City Girl, Country Vet

by Cathy Woodman

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, aware that he’s looking past me, over the back of the sofa, toward—I turn to see—the shelf on the wall behind us. Two children—Alex’s children—gaze back from silver-framed photographs: Lucie from the back of a Shetland pony, grinning from ear to ear beneath a riding hat that appears far too big; Sebastian with a mop of curly hair cuddling a big old black Lab. I turn back to Alex and watch his pupils shrink as he withdraws, doing up my buttons as fast as I can undo them.

  “No”—he tangles his fingers with mine—“stop. Maz, this is wrong.”

  I don’t understand. “It feels right to me …” Confused and frustrated, I try to bring him back to me, but it’s as if he’s shut the door on his emotions and trapped them inside. “Alex, I’m—”

  “Please don’t say it,” he cuts in, pressing his fingers to my lips. “Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.” He pulls away and sits beside me, not touching. I grab a cushion and clutch it to my chest to cover what feels like a gaping hole, a crushing pain where he’s as good as ripped my heart out. I think I love him, but he doesn’t love me back.

  “I know how you feel, Maz,” he begins gruffly.

  “No, you don’t,” I say sharply.

  “I think I do …”

  “It’s all right anyway.” I make to stand up. “I made a mistake. I read too much into … whatever it was we had.”

  “Sit down,” he says firmly.

  There’s something in the tone of his voice that makes me settle back on the sofa, putting the cushion between us, like a barrier.

  “I do like you, Maz. In fact, I’m very fond of you, but despite my reputation—due in part to my misspent youth, chasing girls around the countryside with Stewart—I don’t go for one-night stands. In my experience, someone always gets hurt.” He lowers his voice and adds softly, “I can’t bear the thought of hurting you.”

  You’ve just hurt me by rejecting me, I think, but the expression in his eyes is tender as he continues, “We’d both get in too deep.”

  “Oh, Alex …” His name catches in my throat as he reaches out and strokes my hand. He’s right. There are so many reasons why we shouldn’t take our friendship any further.

  “I wish you weren’t leaving Talyton,” he says, and I almost say, “So do I …” This has to be the worst day of my life. I’ve fallen in with love with this man and now I’m walking out on him for good, and why?

  But I know why. I’d never be happy in Talyton. It would never feel like home to me. I messed up with Cadbury, and I’ll never be allowed to forget.

  The horses start neighing and banging at their doors, and a car comes scrunching across the gravel to park alongside mine.

  “That’s the parents,” Alex sighs.

  “I should go.” I stand up again. Alex won’t let go of my hand.

  “Don’t leave Talyton without saying good-bye, will you?” His voice sounds small, as if it’s taken all his effort to speak. “Promise me, Maz.”

  “I promise,” I mutter, tearing myself away from the intensity of his eyes, and his grasp, and under my breath I add, “Good-bye, Alex,” so I don’t have to break my promise in the future, and have him break my heart all over again.

  When I let myself back into the practice, Tripod comes prup-prupping up on his three legs. He hops up the stairs with me, holding his tail at an angle to aid his balance, and then jumps onto the bed. “Push off,” I say companionably. He takes no notice, of course.

  I sink down on the edge of the bed, and he treads across the duvet and insinuates himself on my lap, butting his head against my chin and purring, as if to say, “It can’t be as bad as you’re making out.” I put my arms around him. Sometimes I wish I were a cat.

  CHAPTER 21

  Horses for Courses

  “The country air suits you, Maz. You’re positively glowing, unlike my briquettes.” Ben holds his palms toward me as I approach. “I wonder who’s been lighting your fire. I could use him to get the barbie going.”

  Ben and Emma invited me for a barbie, and we’re in the garden at the back of their house. I’d expected them to settle for a place with history, like Otter House, but this is a new-build on the housing estate Old Fox-Gifford considered to be beneath his dogs, if I remember correctly.

