Vet's Desire (18 page)

“Every nasty
word?”

“Keep that
tone, boy, and I’ll kick your hindquarters like they’ve never been
kicked before.”

Tim had the
decency to flush. “Sorry, Aunt Hannah. I know you mean well.”

“I do.”
Standing up, she walked around to the bottom of the steps and came
up briskly, stopping to bend down and kiss the top of his head in a
motherly fashion. “And I do it because I love you.”

“That’s what
Mother always said.” He attempted a grin, but it came off
poorly.

“Your Mother
loves in her fashion. It’s just not of this world. More like
Hell.”

Tim couldn’t
stop the laugh that broke free, and Hannah smiled and patted his
shoulder before heading indoors.

He stayed where
he was, staring out into the darkness. Lost in thought, he jumped
when a pair of shiny dress shoes landed squarely level with his
backside on the stone step. Looking up, he found his gaze ensnared
by Martin Lawson.

“Just a
warning, Clarke,” Marty growled. “You seem a sort-of okay bloke,
but hurt Cindy and I’ll slice and dice you.”

“Jesus, it must
be the night for warnings.” Tim shook his head.

“Just keep it
in the back of your mind the next time you look at my sister.”
Marty returned to the party.

Standing up,
Tim shook his head again. It was time to find Nancy and go home.
He’d had enough of everyone and their words of wisdom or
warning.

Nancy, however,
had found an admirer and was in no mood to stop partying.

“I’ll drop the
little lady home,” said the portly, red-faced, elderly man with his
arm looped around a giggling Nancy’s waist.

“Are you sure?”
Tim asked her.

“Of course.
Arnold here assures me I’m in good hands.” She winked. “If you know
what I mean.”

Arnold
guffawed.

Tim grimaced.
“I’d rather not think about it.”

“Don’t worry,
old boy.” Arnold clapped a hand on Tim’s shoulder and breathed
whiskey fumes in his face. “I’ll take care of Nancy and bring her
home safe and sound.”

“Your mean your
chauffer will, correct? Because I seriously date you can walk a
straight line right now.”

“Of course my
chauffer! Your little Nancy will be right as rain.” He winked
again. “And happy as a lark.”

Nancy waved Tim
goodbye and they disappeared into the crowd.

Seriously, his
old friend was going to get laid and he couldn’t even find a woman
to interest him. What were the odds?

Turning to
leave, Tim was stopped by Nancy reappearing to grab his arm. Her
face was serious, all laughter gone. “You all right, Timmo?”

“Fine.” He
smiled reassuringly.

“I don’t have
to go with Arnold. I came with you, you’re my date.”

“When has that
ever stopped you?” He patted her hand. “Go and enjoy yourself.”

“I’m worried
about you.”

“No need to be,
I’m a big boy. I’m going to take one of the limousines mother has
kindly put on standby for guests who didn’t bring their own cars,
go home and go to bed.”

“Timmo-”

“Go.” Turning
her around, he gave her a gentle push. “Enjoy. Tell me about it all
tomorrow.”

He didn’t
bother to bid goodbye to his mother.

By the time he
got home, his annoyance had grown. Yanking off his jacket, he threw
it on the armchair. Going into the kitchen, he took a beer from the
‘fridge and popped the tab.

He was well
into his fifth beer and on his way to a pity party featuring one
when a knock sounded at the door. He didn’t bother to peek through
the peephole but opened the door and gazed a little blearily up at
the muscle-bound, big cop towering on his doorstep. “Mike.”

“I want to talk
to you,” Mike began, and then his gaze shifted from Tim’s face to
the can in his hand. His brow rose.

“Gonna get good
and drunk.” Turning, Tim walked a little unsteadily back to the
stool he’d been slouched on at the kitchen counter.

“Really.” It
was a statement, not a question. Mike shut the door and followed
him into the kitchen, glancing at the empty tins of beer lined up
on the counter. “I saw your lights on and knew you’d be up.”

“On the way
home from work, huh?” Tim took another swallow and emptied the can.
Reaching for an unopened can, he popped the top. “Can tell.” His
voice slurred a little as he angled the can towards Mike. “Got your
uniform on.”

“Good
detection.” Crossing to the kettle, Mike filled it with water and
plugged it into the socket.

