It's a Vet's Life: (16 page)

‘Was it you who rang the paper?’ I have to ask.

‘You have to make the most of these opportunities, Maz.’ I watch her expression, cool and calculating. ‘When can I come back and see Saba?’

‘Tomorrow. Same time.’

I check the front page of the
Chronicle
– I’m there in full colour, staring up towards the top of the cliff, the sea behind me. I’m grimacing with fear and effort. My hair sticks out from under my helmet like straw from a scarecrow’s head.

Local Vet Rescues Dog
reads the headline.

‘It’s good, isn’t it,’ Frances comments. ‘It’s a great likeness.’

‘So it should be,’ I say. ‘It is me, after all.’

‘Have you booked Maria to do your hair for the wedding? Maz, you really should get on and do that. It wouldn’t take five minutes.’

‘I know. I’ll get around to it sometime.’

Frances hands me the phone again. ‘If I were you, I’d do it now while you have a free moment.’

To Love and to Cherish

IT’S A HOT
, dry summer and, although it’s only the middle of July, the grass in the paddocks at Talyton Manor is scorched, and much of the ground almost bare, apart from a few clumps of nettles and crowns of dock leaves. The weather might be bad for farmers and their livestock, but it has one great benefit. You don’t have to put your wellies on every time you step outside the front door.

‘Come on then, George.’ I pick him up, along with a carrier bag of shopping, and carry him inside the Barn. ‘I need to get the tea on.’ I’m looking forward to Alex coming home tonight because he’s on daddy duty, as I call it. I’ve had George to myself all day, and although I’ve loved it, I’m shattered.

He’s been so busy ‘helping’ that I haven’t managed to get anything done apart from some shopping at the Co-op. When I got back to the car, I found George had inadvertently shoplifted three grapes and two fudge bars, slipping them into the front pocket of his dungarees. Did I as a pillar of the community and a
professional
person go back to the shop and ’fess up? No, I dropped a donation into a charity box on the quiet.

I pick up the post from the floor and stick the oven on, and I’m just dragging the washing out of the machine, a load of Alex’s shirts and trousers, when Alex turns up.

‘Hi,’ he says, on his way through to the open-plan kitchen area.

‘You’re early for once,’ I say, pleased to see him.

‘I thought I’d spend some quality time with my fiancée, and my son,’ he adds, kissing me.

‘After you’ve been in the shower. You stink of cow,’ I say, laughing as I push him away. ‘I’ll put the dinner on. Does pizza, garlic bread and green salad suit you?’

‘Sounds great.’ Then he says ironically, ‘You shouldn’t have spent all day slaving over a hot stove.’

‘You know I didn’t.’

‘Where’s the boy?’

‘Dada.’ George toddles across the floor to his dad, who sweeps him into the air and rubs noses with him. George giggles. ‘Dada.’

‘Perhaps you could take him upstairs and give him a shower as well,’ I suggest, ‘or a bath.’

‘Maz, I’ve only just walked through the door.’

‘I know, I’m sorry …’

‘Give me five, and I’ll come and help you with George and dinner.’

‘Thanks, Alex.’ My chest tightens with love and desire. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve him. Not only is he the most attractive man I’ve ever met, he’s kind and generous with it.

I find some plates, listening to one of George’s CDs, Favourite Nursery Rhymes, and the sound of water
running
in the shower. Alex is as good as his word, returning downstairs a few minutes later in a pair of jeans, and towelling his hair dry. I can’t help noticing the angry weal down his arm.

‘What have you done there?’

Alex looks at me as if to say, it’s nothing, but as he drops the towel onto the clean washing in the basket beside the machine, he winces.

‘One of Stewart’s cattle caught my arm in the crush, gave me a bit of a squeeze.’ He swears lightly then apologises. ‘It was one of those things.’ He tips his head to one side. ‘I was thinking about something else, some fiancée or other of mine.’

‘Do you want some ice on that?’

‘It’s fine.’ Alex flexes his fingers. ‘I’ll be a bit sore for a couple of days, but it’ll soon wear off. I’ve had worse.’

