Must Be Love

by Cathy Woodman

  I’m still in the bath when Alex returns. The tealights I lit have gone out and the bubbles have dispersed, but I don’t get out until Alex sits on the edge and, laughing at my protests, pulls out the plug.

  ‘Alex, it’s freezing,’ I say, but his answer is to throw me a towel.

  ‘So, how was your day?’ he asks when we’re settled on the sofa, eating korma and rice straight from the carton. ‘What stopped you going to the funeral?’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know what came over me – I got to the church, but I couldn’t …’ I pause, swallowing hard. ‘I couldn’t do it, Alex. I drove off.’ I put my food aside on the arm of the sofa, unable to eat any more.

  ‘But why?’ Alex frowns. ‘Whatever possessed you? You and Emma, you’ve been friends for years.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Sensing Alex’s disapproval, I bury my face in my hands and start to sob. ‘I just couldn’t face it.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re that selfish, putting your feelings over and above Emma’s.’

  ‘How dare you say I’m selfish!’ I snap back, but Alex continues.

  ‘You’ve said yourself that Emma’s stuck by you through thick and thin. I don’t understand you sometimes, Maz.’ Alex’s voice softens slightly. ‘Actually, I don’t understand you pretty often …’

  I feel myself shrinking, sliding further down in his estimation. I used to believe I was at least a nine point five on a scale of one to ten, but I can’t be any higher than a two now.

  ‘I suppose you’re under a lot of extra pressure at the moment,’ he begins again.

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle, though,’ I say quickly, my pride pricked at the very idea I might not be coping.

  ‘You’re overdoing it – running the practice without Emma, being pregnant. It’s too much for you.’

  ‘Alex, don’t tell me what’s too much for me and what isn’t.’ I stand up, anger building inside me. How dare he assume what I’m thinking, how I’m feeling. I stare at him and he gazes back, his eyes filled with compassion, which only upsets me more.

  ‘You might not be able to see it, but I can,’ he says slowly. He gets up too and moves across to me, gently enfolds me in his arms and tries to pull me close, but I hold him away, my body rigid with fury and anguish. ‘Maz?’ he murmurs. ‘Please …’

  I look up into his eyes and my resistance melts away. I lean against him, letting fresh tears soak into his soft cotton shirt, while he runs his fingers through my hair and whispers to me that everything will be all right, that he’ll look after me for ever.

  ‘Oh, Alex, I’m so sorry.’

  By the time he leaves for work early in the morning, I feel marginally happier, although still terribly guilty. Watching Alex go from the upstairs window, I touch my stomach. I can’t possibly redeem myself and make up for what I’ve done, but I can do my utmost to stop what happened to Emma’s baby happening to mine. I owe it to my baby, and to Alex, to make sure it’s fit and healthy, so I make the appointment Alex has been nagging me about – to see one of Ben’s colleagues at the surgery.

  The next Monday, I leave Drew in charge yet again – it’s becoming a habit. Frances gives me a look when I head out and my skin grows cold because I know she knows I lied about the funeral. At the doctor’s surgery, I run into Ben in the waiting room. I can tell he’s itching to ask me why I’m there, but I can’t say, even though I know he’s bound to find out eventually. I hold my bag across my stomach to hide any telltale bulge – it’s still tiny, but Ben’s an expert. He doesn’t miss much.

  ‘Er, hi,’ I say, trying to avoid looking him in the eye.

  ‘You didn’t come to the funeral,’ he says. ‘We missed you.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I had an emergency. A visit. Up at Talyford.’ I hesitate. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do …’ Ben’s voice cracks. ‘Still, it’s done now.’ He recovers himself. ‘You haven’t been attacked by another crazy collie?’ he asks lightly, referring to an occasion when I had to see him for a rather nasty dog bite.

  I shake my head. ‘It’s a bit personal, Ben.’

  He changes the subject, apparently satisfied I’m not insulting his professional reputation. There are certain things I can’t show my best friend’s husband.

  ‘Emma’s not coping very well,’ he says.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I can’t do anything,’ he goes on. ‘I can’t make her feel better.’ Ben’s shoulders, normally so broad and strong, sag a little. ‘I wish she’d understand – it hurts me too.’ Then he forces a smile. ‘I didn’t realise how much I wanted a child until I discovered how difficult it was going to be to have one.’

