Must Be Love

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘If you keep on like this, you’ll end up having a nervous breakdown. You’ll end up with nothing – no friends, no husband. No practice,’ I add hesitantly.

  ‘Maybe I don’t care,’ she says, confirming my earlier suspicions. ‘I hate this place. I hate my work. I hate Otter House because it represents everything that’s gone bad in my life …’

  I understand. Her mother died here, her baby, her embryos …

  ‘I know it sounds trite, but life does go on. You still have a great business. You have me, Frances, Izzy and Shannon. Our clients. We’re all behind you, Emma.’

  ‘Well, I’ve had enough of it,’ she says. ‘How do I know it isn’t something in the practice that poisoned my babies?’

  ‘That’s impossible. Look at all the Health and Safety guidelines we have to stick to.’

  ‘It could be the anaesthetics. It could be the X-ray machine.’

  ‘We’ve got an efficient scavenging system, and the X-ray machine’s tested every year.’ We also wear badges to detect exposure, but none of them has ever shown up anything above the expected background radiation. ‘You’ll be telling me there’s something in the water next.’

  ‘I know it isn’t that because you’re still pregnant,’ she says bitterly. She takes a sucking intake of breath, and I know what’s coming … I recognise the sickening sensation in the pit of my stomach, the suffocating tightness in the chest, the melting of the skeleton. I’m about to be dumped.

  ‘I can’t take it any more,’ Emma says. ‘It’s over. I want a divorce.’

  Divorce? For a brief moment my heart lightens unreasonably at the thought that she might be referring to her marriage, but she goes on, ‘I want to end our partnership. The Otter House Vets are finished.’

  I want to go after her when she storms out, tell her not to be so silly, that it’ll all come right in the end, but I’ve got Hal to look after.

  ‘What do I do now?’ Shannon reappears from theatre with a limp black and white cat with stitches in a spay wound in her flank.

  ‘Pop her on the prep bench,’ I say, moving Hal’s tail to make room for her.

  ‘Can I take the tube out now?’ Shannon says, as the cat lifts her head.

  ‘Yes,’ I say quickly.

  Shannon removes the tube and drops it in the sink. I put one hand on the cat so she doesn’t get up before Shannon can return her to her cage.

  ‘I heard what Emma said,’ she begins.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So’m I.’

  ‘You won’t give up the practice, though, will you, Maz? You can’t.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll have a choice.’ I can’t get as close as I’d like to the bench because my bump’s in the way. I feel as if I’m doing everything at full stretch. ‘When the baby arrives, I’ll have to find the nanny’s wages as well as the money I already pay on the mortgage on Otter House. I can’t see how I’d afford to take out a second to buy Emma’s share.’

  ‘What will we do? Me, Izzy and Frances? We’ll be out of a job. And where will everyone take their pets?’

  ‘Shannon, I know all that.’ I change the subject. It’s too painful. ‘Let’s have another look at Hal.’ I explain the situation and show her how to check his reflexes.

  ‘He moved,’ she says, when I pinch one of his paws.

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Look.’ She points to his thigh as I pinch him again. The muscles twitch.

  Is he going to make it, after all? I begin to believe he might. However, I’m not sure about the Otter House Vets. Can Emma and I find a way to reconcile our differences in the face of my unplanned pregnancy and Emma’s struggle with infertility, or will our partnership have to end in a bitter divorce?

  ‘Do we have to do this tonight, Alex?’ I lean into him, letting his arms encircle me when he arrives at Otter House after evening surgery. His hair is wet and his shirt smells of damp sheep. ‘I’ve had a really bad day.’

  ‘So you’ve told me.’ Alex nuzzles at my neck, his breath warm on my skin. ‘Don’t worry about my father – what the eye doesn’t see, and all that. For all the cases that go wrong, there are loads more that go right. Hold that thought, Maz.’

  I’m still feeling guilty for taking the coward’s way out, telling Alex, not Old Fox-Gifford, about what we did to Hal, who’s up and about now, standing with his muzzle resting on one of the bars across the door. At least he hasn’t summoned up the energy to start barking again.

  ‘I don’t like to leave him.’

