Must Be Love

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘If you need to know where anything is, or how it works, all you have to do is ask,’ Emma says. ‘We tend to see our own cases through from beginning to end here, rather than chop and change. Clients like seeing the same vet every time.’

  ‘But we always discuss any cases we’re unsure about,’ I join in. ‘Sometimes it helps.’

  ‘Two heads are better than one,’ Drew agrees, nodding.

  Emma leads us into Kennels, where Shannon’s holding on to a guinea pig for Izzy to cut its nails. The guinea pig, one of the long-haired variety, is not happy, squeaking in protest.

  ‘I reckon he’s afraid he’s going to end up in the microwave,’ Drew says, moving closer. ‘Did you know they eat guinea pigs in Peru?’

  ‘No?’ Shannon says, looking up, wide-eyed with horror.

  ‘It’s true,’ says Izzy, confirming Drew’s observation.

  ‘Have you eaten one, then?’ Shannon says, her voice trembling. ‘Oh, don’t tell me …’

  ‘I have not,’ says Izzy. ‘What about you, Drew? Have you eaten guinea pig on your travels?’

  ‘I did travel up through Peru and Bolivia,’ Drew says, neither confirming nor denying the accusation.

  ‘I shouldn’t worry,’ Emma says. ‘We aren’t going to eat any of our patients here.’ She grins and I can feel everyone relax. The guinea pig stops squeaking. ‘It wouldn’t be good for business.’

  ‘Would you mind having a look at the Westie while you’re here?’ Izzy asks. ‘I need to know if you’re going to open her up today or whether I can feed her.’

  ‘How is she?’ Emma asks, sounding a little guilty, I think, because she hadn’t sorted the inpatients out before collecting Drew from the station.

  ‘I’ll get her out,’ I offer.

  ‘Allow me,’ says Drew.

  ‘What about your suit – I mean, your boss’s suit?’ I point out.

  Drew glances down at his attire. ‘He won’t mind,’ he says.

  ‘You can have a pinny,’ Izzy calls. ‘They’re in the dispenser beside the sink.’

  I fetch him one. He puts the plastic apron on over his head, but he can’t tie it round his waist because the ties don’t reach – not that he’s fat. Far from it. Drew heads for the cage, where the Westie takes one look at him and turns her back. Joining him, I unfasten the catch.

  ‘Come here, Delilah,’ I call softly, at which she looks round.

  ‘She seems a bit shy,’ Drew observes. ‘What’s she in for?’

  ‘Persistent vomiting,’ Emma interjects.

  ‘She hasn’t been sick overnight,’ Izzy says from the prep bench as Drew lifts her out and cuddles her to his chest. At first Delilah stares at him, her ears down and tail still.

  ‘You’re a cute little thing,’ Drew says, and I wonder if he says that to all the girls, then think he probably doesn’t have to. Delilah seems hooked anyway. She wriggles up towards his face, resting her paws on his shoulder before, tail wagging, she licks at his nose. ‘Where do you want her?’ He takes her towards the prep bench and Delilah stops her licking. I see her eyes fix on the guinea pig.

  ‘Shannon, put the guinea pig away, please,’ I say quickly, sensing trouble. The guinea pig might be safe from the staff, but it’s in imminent danger of being eaten by one of our other patients, and I don’t want to have to explain that one.

  Shannon whisks it away, then returns to spray the bench and remove the nail clippings while Drew hangs on to an overexcited Delilah so Emma can check her over. She explains the detail of the case to Drew and I feel a little embarrassed on her behalf because she makes it all sound terribly technical as if she’s out to impress. She doesn’t have to – it’s Drew who’s supposed to be impressing us, and I’m not sure that he’s making enough effort. He seems to like the animals and some of them like him, but he seems rather vague when Emma’s talking about laboratory parameters to measure pancreatitis and liver function.

  Still, he must know his stuff, mustn’t he? It’s a slight niggle, the tiniest doubt, which remains in my mind for some time after Drew’s gone, and one that I raise with Emma when we’re upstairs in the flat, raising glasses of fizzy water later the same evening. (We don’t have wine – I’m on call and Emma’s thinking of the baby.)

  How do you know if someone is suitable for a job? How can you decide that in just a few hours?

  ‘I thought I’d ask Lynsey if she’ll put him up,’ Emma says.

