‘Steve’s brought us chocolates,’ Claire calls from where she’s helping Mr Brown manoeuvre his wife’s wheelchair out of a tight corner between the door to the nurses’ room and a trolley-load of paper towels and various containers of surgical scrub and hand gel.
‘I didn’t manage the turn, did I?’ I overhear Mr Brown say while his wife is haranguing him about his steering.
‘It’s a jolly good job you aren’t driving. In my opinion, you should be banned,’ she says, and I smile to myself. Mr Brown is her long-suffering carer, and although she sounds terribly ungrateful they seem to love each other in an odd sort of way.
‘Come on in, Steve,’ I say, extricating myself from his grasp. ‘Take a seat. How are you?’
‘I’m well enough. I’m here for my MOT.’
‘Well enough?’ I ask, wondering what he means by that.
He shrugs. ‘I’m a bit down, but they say that’s normal for someone who’s gone through what I have.’
‘Don’t be too hard on yourself. Give it time.’ I glance through Steve’s notes on the computer and read the latest letter from the consultant. ‘Have you managed to make any changes yet? Have you started an exercise regime?’
‘What are you trying to do? Make me feel guilty?’ Steve smiles. ‘It’s all right, Doc. I know you’re trying to help. To be honest, this attack has shocked me to my senses. My daughter’s just announced her engagement and I want to be here to walk her down the aisle.’ A tear springs to his eye. ‘I want to be around to see my grandchildren. I have so much to live for, but I’m finding it really hard. I’ve fooled myself into believing I’m an active kind of man because I’m out and about every day but I’ve never done enough exercise. I’ve always been aerobically challenged.’ He forces a grin – he isn’t acting as if he’s on the stage today. ‘I’m challenged by the thought of doing anything aerobic, anything that involves wearing a leotard and breaking into a sweat, basically. I’ve tried dieting. I start every New Year’s day, without fail, but my efforts never last much after midnight on the second of January.’
‘You’ve been to see Dr Mackie before for cholesterol tests and lifestyle advice.’
‘I know, but I haven’t taken any notice. I’m afraid to say that I’m a bit of an ostrich when it comes to my health,’ he says. ‘It’s too late to say I wish I’d done things differently, isn’t it?’
‘It’s never too late to make changes,’ I counter. ‘How is the drinking?’
‘I don’t drink that much—’ he pauses ‘—I expect all your patients are in denial about the amount they drink.’
‘Do you drink alcohol once, twice or three times a week, or every day?’
‘I have my five a day.’ When I frown at him, he smiles. ‘Not really. I do get confuzzled between my drink and my fruit and veg. No, it depends. I only drink on high days and holidays, and for me, because I’m a lucky man, every day is a high day. I’d like to think that I have at least two alcohol-free days each week, and I do tend to take a couple of weeks off before Christmas to allow for the seasonal excess.’ He hesitates. ‘Do you think garlic would help?’
‘It might keep the vampires away, but it won’t do much for your arteries unless you address your weight, diet and alcohol consumption,’ I say. ‘This is serious.’
‘I know.’ He rests his pudgy hands in his lap. ‘I want to be serious, but I’m not all that good at it. When will I be able to return to the stage? Will I be fit in time for the panto season?’
‘I’d hope so. You can do whatever you like, as long as you don’t overdo it.’ I pause. ‘Steve, make sure you take advantage of all the support that’s on offer. Don’t try to muddle through.’ I feel keenly for him – I’d like his life to end up like the traditional pantomime, happily ever after.
It’s far too soon for me to be entertaining thoughts of the happily ever after for me and Matt Warren, but I’d be lying if I claimed it hasn’t crossed my mind. I suppress the idea, blaming my overactive imagination.
I ride Willow before work on Friday morning, having made sure the house is tidy and the food is ready in the fridge. I had a brainwave and ordered fish pie, along with pre-prepared vegetables from the WI in return for a donation to one of the local charities. Mindful of Claire’s comment about unwanted reactions to eating fish, I did check with Matt and he has no allergies. All I have to do is pop it into the oven and, as Gordon Ramsay would say, ‘Done.’