  A knot of guilt forms in my belly at the thought of how easy it was for me and Alex.

  ‘It makes it worse, seeing the lengths some of my patients go to to have a family.’

  And I want to say, At least you know Emma can fall pregnant, but it would come out wrong and I’d regret it.

  ‘Perhaps she’ll talk to you,’ Ben goes on.

  ‘Maybe.’ It doesn’t seem terribly likely as she’s rebuffed me twice over the weekend. When I phoned, she said it wasn’t convenient to talk, and when I turned up on her doorstep with Miff, thinking she might find having the dog back a comfort, she took her, but didn’t invite me in.

  ‘Has she mentioned anything about coming back to work?’ I ask, and Ben tips his head to one side and stares at me. ‘It would be useful to have some idea. The paperwork’s building up, the unpaid bills and the invoices, and there are several clients waiting to see her in particular.’

  ‘That’s typical of you, isn’t it, Maz?’ Ben says sharply. ‘Emma’s going through the worst experience of her life, and all you can think about is work and that bloody practice of yours.’

  ‘Ben!’ I take a step back. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘All right.’ He holds his hands up. ‘I know you didn’t. It’s me. I overreacted. Against my colleagues’ advice, Emma’s decided she’s coming back on Monday – but then you vets always think you know better than us medics. I’ll see you around,’ he adds, and strides right past me out of the surgery.

  I don’t have to wait for long before Dr Clark calls me into her consulting room. I haven’t met her before, but she seems pleasant. She’s older than me by about ten years, I’d guess, tall, dark-haired and dressed smartly in a trouser suit and big beads.

  ‘Hi, I’m Maz,’ I say as I take a seat.

  ‘And I’m Marietta,’ she says, running her eye down her computer screen. ‘You’re the vet, Emma’s partner at Otter House. The au pair brought our rabbit in to see you not long ago – you neutered him for us.’

  I remember Izzy describing the rather striking lionhead as ‘the rampant rabbit’.

  ‘He’s much better behaved now,’ Marietta goes on. ‘Much less of an embarrassment when we have other children round for tea. We don’t have to go into all the explanation about why he’s shagging the cat.’ She smiles. ‘Anyway, how can I help?’

  ‘I’m fine actually.’ Then I retract. ‘No, I’m not really – I’m pregnant.’

  ‘Right,’ she says, non-committally. ‘Are you happy about that?’

  ‘I’m not sure … Let’s say I’m getting used to the idea.’

  ‘You’ve done a test?’

  ‘Yes. I probably should have come to see you sooner – I’m eleven weeks gone already.’

  ‘You’re sure of your dates?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I confirm.

  ‘In that case, we’d better check you out and get you booked in for your first scan, which we do at about twelve weeks.’

  I thank Marietta when I leave the surgery, having been prodded, poked and thoroughly interrogated on virtually every aspect of my lifestyle, and thinking how odd it feels being the patient for a change.

  Ben is still outside in his car. I wave, but he doesn’t look up.

  I make my way back to Otter House – I walk because it’s onl
y round the corner. I call Alex, expecting to have to leave a message on his voicemail, but he answers himself.

  ‘Hi, darling,’ he says, as if he’s been waiting for me to phone. ‘I’ve been thinking of you this morning. How did it go?’

  ‘All well so far. I’ve got a date for a scan next week. Tuesday, eleven o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ he says.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ is my instant reaction.

  ‘Maz, I want to,’ he says. His tone is light, but I can detect a warning note: don’t argue, Maz. The decision is made. ‘I probably shouldn’t ask,’ he goes on, ‘but due to a muddle-up with the admin back at the Manor, we’re short of dog vaccine. I don’t suppose there’s any chance –’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I say, smiling. ‘We’ve just had an order come in so we’re well stocked up.’

  ‘I’ll drop by later, then,’ he says. ‘I’m on my way to take some wires out of a horse’s jaw and then I’ve got to see some calves with the scours. And it looks as if it’s about to rain.’

  ‘Good luck, then. That’s why I chose small animal practice – so I could stay indoors and work in comfort, not slosh about in rain and muck. I’ll see you soon. Take care.’

