It's a Vet's Life: (40 page)

‘Thanks, Clive. Anyway, we were going to have the reception at the Barnscote, but it’s too close to Christmas and they’re fully booked. And then I remembered that Izzy and Chris held their reception at the Talymill Inn.’

‘Yes, we don’t normally do wedding receptions. They’re all right in the summer when you can put a gazebo up on the lawn, but in winter, the venue is – well, snug,’ Clive says. ‘I suppose what I’m saying in a rather long-winded way, Maz, is that yes, we’d love to host your reception, but it depends on how many guests you’re expecting.’

I give him a rough idea of numbers.

‘I think we could squeeze them in, if we used the bar and the dining room. And, if push comes to shove, there’s always our living area. We could tidy that up a bit.’

‘I don’t want to make life difficult for you, Clive. What about Edie? Will she be happy with that arrangement?’

‘Ah, Edie isn’t at home,’ Clive says. ‘She’s visiting her sister, back in East London. She’s going to be staying there for a while.’

‘Oh, dear.’

‘I’m missing her, but it’s good news. When Cassie was put down, she hit the bottle with a vengeance. A couple of days later, she was admitted to hospital, they ran some blood tests and told her, if she carried on as she was, she’d be dead within a year or so.’ I hear him sigh ruefully. ‘I kept telling her that, but she wouldn’t listen to me. Anyway, she’s gone to spend some time with her sister where there’s no bar, and no vodka to tempt her. She’s going to AA up there, and having help with her addiction.’

‘How long will she be away?’

‘I couldn’t tell you. What I do know is, I’m going to have to make a decision about the pub, because Edie can’t live here as a recovering alcoholic.’

‘So you’re going to quit? Will you go back to London?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ Clive says. ‘I don’t want to. I love it down here. I love the pace of life, the countryside, the people …’ His voice trails off. ‘I’ve got to go. Would you like to drop in sometime and let me know exactly what you want for the reception in the way of food and drinks? We’ll have the Christmas decorations up by then. There’ll be a tree, lights and candles. The pub always looks at its best at that time of year.’

I’m happy that I’ve got the reception booked, but I’ll miss Clive, should he decide to return to London. I recall the stress of having to see forty patients all before lunchtime, the constant traffic snarl-ups, and the throngs of grey commuters, chasing the clock. It isn’t what I’d choose.

I’m getting married now and settling down. Talyton St George has turned out to be my forever, happily-ever-after home. I couldn’t go back.

It’s Me or a Dog

ALEX AND I
employ a professional company to clear out the surgery, decorate and refit it. It takes a couple of weeks, that’s all. Alex is keeping it minimalist, because he has plans to convert one of the modern barns.

He has several applications for the post of assistant, and interviews three potential new vets. I meet all three. The woman he offers the job to turns it down because she has a better offer at a practice elsewhere that has more toys to play with, as she puts it. Alex is quite put out, but it means that he employs the person I preferred.

‘He’s perfect, Alex,’ I tell him over breakfast, when Alex is fretting over whether he’s chosen the right vet.

‘He has an earring,’ Alex says, getting up to put his cereal bowl in the dishwasher. ‘I’m not sure my clients are ready for that.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly. There’ll be a few of the old guard who are suspicious of him, and the women of Talyton St George could feel a tad let down if he does turn out to be gay.’

‘What makes you think he’s gay?’

‘The way he acts. He seems quite camp.’

Alex rests one arm around the back of my neck. ‘I don’t care,’ he chuckles. ‘As long as he knows his lungworm from his lumpy jaw, and he’s organised, confident and can use both a sat nav and a map, I’ll be happy. I have to admit, I’ve been back through the other applications and this one, he’s like cream, he keeps floating up to the top.’

‘Those things matter, but the most important criterion is, will you get on with him? You have to work together. You have to be able to disagree without falling out completely.’

‘Like in a marriage, you mean?’ Alex smiles again. ‘Is there anything else I’m supposed to have done?’

‘Your suit. You said you were going to buy a new one. And I’d really appreciate it if you picked up the presents for the bridesmaids and pages.’ Amused by his expression of alarm at the thought of having to choose something suitable for Emma, I go on, ‘It’s all right. I’ve made a list. All you have to do is take it into the shops – I’ve even written down which ones.’

