Must Be Love

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly. Everyone faints now and then. You’ll get used to the blood.’

  ‘It isn’t just the blood I’m worried about.’ I was always the first to sit down to watch any surgery on the telly, and I’d watched plenty of operations without fainting at the vet practice where I’d helped out on Saturdays and after school. ‘I didn’t realise I was so cack-handed. How am I going to explain that to my clients? I’m so sorry I missed that tiny wart on Rover’s eyelid, but I’ve lopped his tail off for you instead.’

  Emma burst out laughing, prompting a ‘Shh’ from a passing nurse.

  ‘It isn’t funny,’ I said, smiling in spite of myself.

  ‘I know,’ she said, sobering up, ‘but you’ll be okay in the end. We’ve got six years to get it right.’

  ‘Emma was right,’ I tell Shannon once I’ve explained to her what happened. ‘For a long time afterwards, whenever I went into an operating theatre I’d go all hot and shaky, thinking I was going to faint, but I didn’t. So don’t give up just yet. Give it another go.’

  Shannon looks up from the floor, her face paler than ever.

  ‘If I faint again, then that’s it,’ she says, ‘end of.’

  Relieved, I arrange for Frances to look after her with sweet tea and biscuits in Reception, while Izzy and I move Petra back to her kennel, next to Sally’s, and spend a few minutes watching her recovery.

  ‘She’ll have to go, you know,’ Izzy says. ‘It has to be said.’

  ‘Yes, but not so loud if you don’t mind.’ The saying ‘Walls have ears’ holds particularly true at Otter House.

  ‘I need someone I can rely on. I can’t be responsible for the patients and Shannon. It’s too much.’

  ‘Izzy, I understand where you’re coming from, but I can’t see we have any choice. We need to have someone here trained up and ready to cover for you when you go away. Haven’t you and Chris booked the honeymoon?’

  At the word ‘honeymoon’, Izzy’s face lights up.

  ‘I’m not supposed to know, but Chris is hopeless at keeping secrets. I found an email confirming the booking on the computer the other day.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me …’

  ‘I have to tell someone otherwise I shall burst. At first, I thought we were off to Perth in Scotland, but it turns out we’re going to Perth in Australia.’

  ‘Wow, that’s fantastic.’

  ‘We’re going to have two weeks on the beach, then another two with one of Chris’s cousins on his farm in the outback. Chris wants to take a look at some of his rams.’

  ‘Sheep?’ I feel my forehead tighten. ‘What is it, a honeymoon or busman’s holiday?’

  Izzy looks a little hurt.

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be really romantic, swimming and lazing on the beach, hiking through the bush – just you and Chris.’ I refrain from adding, ‘And his cousins and gazillions of sheep.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ Izzy sighs, ‘and you’re right about Shannon, Maz. I should be more tolerant, I suppose, although I can’t understand why anyone wants to walk around looking as if they’ve walked into a wall.’

  ‘It’s like camouflage,’ I say in Shannon’s defence. ‘Underneath all the black, she’s an ordinary girl, insecure and shy.’ I stick with the illusion, keeping the memory of Shannon dancing on the table up at the Manor to myself.

  ‘And I’m the Queen of Sheba,’ says Izzy. ‘It’s okay, Maz, I’ll give her another chance.’

  I decide, though, to take Shannon under my wing as much as I can, and when Emma’s finished consulting for the afternoon, and I’m in charge of sending the inpatients home, Shannon’s with me in Kennels.

  ‘We’ll have Petra first,’ I say, then as Shannon looks around rather helplessly – for inspiration, or a lead perhaps – I remember in time that Petra is an HWC and fetch her from her kennel myself.

  Shannon brings Petra’s painkillers when we join Clive, Petra’s owner, in the consulting room. He greets Petra, but she isn’t all that pleased to see him. He ruffles her coat as she settles herself on his size-thirteen or -fourteen feet, holding her lead in her mouth, and keeping her eyes on Shannon, who perches on the stool in the corner beside the monitor to keep out of the way.

  ‘Long time no see, Maz.’ Clive speaks with a hint of an East London accent. He’s in his fifties. His scalp is tight and shiny across the top of his skull; his sweater, the colour of best bitter, is taut across his paunch.