  ‘Drew?’

  ‘Well, he can’t share the flat with you, can he? It’s too much of a love nest. Look, Alex has left his socks on the radiator.’ Emma chuckles. ‘Don’t tell me those lovely Argyll socks are yours.’

  ‘Well, no … And you’re right – I don’t want anyone else living here. Three’s a crowd and all that.’ I hesitate. ‘You know, I’m not sure about Drew. He seems a bit vague sometimes, as if he’s lacking clinical know-how. He didn’t contribute much when you were looking at Delilah, for example.’

  ‘He came here for an interview, not to give a second opinion on my most difficult case. Really, Maz,’ she says lightly, ‘you have to admit you haven’t come up with any brilliant ideas about Delilah either.’

  ‘No, but –’

  ‘I think he’s great,’ says Emma, putting her feet up on the sofa. ‘Jude Law, eat your heart out. Oh, come on, Maz, you have to admit he’s utterly charming. Our clients will love him. You’ve seen his references.’

  ‘True.’ They aren’t merely glowing, they’re incandescent.

  ‘And I’ve spoken to his current employer,’ Emma continues, ‘so I’ve had confirmation from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, that Drew’s a really nice guy.’

  ‘What about that comment he made about his boss looking forward to some peace and quiet?’ I ask.

  ‘Maz, it was one of those throwaway remarks we all make from time to time.’ Emma raises one eyebrow. ‘Any further objections?’

  I shake my head, letting my reservations give way to Emma’s determination to hire him. I know the score. We need another vet at Otter House and no matter how many we interview, I’m going to feel the same sense of uncertainty with every one. I’m always going to worry that they might not look after our clients and their pets as well as Emma and I do. I lean back in my chair. I’m being far too picky. There’s no real reason why Drew shouldn’t suit us very well.

  ‘Do you know what I think?’ Emma says.

  ‘I don’t, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.’

  She smiles. ‘I think you’re afraid Drew will outshine you.’

  Chapter Six

  A Private Consultation

  ‘Drew’s arriving today – I said I’d pick him up from the station. You don’t mind doing morning surgery, do you, Maz?’ Emma says, popping her head round the consulting-room door.

  ‘Not at all.’ It’s that quiet time, the calm before the storm. I’ve finished checking on the inpatients with Izzy, deciding which animals can go home and which have to stay, and now I’m sitting on the table, waiting for the monitor to flash up the first appointment, although I can hear perfectly well what’s going on in Reception.

  There’s a clattering of claws and the sound of panting, and I recognise Mrs Dyer’s voice apologising for dropping in without an appointment, but could she just see Emma for a moment. Like Delilah, the Westie, who’s doing well now on a hypoallergenic diet, Brutus is one of Emma’s specials and I know from experience that there’s no point in suggesting Mrs Dyer sees me instead, so I call across to Frances that I’ll go and see if Emma’s free.

  ‘Tell her it’s a sore eye,’ Mrs Dyer says. ‘I’ve been rinsing it with cold tea, but it’s made no difference.’

  ‘What does she expect?’ Emma says when I find her in the corridor, ready to head out again with her bag and keys.

  ‘I can get her to come back later,’ I say, ‘or I can fetch Drew from the station for you, if you like.’

  Emma glances at her watch.

  ‘I’ll see Brutus, then go straight o
ut.’ Emma follows me back to the consulting room, lagging some way behind, and for the first time I notice that the pregnancy is beginning to affect her, that she really does need to start taking life easier. I feel a twinge of guilt that I was so sceptical about the idea of taking on a locum so soon. Almost a month has passed since we offered Drew the job, and her waistline … well, she hasn’t got a waist any more. I wonder what it feels like. Is the bump very heavy? Does it get in the way?

  ‘You couldn’t be nurse, could you, Maz?’ Emma asks. ‘Sometimes Brutus takes a bit of pinning down.’

  He does too.

  He’s like a small horse, huffing and puffing hot air into the close confines of the consulting room. Mrs Dyer stands astride him, her floral skirt hitched up, a ladder in her opaque tights, and I hang on to his huge Great Dane head with both hands, while Emma tries to shine a light at his left eye, which is red and teary.

  ‘I’m going to stick some dye into that eye, Christine,’ Emma says.

  ‘Best of luck,’ says Mrs Dyer.

