The Village Vet (36 page)

‘What have we here, Tessa?’ Frances the receptionist asks when I enter the waiting area. I find it difficult to explain that I’m pretty sure the cub is dying. My voice cracks completely, and I’m grateful when Jack takes over in his quiet and tactful way. Frances suggests that we take the cub straight through to the back of the practice, where Maz is preparing for an operation, so that we don’t have to wait for Emma, the other partner, who’s in the consulting room with another patient.

‘You know where you’re going?’ she says.

‘I know this place like the back of my hand,’ Jack says cheerfully, opening the door for me to pass through into the corridor with the box in my arms. ‘I’ve been here often enough recently.’

We meet Maz in the prep area, where she greets us in a set of scrubs and white wellies.

‘I’ve admitted an emergency splenectomy,’ she says, noticing me looking at her boots, ‘and you know what they’re like.’

‘Messy,’ I say, with a rueful smile, recalling the occasional bloodbath that I had to clear up when I was working in practice. ‘I hope it goes well.’ I put the box down on the bench and lift the cub out with the towel. ‘I found this in the copse. Actually, I should give credit where credit’s due. Tia found her …’

‘She’s pretty poorly,’ Jack continues as my voice falters once more.

Maz examines the cub, opening her mouth to check her colour, tenting her skin to see how dehydrated she is, and taking her temperature, before grabbing the stethoscope that’s dangling from the hook on the wall. Having listened to the cub’s chest, she looks up,
shaking
her head.

‘I’m sorry, this little one isn’t going to make it. We could try treatment with fluids and antibiotics, but to be honest, I think she’s too far gone.’

‘Oh?’ I gulp back a sob as I watch the cub sink onto her side and begin to lose consciousness. I so wanted her to live.

‘I wish I could perform miracles,’ Maz goes on. ‘Izzy,’ she calls to one of her nurses, ‘can you fetch the blue juice? It isn’t going to take much.’

How many animals have I seen being put to sleep? You become accustomed to the process, but I don’t think it ever gets any easier, even though I know the cub is suffering and this will hasten the end. The nurse passes Maz a syringe and needle and she injects the drug straight into the cub’s heart, meaning death is instantaneous and the cub’s suffering is over.

I want to look away, but my gaze is drawn to the cub’s belly as she lies on her side, the reddish fur fading through dusky gold to grey at her groin. The muscles across her shoulder twitch and her staring eye reflects the light from the examination lamp above.

I stifle a sob. Don’t cry, I tell myself, not in front of the vet and the nurse – and Jack – but, as I step back and watch Izzy slide the tiny body into a tiger bag, named for its black and orange stripes, tears trickle down my cheek. Tasting salt in my mouth, I sense the pressure of Jack’s arm sliding behind my shoulders, offering support and reassurance, and although part of me wants to hate him for what he’s done, for taking me up and dropping me, I find that I like the contact. I lean back against him. I like it far too much.

‘Thanks for dealing with the cub, Maz,’ Jack says as I’m recovering my wits.

‘Have you received any info about Buster, the missing dog?’ I ask her.

‘Nothing concrete,’ she says, ‘but you might want to keep trying the Green. One of my clients mentioned seeing a black dog by the river, not far from the bridge, early this morning when they were walking their dogs. It’s all right, it didn’t do anything. It didn’t mount an attack, not this time.’

It is good news and bad news, I think: good that Buster is alive and well, because it has to be him, and bad that he’s out there, at risk of returning to his unforgivable habit of picking on other dogs.

‘I’ll settle up with Frances on the way out,’ I say.

‘Don’t worry about payment for today,’ Maz says. ‘I’m glad we could help.’

I thank her again as Izzy returns from having disposed of the cub’s body. Although it’s one of the downsides of the job, I envy her. The scent of the vet’s surgery, disinfectant, surgical spirit and damp dog reminds me of how much I miss nursing.

‘If you ever need a nurse, let me know,’ I say. ‘I’ll do anything from the occasional shift to cover for sickness and holidays. I’d even consider a full-time permanent position, if one came up.’

‘We don’t have any vacancies at the moment. You’re not planning to leave us in the near future, are you, Izzy?’ Maz says lightly.