  ‘I don’t get out much,’ I say, trying to recall the last time I had a night out at the Talymill Inn, which Clive runs with his wife. ‘How sad is that,’ I add, grinning, at which Shannon rolls her eyes.

  I give Clive a rundown on Petra’s post-op care, then send them on their way, asking Shannon to open the door for them. As Shannon moves towards it, Petra slinks forwards, and without even a warning growl, jumps up and clamps her jaws around Shannon’s wrist. Taken by surprise, Shannon cries out.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Clive says sharply, and Petra lets go, backing down, her hackles raised.

  ‘Shannon, are you all right?’ I say, shocked that Petra should have gone so far. I mean, I half expected a growl or a snap, but not physical contact. ‘Let’s have a look at your arm. Has she hurt you?’

  Shannon examines her wrist, checking her skin, which I can see bears the faint indents of Petra’s canines.

  ‘I’m okay,’ she says, forcing a smile. ‘I don’t think she likes me.’

  ‘You must have looked at her in a funny way,’ Clive says, his voice hard as glass, and I look at Clive in a funny way because I can’t think he really believes that. ‘You’d be a bit touchy if you’d just had an operation,’ he goes on, stroking Petra’s head. ‘She’s an absolute angel, this one. Although,’ he adds – guiltily, I think – ‘I still miss Robbie.’

  Clive lost Robbie, his retired police dog, last summer when his back legs gave way, and it was only with gentle persuasion and emotional blackmail that I convinced him to give Petra a home.

  ‘Petra can’t help it if her halo slips now and then,’ he goes on, and I recall another occasion when Petra reacted inappropriately. It was on the night of the fire last summer. I remember the sound of sirens, the stench of smoke, the way Petra lunged at us – me, Izzy and Chris – as we tried to get her out of the animal sanctuary to safety. I’d put her aggression down to fear, and as she hadn’t had the best start in life, I thought she deserved a chance. I’d hoped that living with Clive, an experienced dog handler, she would gain confidence and learn how to behave in a socially acceptable way.

  It seems, though, that this particular leopard hasn’t changed her spots.

  ‘I’ll have a word with the behaviourist we use.’ I don’t hold out much hope of a cure for Petra’s behaviour, but it’s worth a try. ‘Have you considered muzzling her when she’s behind the bar?’

  ‘She doesn’t need a muzzle. Or a bloody shrink.’ Clive’s laughter is laced with sarcasm.

  I know where he’s coming from. I’ve hurt his pride.

  ‘It takes a split second for something to happen, for a child to wander in, or someone to put their hand down to her too quickly.’

  ‘I trust her,’ Clive says. ‘I know my own dog and she wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  Petra’s eyes are fixed on her master now. She’s intelligent and loyal, but it isn’t enough. Guilt and regret knife through my heart. I wish I hadn’t re-homed her at all. I wish I’d had the courage to go ahead and put her down straight after the fire. There were other dogs. There are other dogs, hundreds and thousands of them, languishing in rescue centres up and down the country, most of them friendlier and more reliable than Petra.

  ‘I’m sorry, Clive, but you know it isn’t right. I can’t ignore it and neither can you.’

  ‘You’re just like my wife,’ he says bitterly. ‘Edie wants me to have her put down.’

  ‘I’m not saying have her put down—’

  ‘That’s what you mean, though, isn’t it?’ Clive interrupts. ‘See the
vet. See the shrink. Go through the motions first so you can salve your conscience.’ His voice falters as he chokes back tears. ‘I thought you were better than that, Maz Harwood. I thought you really cared.’ And he storms off, not stopping at Reception to Frances as he usually does, while I’m thinking, I do care. Of course I care. The last thing I want to do is put down a healthy young dog.

  I glance towards Shannon, who’s white-faced and shaking.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I ask her.

  ‘I don’t want you to put down that dog because she had a go at me,’ she whispers. ‘It isn’t fair.’

  ‘I understand how you feel, but I’m not making any promises. I’m going to give Clive a few hours, then give him a ring to see if he’s calmed down enough to talk it through.’ If Petra had actually drawn blood and Clive had refused to cooperate, I’d have had no choice but to involve the police and report her as a dangerous dog.

