It's a Vet's Life: (37 page)

There’s one of those gift bags containing a bottle of some kind on the desk at Reception, the pattern on the bag competing with Frances’s tunic top for the accolade of most garish. Frances slips her Dame Edna specs onto her nose and peers at the label.

‘Oh, it’s for Will,’ she says, surprised. ‘Fancy that.’

‘He has a fan,’ I say. ‘Who is it from?’

‘It says, “From Jack Pike, with thanks and lots of licks.” Look, he’s signed it with a paw print.’

‘A muddy one?’

‘No, dipped in paint, I should imagine. Oh, how sweet.’

Jack Pike is a liver and white English springer spaniel. His owner, Ed, is a huntin’, shootin’, fishin’ kind of man.

‘He’s the one Will referred for an MRI,’ I say.

‘Indeed,’ says Frances. ‘Didn’t you hear? They found a tumour on the brain scan. He’s had treatment and he’s in remission.’

Frances looks at me, smiling. ‘I believe you’ll have to eat your words, Maz. Didn’t you say it was excessive referring Jack to the specialist?’

‘Expensive.’ Unnecessary too, or so I thought. I was
wrong
. Obviously. A prompt referral has saved Jack’s life. I wonder how Ed, who’s married with two children, managed to afford it.

‘There’s a present for you, Will,’ I say, taking it through to Kennels. Shannon is holding Cleo, the tortie and white ‘care’ cat on the prep bench while Will looks down its ear.

I hesitate, unable to believe what I’m seeing.

‘Will, don’t you realise you’ll end up having to knock her out?’

‘She’s fine,’ Will mutters.

‘Can’t you see anything yet?’ Shannon says impatiently.

‘No … No, it’s pretty dark down here.’

‘You haven’t got some wax or something blocking the end?’ With one hand, Shannon reaches for the pot of cotton buds on the shelf and removes the lid, keeping hold of Cleo who is becoming increasingly annoyed, twitching the end of her tail and making small, but threatening, noises in her throat. Izzy’s been training Shannon well. It never ceases to amaze me how nurses are so proficient at multitasking.

Will examines the otoscope and pokes a cotton bud into the cone that he’s taken out of Cleo’s ear. ‘It’s no different.’

Shannon starts to giggle.

‘I know what you’ve done – you haven’t turned the brightness up on the light.’

Will fiddles for a moment.

‘Oh, yes,’ he says.

‘Has the light dawned at last?’ Shannon says, and I wonder if I should have a word with her about her sharp tongue. She’s beginning to sound remarkably like Izzy. She’s judging Will too harshly. He’s the vet
whereas
Shannon is an, as yet, unqualified nurse.

I wonder if this situation has more to do with Shannon and what happened – or didn’t happen – between her and Drew, our former locum, than Will himself. She’s over Drew – it happened over two years ago now, but maybe … She hasn’t had a boyfriend, as far as I know, although she’s often out and about with her girlfriends.

‘Eureka,’ says Will.

‘What is it?’ says Shannon. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense any longer. Any second now and Cleo’s going to loop the loop.’

‘Ear mites,’ Will says triumphantly, at which Shannon picks up one of the bottles from the shelf and hands it over to him.

‘I assume you’ll want this then.’

‘Well, yes. Thank you.’

‘Do you want to flush first?’ she asks.

‘Um …’ Will deliberates for a minute or so. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘All right then, if you’re sure.’

‘I think so … Yes, I am sure.’ I think he’s forgotten I’m here. I clear my throat.

‘There’s a present for you, Will,’ I repeat. ‘I’ll leave it here while you finish off. I don’t want to be witness to a bloodbath.’ I don’t know why I say that – a picture of Old Fox-Gifford reaching for the trigger of his gun flicks into my head. I take a breath and stay, deciding that I need the distraction. It’s been three weeks since it happened and the memory is as fresh as ever.

‘Thank you, Maz.’ Will turns his attention back to Cleo, squeezing the drops into one ear, while Shannon rolls her eyes at me. She really must stop doing that. Will massages the first ear, Cleo mewing and
scratching
with her back leg. He lets go and the cat immediately shakes her head, spattering ear drops everywhere.

‘Ugh,’ says Shannon, grabbing a piece of paper towel to wipe her face. ‘Why didn’t you cover the ear with cotton wool like Maz does, so when they shake their heads, the drops stay in?’

