‘There’s room for Bart in the back,’ I say when he hesitates. He sounds as if he’s just woken up.
Um, no, it’s all right. Thanks for asking, but I’ll make my own way there. I’ll see you later.’
‘Bye,’ I say, and the phone cuts out. Maybe Maz has offered him a lift from the manor. I dismiss a pang of disappointment. It doesn’t matter how we get to the showground because I’ll be spending the rest of the day on call with him anyway.
Back outside Petals, Mum is loading the van with boxes of bouquets, corsages and buttonholes.
‘Thanks for walking the dog,’ she says, smiling when she sees us. ‘There’s tea in the pot, but I can’t stop. I really must get a wriggle on. These are for the judges – Fifi twisted my arm for a contribution to the show in return for free advertising.’
‘Isn’t the man going with you?’
‘Please don’t call him the man. It’s Godfrey.’
‘I know. GOD-frey. Four letters away from the superior being he believes himself to be,’ I say with sarcasm. I know I’m being childish, but I don’t like having to share our home. He’s stayed three nights now, hung some linen and tweed suits in Mum’s wardrobe, cleaned his shoes and done some ironing. There is no sign that he will ever leave.
‘I like having you and Godfrey here.’ Mum moves in for a hug. ‘I love both of you.’
‘I love you too,’ I say, relenting. I feel like the squab of a wood pigeon Izzy picked up from the ground the other day on the way to work, and I start to wonder if it’s time to fly before I’m pushed out of the nest.
‘We’re meeting up later. Smith and Ryder-Cole have a trade stand for the day. He has badges for the members’ area and I’m looking forward to my strawberries and clotted cream.’
‘You won’t forget to take your insulin,’ say quickly, then wish I hadn’t because her eyes narrow to dark slits and I know that I’m about to get a lecture.
‘For goodness’ sake, I’m the parent here. You really have to stop feeling responsible for me.’ She’s snappy and I wonder if she’s having a hypo. I glance down at Seven, but he’s unconcerned, licking at his paw to remove some sticky buds that have caught in his fur. ‘There have been times when I didn’t look after myself and I’m sorry, because I wasn’t a good mother back then, but I’m all right now.’ She bites her lip as I move towards her and rest my hand on her arm, giving it a squeeze.
‘You couldn’t help it,’ I say softly. ‘You were ill. I know we fall out now and again, but you’re the best mum in the world.’
‘Thank you.’ She gazes into the back of the van at the profusion of red and white blooms before she slams the door shut. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Indoors I grab a mug of tea and head for the bathroom. As I round the corner on the landing, I walk straight into Godfrey. He’s completely naked. I utter a scream of horror as he tries to retrieve his modesty with one of mum’s flower-arranging magazines from the shelf outside their bedroom.
‘Gosh, apologies,’ he blusters. ‘I thought you’d gone out.’
‘I’m going to have a shower,’ I say as he sidles, crablike, across the carpet and reverses into the bathroom.
‘I won’t be long,’ he says, the door closing behind him, but he takes a good half an hour, and when I finally fight my way through the steamy scent of my shower gel and his aftershave, there’s no hot water, and all I can do is fantasise about how to get rid of him while I wait for it to warm up.
Having collected the ambulance and parking pass from Otter House, I drive out of town along the lanes, taking a back route towards the showground in the hope of avoiding the long queue of traffic that normally builds up on the way in. There are no cars, no lost grockles and no slow tractors, and I’m tempted to put my foot down so I can spend as much of the day as possible with Ross. I have to tell myself to calm down because I’m looking forward to seeing him far too much.
The road is narrow and winding with a bank of red sandstone, bushes and tree roots to one side and a hedge of blackthorn and brambles to the other. I take the next bend a little too fast and find myself around the corner, face to face with an obstruction in the middle of the lane. I jam the brakes on, slewing the ambulance across the potholed tarmac until it comes to a stop. There’s a jolt and a giant marshmallow of an airbag punches me in the nose. The scrunch of crumpling metal and plastic is followed by silence, and I sit shaking, with the metallic taste of blood on my lips and shooting stars arcing across my vision. Gingerly, I check for my nose. It’s still there. That’s all I need to know, I think, as an enormous spotted pig gazes at me through pale, pink-rimmed eyes, as if to say, ‘mind how you drive’.
