Dead Stock

by Rachel Ward

  ‘Has she eaten anything unusual?’

  ‘No,’ said Bea. ‘Just biscuits. Oh. Hang on, she had a good go at something dead she found under a hedge.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Yesterday morning. I was too slow to stop her.’

  ‘A lot of them scavenge. It’s normal behaviour. Normal, but not sensible.’ She pressed her stethoscope into several points in Goldie’s chest, examined her eyes and gums, and took her temperature. ‘She’s very unwell,’ she said, and Bea felt little knives of anxiety stabbing at her insides. ‘Her heart rate is elevated, her temperature is high and her oxygen levels are low. She’s showing signs of dehydration.’

  ‘Can you do anything, doctor?’ said Queenie.

  A quick smile flashed onto Xiao’s face, but she didn’t correct her. ‘We need to get her onto a drip quickly. Once she’s rehydrated, we’ll observe her and be able to respond, if she needs anything else.’

  ‘Do you mean keep her here?’ Bea’s heart rate was elevated too, and she wasn’t just worrying about Goldie. She was thinking about the cost.

  ‘Yes,’ said Xiao. ‘Do you have insurance?’

  Bea and Queenie looked at each other blankly. ‘I don’t know,’ said Bea. ‘She’s not our dog. We’re looking after her for someone.’

  ‘We would normally need payment today, at least for this examination, but I’ll let reception know that you need some time.’

  ‘How much is it likely to be?’

  ‘The examination is £80, and it will be £250 per night, plus any treatment costs on top of that.’

  Queenie tapped Bea’s arm. ‘Bea, we haven’t got—’

  ‘Shh,’ Bea said. ‘I’ll deal with it. Don’t worry.’ Although, in truth, she had no idea how she would pay the bill.

  ‘Okay,’ said Xiao. ‘I’ll take it from here. Make sure we have your number at reception. I’ll try to keep you informed, but you can ring here at any time. There’s someone on-site twenty-four hours a day.’

  Bea and Queenie said goodbye to Goldie, and Xiao led her out of the room. Queenie seemed on the verge of tears.

  ‘It’s all right, Mum. She’ll be okay,’ said Bea, trying to convince herself as much as Queenie. ‘Thought you didn’t like dogs, anyway,’ she added, trying to tease her better.

  ‘I don’t. But they somehow . . .get under your skin, don’t they?’ She blew her nose loudly.

  ‘I know. Come on, let’s go and check out, and see if that taxi’s still there.’

  They trailed down the corridor back to reception. One of the receptionists was sticking up what looked like a handmade poster on the noticeboard. ‘Urgent! Keep your pets safe. 1. Is your pet microchipped? 2. Report any suspicious behaviour to the police animal crime hotline.’

  The door from the back area opened and the guy from the operating theatre came in. He’d taken his scrubs off now and was in standard country vet attire – checked shirt and cord trousers. He went quickly to the cupboard behind the receptionists, dug around for a minute, pulled out a printed form and then disappeared through the door again.

  ‘Who was that?’ Bea asked the receptionist.

  ‘Simon? He’s one of our partners. The newest one, joined us eighteen months ago. He’s a very good surgeon. Hopefully, your Goldie won’t be needing surgery. We’ll take good care of her.’

  Bea could see the taxi through the plate glass window. The driver had his eyes closed and looked fast asleep. Business was clearly slow in Kingsleigh on a Thursday afternoon. Bea tapped on the window to wake him up.

  On the way home, Queenie said, ‘Why were you asking about that vet? Do you know him?’

  ‘No,’ said Bea. ‘I don’t.’

  Queenie narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re being mysterious again. I don’t like it.’

  ‘I don’t know him, Mum, but I’ve seen him somewhere, with someone, doing something.’

  ‘That’s it, as soon as we get home, we’ll have that kettle on and you can tell me all about it.’

  ‘It’ll have to be later, I’ve got to get back to work. Anyway, it might not be anything.’

  They paid for the taxi and Bea saw her mum back into the kitchen, and then set off walking back to Costsave for the second part of her shift. She’d downplayed things to Queenie, but as she walked across the rec, she felt a little buzz of excitement, because now she knew that the man who’d met the Barbour Jacket guy in the Wagon and Horses was Simon the vet. Of course, it might not be anything, but she was ninety-nine per cent sure it was something. It was something very fishy indeed.