Everything is going to plan, the second to last patient of the day is booking another appointment at reception and I’ve signed the last repeat prescription from the request box. I’ve arranged to visit one of my housebound patients on Monday and asked Claire to order in some vaccines for someone travelling to South Africa in the near future. I smile to myself as I pull up the waiting list on the computer. There is only one more to see, Matt is coming over for dinner and I couldn’t be happier.
You might well accuse me of paranoia, but I pick up my mobile and check for messages, just in case there’s a problem.
‘Can’t wait xMatt’
I smile to myself for being such a fool as to doubt him. Nothing is going to get in the way and ruin our first real date tonight. I glance at the clock. There are less than two hours to go.
I head out to reception to call in my last patient, but Fifi accosts me on the way.
‘I’m sorry,’ Claire says. ‘I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen.’
‘This can’t wait,’ Fifi says. ‘This is an emergency. Oh, Dr Chieveley, there’s been a break-in at your home. I’ve reported it to the police, but I thought you’d want to come straight down to have a look.’
It takes a few seconds for Fifi’s news to sink in.
‘Broken into? Oh no, that’s the last thing I need.’ I feel sick. ‘There must be some mistake. It’s probably Frances,’ I go on, hoping that my neighbour has finally succumbed to temptation and had a good snoop around.
‘Frances wouldn’t do a thing like that,’ Fifi says in her defence.
‘All right, I’m sorry.’ I feel violated at the thought of a stranger entering my house and going through my possessions.
‘What can I do to help?’ Claire looks at me, her eyes wide with concern.
‘Could you let Ben know I’ve had to pop out? I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘Don’t worry about getting back. I can cancel your last appointment or transfer them to Ben. He won’t mind.’
‘What won’t Ben mind?’ Ben says, interrupting as he walks out of his room, a urine sample half hidden under a piece of paper towel in his hand. ‘Claire, can you deal with this, please?’
‘Nicci’s been burgled. I said she should go.’
‘You must go, Nicci.’ Ben turns to me. ‘I’ll hold the fort.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, but one of us should come with you,’ Claire says, relieving Ben of the sample pot.
‘There’s no need. I’m here,’ Fifi interrupts. ‘The police are on their way, and they can walk from the police station in the time it takes to start a car.’
‘Well, don’t go inside until they get there. No heroics,’ Ben says.
I go back and grab my bag, my heart pounding with apprehension at what I’m going to find. I’ve been burgled once before, when I was a student in London, and it was a nightmare, but I had less to lose back then, just my bank cards, some cash and a couple of pieces of jewellery.
‘I can’t believe this is happening.’
‘Nor can I,’ says Fifi, taking the lead in her heels and flowing skirt. ‘This is the first criminal offence to be committed in Talyton St George since those boys from the new estate were caught scrumping apples from the orchard over at Uphill Farm. Never in all my time as Lady Mayoress can I remember there being a domestic burglary.’
I’m not too happy about the idea that I’m making history.
‘There was the curious case of the missing gnomes a few years ago,’ Fifi goes on. ‘They disappeared en masse from residents’ ga
rdens, and a few weeks later those people received postcards from all over the world, purporting to be from their gnomes, who were allegedly taking a gap year together.’
‘Did they return from their travels?’ I say rather abruptly. I’m more worried about the fate of my home than that of a few garden ornaments, but Fifi is already onto the next topic of conversation.
‘So much for the Neighbourhood Watch scheme!’ she exclaims. ‘Why was no one watching?’
I trot along, trying to keep up with her, crossing the road to find a small crowd gathered on the pavement outside the churchyard opposite my house. There’s also a police car slewed across the middle of the road with its blue light flashing and one of Talyton’s police constables, or Kevin as he’s better known, is standing behind the driver’s door, looking up at the front of the house, as if he’s ready to make a rapid getaway.
Meanwhile, Fifi holds my arm and guides me towards the house, handbag at the ready – for attack or defence, I’m not sure which. There are no signs of forced entry. In fact, the front door is wide open. My heart sinks.
‘I’ve started leaving it unlocked. What an idiot.’
‘Everyone leaves their doors unlocked,’ Fifi says. ‘It’s part of the charm of the place.’
