The Village Vet (14 page)

‘I’ll have to call Jack to ask him if I can borrow the van,’ I observe as Teddy heads straight back for the relative security of his shelf. Although I’m perfectly entitled to use the van, I don’t like having to ask Jack, but that’s how it is.

‘You know, Jack’s truly sorry for what he did,’ Libby begins as she clips Teddy’s record card to the door of his run. ‘I wish you could forgive him, so we could all be friends again.’

‘That’s a little naïve, isn’t it?’ I realise I’m sounding harsh, but that’s because I’m not sure I want to discuss it, but Libby is determined to stand up for her brother.

‘He has the best of intentions’ – Libby looks at me, her lips curving into a small smile – ‘especially where you’re concerned. He likes you, Tessa, and always has done.’

‘He has a strange way of showing it,’ I say grudgingly.

‘He was gutted when he found out you were engaged,’ Libby goes on.

So he was jealous, I muse, confused and embarrassed at the thought that Jack has feelings for me, that he might still harbour hopes of becoming more than a friend.

‘I wish you weren’t telling me all this, Libby,’ I say. I
feel
awkward seeing Jack anyway, and this revelation isn’t going to help. Does he really like me? I wonder. After Nathan, I’m not sure I want to find out. I shall never understand how the male brain works. ‘Have you got a boyfriend, Libby?’

‘No,’ she says, her eyes soft with regret. ‘I don’t think anyone would have me.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘It’s my epilepsy.’ She raises her hand to her temple. ‘It seems to be under control at the moment with the drugs, but I could have a fit at any time. It would take someone incredibly special to take me on. I can’t drive, I can’t work full-time because I get tired and I’m not sure I could be alone with a baby or small child if I had kids …’ To my alarm, because I hate seeing anyone upset, a tear rolls down her cheek.

‘Jack said you were okay, that you hadn’t had a fit for ages.’ I watch her expression change. ‘You have?’

‘I was at work. It was nothing much. My hand started twitching and I couldn’t use the till – it does that before …’

‘I see.’ Libby doesn’t have to spell it out.

‘I’ve been in touch with my consultant and he’s tweaked my medication. I hope it will settle down again. It’s the electrical activity in my brain that causes it – the wiring went wrong somewhere along the line.’ She pauses. ‘I forgot, you’ll know about that. I assume dogs and cats have fits.’

‘They can do,’ I say, ‘but I’m more concerned about you.’

‘I haven’t told Jack because I can’t bear him fussing over me. I know he means well, but he drives me mad. And I should have told you.’ She stares at me, biting her lip. ‘This always happens to me. You won’t let me
stay
here now.’ She rips her apron off and thrusts it into my hands. ‘I’ll go.’

‘Libby, stop!’ I run after her as she disappears outside, catching up with her partway down the track leading towards the lane. ‘Please. Let’s talk about this. I’m sure we can—’

I watch her stumble to a stop and slump down beside the hedge, sitting with her legs bent up and her chin resting on her knees, gazing straight ahead.

‘Do you mind if I join you?’ I say, sitting down beside her. ‘Are you okay?’ I ask eventually.

‘As okay as I’ll ever be.’ She turns to me. ‘Tessa, this is it. This is my life.’

‘Tell me about it.’ I pluck a blade of grass, idly wrapping it around the base of my ring finger as we talk.

‘She said I could tell you,’ I say to Jack when he returns from taking Libby home and visiting Otter House to drop Teddy off and collect the feral cats. (Teddy is staying the night at Otter House, having been sedated to have his abscess lanced and thoroughly flushed.) I’m in the kennels when Jack arrives, feeding Buster. ‘She thought I’d say she couldn’t work here if I knew, but that isn’t the case. It’s better to be prepared if anything should happen while she’s here. Jack, please don’t be angry with her.’

‘I can’t believe she kept it from me,’ he says brusquely. ‘What if she’d been here on her own?’

‘She hasn’t been on her own,’ I point out, ‘and she hasn’t had a proper full-on fit either. She might never have another one.’

‘But if she had, she could have been lying here hurt, or worse,’ Jack says. ‘If she has a prolonged seizure that
goes
on for more than two or three minutes, she could end up with further brain damage. Tess, I don’t think you realise how serious this is. Libby could die.’

