to Natasha. She had been intending to spend the evening
sorting out her bedroom wardrobes — one pile for charity, another for things not worn for over a year and a third of definite keeps — just to be out of James's way. Michael was working — photographing the celebrating cast at the opening night of some play or other — and with Finn being entertained by James she would have the chance to spend some time on herself, a luxury that was increasingly rare these days. It seemed only polite, though, to say hello to her husband on the way.

‘How are you doing?’ she asked, thinking that he didn't look as if he was doing too well but not really wanting, or expecting, any answer other than ‘Fine’.

‘Shit, if I'm being honest.’

Stephanie flicked her eyes towards Finn.

‘Sorry,’ James said. ‘I mean, not too good. I had a bad day.’

She had no choice then but to sit and listen to the details of what had happened. When it became obvious it was a story that would give Finn nightmares she sent him off to brush David so that he could show James how well he was taking care of him.

Finn sighed, knowing he was going to be missing out on something. ‘I don't want to,’ he said petulantly.

‘Tell you what,’ James said. ‘Give his cage a good clean-out and then I'll show you how to give him a bath.’

‘Cool,’ Finn said, running out into the garden.

Stephanie eyed James sceptically. ‘Are you meant to bath guinea pigs?’ she said.

‘Not really, but it won't hurt him just once.’

By the time Finn was done James had told her everything: the fight with Richard, Katie's offer on the
surgery, his preoccupation with his financial worries, his part in Bertie's untimely death. Stephanie had resisted the urge to say, ‘Well, you brought it all on yourself.’ In fact, she'd found she was feeling a bit sorry for him.

‘If I was you I'd take whatever I could get for the surgery. If you're in real trouble we could talk about selling the house, maybe. Get something smaller for me and Finn.’ She had meant it. She didn't want to punish him any more.

But James wasn't having any of it. ‘Absolutely not. That's not why I told you… I mean, I wouldn't want you to think I was trying to play the sympathy card. You and Finn have done nothing wrong. Nothing would make me take your home away from you. I just need to get back on my feet, that's all. And you're right, getting rid of the surgery is a start. And then, maybe, I can get some more work down here. Set up on my own eventually. I'll tell the agent to accept her offer.’

Stephanie realized he still felt awkward saying Katie's name in front of her. As if she still cared.

‘You don't mind me selling to… her… do you?’ he asked now, nervously.

‘Of course not. Don't be stupid. In fact, I think it's a great idea. You owe her something too, James.’

Secretly Stephanie was hoping that Katie would think this was all the payback she needed: screw James out of a few thousand pounds and then move on. She didn't blame her, she thought. It was understandable that she wanted blood.

James put his hand on her arm and Stephanie stiffened.

She had to stop herself from pulling away abruptly, from pushing him off her.

‘Thank you, Steph, for being so… good about everything. I don't — I mean I didn't — deserve you.’

Stephanie patted his arm half-heartedly and he took his hand away, as if he knew it had been an inappropriate gesture. ‘It's fine,’ she said. ‘I want you to get yourself sorted as much as you do. For Finn's sake. So we can just get on with things, you know.’ God, she wished he would stop giving her that look, that cross between a hurt puppy and a hopeful child. She stood up to put some physical distance between them and, thankfully, Finn burst in, David in hand. James, to give him credit, snapped out of his self-pity and into jolly-dad mode.

‘OK, the first thing you have to remember is that you should only do this once a year.’

Stephanie laughed — she knew he was hoping that Finn would have forgotten all about guinea-pig baths by the time twelve months had gone by. She left them to it, hoping David wouldn't be too traumatized by the experience. James would make sure he wasn't, she knew, because, contrary to how he was feeling right now, James was both a good father and a good vet. He was just a shit husband.