Vets in Love

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘Are you all right?’ I ask him when he returns with the tools rattling in the wheelbarrow.

  ‘I’m fine, Nicci. Really. I’ve just been extremely busy at work.’

  ‘And your shoulder? How is that?’

  ‘Not too bad.’ He picks the shavings fork out of the wheelbarrow with one hand.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘By the way, your barrow’s got a wobbly wheel.’ He tries to hand me the fork.

  ‘I don’t want that.’

  ‘You’re going to show me what to do.’

  ‘Oh no, I’m not. You have to learn by doing. Nice try.’ I park the wheelbarrow outside the stable door and let Matt make a start.

  ‘Don’t throw away too many shavings – I don’t want to give Delphi an excuse to increase my livery charges.’

  ‘I’d be all right if I didn’t have an audience.’ Matt looks past me.

  Delphi, one of the grooms and a couple of the teenage girls who help out at weekends are standing behind me, peering into the box.

  ‘Do a good job and I’ll take you on,’ Delphi says, smiling as Matt pitches the first forkful of dirty shavings into the barrow, sending at least half of it back onto the floor. ‘You’re going to have to get a lot of practice in first though. I’ve got at least ten more boxes to muck out if you want to perfect your technique.’

  ‘No, Delphi. My strategy is to prove how rubbish I am at this so I don’t have to do it again.’ He leans on the fork.

  ‘Now, Matt, no slacking,’ she scolds, staring at the groom and the teenagers. ‘That goes for all of you too.’

  They rush off with Delphi following them, brandishing an imaginary whip, while Matt continues to lean on the fork.

  ‘You heard what Delphi said,’ I say lightly.

  ‘Nicci,’ he says. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’

  ‘Don’t tell me – you’ve had enough of being here already.’

  He shakes his head, his expression sombre. ‘It isn’t that. I wanted to say I’m sorry about having to pull out of lunch with your mother and Robert.’

  ‘That’s all right. These things happen. Horses – and humans – don’t choose when they’re sick.’

  Matt frowns. ‘It wasn’t about a horse. It’s about Mel. I saw Mel.’

  ‘Mel? What for?’ My heart stops beating and my throat floods with bile. Why can’t she stop stirring up trouble? Why doesn’t she just leave us alone?

  ‘She asked me to meet her. Oh, Nicci—’ he makes to move towards me, dropping the fork into the shavings ‘—it’s a nightmare.’

  ‘Well, if you’re prepared to drop everything for her, then so be it.’ I can feel anger and jealousy building up inside me. Because of what Henry did to me? Because I can’t help thinking, why does this always happen to me? ‘Why? Why did you agree to meet her?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Matt reaches out for me, but I step back. I can’t bear the idea of him touching me when he’s been with her. ‘I’m very, very sorry, but she’s pregnant.’

  ‘Pregnant? So the rumours are true?’ I pause. ‘Are you sure she’s having a baby?’

  ‘My baby,’ he confirms quietly.

  ‘How? How come?’

  ‘The usual way, I guess,’ he says, his tone flat and without life. He runs his hands through his hair.

  I lean back against the wall and sink down onto my heels. Matt kneels before me in the mucky shavings, his complexion the same shade as Willow’s tail.

  ‘Is she keeping it?’ My voice sounds harsh to my ears.

  ‘Yes, but this won’t make any difference to us, I swear.’

  ‘But it will,’ I say, breaking down. ‘You know it will.’

  He takes my hands in a firm grasp and I try to pull away, but I can’t – he’s too strong.

  ‘Nicci, you’re a doctor. You must see this sort of thing all the time.’

  ‘When? I mean, how pregnant is she? Are you sure it’s yours?’

  ‘I have no reason to doubt her.’

  ‘Except that she wants to trap you into going back to her,’ I say, angry now.

  ‘It happened before we split up and before I met you. That’ll teach me to rush from one relationship to the next—’

  ‘You said it wasn’t much of a relationship,’ I cut in. ‘You said it was a fling.’

  ‘I don’t want to argue about the definition of a relationship.’

  ‘I do, seeing as we seem to have a difference of opinion.’

