‘It’s better for her and the puppies to let her give birth naturally.’ In my opinion, no poodle, no matter how highly bred, is too posh to push, but then a little doubt niggles into my mind as to how I’ll feel about having a natural labour when it comes to it.
I give Aurora some tips as to what constitutes a normal labour and make sure she knows how to get in touch out of hours, which she does at midnight, ringing the bell and hammering at the door.
I let her in, in my dressing gown and slippers. She’s in such a panic, she’s forgotten all my instructions about phoning first. I show her and a distressed Saba into the consulting room.
It’s clear that one of the puppies is stuck in the birth canal and I have no choice but to admit Saba and send Aurora back home to wait with her boyfriend for news. It occurs to me to call Izzy in to give me a hand, but I decide that wouldn’t be fair since we’ve paired her up with Drew for night duties. Throwing a surgical gown over my pyjamas and exchanging my slippers for Crocs, I call Shannon instead.
‘I’m not sure I can do this,’ Shannon says when we’ve got Saba anaesthetised and ready for surgery. ‘What if I faint again?’
‘You’ll be too busy,’ I reassure her. ‘Come on. There are puppies depending on us.’ There are at least eight or nine in there and I wonder about calling for backup, but there isn’t time. If we hang about any longer, the placentas will come away and the puppies will die.
I make the incision through Saba’s belly and into her womb, take out the first puppy, clamp and cut the cord, and lower it, a fist-sized warm, wet, slippery blob, still covered in a grey sheet of membrane, onto the towel in Shannon’s outstretched hands.
‘What do I do again?’
‘Check the pup’s mouth and nose are clear. Look to see if it’s breathing, then give it a rub and put it in the incubator. Quickly, because there’s another one on its way.’ And another. And another. The first ones starts squeaking as I hand over the seventh. Shannon stares at it as if there’s something wrong.
‘If you’re feeling faint, sit down quick,’ I say sharply. ‘Whatever you do, don’t drop it.’
‘It doesn’t look the same as the others,’ she says.
‘If it isn’t breathing, stick a couple of drops from that bottle on its tongue.’
‘It isn’t that – it’s got a pink nose. The rest of them are black.’
‘Don’t worry about that now.’ I don’t think a puppy’s going to be scarred for life because he looks a little different from his littermates. ‘Here’s another one.’
‘It’s like the film 101 Dalmatian, except they’re Labradoodles and there are how many of them?’ Shannon says, astounded.
There are thirteen in all, piled up and wriggling under a blanket in the incubator. I check I haven’t left any behind in the womb, then sew up.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Shannon says.
‘Neither can I.’ I’m on a high. I look at Shannon, at the light in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks. Not only has she managed to stay on her feet, but she’s made a brilliant job of helping the puppies into the world. ‘Thanks, Shannon. I couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘I couldn’t have done it without you, Maz,’ she says a little shyly. ‘You’re the best of anyone at explaining what to do.’
‘Oh? Thank you.’
‘Izzy can be very impatient, and I don’t get to do much with Emma.’
‘What about Drew?’
‘Sometimes he forgets I haven’t been here long, and he kind of expects me to know stuff …’ She pauses, and I’m expecting her to mention something technical like the names of all the different surgical instruments we use, but she goes on, ‘Like how he can’t stand Coronation chicken sandwiches.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘I have to go and buy his lunch for him when he’s busy.’
‘You don’t have to.’ I’m worried she’ll do anything Drew asks, and being her boss, I feel ever so slightly responsible for her welfare. ‘You don’t have to be a full-on feminist—’
‘Like you are,’ she cuts in.
‘But, I was going to say, you don’t have to be a masochist either. You don’t have to let anyone take advantage.’
‘You mean Drew again,’ Shannon says with well-practised weariness.
‘I don’t expect you to take any notice of me.’ Why should she? I might be an older woman, but I’m certainly not wiser. ‘Please don’t rush into anything …’
Shannon raises one eyebrow as I falter, because I can see it’s already too late. She’s completely smitten.
We let Saba come round before we reunite her with her babies, which gives me a chance to take a closer look at puppy number seven. I can see what the problem is now.
