Must Be Love

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘It does happen.’

  ‘When will you know she’s pregnant?’

  ‘I’ll be able to check by feeling her tummy in about three weeks’ time. By then, the pups, if there are any, will feel like two strings of marbles.’

  I make sure Frances books her in for another appointment three weeks down the line.

  ‘It’s for a pregnancy diagnosis,’ I tell her, and she looks at me in that strange way she does when she’s restraining herself from expressing an opinion. I give her a warning glance not to say anything. I’m not having her tell me I can’t treat Aurora’s dog because she has near-naked mannequins in her shop window.

  I turn back to Aurora.

  ‘I’ll see you soon. If there are any problems in the meantime, let me know straight away.’

  ‘It’s like a disease,’ Frances says, when we’re at the desk watching her go, Saba prancing on Aurora’s toes as if nothing has happened.

  ‘What is?’ I pick up a pen and doodle idly on the current page of the daybook.

  ‘This outbreak of pregnancy. It’s happening all over town.’

  ‘We don’t know Saba’s pregnant yet,’ I point out. ‘And Frances, this has nothing to do with Aurora’s moral values – or lack of them,’ I add, recalling how Aurora isn’t above having an affair with a married man. (She had a fling with Stewart, Lynsey Pitt’s husband and Alex’s best friend, last summer.)

  ‘I’m not talking about her. She isn’t having a baby. I know these things. I can always tell when a woman’s in the family way.’

  ‘Well, as long as you don’t go muscling in on my territory,’ I say, smiling, ‘as long as you leave the dogs and cats to me.’

  I’m not sure Emma’s going to be able to leave the cats and dogs, or any other variety of patient for that matter, to Drew. He starts as planned the following day, turning up on time, clean-shaven and with his legs covered, and I breathe a small sigh of relief because I’m afraid some of Talyton’s womenfolk might find the sight of his long bare legs rather distracting.

  Immediately, Emma begins fussing around him, more like a mother duck than a hen, the way she’s beginning to waddle.

  ‘I’ll be right outside if you need anything, Drew. If there’s anything you need to ask …’ She hands him a gown from theatre to put over his clothes. (The order for a set of scrubs in XXL hasn’t materialised yet.)

  ‘No worries,’ Drew says. ‘I’ll soon find my way around the place.’

  ‘Frances has booked Mr Victor’s parrot in for wing clipping later this morning. I’m happy to do it if you let me know when he arrives.’

  ‘I can deal with it.’ Drew’s cheeks redden. ‘I’ve seen plenty of parrots. We do have them back home.’

  ‘I’m sure Drew knows what he’s doing, Em,’ I say, trying to save him – and Emma – further embarrassment.

  ‘Yes, Maz. You’re right.’ Biting her lip, she turns back to Drew. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being a pain, aren’t I?’

  ‘She was like this when she left me in charge last year,’ I tell him, ‘and then she fell pregnant quite deliberately so she had an excuse to come back early to check up on me.’

  ‘I understand,’ says Drew. ‘I’d be the same if I had my own practice.’

  ‘We’ll leave you to it, then,’ I say, and Emma and I wait for him to disappear into the consulting room with his first patient of the day before we sidle back to the desk at Reception and take a look over Frances’s shoulder at the list of appointments on her monitor, Frances grumbling that we’re disturbing her.

  ‘There isn’t anything too challenging, is there?’ I say to Emma.

  ‘You’re as bad as I am,’ she chuckles.

  ‘I’m more discreet, though. Anyway, there aren’t any of our really fussy clients booked in.’ The ones who refuse to see anyone but Emma – Mrs Dyer and her Great Dane Brutus, for example – and, less commonly, anyone but me. It’s nice to feel wanted, but it can be a bit of a pain at times.

  ‘I’m sure Drew’s a perfectly competent vet,’ Emma says, but then she would say that. She has a vested interest in his commitment to the Otter House Vets being a success, after all.

  She excuses herself and I’m about to follow when Shannon turns up for the late shift. (We’re experimenting with splitting the working day into two shifts for the nurses because we don’t need both Izzy and Shannon here for evening surgery when there’s only one vet on.) There’s something different about Shannon, and I can’t put my finger on it.

