Vets in Love

by Cathy Woodman

  Smiling, I shake my head. ‘I’m not interested in anything Henry does.’

  ‘You used to be.’

  ‘I’m going out with Matt now. I’ve dealt with the Henry episode and moved on.’ I change the subject. ‘I’d better go and put Willow’s rug on.’

  Matt has left when I get back, so I make sure my horse is tucked in for the night before taking Sage home. I grab a shower and head out to Matt’s.

  We have pizza from the Co-op and a freshly-baked fruit cake for dinner. I notice how Matt picks off a couple of slices of pepperoni and surreptitiously slips them to the Bobster, who sits drooling underneath his chair at the kitchen table.

  ‘I hope I’m not going to bore you with horse talk,’ I say, ‘but it is my specialist subject.’

  ‘I realise that.’ Matt shakes his head. ‘You’ll never bore me, Nicci.’

  ‘Do you ride?’ I go on.

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘You’re a horse vet, and you don’t ride?’ I say, surprised.

  ‘I’m not the only one around here. You’re harking back to the olden days when vets rode to check for broken wind and bridle lameness. I started to learn at vet school. One of the other students …’ He pauses. ‘It wasn’t for me.’ He smiles, but the smile is forced. ‘I guess I didn’t like the breeches that much.’

  ‘We could ride together sometime,’ I suggest.

  ‘No thanks. I’d rather keep my feet on the ground.’

  It’s a shame, I think. We could have spent some time in the yard together.

  ‘What about mucking out? Didn’t you have to do that at vet school?’

  ‘I worked at a yard one summer, but the girls used to do the stables for me in return for favours, the occasional kiss, if they were lucky. I’m teasing. I wasn’t overly confident with girls back then.’

  Later, when we’re ready to cuddle up on the sofa, Matt puts the Bobster in the dog bed – it’s pristine, I notice, without a single hair or muddy pawprint on the cover.

  ‘Stay,’ he says and we retreat to the living room that runs the width of the two former cottages. It’s unfinished. There are patches of bare plaster on the walls and no curtains, but you can see its potential with its brick chimneypiece and log burner ready for use in the winter. We sink down into the soft green sofa and Matt puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me towards him for a kiss. Suddenly, a small tan and white dog appears between us, standing on Matt’s thigh and bouncing up and down trying to lick his nose.

  ‘Get off!’ I say. ‘I thought you said you’d put her to bed.’

  ‘I had.’ He chuckles at my expression of horror. ‘You saw me.’

  ‘Why won’t she stay there?’

  ‘Because she’s afraid she’s missing out.’ He tips the Bobster off his lap, gets up and calls her back to the kitchen. ‘I’ll shut the door this time.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  The Bobster has an alternative plan though, which consists of howling as loud as she can. It’s incessant and a highly effective passion killer. Matt sweet talks her, gives her a biscuit and a chew, and leaves the radio on, changing the station twice in case she has a preference for classical music over pop. But nothing works.

  ‘If I were you I’d send her back,’ I say caustically. ‘What about seeing a psychologist?’

  ‘For me or the dog?’ He smiles ruefully. ‘I think I might need counselling if she keeps on like this.’

  ‘I’m glad you feel the same way I do. That racket is driving me mad.’ I put my arms up as he stands in front of me, having returned from the dog for the umpteenth time.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asks.

  ‘Pull me up. I must go home – I have a long day tomorrow. I’m training at seven.’

  ‘With Shane?’ I watch a frown flit across Matt’s face.

  ‘You aren’t jealous, are you?’ I tease as he pulls me up and into his arms.

  ‘Just a little, maybe. Don’t you ever give your poor horse a day off?’

  ‘She has one day a week when she has a bran mash for breakfast and time out in the paddock, just chillaxing, but it’s usually a Wednesday.’

  ‘Why don’t you stay?’

  ‘Another time.’

  Matt pulls me closer and kisses me passionately until, eventually, I brace my palms against his chest.

  ‘You’re making me want to stay,’ I murmur. ‘I want to stay.’

  ‘Stay then. The dog’s gone quiet at last.’

  ‘I haven’t got any clothes.’

