It's a Vet's Life: (45 page)

‘Stay with them,’ I decide.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Keep in touch then, Maz. If you need me, you know I’ll be straight over.’

‘Alex,’ I begin. ‘Do you think …?’

‘I won’t do anything about the wedding,’ he says, on the same wavelength as me. ‘It isn’t until eleven tomorrow morning. It’s only nine now. A lot could happen before then.’

‘Thanks, darling.’

‘Emma and the babies will be fine.’ Alex is trying to reassure me, but I pick up on the catch in his voice. ‘Call me as soon as you have any news. Call me whenever you like.’

When I return to the corridor, scenes of good and bad times with Emma flash into my brain, like a series of YouTube clips. How we met over a dead greyhound in the dissection room at vet school. Endless nights talking over glasses of cheap wine about life, the universe and boyfriends, past, present and future. Long hot summer days on the Backs, one garden party after another. Punting on the river and losing the picnic, Pimm’s and pole to an ambush of fellow vet students on another punt.

Our graduation ceremony in the marquee on the lawns in front of the vet school, fooling about in our formal gowns. The day we sat in the Copper Kettle in Talyton and Emma persuaded me to locum at Otter House. The day she lost baby Heather, and how I wasn’t able to support her in the way I should have
done
, because I was scared to tell her I was pregnant with George.

I cross my fingers and my toes for luck. It’s a ridiculous superstition, but it is all I have left.

White Wedding

‘BEN!’ EVERYTHING STOPS
when I see him emerge into the corridor in a gown that’s slipped off one shoulder, like a green toga. His expression is serious. ‘Any news?’

He walks up to me, his eyes light up and he smiles, and my body seems to fold with relief.

‘Emma’s all right,’ I say, ‘and the twins …?’

‘They’re all out of immediate danger.’ Ben steps into my outstretched arms for a hug.

‘That’s fantastic. I’ve been so worried.’ I can’t leave until not only has Ben told me that Emma is safe, but I have seen her with my own eyes. ‘Can I see her? Ben, please.’ When he hesitates, I continue, ‘You’re the doctor – you can let me in to see them just for a minute.’

‘It’ll be a while yet, three to four hours – Emma’s in Recovery. She had a general anaesthetic.’

‘I don’t mind. I’ll wait for as long as it takes.’ I wipe my eyes with a tissue. ‘Well? Aren’t you going to tell me about the babies?’

‘Emma and I are the proud parents of two wonderful little girls. I’m a dad at last.’

‘Have they got names? How much do they weigh?’

‘I’ll let Emma tell you.’ Ben grins. ‘She’ll be furious if I let on first.’

‘Congratulations, Ben.’

‘I’ll be back,’ he says.

I call Alex to give him the update. I’m relieved, excited and over the moon.

‘I’ll come and pick you up,’ he says.

‘I’m going to stay until Emma’s recovered from the anaesthetic. I need to see her and the babies.’

‘Maz, you’re sounding broody,’ Alex says lightly.

‘Anyway, I’m not supposed to see you now until the wedding.’

‘We’re going ahead then?’ It’s the middle of the night, yet I hear Alex talking to his daughter. ‘We’re good to go, Lucie.’

‘The wedding is on!’ I hear her exclaim. ‘We thought we were going to be very disappointed, didn’t we? I’ll go and tell Humpy.’

‘No, not now. Let Humpy have her beauty sleep.’

‘But, but, but—’

I picture Lucie springing up and down on the balls of her feet.

‘No buts,’ Alex says. ‘If you aren’t in bed in five minutes, I’ll have your dress made into a rug for Shezza.’

‘You haven’t seen Lucie’s dress, have you?’ I say.

‘No,’ Alex says, but I can tell from the tone of his voice that he’s fibbing. Smiling to myself, I let it go.

Three hours later, at half past one in the morning, Ben returns to show me to the maternity ward where Emma is in bed in a side room. The babies are lying on their backs in plastic cots, swaddled in white blankets, just the tops of their heads, that are barely covered by
a
fuzz of brown hair, and their closed eyes and noses, visible.

