by Clare London
“Cashflow forecast,” Donnie murmured automatically.
“But I don’t know when they’ll let me out. They keep saying because I hit my head when I fell, I need to be kept in for observation.”
“You must rest until they say everything’s ok.” Donnie took a steadying breath. “I’ll handle the surgery.”
Will did what they call in movies a doubletake shot. “You’ll…?”
“Will, I’m not going to perform surgery on pets. I’m not going to prescribe medication. I won’t even use the consultation room. But I’ll contact today’s appointments, explain the situation, and ask them to call again in a few days. If it looks like you’ll be in for a while, I know where to call and book a locum. And if there’s an emergency with a pet, I’ll refer them to the vet in the centre of town. You’re on good terms with her, she won’t mind covering.”
“I’m only on good terms because you spent time charming her and her practice manager when they dropped in to say hi.” Will was gazing at Donnie with a rather stunned expression.
“Well, to be fair, you had your hand up a Doberman’s arse at the time. You couldn’t exactly come and shake hands.”
Will started to laugh, winced, and calmed down. Donnie perched more comfortably on the visitor’s chair and started jotting some To Do notes on his phone. Realising Will had gone quiet, he glanced up in alarm—but Will just sat there with a small smile. He seemed content to watch Donnie work.
Donnie didn’t mind. It was so good to be back with Will, and neither of them mentioned that argument in the car. He felt relaxed again in Will’s company, and even while he was worried sick about Will’s collapse—whatever Will tried to brush it off as—and apprehensive about contacting Mrs E and the rest of the day’s clients, he could feel a swell of purpose and resolve. It was like when he first set out the ingredients for a recipe, when he first read the steps and started to imagine the final product. Things may not often turn out as expected, but at the time… well, that was when he felt most confident.
Being in charge of the surgery was the same as being in charge of a baking project. Right?
Beside him, Will took a long, careful breath. Donnie glanced at him quickly. “Are you okay? Should I call a nurse?”
“I’m fine.” Will gave a soft laugh. “Listen to me, I’m talking like Donnie Watson now. But, Donnie?”
“There’s another task you’ve thought of?”
Will’s expression was inscrutable. “That’s not to say you couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t what?”
“Do all the things I do. The surgery, the medication. You could be as good a vet as I am if you wanted.”
Donnie wasn’t sure what that was all about—he’d never said he wanted to be a vet, had he?—but there was no mistaking the sincerity in Will’s voice. “Lucky I’m not planning on it anytime soon, isn’t it? Now I must go, my ten minutes’ grace is up, and Leonora is glaring at me from the nurses’ station.” He stood, leaned over, and kissed Will gently on the cheek. “And I’ll be back tonight.”
CHAPTER 19
Donnie had spoken bravely, but when he arrived back at the surgery, he wasn’t sure he could cope. What made him think he could do this? Solely in charge? He should just put that notice back on the surgery door that said it was closed for the day, and go home.
No. Sometimes, you gotta be the one. Best to get on with it.
Over the next couple of hours, he’d tracked down all of that day’s appointments, explained what had happened to Will, collected a list of get well wishes, politely deflected any complaints, and agreed to call everyone back when Will was on duty again. He’d also managed to answer a few minor queries about pet diet and where to find general advice. He also seemed to have volunteered to look up some resources for a dog shelter, and a cat sitting service. At this rate, Will would return to a pet service much wider than a simple vet’s practice. That second premises was looking like a sensible option after all.
By late morning everything in the diary was dealt with. He’d posted a note on the door that they weren’t taking any drop-in visits, and he finally found himself sitting quietly on his own with only some filing to be done. And maybe some research on that dog shelter issue. Another cup of coffee was the first task in preparation for that.
He’d just finished his coffee and was rearranging the leaflets on heartworm treatment and chipping your pet, when Eric came in. Straight through the front door, no knock or warning. A skinny young man followed him: Donnie recognised him, but took a moment to remember the context. It was the homeless man who used to sleep in the doorway of the abandoned hardware store. Donnie had noticed him go missing—there’d been a few people visiting that store recently, so maybe it’d been sold and was going to re-open, but he’d worried, where would the guy sleep then?—and was pleased to see he looked clean and better dressed than before. Was he living at Handfast House too?
