It's a Vet's Life: (18 page)

Izzy isn’t all that impressed to see George either. I explain the situation and she isn’t overly sympathetic, but then she doesn’t have any children. She has dogs.

‘I can’t look after him, Maz. I haven’t a clue when it comes to under-eighteens.’

‘Pretend he’s a puppy,’ I suggest lightly. ‘It’s cheeky, I know, but I wondered if I could ask Shannon to spend
some
time with him and make do without a consulting nurse today.’

‘You’re going to have to do without one anyway, I’m afraid. She’s called in sick.’

‘Are you sure? That isn’t like her. What’s wrong?’

‘A sore throat. A virus. She was pretty vague.’

‘I can’t remember her having a day off in all the time she’s been here.’

‘No, she’s had off days, from too much partying the night before, but she’s been reliable. It’s probably exam stress, but she’s finished them now, so hopefully, she’ll be back tomorrow,’ says Izzy.

My heart sinks. What am I going to do with George?

It’s no use. He’ll have to watch from his buggy in the consulting room for some of the time and sit with Frances for the rest. I hope the clients don’t mind too much. I wish either Alex or I had a normal job, something nine to five in an office where you could catch up with your work the next day if you needed to.

At lunchtime, I play ball with George in the garden outside – we use one of Miff’s tennis balls that I found in the long grass under the apple tree – and feed him on sandwiches from the Co-op. While we’re enjoying the sunshine together, I call Jennie of Jennie’s Cakes.

‘Hi. It’s Maz here. Can I talk to you about wedding cakes?’

‘Are you planning more than one wedding?’ she says, sounding amused.

‘I was thinking about cupcakes, like the ones you did for Penny.’

‘There’s a story behind those …’

‘I know. The dog – Lucky – ate the original cake the day before the wedding, and you saved the day by making cupcakes. Jennie, no one – apart from Penny,
of
course – would have known any different.’ I pause. ‘Oh, I’m not sure. Alex’s father has offered to pay for the cake and champagne, and I can’t help thinking that he’d prefer me to choose something more traditional.’

‘I can drop in to the practice sometime,’ Jennie says. ‘I’ll bring some cake samples and piccies.’

‘That would be great. Thank you.’ I return George to Frances’s care before the afternoon’s consulting begins. Frances survives the rest of the day, although not before George has dislodged her wig and spilled juice on the post. Emma catches me after Frances has left for home, and has a look at George’s rash. George is delighted to show her every spot on his skin, pointing at each one as if he’s drawing a dot-to-dot.

‘I reckon that he needs some antibiotics,’ Emma says, getting up from where she’s been kneeling on the floor in the staffroom. ‘Why don’t you call in on us on the way back to the Manor? Ben can write you a prescription.’

‘I’ll get him up to the surgery tomorrow.’

‘Ah, tomorrow. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about …’ Emma hesitates before going on. ‘I have a hospital appointment for a scan late afternoon. Maz, you must have guessed!’

Emma is positively glowing. She beams with joy, and I have no doubt now.

‘You’re pregnant …’

She nods. ‘I reckon I’m about twelve weeks gone.’

‘Emma, how exciting.’ I throw my arms around her as tears of joy prick my eyes. Frances was right. ‘That’s wonderful. I’m so pleased for you and Ben. But how? How can that be?’

‘The usual way, Maz. And yes, you’re right, I didn’t have any IVF this time.’ Emma has had pregnancies
resulting
both naturally and through fertility treatment before. ‘It’s happened all on its own – with Ben’s input, of course.’

‘Too much information,’ I smile, stepping back.

‘Sorry,’ Emma giggles.

‘I thought you were … but I didn’t like to ask.’ I shade my eyes, looking at Emma as if her happiness is dazzling. ‘Frances was pretty certain you were. It was the doughnuts that gave it away.’

‘I hoped no one had noticed.’

‘You can’t keep anything secret here.’

‘The jam in the middle started to taste like iron filings.’

‘I can’t say I’ve ever tried them,’ I say, laughing with her.

‘How I imagine they might taste then,’ she amends.

‘You will come in to show us the photos tomorrow?’