  ‘Maz, I’ve brought Angel in with me,’ she says. ‘I thought perhaps Drew would be able to have a look at him and give him the injections Izzy told me about. I didn’t realise he was supposed to have injections, otherwise I’d have had them done before.’

  ‘I’m sure it can be arranged.’ I glance into the carrier she’s holding. A black rabbit with floppy ears looks back at me, apparently unconcerned by his imminent visit to the vet. I look towards Frances. ‘Would you mind sticking Angel on the end of Drew’s consults?’

  Frowning, Frances adds Angel to the list before Shannon takes him through to Kennels for the day.

  ‘You and Emma aren’t the only ones with their eye on Drew,’ Frances says, and I realise what’s different about Shannon. She’s toned down the make-up and replaced her black studs with sparkly ones.

  Frances lowers her voice to a spitty whisper. ‘She’s taken a fancy to him. There’s going to be trouble. A nubile’ – she pronounces the word as ‘nubble’, so at first I wonder what she’s talking about – ‘girl like Shannon and a reprobate of a young vet.’

  ‘Frances, you can’t call him a reprobate just because he wears shorts in his spare time.’ I can’t help smiling, because although I can see that Shannon might well be interested in Drew in a teenage crush kind of way, I can’t believe Drew would be interested in her with her black eyes and lank black hair. ‘Anyway, it’ll come to nothing. Drew isn’t a permanent fixture. He’ll be going home in a few months.’

  A loud squawk interrupts our conversation and Mr Victor, who runs the ironmonger’s in town, comes into Reception carrying a parrot, an African grey, in a cage partially covered with a towel. He’s a squat little man with a scant ginger beard who reminds me of Captain Mainwaring in Dad’s Army, which is how I remember the name of his bird, the Captain.

  ‘Good morning, ladies,’ he says. ‘I hope I’m not going to have to wait. I’ve had to leave the honesty box beside the till and the shop unlocked.’

  I stand aside, so Frances can book him in.

  ‘You’ll be seeing Drew, our new locum,’ Frances says.

  ‘Does he know anything about parrots?’ Mr Victor enquires. ‘If he doesn’t have a passion for birds, I don’t want to see him. I’ll rebook to see Emma, although I shall find it damnably inconvenient.’

  Frances looks at me for help and I recall what Emma said about the practice Drew was working for in Edinburgh.

  ‘Drew specialises in small animals and exotics,’ I say, which seems to reassure Mr Victor, who takes a seat to wait his turn. When I don’t hear any screeching and squawking from the Captain, I assume Drew’s coping well enough. I do find an excuse to nip in later – to collect a dose of antibiotic for one of my inpatients. I take a while longer than necessary, shuffling the boxes, listening in to Drew’s current consultation with Eleanor Tarbarrel, wife of the solicitor who drew up the partnership agreement for me and Emma, with her ancient cat, Bobby. She drags him out of his wicker basket and cuddles him to her chest.

  ‘He’s looking bright and bushy-tailed,’ Drew says, and I cringe because he looks as if he’s on death’s door to me. He’s like an anatomical specimen, bone covered with a thin, unkempt black coat of fur.

  ‘Maz says he’s on his last legs,’ says Eleanor Tarbarrel, looking towards me, as if to say, What’s going on here? ‘She’s given him weeks to live.’

  ‘Well, whatever she’s giving him seems to be doing the trick,’ Drew says smoothly. ‘What’s he on?’

  ‘I don�
�t know.’ Eleanor’s looking at me again. ‘She gives him an injection and some pills every fortnight. It’s all on the computer.’ She pauses, appraising his appearance, and I think, Thank goodness he isn’t wearing shorts. ‘You are a proper vet?’

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry if I seem flustered, but it’s always a bit daunting starting out in a new practice. I came down from Edinburgh yesterday, and I’m still finding my feet.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Eleanor’s voice is laced with suspicion and doubt. ‘Are you going to give Bobby a blood test this time, only he hates them so much.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at him first,’ says Drew. ‘We don’t want to upset poor little Bobs unnecessarily.’

  Bobs? I check to see how this is going down with Eleanor, who places Bobby on the table.

  ‘What a lovely little chap,’ Drew says. ‘He must have looked amazing when he was in his prime.’

