The Village Vet

by Cathy Woodman

‘I don’t,’ I say quickly. ‘Thanks, Katie.’ I open the boot and place the box inside.

  ‘What for?’ she asks.

  ‘For being such a great friend, going beyond the call of duty, and acting as go-between. It can’t be easy for you, either.’

  ‘It’s no problem. Nathan and I have what you might call an understanding.’

  ‘Katie, you don’t fancy him, do you?’ I ask lightly, as I slide in beside her and close the door. I can’t help wondering. ‘You seem quite pally.’

  ‘Of course I don’t fancy him,’ she says, scolding me for even suggesting it. ‘We have absolutely nothing in common, apart from you.’

  The more I think about it though, the more alike they are with their interest in health and the body beautiful.

  ‘Oh, and a fondness for Formula One,’ Katie adds, driving away.

  ‘I didn’t know Nathan liked motor racing.’ I don’t look back – I would cry if I did.

  ‘He has a passion for it. He told me.’ Katie raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow. ‘I hope you don’t mind that I’m still in contact with him, Tessa. If it’s going to come between us, I’ll de-friend him and delete his number.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that,’ I tell her. ‘Thanks for offering, but I don’t want people feeling that they have to take sides on my behalf, and besides, it would make Nathan think he still mattered to me, when he doesn’t.’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’ Katie taps her nails – they’re fluorescent pink this week – on the wheel in time with Beyoncé.

  When we reach the Sanctuary, a scrawny black and white cat that’s spraying up the side of one of the flower tubs next to the front door scarpers around the corner of the building and disappears.

  ‘Is that an escapee?’ Katie asks, as we start unloading the car.

  ‘There aren’t any animals here yet. I expect it’s a cat from one of the nearby farms. I’ll ask my aunt. She’ll know.’ I sigh deeply. ‘She knows everything.’ I unlock the door and let us into the bungalow, putting my things down to pick up the post that’s piled up on the mat from the day before. ‘Stick those boxes down anywhere,’ I say. ‘I’ll unpack later.’

  ‘Let’s get it done now,’ Katie says. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

  ‘You don’t have to stay.’

  ‘I want to. I thought you could do with some moral support when Jack turns up with the dog.’ She pauses. ‘When’s the house-warming party?’

  ‘You’ll be the first to know,’ I say, smiling.

  ‘You know, this place isn’t too bad. It has potential.’

  ‘It isn’t to my taste exactly, but I’m very lucky. It’s out of the way and quiet, and I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep without being disturbed by my parents, although I shall miss them both, Dad especially.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s going to be all that quiet,’ Katie observes as the doorbell chimes the tune of ‘The Lonely Goatherd’ from The Sound of Music. ‘Did your aunt donate that bell?’

  ‘I expect so. It was obviously a line that didn’t sell well down at the garden centre.’ I chuckle as I head out to answer the door, where I find two earnest middle-aged (I’m erring on the generous side) ladies, dressed in sloppy sweat tops and joggers, jostling for position on the step.

  ‘Hello, Tessa. What are you doing here?’ says the taller of the two, who has short grey hair, a ruddy, broken-veined complexion, horn-rimmed glasses and fiercely white trainers.

  ‘I’m moving in today. My friend Katie’s here, helping out.’

  ‘Oh?’ the ladies say at the same time. They look at each other, passing unspoken messages between them. ‘Is your aunt about?’ the taller one says.

  ‘She’s supposed to be here, but there’s no sign of her. I remember you from years ago when Gloria ran the Sanctuary,’ I say, pleased to see familiar faces. ‘You’re Wendy,’ I add, addressing the taller one, ‘and you’re Diane.’

  ‘I’m in charge of rehoming and I foster dogs for Talyton Animal Rescue,’ Wendy says, ‘and Diane is currently treasurer of the committee.’

  ‘We’re the Tuesday gang,’ says Diane, who wears her hair in a blonde shoulder-length bob and flat black moccasins with leather tassles.

  ‘We’re your volunteers for the day,’ Wendy goes on, noticing me frowning.

  ‘Are there any more of you?’ I say, wondering what has happened to my aunt’s volunteer army.

  ‘It’s just the two of us,’ Wendy says, confirming my fears that the rest of the troops have either deserted or not been conscripted yet. ‘Are you sure your aunt isn’t here?’