He finds himself a shirt before we sit down at the table. George is strapped into his high chair with a finger of pizza and some cucumber in front of him. He isn’t a great fan of lettuce – of anything green, in fact – but I keep trying.

‘So, Maz,’ Alex says, ‘have you thought any more about the honeymoon? Where would you like to go?’

‘Surprise me.’

Alex ruffles his hair in mock frustration.

‘You have to give me some idea, a clue. Somewhere hot and sunny? Somewhere cold and crisp in the mountains?’ He takes my hand. ‘I don’t want to make a mistake.’

I want to say, I don’t care where we go as long as I’m with you, but that would sound soft, so I don’t. ‘Somewhere warm, but not too hot for George.’

Alex frowns and I realise I’ve said the wrong thing.

‘What’s George got to do with it? He isn’t coming with us, Maz. This is our honeymoon. That’s why I thought we’d compromise and spend Christmas with the children before we went away.’

‘I assumed …’ My voice trails off. I can’t imagine leaving George behind for two weeks. I don’t think I can do it.

‘It’s traditional for newlyweds to make a baby on honeymoon, not take one with them,’ Alex says, smiling.

‘We aren’t a traditional couple. We already have a baby on board. Oh, I don’t know what to do … Somehow, I pictured George coming along with us.’

‘Yeah,’ Alex says ruefully, ‘and George ending up in the bed with us, which means we’ll have lots of sleepless nights, and for all the wrong reasons.’

We both look at George who is quiet for a moment, squishing pizza between his fingers.

‘I’ll talk to Mother. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to have him.’ Alex pauses, while I’m thinking, two weeks is too long, too much time for Sophia to brainwash our son with the Fox-Gifford family values. ‘She’s always trying to get George to herself –’ Alex strokes my fingers, his skin snagging against mine – ‘just like I’m working on getting you to myself. Call me selfish, darling, but that’s what I want.’ Alex’s voice is like shards of brittle toffee. ‘It’s up to you though.’

‘I don’t know, Alex.’

‘How can I convince you?’ He raises my hand and presses his lips to the inside of my wrist, thrilling my skin, my whole being, until I’m melting inside.

‘I’m torn,’ I mutter.

‘Two weeks. Just you and me …?’

It’s difficult to resist. Impossible.

‘Oh, Alex …’

‘So, that’s a yes then.’ He leans closer and presses his lips to my cheek. ‘George stays at home with Mother. I’d better start doing some research on the best places to go. It isn’t very long until Christmas, and I don’t want to risk going for a last-minute deal.’

‘Don’t remind me – I’ve got so much more to do,’ I say, sitting back.

‘Is there any of that pizza left? I’ll get it,’ Alex goes on, as I make to get up, but before he can pick up his plate, his mobile rings from the sofa where he must have dropped it on his way indoors.

I raise one eyebrow, waiting as Alex paces up and down. It’s gone six and Alex isn’t on call tonight so I can only assume it’s a routine enquiry. Don’t people around here realise that it’s polite to keep calls to office hours? I smile to myself, because our clients are exactly the same.

‘I’m sorry, Maz,’ Alex says, cutting the call. ‘I’ve got to go. It’s one of the Pony Club. Their horse has injured itself in the field. It’s non-weight-bearing so I can’t leave it.’

‘You aren’t on call tonight.’ Neither of us is. That’s the whole point, to spend some quality time together. I am in turns disappointed and annoyed, as well as being sorry for the horse.

‘It’s one of those things. They’re one of my specials.’

‘You mean they won’t see your father?’

‘Something like that.’ Alex starts hunting around for his keys. ‘George, have you picked them up?’ he says, impatiently.

‘No,’ says George.

‘Are you sure?’ Alex is trying to sound stern, but I can hear the humour bubbling up in his voice.

‘No,’ George says, shaking his head, and laughing.

‘Does that mean yes?’ Alex looks to me for help.

I shrug. ‘Try upstairs. You’ve probably chucked them in the laundry. It wouldn’t be the first time.’

‘Okay, I’ll have a look. I’ll take the X-ray machine with me rather than have to come back for it. Hopefully, I won’t be long.’

