‘And a very catty one at that,’ Penny whispers when she’s out of earshot.
Smiling, I pick up the teapot. ‘Would you like me to pour? Is it the tea or the milk first?’
‘Declan says it’s the tea. Apparently, if you put the milk in first, you get some chemical reaction that spoils the taste. Or it might be the other way round.’ She chuckles. ‘He’s such a geek when it comes to trivia.’
I pour the tea first and stir in the milk.
‘I know that you put the cream on the scone first followed by the jam,’ Penny says. ‘I made that mistake when I had my first Devonshire cream tea. It was at a B&B on the way to Talymouth – the owner was really quite affronted.’
‘How’s work?’ I take a bite of my scone and the cream and jam oozes into my mouth. I really should go back to the pool to swim away a few calories.
‘Not bad. I’ve sold a good number of Christmas cards so far this year, and taken a couple of commissions.’ Penny leans towards me. ‘I’m thinking of opening a gallery here in town – I’m just waiting for the right premises to come up. I was planning to create a countryside retreat for aspiring artists, but I can’t see how I can make it work financially. Too many people think that art should be for free.’
‘That sounds interesting. My mother’s boyfriend . . . no, old-man-friend, is an estate agent. I’m sure he’d help you out. Let me know if you want me to introduce you.’
‘That would be great. I’ll catch up with you in the New Year.’
‘I expect he’ll be at the party at Talyton Manor.’
‘I’m not sure we’ll be there. Declan and I will probably have a romantic night in with a bottle of wine and a DVD – and Trevor, I imagine. He’ll be curled up on the sofa with us, no doubt.’
I smile ruefully. I envy them.
‘Anyway, that’s enough about me. How are you?’ she asks.
‘Better than I was, thank you.’ There’s a pause while I wonder how much to open up to her, and then I plunge on. ‘I’ve been debating having more surgery, but I’m worried that I’ll just be covering one scar up with another. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how far to go. I mean, it will never be perfect, but right now I touch my face – ‘I feel hideous. I hate myself.’
‘I wish you didn’t feel like that. You are a beautiful young woman.’
‘I feel ugly, and then I’m angry with myself because so many people are far worse off than I am.’ I stop abruptly, realising that I class Penny as one of them. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I can’t tell you how you should feel, but I do have some understanding of where you’re at. If this is making you feel uncomfortable and you don’t want to talk about it, just say, but sometimes it helps.’ I nod as she continues. ‘I don’t know how much you’ve heard of my story.’
‘Only that you were in a car accident.’
‘We were living in London. Mark, my husband, was driving us home through Clapham and we came off the road, smashed straight into some railings. He died in hospital that night. He was a designer, making a name for himself in fashion. In spite of all our silly rows, we were deeply in love and our lives were really going somewhere. It all ended.’ She snaps her fingers. ‘Just like that. With one glass of wine too many and a moment’s lack of attention.
‘Sometimes I wonder what we’d be doing now. Maybe I’d be a mum.’ She gazes towards some of the children, who have their noses pressed to the window, making sticky prints on the glass.
I catch a strawberry pip between my teeth. Penny’s talk of her accident reminds me of Ross telling me about his friend on the day we went to the beach. It reminds me, most of all, of my dad, and how one morning he was there and the next, he’d gone.
‘In that split second, I lost everything: the love of my life; my mobility, dignity, freedom, and any chance of having children.’
‘That’s terrible.’ I’m not sure what to say. Penny must have been devastated. ‘I’m very sorry.’
‘I spent months fighting the physical challenges and depression, and gradually, with a lot of support, I started to find my way out. I made a fresh start, moved here and devoted myself to my art. When I look at my paintings from that time, they’re very dark. I suppose it was my way of expressing my grief. I painted my way through it. I started to make a living, my sister persuaded me to take on a dog for company, and then I met the beautiful man who’s become my soul mate for this part of life’s journey.’
I nod approvingly, although I’m not sure I’d describe the rather drippy and gangly Declan as beautiful.
