The Slap (23 page)

‘That’s fine. I’ll drop Hugo off at the clinic at four if that’s alright. I don’t have to be at my appointment till four-thirty. In fact, it’s perfect, thank you. It’s just for a couple of hours.’

Hugo had dropped Rosie’s nipple from his mouth and jutted his chin out for a kiss. Rosie, impulsively, gathered up Connie in a hug. ‘I really mean it, thank you. I feel so guilty.’

Connie kissed the child. She adored his smell, the rich succulent nectar of his mother’s milk.

‘Why are you guilty?’

‘It’s just yoga. It’s my one indulgence.’

‘Rosie it’s not a problem.’ She tickled the boy’s hair. ‘See you Saturday, Hugo.’

‘Can Richie come?’

Connie looked across at her friend. He nodded.

Richie tweaked Hugo’s ear.

‘See you then, buddy.’

As they walked across the park, they shared the remaining beer.

‘That was full-on, wasn’t it?’

‘What was?’

She looked at her friend in amazement. And then she laughed.

 

By the time she finished her schoolwork it was nearly midnight. Her aunt was in bed and the house was quiet. She shivered. She closed the bathroom door and began to run a bath. She stripped and looked at herself in the mirror. Her legs were too fat. She wished she could have a body like Aisha. She patted her stomach and groaned. Her pubes were too thick, too bushy. She would shave. She would get a Brazilian the first chance she had. She was hideous. She turned off the taps and slowly put her feet into the water. It was scalding. She shivered, enjoying the excruciating contrast, her legs burning and her torso freezing. Slowly, she eased herself into the tub.

She could hear the steady metallic whirl of the fan. She stretched her body out fully and watched as her breasts bobbed in the water. She closed her eyes. She was at the beach. Hector, the young Hector, was in the sea. He was running to her. He lay down next to her and she dried him with a towel. He kissed her. She loved how he kissed her. Hard, with his bristles rubbing at her skin, but he never hurt her. His kisses were long and confident, they weren’t like the kisses of boys. She imagined him putting his arms around her, feeling her breasts, kissing her neck, touching her cunt. This is how he had made her come, in the car, fingering her, telling her how beautiful she was. She opened her eyes. She lifted herself half out of the water and reached across for the shampoo bottle. It was cylindrical, thick. She placed her hand around the bottle. When he had been hard, he’d been this thick. She lay back in the water and lifted her feet up against the end of the bath. She closed her eyes. She was back at the beach. Hector had her in the sand. It was hot, much hotter than the water. Slowly she pushed the shampoo bottle into her vagina. It wouldn’t go in and the pain was piercing. She gritted her teeth and tried again, but it felt like it was ripping her flesh apart. Her eyes filled with tears. Would it have hurt like that if he had put his cock inside her? She tried to force the bottle in further but the pain was unbearable. It stung, it really stung. She opened her eyes and blinked back the tears. She turned on the hot water tap and washed the bottle. He had not let himself fuck her. She had tried to blow him once, in the car, but he had not let her. She hated him for that, she fucking hated him for all of that.

 

The clinic waiting room was full when she got into work on Saturday. Tracey was on the phone and had given her a wry smile as she walked in. She heard the phone ringing and ran into the office and picked up the line. She scanned the computer. Every consultation was taken, they were booked up till closing.

The woman on the other end of the line was insisting on an appointment. ‘My dog hasn’t eaten for a week.’

Then why the hell didn’t you bring him in earlier? She scanned the appointments. There were two vaccinations in the next half-hour; they looked straightforward.

‘Excuse me, I’ll just put you on hold and consult the vet.’ She stripped off her cardigan, took a clinic vest from the cupboard and quickly slipped it on. She knocked on the consult door and went in. Aisha was finishing up with a client, an old woman, who smiled sweetly at her. Connie walked over to the consult table, tickled the black and white cat, and waited for a pause in the conversation.

‘What is it?’

Connie was now used to Aisha’s curtness when they were at work. For the first few months she had thought that she was always doing something wrong.

‘There’s a lady on the phone. Her dog hasn’t eaten for a week.’

‘And she’s decided Saturday afternoon is the best time for me to see it?’

They shared a complicit, frustrated smile.

‘Is she a regular client?’

Connie shrugged. ‘We’ve seen the animal twice in the last five years.’

