Cathy Kelly 3-book Bundle (64 page)

Charlie could see exhaustion and anger flit across the doctor’s face, and anger won.

‘We won’t treat you if you’re abusive,’ she said firmly, standing up straight. Behind her waited two nurses who had already been on the receiving end of some of Kitty’s treatment. None of them looked as if they recognised the stalwart of the feminist movement, a woman who’d often grumbled that she’d be Dame Kitty if she lived in a country where honours were given for services to the State.

‘I’m in pain,’ Kitty whimpered. ‘It’s so bad–’ She began to cry.

The nurses relented. ‘Pain makes us all angry,’ one of them said gently.

Kitty nodded and grabbed Charlie’s hand, an act so rare that Charlie nearly jerked her hand away with the shock. ‘Stay with me,’ she moaned, ‘please.’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Charlie said.

She thought of Shotsy’s fear of losing her mother. Charlie hadn’t felt like that, and now she was being punished for it. Not loving your mother was an unnatural crime. Being there for Kitty was her penance.

Be kind to yourself. Love yourself. Nobody else is going to be able to if you don’t first. It’s a hard lesson, that one.

Six weeks later

The scent of disinfectant was making her eyes water and Natalie was glad she hadn’t bothered putting on mascara or more than a little smudge of eyeshadow. The operating room was clean, though, and she was proud she’d finished the job so quickly.

‘Is this your idea of a romantic date, Rory?’ she demanded, putting down the scrubbing brush and wiping the sweat off her forehead with her arm.

‘No,’ said Rory, faking shock, ‘this is more of a preamble. On the real date, we’re going to look at a few horse X-rays and,’ he lowered his tone to a gravelly whisper, ‘I’ll show you the thing we use for removing cows’ teeth. Romantic, huh?’

Natalie grimaced. ‘No, don’t. Please,’ she begged. ‘Let’s clean the place again first,–anything but cow dentistry!’

‘Thanks for helping,’ he added.

‘You’re not bad with a bucket and scrubbing brush,’ Natalie
said, ‘but you still don’t have the female ability to clean at speed and talk at the same time. I don’t mean that women are better at cleaning, by the way,’ she added, ‘just that–’

‘–you can multi-task. I know,’ Rory said good humouredly. ‘It’s not an ideal date, but it’s the best I can do.’ They’d been on several dates already and tonight, they had planned to go to a movie and then on for dinner. Then Rory’s partner had been delayed on an emergency call to a valuable mare who was having trouble foaling and, at the last minute, Rory had had to cancel their date to fill in for him with some routine operations.

‘Unless, you’d like to come and wait for me at the practice,’ he’d said.

‘I’d love it,’ Natalie said truthfully. ‘Can I come earlier and watch?’

As a farmer’s daughter, she had seen many vets at work but had never watched one operate.

It was simple, Rory said: three sterilisation operations, including one on a Jack Russell terrier who sat nervously in her cage, her little pointed face peering up at Natalie. Natalie reached in through the bars and stroked the dog’s velvety ears.

It was fascinating to be inside the operating theatre, watching Rory expertly inject sedative.

‘Anybody can operate on humans,’ he explained as he waited for the anaesthetic to take effect, ‘but only a vet is legally allowed to operate on animals. Did you know that?’

Natalie watched as he carefully swabbed down the little dog’s pink belly with disinfectant before slicing through the layer of skin and fat. She marvelled that his big hands could be so gentle and nimble. Kind hands.

The operation was quick, as Rory swiftly found the dog’s uterus, a pearlescent pink organ, like a marble hidden in silky folds, then clamped it off at both ends.

‘I’d have loved to have been a vet,’ she said wistfully.

‘What stopped you?’ he asked.

‘I wasn’t good enough at school. I’m dyslexic.’

‘There’s a genetic link with that,’ Rory remarked, expertly sewing up the dog’s belly. ‘Do your parents have it, or your brothers?’

‘My dad doesn’t, and Bess isn’t my real mother,’ she said. ‘I mean, she’s like my mum, but she’s not, not biologically–’

Rory took his eyes off his furry patient for the first time. ‘What happened to your real mother?’ he asked.

‘She died when I was little.’

‘That must have been hard,’ he said.

Natalie nodded. She hadn’t told him how she’d fainted at Molly’s father’s funeral, coming to sitting in Lena’s car, with a nurse who’d been at the funeral checking her pulse and recommending that she go to her GP to get a full check-up.

She’d ignored the advice. It had been a disturbing day, that was all. Everyone was upset. She hadn’t told anyone about the thoughts she’d had just before she’d fainted.

It all sounded so mad–they’d have locked her up. No, there was no point worrying people.