‘Thanks, Maz. I’d better be off. Kiss?’

I turn my head and kiss him on the lips.

‘See you later,’ Alex says. ‘Have fun with George.’

It’s my day off, but George has been up with the lark at five thirty. Will and Emma are working together, Will on ops, visits and evening surgery, and Emma on minimal consulting and admin, because she wants to postpone going on maternity leave for as long as possible. That’s the plan, but at eight thirty, not long after Alex has gone, I receive a call from Emma.

‘Maz, don’t worry, everything’s fine. I’m at the hospital for a few tests which means Will’s on his own at the practice. I know you have George, but is there any way—?’

‘I’ll get down there as soon as I can. Em, when you say you’re fine, what do you mean? Fine as in perfectly well, thank you, or fine as in not great really, but I don’t want to worry anyone?’

‘Let’s say I’m a little under the weather,’ Emma says after a telling pause. ‘My blood pressure’s up and my ankles are slightly swollen. I look as if I have cankles.’ She’s trying to make light of it, but I can tell she’s concerned. I’m apprehensive for her too. I hope the babies are okay. ‘Ben says I’ve got signs of pre-eclampsia.’

‘Oh?’ That isn’t so good, is it, I think?

‘If it is, it means monitoring and rest.’ Emma’s tone lightens. ‘I could do with an excuse for a break – I feel heavy and slow, like a walrus out of water.’

‘You can have a break any time,’ I say. ‘You don’t have to come in to work. You know that.’

‘I do, but I’d get bored at home. There are only so many times you can rearrange the furniture in the nursery.’

‘Well, if there’s anything else I can do … If you have to stay in, I can take Miff off Ben’s hands.’

‘Thanks, Maz.’

‘All the best, Em. I’ll be thinking about you, so make sure you let me know immediately you have any news.’

‘Maz, this doesn’t mean I won’t be able to help with the last of your wedding preparations. I can make calls to chase up Jennie about the cake, as long as you’re happy about the cupcake idea.’

‘Yes. Yes, I am.’ I wouldn’t be able to look at a traditional wedding cake without thinking of Old Fox-Gifford and that would make me sad.

‘And I can have a word with the guy at the garage about hiring the cars.’

‘Thanks, Em. I really must go now. Call me later.’

I tip Ginge out of the buggy where he’s been curled up sleeping. He’s looking well – his coat is glossy and he’s put on some weight. I’m optimistic that he’s going to make a few more months yet.

‘Cat’s gone now, George,’ I say. ‘You can have your buggy back.’

‘Cat. Gone,’ he repeats. There are no discussions about sitting in the buggy today. It’s George’s buggy, and he doesn’t want Ginge getting back in it.

Having strapped George in, I take him out into the yard to find Sophia who intercepts us, coming out of the tack room at the end of the row of stables with Liberty’s purple hoodie in her arms. Yes, I know it’s hard to believe but Alex’s horse wears an insulated rug with a hoodie during the winter.

‘George, Humpy’s here,’ Sophia calls. She bends down stiffly to greet him before looking up at me. ‘Aren’t you going to Toddler Group this morning?’

‘Emma’s having a few tests at the hospital today, so I’ve got to go into work, which means –’ I hesitate. It’s a bit of a cheek, isn’t it? ‘I could try asking Flick at the nursery …’

‘You’d like me to have the boy for the day.’ Sophia’s eyes light up with pleasure. ‘I’d love to, as long as you don’t mind me taking him out and about. The farrier’s coming this morning, and I’m taking Lucie’s pony, Tinky, to see the physio this afternoon.’

I smile to myself as I thank her. Tinky Winky gets his
own
physiotherapist, whereas Sophia, who’s clearly in more need of one than the pony, doesn’t. Sophia goes around the stables in long thermal yard boots stuck over with duct tape, while the horses have new shoes every seven or eight weeks. That’s typical Fox-Gifford logic for you.

‘Is Emma all right?’ Sophia asks.

