Vets of the Heart

by Cathy Woodman

  I can see Delphi from the stables, Mum and Godfrey, Peter the greengrocer, Mr Victor the ironmonger, Mr Lacey, and Mr and Mrs Dyer. Ross is chatting to Leo and Stevie – so we really are forgiven for what happened to Bear – and to Jennie and her husband, Guy, who comes across as bit of a grumpy old man, in my opinion. Taylor is here with Dave, chatting to Fifi, and Frances is with Lenny, admiring the antique vase that stands beside a Quality Street tin on a marble-topped side table.

  I turn my attention to the book, which falls open on the twins’ favourite, Snow White. As I start to read, Lydia leans against me and, quite unconsciously, I think, starts stroking my face. I reach into my bag for a tissue and wipe the make-up from her fingers.

  ‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?’

  ‘You are,’ says Elena. ‘You look like a princess.’

  ‘Well, thank you.’ I’m touched. In fact, I have to blink hard to focus on the page – not that I really need to see the words when I know them off by heart. I read the rest of the story, the tale interspersed with some interruptions from George who feels that there has to be a role for a dangerous crocodile. The twins and I allow the handsome prince to kill it with his sword before he wakes Snow White from her poisoned sleep.

  ‘And they all lived happily ever after, except for the crocodile,’ I say, closing the book at the end.

  ‘Because he died,’ George says.

  ‘Again,’ Elena and Lydia say in unison.

  ‘I’m sorry . . .’ I look up to find Ross peering over the back of the sofa. ‘It’s my turn to be the handsome prince and I’ve come to rescue my beautiful princess if that’s all right with everybody.’ He passes me a full glass of champagne.

  ‘It’s more than all right with me. Why don’t you three go and find someone else to read you a story? You could try asking Lucie.’ She is George’s half-sister and I’m pretty sure I spotted her among the Pony Clubbers when we came in.

  ‘Let’s do that,’ George says, taking charge of the twins.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say to Ross as I rejoin him, slipping my arm through his as he takes a prawn vol-au-vent from a tray of food that is being passed round the room. They were Alex’s father’s favourite and a tribute to his memory.

  ‘There’s Taylor.’ I lead him over to where she and Dave are standing beside a pair of dusty, floor-length curtains, and start chatting.

  ‘You’re looking fantastic,’ Taylor says, embracing me.

  ‘I know. I’m pretty fit, aren’t I?’ Ross responds.

  ‘I’m not talking to you,’ she exclaims.

  He chuckles as she continues, ‘I hear you went for a swim today. Make sure you let me know next time.’ She glances down at her figure, her curves exposed by the tightest body con dress I’ve ever seen. ‘I’m piling on the pounds, thanks to Dave’s cooking. He brings me treats from work whenever he comes to the house. I can’t resist . . .’ She looks at him fondly and his cheeks flush deep pink.

  ‘Actually, I’m planning a sponsored swim,’ I say. ‘Everyone’s welcome to join in. The more the merrier.’

  ‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it,’ Ross says.

  ‘I only thought of it when I was in the pool today.’

  ‘What are you raising money for? Cute fluffy animals?’ Taylor asks. She isn’t an animal lover.

  ‘It’s for a charity for people with facial disfigurement. I found them very useful for advice. There are others who are far worse off than me and I’d like to give something back to help them.’

  ‘That’s a great idea,’ Ross says, squeezing my arm. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘Will you? You don’t like swimming in a pool.’

  ‘I don’t care if it’s for a good cause . . . and I get to spend more time with you. I’ll give it a go.’

  ‘Count me in,’ Taylor says. ‘How about you, Dave? You’re always saying you need to do some exercise.’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s my thing. I could count lengths or something.’

  ‘We’ll need a few volunteers to help out,’ I say, thanking him.

  There’s a loud thud and a clunk at the window. Ross lifts one corner of the curtain away to reveal a Shetland pony with a massive mane and beady eyes standing on the other side, nudging at the glass and pawing at the ground.

  ‘He wants to come in and join the party. Sophia must have shut him out for the night.’ He lets the curtain go again, and I can see Dave’s eyes widen with disbelief as he goes on, ‘When I was staying here, the pony could come in and out as he pleased.’