‘He’s got a harelip.’ I show Shannon how part of his upper lip is missing, exposing the gum underneath.
‘What can you do about it?’ Shannon is peering over my shoulder. ‘He’s very cute.’
‘It might be possible to repair it when he’s older.’ I lower him back into the cage with his littermates as I weigh up the options for his future. ‘I’ll have a chat with Aurora. She might prefer not to, er, continue.’
‘You mean?’ Shannon stares at me, her eyes wide with alarm. ‘You aren’t going to put him down, are you? You can’t. You saved his life!’
‘You saved his life,’ I correct her. ‘You’ve done a great job tonight, and I’m very proud of you.’
‘You can’t kill him.’ She’s sobbing now, and I realise her occasional reluctance to get her hands dirty isn’t because she’s uncaring, but because she cares too much. I can remember that feeling of being afraid of doing more harm than good. ‘He’s just a baby …’
‘He might not survive anyway.’ I’m not being mean for the sake of it. I’m being practical. Not every story has a happy ending. ‘He won’t be able to suck milk from his mother, which means he’ll have to be reared by hand.’ Shannon opens her mouth to argue, something she is becoming overly fond of doing, but I silence her with a glance. ‘That means feeding him every two hours, day and night, to begin with. If he does make it through the first couple of weeks, there’s every chance he’ll end up with a canine ASBO because he won’t have his mum to boss him about in a doggy kind of way.’ I hesitate. ‘I can’t imagine Aurora having the time or energy to make that kind of commitment.’
‘You mean, she brought these puppies into the world, and now she isn’t prepared to look after them,’ Shannon says, appalled.
‘Aurora has a full-time job, running her shop.’
‘I’ll do it. It’ll be good experience for me before I go to college.’
‘You’re going to college?’
‘Emma talked to me about it. She’s enrolling me on the day-release course that starts in September.’
‘Oh, that’s good,’ I say, although it’s news to me.
‘She found the forms on the floor in the office. They should have gone in ages ago, but she managed to persuade the college to accept them anyway.’
That was my job. I should have made sure those forms went in while Emma was away, I think, as Shannon makes her final stand.
‘I promise I won’t faint or threaten to walk out ever again, Maz, if you’ll let me give this puppy a chance.’
Chapter Fifteen
Puppy Love
When I discuss the puppy with Aurora, I don’t let on that I’m secretly relieved at Shannon’s offer. When it came down to it, I wouldn’t have been able to stick the needle in. I’d have ended up trying to rear him myself.
Shannon has little success persuading him to feed on bitch’s milk substitute via a dropper, so the next day, during a break and having been up pretty well all night, I visit the pharmacy to buy a baby’s bottle and teat, Shannon finding the thought of running into one of her friends there just too embarrassing to contemplate.
I hand over my selection to the assistant at the counter.
‘Hello, Maz. I’ve got the pops
.’ I turn at the sound of a voice, which turns out to be much bigger than its owner. Lucie looks up at me like a small ghost, her face smothered with calamine lotion. ‘Humpy, it’s Maz.’
‘Keep away, darling.’ I notice how Sophia grabs Lucie’s arm and pulls her towards her, and I feel myself bristling like a chilled pig. How rude can you be?
‘She has chickenpox. I don’t think it’ll hurt the baby, but you can’t be too careful,’ Sophia goes on to explain, which is surprisingly thoughtful of her, seeing she’s disowned it.
‘It’s all right,’ I say to reassure Lucie, not Sophia. ‘I’ve had chickenpox before, so the baby will be fine.’
Sophia nods towards my purchases. ‘Are you nesting early, or is the baby due sooner than I thought? Alexander won’t tell me anything.’
I don’t want to upset Lucie, but I have to be straight with Sophia.
‘I don’t see why he should. You made it quite clear you didn’t want anything to do with me and the baby. In fact, you were pretty nasty about it.’ I can see the assistant listening with interest, and lower my voice accordingly, so as not to share my business with the whole of Talyton St George. This is between me and Sophia.
‘Madge, I’m sorry … We need to talk, but not here. Why don’t you join me and Lucie at the Manor for tea one afternoon? Any day that’s convenient for you. I know you’re busy.’