‘Em, how are you?’ I walk to the bed and take the hand she offers. She’s on a drip, a blood transfusion.

‘I’d like to say I feel fab,’ she says quietly, ‘but I feel like … rubbish, to be truthful.’ Her eyes glitter, her face with little more colour than the sheets. She looks longingly towards her babies. ‘I’m scared to hold them just yet. I’m still under the influence … How’s Miff?’

‘Shannon’s looking after her. Don’t worry about Miff. You must concentrate on yourself and those beautiful babies.’ It’s strange, but a wave of maternal yearning and a touch of envy washes through me. ‘Can I have a cuddle?’

‘Of course,’ Emma says. I glance towards Ben.

‘I’m not sure we should wake them,’ he says, and I realise he’s speaking as a dad, not a doctor now. I recognise the uncertainty in his voice. It’s all very well knowing the theory of how to bring up a baby, but when it comes to the practical …

I pick one baby out of her cot. Ben lifts the other into his arms. I have the briefest hold of the baby, smelling her eggy, newborn scent as I touch my nose to the soft new skin on her forehead. I place her into Emma’s arms as she lies on the bed.

‘I don’t know what to do, how to hold her,’ she says, but she’s smiling now.

‘Practice makes perfect,’ I say. ‘Have you chosen their names yet?’

‘Lydia and Elena,’ she says.

‘Which one is which?’

‘I’m not sure …’ Emma unwraps the baby she’s holding and examines her neck. ‘This is Lydia – she has a birthmark.’

‘Are they identical then, apart from the birthmark, I mean?’

‘They aren’t, but they’re pretty similar,’ says Ben.

Lydia stretches out one tiny arm with an even tinier hand and fingers, and yawns.

‘She is gorgeous,’ I say. ‘They both are.’

‘Mum would have loved to have met them,’ Emma begins.

‘She would have been very proud of you.’

‘Sometimes I think I can hear her voice, telling me what to do.’ Emma smiles tearfully. ‘And what she’s telling me now, Maz, is that you have to get yourself out of here. Go home and get some sleep so you’re ready for the big day.’

‘But what about you? Will you be all right?’

‘Ben’s here now. Go on,’ she repeats. ‘It’s the bride’s prerogative to be late, but don’t keep everyone in suspense any longer. Especially Alex.’ She hesitates. ‘There was a time when I disapproved of you two getting together, but he’s a good guy, in his own way, and he makes you happy. You make each other happy. So, Maz, go. I’ll be here when you get back from your honeymoon. Well, hopefully not here exactly, but at home with Ben and my babies.’

‘Thanks, Em. I’ll see you soon though. We aren’t flying until Boxing Day.’

‘I almost forgot,’ she says. ‘I bought you a present for the wedding, something blue. It should be with the dress, in a bag from Aurora’s shop.’

‘Thank you.’ I kiss her cheek before I leave. ‘Make sure you look after yourself and those babies of yours. Don’t worry about anything else.’

‘What about Will?’ Emma says, half teasing.

‘Forget about Will. He knows what he’s doing at last. He’s found his feet. I’ll see you soon.’

‘You bet. Make sure you bring the piccies as soon as you can.’

Ben walks me to the exit of the maternity ward. ‘Thank you, Maz,’ he says quietly. ‘I don’t know what would have happened if—’

‘Sh. You can always rely on a vet. They’re better than any doctor.’

‘I have to say I’m pretty glad you didn’t decide to operate.’

‘I would have done if I’d had to.’

‘I have no doubt that you would. Go on, Maz. All the best for the wedding, and I’m sorry Emma and I can’t make it.’

‘I’ll save you a cupcake.’

‘Go!’ Ben says, almost pushing me out into the corridor. ‘Hurry, or we won’t be the only ones to miss out on the wedding.’

It’s half past two. I text Alex to say that all’s well, then call a taxi to take me back to Talyton St George, deciding to head for Otter House. I don’t want to disturb Sophia at the Manor – the dogs would go wild if I turned up in the middle of the night. I don’t want to see Alex either. Well, I do. There’s nothing I’d like more, but it’s supposed to be unlucky for the groom to see his bride on the night before the wedding, so I restrain myself. By going to the practice, I can check on Miff and let Emma know how she is.