  ‘I can assure you she isn’t,’ I say as Diane slides her foot forward as if to step inside. ‘I haven’t seen her today.’

  ‘It’s unusual for Fifi to be so elusive,’ Wendy observes. ‘She usually loves being the centre of attention.’

  ‘Well, it’s pretty obvious why,’ says Diane. Although she has the kind of figure you might associate with a jolly person, being well rounded and fully upholstered, she’s actually a prickly character, and I’m not sure we’re going to get along. She subjects me to an intense stare.

  ‘I can let her know you want to see her,’ I say, willing to help.

  ‘I don’t think that will be necessary. You see, I’m sure she knows that already and that’s why she’s avoiding us.’

  ‘Is there some problem? Anything I can deal with?’

  ‘No, no. We’ll have to have this out with Fifi,’ says Diane, her face flushed.

  Wendy gives me an apologetic glance. ‘Diane, let’s not be rude to Tessa. This isn’t her fault. What can we do? We’re here for the day, until lunchtime,’ Wendy elaborates. ‘Then I have to get home to let the dogs out.’

  ‘And I have an appointment with Dr Mackie about my asthmatics,’ says Diane, and I start to worry about whether she should be volunteering at all in her overweight and breathless condition.

  ‘I can walk dogs, but I can’t do any lifting because of my arthritis,’ Wendy says, as if she’s keen not to be outdone.

  ‘Well, every little helps,’ I say brightly. ‘There’s plenty to do.’

  ‘I’d like to look after the cats, the little darlings,’ says Diane, at which I have to point out that there aren’t any animals at the Sanctuary yet, although Jack is bringing a dog from Otter House.

  ‘You could make a bed up for him in one of the kennels,’ I suggest.

  ‘For the dog, or Jack?’ Diane giggles. ‘I wouldn’t mind making a bed up for Jack Miller. He’s a dreamboat.’

  ‘Oh, you are naughty,’ Wendy says. ‘Never mind Diane,’ she tells me, ‘she has these terrible crushes.’

  ‘He can crush me any time.’ Diane fans her face. ‘I’m having a hot flush – it must be my HRT.’

  ‘What else can we do?’ asks Wendy.

  ‘My aunt’s left a note in reception on the way in. The builder’s finished the kitchen in the kennels, but he’s left it in quite a mess. There are some pots of paint to clear out and the tiles need grouting, and the end of the barn needs clearing out ready for DJ to build the stables.’

  ‘I’m up for a good old grout,’ says Wendy.

  ‘I’m exhausted already.’ Diane wipes her brow. ‘I could do with a coffee before we make a start. Do you have coffee?’

  ‘There should be some in the kitchen here. DJ hasn’t put the doors on the cupboards yet, so mind you don’t trip over them. I’ll carry on unpacking, so I can get rid of my boxes at least.

  ‘I shouldn’t rush into unpacking just yet, Tessa,’ says Diane.

  ‘Is there a problem? If there is, I really think I should know.’

  ‘Well, I suppose you’re going to find out soon enough,’ Wendy says. ‘Tell her, Diane.’

  ‘Much as I hate speaking ill of busybodies like your aunt—’ Diane begins.

  ‘Let’s not forget that it’s busybodies like Fifi who make the world go round,’ Wendy cuts in. ‘Without her efforts, we would never have got our hands on the Sanctuary. She has the animals�
� interests at heart.’

  ‘It’s a pity she doesn’t have the same consideration for the people who are involved,’ Diane goes on smoothly. ‘Tessa, your aunt has ridden roughshod over the committee, making decisions neither with reference to anyone else, nor following the proper procedures.’

  ‘She hasn’t even told us that she’s let you move in here, let alone installed you as manager,’ Wendy says.

  ‘There’s been no by-your-leave, no discussion, no vote.’ Diane shakes her head, high spots of colour forming on her cheeks.

  ‘It’s wrong,’ Wendy confirms.

  ‘It’s more than that. It’s a perfect disgrace.’ Diane gazes at me, her eyes small and beady, reminding me of a malevolent hamster, the type that sits in the bottom of its box ready to bite before you have time to scruff up the loose skin at the back of its neck. ‘You wouldn’t have been my first choice. It would have been Jack.’

  Jack again, I think, my heart sinking. Everyone loves him, apart from me.