She reached out and stroked the anaesthetised dog’s ears. Her pink tongue lolled out the side of her mouth. Rory had explained that tongue colour was a good sign of the patient’s stability. If a pink canine tongue went grey, you were in trouble.

‘Was your mother dyslexic?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Natalie, and felt the shame again, the shame she’d felt at the funeral when she realised she knew nothing about her birth mother. She could almost smell the earthy smell of the grave…

‘You could ask someone if she was dyslexic–or would that not be a good idea?’ Rory said.

Natalie met his gaze. Rory had instinctively grasped that there was more to this story.

‘My dad has never told me about her,’ she admitted, still holding on to the dog’s silky ears as if clutching a talisman.
‘I didn’t really ask, either. I knew it was somehow a taboo subject.’

There, it was out in the open.

‘And you don’t know your mother’s parents or any other relatives you could ask?’

‘My mother’s father is dead and her only brother lives in Australia. I’ve never met him, don’t even know if I have cousins on that side,’ Natalie said. ‘Dad’s got brothers and so does Bess–we’ve lots of family, and that always seemed enough…I’m ashamed to say I didn’t really ask about my mum’s side. Not that I didn’t think about her, my real mother, but you know, when you’re a kid, you think people tell you what you need to know. Nobody talked about her–’

It
was
strange. Saying it out loud made it obvious. But Dad and Bess had been such wonderful parents. Bess could have won a Stepmum of the Year award. Natalie always hated watching Disney stories about wicked stepmothers, because it was such a cliché. Hers was wonderful. Bess adored Natalie, Joe and Ted equally. She’d treated all three of them exactly the same, as if Natalie was as much her own as the two boys. She wasn’t the sort of woman to want her husband’s first wife consigned to the ether because she couldn’t cope with the competition. And Dad–he was one of the best men in the world. He wouldn’t have let Natalie’s real mum disappear without reason, would he?

‘What was her name?’ asked Rory.

‘Dara,’ said Natalie, smiling. She loved the name. ‘I have a couple of old pictures of her. She looked a lot like me.’

‘So you do know something about your mum,’ Rory said.

When he’d operated on the other two dogs, he began to clean up and Natalie offered to help.

‘No,’ he said, ‘really, you sit there and I’ll do it.’

‘Get me a mop,’ Natalie commanded. ‘If I want to have the whole vet experience, I must do it properly.’

When they’d cleaned up both the theatre and themselves,
Natalie felt pleasantly tired and happy. Content, that was the word. That was what she felt when she was with Rory.

‘Will we give the cinema a miss and just have dinner?’ she said.

‘I could cook at my place,’ Rory offered.

Natalie smiled. ‘I’d love that.’

The following evening being Friday, she had arranged to meet up with Lizzie and the gang in town. Rory was on late call, which meant he couldn’t come and Natalie was almost pleased. Not because she didn’t want to see him; strangely, she wanted to see him all the time, which had never really happened to her before. No, she was pleased he wouldn’t be there because Lizzie behaved so oddly around him. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him–nobody could not like Rory, Natalie thought proudly. But Lizzie seemed to have a notion in her head that Natalie could do better. And that made it uncomfortable on the occasions when Rory joined them.

When Steve and Lizzie got married, Anna had predicted that would put an end to them hanging out as a group.

‘Married couples do different stuff,’ Anna said with a certain longing, which implied that when and if she and Dennis got married, they wouldn’t be sharing pepperonis with old friends, they’d be doing married-coupley things like looking at houses or poring over the Ikea catalogue or sitting at home watching DVDs so they could save up for a deposit on a house.

But despite the wedding, Steve and Lizzie were not at home in their flat discussing the merits of one type of mortgage over another. They were gung-ho for nights out with their friends, even though they seemed to be permanently broke.

Anna and Dennis weren’t out with the gang because they were both broke; not something that appeared to faze Lizzie.

‘I’ve got thirty-five yoyos to last me until payday,’ said Lizzie, lifting her head from a detailed analysis of the contents of her wallet.

‘When’s payday?’ asked Mark, one of Steve’s friends.

‘An entire week away,’ Natalie replied.

Mark grimaced.

‘It’s fine,’ Lizzie said happily, ‘my husband can lend me some cash. What’s mine is his and vice versa. Isn’t that right, Husband?’

Steve liked the ‘husband’ stuff and smiled affectionately at her.

‘That’s right, Wife,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a hundred quid.’

‘Yahoo. Where are we going?’ Lizzie said enthusiastically.

‘We’re broke,’ Natalie pointed out.

‘Spoilsport,’ said Lizzie. ‘You’ll be as bad as Molly soon.