  ‘Shannon will look after him. We won’t be long, a couple of hours max,’ Alex says. ‘We’ll pick him up on the way back.’

  ‘He can’t go back to your father,’ I point out. ‘I don’t trust him to nurse him through this. Can you imagine him keeping Hal confined? He’d manage a couple of hours, then he’d feel sorry for him and let him out. No, Alex, I can’t risk that. He’ll have to stay here.’

  ‘I’ll fix something up at the Barn. We can supervise him there. With a bit of luck, it’ll feel more like home for him.’ Alex smiles. ‘We’ll set strict visiting hours for my father.’ He lowers his voice. ‘Maz, I want you back sleeping in our bed. I want to look after you and I can’t do that while you’re staying here at the flat.’

  ‘Thanks, Alex,’ I say, appreciating his concern. I have to admit I’m missing being pampered. Alex always brings me tea in the morning – as long as he hasn’t been out all night on-call.

  I turn the radio up.

  ‘What shall I do if he starts barking again?’ Shannon asks, joining us in Kennels.

  ‘I don’t know – sing to him, or something. Are you sure about this?’

  ‘I’m happy. I’m going to revise the section on nutrition in the nursing book.’ She flashes Alex a shy smile, and I think, Now Drew’s out of the picture, I’m going to have to watch her. ‘I want to be on top of everything when I start this course. That is, if I still have a job here. It’s a condition of the course that you’re employed in a training practice.’

  ‘Nothing’s been settled yet, Shannon, and I’d rather you kept this quiet for now,’ I say. ‘Thanks for giving up your evening.’

  ‘I’d rather be here with Hal than home with Mum.’

  ‘Come on, Maz. We’ll be late.’ Alex takes my hand. ‘You have got your mobile?’

  I check my bag before we go on our way. Alex drives up to the new estate, the rain pouring against the windscreen and running in rivulets along each side of Talyton’s streets.

  ‘What’s this Shannon’s got to keep quiet about?’ Alex asks.

  ‘It isn’t about Hal, if that’s what you think, although I’d rather the whole of Talyton didn’t get to know about the negligent vets at Otter House who double-dose their patients with sedatives. No.’ I sigh. ‘It’s about me and Emma.’ I explain how I’m not sure I’ll have a practice to come back to when I’ve had the baby.

  ‘In sickness and in health. It’s like a marriage,’ Alex says. ‘You can’t just back out as soon as something goes wrong. Oh, who am I to talk? Look what happened with Astra. I gave her another chance and ended up looking like a complete prat because she’d carried on with her toyboy lover behind my back.’

  ‘Emma’s talking divorce, and it’s all down to this baby business. I never imagined something like this would come between us. In fact, it’s made me think I should never have gone into partnership with her in the first place. I should have realised it wouldn’t end well, working with your best friend. It makes the break-up far more painful, because it’s personal as well as professional.’ My stomach tightens, temporarily taking my breath away. My fault. I shouldn’t have lifted Hal.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Alex asks.

  I stare out at the rain falling from grey fingers of cloud that sweep across the hills. What can I do? Should I give up, agree to sell Otter House as a going concern? And then what? Stay at home to look after this baby, this person I never want to meet because I just know I’m
going to hate it. A shudder runs down my spine at the thought of tiny grasping fingers and a wide-open mouth.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say miserably.

  ‘Look in the glovebox,’ Alex says.

  I open it and catch a sheaf of papers as they fall out. On the top of the heap is a scan photo.

  ‘It’s Liberty’s baby,’ he says. ‘I thought it might cheer you up.’

  I stare at it for a moment. It’s unrecognisable as a baby anything, unless you know what you’re looking for. In fact, it looks more like a guitar pluck.

  ‘It cheered me up anyway,’ Alex goes on. ‘Maz, whatever happens with Otter House, I’m with you all the way. I just wanted you to know that. And now I’m asking you to do me a favour, and concentrate on our baby.’ He pulls up outside a house, a detached house a couple of doors down from Emma’s, and switches off the engine. ‘It’s important.’

  I keep my mouth shut as I get out of the car and follow him along the path, edged with pots of lavender and geraniums, to the front door. I know how Alex feels about me putting anything else before the baby, but it’s all very well for him. He isn’t in danger of losing his best friend, his livelihood, his way of life.

