Vets in Love

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘When are you home?’ I ask. Now we’re back on track, I want to spend as much time with him as possible.

  ‘Lunchtime, I hope,’ he says. ‘Will I see you then?’

  ‘I’ll pop into Talyton and pick something up.’

  ‘You can take the Bobster, if you like. It would do us both a favour. I wouldn’t have to take her to work with me. She doesn’t enjoy it that much.’ He sighs. ‘For once, I’d rather stay here too. I’ll see you later.’ He hesitates as he leaves, freshly shaven and bearing the scent of mint toothpaste, tea and honey. ‘Please don’t let the dog off the lead down by the river, or she’ll bugger off.’

  ‘I haven’t agreed to walk her yet.’ The Bobster might be Matt’s idea of a best friend, but she certainly isn’t mine. She looks cute enough, but although Matt and I are reconciled, the dog and I still treat each other with an air of suspicion.

  ‘You will. You’ll get into her good books, and I know how you’re itching to get back to your sister and her kids … not,’ he adds, grinning. ‘Make yourself at home. And don’t feel you have to muck out here.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I say. I do though. I stack the dishwasher and tidy up the kitchen a little before heading into Talyton St George, following the path along the brook down into Talyford and along the lanes into the top end of town with the Bobster on the lead and a bag slung over my shoulder. In town, I buy bread and cheese, leaving the dog tied to the ring embedded in the wall outside the baker’s shop.

  The Bobster and I walk on down to the green, where a group of men, overseen by a pair of swans, are putting up a tent for the annual Beer Festival. The Bobster utters a couple of good-humoured yaps before flirting with Mr Brown’s dog, Muffin, who is pottering along with his owner in the sunshine.

  ‘Um, sorry,’ I say, pulling her away.

  ‘It’s no problem,’ Mr Brown says. ‘How are you, Dr Chieveley?’

  I’m sure it’s me who should be asking him that question, but I reply that I’m well. I’m very well, in fact, thanks to getting back with Matt.

  ‘And you?’ I ask him.

  ‘We are as well as can be expected.’ Locks of thin grey hair fall forward over his forehead. ‘No better, no worse, and Mrs Brown is about the same.’

  His wife has been about the same since I arrived in Talyton, but Mr Brown seems diminished. His tan coat hangs from his bony frame and his shoes are falling apart. He’s so busy looking after everyone else he doesn’t have time to care for himself.

  ‘Have you had any help recently?’ I ask him. Somehow it seems easier to talk on the green, away from the surgery and with the dogs as icebreakers. ‘Do you get any respite at all?’

  ‘The WI come to sit with my wife once a week so I can go shopping, and Fifi usually drops in with a cooked meal on a Tuesday, but I keep having to remind them that we are not a charity. I can manage, you know. I don’t want her taken away and put in a home.’ He’s almost in tears. ‘She’d hate that.’

  ‘Do you have any other assistance at home?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I don’t need it. When my wife first fell ill, I had to learn quickly. I found out how to cook and clean.’ He smiles with a rare flash of humour. ‘And shop for ladies’ smalls.’ Then he looks somewhat shamefaced as if he’s touched on a subject he shouldn’t.

  ‘You’re a man of many talents. You’re a hero, Mr Brown, but even superheroes need helpers.’ I make a mental note to see if I can arrange for the Browns to be assessed for extra support when I’m next at work. ‘Remember to drop by if you need us, even if it’s just for a cup of tea.’

  ‘That’s a lovely dog.’ Mr Brown leans down to stroke the Bobster’s head. ‘Is it yours?’

  ‘She’s my boyfriend’s dog.’

  ‘Mrs Brown and I were married by the time we were your age,’ he comments. ‘We were teenage sweet-hearts. Anyway, Doctor, I’d better not keep you any longer. Have a lovely day.’

  I wish him goodbye and he continues back across the green to the footbridge over the river, while I head the other way along the path until I reach the stile. I climb over and post the Bobster through the gap at the bottom, having checked there are no sheep around before I unclip her lead. I decide, in spite of Matt’s warning, to leave her running free. She doesn’t stray far from my heels until she spots a fisherman on the riverbank, sitting under a parasol with his paraphernalia – including a cool-box for storing his catch, I guess. She races across and dives into a plastic tub, emerging with her nose caked in bran and live mealworms writhing as they drop out of her mouth.