  ‘Where I come from, people have dogs and cats as pets, or geckoes at a push,’ Dave says.

  ‘I wouldn’t have a pony in the house,’ Ross says. ‘It’s sad that this place is in such a state. There are some amazing objects here, but everything feels neglected. Look at the paintings and antiques. They must be worth a small fortune.’

  ‘I think those are majolica ware.’ I nod towards the mantel, where a pair of colourful vases are half hidden behind a swag of holly and ivy, and smile to myself as I notice Ross’s and Taylor’s expressions change. ‘I reckon that watching all that daytime TV might have paid off. I learned a lot from Bargain Hunt.’

  ‘It’s been quite a year,’ Taylor says.

  I raise my champagne to my lips. It certainly has.

  At midnight, we see the New Year in and join in singing ‘For Auld Lang Syne’, after which Ross takes me in his arms and kisses me under the mistletoe, oblivious to anyone else. In the taxi on the way back to the house in Talyford, I’m aware of his hand resting on my thigh, his fingertips stroking my skin through the fabric of my dress. He grins as I place my hand on top of his, caging his fingers.

  ‘I can hardly wait,’ he says, when he’s leading me up to his room.

  ‘To move into the branch surgery?’ I say archly.

  ‘To get you into bed – ’ he pauses on the landing and presses his mouth to the side of my neck – ‘and make love to you. Happy New Year, my darling.’

  The following weekend, I pick up a solicitor’s letter that’s been delivered to Petals, detailing the settlement of the insurance claim, and Ross and I finish the preparations for opening the branch surgery. We borrow the ambulance again and take his possessions from the house in Talyford to his new home in Talymouth.

  ‘Here we are,’ he says as I pull onto the drive in front of a 1960s detached brick and tile house. There’s a sign reading ‘Otter House Small Animal Veterinary Group’, with the practice logo, phone number and Ross’s name and letters below.

  ‘I can’t wait to get started.’ I switch off the engine and survey the car park. There’s room for at least four cars and a motorbike.

  ‘It isn’t the most beautiful surgery in the world, but it’s ours.’ He leans across and gives me a hug. ‘Let’s get my stuff indoors, then we’ll go and pick up yours.’

  ‘Mine?’ I gaze at him. I’ve been practically living with him since Christmas, but I have been taking one day at a time, not thinking any further than the immediate future. ‘I put my things in the back.’

  ‘I mean go and get the rest of it from your mum’s.’ His lips curve into a smile. ‘You didn’t think I’d let you go back to Petals? I want us to live together.’

  ‘But there’s only one bedroom.’

  ‘I know. I’m not talking about being housemates. Are you being deliberately obtuse? We’ve been sharing a bed for the past week, and I can’t bear the thought of giving up that arrangement. There’s plenty of room for both of us here. Please, Shannon.’

  ‘Yes!’ I can hear shrieking – I think that it’s me – before he silences the sound with his lips pressed to mine.

  Eventually, we carry his belongings up to the flat, which still smells of paint and new carpets. We turn up the heating and open the windows. Then we go to collect some of my bits and pieces from Petals, where Godfrey makes us cappuccinos with his machine and Mum helps me pack.

  ‘So you’re off again,’ she says, as we return to the liv
ing room with my bags. ‘I suppose I was expecting it. We’ve hardly seen you the past few days.’ She smiles suddenly. ‘I’m pleased for you both. You must come for Sunday lunch next weekend.’

  ‘You must come to us,’ I say. ‘I want to show off the flat.’

  ‘Is there a garden? I expect you’ll have a dog one day.’

  ‘There’s a small garden laid to lawn with a border of mature shrubs,’ Godfrey cuts in. ‘I wrote the particulars for the property.’

  ‘It’s the perfect place,’ Ross says with enthusiasm.

  ‘Do you like the partial sea views?’ Godfrey asks.

  ‘You mean the glimpse of blue from the bedroom window?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s more than a glimpse in my opinion.’ It’s a veritable vista, a feast for the eyes.

  We make a move before it grows dark, returning to Talymouth where we unpack for a second time, then head for Otter House to leave the ambulance. Picking up my car, we drive to Talyford for Ross to collect his bike. We meet back at our new home; I have to pinch myself to prove that this is really happening, that I’m moving in with the man of my dreams.