  Emma reaches for a single dose of dye, which looks orange in the packet but turns a yellowy-green when it comes into contact with the eye – and Mrs Dyer’s white blouse.

  ‘I hope that comes off in the wash,’ Mrs Dyer says.

  ‘So do I,’ Emma says brightly as she manages to get a couple of drops of dye into Brutus’s eye at the fourth attempt. ‘Otherwise it’s going to cost me. Ah, it’s just as I suspected. Poor Brutus has an ulcer. I’ll give you a tube of antibiotic ointment.’ Emma takes one from the shelf. ‘All you have to do is squeeze a little in there every day until I see him again.’

  ‘How on earth am I going to get near his eye now?’ Mrs Dyer says. ‘The old man can’t help – he might be a butcher, but he’s a bit squeamish when it comes to medical matters.’

  ‘If you’re happy to pop in with Brutus every day, I’ll do it for you.’ Emma squirts a good dose of ointment into the dog’s eye, then stands back before Mrs Dyer and I release our hold on him. Brutus gives himself a good shake and turns to wait, his nose pressed against the door.

  ‘Thank you so much, Emma,’ Mrs Dyer says, hardly acknowledging me as she leaves. ‘I know I can always rely on you.’

  ‘Thanks for your help, Maz,’ Emma says once she’s gone.

  ‘How will she cope when you aren’t here?’ I say, turning to the sink to wash Brutus’s saliva off my hands.

  ‘I’m hoping she’ll bond with Drew. Which reminds me, I should be at the station. I’ll see you later.’

  Emma returns shortly after with Drew, who slips the straps of his scruffy rucksack over his shoulders and lowers it to the floor, then wipes his palms on his shorts, cut-offs from a pair of jeans, before shaking my hand.

  ‘Hiya, all,’ he says.

  ‘How was your journey?’ I ask.

  ‘Pretty good, thanks.’

  ‘I expect they were sorry to see you go, the staff at your old practice,’ I say.

  Drew laughs.

  ‘My boss – my former boss – says that taking on a locum’s like fostering a stray dog. You just get fond of them and they have to move on.’

  Are we going to grow fond of Drew? I wonder. I hope so.

  ‘I’m going to sort out a couple of sets of scrubs, then run Drew to the garage to collect the hire car and show him to his lodgings,’ Emma says.

  ‘You’re staying at the Pitts’, aren’t you?’ Izzy says.

  ‘Bed and breakfast at Barton Farm,’ says Emma. ‘Lynsey has a spare room.’

  I’m not sure how – as I’ve mentioned before, she and Stewart have seven children – and I feel a little guilty that I haven’t yet looked for a place of my own to free up the flat.

  ‘Oh, and I’ll drive you down to Talysands so you know where to find the beach,’ Emma goes on.

  ‘Don’t let me put you out,’ Drew says. ‘I’m sure I’ll find it.’

  ‘No, I’ve got to drop into Chickarees. Ben and I have decided on a buggy for the baby’ – Emma looks at her bump, her cheeks flushed with pride – ‘and I want to place my order in plenty of time.’

  ‘I’ll get myself a wetsuit and a new board. No worries,’ Drew says, and I notice the stubble on his face. Emma won’t approve if he turns up like that for work tomorrow – she’s of the opinion that facial hair on a man is a sign of laziness. I’ve never seen Ben with even a hint of a beard.

  ‘What do you think of our new vet?’ I ask Frances after Emma and Drew have gone.

  ‘He’s very handsome, but he’s no gentleman, not like young Mr Fox-Gifford. Gentlemen don’t wear shorts.’

  I’m about to argue with her statement when she qualifies it with, ‘Certainly not ones that short, and especially at this time of year. He’ll catch his death and then what use will he be?’ She picks up the air freshener and sprays the air with so much righteous indignation that my next patient comes into the consulting room sneezing.

  Wild Rose of Everwood. Black standard poodle. I let my eye drift along the details on my monitor. Owner: Miss A. Ballantyne. Not one of ours, but can’t be put off.

  I recognise the name. Aurora Ballantyne owns the boutique in Talyton St George. A couple of weeks ago she dressed the mannequins in the window in designer lingerie, and for a few days the ladies from the church picketed the shop with placards in an attempt to reclaim the streets of Talyton from sin, but Aurora stood her ground and the mannequins remain with their flesh bared to all who pass by.