‘She says she’s fine, but I’m not sure. We’ll know more later. Sophia,’ I say, a thought occurring to me. ‘I’m redoing the invitations for the wedding, and I wondered if you would prefer it if I didn’t invite Fifi. I know you had a bit of a falling-out and you told her she wasn’t welcome at the manor any more.’ I’m trying to be tactful out of respect for Sophia’s feelings.

She looks at me, and for a moment I wonder if I’ve offended her by even suggesting that Fifi should be invited.

‘I didn’t want her causing a scene,’ I go on.

‘Invite her,’ says Sophia. ‘What’s done is done, and I don’t want people to have to start choosing sides. No, Maz, Fox-Gifford was right about one thing. You should keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.’

I leave George in the buggy, watching her, worrying he’ll get kicked by a horse, and worse, that Sophia will decide he’s ready to ride one.

‘I thought we’d have liver and onions later – they’re your favourite, George.’

‘I’ve packed him some lunch,’ I say, thinking of the cheese and wholemeal sandwich, carrot and hummus, that will end up languishing in the box.

‘It’ll save you cooking him a dinner tonight, Maz,’ says Sophia, knowing that I can’t argue with that. At
the
moment, our fridge contains a bar of chocolate and a few of those pots of good bacteria that have been there so long that they’ve turned bad.

‘Sophia, how would I manage without you?’

‘I like looking after George. He’s my ray of sunshine. He reminds me more of his grandad every day.’

I let that one go. I drive to work, with the radio on, catching my breath as I wonder what to expect. Some of the clients are bound to be Emma specials, as I call them.

I am pleasantly surprised though. Bridget brings Daisy in for a check-up.

‘She’s looking great,’ I say, when we’re encouraging Daisy to walk onto the scales. ‘And so are you, Bridget.’

‘I’ve lost over a stone.’ She rests her hand on one hip to show off her figure. She’s no longer wearing her baggy Petals sweatshirt, but a slim-fitting layered look. ‘I’m on a very low dose of insulin now, and I feel fantastic.’

‘You’ll have to do the diet and exercise DVD,’ I say lightly.

‘I could do one for dog owners: how you and your pet can lose weight, the fun way.’ She smiles. ‘There are two flaws here. One is that I haven’t got any “before” photos because I couldn’t bear to see pictures of myself in that state. You knew I was in denial, didn’t you, Maz? Two,’ she goes on, ‘it wasn’t exactly fun getting to this stage. I miss my chocolate fix, and I am no more fond of exercise than I was before.’

‘So, no DVD then,’ I say, grinning.

‘I think not.’ Bridget looks at the display on the scales. ‘I forgot to check with you where you want the flowers delivered and at what time? I’m happy to drop
the
bouquet and posies to the church on my way to set up the arrangements at the reception.’

‘That would be wonderful, Bridget. It would mean I have one less thing to worry about on the day.’

‘Are you nervous?’

‘A little,’ I admit, turning my attention back to the patient. ‘Daisy weighs exactly the same as she did the last time.’ I note it down in her diabetes chart. ‘That’s brilliant. Now she’s lost the weight, she needs to maintain it.’

I take her through to the consulting room to give her a thorough check-up, then when I’ve finished, I kiss the wrinkle on the top of her head. Daisy turns and licks me on the face. She’s happy. I’m happy. Her diabetes is under control, she isn’t panting or struggling to move, and she smells so much sweeter now her skin infection has cleared.

The next appointment is Allie Jackson. I haven’t seen her for a while, not since Harry the hamster met his demise. I check her information on the monitor when I call her up from the waiting list, but Frances has not inputted the animal’s details yet.

Frances has been what I’d describe as a bit dippy recently, as if she has other, more important, concerns on her mind. I suspect they have something to do with her burgeoning romance with Lenny. Shannon helped her choose a mobile phone the other day, and she’s been teaching her how to text during their breaks. I can’t imagine how they’re getting on – by her own admission, Frances has always been technophobic. She used to stab the computer keyboard with the end of a pen because she was scared of it.

Back to Allie though. It crosses my mind that she could be here to ask me to health-check a couple of
stick
insects, or a gecko, but when I call her through, she’s carrying the tiniest blond puppy with the biggest brown eyes.