‘I didn’t think,’ Will stammers, gazing ruefully at the greasy spatters down his top.

‘I’d even got the cotton wool ready for you. Honestly, now I’m going to smell of ear wax all day.’

‘I’m sorry, Shannon. I’ll make it up to you.’

‘Don’t bother, Will. You’ll only make a mess of that too.’

‘I’m impressed, anyway,’ I join in. ‘Will’s managed to tame the cat with the worst reputation in the practice. How did you do it?’

‘Ah, tact and patience,’ he says, grinning. ‘I’ve learned a lot from Izzy. I’ve been respectful and treated Cleo as an individual. As a result, we have an understanding.’

‘You’re winding me up.’

‘I don’t know, to be honest. When I first met Cleo, I missed the “care” warning on her notes.’

‘I don’t know how,’ says Shannon. ‘It’s in red with stars and exclamation marks all over it.’

‘You know me,’ Will says. ‘Anyway, I stroked her and gave her a treat. I think she quite likes me.’

‘My theory is that she prefers male vets,’ says Shannon.

‘So she’s a misogynist, as well as being prone to violence,’ I say lightly.

‘It’s a misandrist,’ Will chips in. ‘You’re referring to a man who hates women.’

‘Thank you for that,’ I say, passing him the bag. ‘You’re doing well today. There’s a present here from Jack Pike.’

‘It looks like wine,’ Shannon says as Will pulls the bottle halfway out of the bag.

‘It’s whisky, a single malt. That’s kind of Ed. He shouldn’t have though – I was only doing my job.’

‘Enjoy it,’ I say. ‘You deserve it. I’m sorry I doubted your judgement. You saved Jack’s life.’

Will blushes. ‘At least I managed to get something right.’

He takes the present upstairs to the flat, leaving me with Shannon.

‘You were a bit sharp with Will just then.’

‘Was I?’ Shannon says blithely as she returns Cleo to her cage, straightening the Vetbed inside first.

‘You know you were.’

‘Well, he is a bit of a—’

‘Respect, Shannon,’ I cut in. ‘You have to show him some respect and cut him a little slack. He’s fairly new to all this. You remember what it was like when you started work here, you didn’t get everything right first time.’

It seems that my words have hit home.

‘I still get things wrong,’ she confesses. ‘Like the order for the vaccines. Oh, I’ll try to be nice to him. It’s just that he’s so boring when he goes on about his spiders and lizardy things, and then it takes him half an hour to examine each inpatient in the mornings when it takes you and Emma five minutes max, and he can never make a decision about anything.’

It’s true that Will finds it difficult to make decisions. He asks me through to the consulting room during afternoon surgery. It’s a reasonable call because it’s
Cassie
, and, as Will says, she’s definitely one of my specials.

‘One more time,’ says Clive. ‘I know, Maz. I’d rather not, but Edie isn’t ready to let her go.’

I admit her and, with Will’s help, put her on a drip to get some fluids into her. She hasn’t been eating or drinking. Her mouth is dry and, when I tweak the skin over her neck, it forms a tent that takes much longer than it should to collapse back down. She’s weak, hardly able to stand, and her breath smells of ammonia.

Within a couple of hours, her condition is worse. She’s throwing up and crying, and I can’t bear to see her like that. I call Clive. Within fifteen minutes, he’s back with Edie. Frances buzzes through to me to let me know they’re here.

‘I thought you should also know, Maz,’ Frances says, ‘that Edie is very drunk. She can hardly stand.’

‘Show them into the staffroom,’ I decide. ‘Kick Miff and Tripod out. Not literally,’ I add blackly. ‘We are supposed to be caring.’

‘Oh, Maz,’ Frances sighs. ‘You don’t have to joke about it. I know you’re upset.’

I don’t say anything. I have to. It’s my way of coping.

Shannon and I take Cassie through to the staffroom where Edie and Clive are sitting side by side on the sofa. Shannon spreads a towel across Edie’s lap and I rest Cassie on top of it. I draw up some of the final injection from the bottle I’ve brought with me.

‘My poor baby,’ Edie sobs.