  The next day, I’m up early to check the vaccines in the fridge, and make sure the computer at reception is on and the phones are working. Ross shaves some wood from the consulting room door, which won’t quite shut.

  ‘There are bound to be a few teething problems,’ he says happily. ‘Maz suggested an opening ceremony, but I said I’d prefer to get on with it. I hope we’ll have some clients turn up today. It’s been advertised in the Chronicle as an open surgery, no appointment required, just to get some feet – or preferably lots of paws – through the door.’

  I wander around making sure nothing is out of place. We have everything we need: a consulting room, staff room with a small kitchen area and cloakroom, a kennel area, prep area, operating theatre and X-ray room.

  At eight thirty, the phone rings, taking me by surprise, so all I can say is, ‘Hi, who is it?’

  ‘Hello, it’s Celine. I’m just ringing to wish you all the best. I’m so excited for you, although I’m missing you both already. It seems very quiet here.’ She changes the subject. ‘Did I tell you that Maz is looking for a new receptionist?’

  ‘Are you leaving?’

  ‘They’ve agreed to let me train to be a registered vet nurse. How about that?’

  ‘I’m really pleased. I hope you realise what you’re letting yourself in for, although you can always borrow my notes from when I did my diploma.’

  ‘I know it will be hard work, but I’m made up. I’m one step closer to achieving my dream. You are my inspiration, Shannon.’

  ‘Come and visit us soon.’

  ‘Will do. Oh, and just to let you know that Diva and her puppy are doing well – Aurora dropped in to let us know. Oops, I’d better go. Izzy’s giving me one of her looks.’

  The phone cuts out.

  ‘Is that our first client?’ Ross asks, joining me in reception. He’s wearing a light blue tunic over dark trousers and I’m in a navy tunic and jeans. There isn’t a hint of lilac in sight.

  ‘It was Celine wishing us luck.’

  ‘I hope it isn’t going to be too quiet,’ he says anxiously.

  ‘Hey, don’t worry. It’s early in the day.’

  ‘We need enough income to employ a receptionist to help you out.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ I reassure him, but he starts pacing up and down, his hands in his pockets, stopping now and again to look out of the window. ‘Calm down.’

  He hesitates and turns to me. He smiles and my heart turns over. ‘I can think of plenty of ways to occupy those empty hours when no one turns up.’

  ‘We’ll be able to go for walks on the beach,’ I say although I know exactly what he means.

  ‘You know, I feel as if I should have carried you over the threshold.’ He grins. ‘You’re blushing.’

  ‘I’m not.’ I touch my face as he moves up to me, the reception desk between us.

  ‘I think you are,’ he says in a low voice, and he leans across and kisses me very gently. ‘I love you.’

  ‘Good morning, my lovers. Don’t mind me.’

  Ross steps back and I turn to face the door. Mrs Wall is leaning on her stick with Merrie at her side.

  ‘Well,’ she chuckles, ‘who is it that doesn’t believe in fortune-tellers and the ancient arts? Look at you two lovebirds. You doubted me, yet I knew this was going to happen all along.’

  Ross groans. ‘You’re going to be insufferable now, aren’t you?’

  ‘Probably,’ she says. ‘No, make that definitely. I’ll never let you live this down.’

  ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ Ross asks.

  ‘I want to register Merrie here. You’re our vet.’ She eyes me up through her tinted glasses. ‘For richer, for poorer, for better, for worse.’

  ‘Let me take some details, Mrs Wall,’ I say, taking over.

  ‘How did you get here when you don’t drive?’ Ross asks.

  ‘Fifi gave me a lift. She’s good like that.’

  After I’ve completed Merrie’s details, I glance at Ross, who’s leaning against the door into the consulting room, drumming his fingers against the wood. He raises his eyebrows.

  I smile back. ‘The vet will see you now.’ I move around the desk and follow her so I can pick Merrie up and place her on the table.

  ‘Goodness gracious me, I hope he’s paying you two sets of wages,’ Mrs Wall exclaims.

  ‘So do I.’ I’m joking. I’m being paid more than I was at Otter House. Ross made sure that the partners were taking the extra responsibilities as both nurse and receptionist into account.