‘You couldn’t manage without me.’ Izzy smiles.

‘She’s been here so long she’s like part of the furniture, but I’ll bear you in mind if we should need an extra nurse at any time. It’s always good to have someone local.’

‘Are you serious about returning to work as a vet nurse?’ Jack asks when we’re on our way back to the
Sanctuary
via the Green to see if we can find Buster.

‘I’ve been burying my head in the sand recently. I have to find a way to repay my debts somehow. I can’t carry on relying on charity, so to speak. I have to think about the future, buying a house of my own, paying in to a pension, all the boring stuff.’

‘What about the rescue centre? What about your aunt?’ Jack lowers his voice and adds almost imperceptibly, ‘What about me?’

‘What about you?’ I say harshly.

‘I’d miss you,’ he goes on, sounding more confident.

‘Well, that’s tough.’ I can feel the anger rising inside me. How dare he have the temerity to say he doesn’t want me to leave because he’d miss me, when he’s just gone off with another woman! ‘You should have thought of that before, shouldn’t you?’

In spite of my fury at his attitude, there’s nothing I want more than to stay on – I glance at Jack and think, Apart from you. I want him more than ever. I yearn for the taste of him on my lips and his touch on my skin, but it’s too late now. He’s chosen her, hasn’t he?

Life goes on and another week passes by. I remember to call Great-Auntie Marion, who sounds remarkably cheerful for a cancer patient on chemotherapy.

‘I’m glad you rang, Tessa,’ she says. ‘It’s lovely to hear from you.’

‘How are you?’ I ask.

‘Not so bad … Well, not so good either,’ she goes on. ‘I’ve had to put the farm on the market, lock, stock and barrel, sheep included, I need to think of retiring to somewhere smaller and more manageable. But let’s not talk about me. What about you? Have you washed that fiancé of yours out of your hair?’

‘I certainly have,’ I say.

‘Good for you.’ She pauses. ‘That’s our girl.’

I tell her about the ball and the animals at the Sanctuary, until I realise that she is no longer answering me. I tap the phone. (Why do I do that? Why will that make any difference?) A few seconds later, another voice comes on the line. It’s a nurse who tells me I’ve sent my great-aunt to sleep.

‘She tires easily,’ she says.

I ask her to tell her that I’ll call again soon, and then return to the office to join the fray.

There are no more sightings of Buster, but I’m kept busy at the Sanctuary with new arrivals – three hedgehogs, an unwanted family of mice that have multiplied because the owners didn’t separate the boys from the girls, and a pair of cats handed in because their owners were emigrating – home checks and re-dressing Bambi’s wound. It’s been much easier since Diane, Wendy and the other committee members have mended their bridges with Fifi, and made a new rota for the volunteers. It helps too that the baby birds have flown and we’re no longer tied to hourly feeding, so we’ve managed to catch up with some of the jobs that needed doing.

This evening, everyone has gone home, and I’m taking another look at Dolly because she hasn’t seemed quite right all day. When Libby was preparing to go home with Jack, who had been working on the remaining kennels, fixing the front panels, she asked me to keep a special eye on her. I don’t mind doing this while it’s still light outside, but I’m not so keen when it gets darker and my mind starts playing tricks on me, spotting shapes, human figures, in the shadows at the base of the high hedges and under the trees.

The pony is not happy. She’s been looking good up until now, with her long beard, dense feathers and winter coat growing through almost dappled over her rounded rump. Usually she’s either grazing or dozing, but tonight she’s unsettled, wandering around the paddock and stopping frequently to look at her belly, which is patchy with sweat.

I check my watch. It’s half-six and outside surgery hours, so there’ll be an extra call-out charge, but I really don’t think this will wait until morning when Justin is due to come out and check on the deer.

Although I haven’t had much experience with ponies, I have an inkling that she has colic. She is definitely not comfortable, and for someone who normally eats, well, almost like a horse, her behaviour is most odd. I hesitate to get in touch with Jack for advice, knowing that it will be like pulling scabs from partially healed wounds when I hear his voice again, but I do call him for Dolly’s sake.