I’m not sure I can take any more surprises. Keeping my eye on the unexpected pedestrian, I slide out of the driver’s door to inspect the damage.
‘Hello,’ I say. ‘You’re lucky you didn’t end up as bacon just then.’ The ambulance is a different matter; it’s wedged on the base of the bank with part of a tree embedded in the bonnet. That’s going to take some major surgery. ‘You might still be sausages when Maz and Emma see this,’ I add wryly.
The pig grunts as she (for it is a girl, I can tell this time) ambles up to me. She seems to enjoy me scratching her hairy back and I take advantage of her friendly nature, directing her towards the adjacent gateway, but she plants her trotters in the grass on the verge and refuses to budge. At a loss, because she’s at least as heavy as I am, so I can’t pick her up or give her a push as I would with a dog, I call the emergency services to report the accident, and Ross, because he’s the first person who springs to mind.
I wait for him to answer, my heart pounding. Delayed shock, I think, trying to calm myself down so I can actually speak.
‘Hi, Shannon. What’s up?’
‘I’ve broken the ambulance.’ I clutch at my throat as I relive the experience. ‘I came around the corner and found a pig in the middle of the road. I swerved and ran into a tree.’
‘Are you okay? Have you called an ambulance?’ he says urgently.
‘I’m fine. The pig’s fine, but I need help to get her to a safe place.’
‘Tell me where you are and I’ll be straight over.’
‘Thank you. I’m sorry to be a pain . . .’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s no trouble.’
I explain how he can find me and, within minutes, he’s tearing up on his motorbike and parking a little way back so as not to scare the pig. He leaves his helmet perched on the seat and comes running over.
‘Thank goodness you’re okay,’ he says, taking me gently by the arms and looking me up and down. The relief and softness in his eyes sends hot tears rolling down my cheeks. I have never been so pleased to see someone, and secretly I’m flattered that he cares enough about me to race to my rescue. It seems to confirm that he has feelings for me as I suspected. ‘Let me get you some tissue or a swab for your nose. You look as if you’ve taken quite a knock.’ He releases me and reaches into the ambulance, takes the key and fetches some paper towel from the back. ‘Have this.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, snivelling.
‘There’s an ice pack in the first-aid kit – I’ll see if I can find that too. It might help keep the bruising down.’ Ross grabs it, breaks the sachet inside the pack to activate it and hands it to me. With shaking fingers, I hold it to my nose.
‘Ouch,’ I exclaim. ‘That’s freezing.’
In spite of everything, Ross laughs. ‘It’s supposed to. Stop complaining. Let’s get Miss Piggy off the road before she holds up the traffic,’ he adds as local policeman, Kev, arrives in a patrol car. He opens the window.
‘Is that one of Elsa’s happy pigs?’ he asks.
‘I’ve no idea,’ say. ‘It’s a friendly pig.’
‘I was only eating one last night – I took Heidi out for dinner at the Barnscote,’ Ross says. ‘She’s staying for the show.’
‘Oh?’ My heart sinks into the soles of my Doc Martens. I thought I was going to have him to myself. It reinfor
ces a suspicion that’s been taking root in my head, that there’s more to his ex than he’s led me to believe. I don’t know why it should concern me, but it does. I suppose he’s become more than a colleague – like Will, I see him as a friend. In spite of the way my mind has been running away with me, imagining that Ross fancies me, and picturing me and him in a lustful embrace, it’s all fantasy. I know it can’t go any further and Heidi’s appearance has confirmed that. I try to put a positive spin on it. At least I won’t have to worry about whether or not I should enter into a relationship with someone I work with.
‘What do you know about pigs?’ I ask him.
‘Silly question. He’s a vet,’ Kev points out, ‘and I could have booked him for speeding back there.’
‘I was in a hurry to rescue a damsel in distress.’
I take offence at being described as such, but he continues, ‘Pigs are smarter than many people I know, and they make a great pork pie.’