  ‘Maybe I did look at her in a funny way,’ Shannon says.

  ‘Shannon, this isn’t your fault.’

  Bursting into tears, she slips past me into the corridor, flies into the cloakroom and slams the door behind her, sending a shudder through the whole practice.

  I wait outside, wondering what I should do, whether I should break the door down because of what Emma’s said about her mental state, to find out what she’s doing in there.

  ‘I should give her a minute,’ Emma says from behind me.

  ‘I hope she’s all right. She’s really upset,’ I say, going on to explain about Clive and Petra as we walk back along the corridor together.

  ‘It seems as if my instincts were right and yours were wrong about Shannon. I think she’s going to get far too involved with the patients. She’s very emotional. Not only that, Izzy’s been complaining about her lack of initiative. She says it took her twenty minutes to open a tin of cat food this morning.’

  ‘I expect that’s Izzy exaggerating.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Emma says, and I hope she isn’t going to blame Shannon’s failings on me, when we made a joint decision to take her on. She changes the subject.

  ‘Maz, I’ve found us a locum, subject to an interview and satisfactory references.’

  ‘Oh?’ I say. I have to admit I’ve been trying to ignore the whole what-happens-when-the-baby-is-born scenario.

  ‘He’s called Drew. He’s from Australia. He hasn’t been qualified all that long, but he’s got some experience, and he sounds completely charming. And I’ve booked him on the overnight train from Edinburgh where he’s working at the moment, to arrive tomorrow.’

  ‘What’s the hurry?’

  ‘His contract’s almost up. I couldn’t risk another practice snapping him up. He can start here at the beginning of February. It’s perfect timing,’ Emma says, ‘and he sounds absolutely perfect too.’

  I’m not sure what to say. I can’t imagine any other vet, perfect or otherwise, joining our close-knit team at Otter House.

  ‘Oh, Maz, cheer up. I know you have reservations. Believe me, so do I, but you can’t run the practice on your own. Both of us know it’s too much for one vet.’

  ‘I know.’ I recall how I struggled to keep it afloat while she was away last year.

  ‘I could do with some time off,’ Emma goes on. ‘I’ve got so much to do before the baby arrives: buy furniture for the nursery, decide on a cot and test-drive a few buggies. In fact, I don’t know why we didn’t evolve to have longer pregnancies, like elephants. An extra thirteen months would come in useful.’ Smiling, she gazes at the wall in the corridor. ‘I don’t know what colour scheme to go for. What do you think? I don’t want pink and Ben won’t let me go for blue for a girl. I was wondering about green and yellow.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ I say, my mind back on Shannon, and Clive and Petra.

  ‘Maz, you have to stop worrying about work sometimes,’ Emma says sadly. ‘There are more things to life than clients and cases.’

  ‘And babies,’ I say, then wish I hadn’t, because Emma flushes bright red and sets her mouth in a straight line. What a stupid thing to say! ‘I’m so sorry,’ I stammer. ‘I didn’t mean it to come out like that.’

  ‘I can’t help it,’ Emma says, sounding deeply hurt. ‘I thought you were pleased for me.’

  ‘I am. Really, I am.’

  ‘Well, pardon me for boring you, Maz.’

  ‘It isn’t like that, Em,’ I cut in.

  ‘What is it like, then?’ She stands in front of me, hands on hips, waiting for my response. Recognising her impatience, I blunder on.

  ‘All I meant was that you’ve seemed a bit distant recently, a bit more hands-off than hands-on, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I put in the hours I’m supposed to, the ones we agreed.’

  ‘Yes, but no more, I notice.’ I’m not sure from Emma’s expression that she appreciates my honesty, but another thing we agreed about when we signed up for the partnership is to be straight with each other and voice any concerns before they become simmering resentments.

  ‘Are you accusing me of taking advantage?’

  ‘I do have a life outside the practice too, Em.’

  ‘And I’m having a baby,’ Emma says, her voice harsh. ‘In four months’ time, my life is going to change for ever. And I know how everyone says you can never be fully prepared, but I’m going to have a damn good try.’

  I watch, appalled at my lack of sensitivity, as her lip trembles and her eyes glitter with tears. First Clive, now Emma. I apologise again.