‘Fifi,’ Kevin calls. ‘You can’t cross the cordon.’
‘What cordon?’ she says sharply. ‘I can’t see any cordon.’
‘I’m waiting for someone to fetch some tape from the station.’ He moves around the car and joins us. ‘We believe they’re still inside.’
‘Why don’t you get in there and arrest them then?’ Fifi totters forwards, at which the policeman intercepts her.
‘Because we don’t know who they are. They might be dangerous.’
‘Oh dear. What is the world coming to?’ I assume Fifi is talking about the prospect of there being dangerous criminals in this sleepy Devon country town, but she continues, ‘What are you, Kevin? Man or mouse?’
‘It’s the rules, Fifi,’ he says, colour rising to his cheeks. ‘I’m awaiting reinforcements.’
‘Well, where are they?’ she says hotly.
‘On their way from a traffic incident. They’re just rounding up a loose horse in Talyford and putting it back in the field. They won’t be long.’
‘It’s a farce, if you ask me,’ Fifi says, brandishing her handbag. ‘Nicci, you get round to the back door. I’ll take the front. You, Kevin, follow me.’
It’s daytime, but there’s a light on in the front bedroom and the sound of pop music coming from the depths of the house.
‘Fifi, if you enter the house I’ll have to arrest you.’ Kevin pulls out his truncheon. It doesn’t make him appear any more impressive and Fifi seems flummoxed when he suddenly changes his mind and continues, ‘Let me go first.’
A child’s voice rings out as Kevin heads inside the house. I follow close behind. It’s my home and these are my burglars, after all.
‘Mummy, Mummy! It’s a policeman. Are we in trouble?’
Another voice, the voice of an irresponsible adult, yells out, ‘Tell him to go away, Mummy’s having a nap.’
A girl of eleven or twelve, dressed in a striped sundress and glittery jelly sandals, appears in the hallway with a boy of about three on her hip. The boy, a flame-haired redhead, dressed in a grubby T-shirt, shorts and Crocs, is eating a slice of toast. His cheeks are smeared with raspberry jam.
‘Good grief, is that you, Sage?’ I step past Kevin. ‘It is you. And Gabriel too.’
‘Do you know these people, Dr Chieveley?’ Kevin is frowning while Fifi falls uncharacteristically silent.
‘Mummy’s having a nap,’ Sage says. ‘Hello, Auntie Nicci. We didn’t have a key, but the door was open so we let ourselves in. Hope you don’t mind.’ She smiles, and I see my sister in her – long honey-blonde hair, freckles, captivating blue eyes and heart-shaped face. Suddenly I’m overwhelmed with tears of relief and joy at seeing my niece and nephew again. I hold out my arms as Sage continues, ‘I did try to phone you on Mummy’s mobile the other day.’
‘It’s all right. I’m sorry to have inadvertently caused all this bother, Kevin. They’re family.’ I hug them tight, not wanting to let them go. ‘Am I glad to see you!’
‘Do you want to press charges?’ Kevin asks.
‘No, of course not.’ I do want to have a word with my sister though. What was she thinking of? All she had to do was call me to let me know she was dropping by. ‘Where is Mummy?’
‘Upstairs, having a nap, as I said,’ Sage responds, deadpan, and I don’t believe her. I wonder how many times she’s had to lie on behalf of my sister.
‘Let’s get the kettle on,’ Fifi says, taking over. ‘Kevin, you go back to chasing horses or whatever it is that you do best.’
‘It’s all right, Fifi,’ I protest. ‘I can deal with this now.’
‘Oh no, you need some support. You’ve had a terrible shock.’
‘Come on, Sage and Gabriel. Let’s go out to the kitchen, away from all these prying eyes.’ I walk through ahead of the children and Fifi, who appears to have attached herself to my family. I’m too confounded to argue with her.
The kitchen door is shut. I push it open, releasing the aroma of fish pie. There are empty plates on the breakfast bar, along with half-filled glasses of blackcurrant squash, the washing machine is in full spin and my sister is sitting on a stool, with her blonde curls tumbling down her back, just like Goldilocks in the house of the three bears, reading my magazines and drinking my coffee.