‘It’s all right, love,’ says Clive, when it’s clearly far from all right. I can smell alcohol on Edie’s breath. Her long hair – dark with a silver streak – is flat and greasy, her purple top is stained and hangs from her bony frame, revealing a grubby bra strap. She’s a wreck.

‘I wish we hadn’t left her this long,’ Clive goes on, stroking Cassie’s head.

‘We gave her a chance,’ Edie mumbles. ‘She came back to us last time.’

‘She’s been a true fighter.’ I don’t understand how Cassie survived this long with the amount of urea she had in her blood. It just goes to show how you shouldn’t rely on lab tests alone. ‘Are you ready, or would you like more time with her?’

‘Put her out of her misery,’ Clive says gruffly.

I slip the needle into the plug on the drip tubing, kinking the tube so the drug goes into the cat and not into the bag. Slowly, I push the plunger, sending the blue fluid swirling through the tubing. Within seconds, Cassie rests her chin on Edie’s hand and utters a low sigh as her body relaxes and her breathing stops. I know before I check for a pulse that she’s gone. I nod towards Clive as Edie is hugging Cassie to her chest, tears running down her face.

‘We’d like her cremated. I don’t like to think of her left outside with the dogs.’ Clive means the ones he’s buried before in the garden at the Talymill Inn. ‘And I’m going to make an appointment to have the kittens tested. I don’t want to see them suffer in the same way. I don’t want Edie to have to worry about them each time they’re off colour for any reason.’ Shannon extricates the cat’s body from Edie’s grasp, then Clive helps his wife up, an arm around her waist. ‘It’ll give us some peace of mind, at least.’

I watch them go, Edie stumbling along the corridor and Clive holding her up.

Shannon looks at me, eyebrows raised.

‘It’s very sad to see her like that,’ I say. It reminds me that some people have problems far worse than mine.
Will
Clive’s problems be compounded by the kittens’ lab results?

When their results come in after another week, I call Clive straight away.

‘Don’t keep me in suspense,’ he says.

‘It’s good news. They’re both clear.’

‘Thank goodness for that. I’ll tell Edie …’

There’s a long pause and I’m not sure what to say.

‘Actually, Maz, I don’t think she’ll care,’ Clive begins again. ‘She’s at rock bottom.’

‘I’m sorry, Clive. If there’s anything I can do …’

‘There’s nothing anyone can do now. Edie has to decide for herself …’ Clive clears his throat. ‘I’m very sorry too, Maz. I heard about you and Alex. Elsa mentioned it – we buy our sausages from her.’

‘It’s one of those things,’ I say glibly. ‘Clive, I’ve got to go …’ I’m not in a great hurry, but I don’t want to talk. I go home early to spend some time with George.

Alex is in the surgery, tidying up. I offer to help, but he makes excuses. He says it’s something he has to do on his own. He doesn’t seem to be getting very far, I notice, because he’s in the office at midnight with the light on, asleep with his head on the desk. When I check up on him, all he appears to have done is take down his father’s ancient veterinary textbooks off the shelves and stack them up on the floor.

I reach out to touch his shoulder and change my mind.

‘Alex,’ I say quietly, thinking that this is much like waking George. You’re never quite sure how he’ll react. ‘Alex, come to bed.’

He sits up and yawns.

‘I’ve too much to do,’ he says, his voice like shattering ice. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘Can we talk? I could stay and chat while you’re sorting the books out. Shall I go and find a couple of boxes? I’ll bring drinks, and something to eat. You didn’t have any dinner.’

‘Maz, stop trying to mollycoddle me.’

Mollycoddle? What kind of a word is that? It sounds like his father speaking.

‘It’s suffocating,’ Alex goes on. ‘Please go, before I say something I regret.’

‘Alex …’ His name catches in my throat. I take a breath, telling myself to calm down. He’s lost his father, he’s depressed and overworked … He’s a man and he’s retreated to his cave to lick his wounds. Well, he can’t stay in there any longer. I’ve had enough of keeping it all together, and taking sole charge of George, and walking on eggshells because I don’t know where I stand. ‘Alex, I need you to make a decision about …’ My heart hammers so loudly, I can hear it echoing around in my head. ‘… us. I need to know if we have any kind of future, because I can’t carry on like this. It’s the not knowing …’ I turn and walk away, stumbling down the steps. I can’t continue. It’s too painful.