‘For whatever reason, I was given a second chance at love and living, and I’ve grasped it with both hands. It’s okay. It’s normal to mourn what might have been, but eventually you have to pick yourself up and move on.’
‘But it’s so hard,’ I say quietly, playing with the crumbs on my plate.
‘I’m not saying it’s easy.’
‘I think you’re amazing. You always seem so happy, except for when you were having problems with Trevor.’
‘Ah, you don’t see what I put Declan through. I’m a bitch.’
‘I can’t imagine that.’
‘There are times when the pain gets to me. I suffer from nerve pain. I used to embrace the shooting pains down my spine and legs as a sign that I was getting better, that one day I’d regain sensation in my toes and some strength in my muscles, enough maybe to walk again, but they’re just one of nature’s cruel tricks. It makes me angry and hard to get along with. In fact, I can be vile. I don’t mean to be. I know how much I hurt him, but I can’t help taking it out on him.’ She shrugs. ‘He’s kind and caring and I don’t deserve him. I’m the luckiest person in the world.’ She pauses, looking at me with a twinkle in her eye. ‘You’re lucky too. You have people who love you: your mum, friends at Otter House, Ross . . . Everyone knows you’re fond of each other. I’ve told you before – you only have to see the way he looks at you.’
That was before, I think, back when my life was relatively normal. I love Ross more than ever, but I don’t see how he can feel the same way about me. He’s a loyal friend. I only have to look at how he’s been there for me even when I haven’t necessarily wanted him around. I’ve been pretty hard on him at times, yet he’s always come back.
The Christmas lights switch on outside, and a light comes on in my brain. The way Ross looks at me . . . A small shiver runs down my spine as I recall the heat of his gaze, the lightness of his touch as he held my hand, and his constant reassurance that everything would be all right. Is it possible that he does find me attractive in spite of the scars?
Penny giggles. ‘Your face is going the colour of Rudolph’s nose. Seriously, don’t push him away – if you feel the same way about him, that is.
‘Without the accident, I wouldn’t be who I am,’ Penny goes on. ‘I like myself so much better – as I say I can still be pretty difficult when the pain gets bad, but before I was selfish and overwrought, a real drama queen. If you hide your scars, emotional or physical, you’re denying who you really are. I expect you’ve heard it all before. I can’t believe how many people have given me “the talk”. Tell me to shut up, if you like.’
‘It’s all right. It helps talking to someone who’s been through a tough time, and you’ve been through much worse than me. It’s only my face, after all.’
‘And your self-esteem. It isn’t a matter of degree. It’s a life-changing event that came out of nowhere. Promise me you’ll be kind to yourself.’
‘I’ll try,’ I say, as a scramble for the window interrupts the conversation. I find myself being jostled by several small children – and a couple of grown-up ones – trying to find space to look out onto the street, where a pony with feathery feet and a set of flashing antlers is pulling a cart through a crowd of people dressed in coats, hats and scarves. There are squeals and cheers of, ‘It’s Father Christmas!’ and clapping. In the melee, Trevor snatches a bite of sponge cake from one of the kids, who turns to see wher
e it’s gone. Too late, I think, as the dog swallows without chewing, the evidence of his crime on its way to his stomach within the blink of an eye.
‘Cake,’ exclaims the boy, who can’t be more than two years old. ‘Gone!’ He searches the floor between everyone’s feet, but to no avail, and bursts into tears. A woman – his mother, I presume – sweeps him into her arms, wipes his cheek and points at another woman dressed in a red hat, green tabard and jeans, who’s doling out sweets from a bucket.
‘Look, there’s one of Santa’s elves. Let’s go and say hi.’
‘That’s no elf,’ I say in an aside to Penny. ‘That’s my friend, Taylor. I can’t believe that this is part of her management course.’
‘It’s probably elf-and-safety training,’ Penny giggles again. ‘I’m sorry – that was a terrible joke.’
I wave as Taylor is swept up by the crowd and carried along the street behind a roly-poly Father Christmas and the pony and cart sponsored by the Greens’ garden centre. The excitement is too much for Trevor, who starts barking uncontrollably at the window.