‘I hope I’m not disturbing you,’ I say lightly, overhearing a woman’s voice in the background and automatically assuming that it’s his girlfriend.

‘It’s no problem, Tess. Libby’s cooking me dinner. She owes me for buying a new battery for her mobile. What can I do you for?’ He sounds awkward, yet I find his bashfulness attractive, even sexy. My heart twists with the pain of unrequited love, because I do love him. I love Jack Miller – always have done and always will – and I didn’t acknowledge it until it was too late. I think of my dad and one of his trite but true sayings: you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.

‘Tess, are you still there?’

‘Yes. Yes, I’m sorry.’ The sound of his voice made me forget what I was calling him for. ‘It’s Dolly. I could do
with
some advice.’ I explain, and Jack tells me that it could be colic and that I should call the vet straight away.

‘Get hold of Alex or Justin. Libby and I will be with you in five minutes.’

‘That’s pushing it,’ I observe.

‘I’ll drive carefully, I promise.’

I call the Talyton Manor practice, hoping to get hold of Justin, the assistant, because the Sanctuary’s outstanding bill is still gathering interest, but it is Alex who answers.

‘I can always check on the deer at the same time to save you a call-out charge,’ he says, making it perfectly clear that he hasn’t forgotten about it.

‘I’m sorry about the money,’ I mutter.

‘We’ll sort it out sometime. I’ll have to have a word with your aunt.’

‘Please do. The funds should be on their way into the account.’

‘Okay. Should I bring the dart gun to get near the pony this time? That’s a joke, by the way. I’ll be with you shortly.’

‘Thanks, Alex.’ I grab a coat and beanie hat and go outside, the air bearing a distinctly autumnal chill, to wait for Libby to arrive with Jack. It would be far better for Libby to approach Dolly than for me to try and more than likely fail.

When they turn up, Jack stands beside me while Libby catches the pony without any difficulty at all.

‘How are you, Tess?’ he asks, the warmth in his voice making my heart miss a beat.

‘Fine, thanks.’ Suddenly, though, I find myself on the verge of tears that I have to fight back, inwardly scolding myself for being soft.

‘I can see you’re really worried about Dolly,’ Jack says gently, but he’s got it wrong. Yes, I’m concerned for her, but this outburst of emotion is all about how I feel about him.

Libby leads the pony into the stable beside Bambi’s. Dolly moves slowly, hesitating every few strides to switch her tail and kick at her belly.

‘Come on, Dolly.’ Libby strokes the pony’s sweaty neck. ‘What’s wrong with her, Jack?’

‘Alex is here. We’ll find out soon enough,’ he says, glancing towards me with a look, warning me to remain silent. I know why: Libby’s very fond of the pony, and he’s worried that if anything happens to her, the stress might set her epilepsy off again.

Alex marches up beside us with a stethoscope around his neck, a visit case in one hand and a box of plastic sleeves in the other.

‘How is the patient?’ he asks, looking into the stable. ‘I take it you haven’t checked her temperature …’ A brief smile crosses his face in response to my raised eyebrows. ‘It’s all right. It’s always better to let her kick the vet instead.’

‘Can you give her anything?’ Libby says, grimacing as Dolly rolls her eyes back and utters a low groan. ‘Please, Alex. She seems to be in a lot of pain.’

‘I’d rather not give her anything yet, unless we absolutely have to. Let me see what’s going on first. If you can turn her round, with her bottom facing me, I can examine her over the lower half of the door. I haven’t forgotten how she tried to kill me.’ When Alex reaches over the door with a gloved hand, Dolly puts her ears back and tosses her head before standing stock-still as though wracked by a wave of acute pain. ‘How does the saying go? You can tell a gelding,
whereas
you have to ask a mare. Obviously, I don’t ask her nicely enough.’

‘Can I do anything?’ asks Jack.

‘I’ve got her. She’s dying, isn’t she?’ Libby says, voicing my concern. Although there have been times I’ve wished her dead, I didn’t mean it. I feel sorry for the pony, in spite of her attitude when she arrived at the Sanctuary, but I’m sorrier for Libby, whose lip is trembling as she tries not to cry in front of us.