‘I realise that,’ I say after a pause, ‘and it must be a terrible thing to have hanging over you – for Libby, you and your parents – but you can’t stop her coming here.’ I open Buster’s kennel door and ask him to sit before I place the bowl of food – chicken casserole in gravy with a biscuit mix – in front of him. He dives forwards and gobbles it down. ‘Libby loves the animals,’ I go on as Buster chases the bowl across the floor in a frantic attempt to lick it clean.

‘I’m not sure,’ Jack says, shaking his head.

‘Please, Jack. You need to trust her.’

‘How can I when she’s been lying to me? To our parents?’

‘She says she’s managing it. She’s taking her medication as prescribed, and she gets a few hours’ warning before she has a fit, so she can remove herself to somewhere that’s safe. Jack, I’ll do a proper risk assessment, and as long as we make sure there’s always someone else on the premises, and everyone knows what to do, there’s no reason at all why she shouldn’t volunteer.’ I relax a little to try to lighten the mood. ‘We need all the volunteers we can get.’

‘I know.’ Jack runs his hands through his hair. ‘It’s just that I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to her. She’s my little sister and I’ve looked out for her since she was born.’

‘She’s twenty-four,’ I say. ‘I understand where you’re coming from, but you can’t keep watch over her for ever. She has to be free to live her life as she chooses. If you forbid her to come here, you’ll make her hate you.’ I pause, remembering Libby’s desire that
I
should treat Jack more kindly. ‘Lecture over. Let’s get these cats released back where they belong.’

‘Maz says they’re ready to go,’ Jack says, and I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s still talking to me. ‘She’s given them names, but it’s pretty obvious which is which.’

I follow him out to the van where he’s left the rear doors open to allow the air to circulate, so the cats don’t overheat. He passes me one of the traps, and brings the other two over himself. ‘The scrawny black and white one is called Scabby; the ginger one with its tail missing, No-Tail; and the grey long-haired one which is almost bald since they shaved it, Knotty.’

I have Knotty. He lies cowed in the trap, keeping his eyes on me, the enemy, and uttering a strangled yowl when I speak to reassure him.

As we take the traps around to the rear of the bungalow, the early evening sun disappears completely behind the clouds and it starts to rain. The weather isn’t ideal, but it’s warm and the cats will be happier outside in their own surroundings, so Jack and I open the traps and stand back, watching and waiting, and it isn’t long before two of the cats fly out and disappear into the bushes, whereas Knotty, who seems a bit slow, takes a few minutes to realise that only a couple of steps lie between him and freedom. When he does leave the trap, he stalks across the lawn, picking his paws up high as if he has an aversion to wet grass.

‘He’s a bit of wuss,’ Jack observes, as the rain starts to turn his sweatshirt a darker shade of blue. ‘I reckon he was a pet that’s gone over to the wild side.’

‘And I reckon we should go inside,’ I say, water dripping down the back of my neck. ‘Would you like some tea?’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,’ I point out lightly. ‘Come on, I could do with a drink before I give the babies their last meal of the day.’

In the kitchen, having abandoned my shoes in the hallway, I search for mugs, finding two on the windowsill while Jack goes to the fridge for milk, passing so close I can feel the hairs on his arm. Trying to ignore the blip in my pulse and the vague ache in my chest, I pour the boiling water into the mugs. Jack passes me the milk carton, his fingers brushing lightly against mine. I glance up and he looks away.

The contact, intentional or not, is the last thing I want, or seek, yet it sets up a ripple of longing through my body. In spite of Nathan, I miss being close to a man – any man, I tell myself sternly as I catch up the teabags and give them a good squeeze, not Jack in particular.

‘You don’t have to slum it in the office. You’re welcome to join me.’ I direct him to the living room. ‘Take a pew.’ I wish I hadn’t put it that way – we aren’t in church now. I sit on the sofa while Jack settles on the armchair, pink-faced, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake in inviting him into my home. If he does, as Libby suggests, have feelings for me, am I encouraging him?