‘I think it’s time to go,’ Penny says, nudging at my arm. ‘I’ll settle up.’
‘I’ll take him outside,’ I say, aware that Cheryl is glaring in our direction. ‘Come on, boy.’ Still barking, he tows me to the door. He doesn’t stop for a good five minutes, by which time the crowds have moved on past Otter House and Penny has rejoined us on the pavement, with Cheryl standing in the doorway behind her.
‘I’ll thank you not to bring that dog in here again. He’s a troublemaker,’ she says, closing the door on us.
‘So much for the season of peace and goodwill,’ Penny sighs as a car draws up. ‘Here’s Declan. Thank you for your company, Shannon. We should do this again, but at an alternative venue. The garden centre does very good cakes and they give Trevor his own cup of tea there. Happy Christmas.’
‘And to you too.’
‘I hope you aren’t too busy.’
I find myself hoping that we are so I have a reason to spend Christmas with Ross. I’m not up to asking him outright how he feels about me now – I’m too scared of rejection – but I think it would be good to spend some time together so I can find out.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Christmas on Call
Otter House closes for routine appointments for two days over the festive period, and I have some time off on Christmas Eve before I go back on call from six in the evening. In the meantime, I help Mum with the last-minute customers buying bouquets, poinsettia and sprigs of holly. In the quiet spells, she makes a table-top decoration.
‘Will you be home for Christmas dinner?’ She places a silver candle into the hole that she’s drilled into a small log. ‘Godfrey’s cooking. He’s bought some vegetarian roast to put in the oven.’
‘That’s very kind of him, but I might be at work. Who knows?’
She smiles as she picks out some holly clustered with scarlet berries. ‘You’re welcome to invite Ross.’
‘I thought you hated him after what happened.’ I trace the outline of my scar.
‘I misjudged him. I was devastated when I saw what his dog did to you, and I blamed him because, being a vet, he should have known better, but he did try to do the right thing by coming to see you. He’s been very persistent, especially when none of us have exactly made him feel welcome.’
‘I didn’t want him hanging around feeling sorry for me. I couldn’t entertain the idea that he might insist on standing by me out of guilt. He’s a lovely man who could have any woman he wants. I don’t think he should waste his time on me.’
‘Going back to work really helped you get over the depression. I know you haven’t come to terms with how you look, but you’re getting out and about more and things are very different now,’ Mum says. ‘For me, Ross went from zero to hero when he saved Seven’s life, and I’ll never forget that, but I’m not going to interfere in whatever is or isn’t going on between you two. I don’t like the idea of anyone spending Christmas alone, that’s all.’
‘Thank you.’ I hand her the scissors to cut the holly. ‘I will ask him.’
‘We’re eating at midday so we can visit Godfrey’s sister and family in the afternoon.’ She snips at a stem and attaches it to the log with a piece of wire. ‘It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it? I’m the luckiest woman in the world. I just wish you’d found someone special too.’
I leave her to spray the arrangement with silver glitter when the bell jangles from the front of the shop, announcing the arrival of another customer. It’s Aurora, Saba’s owner. She walks inside in her black mac, short skirt and long boots, shaking rain from her umbrella and holding a tiny dog dressed in a pink coat under her arm. Seven barks from the kitchen – I’ve left him shut in because he’s been trying to get into everyone’s shopping bags and trolleys, tempted by the smell of the turkeys, chipolatas and hams from the butcher’s shop.
‘Hi,’ she says, her gaze settling briefly on my scar. ‘I didn’t know you were working here now.’
‘I’m helping out. I’m still at Otter House, but I have the day off because I’m on duty tonight and tomorrow. I didn’t realise you had a new dog.’
‘My partner thought it would be a good idea to have another to keep Sabai company in her old age. He went out and found this little cutie.’ She holds the dog – a cream chihuahua with big brown eyes – up to her face and it licks her on the lips.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Diva. She came from a breeder who was giving up dogs, and she isn’t a puppy so I don’t have to go through the difficult stage. It’s great – I’ve had her six weeks now and she’s been no trouble at all, apart from being a little restless for the past couple of days. I must bring her to see one of the vets in the New Year – she needs her jabs.’