  18

  Although working late was a drag, there were compensations. In this case, two hours back to back with Jay. In between customers, they chatted easily. Bea told him about Goldie and he listened sympathetically.

  ‘Dogs are the best,’ he said. ‘I miss my dog.’

  ‘Oh, what have you got?’

  ‘Collie,’ he said. ‘Black and white one. She’s really smart.’

  ‘Is she at home with your parents, then?’

  ‘Yeah. Can’t have pets where I am now. Not officially, anyway. Here, I’ve asked around, about that fox you found. We don’t think there was any sort of hunt meeting in our area at the weekend. It could just have happened where they were exercising the hounds, though. Or they might have dug one out, just for fun.’

  ‘I thought fox-hunting was illegal?’

  ‘Yup. They’re not meant to hunt and kill foxes. They’re meant to follow a trail laid down by a runner, but sometimes they find a fox anyway and the hounds do what hounds will always do – they chase it and rip it to bits.’

  ‘How do you know all this stuff?’

  He leaned towards her and beckoned. She leaned towards him, so that their heads were close together. ‘It’s what I do,’ he said, with the volume down low. ‘It’s my thing. Sabbing.’

  ‘Sabbing?’ said Bea.

  ‘I’m a hunt sab. I go out with my mates at the weekends and try to protect the foxes.’

  ‘Isn’t it dangerous?’

  ‘A bit. But it’s worth it. If we stop one animal being killed, it’s worth it.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Bea. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you.’

  ‘You probably have. Sabbing isn’t something anyone shouts about. You learn to keep your head down. There are some nasty fuckers on the other side.’

  ‘Do you think the missing cats thing could be anything to do with the hunt?’

  ‘No. It’s unlikely. They’ve got other ways of getting their kicks. It could be . . .no.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I have heard of cats being used to train dogs.’

  ‘Train them to do what?’

  ‘Chase them – racing dogs. Or just kill. It’s one of the ways they hype up fighting dogs.’

  ‘Fighting dogs? Is that even a thing?’

  ‘It is, sadly.’

  Bea thought about Dean’s dog, Tyson, the way it lurched towards her, whining and slathering at the mouth. ‘It’s illegal, right?’

  ‘Yeah. Totally.’ He sat up straight again and Bea mirrored him.

  ‘Hmm, that’s a new angle,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to look into that.’

  ‘The mystery of the missing cats,’ said Jay, and Bea wondered if he was mocking her.

  ‘There are more missing than people know about,’ she said. ‘It’s seriously creepy. I told Anna I’d find out who it is, and I will.’

  He looked at her with a new appreciation. ‘Nice,’ he said, and Bea felt a warm glow inside. ‘If you need any help, just let me know.’

  A large man in a sweatshirt, baggy joggers and work boots, all covered in paint, was loading his shopping onto Bea’s conveyor belt; sausages, oven chips, a four-pack of beer and a family-size bar of fruit and nut chocolate.

  ‘That’s got the main food groups covered,’ she said to him, as she beeped it through.

  ‘You don’t get a body like this eating salad,’ he said, patting the comfortable swell of his stomach. He paid contactless a
nd didn’t take a bag, just gathered the shopping up into a kind of hug and left. There was another lull at Bea’s till. She twiddled round in her chair. Jay was serving the man in the Barbour jacket again – couple of steaks, some mushrooms and a bag of spuds.

  Jay took the man’s money and watched him go.

  ‘You all right, Jay?’ said Bea.

  ‘Yeah. There’s something about that bloke. He was right down the end of the tills and walked all the way up to mine. Odd that, isn’t it?’

  ‘Nah,’ said Bea. ‘People have all sorts of random reasons for choosing their checkout. He probably thought you’d be quick, whereas my regulars like to stop for a chat. Do you feel weird selling people meat, you know, being a vegan and everything?’

  ‘I don’t like it, but it’s their choice and I need the cash.’

  ‘Don’t we all? What’s it like, then? Being vegan?’

  ‘What sort of question’s that?’

  ‘I mean, what do you actually eat?’