Since Molly’s father had died, she’d been staying with her mother. Both Natalie and the cats missed her. The flat was hardly enormous: two bedrooms, one bathroom with a decent shower, and a living-room-cum-kitchen that had a claim to the word cosy. But without anyone to share it with, the place felt cavernous and lonely. The cats mewed piteously all the time and had gone off their food, refusing to use their clever timed feeding dish. They wanted a real live person at their beck and call, opening packets of the most expensive cat food and personally spooning it into their bowls. A few days ago Molly had finally moved back, but she didn’t want to go out at all. Natalie had invited her to join them tonight for a drink, but she didn’t think there was much hope of her showing up.

‘The pair of you are turning into bloody nuns,’ went on Lizzie.

Natalie clenched her jaw. ‘That’s offending three groups of people, Lizzie,’ she said. ‘Me, Molly and nuns.’

‘What do you care about nuns?’ Lizzie was mutinous.

‘I was taught by some very nice nuns, now that you come to mention it, and so were you. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to stay home on a Friday night, either. And don’t forget, Molly’s father’s just died.’

‘Take it easy, will you–I didn’t mean it like that,’ said Lizzie. ‘It’s just, you know, you’re no fun any more.’

‘You’re the expert on fun, now, is that it?’ Natalie’s eyes glittered dangerously. ‘As it happens, I was out last night, with Rory.’

She didn’t talk on the phone to Lizzie as much as she used to, so Lizzie didn’t know how often she’d been seeing Rory.

‘Where did you go?’ asked Lizzie suspiciously, as if wanting to confirm that the date had been suitable.

‘His place, for dinner,’ said Natalie, feeling herself get angry. ‘I stayed the night.’

Lizzie’s mouth was a perfect oval. It was the first time Natalie had ever stayed with a man and not shared it instantly the next day with Lizzie.

‘Hello.’

They looked up. It was Molly.

‘You came, wonderful!’ said Natalie.

‘Hi,’ said Lizzie brusquely. ‘I’m going to the bar,’ she added, getting up.

Molly sat down beside Natalie, who squeezed her arm in support. ‘I can’t believe you came!’

It was the first time Molly had been out since her dad had died. Natalie knew that six weeks of not going anywhere had to be bad.

‘I’m only coming out for a little while,’ Molly said. ‘I don’t like leaving the cats, they’re not used to it. They were so traumatised when I was away living with Mum. Sorry, I didn’t mean that you haven’t been looking after them.’

‘No,’ said Natalie. ‘That’s OK, I understand–they’re your babies.’

She noticed that Molly’s fingernails were bitten down and the brown print dress that she wore now looked too big for her.

‘We’re thinking of having something to eat,’ Natalie said. ‘Chicken and chips? Sausages in a basket? Maybe we should
go the whole cordon bleu hog and have burgers…’ She was trying to joke Molly into enjoying herself.

‘Yeah, that’d be OK,’ Molly said. ‘It’s noisy in here tonight.’

It was. The music had reached migraine-inducing levels and there was a drinks promotion on in the pub. Stunning-looking girls wearing lots of make-up, short skirts and Mexican hats were rambling around trying to get people to try the booze.

‘Do you want some?’ Natalie asked.

‘No,’ said Molly, predictably. ‘Not in the mood really.’

Mark, who was one of Steve’s best friends, began talking to Molly and Natalie, discussing a movie they all wanted to see. Finally Natalie was able to sit back and relax, leaving Mark to talk to her friend. It was like minding a child, she thought, trying to take care of them until they were happy enough to let go of your hand. Poor Molly, there was no getting over her dad’s death. It was the suddenness that hurt.

Bess, Natalie’s stepmother, had said dying quickly was a blessing for the person who died, but horrible for everyone left behind. ‘Nobody gets to say goodbye,’ she said.

That’s not the only way nobody gets to say goodbye, Natalie thought. Watching Molly grieving for her father kept making Natalie think about the mother she’d never known. She tried to forget the day in the graveyard. It had been so embarrassing, falling over like that at a funeral, as if she was trying to draw attention to herself, when that was the last thing she’d wanted. She didn’t even know why she’d found the funeral so upsetting. It wasn’t as if she’d been bereaved recently.

She tried not to think about it, except it came into her head at night, particularly the nights when Molly went to bed early; even though she closed the door of her room, Natalie could hear her sobbing.

At the same time as she worried about her friend, Natalie’s mind kept going back to her own grief. She’d never cried for her mother, had she?

Natalie had tried knocking on Molly’s door and offering, ‘If you want to talk, I’m here.’

‘No,’ said Molly. ‘I’m OK, really, thanks.’

Did talking work? Natalie didn’t think so. It was like having cups of tea when you were shocked, or a lie down–all rubbish. None of it helped. Talking wasn’t going to bring Molly’s father back. But Natalie wondered whether talking might help bring her mother to life a little?