  ‘You don’t need any. Come to bed …’ His final word on the matter, uttered in a husky whisper, explodes any resistance I have left. ‘Please …’

  I take his hand and we climb the stairs together.

  I lie in bed with Matt’s arms around me and a big smile on my face, warm with the afterglow of making love with him for the very first time. It was perfect. He is perfect and I could stay like this for ever, listening to his breathing as dawn approaches.

  ‘Go back to sleep, darling,’ he murmurs.

  ‘I’m not sure I can,’ I say as the cockerel starts to crow and a hen starts clucking frantically as she lays an egg, a large one if the number of decibels is related to the size.

  ‘Do you have to keep a cockerel?’

  ‘I like the old rooster – he has a purpose, to keep the hens happy and provide the next generation of chicks. I got them from Hen Welfare and some of them are getting on a bit. The fox got one the other day, the rotten bastard!’ Matt sits up, pulling the duvet from my shoulders. Shivering, I tug it back from him. The dog has joined us and is curled up between mine and Matt’s legs.

  ‘I thought she slept downstairs.’

  ‘I was trying to impress you,’ he grins. ‘I told a little white lie because I didn’t want to put you off.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem very hygienic.’ I wrinkle my nose at the sight of a few tan and white hairs on the bed.

  ‘She’s all right, aren’t you Bobster?’ Matt reaches down the bed and strokes her head. ‘She’s probably just as concerned she’ll catch something from you.’ He chuckles and although I’m minded to flip him over the head with a pillow, his humour is infectious and I find myself laughing with him.

  ‘I’d better get up,’ I say.

  ‘Stay … I don’t have to be at the hospital until nine.’

  ‘It’s tempting, but I’ve got to go. Shane’s expecting me.’

  ‘Not Shane again.’ Matt groans. He’s only half joking. He met Shane earlier in the week when he dropped by at the yard to see one of Delphi’s horses and I was having a training session on Willow. ‘I’ve seen the way he looks at your legs, as if he’s caressing them with his eyes.’

  ‘That’s his job,’ I smile. ‘He makes me work on my position. In the saddle,’ I add, so there’s no misunderstanding.

  ‘I’ve seen him groping your thigh. I think that’s my area.’

  ‘Oh Matt.’ I’m laughing. I really don’t see it that way, and neither does Shane. ‘We’ve been doing this on and off for years.’

  ‘And it shows. You’re like an old married couple, arguing the tiniest detail.’

  ‘I guess Shane and I do know a lot about each other, but if we were going to be more than friends it would have happened by now. Anyway, he’s happily married.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Matt says as I get out of bed and give him a kiss before gathering up my clothes from the night before. ‘I don’t like the idea of another man making you sweat.’

  ‘I’ll see you later. Do you mind if I grab some toast on the way out?’

  ‘Help yourself,’ he says with a sigh. ‘Have a good day.’

  ‘And you. See you later.’

  When I arrive at the yard, having diverted to the house to change into my riding gear, I drop my stick and fumble with the girth straps as I tack Willow up. Shane is on my case straight away.

  ‘You mustn’t let that boyfriend of yours distract you. It isn’t fair on the horse if you’re just a passenger. Have you taken up drinkin
g, or something?’

  ‘I have few, if any, vices. You know that. No, it’s my nephew and niece who are keeping me awake,’ I say, but I don’t think Shane believes me.

  ‘No excuses,’ he says sternly. ‘You really need to make sure you get a good night’s sleep. There’s no point in me turning up at some unearthly hour of the morning if you’re in no fit state to train.’

  ‘Shane, please, can’t we be friends today?’

  He chuckles when he responds, ‘I need to maintain my authority. We are not friends. I am your trainer. Go on. Stop dreaming about lover boy and get on your horse.’

  Blushing, I lead Willow out of the stable. Shane gives me a leg up, the momentum almost throwing me over the other side as Willow takes a couple of steps forwards before I can catch up the reins and bring her back to a halt.

  ‘What have you planned for today?’ I ask.

  Shane walks with me to the jumping field where the ground is good, in spite of a day’s rain.