  ‘So where exactly do I stand?’ I ask. ‘I mean, have I got a job here or not?’

  Having got this far, I find that I’m looking forward to the challenge of running a rescue centre more than I ever thought possible, of working with a team of animal-mad volunteers and the animals themselves, sick, distressed and unwanted animals in need of rescue, like the black dog who should be on his way to the Sanctuary with Jack as we speak. I can’t bear the thought of having the opportunity snatched away from me at the last minute because of some silly spat between the chair and the rest of the committee.

  ‘I’m sorry, but we can’t answer that right now,’ Wendy says. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’

  ‘We’ll let you know when we’ve spoken to your aunt,’ Diane says more brusquely. ‘Now, let’s get on. Have you got any decaff? No? In that case, I shall have to drink tea. You do have tea?’

  ‘I think so.’ I hope so, I muse. I had assumed that volunteers would go out of their way to be accommodating, but I sense that Diane in particular is going to be a very demanding woman, and I’m actually relieved when I catch sight of Talyton Animal Rescue’s white minivan – the one that I’m supposed to have the use of as part of the deal – arriving in the car park.

  ‘That’s Jack, your first unwanted animal,’ Katie says, coming outside with me. ‘Tessa, this must be so awkward for you.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. If I tell myself that often enough, I might just come to believe it,’ I go on wryly. What with meeting Jack again and finding that I could be out of here before I’ve had time to settle in, it hasn’t been the easiest of days so far.

  Katie and I shimmy past Wendy and Diane, who remain standing on the doorstep but facing towards the minivan, Diane’s mouth half open, I notice, as Jack jumps out and walks around the back. He flings the doors open, at which the black dog flies out on the end of a rope lead. Jack catches the end and pulls him up before he can make his getaway and return to his previous existence as a stray, terrorising the pet dogs of Talyton St George.

  Jack, dressed in a sweatshirt and cargo trousers, brings him across to me and Katie.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, looking directly at me.

  ‘Hi,’ I respond, struggling to find something to say. He gives the impression he is finding this situation as difficult as I am, but he deserves it, I tell myself, although it’s hard not to sympathise with those beautiful brown eyes gazing deep into mine (and I’m not talking about the dog’s).

  ‘I’ll take him from here.’ I hold out my hand and take the end of the rope lead. The black dog stands with his head down and his tail tucked between his legs.

  ‘Here’s his discharge note from the vet,’ Jack says, handing me an envelope. I take it by the corner as if it’s stuffed with anthrax, and slip it into my pocket.

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to book him in or something?’ Katie says helpfully.

  ‘Well, yes, eventually, I suppose.’

  ‘Fifi has put some forms in the office. She said we should use those.’ Jack holds up his hands. ‘Not that I’m trying to tell you how to do your job.’

  ‘I must go,’ Katie says. ‘I’ll see you later, Tessa.’

  ‘Thanks for your help,’ I say, wishing her goodbye before I let the dog sniff at my arm and stroke his short velvety fur, at which he shrinks away. He is one unhappy dog.

  ‘What’s his name?’ I ask, glancing up at Jack.

  ‘He has no name,’ he says gravely.

  ‘Didn’t the staff at Otter House give him one?’ I’m surprised, because it’s usually the first thing that happens in a vet practice.

  ‘They call him the black dog. I tried out a few names on the way over, but he doesn’t respond to any of them: Dillon, Danny, Derek.’

  ‘You’ve only reached the Ds,’ I say, amused. ‘What if his name begins with R? What about Buster? Did you try that one?’ Why did I pick on that name? The black dog looks up at me and wags his tail half-heartedly. ‘Buster isn’t the coolest of names, I suppose.’

  ‘He isn’t the coolest of dogs. He seems a bit on edge, like that cartoon, Stressed Eric. How about Eric?’

  ‘I prefer Buster.’

  ‘The manager’s choice,’ Jack acquiesces. ‘Like Buster, I know my place,’ he continues dryly. ‘Shouldn’t he have some kind of card to attach to his kennel?’

  ‘He’s the only dog here,’ I point out, miffed that Jack is so intent on telling me how to do my job.

  ‘I’m thinking about the volunteers. They’ll need to be able to record when they’ve fed and walked him.’