  ‘Don’t worry, Maz. I expect it’s my hormones making me feel all weepy.’ Emma puts her hands up, trying to make light of it. I try to swallow but my throat is dry and tight with regret. I can’t help thinking that I’ve overstepped the mark, that our friendship might never be the same again. ‘I’ll be off, then – unless you want me to do evening surgery …’

  I don’t respond – Emma doesn’t expect me to. She knows I’ll carry on regardless, come hell or high water.

  Chapter Five

  Let Sleeping Vets Lie

  Back in Kennels, after a busy evening surgery, Izzy is singing along to ‘Mamma Mia!’ on the radio. Unaware of my arrival, she thrusts her mop into her bucket of suds, wrings it out and gyrates across the floor.

  I call out to her. She turns, her face flushed at being found out.

  ‘Abba.’ She smiles. ‘It’s my secret vice.’

  ‘Not any more,’ I chuckle.

  ‘Oh well,’ she sighs.

  ‘I thought Shannon did the cleaning earlier.’ I could have sworn I saw her creeping about with a mop, holding it away from her body like a witch with an accursed broomstick.

  ‘She didn’t make a proper job of it,’ says Izzy.

  ‘Perhaps she’s feeling a bit under the weather. She’s had a bad day today.’

  ‘We all have our bad days,’ Izzy says. I didn’t expect her to be sympathetic – Izzy’s the kind of person who keeps going too, no matter what. Emma said she turned up for work once, having sprained her wrist the day before, insisting she could learn to do everything left-handed and she did. ‘I told her to sweep up first, but she couldn’t have done. Look at it.’

  I do, but it all seems pretty immaculate to me.

  ‘Did you want something, Maz?’ Izzy says, leaning on the mop for a moment.

  ‘My last appointment of the evening has cancelled, so I’ve come to take Sally back.’

  ‘I’ll miss her,’ Izzy says fondly, glancing towards Sally’s kennel, at which Sally utters a bark, a questioning, when-are-you-going-to-let-me-out-of-here kind of bark.

  ‘I bet Penny’s missed her even more.’ I take Sally’s lead and harness off one of the hooks on the wall. I open the kennel door and she comes flying out like a champagne cork. I manage to fasten her harness around her chest and attach the lead before she tows me straight past Izzy and out through the door and down the corridor with that unerring sense of direction that most of our patients possess when it comes to finding the exit.
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  When we arrive at the Old Forge, she goes completely berserk, huffing and puffing, and tearing up and down the hallway, skidding across the wooden floor and jumping up at Penny’s wheelchair before she eventually calms down and sits at Penny’s feet with her nose pressed between her calves.

  ‘I was going to say how important it is to keep her from having any strenuous exercise for the next week or so, but I can see she has her own ideas.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ Penny wipes a paint-stained rag across Sally’s nose. ‘I wrote down everything you said earlier on the phone. Small meals, short walks only and no exercise for at least two hours after she’s eaten.’ She reaches into a basket contraption at the back of her chair, and pulls out a canvas wrapped in tissue paper. ‘This is for you. It’s the Taly Valley by moonlight. I hope you like it. You don’t have to be polite.’ Penny hands it over. ‘As an artist, it’s your gut reaction, whether it’s favourable or not, that matters to me.’

  ‘It’s er … amazing.’ It’s dark blue and black paint on a white canvas, and it takes quite a stretch of the imagination – of mine, anyway – to see that the squiggle in the centre might represent a river and the curves above the branches of overarching trees. ‘I can’t accept it, though. It’s too generous.’

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense.’ Penny fondles Sally’s ears. ‘It’s nothing compared with what you’ve done. You’ve given me my life back, my little ray of sunshine.’ She looks up, and I look away quickly, pretending I have something in my eye. ‘Oh, you must think me a bit soft in the head. Before Sally, I didn’t like dogs, but my sister arranged for me to have her, forced her on to me really. “So you can hold on to your independence, Pen,” she told me, but I think it had more to do with her keeping hold of hers …’ Her voice trails off, then returns with a fragile strength. ‘I find this time of year very hard. It’s the anniversary of the accident … when I lost Mark.’ She looks up at the photos on the wall, her gaze settling on the picture of her wedding. ‘It’s been three years now.’