  The house is a good size, but the garden is what estate agents describe as “manageable.” There’s a patio, on which stands a hot tub, and an area of freshly turfed lawn. Ben, dressed in T-shirt, shorts that don’t suit him because he has what I call Popeye legs—bulging with muscle and covered with a wiry fuzz—and an apron with COME AND GET IT on the front, is tinkering with his barbecue on the decking at the far end, which overlooks a field of young maize plants. Miff, who was actually pleased to see me, sits in the flower bed, playing a game of risk with a bee.

  Emma, looking cool in a long navy skirt and white vest top, hands me a glass of Pimm’s and lemonade, mixed with crushed ice and slices of cucumber and orange, the way we always made it in Cambridge.

  “Cheers,” she says, clashing a glass of what looks like lemonade against mine.

  “Cheers,” I say in return.

  “Perhaps it’s Alex Fox-Gifford,” Ben says.

  “Hardly, Ben. Honestly, you’re a hoot.” Laughing, Emma turns to me. “I don’t know why you’ve been doing him all these favors though. If it wasn’t for Alex and his precious horse, you wouldn’t have been anywhere near Buttercross Cottage on the night of the fire.”

  Suddenly, I find my loyalties torn between my best friend and a Fox-Gifford.

  “If it wasn’t for Alex,” I say quietly, “I wouldn’t be here now.”

  “So that’s it.” I can hear the relief in Emma’s voice. “You’ve been looking after him because you feel somehow responsible for what happened?”

  “I don’t think it’s that at all,” Ben cuts in. “Can’t you see? She’s in love with him.”

  “Darling, do stop pulling poor Maz’s leg,” Emma says, and I turn aside to face the sun, which hangs like an orange fireball over the hills to the west, hoping she won’t notice my burning cheeks. “That’s ridiculous. He’s a complete boor.”

  There was a time when I would have agreed with her, but I know differently now. I want to tell her how kind, sensitive, and thoughtful he is, but there’s no point.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I don’t suppose I’ll see him again.”

  “What about Gloria’s funeral?”

  I shrug. I assume he’ll be there, but he hasn’t been in touch about wanting a lift. I guess he’s avoiding me. I mean, he did try to let me down gently when I threw myself at him like some old tart, like my mother does at anything in possession of a Y chromosome.

  “Well, I’m more than happy for you to go as one of Otter House’s representatives. I expect Izzy will go, and Frances wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Emma says. “I’ll hold the fort.”

  “I’ll be going,” says Ben. “Gloria was one of my patients.”

  Emma puts her glass down on the table on the patio, walks up to me, and links her arm through mine. “Come inside and give me a hand with the salad.”

  In the kitchen, we chop tomatoes and cucumber. I don’t get to do much cooking, and it’s actually quite therapeutic.

  “I have a confession to make,” Emma begins as she starts mixing the dressing. “I’m not ill—I’m pregnant.”

  “You’re what?” The sharp scent of balsamic vinegar hits my throat. “I thought you said … Oh, that’s wonderful news!” I put the paring knife down and give her a hug.

  “We kind of stopped trying so hard, knowing that we were coming back to visit the fertility clinic for tests, and it just happened. Life’s full of surprises, isn’t it?” Emma says, her eyes shining brightly.

  “When’s the baby due?” I ask.

  “It’s very early days yet,” Emma says, sobering up. “It’s a souvenir from our holiday.”

  “Ben must be delighted,” I say, watching him blowing onto the barbec
ue, tiny flames licking up through the rack.

  “He’s over the moon,” Emma says softly. “We both are.” Smiling, she touches her stomach, and I feel an unexpected tick of my biological clock. “So, we’ve been talking things over, and we’ve decided I should take on another vet on a permanent basis. And now you must be able to guess what I’m going to say, Maz. I want that vet to be you.”

  “M-m-me?” I stammer.

  “I’m offering you an equal partnership in the business,” she says, beaming at me like an overenthusiastic puppy. “Well? I wasn’t expecting stunned silence.”

  “I thought you were thinking of closing the practice down.”

  “Ben wouldn’t hear of it. He’s still sure that we can make a go of it.” She pauses as if collecting herself. “It’s what Mum would have wanted. Maz, it isn’t just about money. I’ve known some of my clients for years. Some of them have known me since I was a baby. I’d like to be able to carry on looking after their pets.”