For the first time, Sophia looks like an old woman to me. Her face is etched with lines and liver spots. Her scarf – one of those silk ones covered with horsey motifs – is frayed along the edge, and her mac is smeared with lotion where Lucie’s rubbed her face on it. She looks weary and a little sad as she digs about in her handbag, scattering Polo wrappers and tissues before taking out a folded piece of paper and handing it to the pharmacist.
‘Please, Maz,’ Lucie joins in. ‘Humpy says we can make fairy cakes with Hetty’s eggs.’
‘Hetty’s one of Lucie’s hens,’ Sophia says in explanation. ‘How about this afternoon?’
‘All right,’ I say. I was going to finish early anyway, having been up all night. ‘I won’t be able to stay for long, though. Half an hour or so.’
‘How lovely,’ Sophia gushes. ‘We look forward to the pleasure of your company.’
‘I’ll see you at about four, then,’ I say. ‘And, Sophia, it’s Maz, not Madge.’
‘Yes, of course. I remember,’ Sophia says apologetically.
I take the bag and receipt from the shop assistant, just as the pharmacist emerges from the back of the shop, waving the paper Sophia gave her.
‘It appears your husband has been prescribing for himself again, Mrs Fox-Gifford,’ he says. ‘I can’t possibly put this through. I could report him, you know.’
Sophia takes a spectacle case out of her bag and puts on a pair of horn-rimmed glasses so scratched it’s a wonder she can see through them.
‘Oh dear,’ she says, reading the prescription. ‘So he has. What am I going to do with your grandpa, Lucie?’
‘Put him in a sack and throoooow him in the river,’ Lucie says gleefully.
‘I’ll make him see the doctor, even if I have to drag him kicking and screaming. Men,’ Sophia adds, aiming this at me as if we’re both part of a common sisterhood all of a sudden. ‘My husband refuses to admit he’s a very sick man. When he pops orf I’m going to have “I told you so. I told you, you were ill,” written on his grave.’
As I prepare to leave, following Sophia and Lucie out of the pharmacy, Declan turns up and holds the door open. I stand aside to let Penny through. She’s in her wheelchair, a basket on her lap and a light dressing on her leg. Sally tags along in her coat and harness. She greets me, wagging her tail, then runs off around the shop.
‘Hi, Declan. Penny, how are you?’
‘A lot better now, thanks to you,’ Penny says. ‘That mark on my leg – it was cancer. A melanoma, caused by too much sunbathing in my teens, but they caught it before it had a chance to spread.’
‘It was thanks to Sally, not me.’ I look down, watching Sally removing packets of hairnets and rollers from the display stand, bringing them back and dropping them into Penny’s basket. ‘Is she supposed to be doing that?’
‘She does get a little overenthusiastic,’ Penny says. ‘I think she feels a bit put out because Declan’s been around so much more since I had the surgery. She’s afraid of losing her job.’ She drops a tissue onto the floor. ‘Sally, love, that’s enough now. Pick that up for me instead. That’s it. Good girl.’
‘I’ll see you around,’ I say, excusing myself to get back to Otter House, where I help Shannon feed the puppy. I show her how to make up the milk replacer, mixing the powder with water, and testing its temperature on the inside of her wrist. I show her how to weigh the puppy on the kitchen scales and work out how much milk he needs.
‘It doesn’t look like very much, Maz,’ Shannon says.
‘Look at the size of the puppy,’ I point out. ‘He’s got a tiny stomach.’
‘Oh yes,’ she says slowly, taking some time to digest this logic. (I’m not surprised she’s feeling sluggish: she’s been up every two hours overnight, trying to get him to feed.)
It was worth buying the bottle and teat, because when Shannon perches on a stool in Kennels, and lets the puppy snuggle up in the crook of her elbow, he latches straight on and fills his belly.
‘How sweet. What’s his name?’ says Izzy, joining us.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ says Shannon.
‘I wouldn’t give him a proper name, not yet,’ I say, hating myself for dampening Shannon’s spirits. I’m a tad superstitious about it. I’d rather wait a few days: it might not hit her so hard, if he should die.
‘He has to have a name,’ Izzy insists.