“I’m drinking
beer,” Tim said.

“I’m drinking
coffee.”

“I noticed.
Make yourself at home.”

“Done deal.”
Mike studied him calmly. “Rough party at your mother’s?”

“Rough party
every time I go there.” Tim burped.

“So why
go?”

“Jeez, you’re
the second. Third? No, second person to ask me that.” Tim
hiccupped. “Sado-sadomassshim-sadomater - something bad, anyway. I
like to hurt myself.”

“You don’t
say.” Mike spooned coffee into a large mug.

“Yeah, I do.”
Tim downed half the beer in several swallows. “Turns out my love
life sucks.” He pointed a wavering finger at his friend. “Aunty
told me.”

“She’d know,”
Mike agreed easily.

“Mummy issues.
How gross is that?”

“Gross
indeed.”

“And then
Cindy…” Tim squinted at Mike. “You gonna rip my balls off and nail
them to the wall?”

“That had been
my original plan.” Mike shrugged. “I’m having to reassess. Or wait
until another time.”

“When I’m not
shooooo drunk?”

“That’d be it.”
Mike pulled the milk from the ‘fridge. “You don’t get drunk as a
rule, Tim. You don’t like being out of control.”

“Tonight.” Tim
blinked owlishly. “Tonight is a shep - special occasion.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tonight my
Aunt told me to sort out my love life.” Tim waved the can in the
air, sloshing the beer inside. “I don’t need a love life. I need
sex.”

“Right.” Mike
turned off the kettle and poured hot water into the mug.

“I have shex -
sex whenever I want. I don’t need good girls like Cindy - oops.”
Tim held one finger to his lips and winked - unfortunately with
both eyes, which rather destroyed the effect he was after. “Mustn’t
mention Cindy.”

“Really.”
Stirring the milk into the coffee, Mike kept his gaze on the
spoon.

“Yep. She’s
off-topic, off-limits, off everything.” Tim’s goofiness faded away
and he stared morosely at his beer. “She’s mad at me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause I
told her…aw shit.”

Taking the
stool beside Tim, Mike swivelled it so he faced his friend.

“Anyway…” Tim
swallowed the last of the beer and popped the tab on number seven.
“Aunt Hannah says Dad isshh to blame a little for not shhticking up
for me with my demon mother.” Tim took a few healthy swallows and
nearly tipped off the stool at the same time. Mike helped steady
him and Tim blinked. “Ssshiiiiit. I think I’m drunk.”

“I’m not going
to argue that.” Mike blew on the surface of the steaming
coffee.

Tim looked at
Mike, feeling sadness overwhelm him. “Dad loved me.”

“He sure did.”
Mike nodded.

“Took me
fishing. And Rick, too.” Tim rubbed a hand over his eyes, blinking
away the sudden tears that threatened. “Can’t cry in front of you.
I’m a man. Apparently.”

“Apparently.”
Mike nodded agreement.

“Yeah.” Tim
clapped him on the shoulder and almost missed. “You’re a good
friend, Mike. Good friend. Wish you’d been my mother.”

“That would’ve
made the medical books.” Mike grinned a little.

Tim swallowed
some more beer and stared at the table for awhile. He thought a
long time had passed, but maybe it hadn’t, he didn’t know. He did
hear Mike get up and make another coffee, but he didn’t know when
he’d popped the tab on beer can number twenty eleven. Thirty
twelve. Ten fifty? “How many beers have I had?”

“That’d be
number nine.” Mike sipped on his coffee.

“What number
coffee ish that?”

“Number
two.”

“You need to
catch up.” Tim almost fell off the stool.

Mike steadied
him.

“Maddy issh
waiting for you?” Tim slurred his words a little more.

“Yep.”

“You need to
go.” But he didn’t want him to go.

“She knows I’m
here. She’s fine.”

“You shpoke to
her.”

“I did.”

“I didn’t sh -
shee - shie - see you.”

“Don’t worry
about it. It’s on your phone bill.” Mike smiled again.

“You’re lucky
to have her.”

“I know.”

“Wsh - wis -
wish I had someone.” Tim could feel himself listing to the side.
“Gets lonely.”

“I know.” Mike
reached out for him.

“Cindy…”
Everything went black and Tim slid right off the stool.