  I rush up and try to grab her by the collar, but she dodges away to snatch another mouthful of what is apparently a delectable snack.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I gasp. Although I’m working out at the gym regularly now, I’m not as fit as I thought I was.

  ‘That dog of your’m’s a thief,’ the fisherman complains, taking the end of a smoking pipe from between his lips. The smell of tobacco rises into the air. In spite of the warm day, he’s wearing a hat and cape. ‘Why don’t you keep her on the lead?’

  ‘I will do.’

  ‘When you catch up with her, you mean. I bet I catch a fish before you catch that dog.’

  ‘Can I pay you compensation for what she’s eaten?’

  ‘It’s all right. They don’t cost me anything. You’re the doctor, aren’t you?’

  ‘It’s Nobby, isn’t it? I didn’t recognise you with the hat.’ I don’t bother to ask him how his detox is going – I can see the beer cans in the cool-box, which isn’t for storing his catch at all. He realises I’ve spotted them.

  ‘I like to have a little drink while I’m out fishing,’ he explains. ‘It’s thirsty work and there’s hardly any alcohol in them cans. If I’d wanted to drink proper-like, I’d have bought a bottle of cider. You’d better go after that dog,’ he goes on. ‘She can run faster than you, my lover.’

  I jog along the riverbank, looking among the bushes by the old railway line. ‘Bobster,’ I call. ‘Bobster!’ I realise what a ridiculous name it is. It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue and I’m getting odd looks from a pair of teenagers sitting in the grass and smoking roll-ups. My palms are pricking with sweat at the thought of having to face Matt at some stage to admit that I didn’t listen to him.

  I don’t know much about dogs, but I was under the illusion they were supposed to be faithful companions. The Bobster appears to be the exception to the rule. I thought she liked me better now too, having shared a bed with each other, but I was mistaken.

  I march along the line of trees bordering the old railway line, checking through the undergrowth with a stick.

  ‘Bobster, I’d like to go home.’ Recalling how Matt bribes her to come to him, I try a different approach. ‘Biscuits!’

  Something moves in the bushes. Two rabbits fly out and scuttle through the grass, disappearing into a hole in the bank further down. Frantically, I shout louder.

  ‘Biscuits!’ I strain my ears for an answering yap while I probe the bank with the stick. It’s soft and sandy and full of holes and there’s an area that’s recently been dug over. Squatting down, I take a closer look. There’s a yap from deep inside the bank. My heart sinks. What if she’s stuck down there? How am I going to get her out? What if I can’t get her out? Matt will never forgive me.

  ‘Bobster,’ I call again. ‘It’s going to be all right. You hang in there.’

  She answers with a whine.

  ‘Good girl.’

  I enlarge one of the holes with the end of the stick, but the tunnel beyond starts to cave in so I stop. How long can a dog survive without food and water?

  ‘You’ll never find um, Doctor.’ It’s Nobby Warwick again, his rod slung over his back and the cool-box in his hand. ‘It’s like a rabbit warren down there.’

  ‘That’s because it is a rabbit warren,’ I say, angry at myself and worried sick for the Bobster’s safety. There was a time when I wouldn’t have minded if she’d made herself scarce, but things are different
now. She’s important to Matt, so she’s important to me.

  ‘I can give you a hand. The Dog and Duck doesn’t open for another half an hour. Officially, like. I only goes in there for a pint now and again.’

  How can he be thinking about drinking at a time like this? I want to scream at him. ‘I thought I’d better stop digging in case the earth falls in on her.’

  ‘Why don’t you give it a bit of time? Go home, have a cuppa then come back with a shovel. It’s no use digging with a stick. She’ll be out the other side of them bushes somewhere. If you’re lucky, she’ll dig herself out. That’s what terriers do, unless she’m been crushed by a load of earth.’

  ‘Thanks for the reassurance, Nobby,’ I say with irony.

  ‘Think nothing of it, Doctor.’

  ‘Did you catch anything?’