  ‘I thought we’d do some grid-work. That way, we can work on Willow’s obedience and suppleness and not bore her before the weekend.’ Shane moves a couple of poles, one in each hand, taking them to the centre of the field to start building his grid of fences. ‘Now, stop chattering and get moving. Warm her up.’

  I don’t know about Willow but Shane certainly warms me up, making me canter on the lunge without stirrups before the grid-work, an exercise requiring precision steering.

  ‘Legs!’ he yells. ‘More legs!’

  ‘You’re killing me,’ I call back.

  ‘What did you have for breakfast?’

  ‘Toast.’

  ‘One slice or two?’

  ‘One.’

  ‘It’s all very well feeding your horse on the best competition mix but you need to eat properly too. A full English breakfast. Eggs, bacon, sausage and beans. That’s what I had this morning.’ Shane folds his arms across his chest. ‘I’m beginning to question your commitment. You don’t deserve this lovely horse.’

  ‘You know how to make me feel guilty.’

  ‘You pay me to make you feel bad about yourself. With a bit of luck it’ll give you the kick up the pants you need.’ He grinds some grass down with the toe of his boot. ‘You have no chance when you’re flabby and unfit, Nicci.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ I say, smiling.

  ‘That’s what I like to hear, a bit of fire.’

  Afterwards, I wash Willow down and let her dry off as she munches on some hay, wondering how busy Matt is at the hospital and realising that after last night, I don’t feel I have to worry about Mel any more. She is well and truly the ex-girlfriend now. I clean and check through the tack, drinking tea and sharing more yard gossip, and then turn her out for a couple of hours. Delphi will bring her in again later and put her to bed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hold your Horses

  ANOTHER WEEK AND a half passes. I stay over with Matt twice more and meet him for Sunday lunch at the Barnscote Hotel. My boyfriend is far from serious at times, treating most of life as a joke, but our relationship is growing stronger and deeper, and every day I learn more about him and love him a little more.

  Cheska, Sage and Gabriel continue as my house guests, and although my sister appears to have no intention of moving on in the near future, I worry that she’ll suddenly decide to leave. It would be the best news if she went back to Alan, but not before she and Mum have had time to reconcile over the past. How am I going to get them together? I have a plan.

  Beauty does well after her operation, but she ends up staying at Westleigh much longer than expected because an infection develops in the wound in her belly, so Matt keeps her in for intense treatment with antibiotics.

  Partly to thank him for looking after Beauty, and partly to introduce us all properly to each other, Mum and Robert invite me and Matt for lunch on the Saturday of the last weekend in July. She suggests inviting Cheska and the children too, but when I broach this with my sister, she is adamant she still wants nothing to do with her.

  ‘I don’t understand why you can’t at least talk to her,’ I say, frustrated. ‘I know she hurt your feelings, but she was under pressure too. She thought she was doing the right thing, what was best for you.’

  ‘She was trying to control me.’

  ‘Because you were only sixteen. She was responsible for you.’ I pause. ‘Think about it. You were pregnant by a man twice your age who ended up in prison. How would you feel if Sage was in that situation? Would you be so keen to let her have her freedom and make her own choices?’

  My sister falls silent.

  ‘So, will you come to Mum’s for lunch?’

  Her answer remains an emphatic no.

  However, Matt is keen to join us, but on the day, an hour before he’s due to pick me up and drive me over to Mum’s in Talymouth, he has to cancel.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Nicci,’ he says. ‘I’ll try to catch up with you later. Have fun.’

  I would have more fun if Matt was there, I think regretfully, but as it turns out my mother and Robert are celebrating their engagement and their joy is infectious.

  ‘I’m sorry Matt couldn’t be here,’ Mum says when we’re enjoying coffee on the balcony overlooking the sea and Robert has gone out for a stroll along the front.

  ‘He was called in to the hospital.’ While I’m saying this, I realise that he didn’t say exactly why he couldn’t make it, but I’m assuming there’s been an emergency.

  ‘I think he’s wonderful,’ Mum sighs dreamily. ‘If only I was twenty years younger.’

  ‘He is lovely. He’s like a puppy dog who wants to spend all his time with me. It’s weird because I’m not used to that. I was lucky if I saw Henry every couple of weeks, but Matt texts and calls me all the time.’

