It's a Vet's Life: (25 page)

‘I’ll sew,’ Will says quickly. ‘That’s if you don’t mind, Maz. I could do with the practice.’

‘Go ahead. I’ll give Russ a call.’

Russ returns shortly after with a bale of straw and a bed of old towels in the back of his four-by-four. The goat and her kid go home, and Shannon gets Russ’s autograph on the practice’s headed notepaper. It’s a good outcome, but I wouldn’t want to make a habit of it.

‘I draw the line at a cow,’ I tell Alex later, ‘and I don’t want a repeat of what happened today.’

‘I hear you handled the goat brilliantly though, as I’d expect.’ He smiles.

‘Alex, this is serious. It put me in an awkward situation. I’m not confident dealing with farm animals. Russ’s your client. Promise me it won’t happen again.’

‘I can’t promise, can I? How do you suggest I keep clients like him under control?’ He puts down the journal he’s reading in order to avoid tidying up, I suspect. He hasn’t got very far, I notice. It’s open at page two. ‘Yours aren’t much better. The other day, Father saw the people who own those two Bernese mountain dogs you sometimes see on the Green.’

‘Why? They’re ours.’

‘Because they turned up on a whim and they used to be clients of ours before they came to you, if you remember, and Father says he’d forgotten about it. We still had their records on file.’

‘Why doesn’t that surprise me? You know you can’t just take on our clients without contacting us first. We’ve been through all this before.’

‘And you know I have no influence on my father,’ Alex says, amused. He puts his arms out to me. ‘I’m sorry, Maz.’

I sit down with him on the sofa.

‘Guess what else I’ve done today?’ I say more cheerfully.

‘I don’t know. Surprise me.’

‘I picked up the wedding invitations from Penny.’ As I’ve mentioned before, Sally’s owner is an artist, and I commissioned her to do a sketch of the church. Her husband, Declan, had them printed up. ‘Don’t you want to see them? They look great.’

‘I’ll have a look later,’ Alex says.

‘I thought we might write the invites together,’ I say, a little disappointed that he doesn’t share my enthusiasm.

‘Not tonight. I’m shattered.’

‘Alex, I’m worried about you …’

‘Me? I can look after myself.’

‘I know that. Perhaps it’s your age—’

‘Maz, I’m not that old,’ he cuts in.

‘It’s just that you’re always so tired.’

‘Never too tired,’ he says huskily into my ear.

‘Alex, please listen to me for once – without dismissing it, or making a joke of it. This isn’t the first time someone’s refused to see your father with a patient, which suggests that you do, in fact, have a problem. It’s pretty clear to me that you’re taking on the extra work on his behalf without considering the consequences.’

‘Maz, you’re making a fuss over nothing.’ Alex kisses my hair.

‘Stop trying to distract me.’ Half laughing, half annoyed, I push him away. ‘This is important. You
really
must get some extra help, hire a locum, or take on an assistant.’

‘I’ve always been tired. Don’t you remember how I’d come round to the flat at Otter House with dinner from Mr Rock’s, and fall asleep on the sofa, much as I do now? Maz, it doesn’t mean I don’t … love you.’ He slides his hand onto my thigh, but I can’t be diverted. I want this situation sorted, so I can concentrate on the rest of the arrangements for the wedding.

‘If you had another full-time vet, you could have a couple of days off each week and you wouldn’t spend virtually every night on call. I’d get to see you while you were awake, not semi-conscious, and George – he’d get to see more of his dad.’

‘George does get to see me,’ Alex says, his voice suddenly hard. ‘I make sure of that. You know I do.’

‘What about the others then?’

‘Seb and Lucie, you mean. Why do you call them “the others” as if they’re aliens? You said you were cool about them being here.’

‘I make them welcome.’ I didn’t intend to come across as resenting them. ‘What I’m not happy with, is you agreeing to have them here on your weekends off, when it’s me who ends up looking after them because you’re covering for your father.’

‘It’s one of those things,’ Alex sighs.

‘It’s hard work looking after someone else’s children, especially Seb. He’s a nightmare.’