  ‘All two of them.’ In spite of myself, I smile. ‘Fifi’s army. I’ll put something up later. Let’s get him settled first.’ I pick up the slack in the lead. ‘Come on, Buster.’

  He isn’t impressed by his new accommodation, and it takes both Jack and me to coax him into the only kennel that’s ready. There are supposed to be ten, but DJ has only got as far as the second one, where he’s hanging the wire door on the front.

  ‘I’m glad to see you’re making progress,’ I say lightly.

  ‘You can’t rush a good job, my lover,’ DJ says, pausing to pick up a screwdriver from his toolbox.

  ‘Um, I don’t suppose you could fix the cupboard doors in the kitchen today?’

  ‘I’ll put that next on the list, but it may not be today,’ DJ says, all seriousness.

  ‘I was rather hoping to be able to make my breakfast tomorrow without falling over all that woodwork.’

  ‘Your aunt wants me to fix up the stable first. That’ll take a good few days because I’ve got to get a mini-digger in to dig out the floor in the barn, and then she wants a breezeblock partition, and that’s got to be lined.’ He grows defensive. ‘And it’s all very well her getting at me for getting backward with the work, when she’s not exactly coming forward with the money. She owes me for materials.’ DJ is one of those people who can’t stay cross for long. He smiles. ‘You’d better let me get on, in case you have any more dogs coming in today.’

  I glance towards Buster, who’s trotting up and down anxiously.

  ‘It’s all right, my lover. I’ll keep an eye on him.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I fold my arms as I walk back to the bungalow with Jack, keeping an emphatic distance between us.

  ‘You don’t need to worry, Tess,’ Jack begins. ‘I won’t be under your feet all the time. In fact, I’ll make myself scarce as much as possible.’

  ‘Whether you’re here or not, it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been employed to run the Sanctuary and I’m not going to let personal differences get in the way of doing my job.’ Okay, I think, I might not be here for long, but I’m not going to let Jack know that in case it should affect his opinion of my authority here.

  ‘Message received,’ he says in a low voice, but although I don’t want to have anything more to do with him, I can’t avoid interacting with him. There’s the cat I spotted this morning, for example. Having worked in animal welfare for a few years before he took a sabbatical, Jack knows the area and
the animals that live within it.

  ‘That will be one of the feral cats,’ he explains. ‘After the cottage went up in smoke, some of Gloria’s rescue cats ran wild and bred with the feral cats that were already here, and their offspring bred and their offspring too, and now the site is overrun with cats, but I’m on the case. I’ve arranged to borrow some traps from a friend of mine.

  ‘The committee have managed to agree on one thing at least: to adopt a trap, neuter and release policy.’ He hesitates, looking me in the eye, a small smile playing on his lips. ‘I suppose I should run that plan past the new manager first.’

  ‘I should, if you want to get on the right side of her,’ I say lightly.

  ‘I’ll bring the traps up this afternoon. I might as well take advantage of this good weather to set them up.’

  As Jack leaves, Mrs Dyer, the butcher’s wife, brings the ducklings to me in a cardboard box.

  ‘The mother abandoned them,’ says Mrs Dyer over tea and biscuits with Diane, Wendy and me. ‘I took them back to the shop for the night, but I’m afraid my dog will snap them up if he gets anywhere near them. How old do you think they are?’

  ‘Tessa, what do you think? You’re the vet nurse,’ Wendy says, turning to me.

  ‘Your guess is probably as good as mine.’ I peer into the box. They aren’t the smallest of ducklings, or the largest either. ‘About three weeks old, maybe?’

  ‘Jack will know,’ Diane says with confidence. ‘I’ll ask him when I see him.’

  I’m beginning to feel that with Jack around, I have a lot to prove.

  ‘Where do you want us to put them, Tessa?’ Wendy asks.

  I think for a moment.

  ‘We aren’t set up for ducklings, so we’ll have to improvise. We can set up a pen in the barn with straw and a water tray. That will need to be filled with stones because we don’t want the ducklings to drown – they might not be waterproof yet.’

  ‘Gloria used to give them freshly cut dandelions and hang lettuce up for them to peck at,’ says Wendy.

  ‘How long will they have to stay here?’ asks Mrs Dyer.

  ‘We can release them when they’re about eight weeks old and fully feathered,’ I say. ‘We’ll have to find them a suitable pond.’