“Hi,” Donnie said. “I’m afraid the surgery is closed today. Is there a problem with Snap, Crackle and Pop?”
Eric peered at him. “No. Should there be?”
“No,” Donnie said carefully. “It’s just that most people come to the vet’s surgery with issues about their pets.”
“I know that,” Eric said. “But I’m not most people, am I?”
Behind Eric, his friend caught Donnie’s gaze and smiled ruefully like he knew that only too well.
“What do geeky spiders like to do?” Eric suddenly said.
“I… sorry?”
“Make websites!” Eric laughed loudly and infectiously. They all laughed: it was impossible not to, at such a cheesy joke, at the delight on Eric’s face.
“I brought the monthly statements for Will,” Eric continued. He took a smart plastic folder out of his carrier bag and placed it on the desk. “We need to agree on a consistent format so that Will can monitor his investment return.”
Of course. Donnie had forgotten that appointment. “I’m sorry, I know you had a scheduled meeting. I’m sure Will can settle that with you as soon as he’s back.”
“When will that be?”
“I don’t know yet. I hope to visit him tonight. He may know then. In the meantime, we’re—I’m keep things ticking over.”
“I need to know the time. Exactly.” Eric’s face creased with worry. “Is he coming back at all?”
The other guy took a step forward and took Eric’s arm. “I’m sure Will’s okay. It was just a fall, I heard.” He nodded at Donnie. “Gotta love the local grapevine.”
“Yes,” Donnie said. “Something like that. He’s sprained his ankle and bashed his head, but things could have been worse.”
“How?” Eric broke in brightly.
“And he’ll be back at work very soon.”
“Someone needs to check these through. Who’s going to do that?” Eric took the papers from the folder, re-ordered them, then replaced them. Then he did it again.
His friend held out a hand for Donnie to shake. “I’m Jez. Don’t worry, he likes to repeat things until he’s happy with them.”
Donnie nodded. “I know. No problem.” Eric had been in a couple of times already, helping to sort out the surgery records. “I’m Donnie.”
“Yeah. I know,” Jez said. “Of the magical chocolate.”
“Of the…?”
“And you helped get Handfast House up and running.”
“Jez has the room along the corridor from me,” Eric said. He lifted his head from the papers and, this time, his smile was blinding.
“We’re friends,” Jez said softly.
Donnie saw something wistful in Jez’s expression as he looked at Eric. But that wasn’t really his business.
“Why can't you be friends with a squirrel?” Eric said, his gaze flicking between the other two.
“I don’t know,” Donnie said, as Jez grinned. He must have been used to this.
“They drive everyone nuts.” And, chuckling again, Eric turned back to the papers.
“I’l
l take a look at them myself, later,” Donnie said. He had no idea what Will had commissioned from Eric, but he was pretty good with numbers. The ones on Eric’s top sheet looked horrifically large and mysterious—but how hard could it be? Glancing back at Jez, he said, “Rick’s hoping to fund another house this year.”
Jez nodded. “I heard that.” He seemed to know a lot of what was going on. “I know you do a lot of work for the fundraising.”
“Me? Well, yes.” That was embarrassing: Donnie knew he was only one small part of a larger team. “We all do our bit.”
“Some more than others,” Jez said. “From what I hear, people appreciate you a lot.” His gaze was steady but guarded. Maybe he was wary of people’s reactions. “If there’s anything I can help with, let Eric know.”
“Jez works on a building site,” Eric chimed in. “He’s strong, and he works hard. He stays late when they need him to. He can do any of the jobs they ask.”
Jez rolled his eyes. His cheeks were flushed. “Just trying to make a living.”
“Any help is appreciated,” Donnie said. He’d done heavy lifting and minor construction work on Handfast House and remembered wishing he knew more skilled people. “Can someone call you when we get to that stage?”