‘Of course.’

‘Oh, Emma, I can’t wait.’

Her expression grows serious. ‘I’m trying to keep it real,’ she says. ‘I want it so much …’

I reach out and touch her hand.

‘You’re bound to worry,’ I say gently, ‘but I’m sure everything will turn out fine this time.’

‘Thanks, Maz.’ Emma sighs. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘Same here.’

I hope the results of the scan are favourable. Emma wants this baby more than anything in the world. It’s selfish of me, I know, but I wonder if Emma will be able to make the wedding, let alone be maid of honour any more. On a quick calculation, it’s just a few weeks before this baby is due.

The next morning’s ops seem to go very slowly with
a
cat castration, a bitch spay and two lump removals. Will sees the appointments with Izzy, while I operate with Shannon.

‘You are feeling better today?’ I ask her, when we’re working on Sally, a golden retriever who has a lump on her flank. ‘Yeah,’ Shannon says noncommittally, as I remove the growth and surrounding skin, and send it off for histology to find out whether it’s anything to worry about. I’m probably just as concerned as Penny, Sally’s owner. Sally is one of my specials. Penny is a warm, vibrant person, an artist who moved down here to Devon after she was disabled in a car crash. Sally is both her companion and assistance dog.

I begin stitching up. When I stick the needle through Sally’s skin, Sally flinches and lifts her head, which isn’t great timing.

‘Turn her up,’ I say urgently, stopping to help Shannon soothe the dog and keep her still while she breathes in more anaesthetic.

‘I’m sorry. I let her get too light too quickly.’

‘Yes, now I’ll have to scrub up again,’ I say wryly. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t have rushed back to work so soon after having that virus, or whatever it was.’

Eventually, we move Sally back to the big kennel and I watch her come round, take her tube out and check she’s warm enough.

‘Good girl, Sally,’ I tell her, and even though she’s still half asleep, she wags her tail in response to my voice. ‘Okay, Shannon,’ I call. ‘Sally’s tube’s out. Shannon?’

I get up stiffly – must be getting old – and look for her. She’s nowhere to be seen, which is not good, considering she’s supposed to be responsible for the
inpatients
and her break isn’t for another half an hour. I find her in the corridor on her mobile.

‘Shannon –’ I hold the door for her to come back into Kennels –‘we agreed, no mobiles except at break times.’

‘I’m sorry, Maz. I had to phone home. Mum’s not answering.’

‘I’m sure she has a good reason. She’s probably serving a customer.’

‘I have to go out for a few minutes. I need to make sure she’s all right.’

‘Shannon, you’re on ops. You can’t just leave.’

‘She could be on the floor. Anything.’ I can hear the panic rising in Shannon’s voice. ‘She’s been having trouble with her insulin. Her blood sugar levels are all over the place. I’ve left her with Seven and Daisy.’ She holds out her hands, palms upwards. ‘Who knows what might have happened?’

‘Okay, Shannon, I’m coming with you. Let me get Izzy to take over here. Have you got your house keys, in case your mum’s gone out?’ I knock and walk into the consulting room. There is a cat on the table, a powerful stench of pus and Will is cleaning his glasses. Apologising for the interruption, I call Izzy out.

‘If you could just take over in Kennels,’ I say, ‘I’ll explain later.’

‘Maz, could you come here for a minute?’ Frances says as Shannon and I head out through Reception. ‘Clive’s on the phone wanting a quick word.’

‘Tell him I’ll call back by one.’ I can’t stop. Part of me is saying Bridget’s fine and another is fearing the worst.

We pace briskly through the car park, and left along to Market Square to Petals, receiving a few odd looks
from
people in the cars that are stuck behind a slow-moving tractor and muck spreader in the one-way system, because we’re still dressed in our scrubs. It takes a glimpse of my reflection in the window of the Copper Kettle to make me realise that I’m still wearing my theatre cap too. It isn’t a good look.

I whip it off and stuff it into my pocket as we reach Petals. It has a green awning and a stand of flowers outside on the pavement. The sign on the door reads OPEN, and Seven is on the other side, whining and making nose-prints on the glass.