  ‘I knew you’d be upset …’ Matt tilts his head to one side ‘… but I thought you’d be more realistic. I want to play a part in my child’s life, but not Mel’s.’ He hesitates, close to tears. ‘I didn’t want this. I don’t want it any more than you do. It’s a bloody mess.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ I murmur.

  ‘She said she didn’t tell me before because she wasn’t sure. She thought she was stressed from work and from us breaking up. Nicci, she says she was in love with me. I’ve treated her abominably.’ His voice trails off. ‘I didn’t realise …’

  My heart sinks to the soles of my wellington boots. ‘You still have feelings for her?’

  He’s too honest. ‘I do, but not in the way you’re thinking. I don’t feel anything for her in a boyfriend-girlfriend kind of way. I mean, I feel sorry for hurting her feelings, and for making her pregnant.’

  ‘It takes two,’ I say, sniffing back tears. I wish I could say I’m cool about this, we’ll work something out, but I can’t because there’s that little niggle, like a toothache, that won’t go away. ‘There’s no chance that this pregnancy arose from a recent occasion when you were dropping off the dog, or waiting for a horse to come round at the hospital?’

  Matt frowns. ‘A comfort shag, you mean?’

  I nod.

  ‘Nicci, no! She’s ten weeks gone, so it didn’t happen while we’ve been together,’ Matt continues miserably.

  ‘You said you split up with her in March, three months before you asked me out. I’m not a mathematician, but if she’s ten weeks now, you must have slept with her at the beginning of May.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I told a little white lie to make me look better. Three months sounded so much better than six weeks. I didn’t think it would come back to haunt me …’

  ‘So you lied because you thought you wouldn’t get found out. How can I trust you? You didn’t tell me about Mel looking after the Bobster, she’s still working at the hospital and it’s taken you a while to raise the subject of her being pregnant.’ I silence him with a glare. ‘You’ve been acting weirdly since you cancelled lunch at my mum’s. You’ve hardly been in touch. I’d say it looks more than a bit shifty.’

  ‘It’s because I was afraid—’

  ‘Of hurting my feelings, or of me finding out you’ve been lying to me all along?’ I get up, furiously brushing the shavings off my jodhpurs.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you.’

  ‘Well it’s a bit late for apologies, and I can’t go out with someone who is so … so shady.’

  ‘Nicci—’ Matt starts to scramble up. I push him back to keep him away from me, not hard but forcefully enough to make him overbalance and fall into a pile of droppings. He swears as I look down at him. He’s in the proverbial in more ways than one and I don’t care.

  ‘That serves you right,’ I snap.

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ he asks quietly, getting up.

  ‘Yeah,’ I stammer.

  ‘I’ll call round later?’

  ‘I’ll get in touch with you.’

  ‘Nicci, please …’

  ‘Go!’ I cry. ‘I can’t bear to look at you any more!’

  ‘Okay …’ I hear the catch in his throat. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m sorry too.’

  Staring at the toe of my boot, I wait until he’s gone, listening for his footsteps followed by the sound of running water as he rinses his hands under the tap outside the stable. Eventually, I hear the roar of an engine and screa
m of tyres. Like a robot, not feeling anything, I pick up the shavings fork and start mucking out furiously, separating the soiled shavings from the clean ones and filling the wheelbarrow. As I turn to push the barrow across to the muck heap, Delphi appears at my side.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ she asks. ‘Only I noticed Matt had to dash orf in rather a hurry.’

  I turn away, not wanting her to see I’ve been crying.

  ‘He found he didn’t like mucking out as much as he’d expected,’ I say, my voice cracking. I have no desire to discuss my love life with her, with anyone for that matter, especially when I don’t understand what’s going on myself. I love Matt and I think he loves me, but right now I don’t think I can believe a word he says.

  On Monday, I arrive home to the sound of a culture clash – the church bells are in competition with the dance music pulsating from the wide open windows of my house. There’s yet another tub of yeast on the doorstep with a note from Fifi this time, telling me she thinks I’d like to make a friendship cake. It’s the last thing I feel like doing.