  ‘Do I receive a free consultation for being your first client?’

  Ross appears to consider for a moment.

  ‘I can agree to that, as long as I can take a selfie with Merrie to put up on the noticeboard.’

  ‘He means a photo,’ I explain.

  ‘It’s all right. I do know what a selfie is. I’m not completely illegitimate when it comes to computers. Lots of people took selfies with me at the Country Show. In fact, I’m planning on charging for every single one next year, then I won’t need to bother with the crystal ball.’

  ‘That’s agreed then,’ Ross says, examining Merrie from nose to tail. ‘She’s looking fantastic, the best I’ve ever seen her.’

  ‘She’s had every single tablet,’ Mrs Wall says proudly.

  ‘I feel as if I should give you a treat as well as Merrie,’ Ross says.

  I find the dog treats in a box in the cupboard under the sink.

  ‘I thought you disapproved of being nice to people and animals,’ Mrs Wall says.

  ‘I’ve been persuaded to take a more relaxed approach.’ He takes a treat and hands it to Merrie, who sits holding up one paw in anticipation. ‘Shannon, have you got your mobile handy?’

  I fetch it from reception and take a photo of him with the dog cuddled up to his cheek.

  ‘Ah, that’s sweet. When should I bring her back?’

  ‘Shannon will count out some more tablets, a dose to be given every other day, and we’ll see Merrie again in six months, unless you’re worried about her before.’

  ‘Oh? As long as that?’

  ‘You’re welcome to drop in any time for tea and a chat,’he continues.

  ‘What did you say that for?’ I ask when Mrs Wall has gone. ‘We aren’t running a seaside tearoom.’

  ‘It might be more lucrative than this,’ he sighs as he perches on the consulting room table.

  ‘What do you expect? It’s half past nine on the first day. In a couple of months, you’ll be complaining that we’re too busy.’ The phone rings again, calling me back to reception. This time, it’s Declan asking if he can bring Trevor to us to have his stitches out, seeing that Ross did the surgery. Ross is flattered, but it’s another non-paying appointment.

  Declan turns up half an hour later, and Ross removes the last stitch as I hold Trevor down
on the floor.

  ‘He’s bouncing off the walls at home,’ Declan says. ‘Can we walk him now?’

  ‘You certainly can. Have you decided what to do about him helping with the laundry?’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s very much a part-timer.’ Declan smiles. ‘We’re planning to take on another dog. I know it doesn’t always work out, having a working and a non-working dog in the same household, but the people at the training centre say they’ve known it to be successful in some situations. If we can find the perfect assistance dog, then Trevor can take early retirement.’

  ‘What if you end up with another one like him?’ Ross asks.

  ‘That’s impossible,’ I say, happy that – from what Declan’s saying – they’re no longer considering rehoming him. ‘He’s a one-off.’

  Later, I head into the staff room to make two coffees. We have all the right equipment – kettle, mugs, fridge and sofa – but there’s something missing. I return to reception to find Ross is in the consulting room.

  ‘I’ve got your coffee,’ I say, at the same time as I notice the middle-aged woman and brindle boxer in there with him, along with a noxious aroma.

  ‘It’s all right.’ He grins and nods towards the Costa cup with a lid that’s on the table. ‘Debbie here has brought me one already . . . Not really,’ he adds. ‘It’s for you. A sample for the full works: parasitology, culture and sensitivity, everything.’

  ‘The Boss here has the squits something chronic.’ Debbie is running to fat, much like her dog. ‘I own one of the guesthouses on the front – Bay View, it’s called – and although most of my visitors like dogs, they don’t appreciate the smell and I’ve been having to pretend we’re having trouble with the plumbing.’

  ‘When did this start?’ Ross asks her.

  ‘Before Christmas, if I’m being honest with you,’ she says, the pink hue on her cheeks suggesting that perhaps she isn’t. ‘We’ve been at full occupancy over the festive season and I haven’t had time to deal with it, but I’m here now.’

  Ross advises a change of diet, as it seems highly likely that the Boss has been living the high life, begging turkey and biscuits from the guests, and he sends Debbie on her way to await the results of the tests.