“You can call, yes,” Jez said. His jaw was set firm. “Only you, please. I’m not good with strangers.” Donnie saw Eric lean towards him, and brush a hand over Jez’s side as if offering support.
“I’d be glad to,” Donnie said. “And I’ll take a look at these figures, Eric, and get back to you.”
“When?” Eric said. “I have time tomorrow. I can call in at eleven. Mr Pennington at the house wants to set up food bank collection points along the parade and the patio outside here is ideal. Would Will let us do that too?”
Jez took his arm again. “Don’t push it, kid.”
“Push what?”
“Your luck. You can’t ask too much of people, too often.”
“I’m sure Will would consider it kindly,” Donnie said to Eric. “I’ll make sure I let him know.”
As they turned to leave, Eric nudged Jez in the ribs. Jez scowled, then grinned and turned back to Donnie.
“Thanks,” he said. Eric nodded beside him, that lovely smile still beaming.
Donnie laughed. “What for?” All he’d done this morning was tell people ‘no’ and ‘call back later’.
Jez shrugged. “For listening to us,” he said simply. “For including us.”
CHAPTER 20
Donnie was just showing Jez and Eric out of the surgery, and wondering if he could lock up already—get to the hospital a little early, see if Leonora was on duty and would let him in—when Maisie and Henry arrived. Really, Donnie was beginning to wonder why he’d bothered putting a sign on the door if everyone ignored it. He stood half in and half out of the entrance, while the others clustered around him on the pavement.
“I’ve drafted the project schedule,” Maisie said without preamble. Her hair had blue streaks today, and was braided in a complex pattern over her ears like Princess Leia. “Uncle Rick’s looking for capital funding for the actual building, and I said we’d work on the renovations and decoration.” She waved a small sheaf of papers in Donnie’s face. “I need you to go through this with me.”
“Of course I will.” Donnie took a slow breath. “But not today.”
Maisie blinked.
“Is Will back yet?” Henry asked. He held a handful of papers. “I must talk to him about the pet show. He said he’d meet me for lunch today—”
“Henry, he’s in the hospital,” Donnie said sharply.
“Yes, I know, but it was only a fall, wasn’t it? Surely they’ll have discharged him by now.”
“You tosser,” Maisie snapped at Henry. “It’s all about the me me me, isn’t it?”
“Look, Ms Viper Tongue, if we don’t get these things sorted soon, we’ll never have time to raise enough. We need strategy, marketing buzz. Cashflow forecasts.”
“I can do those,” Eric chipped in, though Jez was trying to pull him away. Jez looked uncomfortable with everyone so close.
“What’s that list you’ve got?” Maisie peered suspiciously at Henry’s papers. “I thought so! That’s not a copy of the committee action plan!”
“So, you don’t want to take advantage of my experience in business matters? You put me in charge of fundraising, and I have to say bake sales are just not going to do it in this day and age. I have grand plans!”
Mentally, Donnie closed his eyes and tried to do the same for his ears. Would anyone notice if he slipped through them and ran for his car?
“I can organise weekly open mic nights at the Kings Head pub,” Henry was continuing, his voice getting louder. “We have the pet show in August. And I suggest setting up an art club at the bar over the school holidays, culminating in a children’s exhibition in the community centre hall.”
“Art club?” Donnie raised his eyebrows. He didn’t know Henry had any artistic leanings, and from the scornful look on Maisie’s face, she didn’t either. Last Donnie heard, Henry thought modern art was pretentious twaddle, and galleries nothing but magnets for misbehaving tourists.
But Henry was on a roll. “I see it as a chance for children—and their carers—to learn methods of expression using paint, pencils, fabric, and other materials where they see inspiration.”
Yes, Henry was definitely getting better at expressing his genuine feelings. He didn’t look so much like he’d swallowed a wasp every time he opened his mouth. But did it have to happen right now, when Donnie was keen to get to the hospital as soon as possible?