  I push the door open, stepping over the post, scattered shoes and a teddy bear, to reach the kitchen. It looks as though twenty trainee chefs have been cooking at the same time, downed spatulas and wooden spoons and left. The back door is open and a couple of flies hover lazily over the butter left out on the breakfast bar. The sink is full of dirty dishes while the dishwasher remains empty. And there’s a load of washing that isn’t mine in the machine, a pink wash.

  I look a little more closely. ‘Nooo,’ I groan. Someone has washed my best pair of jodhpurs with a pair of red socks and everything has gone pink. I could almost turn to drink.

  My heart sinks as I search for the tea bags. There are no tea bags. There is no coffee either. Outside on the lawn, Sage and Gabriel are playing with suds in the washing-up bowl, the bottle lying on its side, almost empty.

  ‘Where’s your mum?’ I call, making them jump.

  ‘Sh,’ says Sage. ‘She’s having a sleep.’

  Keep calm and carry on, I tell myself as my heart pounds with suppressed fury. I’ve been at work all day while my sister has been lying in my bed with the duvet pulled over her and the curtains closed.

  ‘Cheska, wake up. I need to talk to you.’

  She peers over the duvet, her hair stuck to her face as if she’s been crying.

  ‘Now! This minute. I have had enough.’

  ‘So have I,’ she whimpers. ‘I’ve made such a mess of everything.’

  I don’t think she’s referring to the house somehow.

  ‘Cheska, you have to pull yourself together. What have you been doing all day?’

  ‘I’m tired,’ she says, her voice thick with tears and sleep.

  ‘You’re so ungrateful.’ My eyes drift from my sister’s face to the wall opposite where there’s a huge scribble of black felt-tip pen like a ragged spider’s web. ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘What?’ says Cheska.

  ‘That over there. That’s new.’

  ‘Oh, that was Gabriel,’ she sighs. ‘I told him not to …’

  ‘Look, I rent this house. I’ve put down a deposit and I’d really like it back at the end of the tenancy. And I might want to stay on here for another year.’

  ‘He’s only three years old – you have to cut him some slack,’ she says in Gabriel’s defence. ‘Anyway,’ she adds flippantly – because she’s embarrassed, I hope – ‘that scribble might be worth something in the future when he’s a famous graffiti artist.’

  ‘Dream on, Cheska. From the evidence, Gabriel isn’t going to be the next Banksy.’ I pause, the anger and stress of the day building inside me. I can’t help it. I snap. ‘Get up, you lazy cow! What the hell do you think you’re doing? I’ve let you stay here and supported you and your kids and all you can do is slob about, making a mess and never cleaning up after yourself.’

  ‘It won’t be for long, just until I get myself back on my feet.’

  ‘How are you going to do that by lying around in my bed?’ Furious, I pull a curtain too hard and the end of the pole falls. ‘Now, look what you’ve made me do.’

  ‘You did it yourself.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t—’ I realise I sound like I’m about ten and arguing with my sister just the way we used to, blaming each other for our misfortunes.

  Suddenly, there’s a snort. I look at Cheska, stuffing the corner of the duvet in her mouth, trying but failing to stifle a giggle.

  ‘You never change, big sister.’

  ‘Neither do you, little sis.’ Despite myself, I can’t stay angry with her for long. Anyway, I’m aware that I’m taking out my anger with Matt on her, and that’s not fair. I jump onto the bed. ‘Shove up.’ We sit side by side, looking at the sloping curtain pole and Gabriel’s scribbles. ‘That one,’ I say, pointing, ‘resembles a skateboard in a rather abstract, postmodernist kind of way.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she smiles.

  ‘To be honest, Cheska,’ I smirk back, ‘neither do I. I’m blagging it.’

  ‘I’m sorry for being a pain.’

  ‘It isn’t you. It’s me. Yes, that’s a bit of a mess, but it can be sorted. No, I’ve had a bad day.’

  ‘A couple of bad days?’ My sister raises one eyebrow. ‘It’s man trouble, isn’t it? Matt’s let you down?’

  ‘I’m not sure. His ex-girlfriend’s just announced that she’s pregnant with his baby.’ My sister’s lips form an O as I go on, ‘I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘It isn’t ideal, but it might not be so bad. Matt still wants to be with you, doesn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t know if he’s telling the truth—’

  ‘Why shouldn’t he be?’ she interrupts. ‘I thought he was Mr Perfect.’