‘She is sweet,’ I say as Aurora lets me stroke her. She has the softest fur and reeks of Chanel. ‘Have you come in for anything in particular?’
‘I’m looking for a present for my mother-in-law, preferably a plant that’s either prickly or poisonous, or both – I’m hoping she’ll appreciate the symbolism.’ She smiles. ‘What do you think?’
Mum joins us, her sweatshirt spangling with silver glitter.
‘Let me show you the planted baskets we have in stock, or I can make you up a suitable bouquet.’ She turns to me. ‘Shannon, would you mind putting the kettle on? I’m gasping.’
‘Happy Christmas, Aurora,’ I say. ‘See you soon.’
‘Not too soon, I hope,’ she says, tucking the dog inside her mac.
I spend the rest of the morning in Petals, take Seven for a long walk by the river under dark rolling clouds in the afternoon, and settle down for the evening to watch television with Mum and Godfrey. At ten, having heard nothing from Ross and deciding that no news is good news, I make up my mind to go to bed.
‘Aren’t you going to leave a carrot out for the reindeer?’ Mum asks as I wish her and Godfrey goodnight.
‘Are you hinting that you’d like a sherry and mince pie?’ I tease. ‘It was funny how Father Christmas finished those when I left them in the fireplace, but the reindeer never touched the carrot.’
‘I’ll get up.’ Godfrey stands up stiffly from the sofa. ‘Would you like anything, Shannon?’
‘I’d better not, thanks.’ I retire to my room with Seven, who jumps onto the bed and curls up on my feet. I must have fallen asleep because the sound of my mobile gives me a jolt when it rings. I note the time as I answer. It’s after midnight.
‘Hi, have I woken you?’
‘Ross?’ I murmur. ‘What’s up?’
‘I am, obviously.’ He chuckles, but it’s far too early in the morning for me to find anything funny. ‘Happy Christmas! We have our first emergency of the festive season, and it has nothing to do with Santa.’
‘What is it?’
‘A Caesar.’
I jump out of bed and grab some clothes from the wardrobe. ‘I’ll be right over.’
Ross lets me in to the practice and follows me through the back to Kennels. A familiar face looks out from one of the cages.
‘Is that Aurora’s new dog?’
‘That’s right. She’s been unsettled all day; there’s one big pup in there and it’s stuck. I’ve got a kit ready. We need to be quick.’
We anaesthetise her and, while I’m doing a quick clip and prep, Ross scrubs up and puts on a gown, mask and gloves.
‘Her other dog had to have a Caesarean,’ I point out as I fasten the ties on his gown. ‘It’s becoming a habit.’
‘She must have been got at by the stud dog at the breeders she came from. It’s a pity they didn’t warn her of the possibility she might be pregnant.’
I carry Diva through to theatre. Ross arranges the drapes for surgery and, within minutes, he drops a single puppy onto a towel in my hands. I clear the membranes from its face, check its heartbeat and rub it with the towel to stimulate its breathing.
‘How is it?’ he asks, checking to make sure there are no more puppies before sewing up.
‘It’s looking good.’ Even though it’s a big puppy relative to Diva’s size, it’s actually the smallest I’ve ever had to deal with.
‘Boy or girl?’ He chuckles again. ‘I’m asking because you need the practice.’
‘Ha ha,’ I say dryly. ‘How can you be so cheerful in the middle of the night?’
‘You’d complain even more if I was grumpy,’ he says, looking a little hurt.
‘It’s a boy.’ I check the remnant of the umbilical cord and pop him into the bottom of a white wire basket on a heated pad and soft bedding to keep him warm. When Ross has completed the surgery, I let Diva come round, by which time the puppy is crying for his mum.
‘I’ll call Aurora while you see if you can get him to feed.’ Ross washes and dries his hands.
When Diva’s awake, I introduce the puppy to her, letting her sniff and lick him before showing him where the milk bar is. He snuffles about for a moment before he latches on and sucks.
Ross returns and starts on the washing up, tipping the instruments into the sink.
Vets of the Heart Page 34