  My instinct is to say no, but why not? My thoughts meander back to our cozy chats at vet school, our plans to work together. A permanent job with my best friend. Only small animals. No sheep. And a coffee machine. It’s all falling into place.

  I gaze at Emma, at the disappointment that clouds her face when I don’t respond.

  “I’ve waited so long for this baby,” she says, “I want to spend as much time as I can with him, or her. I’d like to be able to take maternity leave, knowing the practice is in safe hands. Please, Maz.”

  “It’s all a bit of a surprise. I’m not sure …” I glance down at my “not-so-safe” hands and the bandages—lighter ones now—on my arms. Am I up to the job? Look at what happened to the practice when Emma left me in charge the last time.

  “We’ll have to go house hunting. You’ll need somewhere to live—you don’t want to stay above the shop for the rest of your life.” She pauses. “Maz, cheer up. You look as if I’ve just condemned you to death. Aren’t you pleased?”

  “I’m really pleased that you asked me …”

  “What’s the problem then?”

  “I never planned to live in the country,” I say. “It’s too quiet for me.” I think of how long it takes to buy a newspaper, of the mud and muck, of the gossip, of how the people of Talyton St. George don’t like me … Well, a lot of them don’t. They might be rallying round to help with the rescues, but they don’t respect me as a vet. What about Izzy? I’d be her boss, yet she doesn’t trust me. And then I think of Alex … “Emma, I need time to think it over.”

  “That’s all right.” Emma gazes at me as if she’s searching for clues as to which way I’ll decide. “Take all the time you need.”

  I pick up my glass and follow her back out to the garden, where Ben is carefully tweaking the steaks and burgers so they’re equal distances apart on the grill. I smile to myself. He’s going to have to change when he becomes a dad—there won’t be time for such precision. I congratulate him on the baby.

  “I’ve popped the question, Ben,” Emma says, “and Maz says she isn’t sure.”

  “I told you it was a bit much to expect an instant answer, darling,” Ben says, turning fondly to his wife. “It’s a huge decision.”

  “I know,” Emma says, her eyes downcast.

  “It’s a lovely place to live, Maz,” Ben says, waving his spatula toward the vista of green hills beyond the garden. “Look at that view.”

  He’s right, I think. It is beautiful, but could I really put down roots in Talyton St. George? I know that if I don’t, I’m back on the road, not knowing where life’s journey will take me next.

  As I’m watching the seagulls sweep across the sky, I notice a tiny plume of smoke rising from the barbecue behind Ben.

  “Ben, something’s burning,” I say quickly.

  “Oops,” he says, turning back to salvage the food while Emma pops indoors and returns with a packet of veggie burgers.

  “Don’t burn those,” she says, smiling, as she gives them to Ben. “They’re the only ones we’ve got.” Emma returns to my side. “Now, Maz, why don’t we talk this through? What’s getting in the way?”

  “There’s Talyton Manor Vets?” I say after a pause. I can imagine Old Fox-Gifford’s reaction if I should decide to stay.

  “Yeah …” Emma looks at me through narrowed eyes. “They got to you too, didn’t they?”

  They did, I think, flushing slightly, but not in the way she’s thinking of. I touch the cool glass in my hand briefly to my face.

  “Damn them.” Emma kicks at a clod of earth. “They’re the bane of my life. They still want to ruin everything for me.”

  “Emma, they aren’t all that bad. Large-animal work’s in decline. Otter House and Talyton Manor Vets are after the same thing.”

  “Anyone would think you were on their side, Maz,” Emma says dismissively. “Look, I’ve asked Frances to stay on. Is that part of the problem?”

  “No, Frances isn’t so bad when you get to know her.” It’s actually Izzy, I think, but I don’t feel able to tell Emma about how I sometimes feel uncomfortable working with her. She doesn’t trust me after what happened with Blueboy and Cadbury, and I don’t see what I can do to regain her trust.

  “Is it the money? I realize joining Otter House Vets as a partner doesn’t look like the most attractive prospect at the moment, but that’s my fault. I wanted the practice to be perfect when I set it up, and I spent too much on it. I’m sure we can get the finances back on track.”