  ‘Make the most of it, Nicci. Go with the flow.’

  I lean back in the chair and gaze out to sea. ‘Sometimes I worry that he might dump me because I spend too much time at the yard.’

  ‘There’s an obvious answer to that.’

  ‘I’ve already suggested that he learns to muck out, but he isn’t too keen. He says not only is it bad for his shoulder, it’s too much like being at work, not that he does any mucking out at the hospital. They have grooms to do that.’ I hesitate. Matt Warren makes me feel as if I’m flying. I never felt this way about Lawrence or Henry, or any of the other less serious boyfriends I’ve met along the way. I didn’t feel this adored or this spoiled. ‘It’s a little scary, actually, Mum. It’s like a dream and I’m afraid I’m going to wake up and he’ll be gone.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Matt isn’t going anywhere,’ she says with confidence.

  ‘What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t live up to his expectations? What if I can’t make the same commitment?’

  ‘I’m glad I’m not a doctor,’ Mum says with a smile. ‘You overanalyse everything. This is a relationship, not a patient. You don’t have to pick it apart to find something wrong with it. Matt wanting to be with you all the time seems really healthy and normal to me.’

  ‘Thank you for that diagnosis,’ I say wryly. I change the subject. ‘What will you do when you’re married? Will you sell the house?’

  ‘What would I want to do that for, darling?’

  ‘I assumed you’d move onto the farm with Robert.’ If – and it’s a big if – Matt and I ever got married, I’d want to be with him. ‘That’s the whole point of getting married, isn’t it? To be together.’

  Mum smiles. ‘We’re getting married because we want to be together and commit to each other. I love him, but I don’t want to live with him. We’d drive each other mad.’

  I scratch my head. I don’t understand.

  ‘Let me explain,’ she says, clearly amused. ‘I like listening to the news and current affairs on Radio Four. Robert likes pop and rap.’

  ‘Does he? I can’t imagine that somehow.’

  ‘He says it’s good for the cows, that it helps them relax and let down t
heir milk, but he plays it in the house too. It’s agonising to listen to. I can’t stand it and we’ve agreed that we’re both too set in our ways to compromise. This way, we can each have our own space.’

  ‘It seems rather extreme having separate houses. Couldn’t you just have separate rooms?’

  ‘No, Nicci, this will work very well for us.’ She fetches a cafetière of fresh coffee and pours two more cups. ‘How are the children?’

  ‘Gabriel’s fine. Sage has been riding.’

  ‘What does your sister think of that?’

  ‘She’s okay about it as long as she doesn’t have to have anything to do with it.’

  ‘Will Sage follow in your footsteps?’

  ‘She’s a natural,’ I say, smiling.

  ‘I wish I could see her ride,’ Mum says wistfully. ‘Do you think there’s any chance that your sister would agree to meet with me? Can’t I come to the house again?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do, but you might have to accept that it’s too late, Mum.’

  ‘I’ll never give up hope,’ she says. ‘I wish I’d handled things differently back then, but I wasn’t in a good place at the time.’

  Soon, I return home, expecting Matt to contact me at any time to let me know how the horse is doing. I text him, but he doesn’t text back.

  On Sunday morning, I text Matt again to make sure he’s okay. Either he’s still at the hospital or he’s tucked up in bed asleep. I smile ruefully. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to his irregular working hours.

  ‘Do u want to meet me 4 ur first lesson in mucking out? XXX’

  ‘Cya there, 30 mins. XXXXXXXX,’ he texts back.

  I feed Willow and I’ve just turned her out in the paddock for a while when Matt turns up at the yard with the Bobster, who runs around the empty stable, searching out mice and chasing them into their holes in the walls. Wagging her tail, she snuffles and pounces through the shavings, making me laugh. Matt smiles, but he seems preoccupied.

  ‘You’d better show me how to muck out,’ he says, rallying a little. ‘What class of implement do I need?’

  ‘You need a wheelbarrow – there’s a pink one over there. And a shavings fork, shovel and broom. The shavings fork has teeth that are close together,’ I explain as he frowns at me.