  Bev King lets us in.

  ‘Hi,’ she says, welcoming us. ‘Cleo’s done a runner – she knew you were coming.’

  ‘I’m sorry we didn’t make the last class,’ Alex says.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m sure you’ll catch up.’ Bev is wearing a pink kaftan and loose cotton trousers. Her feet are bare, her toenails painted gold. I couldn’t paint my toenails right now to save my life, I muse, as she shows us into her sitting room where three other couples are chatting. I take a seat on one of the squashy beanbags on the floor. Alex sits beside me, taking my hand as Bev introduces us through a haze of incense and essential oils.

  ‘I thought we’d go into labour itself today – not literally, though, I hope.’ Bev demonstrates a sweater giving birth to a doll, unrolling the cuff over its head.

  Call me a cynic, but from my experience, birth isn’t like that. It’s much messier and far more painful too.

  ‘Some people like their partner to cut the cord,’ Bev says.

  I glance at Alex’s face. From his expression, I guess he’s planning to cut the cord himself. As long as he doesn’t think he’s going to deliver it too, I reflect, not that I’m questioning his competence. I voice my opinion that I’d rather have my baby in hospital, taking avail of all the pain relief I can get, before it’s delivered safely by a midwife, but I can see from the other couples’ reactions that my view isn’t going down too well.

  ‘I don’t see why women should suffer when they’re giving birth. It’s a painful procedure – that’s why we’ve put billions of pounds into developing safe painkilling drugs.’

  ‘Well, I’m having a home birth,’ pipes up one of the other mums-to-be – Carol, she’s called. She’s taking notes on a BlackBerry. ‘I’ve ordered a birthing pool and I’m about to burn a couple of CDs with some suitable music. That’s my project for tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, do tell us what you’re going to choose,’ Bev says with enthusiasm.

  ‘I thought some Rachmaninoff,’ she says, and I notice how everyone else winces. ‘His music’s full of emotion … and that’s what I want the birth of our precious baby to be like.’ She looks to her partner for approval. He’s sweating in a suit jacket.

  Alex catches my eye and I’m afraid I’m going to giggle. I bite my lip.

  ‘I’ve bought some candles and aromatherapy oils,’ Carol goes on. ‘I want our experience to be uplifting. I want it to be perfect.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful,’ Bev says. ‘How about you, Maz?’

  ‘I’m good with a pair of gloves and a bucket of hot water,’ Alex says on my behalf, which has the effect of lightening the mood. It was all getting a bit intense for me.

  ‘I did have a couple who enlisted a shamanistic drummer for the birth,’ Bev says, ‘which just goes to show you can have whatever you like. It’s a personal decision. Don’t be afraid to make your wishes clear to your midwife.’

  She goes on about massage and ways to start off the birth, such as raspberry leaf tea and sex and curry, as Lynsey suggested before, or a combination thereof, then takes us through a relaxation technique.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ she says in a soft voice. ‘Visualise your baby uncurling itself and gradually descending along the birth canal …’

  I close my eyes. I can feel Alex stroking my arm. I can hear his breathing, matching mine. The baby wriggles, then settles once more …

  … and the next thing I know, Alex is nudging me.

  ‘Maz,’ he whispers, ‘you fell asleep.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘It often happens,’ Bev says, apparently proud that her technique works. ‘Now, has anyone any questions? Anything you’d like me to go through next time?’

  I’m too ashamed to expose myself to the scrutiny of Bev and the other couples – and Alex, too. It would be worse than standing in front of them stripped naked, so I keep my question to myself. It isn’t anything to do with the birth. It’s what happens when I can’t bond with my baby after it’s born.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Rising Damp

  The next morning I’m up at seven. Alex is in the shower and Old Fox-Gifford is making an unannounced visit to Hal, who’s in a cage with room for a bed, bowls and toys, not that Hal has a clue what to do with the squeaky newspaper I took for him from the collection at Otter House.