  ‘And you. Don’t overdo it, will you?’

  ‘Alex, you don’t have to tell me,’ I say, happy that he remembered the doctor’s appointment and pleased he’s offered to accompany me to the scan. ‘Anyway, Drew’s making himself useful. I’ve left him working his way through the ops.’ I’ve discovered that he’s perfectly capable of dealing with the routine stuff as long as Izzy gives him the odd nudge to remind him which patient is which, and to keep his notes up to date, as he can be a bit slapdash. ‘I hope those calves are okay,’ I add, but the phone cuts off. When I redial, the signal’s lost.

  I’m in touch with Emma several times more during the week – by phone and by text. I don’t mention the funeral and neither does she. I ask her to join me for a girls’ night out – not at the Talymill Inn because I can’t face running into Clive – but she declines. On the one hand, she says she isn’t ready to enjoy herself. On the other, she makes it clear she wants to be treated as normal when she comes back to work, so normal it is. On the morning of her return, I get the coffee on and the doughnuts in.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re back.’ I give her a hug as she comes through the door, noticing how she’s lost weight and got herself a new hairstyle, a shorter bob with an asymmetric fringe.

  ‘So’m I. I needed to get out. Ben’s been really supportive, but sometimes I wish he’d give me some space.’ Emma flashes me a look as I open my mouth to speak. ‘Don’t ask me how I am. I’m sick of people asking me if I’m all right.’

  ‘I was going to say how much I like your hair,’ I dissemble. It suits her, makes her look more professional and less – the description jumps unbidden into my head – mumsy. ‘Shall we stop for coffee?’ I’m joking, of course.

  ‘We haven’t started yet.’ Emma smiles, and I think, That’s more like it. That’s more like the Emma I know and love. I don’t tell her my news because I don’t want to spoil the mood, and anyway, Frances calls me back through to Reception before we get to the staffroom door.

  ‘Maz,’ she says, ‘can I have a word?’

  ‘Of course you can.’ I touch Emma’s shoulder. ‘We’ll catch up later.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure to mention it to you, or go straight to Drew.’ Frances hands me a set of notes. ‘I was getting the microchip details ready to go in the post when I noticed he’s vaccinated Eleanor Tarbarrel’s new kittens against distemper.’

  ‘Distemper? How are we going to explain that one away?’

  ‘We?’ says Frances. ‘I think you should. It’s better coming from one of the partners, and I don’t think Emma should have to do it on her first day back.’

  ‘Thanks, Frances. I’ll deal with it.’ I turn at the sound of someone clearing their throat. It’s Emma.

  ‘Deal with what?’ she says.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ I say, standing to one side so she can’t see me in profile.

  ‘I hope you aren’t deliberately keeping me out of the loop. I’d rather keep busy.’

  ‘Drew’s only gone and given puppy jabs to Eleanor Tarbarrel’s kittens,’ I explain. ‘He’s hopeless sometimes, he really is.’

  ‘She hasn’t been in touch to complain they’ve started barking yet.’ I thought Emma would be mad, but she’s making light of it. It’s as if she’s come back to work determined to be cheerful. ‘Don’t worry, Maz. I know Eleanor well – she was a great friend of Mum’s.’

  ‘But I do worry, Em,’ I say stubbornly. ‘Drew can be very careless sometimes.’

  ‘So what if he makes the odd mistake. It happens to the best of us. No harm done. I’ll get in touch with Eleanor and ask her to make another appointment. I’ll waive the fee to make up for inconveniencing her.’

  I listen in when Emma makes the call, a little miffed because she’s taken over when I’ve been managing perfectly well without her, and annoyed that Eleanor Tarbarrel happily books another appointment with Drew, even waiting until he has a free slot later in the week. It seems the womenfolk of Talyton are prepared to forgive Drew anything.

  Emma is chuckling as she puts the phone down.

  ‘One of the kittens thinks he’s a retriever, but he started playing fetch with a ping-pong ball way before he had the jab, so Drew’s off the hook.’ She pauses. ‘I feel so out of touch. What’s the plan for today?’

  ‘Drew’s on ops. I’m down to consult.’

  ‘How about I catch up with the paperwork this morning, then take over the appointments this afternoon? It’s your turn to have a break, Maz. You look shattered. You’ve been working too hard.’