‘He’s a boy,’ Alex says. ‘George will be just the same.’

I hope not.

‘You can always hand over to Mother,’ Alex goes on. ‘She loves having her grandchildren around.’

‘It doesn’t seem fair to impose on her either. Alex,
both
your parents are getting on. They should be enjoying their retirement by now.’

‘They’re happy. They like to keep busy.’

‘Well, you’ll end up like your father. You won’t get to retire either,’ I point out. ‘At this rate, you’ll die of some stress-related illness by the time you’re sixty-five.’

‘It’s great to see you’re looking on the bright side, Maz,’ Alex says sarcastically. He pulls away from me, picks up the journal again, and sits staring at the same page.

My chest feels hollow, my heart knocks in an empty space, like the chasm of misunderstanding and difference that is opening up between us. When we first got together, I thought, this is it. Alex is the One. My soulmate. But it doesn’t seem like it now. I thought I could talk to him about anything.

Hot and prickling with anger, I bite my lip. Men! I have a better relationship with Ginge than Alex at the moment. I suppose I’ve always got on better with animals than the male species. Animals listen, catch on to how you’re feeling, and don’t answer back.

I gaze at Alex. I want to be close to him. I don’t care if he doesn’t share my point of view, but I’d like him to respect mine. I’d like to be happy and at ease with him again, not treading on eggshells, wondering what mood he’s going to be in when, and if, he gets home in the evenings. I’m not asking too much, am I?

The next day, I catch up with Emma over coffee and cream slices in the staffroom.

‘I’ve heard all about the goat.’ Emma sits down on the sofa and touches her bump which has already expanded to surprising proportions for someone who
is
only seventeen or eighteen weeks’ pregnant, even if she is having twins. ‘That was brave of you, considering the last time I remember you anywhere near a goat was in the dissection room at vet school.’

‘Actually, the last time was when I took George on the Toddler Group outing to the petting farm at Talysands over Easter,’ I say. ‘He wanted to stroke a kid, but it nudged him and made him cry.’

‘Not an auspicious start for a budding vet expected to inherit the family practice.’ Emma grins.

‘Alex wasn’t impressed when I told him.’

Emma is wearing a cream belly band with a navy cotton blouse over the top. She has her hair loose around her shoulders. ‘Apparently, there’s some goat’s cheese for you in the fridge. Frances said Russ Jackson dropped it in this morning.’

‘That was kind of him. I think he realised I wasn’t best pleased about having to operate on a goat.’

‘Did you have a word with Alex about it?’

‘I did, but you know what he can be like. He didn’t take it seriously.’ My heart sinks a little at the memory of our conversation. ‘I talked to him about taking on another vet at Talyton Manor because he’s working virtually single-handed.’

‘And?’ Emma bites into a cream slice.

‘He’s in denial, just like his father.’

‘He’ll have to get either a locum or an assistant by Christmas,’ Emma says, aghast. ‘He’s got a wedding to go to, and a honeymoon.’

‘Tell me about it. Occasionally, I wonder if Alex is hoping the whole wedding thing will go away.’

‘No? You’ve got that wrong, Maz. He adores you.’ Emma tries to reassure me. ‘There’s no way he’d change his mind. He’d have me to deal with, if he did.’

‘That’s enough about me, Em. How about you?’

‘I felt the babies move for the first time the other day,’ she says happily. ‘Properly, I mean. I wasn’t sure before. It could have been wind, but this is definitely them, like butterflies.’

I think back to George, remembering how, as he grew bigger, he ended up booting me under the ribs like a footballer.

‘It’s going so quickly now,’ Emma goes on. ‘Another three weeks and I’ll be having another scan. Although they have said I can ask to be checked at any time if I’m worried.’

‘You’re bound to worry.’

‘What with the consultant, midwife and Ben, I feel like a medical case study. Would you like to check my blood pressure, Maz, only Ben hasn’t checked it since breakfast?’ Emma’s being ironic. ‘I can tell you without using any gadgets, that it’s pretty high right now. I’m not sick. I’m pregnant.’