  Seeing Alex’s father lurking in our kitchen in his pyjama top and cords while I’m still in my dressing gown reminds me we really should keep our doors locked. (I’ve got into country habits, leaving them unlocked day and night.) It’s raining outside and Old Fox-Gifford is leaving fresh boot prints over the top of the ones that are already there.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I say, when I catch him with his hands on the fastening on the cage. ‘You’re not to let him out. He’s doing really well. Don’t spoil it.’

  ‘I was giving him some breakfast,’ Old Fox-Gifford says, somewhat sheepishly. He gives him two rashers of bacon out of his pocket as if to prove it, then rubs Hal’s head through the bars.

  ‘Don’t feed him either,’ I say quickly. ‘He’s on a convalescent diet that gives him all the nutrition he needs right now. He doesn’t need any rubbish.’

  ‘All right, lady vet,’ he says. ‘Isn’t that going to be rather expensive?’

  ‘I thought you wanted the best for Hal,’ I point out. I grab one of Alex’s jackets and a pair of wellies from the boot room and slip them on before taking the wicker basket off the draining board.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Old Fox-Gifford asks.

  ‘I promised Lucie I’d collect the eggs every day while she’s away.’

  ‘You’re not such a town mouse after all. How about we let bygones be bygones?’ He holds out his hand.

  I hesitate. Is this some kind of trick?

  ‘I’m very grateful for what you’ve done for the old boy.’ He nods towards Hal. ‘If it wasn’t for you …’

  I shake his hand. His grip is firm.

  ‘I’ll take you shooting sometime, if you like.’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m vegetarian. I’m surprised you’ve forgotten that.’

  ‘You don’t have to eat ’em,’ he says, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘You’d better go and fetch those eggs before you drop that baby of yours. It can’t be long.’

  ‘It’s ages yet,’ I say adamantly. For the moment I’ve too much to do to stop and give birth. I try to guide Old Fox-Gifford towards the door, but he seems to have parked himself permanently beside Hal’s cage. ‘I didn’t think you were worried about the baby anyway. I thought you said you weren’t having anything to do with it.’

  ‘Maybe I was a little rash,’ he says, ‘and I’m sorry about that, if I hurt your feelings.’

  ‘If? It was unforgivable,’ I say, determined not to let him off lightly.

 
‘I do hope not, Maz.’ He gazes towards his slippered feet, then looks up again, his eyes overly bright. ‘I think it’s time we buried the hatchet, foreveryone’s sake. Family’s family, after all, and in the end it’s all that’s left.’

  ‘I’m willing if you are,’ I say. I’m glad he’s come round about the baby, but he’s making me feel somewhat depressed, although he’s smiling now and rubbing his sideburns smooth with bacon grease. ‘I’ll let you see yourself out.’

  I check on the hens, then I’m in the practice by eight-thirty, having decided that the best I can do is carry on as normal, as near to normal as possible anyway, until I hear from Emma. I’m hoping she’s had time to reconsider her position.

  I have ten appointments booked and end up seeing thirteen patients, Frances fitting three urgent cases in after the morning consultations. It’s still raining and by the time the last patient of the day – Jack the spaniel yet again – turns up at six in the evening, the consulting room stinks of wet dog.

  Frances is in her element, picking up snippets of gossip about the extreme weather conditions, how it’s forecast to rain for another two days, how the river is about to burst its banks and how the flood prevention channel itself has flooded. She keeps popping in to update me when I’m operating on Jack’s paw with Shannon. He’s been chewing his foot for the past week. I dig around with my forceps, looking hopefully for a grass awn. Nothing. I don’t have to ask Shannon to adjust the angle of the light this time. She knows the routine now. However, as she reaches up for the handle, the light goes out. The fluorescent strip lights flicker and die, and there are various clicks and clunks as other machines in the practice shut off too.

  ‘A power cut,’ I say. ‘That’s just what I need. Shannon, go and fetch one of the pen torches from the consulting room.’

  Shannon returns with Frances and a pen torch, which she shines at Jack’s paw. I catch sight of a tiny yellowish strig sitting in the flesh between his toes. I grab it with the forceps and tug it out.

  ‘Ta-da!’ I hold it up. ‘I’ve found it.’

  ‘Can I wake him up now?’ Shannon says.