‘Please don’t talk about meat in front of her,’ I say, as she snuffles around at my feet.
‘I’ll get the stretcher. We can use that to direct her into the field.’ Ross turns back to Kev with a wicked grin on his face. ‘Aren’t you going to help?’
‘I’m staying put, thanks.’ Kev gazes back. ‘This is the kind of situation best left to the experts. I’ll get on with logging a record of the accident and tracing the owner.’
Ross fetches the stretcher. He takes one end and I take the other and we guide the pig to the gate. Twice she doubles back, but the third time we cajole her far enough into the field to be able to close the gate behind her, by which time Kev has decided it’s safe to emerge from the patrol car and inspect the ambulance.
‘Do you think it’s drivable?’ I ask.
‘More importantly, are you fit to drive?’ Ross asks. ‘I could take you to the show and come back and get the bike later.’
‘There’s no need to do that. I’ll manage. It isn’t far.’
After some debate, we decide that I can drive it the short distance to the showground and then, if necessary, call out a recovery vehicle, or borrow someone with a tractor to tow it back to the practice. It’s up to Maz, I suppose. I’m not sure what happens about the insurance – you can hardly sue a stray pig for damages.
Kev returns to his traffic-directing duties, and Ross rides his bike behind the ambulance, weaving along the lane, revving the engine, and taking his hands off the handlebars and his feet off the footrests.
‘You show-off,’ I say, getting out when he pulls up alongside me in the exhibitors’ parking area at the showground.
‘What did you say? Can’t hear you.’ He grins as he removes his helmet.
‘I said . . . oh, never mind. You can’t park here – you haven’t got a pass.’
‘Who cares?’
‘Fifi does.’ I give him a nudge as I spot an older woman marching towards us, all dolled up in a coordinating outfit in baby blues and pinks, and a splendid hat of matching feathers. ‘She’s the local busybody.’
‘I’ve met her up at the manor. Sophia introduced us.’ Ross locks his bike as fast as he can, but it’s too late. Fifi is on to him like a heat-seeking missile.
‘It’s only a bike,’ I start, before she has a chance to open her mouth.
‘What do you mean, it’s only a bike?’ Ross cuts in, with an expression of mock hurt in his eyes. ‘She’s the apple of my eye.’
‘What I’m saying is that I don’t see why Ross needs some official pass to park here.’
‘Oh, I’m not here to talk about that – although you really shouldn’t be in the exhibitors’ car park without one. No, this is about another matter entirely.’ Fifi turns to Ross, and gives him the sweetest of smiles. ‘My celebrity guest has spent the past hour driving around the lanes and is threatening to go straight back home. I’ve managed to persuade him to wait down at Bottom End for an escort. Our lovely police officer refuses to leave his post for a second time, but with your motorcycle, you can be there in an instant.’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t want to lose my parking spot.’
‘You have my special dispensation to park here when you get back,’ Fifi says.
‘Well, that would be handy, but I’m still not sure . . .’ Ross casts me a cheeky glance and I realise that he’s stringing her along. ‘I’m on call for the practice and I don’t want to be too far away.’
‘It isn’t for me – it’s for the people of Talyton St George. I’ll pay for your fuel and make a donation to a charity of your choice. There is no one else . . .’ Just as her padded shoulders begin to sink, he puts her out of her misery.
‘All right. I’ll go.’
‘You are a hero,’ she says delightedly, and for a moment I think she’s going to kiss him. She watches him ride away, her hand shading her eyes from the sun. ‘It just goes to show that you shouldn’t make snap judgements based on appearances. I wasn’t sure about him when I first met him up at the manor, but there’s a lovely person somewhere under all that hair.’ She smiles. ‘Are you all right? You seem to have had an accident.’
‘I ran into a tree, thanks to a stray pig.’
‘Come along to the members’ enclosure – I’m sure we can find you a restorative brandy.’
‘No thank you, I can’t, I’m on call.’
‘Come and have tea and a cake then. You can wait for Ross in comfort. I’ll introduce you to Bray Molland as well. You can take a selfie, or whatever it is people do nowadays.’ She checks her watch. ‘I hope they’re going to hurry up. The show hunter championship will be over shortly.’