  ‘Oh, he was,’ Eleanor says, apparently succumbing to Drew’s charm. ‘He’s been a wonderful pet. In fact, I’d go as far as to say he’s my best friend. Easy to talk to, never answers back …’ There are tears in her eyes. ‘Sometimes I think I love him more than my husband. Isn’t that an awful thing to say?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Drew grabs a box of tissues from the shelf and offers them to Eleanor with a flourish.

  ‘You’re so kind,’ she says, blowing her nose. ‘I’d rather see a vet than a doctor any day.’

  Later, when I barge into the consulting room yet again to collect a dose of vaccine this time, assuming Drew’s finished his consults, I discover that he does indeed have a passion for birds, but not of the feathered variety.

  Shannon’s rabbit is on the table. Shannon has a stethoscope in her ears and Drew is behind her, his arms encircling her as he holds the bell to the rabbit’s chest. Neither of them looks up.

  ‘It’s beating really fast,’ Shannon says. ‘I can’t count it.’

  ‘Now, if you compare it with mine.’ Drew unties his gown at the back of his neck and drops it over the monitor behind him. He lifts the front of his shirt to reveal the perfect six-pack.

  I clear my throat. ‘Is this supposed to be a private consultation?’

  Shannon almost jumps out of her skin, while Drew turns his gaze towards me and flashes me an easy smile.

  ‘Shannon’s never listened to a heart.’

  ‘It’s all right. Don’t let me stop you,’ I say, but I stay in the room as chaperone, shuffling boxes of vaccine in the fridge. I’m thankful Shannon’s taking an interest in the job, but I can’t say I approve of Drew’s teaching methods. They’re far too practical and hands-on.

  ‘What’s he like, then?’ Alex asks, when I call in to the Manor to see him later. He’s in the stable with Liberty, putting her to bed, which involves hanging up a fresh haynet, changing her rugs and giving her a couple of mints. ‘It’s all round Talyton that you’ve taken on some kind of sex-god.’

  ‘You are just like Frances,’ I say sternly. ‘You listen to too much gossip.’

  ‘Stewart says Lynsey can’t do enough for him – full English breakfast in the morning, a packed lunch with cake and a three-course dinner.’ He tips his head to one side. ‘Should I be worried?’

  ‘He isn’t my type.’ I lean over the door, smiling. ‘People seem to like him. I think he’s going to be good for Otter House, quite an asset, in fact …’ and my voice trails off as I find myself distracted by the sight of Alex’s assets, his wide shoulders, narrow hips and long thighs encased in skin-tight jodhpurs, as he rubs Liberty’s gleaming neck and murmurs sweet nothings into her ear.

  ‘I’ve come to a decision,’ he says suddenly. ‘I’m going to retire my lovely horse.’

  ‘Why?’ Before Liberty had colic surgery last year, Alex’s ambition was to continue training her up with a view to catching the eye of the selectors for the British showjumping team. I can’t believe he’s letting it go. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘She’s lost her edge,’ he says, his eyes shadowed with sadness.

  ‘It’s early days, isn’t it?’ I can’t remember much about equine practice, but it seems a bit soon to expect her to be back to form.

  ‘I don’t want to push her, and to be honest, I haven’t got the time to keep her fully fit at the moment. No, Liberty’s having a change of career. I’m going to put her to a jumping stallion instead.’

  ‘You mean, have a foal from her? Wow. How exciting.’ I falter. ‘It’ll be ages before you’ll be able to ride it, though.’

  ‘I know, but I can still hack Liberty out in the meantime – for fun,’ he says, and I realise where the conversation’s going and change the subject.

  ‘I had your father barking at me down the phone yesterday. That ancient Labrador of his raped Aurora’s poodle – allegedly.’

  ‘Old Hal? There’s life in the old dog yet, then.’ Alex walks over to me, his boots rustling through the straw. ‘You know that riding lesson we talked about?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ It’s been on my mind since the idea was first mooted ages ago, and not in a good way.

  ‘I’m going to have to postpone it. I hope you’re not too disappointed, Maz.’

  For a moment I wonder if he’s being sarcastic, if he’s seen through my pretence of being keen to learn to ride, if he realises I’m faking it.

  Alex clicks his fingers in front of my face.

  ‘Earth to Maz. This is Earth to Maz.’

  ‘Er, what were we talking about?’ I stammer.

  ‘The riding lesson.’