  ‘Tofu, Quorn, beans, nuts, vegan cheese, lots of veggies, lots of salad – pretty much anything you can think of, there’s a vegan alternative. You can buy most of it here.’

  ‘You don’t miss eating meat, then?’

  ‘No. I couldn’t eat it now. I don’t think people would eat it if they knew what farming really involves.’

  Bea was about to explain that she couldn’t imagine life without bacon sandwiches, when she stopped herself. Jay took her silence for interest.

  ‘I could link you to some videos, if you like,’ he said. ‘If you watch them, though, you’ll never eat meat again.’

  ‘Really?’ she said. ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘Add me on WhatsApp or Messenger or something. Here . . .’ He pulled his phone from his pocket.

  ‘Not here! We’re not meant to have our phones on the shop floor. Neville’s very hot on that. You have to leave them in your locker.’

  ‘I’ll message you when I clock off. I’m only doing till eight today.’

  ‘Oh, me too,’ said Bea.

  ‘Drink, maybe?’ He winked at her, and Bea felt deliciously happy. Talking to Jay made her feel as if her world was expanding. He was different. He didn’t think like anyone else she knew. Perhaps this was a turning point. Perhaps she was meant to be more like him.

  Meanwhile, in a corner of the Nag’s Head, Ant was watching Saggy tackle the second pint of cider Ant had stood him. Ant himself was on halves, for financial reasons. His fingers kept playing with the change in his pocket – he had about three pounds fifty left in coins and that was it until payday. Somehow he had to feed himself and Ken. He hoped that Stevo would cover that – he’d text him later.

  ‘So what’s the word on Tank?’ he said. ‘What’s he up to at the moment?’

  Saggy narrowed his eyes and sucked air in through his teeth. ‘Why do you wanna know?’

  ‘Reasons.’

  Saggy grinned. ‘He’s not dealing, anyway. You remember he got done for it last year? That stopped him for a bit.’

  ‘You sure?’ said Ant. He looked around them, checking they couldn’t be overheard. A girl in the opposite corner caught his eye. She seemed to be on her own, sipping a Coke. He had a feeling he’d seen her somewhere before.

  Concentrate, Ant, he told himself. You’re on a case. But Saggy had noticed her too.

  ‘It’s your lucky night, mate,’ he said.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘That girl. The one giving you the eye. Don’t you remember her?’

  ‘I do, but I can’t—’

  ‘New Year’s Eve, man. She was the one in the Prospect.’

  Now the penny dropped, or rather the fog of alcoholic amnesia dissolved, and Ant did remember. His New Year’s Eve snog. How could he have forgotten?

  He lowered his voice. ‘Do you know who she is?’

  ‘No. Looks way too classy for the Prospect, though, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Mm. I reckon I should go and talk to her. I just need to know about Tank first. Are you sure he’s not still dealing?’

  ‘Yeah, man,’ said Saggy. ‘He lives two doors down from me at his mum and dad’s, and my brother’s still into all that – he’s getting it from someone else now. Tank is busy, though. He looks like he’s on a bit of a health kick. In and out all the time in running gear.’

  ‘Can you dig a bit further, mate?’ said Ant.

  ‘What’s in it for me?’

  ‘Excitement. Glory. I dunno. I’ll owe you. I’ll buy you another pint.’

  Saggy drained his glass and held it out towards Ant. ‘Cheers, mate. What do you think he’s up to?’

  ‘I’m not sure but it might be something to do with these missing cats.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘How much of a nutter is he?’ said Ant. ‘Would he like hurting things?’

  ‘He likes hurting me,’ said Saggy. ‘I stay out of his way these days, if I can. That’s weird shit, though, isn’t it? Taking pets. Killing them.’

  ‘It is, mate.’

  Ant went to the bar and spread the last remnants of his spending money on the counter top. He just had enough for Saggy’s next pint. As he made his way back to their table, he noticed that the girl had gone. He felt a sharp stab of disappointment.

  ‘What are you up to, anyway, at the moment?’ he asked Saggy.

  ‘Ah, I was going to talk to you about that. Need any socks?’

  Ant looked down at his sockless feet in his trainers. ‘Nah, man. Socks are for losers. You’ve gotta go for skins to be cool, didn’t you know?’