  I wonder what she’s like, if she’s going to be difficult, because she must be a very persuasive woman if Frances can’t put her off. I wrap my hands around the mug of coffee Shannon’s left for me and take a sip. I don’t know what she’s done to it, but it’s lukewarm and tastes of egg with a hint of cremated chicken. Suppressing a wave of nausea, I tip it down the sink before I call Aurora in.

  A black poodle – one of the tall ones, not one that’ll fit easily on your lap – comes trotting in on a bling-laden pink leather lead. She sneezes four or five times.

  Aurora’s in her late twenties, I’d guess. It isn’t easy to tell with her heavy make-up and beechnut tan. She wears skinny-leg black jeans, long boots and a yellow trench coat nipped in at the waist. She and her dog make a striking pair.

  ‘Saba’s been raped. On the Green.’ I notice how Aurora shudders. ‘He was revolting, his tongue hanging out, slobbering everywhere. I’m sorry, he reminded me so much of my ex-husband,’ she adds, a faint smile on her painted lips. ‘I hope I haven’t offended your receptionist – I was a bit pushy. I usually take Saba to the vets up at the Manor, but I’ll never go there again. Old Mr Fox-Gifford is unutterably, indescribably rude and this is all his fault.’

  I let her go on to explain.

  ‘He stopped his car and let all his dogs out, didn’t bother to get out himself to put them on leads, and then that hideous thug of a black Labrador jumped on her. And everyone was watching.’

  I assume she means the other dog walkers of Talyton, and there are a lot of them, including the Four O’Clock Club and the Waggy Tails, who meet every day.

  ‘I tried to pull him off, but he got – ugh – stuck.’

  ‘That’s quite normal for mating dogs – it’s called the tie,’ I say, trying to reassure her that Saba wasn’t hurt during the process, but Aurora clasps her hand to her mouth as if she’s going to be sick. I offer her a stool to sit on, but she declines, and I turn my attention to Saba (I assume that’s her pet name), who wags the pompom on the end of her tail. She doesn’t look that upset about what’s happened. In fact, I suspect she rather enjoyed it.

  ‘I’ll have to ask the Talyton Manor Vets for Saba’s records. It’s a matter of professional courtesy.’ Not that Old Fox-Gifford is known for his courtesy, I think, as I slip out into Reception and ring him anyway.

  ‘Good riddance to her, and good luck to you. I wasn’t that keen on the little bitch anyway,’ he says, and I don’t think he’s referring to the dog. ‘What does she expect? Parading that ridiculous poodle around
when she’s in season. She was asking for it.’ He swears, then his voice softens very slightly. ‘I expect she likes a bit of rough. R. U. F. F.’ I hang up as Old Fox-Gifford continues, ‘Ruff, ruff.’

  I hope Alex isn’t going to end up completely barking like his father.

  ‘Old Mr Fox-Gifford is of the opinion that Saba was asking for it,’ I say on returning to the consulting room.

  ‘Saba’s a pedigree. She isn’t some old slapper,’ Aurora says tearfully, making me realise how upset she really is.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I rest my hands on the table. ‘What would you like me to do?’

  ‘I want you to get rid of them, wash the little bastards out. Haven’t you got some kind of doggy douche?’

  ‘I can give her an injection, the equivalent of the morning-after Pill. Are you sure you want to get rid of them?’

  ‘If I let her have this litter, the next lot will be born deformed.’

  ‘That’s a myth,’ I say, ‘as is the idea that you should let every bitch have one litter to satisfy her maternal instincts.’ In my opinion, people have them to satisfy their own. ‘She doesn’t need to have puppies at all, but if that’s what you’ve been planning anyway, then I’d consider letting Nature take its course. Labradoodles are very popular at the moment.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘They make a great cross. Labrador and poodle – you get the best of both breeds.’ Presumably the reverse holds true too, I think, picturing a big, boisterous dog shedding hair and scavenging for all kinds of unmentionable delicacies on its walks.

  ‘Well, I was planning for her to have a litter.’ Aurora turns aside and rubs Saba’s face. ‘I wish you’d taken a fancy to a real dog. What was wrong with Lord Goldenpaws of Waltingham?’ Aurora turns back tome. ‘I took her miles to one of the top stud poodles in the country, but she refused to look at him.’