Henry cleared his throat. “I’d like to discuss some things with you, Donnie. You have an eye for style, with the way you mix colours and shapes in your baking creations.”
Henry had never ever used the word style and Donnie in the same sentence. As well as dissing Donnie’s lumpen mis-shapes from the kitchen, he used to say Donnie dressed like he’d woken up in the charity shop bin bag left outside the shop. Donnie frowned. “You’re taking the piss, right?”
“No!” Henry, to give him credit, looked horrified Donnie should think that. “Dammit, I told Abi you wouldn’t believe me! You of all people know how I’ve always taken such great care over what I wear, and how I’m sensibly groomed before I even step outside my front door, but he said I needed to get in touch with a more spontaneous style, that I needed to embrace the colour and sensuality of other mediums, and I couldn’t do much better than take a leaf out of your relaxed and lively style… what? What?”
“What’s the matter with Maisie?” Eric asked. “Her face is splotchy.”
“Maisie,” Donnie said warningly, though his mouth twitched with the urge to smile.
“Maisie, don’t be such a bloody witch,” Henry growled.
But Maisie was roaring with laughter by now. Henry looked angry, appalled, and thoroughly mortified. Donnie despaired of the two of them ever getting on, though things would be so much better—and much more would be achieved—if they did. Jez had withdrawn into the doorway as if trying to find another haven like the one he’d slept in before. Eric was tugging on Henry’s arm, trying to make himself heard over Maisie’s raucous whoops.
And then Simon came out of the bakery and walked toward the group.
No, no, Donnie thought. Not more trouble. Maybe he could pretend he’d left something in the car, but never come back. Wait, perhaps he could pray for an alien intervention to scoop him up into a passing UFO. He could work on getting used to the probing…
“Donnie?”
He wrenched his attention back to Simon who was glaring at him. Simon glared a lot, actually. When Donnie saw him with Trev, he was more relaxed, but on his own? Sometimes scary. “Can I help?” He checked quickly, but Simon didn’t have a pet with him. “The surgery’s closed for the day, I’m afraid.” He felt like he’d been saying this forever.
“The surgery?” Simon glanced with confusion at the group of people on the paveme
nt, bickering and talking over each other. Then his expression cleared. “Oh, you mean the vet? No, I’m not here for that. I came to see you.” He looked a bit shifty. “Trev insisted.”
Shit, what was it now? Had Donnie returned the baking tin he used last time he tried to make wholemeal bread? He suspected the yeast hadn’t been fresh because instead of rising it had imploded. But he’d managed to clean it all off, he thought. Simon was an ace breadmaker. Simon was obsessive about his equipment being spotless. Simon was scary. Had Donnie already thought that? Maybe they were offended by his amateur attempts to make confectionery, thought he was trying to steal business from their bakery—
“Jesus, Donnie! You look like I’m going to wallop you for something.” Simon interrupted Donnie’s increasing panic. “Trev reminded me how good your Easter chocolates were, and I wondered if you’d do some more at the bakery some time.”
“I… what?”
Simon looked flushed. “Okay, so I should have said how good they were before now. It’s not like I don’t appreciate how important it is to praise as well as complain. We all need that, right?”
“Right,” Donnie said faintly.
“I’ve just… had things on my mind. What with Trev getting the bakery up and running again and everything. But we both had a taste of one you left behind at the parade that day…” He was blushing even more than Trev had at the mention of sharing sweets. “… and Trev says you know all about me nicking those fudge snakes off the kids at school—”
“Fingers,” Donnie whispered, helplessly.
“—but I need to tell you, you’ve got a real talent with tastes.”
“Not particularly with shape, though.”
“No, not with shape.” But Simon was grinning cheerfully. “What the fuck does that matter if something tastes good? We can work on the presentation.”
Trev had said almost the same thing, over his coffee with Donnie. “What does…? We can…?” Donnie didn’t seem to be able to finish a sentence.
“Trev says to come along to the bakery sometime after shop hours, and you can use our… his… kitchen to practise in. We’ve got a lot of instructional podcasts to share, too. We’re always learning new things.”