  “You don’t seem to have enough clients to make it work,” I say.

  “They’re coming back,” she says, “and there are more families moving into Talyton all the time.”

  “They’re coming back because of you, Em. They prefer to see you, because they don’t trust me.”

  “What about Ally and Mr. Brown? I haven’t heard them complaining.”

  “I know, but …” I tail off as Emma finishes my sentence for me.

  “The people who live here are perfectly capable of making up their own minds. They know you went overboard with Cheryl’s cat, but they also know that Cheryl can be a spiteful gossip. They know Cadbury died after you operated on him, but they also understand that things can, and do, go wrong. They’re very forgiving, and I wish you’d stop wallowing and start looking on the positive side. You helped Clive Taylor through a tough time with Robbie, and rescued Gloria’s animals …” Emma falters, then glances at me, a spark of amusement in her eyes. “I’d better not start bossing you around, had I? Otherwise I’ll have no chance of persuading you to work with me.”

  “Dinner’s ready,” Ben calls, interrupting our conversation, and Emma excuses herself to fetch another bottle of Pimm’s. “Are we celebrating?” Ben asks as he comes over with a plate of food from the barbecue. “Have you come to a decision?”

  “Not yet, I’m afraid.” Emma is right. I have done some good since I’ve been here, but I’m not sure it’s enough to make up for the bad.

  “Of course,” Ben says, “I’ve no objection to you going into partnership with my wife, if that’s what you’re worried about, as long as you don’t live with us again.” (He’s joking—we shared a house in our final year at university, and poor Ben didn’t understand that the only place suitable for drying calving gowns was over the bath.)

  “Oh, Ben, I know that,” I say, touching his arm in thanks.

  “I’ll let you in on a secret, Maz,” he says, lowering his voice. “I wouldn’t have chosen to settle in Talyton if it hadn’t been for Emma and her mum, but now I’m here, it isn’t so bad. The people are great”—he qualifies that—“most of them. The pace of life isn’t as frantic as it is in London, and it’s good to be near the river and the beach.” He hands me a laden plate. “I don’t want to put you under any pressure to make up your mind, but I have to think of Emma and the baby. I really don’t want her working full-time in her condition.”

  “She could ask someone else,” I say.

  “Maz, she’s asked you.” B
en fixes his eyes on mine. “The decision is entirely up to you, of course. All I’m asking is that you put Emma out of her misery very soon.” His face relaxes into a grin, and the tension dissipates. “It shouldn’t be beyond your capability—you’re the vet, after all.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Partners in Practice

  “Ally Jackson did a great job there, maz.” Clive grins as he throws a copy of the Chronicle onto the consulting room table. It bears the headline FIRE RESCUE ANIMALS NEED GOOD HOMES and a note reading, “See inside for photos of the many cats and dogs looking for a new start.” “How could we resist Petra after this?”

  I recall Ally’s rather poetic description of Petra as a goddess of dogs, highly strung and very sensitive, in need of that extra-special home. Ally has turned out to be a decent wordsmith after all.

  Izzy brings Petra through, and Clive swaps our piece of string—one of Izzy’s tactics for making potential adopters sorry for the animals—for a new collar and lead. Petra sniffs his hand suspiciously, her ears back and her body slung low.

  My heart is in my mouth. Will she accept him, or will she reject him like she did Chris?

  “Hello there, gorgeous.” Clive rubs her head. Petra tenses. She’s going to growl, I think, and what could have been a beautiful relationship will be over before it’s begun, but Clive pulls a treat out of his pocket, shows it to her, and asks her to sit. Without faltering she obeys him, then takes the treat gently from his hand. “Good girl.” Clive rubs her head again. She whines and wags her tail.

  “She’s such a beautiful dog,” says Edie. “She looks even better than she did in the photo.”

  “She should have been a show dog—I can just see her in the final judging at Crufts.” I mix an injection, her second jab. I assume Gloria never got round to having her vaccinations done. I inject it into the scruff of Petra’s neck. There is a look in her eye. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t warm to her like I did to Robbie. I don’t kiss her.