In another life, I might well be tempted to encourage him, I muse as I gaze at his unruly blond hair, his steady expression and the soft light in his eyes. Having been forced into Jack’s company, I’ve been reminded that he is a very attractive man: handsome, not flashy; masculine, not arrogant. In addition, Jack is caring. There aren’t many men who are interested in rescuing cats and dogs and ponies,
and
, thinking of ponies, I ask him if he’s had any more to do with Mr Maddocks.

‘I’m on the case,’ he says. ‘That’s all I can say for now.’

‘The pony’s safe though?’

‘I’m monitoring the situation.’

‘Is that a euphemism for doing nothing?’ I know Jack’s hands are tied, but I can’t resist pursuing the subject because I want to be sure he’s doing enough. The pony needs help, even if she has a funny way of showing it.

Frowning, Jack shakes his head. ‘I know where she is and I’m making daily visits. I’m not ignoring it, if that’s what you mean.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I hate to think of her standing in some field up to her knees in mud in the rain, thirsty and starving because Mr Maddocks has forgotten her, or can’t be bothered, whatever his reasons are.’

‘Well, it isn’t down to ignorance,’ Jack says. ‘He’s kept all kinds of livestock for years. I think it has more to do with his chaotic lifestyle and lack of income.’

‘I really think you should put the pony first. She behaves as if someone’s beaten her up,’ I point out. ‘She’s scared of people, but then you’ve seen what she’s like,’ I continue, backing down. Who am I to go telling Jack how to do his job?

‘If you must know, Frank has taken her back to the smallholding he rents by the industrial estate – he’s got her in a postage stamp of a paddock, so she isn’t tethered at the moment. She has access to hay and water, and I’ve confirmed that Frank’s made an appointment for Alex, the vet, to call in on him. I’m sure Alex will impress upon him the importance of keeping her in a dry and hygienic environment.’

‘Will Mr Maddocks listen to him?’

‘Everyone listens to Alex Fox-Gifford. He has a definite air of authority and he’s persistent. Between the two of us, I think we can make Frank Maddocks see sense.’

I shake my head. ‘It’s so frustrating though. Why does it have to take so long?’

‘It’s the nature of the beast. Look, why don’t I take you over to see the pony next time?’

‘What about Mr Maddocks?’ I’m not sure I want to see him again. ‘Don’t you ever worry about your safety? I know from working in practice that where animals are concerned, people’s emotions are often running high.’

‘Frank is all mouth. I’m not afraid of him. There are others I wouldn’t have wanted to have met on a dark night, a couple whom I testified against in court in a case that resulted in them having their dogs taken off them and a lifetime ban on keeping animals.’ Jack picks up his mug and sips his tea. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m visiting Dolly next – that’s what Frank calls the pony. It’s Dolly after his grandmother, the woman he thought was his mother when he was growing up as a boy. She was pretty rough too, by all accounts.’

‘Why do you make excuses for him, Jack?’

‘I’m not making excuses. His attitude is vile, but I have got to know him over the years. Welfare investigations aren’t merely about the animals. They’re about the people who are involved too, and many of them have issues with relationship breakdowns, substance abuse and poor mental health.’ He falls silent for a while. ‘Tess,’ he begins eventually. ‘I mean, Tessa—’

‘Oh, you don’t have to—’ I cut in.

‘I don’t want to upset you – I’ve done enough of that
already
.’ Jack smiles a small, lopsided smile that sends my heart into somersaults.

‘Tessa doesn’t sound right when you say it,’ I say awkwardly. ‘To be honest, it makes me feel as if you’re talking to someone else.’

‘I can give you a hand with feeding the birds.’ He glances at his watch. ‘I can stay another hour or so.’

I want to ask him where he’s going afterwards, but that seems too personal. We aren’t teenage sweethearts any more. We’re working together. As I have to keep reminding myself, this is a professional relationship.

‘Thank you,’ I say gracefully. ‘There’s so much to do.’

‘Too much,’ Jack agrees. ‘Fifi needs to drum up some more volunteers. Is there some problem? There are rumours, according to Frances, the receptionist at Otter House, about unrest within Talyton Animal Rescue.’ Jack clears his throat. ‘They’re accusing Fifi of nepotism because she gave you this job without consulting the other committee members.’