  ‘Them otters have been here before me again.’

  ‘Have you seen otters down here?’

  ‘They’re back this year. It’s natural, I suppose, but they don’t like sharing.’ Nobby shrugs ruefully. ‘I’ll have to go and tickle some trout on the north side of the Fox-Gifford estate.’ He grins, revealing missing teeth. ‘Don’t go dobbing me in though. Cheers, Dr Chieveley.’

  ‘Goodbye.’ I frown as I watch him walk back along the path through the field beside the river. He moves with a shuffling gait, a consequence of the alcohol perhaps, but he covers the ground quickly now he’s heading in the direction of the Dog and Duck, just like Willow does when we’re out on a hack and we turn for home.

  Eventually I decide to take his advice and walk back in the same direction too, but without the Bobster. I debate whether or not I should contact Matt at work, but decide this is something I need to do face to face. I check my mobile. He’s texted to say he’ll be back by one, so I have half an hour to worry about what he’s going to say.

  I walk back through town, picking up a marrowbone from the butcher’s, which I take back and stick in front of the hole in the bank, hoping it might tempt the Bobster out. But she doesn’t appear and I realise time is running out. I’m going to have to go and fess up to Matt.

  At Matt’s house, hot and sweating, I take a deep breath and head around the back. He keeps the doors locked but there’s a key under the brick beside the water butt. The back door is already open and Matt is lying on the hammock with a glass in his hand.

  ‘Cheers, Nicci,’ he says. ‘Did you have a good walk?’

  ‘Oh, God, Matt, I’m so sorry. Something terrible’s happened.’ I stare down at the Bobster’s lead. ‘I’ve lost her. I’m soooo sorry. I’ve been calling her for ages.’

  Matt grins.

  ‘It isn’t funny. I’m not joking.’

  Matt whistles through his teeth and with a yap, the Bobster comes racing up the garden through the rhubarb and forget-me-nots with a fresh marrowbone between her jaws.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness.’ I start to cry with relief. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I’m actually pleased to see her.’ What’s more, she seems pleased to see me, running in circles around my feet with the bone in her mouth, squeaking and whining. The gift of a marrowbone seems to have won the way to her heart.

  ‘She must have made her own way home,’ Matt explains. ‘She was here when I got back ten minutes ago. I told you she’d do a runner if you let her off.’

  ‘I know and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise.’ I pause. ‘Don’t you have to train her, or something?’

  ‘The Bobster knows her own mind. She does her own thing. I don’t want to change her.’ Matt grins. ‘Okay, that’s me being lazy. I probably should, but I don’t have the time or inclination. What’s that old saying?’

  ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.’ Wiping my eyes, I smile back. ‘Matt, are you free tonight? I could come back after I’ve been to the yard.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know …’ He’s teasing and I sit down hard beside him on the hammock, making it swing. He slides his arm around my shoulders and kisses me. ‘I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you forget about the horse and the yard and stay here with me?’

  ‘You know why,’ I say brightly. ‘It’s the last one-day event of the season in two weeks’ time.’

  ‘And?’ he says.

  ‘I want to win it, of course.’

  ‘I wish you didn’t.’

  ‘I’m sorry? What did you say?’

  ‘Don’t you ever worry? Eventing’s a dangerous sport. I don’t like you taking part.’

  ‘So you’ve said, but you won’t put me off.’

  ‘I’d really rather you didn’t do it.’

  ‘Matt! Don’t be silly.’

  ‘I mean it,’ he says quietly.

  I hold his gaze as he looks into my eyes.

  ‘Last night, you said you loved me, that you loved everything about me, so how can you suddenly change your mind? Eventing is part of my life.’

  ‘Would you give it up for me?’ He looks away. ‘No, I’m sorry. I can’t ask you to do that. Forget I said anything about it.’

  I lean back and push my feet against the ground to make the hammock swing again. I’m not sure I can forget. It seems more than a little controlling.

  When I go home to change into my riding gear, I find a fat trout left in foil on the doorstep.

  ‘That’s a funny present!’ Sage exclaims when we unwrap it in the kitchen. ‘It’s a bit like one of those strange stories about fish falling from the sky.’