Shannon pushes the door open, ringing the bell on the way into the shop.

‘Mum,’ she calls, ‘Mum!’ while Seven trots back and forth, as if he’s showing us the way. Daisy snuffles about unperturbed, lapping from the buckets on the floor.

I follow Shannon and Seven past the counter, through to the back of the shop where Bridget is sitting slumped on the step that leads into the living accommodation beyond.

‘Mum?’ Shannon’s voice catches. ‘Oh, Mum.’ She falls to her knees beside her, and takes her hand. ‘When did you last eat? Where is your bag?’

Bridget is pale, her frizzy curls stuck to her forehead, and her body trembling. She’s tried to pull her polo top off, but managed to get only one arm out of the sleeves.

‘I d-d-don’t know,’ she stammers.

‘When did you have your insulin?’

‘Don’t remember.’

‘Sugar,’ I say. ‘She needs sugar.’

‘She has a bag. Her glucose tablets will be in there. Mum –’ Shannon shakes her roughly by the shoulder – ‘where’s the bag?’

I check in the shop. There’s a cloth bag on the counter. I open it, find a packet of glucose tablets and hand them to Shannon, who gives two to Bridget, guiding her hand to her mouth.

‘Water,’ she mumbles.

‘I’ll get it.’ I move past them to find my way to the kitchen where I rinse out a glass and fill it from the tap. Glancing around at the cutlery and plates stacked up in the washing-up bowl, and the overflowing pedal bin, I wonder how much time Shannon has had to devote to looking after her mother recently.

‘How long does it take to work? When will she feel better?’ Shannon asks.

‘Not long,’ I say, wondering whether to call an ambulance. ‘Why don’t I ring Dr Mackie. Your mum needs to see a doctor. Shannon, has this happened before? Is this why you were off sick yesterday, because you were worried about your mum?’

‘I didn’t know what else to do. It’s been so hard recently.’ She sniffs. ‘I’m the only one, you see.’ She’s still holding her mum’s hand.

‘I know I shouldn’t,’ Bridget says more clearly now, ‘but I depend on Shannon.’ She looks up through a glitter of tears. ‘I’m sorry, love. I’m useless.’

‘Don’t be silly, Mum.’

‘I wish you’d said, Shannon. It’s no wonder you had such a struggle with your exams and everything.’ I pull my mobile out of my bag and call Ben. It takes a few minutes to arrange an appointment – he’s too busy to visit and it isn’t far to the surgery. ‘He’ll see you in half an hour,’ I tell Shannon. ‘You must take the rest of the day off.’

‘But, Maz—’ she protests.

‘You can’t be in two places at once, and your
mum
needs you now. And I need to get back to the practice.’

Shannon walks back through the shop with me.

‘What am I going to do? In the long term, I mean?’

‘Shannon, this isn’t insurmountable. We’ll talk to Ben later – I mean, Dr Mackie. It might be that we can negotiate with Izzy so you do all the late shifts for a while, until your mum’s diabetes is stabilised. She might be able to have one of those diabetic alert dogs, the ones that can detect low blood sugar levels from a change in body odour.’

‘We can’t have three dogs,’ says Shannon.

‘Seven appears to show some aptitude for the role. Cheer up. You can’t possibly give up vet nursing to look after your mum. I won’t let you. You’re talented and caring, and after a few weeks, your mum won’t need you watching over her like this.’ I pause. ‘If the doctor sends you to the hospital, I can give you a lift.’

‘I can drive, Maz.’ Shannon smiles weakly. ‘You’re busy enough already. You’ve done the ops, and you’re booked up all afternoon, and you’re fitting Jennie in in between, so you can order your wedding cake. I don’t know how you do it.’

I smile back. ‘Neither do I, Shannon. Neither do I.’

When I return to Otter House a couple of minutes later, there is no let-up.

‘Maz,’ says Frances, ‘can you have a word with Will, once you’ve spoken to Clive? I’ve had a client complaining about the amount he charged for lancing an abscess this morning. It was the tiniest abscess – although the pus apparently spurted everywhere – and the cat’s had one before and it cost about a third of the amount when you dealt with it.’

‘How much was it?’