‘See you later then,’ I say, resigned. By the time he’s back downstairs with his keys rescued from the laundry basket, a thought has occurred to me. ‘Alex, if I get called out, what am I supposed to do with George?’

‘You aren’t on call.’

‘Yes, but if Will wants me …’

‘You’ll have to ask Mother, or take him with you.’ Alex pulls on a sweater. ‘Don’t wait up tonight, George. Go to sleep for Mummy.’ He kisses me as he leaves me, pondering one of a vet’s life’s bigger questions: Why do animals always seem to injure themselves in the middle of dinner or a great film? That’s why I don’t watch films any more. I’ve seen far more beginnings than I have ends.

Half an hour later, Alex texts me. He’s going to be a while, so I get on with bathing George and putting him to bed, reading the story of the dog, Hairy Maclary from Donaldson’s Dairy, who reminds me of Lucky, one of my patients and the dog who snapped at Alex at the show. Sophia bought the book for George, another example of Fox-Gifford indoctrination. That boy will love horses and dogs, or they will have failed in their duty as grandparents.

At ten, I retire to bed. At ten thirty, I’m lying awake, unable to sleep for wondering when Alex will return. After midnight, the light on my mobile pierces the
curtain
of darkness that has fallen across my eyes. The tune of ‘I’m Getting Married in the Morning’ tickles my eardrums. I really must change the ringtone, Izzy’s idea of a joke.

‘Hi?’ I say, fumbling for the phone. I recognise the familiar number of Otter House Vets.

‘Hello, is that you, Maz? Good evening.’

‘I’m pretty sure you’ll find it’s morning, Will,’ I say, suppressing a wry smile. ‘What’s up?’

‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve got a cat in labour here, and I realise this sounds pathetic, but I don’t know what to do. It’s a Persian cat, Cassie. I’ve checked her over, but I can’t decide what to do for the best.’

‘I’ll be right there,’ I decide. ‘Is Shannon with you?’

I can hear the relief in Will’s voice. ‘She’s getting theatre ready in case.’

I pull on a sweatshirt and joggers, run my fingers through my hair and tie it back with a couple of turns of a hairband. George? I’ll have to take George with me. I can’t bother Sophia at this time of night. And Emma will be in bed asleep, and I don’t want to do anything to disturb her, if by any happy chance she is pregnant, as Frances has suggested.

I pick George up out of his cot. (I haven’t moved him into a bed just yet because he’ll never stay there.) He opens his eyes and smiles, and my heart skips a tiny beat that he’s in a good mood and willing to cooperate with being strapped into his car seat.

I listen for a moment, hoping Alex will turn up, but he doesn’t and there’s no time to waste.

‘Let’s go, George. And remember, this is why you don’t want to be a vet when you’re older.’

George is wide awake and ready to go when we arrive at the practice. Because I’ve forgotten to bring
the
buggy to trap him in, Shannon takes him for me. Her expression suggests she’s about to tell me she’s a nurse, not a babysitter, which is perfectly reasonable, but she keeps quiet. She holds his hand as George potters about in his striped pyjamas, tipping squash out of one of those leakproof toddler drinking cups and scattering biscuit crumbs as he goes.

We all go into the prep area where Cassie is on the bench, straining feebly with fluid leaking from her rear end. She’s panting like mad and really upset. I can sympathise now, as I did with Liberty, having given birth to George.

Clive and Edie stand with her. Will leans against the cupboards beyond, flicking through a textbook¸ a picture of indecision.

‘Hi,’ I say, as cheerfully as I can. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

‘I’ve said before, we should have shares in this place, Maz,’ Clive jokes, but I can tell he is worried. ‘We could have a ward named after us.’

‘Okay, Will, tell me what you think,’ I say.

Will, the diligent, newly qualified vet, runs through Cassie’s vital signs.

‘When did she start pushing?’ I ask.

‘About – oh, I don’t know.’ Clive looks at Edie for guidance, but she is vague. ‘About two hours ago? Not all that long before last orders.’

‘What can you feel, Will?’

‘There’s a kitten in the pelvic canal coming head first. I wasn’t sure if I should deliver it or go straight for a Caesar.’