  ‘And stink the place out?’ Saggy waved one of his hands in front of his nose. ‘You want those little socks that can’t be seen. That’s what everyone’s wearing. And I’m the man to sort you out.’

  ‘Yeah? How many have you got?’

  Saggy grinned again. ‘’Bout six hundred pairs. Here.’ His hand sank deep into the pocket of the jacket draped on the back of his chair and he drew out a packet of three pairs of white socks. ‘You can have these for free. Come back for more if you like them. Mates’ rates.’

  Ant took them, turned the packet over in his hands and nodded. ‘Thanks, Saggy. I’ll let you know,’ he said. ‘And you let me know about Tank, or Deano. If it’s them taking people’s pets, we need to stop them. It’s not right.’

  It was only on his way out of the pub that Ant remembered he hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime. It was only half past eight, but he was skint now. The night air was bitingly cold after the warm fug of the pub. He pulled his hood up and was about to set off for home when he noticed the girl again, sitting on the wall of the pub car park.

  ‘I’ll see ya, Saggy,’ he said. Saggy winked at Ant and left him to it. Ant pulled his hood down, smoothed his hands over his hair and walked over to the girl.

  She was wearing a big fake fur jacket with the hood pulled up. She had a small, heart-shaped face, dark brown eyes, long eyelashes, and long straight almost black hair spilling out of the hood. She was beautiful.

  ‘Hi, there,’ he said.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Do you mind if I join you? Are you waiting for someone?’

  ‘No, I don’t mind. And, yes, I was waiting for someone, but they’re here now.’

  Ant felt a surge of excitement. Get in, he thought. He perched on the wall next to her, the concrete icy cold through the denim of his jeans. He offered her a cigarette.

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said.

  ‘Do you mind if I do?’

  She shook her head. Ant was glad to have something to do while he thought of the next thing to say.

  ‘So, New Year’s Eve,’ he said, finally. ‘That was a crazy night.’ He sneaked a sideways look at her, and caught her looking at him. His stomach flipped.

  ‘It was a good night,’ she said. ‘Needed it after a lousy Christmas.’

  ‘Yeah?’ said Ant. ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Someone nicked all our presents. Broke in and took them from under the tree.’

  Ant’s stomach
flipped again, but not in a good way. It lurched and tightened, and he felt suddenly sick. She was still looking at him steadily, gauging his reaction.

  ‘What is this?’ he said, glancing around the car park. ‘Some sort of ambush?’

  ‘No, it’s just me. I’m not out for revenge. I was, but I changed my mind.’

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a phone. His phone.

  ‘What the—? I don’t get it,’ said Ant.

  ‘We were broken into before Christmas. It was just awful, like properly awful. We were all crying. We didn’t feel safe in our own home.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about that.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Everyone knew it was your dad, even before he was arrested. So I thought I’d get my own back. Show you what it felt like. I followed you to the pub that evening and robbed you when you walked me home. Took all your money and your phone.’

  ‘Ah, that explains it. I was so wasted, I just thought I’d spent all my money and lost my phone somewhere.’

  ‘I was going to do some stuff. You know, send texts to all your contacts or post photos from your phone up on Facebook or wherever, but having spent some time with you, well, I kind of liked you. And then I saw you on the telly. You saved that old guy’s life. Here, you’d better have this back. Two wrongs don’t make a right, do they?’

  She held out the phone. Their hands touched as Ant took it.

  ‘I’d better go,’ she said, standing up.

  ‘Thanks for giving it back,’ Ant said. ‘That took guts. You could’ve just chucked it away.’ If only he hadn’t bought that last pint for Saggy. Being skint sucked so badly. ‘Listen, could I walk you home?’

  She smiled. ‘Yeah. Okay.’

  ‘I can’t remember where it was, mind. I really was wasted.’

  ‘Yeah. You were. Kind of cute, though, even off your head. You were a gentleman too.’

  Ant checked behind him again. ‘Don’t say that out loud,’ he said in a stage whisper. ‘I’ve got a reputation to protect.’

  ‘A reputation?’

  ‘I’m a bad boy, aren’t I?’ He puffed his chest out a little, trying to get a bit of his swagger back.