‘Cheska, what on earth are you doing here?’ I exclaim, moving across to touch her shoulder and kiss her cheek. ‘What’s going on?’
My sister looks up and flashes me an apologetic smile. ‘Can we leave the inquest until later?’
I know what she’s getting at, not in front of the children, or Fifi.
‘Cheska, it’s lovely to meet you.’ Fifi moves in to greet her. ‘Welcome to Talyton St George.’
‘Excuse me, Fifi, this is private,’ I say. Cheska looks thin and drawn, her freckles standing out against her pale skin. She’s wearing a faded green sundress and flip-flops. Usually she cares about her appearance, in a bohemian kind of way, but today she looks as if she couldn’t be bothered. She reminds me of a stray dog desperately seeking someone to love them. A lump catches in my throat because I do love her, always have done and always will, because no matter how much grief she’s caused, especially to Mum, she’s still my sister.
‘I’ll be discreet. You won’t know I’m here.’ Fifi puts her handbag down on the worktop and takes the kettle to the tap to fill it. ‘Where do you keep your teapot?’
‘I don’t have a teapot. I use teabags.’
‘They’ll do.’ Fifi makes tea for me, Cheska and herself.
‘Sage, there are some yoghurts in the fridge – get one for your brother,’ says Cheska when Gabriel is pestering her for something to eat.
Sage turns to me. ‘Is that all right, Nicci?’
‘Go on,’ I say.
‘You remember Auntie Nicci, don’t you, Gabriel?’ Cheska says. Gabriel responds by grabbing the yoghurt and a spoon from his sister, and hiding behind his mum’s legs, pulling her skirt up around her long limbs. ‘She’s Mummy’s sister.’
‘I think he was too young to remember me,’ I say.
‘He knows all about you though. Mummy, you told us about when you and Nicci were little,’ Sage cuts in.
Cheska smiles at me fondly. ‘I told them the story about when you took the wrong medicine because you didn’t read the label. You took syrup of figs instead of cough mixture and ended up with an upset tummy.’
‘I thought you said she had a dire ear,’ Sage says, clearly confused.
‘Yes, diarrhoea – that’s the same as an upset tummy,’ Cheska says.
‘Great,’ I say, ‘you used me as an example of a cautionary tale and then embarrassed me with it.’
‘I want them to know who you are,’ she says with a flicker of a smile.<
br />
‘Mummy says you’re very clever because you’re a doctor, but when I had tonsillitis I had to see another doctor and she wasn’t very good because she sent me away with the wrong medicine, and we had to go back and see her again.’
‘These things happen,’ I say, amused and relieved that they didn’t happen to me, so I still have my reputation intact as far as my niece is concerned.
‘Nicci will be able to have a look at you next time, because you’re bound to get it again.’
I register alarm, but try not to show it in front of the children. The next time? How long is my sister intending to stay?
‘Can I ride your horse?’ Sage asks, changing the subject. I recall that Cheska brought her along to see Willow at the yard when they were staying in a caravan on the coast one summer with her current boyfriend, Alan. At least, I assume he’s current. Maybe, they’ve fallen out and that’s why she’s here.
‘We’ll see,’ I say. ‘Willow’s in training at the moment.’
‘I wish I had a horse,’ says Sage, confirming my suspicion that horses run in the blood, that equestrianism is an inherited disorder.
‘A rabbit would be easier to manage,’ I point out as the church bells chime six o’clock, which triggers Fifi’s decision to make a move.
‘I must love you and leave you,’ she says. ‘I have a meeting of the Parish Council.’
And I have a date. I start to panic. Matt will be over in an hour, and I haven’t showered, and I haven’t got any food, and the house looks like a tip, and I have company. So much for our romantic meal!
I see Fifi out, making a path for her through the shoes, books and soft toys scattered across the hall floor, and I wonder what to do.
I can’t bear the thought of putting him off, but I can’t see that I have a choice. I don’t think he’ll be angry, just disappointed. I call him, but there’s no reply, so I leave a message on his voicemail, warning him of a change of plan before having a quick word with Cheska.
‘I’m going to have a shower before we talk about your plans,’ I tell her.
Vets in Love Page 10