  ‘Yeah, I expect that’s it.’ I’m not sure I want any time off, apart from a couple of hours for my twelve-week scan, which is tomorrow. Like Emma, I’d rather keep busy. Instinctively I touch my stomach, then pull my hand away, hoping she didn’t notice, although I’m going to have to broach the subject of the hospital appointment and the baby somehow. And soon.

  ‘I owe you. You’ve been great, looking after Miff and everything.’ Emma slips her arm over my shoulder and gives me a squeeze, and I’m swamped by a wave of guilt for misleading her. ‘It looks like your first appointment’s here,’ she adds. ‘Hello, Bev.’

  I wonder how Emma knows Mrs King, who’s walking into Reception with a cat carrier, then remember the antenatal classes.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, relieving her of the carrier and taking it into the consulting room, where I wait for her to finish her chat with Emma. I hear Bev’s exclamation of shock, then whispering, before Emma’s voice rings out loud and clear.

  ‘I’m doing okay, thank you. Yes, it’s great being back at work.’

  ‘Better luck next time. You will try again?’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘I had three miscarriages before I finally had Thea,’ Bev goes on, and I wince at the idea that sharing such a hideous personal experience can be helpful to Emma in her situation. I also decide not to mention the possibility of attending some of Bev’s antenatal classes, as I haven’t been able to talk to Emma about my baby yet. What’s more I can’t really see the need for them – our cats and dogs seem to cope very well with birth and caring for their young without having training beforehand.

  I turn back to Cleo – there’s a strange smell emanating from her carrier.

  ‘It’s lavender oil,’ Bev says, when she joins me. ‘I recommend it for my pregnant ladies. It’s supposed to be calming,’ she adds, as Cleo hisses and spits inside the box. ‘She’s here for her booster. Oh, and there’s no need to be formal – call me Bev.’

  ‘I’ll fetch Izzy in to give us a hand,’ I decide, but Izzy’s tied up with Brutus, who’s turned up for his regular weigh-in.

  ‘Mrs Dyer would like something for fleas,’ she says, and I hand her a box of a spot-on treatment for extremely big dogs from the shelf above th
e monitor. ‘She reckons Brutus’s weight gain this week is down to the couple of extra passengers he’s carrying,’ Izzy adds, grinning. She sobers up as soon as she heads back out into Reception, and I muse briefly on the fact that if Drew had jabbed Brutus with cat vaccine, Mrs Dyer wouldn’t have been so reasonable about it.

  ‘Izzy sent me,’ Emma says, putting her head round the other door.

  ‘Would you mind being nurse?’

  ‘Cleo’s being a bit awkward,’ Bev says with masterly understatement, for we have to employ brute strength, leather gauntlets and a thick towel to administer Cleo’s booster before she dashes back, yowling, into her carrier.

  ‘Thanks, Em.’ I start typing the notes into the computer while Bev leaves the room to pay at Reception.

  ‘It’s no bother.’ She turns to leave again.

  My waiting list flashes up empty on the screen.

  ‘Emma.’ I have to tell her. A pulse hammers in my head as I open my mouth and the words spill out. ‘It’s about me and Alex.’

  Emma hesitates. ‘He’s going to make an honest woman of you?’

  I shake my head miserably.

  ‘You’ve split up.’

  I don’t like the way she says it, not as a question, but a statement, as if it’s what she’s been half hoping for since we got together. I don’t think it’s because she wants me to be unhappy, more that she’d like to see Alex suffer.

  ‘It’s nothing like that. We’re – I’m pregnant.’

  During the awkward silence that follows, I watch Emma’s expression flicker from incomprehension to painful understanding.

  ‘I thought – I wanted you to know before it becomes common knowledge. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be, Maz.’ Emma holds up her hands. ‘It’s fantastic news. Really. I’m pleased for you. It’s come as a bit of a shock, that’s all, after all you said …’ Her voice trails off.

  It was a mistake, I want to tell her, a stupid mistake.

  ‘I had an inkling, something Frances said. How long have you known?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell you before.’ I watch a tear roll down Emma’s cheek, a lump in my throat. ‘I was afraid you might hate me for it,’ I add in a low voice.