A few minutes later, I’m looking out of the members’ tent towards the main arena, where an elderly gentleman in tweeds and a rotund middle-aged woman in a floral dress, jacket and wellies are judging some horses that stand in a row, their bits gleaming in the sunshine. One steps out of line; the rider gives it a dig in the ribs and a slap on the shoulder with a cane and it moves back.
‘Maybe there is something to be said for a motorbike, after all,’ Fifi observes when Ross returns, walking into the tent with a brown-haired man who towers over him. ‘Our vet on two wheels has saved the day.’ She rushes over to greet the celebrity – he looks vaguely familiar, but then I don’t often watch the television news. I rely on the Internet. ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to award the prizes at our humble Country Show,’ she gushes. ‘And thank you, Ross, you’ve made a lot of women very happy.’
‘I believe you’re flavour of the moment,’ I say, grinning at him. ‘What next?’
He looks past me and I turn to find Maz – dressed in a pink jacket, navy trousers and long brown boots – walking towards us. George is with her, skipping along in a yellow T-shirt and bright blue shorts. My heart sinks because now I’m going to have to confess, but it’s too late.
‘We saw the ambulance on our way here,’ she says. ‘What happened?’
‘It will have to go to hospital, won’t it, Mummy?’ George says.
‘I think it might be beyond recovery, darling.’
‘It’s drivable,’ Ross says optimistically.
‘I’ll get onto the insurance company. Was it one of those “a tree jumped out into the road” episodes?’
I shake my head, smiling in spite of my worries about Maz’s reaction. ‘It was a pig.’
‘You ran into a pig?’
‘No, I was avoiding the pig. She survived.’
Maz’s mouth curves into a smile and she starts laughing. ‘OMG, only in Devon. Are you all right, Shannon? You haven’t hurt yourself?’
‘She took a punch in the nose from the airbag,’ Ross says.
‘I’m fine though,’ I insist.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’ve been checked by a vet.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure about him,’ Maz chuckles. ‘Wouldn’t you like a second opinion?’
‘Hey,’ he says, pretending to be offended.
‘Heidi’s on her way,’ she goes on. ‘The last time I saw her
was about half an hour ago, queueing up for the car park. I have my judge’s badge so we were fast-tracked, weren’t we, George. George? Where are you?’ She looks around the tent and a giggle emerges from under the trestle table that’s covered with a white cloth, bowls of peanuts and vegetable crisps, and trays of champagne flutes. ‘Come out of there, will you? Now!’ she goes on. ‘Your grandmother has Henry and Olivia, and Daddy wants me to help get the ponies ready for Seb and Lucie before the best pet competition starts.’ Seb and Lucie are George’s half-siblings, who visit during the school holidays and turn up for special occasions such as the Country Show.
‘I don’t think he’s taking any notice of you,’ Ross observes.
Maz grimaces. She’s too nice to everyone: her clients, their pets and her children. Feeling a little sorry for her, I walk to the table and squat down.
‘Out you come or you’ll miss the show.’ I grab onto the cloth as it starts to move and the glasses begin to rattle on the trays. I lift the corner to find George sitting on his haunches, eating a handful of crisps from a bowl at his feet. ‘Did anyone say you could help yourself?’
‘No,’ he says, his teeth gleaming from the near-darkness.
‘Doesn’t your mummy feed you?’
‘No,’ he confirms with another giggle.
I look back at Maz. ‘Would you like me to have him for a while?’
‘Would you? It’s a bit of an imposition, but he really isn’t into horses.’ A flicker of amusement crosses her face. ‘Sometimes Alex jokes that he’d like a DNA test to check that George really is his son.’
‘He takes after you,’ I say.
‘I know. I’m a complete disappointment to Sophia. I’ll catch up with you later.’ She fumbles about in her bag, an oversized tote with a pink and navy design, and pulls out a twenty-pound note.
‘Oh no, you don’t have to pay me.’
‘Take it. You can buy an ice cream or drinks.’
Vets of the Heart Page 11