When he awoke,
his head felt like someone was drumming inside it - hard. The
curtains were drawn and he was lying on his sofa with his shoes by
the coffee table, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, a bucket
by the side of the sofa, and a bottle of water with a glass already
filled beside it on the table. A note leaning against it stated
simply
Drink. You’re dehydrated and hung over.

Big surprise
there. As if he didn’t know. The house reeked of booze, he reeked
of booze, and he was so hung over he felt like he could toss his
innards fifty miles in two seconds.

Gorge rising in
his throat, he gingerly took a drink of water.

Jesus, he’d
gone on a bender last night. He hated getting drunk, hated losing
control. The last time this had happened, he’d been out with some
fellow students while in university and had woken up lying in his
own vomit. The severity of that event, the realisation that he had
no idea what he’d done the night before, and the sobering knowledge
that he could have died, had him vowing to never get drunk again.
He’d been a little tipsy once or twice, but he knew his limit.

Just look what
a few words with his mother and aunty had reduced him to, not to
forget his words with Cindy, too.

Women drove him
to drink. That bender was proof. He had to start avoiding them.

Standing
finally after two tries, he staggered carefully upstairs clutching
the bottle of water in one hand. A cold shower had him gasping for
air but he manfully ploughed on, padding around in boxer shorts
while drinking the water, downing some coffee and forcing himself
to eat some toast. Then he opened every window in the house and
used the air freshener spray like there was no tomorrow.

The bin in the
kitchen was empty, the cans cleared away. Good ol’ Mike, the mother
hen, cleaning up after Tim and making sure he was all right before
he left.

A couple of
hours later he felt a bit better. Paracetamol, water, and a shower.
He wasn’t good to go but he could at least sit without his head
banging like bongo drums.

Sit and think.
Think about what his aunt and mother had said. Maybe he was
sadomasochistic. But he was happy like this, it was the way he
chose to live. He didn’t need a woman in his life. Aunt Hannah had
provided him with love of a motherly kind, while his mother was a
right bitch who showed him that maintaining control was paramount
if his life was to be his own.

His family was
definitely different to Cindy’s family. Her mother was tall and
held her weight well, wearing what she pleased and totally happy.
Her father was kindly but shrewd. Her brothers were protective and
while one was a real womaniser, the other was, well, he was a
soldier that Tim saw only rarely.

But they loved
each other. They were a
real
family. They were what he
wished he’d had when he was a little boy facing his mother after
yet again disappointing her, while his father had objected mildly
and sought him out later to assure him that he was good, that he
wasn’t a disappointment.

Yeah, his dad
was just as much to blame. Memories like that he didn’t need, he
liked to cling to the memory of the happy times he spent with his
dad, not remember how he hadn’t backed him fully, stood with him
against his mother’s disapproval and obvious attempts at
match-making to better himself.

His dad hadn’t
lived long enough to see him make it through university, but he’d
encouraged him to follow his dreams. Maybe that was because he’d
seen his own smothered under his wife’s iron hand.

Having had
enough of thinking, Tim switched the TV on and flipped the
channels. Nothing caught his interest so he heaved himself to his
feet. His headache was a dimness, almost gone. Time to get a pizza
and some DVDs and waste the rest of the afternoon watching the
giggle box.

Time to forget
for awhile.

~*~

The next two
weeks Tim spent knuckled down at work. Taking a couple of really
sick animals home with him overnights helped keep him occupied and
gave him the perfect excuse for not going out.

He certainly
didn’t want to scrutinize the real reason, which was that he simply
had lost any interest in seeking out a one night stand. Or a couple
of hours stand, as the truth stood. He’d never spent a whole night
with any woman.

When he’d
bought the house, he’d spent some money remodelling an area where
he could keep seriously ill animals overnight and on weekends. Easy
to clean lino floors and a large window for ventilation with a
blind that could be pulled down for shade, not that it was needed
with the big verandas that surrounded the house. A sliding door led
onto a thickly grassed area in the back yard for dogs to be walked.
Hooks were on the walls to hold drips, and a large basin had
cupboards underneath for water and food bowls. Another cupboard
held some blankets, sheets and towels, and a spare heat pad lay on
the bottom of the cupboard along with some litter trays and a bag
of cat litter.