  ‘Oh yes, what a shame.’

  I do my best to look disappointed as he goes on, ‘Father’s sciatica’s playing him up. Mother’s had to keep booking in routine calls for me over the weekend.’ Alex pushes at his side of the stable door, but I won’t let him out.

  ‘Are you ever going to be able to take a break?’ I say, and then I worry I’m whining and I’ll put him off, but I can’t help feeling a tad annoyed sometimes that he can’t take more time out to be with me. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable. ‘When did you last have a holiday?’ I go on. ‘You haven’t had a break since I met you.’

  ‘It’s impossible at the moment.’ Alex smiles ruefully. ‘You’re lucky, you and Emma. If I so much as mention the words “locum” or “assistant” to my father, he has a fit.’

  ‘Sometimes you sound as if you’re just a little bit scared of him.’

  ‘I’m scared of what might happen to him if I left him to it – I reckon he’d peg out.’ Alex gives the door another push, but I continue to resist.

  ‘What about doing something else, something different?’

  ‘How can I?’ he says simply. ‘You know what it’s like. I’m a vet. It’s what I am, not what I do.’

  ‘You could set up elsewhere …’

  ‘What, and leave Talyton?’ Alex looks into my eyes, and I let the door open and he takes me in his arms, and whispers, ‘And you?’

  Chapter Seven

  A Bird in the Hand

  ‘Why doesn’t he close his eyes?’ Shannon sniffles into a tissue as she stares at the rat that lies in state on a purple cushion on the prep bench.

  It’s Samuel Whiskers, one of my favourite patients, a sensitive and friendly hooded rat – more intelligent than some of my clients, and a lot more easy-going – his quivering whiskers now for ever still. Sadly, his owners didn’t go for chemo to treat his cancer – it was too expensive – and when he finally decided to give up, refusing to get out of his bed to eat breakfast this morning, they brought him to me, and I took the opportunity to show Shannon her first euthanasia. And now I wish I hadn’t, because his owners cried, I cried, and she can’t stop crying either.

  ‘What will happen to him now?’ she says, between sobs.

  ‘They’re going to take him home in the box they brought him in.’ We have got some flat-packed cardboard coffins somewhere, but I think they look a bit cheap and tacky. ‘They’re going to have some kind of ceremony at home.’

  I wonder how Shann
on will react when she sees her first dog or cat put down. I can remember the first one I saw with Jack Wilson at the Ark – it was the shock, the finality of it all, that affected me most. I remember drawing straws to shoot a horse when I was at vet school too, the elation at being the winner, the utter devastation when the horse fell and what I’d done hit home.

  ‘Is it all right to touch him?’ Shannon reaches out and strokes his head. ‘He’s still warm.’

  ‘He’ll go cold in a while.’

  ‘He looks like he’s asleep.’

  ‘He’s definitely dead,’ I say. ‘There’s no heartbeat, no reflexes.’

  ‘Have you ever had one wake up?’

  ‘That’s impossible.’ I should have thought that Shannon with all her black would have understood the concept of death. ‘Once you’re gone, you’re gone.’

  ‘They wouldn’t let me see my dad,’ she says quietly, making me feel really bad because I’d forgotten how she’d lost her father and how she’d tried to dig him up afterwards. ‘If I’d seen him like this, all peaceful, I think I would have coped better. I could have grieved for him properly.’ There’s a long silence, then, ‘Can I go and help Drew now?’

  ‘Doesn’t Izzy need you?’

  ‘Izzy seems to manage very well on her own,’ Shannon observes. ‘Drew lets me do stuff.’

  I’m afraid to ask what kind of stuff she means, but she goes on, ‘He likes me to fix the stickers in the vaccination cards for him.’

  Oh, why not? I think. It’s the middle of February and Drew’s been with us for over a week and if anyone can cheer her up, Drew can, and the next time I see her, she has a smile on her face and a glow to her cheeks, and I’m inclined to think that on the whole, Drew is a Good Thing …

  … until a crowd starts gathering outside Otter House, along with a fire crew wanting to park their engine, a big one with a turntable ladder, in the car park. I join them, along with Emma and Frances, curious to find out why everyone is out in the icy sunshine, squinting up at the roof.

  There’s a bird perched on the ridge right at the top, and it isn’t a common-or-garden starling.