  ‘Or Mr Too Good To Be True.’ I pick some dirt out from under my nails – I dropped in to see Willow and give her a carrot on the way home. ‘What if he’s lying and he’s slept with her while he’s been with me?’

  ‘Is there anything that leads you to believe that’s the case?’

  I tell her about the odd claim Mel apparently made to Claire about how she was Matt’s girlfriend when he was going out with me, about Matt’s economies of truth over the Bobster and about the problems thrown up by Mel’s due date.

  ‘I don’t think any of those things are relevant, Nicci.’

  ‘Of course they are. I need to know if he’s been cheating on me.’

  ‘You’re always round at his house – when you’re not at the yard. I can’t imagine he’d risk what you have for a trip down memory lane, so to speak.’ Cheska shakes her head. ‘It’s more important to ask yourself if you want to remain involved with a man who has a child. He might be the best guy in the world, but once the baby comes along, who’s to say he won’t change his mind and decide that he wants to shack up with the ex and play happy families? You could end up feeling like the mistress of a man who’s having an affair.’

  ‘I know.’ I feel like howling. ‘What am I going to do? Love him, or leave him?’

  ‘Shoot, shag or marry? You decide.’ She pauses. ‘Is he going to all the scans and check-ups with her?’

  ‘I’m sure he will. He’ll feel responsible. He’ll want to support her.’

  ‘And then there’s the money,’ Cheska says.

  ‘That doesn’t matter, does it? I’m perfectly able to pay my own way. I don’t need to rely on a man to support me.’

  ‘You see, from what you’re saying, Nicci, Matt is a good man and there aren’t many of those around, so I reckon you shouldn’t be too hasty in making your mind up. Give him a chance. Talk to him.’ Cheska reaches out her hand. ‘I’m truly, madly and deeply sorry,’ she adds quietly, and I’m not sure if she’s sorry about the house or Matt or both.

  ‘Mummy, Gabriel’s got washing-up liquid in his eyes,’ Sage calls up the stairs. Gabriel starts bawling as though to emphasise the point.

  Cheska looks at me. ‘I think that’
s one for you. You’re the doctor, Nicci.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I chuck a cushion at her.

  Sage and I take Gabriel into the bathroom.

  ‘Shouldn’t we take him to the surgery?’ Sage asks.

  ‘I don’t think there’s any need. I have an eye bath here somewhere. Let’s have a look, Gabriel.’

  ‘I can’t see,’ he cries. ‘It’s hurting me.’

  ‘How did it happen?’ I ask Sage when I’m bathing Gabriel’s eye.

  ‘We were making the mixture for blowing bubbles and Gabriel took the bottle and squirted it in his eye. I told him not to.’

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘I’d like to be a doctor,’ Sage says.

  Having rinsed the detergent out of Gabriel’s streaming eye with a lot of fuss and cooing from Sage, I pronounce no lasting injury. But can I say the same about me and Matt?

  Chapter Twelve

  Vet to the Rescue

  THERE IS ONLY one way to find out and that is, as Cheska suggested, to speak to Matt – which is a little ironic considering she refuses to have anything to do with Mum.

  I struggle through a day at the surgery before driving over to Matt’s, but he isn’t there. I call him to discover he’s tied up in surgery and is likely to remain so into the night. Mindful of disturbing me at three in the morning, he texts me instead of calling to arrange to meet the following evening.

  Arriving at the surgery on Wednesday morning, I find Claire in reception, talking to Kevin, the policeman.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, ‘is everything all right?’

  ‘Kevin’s dropped by to check our security arrangements.’ Claire blushes.

  ‘Are they satisfactory?’ I say lightly, not believing her because Kevin colours up too. ‘You need to talk to Ben,’ I say. ‘He’s responsible for the locks and alarm.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Kevin says. ‘I’d better get going for now though. I’m giving a talk on stranger danger at the school in half an hour.’ He clears his throat. ‘Will I see you later, Claire?’

  She glances up at him. ‘Seven o’clock at the Dog and Duck.’

  I smile to myself. I tease her mercilessly in the staffroom at coffee time about her falling into the long arms of the law.