I laugh. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘No, thanks. I’m here to work, not put my feet up. Really, Maz.’

‘Do you need to cut down your hours at all yet?’

She smiles wryly, her upper lip dotted with cream. ‘I wouldn’t mind having another afternoon off in the week – that’s if you and Will can cope. I don’t want to put any pressure on you, Maz. It’s important you and George have plenty of time together.’

‘There are occasions when I think we have too much time,’ I say, smiling back. ‘His favourite word is still no, and he has some spectacular tantrums.’

‘Will is coping, isn’t he? He could manage another afternoon a week sole charge, as long as we made sure he had Izzy on duty with him?’

‘I hope so. He’s going to have to do more without one of us holding his hand when you go on maternity leave.’

‘He isn’t a terribly practical person, is he?’ Emma sighs.

‘He has moments when he shines, but not many. Though he was good with the goat.’

‘What can we do, though? We can’t sack him.’

We gaze at each other, and say simultaneously, ‘Can we?’ as Izzy comes into the staffroom, hands on hips.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt your break,’ she says, ‘but I’ve told Will he can’t carry on. One of you will have to finish off.’

‘What’s wrong?’ asks Emma.

‘He didn’t go and get any antibiotics for that cat bite injury, and now his thumb is twice the size it should be. All he’s managed in the last hour and a half is to take a couple of skin biopsies. He’s fumbling about, dropping instruments all over theatre. In fact, he isn’t all fingers and thumbs, he’s all thumb. Literally.’

‘I’ll take over,’ I offer, getting up from the sofa, at which Tripod jumps onto the cushion I’ve vacated and sits there, blinking at me as if to say, how dare you take my place. At least I have some sympathy for Will, having been in a similar position myself before. ‘What’s left?’

‘A couple of particularly smelly dentals,’ Izzy smiles.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to do them?’ says Emma.

‘If you carry on consulting, I’ll send Will to the doctor. Who’s next?’

‘It’s one of the Labradoodles.’

‘Do you need a hand?’ I’m thinking pregnant vet, biggish dog, manual handling …

‘Shannon can help.’

‘She isn’t exactly cut out to be a weightlifter either.’

‘Maz, don’t fuss. I’ll be fine.’

‘If you’re sure.’ Leaving Emma to it, I head into Kennels where I find Will running his thumb under the cold tap. ‘You really have to see Ben.’

‘Maz, I’m busy.’ He grimaces with pain.

‘I don’t want to lose you because you’ve lost your thumb. Go on. Get yourself to the surgery.’

‘I haven’t got an appointment,’ he stammers.

‘You don’t need one. Just turn up.’ I frown at him, aware of his scent of aftershave and anal gland. ‘Say that Emma sent you.’

‘Thanks,’ he says eventually. ‘I feel such an idiot. I thought I could work through it.’

‘Will, always remember you have to look after yourself as well as your patients.’

After lunch, I see the afternoon appointments, the ones booked for Will. They’re fairly straightforward. There’s Cocky, the cockatiel, who’s started plucking his feathers out, making him look a sorry sight. I catch him to check for parasites and his general state of health, making sure the lights are down and the fan is off. He’s easy to get hold of, and I keep a gentle but secure grip on his head so he can’t turn and peck me.

‘That other vet doesn’t have much of a way with birds,’ says Peter, Cocky’s owner. ‘I can tell.’

I smile to myself, then, having put the bird back in his cage and checked a feather under the microscope in the lab, give my verdict.

‘Cocky is stressed out. That’s why he’s plucking his feathers.’

‘How can he be stressed?’ Peter is laughing. ‘He’s living in luxury.’

‘He could be lonely,’ I suggest.

‘I leave the Skybox on for him all day.’

‘I expect it’s the endless repeats driving him mad,’ I say, joking.

‘Perhaps I should swap channels. I could find him some wildlife documentaries.’

‘That won’t make the slightest difference. Cocky’s idea of a happy, stress-free and fulfilling life isn’t the same as ours. Ideally, he needs food, water, warmth and the company of his own kind.’