‘All right. He’s called Seven,’ says Shannon, ‘because he was the seventh puppy.’
‘Bless him,’ says Frances.
‘He’s so cute,’ says Emma, and we surround Shannon, clucking around the new arrival like a flock of old bantams.
‘Can anyone join in?’ Drew says, elbowing his way between Emma and Izzy, no longer the centre of attention.
‘He’s finished it already, the greedy pig.’ Shannon’s hair falls forwards, revealing streaks of black and honey-blonde, as she puts the empty bottle on the arm of the sofa.
‘You know what you have to do next,’ Izzy says, straight-faced. ‘You have to lick his bottom to help him go to the toilet.’
‘I’m not licking his bum!’ Shannon exclaims in horror.
‘Gotcha.’ Giggling, Izzy hands her a piece of damp tissue. ‘That should do the trick just as well.’
‘I’m glad I’m not his real mum,’ Shannon says, red-faced at having been taken in by Izzy’s teasing.
I glance towards Emma at the word ‘mum’. Pressing her lips together, she looks out through the window, and my throat tightens at the thought of what she’s going through.
‘I’m off, then, if you can manage without me,’ I say softly.
‘Yes, thanks,’ Emma says. ‘Go and put your feet up, Maz. You deserve it.’
‘Actually, I’m popping out for an hour or so. Up to the Manor. Sophia and Lucie have invited me for tea.’
‘Oh?’ Emma’s eyebrows disappear under her hair. ‘You accepted?’
I nod. ‘Lucie’s baking fairy cakes. I couldn’t say no.’
Emma stares at me as if I’ve grown two heads, then her face relaxes into a smile.
‘Have fun, Maz. I’ll keep an eye on Ginge for you.’
‘I won’t be long.’ I check my watch and grin. ‘It’s past my bedtime.’
I reach the Manor and park at the front for a change, but when I knock at the front door, Lucie appears from the side of the house and shows me through the tradesmen’s entrance at the rear.
‘I can tell what you’ve been doing,’ I tell her, smiling at the pink icing smeared across her face and blended at the edges with calamine lotion.
‘I’ve been icing fairy cakes and then I put S
marties on the top,’ she says, oblivious to her appearance. ‘Humpy says to show you through to the drawing room and she’ll be there in a minute.’
‘Is the pony indoors today?’ I ask as we enter the drawing room.
‘I’ll have to put him out,’ Lucie says, pointing towards the shabby sofa nearest the French doors, which are open to the lawn.
‘Where? I can’t see a pony.’
‘He’s behind the sofa. Look, you can see his ears.
He keeps coming in for a mint.’ Lucie marches over to one of the side tables and picks up a biscuit tin, opening the lid and taking out a couple of sweets, at which a little black Shetland pony appears, nudging at her arm with his nose. ‘Come on, Skye,’ she says, ‘this way.’ He follows her out, takes the sweets gently from the palm of her hand, then tries to follow her back inside.
‘Get out!’ Lucie growls and waves her arms, and the pony backs off for long enough for her to slam the doors shut, rattling the panes of glass. ‘Do sit down, Maz,’ she says. ‘Don’t sit there,’ she adds when I choose one of the armchairs. ‘That’s Grandpa’s special seat.’
‘Where do you suggest, then?’ I ask.
‘On the sofa by the fireplace, but I’ll have to move the dog blanket so you don’t get hairs on your bottom.’ She giggles. It’s infectious and I find myself giggling along with her until Sophia turns up with a tray of tea and cakes, when a cloud blocks out the sun that’s been streaming through the long windows and the atmosphere cools.
Lucie dives in, picks out a fairy cakes and presents it to me.
‘Lucie, darling, you’re supposed to let your guest choose,’ Sophia says. ‘Oh, never mind now. Maz, how do you take your tea?’
‘White, no sugar,’ I say, feeling ridiculously nervous. Sophia seems more intimidating when she’s on her home turf. I watch her pour out the milk then the tea into bone-china cups. She hands one to me. ‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you for joining us, Maz,’ Sophia says. ‘Lucie’s already rather bored. Tinky’s cast a shoe, and the farrier can’t get here until tomorrow.’
Must Be Love Page 22