Aish sighed. ‘Tell her to bring it in.’

The phone was ringing again and she let Trace take the call from the front. She picked up her line.

‘Can you come in immediately?’

‘I have a lunch appointment.’

Not even five minutes in at work and she felt like screaming.

‘I’m very sorry. We are always booked heavily on Saturdays. You’d need to come in now with Monkey.’

There was a long pause. Tracey poked her head through the office door, her bag swung over her shoulder. Connie waved her goodbye. Trace blew her a kiss and rushed out the back.

‘Fine, I’ll come in now.’

The bitch was pissed off. Fuck her.

Connie made the appointment. Just as she finished entering it into the computer, the phone rang again.

 

There was no time for a break. But even though it was rushed, even though there hadn’t been a moment when the waiting room wasn’t full or the phones weren’t ringing, she enjoyed the shift. Aisha was quick, thorough and kept to a martial pace.

Monkey, the dog who hadn’t eaten for a week, was a fat, sad-eyed labrador. Suprisingly, as the breed was usually docile, Aisha had called for Connie to bring in a muzzle and to assist holding the dog while she examined it. It was a big dog and they had to examine it on the floor. Connie had to put all her weight on the animal to stop it trying to get to its feet. The owner was hopeless at controlling it.

Aisha felt along its belly and abdomen. ‘What do you feed it?’

‘Oh, just the usual.’

Connie suppressed an urge to giggle. There was nothing that would piss Aish off more than such a silly, unthinking response.

‘And what is the usual?’

‘Pal. Dry food. Some leftovers.’

‘Bones?’

‘Monkey loves his bones.’ Monkey? What a dumb-arse name for a labrador.

Aish sighed and got to her feet. Connie unmuzzled the dog. He growled and then plonked himself next to his owner’s feet. He was huge, way too fat for a labrador. He would be doing enormous damage to his legs.

‘Can I go? I’ve got the phones on hold.’

Aisha did not answer. She was looking at the dog, weighing up the options. She turned to Connie and nodded.

Aisha followed her into the office.

‘How busy are we?’

‘Booked up. Why?’

‘There’s something stuck there, I can feel it. We can do an X-ray but I’m convinced it’s a bone. I’d like to do an enema.’

Connie did not answer. An enema would mean that they’d have to be there for hours. There was no way they could do it before consultations finished.

‘Do you want me to set up for it?’

The older woman looked at Connie. She was smiling.

‘Fuck her. There’s no time and the dog should be monitored overnight. I’m going to refer her to the emergency clinic.’

Aisha went back into the consult and Connie started preparing the paperwork for the referral.

 

Trace had left a few slices of chocolate cake she’d baked the night before in the office fridge. There was a note beside it, in Tracey’s hurried, oversized handwriting.
Richie ate over half of it last night. He is NOT having any more. Enjoy.
In between consults, Aisha and Connie hurriedly crammed scoops of the cake into their mouths. It was sweet and oily and satisfied Connie’s hunger. The phones had finally quietened and the last consult of the day, an elderly Italian woman with her yappy Maltese Terrier, was waiting her turn. Connie had started counting the money in the till, preparing for closing. The bell on the front door began to violently clang and a young woman rushed into the clinic holding a dog in a bloodied towel. The animal, a kelpie, was breathing with difficulty. Connie banged the till shut and rushed over to the woman.

‘What happened?’

‘He tried to jump the fence. I don’t know what the fuck he’s done to himself.’ The woman smelled of cigarettes and the faint sting of perspiration. Tears were welling in her eyes. Connie lifted the towel. The gash along the side of the dog’s left hind leg was deep. She could see through to the bone. She didn’t dare touch it, not trusting how the dog would react. She asked the woman to take a seat and walked into the consult room.

‘We’ve got an emergency.’

‘What is it?’ Aisha had just finished administering a vaccine to a large unhappy tortoiseshell.

‘A dog has cut itself pretty bad on its leg.’

‘How much blood has it lost?’

Connie felt stupid. The towel was soaking. It looks like a lot. And then, resentfully, she couldn’t help thinking, How the fuck do I know ?
You’re
the vet.

‘A fair bit.’

The owner, a bearded gentleman in his forties, took his recalcitrant cat from Aisha and pushed it back in its cage. ‘We’re fine here,’ he insisted. ‘You deal with the emergency.’