  I smile to myself. I think it’s a bribe from Nobby Warwick in return for my silence. It crosses my mind that I could be accused of handling stolen goods, but no one will find out because we’re going to cook and eat the evidence.

  ‘Did you stay with Matt last night?’ Sage asks.

  ‘I did, not that it’s any of your business,’ I say sternly, but Sage clearly thinks it is, because she goes on, ‘Are you in love, Nicci?’

  ‘I think so,’ I say, not wanting to explain the intricacies of what being ‘in love’ can mean because it would take too long.

  ‘Good,’ she says. ‘I like Matt.’

  ‘So do I,’ I say. ‘So do I.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Pride Comes before a Fall

  THE NEXT TWO weeks are devoted to preparing for the one-day event at the end of September. Summer gives way to early autumn and the leaves are turning from green to orange, yellow and brown.

  Finally the day of the event arrives. I think Willow knows we’re running late because she’s decided to rub three of the plaits in her mane out on the partition in the lorry on the journey. It’s being held at East Hill again, having been moved from another venue because the heavy rain over the past couple of weeks has affected the ground.

  I lead her out of the lorry.

  ‘Willow, what have you done, you naughty girl?’ I say, when I see the curls in her mane. ‘She can’t go into the ring like that and we haven’t got time to redo them.’

  ‘Don’t panic.’ Mum is with Sage, who is joining us today to watch me and Willow perform. ‘I’ll see to Willow.’

  ‘I’ll help,’ Sage offers. She’s dressed in leggings and pink wellies and wearing her hoodie over her head to keep the rain off. It’s drizzling at the moment and it looks as if it’s set in for the rest of the day.

  ‘You can hold the pot of plaiting bands for me,’ Mum says. ‘You get changed, Nicci. Hurry up.’

  ‘How long have I got?’

  ‘Half an hour to warm up before your test.’

  I shake my head. It isn’t long enough. Some horses are ready to compete after ten minutes and some need an hour to settle. Willow needs forty minutes to warm up and get her head straight. Any less and she isn’t ready to listen. To make things worse, I don’t feel terribly well turned out, because Cheska washed my white jodhpurs with a pair of red socks and I’m wearing my second best pair with the stain on the knee. I tried to buy another pair in Tack n Hack, but they didn’t have my size in stock and because I left it too late for Delphi to put the order i
n, they haven’t turned up in time.

  I spring up the ladder and through the door into the living quarters of the lorry, which is sparsely furnished with a bench seat with stowaway storage underneath, a sink, microwave and kettle, and toilet cubicle in which there isn’t enough room to swing a proverbial cat. I strip off my waterproof trousers and exchange my T-shirt for a shirt and stock. I tie it carefully before securing it with a pin, which I manage to stab into my finger.

  I swear under my breath when I notice the blood staining the immaculate white fabric. I run my finger under the tap and grab the last plaster, which is really too small, from the first aid kit. It’s going to be one of those days.

  ‘Granma’s done the plaits,’ Sage says when I emerge from the lorry. ‘Willow looks really cool.’

  ‘That’s great,’ I say.

  ‘What can I do now?’ she asks.

  ‘Where are the studs?’ Mum interrupts.

  ‘They should be in the spares box.’

  ‘I can’t find them.’

  ‘I can’t jump without studs,’ I say, panicking.

  ‘Sage and I will look for them while you’re warming up.’

  ‘The ground’s going to be pretty slippery if this rain carries on.’ I check the local forecast on my phone. ‘Heavy showers with longer spells of rain later.’ I look at the sky, at the grey clouds scudding above the hills. I hope the worst of it holds off until after the event.

  ‘Nicci, you have blood on your collar,’ Sage observes.

  ‘I had a bit of an accident with the stock-pin.’

  ‘There’s another shirt somewhere in the lorry,’ Mum says.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ says Sage.

  ‘No, don’t worry. I need to get going.’ The butterflies are having a field day in my stomach, lurching rather than fluttering, because it suddenly occurs to me that I can’t remember the dressage test. Sage tested me and I knew it backwards last night, but now …?

  ‘Have you seen the test sheets?’ We have a folder of laminated sheets for all the different dressage tests.