Connie ushered the woman and her kelpie into the consult room and then fixed up the gentleman’s bill. She started to apologise to the Italian woman who promptly raised a hand to stop her.

‘Don’t you worry, love. You look after that dog. That’s what’s important. ’ She lifted her fluffy terrier to her face and kissed the dog’s snout. ‘My little Jackie O, my little Jackie O, how I’d hate anything terrible to happen to you.’ The dog happily licked at the wrinkled old face.

 

‘It needs surgery.’

Connie nodded.

‘Can you stay back?’

‘I was going to babysit Hugo.’

‘Connie, if you need to go, that’s fine. I’ll get them to go to the emergency clinic.’

The girl shook her head. ‘Do you want me to premed as usual?’

‘Thank you.’ For a moment she thought Aisha was going to kiss her. Instead, the older woman just smiled and went to vaccinate the terrier, beckoning to the old lady to follow. Connie switched the after-hours answering machine on. She weighed the kelpie, took down the details and placed it into a cage.

‘He’ll be alright.’ The dog’s owner was following her, loathe to leave the animal alone. She knelt before the cage and the dog licked at her fingers. Connie repeated her assurance. ‘He’ll be fine.’

The woman stood. ‘Thanks. I’ll give you all my numbers.’

Connie rapidly wrote them down on a piece of scrap paper.

The woman said a last goodbye to her dog and Connie showed her to the door. As soon as the woman walked out, Connie locked up then ran to get her mobile phone from the office and was about to enter Rosie’s number when she stopped. She rang Richie instead.

‘What’s up?’

‘I’ve got to help Aisha with surgery.’

‘Cool. What happened?’

‘Rich, I haven’t got time. Can you look after Hugo on your own?’

There was a pause. Please, Rich, please.

‘Sure. No problem. Done.’

‘Thank you. I’ll get Rosie to drop him off to your place.’

‘Nah. I’ll walk over there now.’

‘Rich, you’re the best.’

He made a sound somewhere between a splutter and a groan. She had embarrassed him. ‘Gimme a break.’

She hung up and rang Rosie.

 

Her experience assisting in surgery was minimal. When she had first started work at the clinic, she had just turned fifteen and for the first six months her duties were confined to cleaning the cages, washing up, reception. Slowly, however, Tracey had encouraged her to take more responsibility with the animals and to train during surgery. Connie found that she was not squeamish at all. She had no fear of administering pills or even giving subcutaneous injections to the animals. But she did find surgery overwhelming. Both Aisha and Brendan had stressed to her the importance of anaesthetic monitoring and she was drilled on emergency procedures in case of a negative anaesthetic reaction on the table. The cold reality was so different: the complicated respiratory tubing and dials of the monitoring machinery, her near paralysing phobia that the animal would go blue, fall into a coma. But she knew that being anxious or panicking about it would not help Aisha at all. The vet was finishing up with the last client and Connie retrieved a list she had typed up months ago from her work basket. With Trace’s help, she’d listed everything she needed to remember for surgery. She pulled out the necessary surgical kit, the gloves and scalpel for Aisha, and then she prepared the injections for the animal.

She had always liked animals but they had never had any pets when she was a child—her parents had moved around too much. But her aunt loved cats and Connie too had come to respect the aristocratic nature of the species, and admire the independence and unrepentant indolence of the feline. There was no way she’d give up either Bart or Lisa. One day, though, she would really love to have a dog. A big, friendly, slobbering dog that she could take for long walks and that would sleep next to her at nights.

The kelpie had curled into a corner of the cage and was whimpering. Its eyes were sad, moist. The dog smelt scared, like it was about to shit and piss itself. Connie glanced at the post-it on which she had written the owner’s name and details. The dog was called Clancy. She knelt, opened the cage door and softly rubbed the dog behind its ears. It’s alright, Clancy, she whispered, and the dog obligingly licked at her hand. She pulled it close, cocked the syringe’s cap between her teeth and fed the needle into the thick skin behind the dog’s neck. It did not flinch. She capped the needle, placed the syringe behind her ear and took another from her uniform pocket. The penicillin was thick and creamy. She inserted the needle into the skin again but this time Clancy whined and withdrew into the cage, leaving the thick liquid to pour over his coat.