When I arrive, Miff is up on her feet, sniffing around for breakfast, apparently unfazed that she can’t see with her eyelids sewn shut. Someone – Shannon, I assume – has decorated the front of her cage with tinsel. I text Emma an update before I retire for a quick
snooze
on the sofa in the staffroom. I don’t know about Sophia, but I need some beauty sleep. My face in the rear-view mirror of the taxi reminded me of the Bride of Godzilla.

I’d set the alarm on my mobile for seven so I could be at the Manor for the wedding breakfast Sophia’s planned for me and the children at eight, but it’s eight fifteen before I wake up. I check my phone. There are several voicemail messages from Sophia.

I call her back.

‘Maz, where are you? I’ve been frantic.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise what the time was.’

‘Just tell me,’ Sophia goes on, ‘is there going to be a wedding today, or not? Only it could be that you’re backing orf.’

I am getting cold feet, but not in the way Sophia believes. It’s chilly in the staffroom without a blanket or duvet. ‘Sophia, I’m getting married. Today.’ My life is about to change for ever: Ms Harwood to Mrs Fox-Gifford the Younger.

‘You shouldn’t have worried.’

‘But I do. You do make rather a habit of getting yourself lost. I’ll never forget the day you went missing in the flood.’

‘Alex knows where I am. Roughly, anyway,’ I say. ‘I’ve been in touch with him.’

‘You haven’t seen him, have you? Really, Maz. I thought the idea was to keep you apart until you meet at the altar. It’s traditional.’

If she’s such a stickler for tradition, I dread to think what Sophia will make of the cake.

‘So where have you been?’

‘I would have contacted you to let you know, but I assumed Alex would have been in touch.’ It occurs to
me
that Sophia could just as easily have walked across from the Manor to the Barn to see Alex herself.

‘Alexander sent the children over first thing, and went off to Stewart’s to get ready. I didn’t get to speak to him – I was finishing orf the horses.’ Sophia sighs. ‘In a way, it’s a blessing that the National was cancelled. It might have been too much.’

‘There’s always next year,’ I say. ‘I’ve been at the hospital with Emma. We had a few anxious moments. The twins arrived early and in rather a rush.’

‘Oh? Are they all well?’

‘Emma’s lost a lot of blood and the twins are small, but out of danger.’

‘That’s good news then. Where was Dr Mackie?’

‘He was delayed getting back to Talyton. He’s with them now, though. Sophia, the wedding is on.’

‘Maz, let’s think this through.’

‘There’s nothing to think about. I said, the wedding is on.’

‘Logistics, dear Maz. It’s like organising Pony Club camp. Have you got time to get back to the Manor, or should I bring everything into town? You can shower and change at Otter House, and Maria can come and do your hair there. It would save half an hour or so. You’re way behind, according to your schedule.’

I printed out copies of the wedding planner and gave one to Sophia.

‘Eight a.m. The bride’s breakfast – champagne and scrambled eggs. You’ve missed out on that. I know, I’ll ask Lucie to bring a basket of eggs. We’ll meet you at Otter House. Don’t move!’ Eventually, Sophia turns up at Otter House with the children and Maria in tow. In the process of texting Alex to let him know that everything is back on track for the wedding, I discover
an
update from Jennie with a photo of the cake set up ready for the reception.

I show it to Sophia who, as I predicted, wrinkles her nose.

‘That isn’t a cake, Maz. They’re ordinary, everyday buns.’

‘They’re cupcakes, and Jennie’s decorated them with our initials, A and M, in red, green and gold. I had to cancel the order for the fruit cake. When I reordered, I had a change of heart.’

‘Well,’ Sophia sighs resignedly, ‘you’ve always been a bit of a one for rebelling.’

Will lets me shower in the flat before we congregate in the staffroom where Sophia cooks chewy scrambled eggs in the microwave and burns the toast. I end up drinking champagne on an empty stomach while Maria does my hair. I don’t mind. I’m not hungry.

I admire Sophia, how she’s found the strength to carry on after losing Old Fox-Gifford and find some joy in her life. She has kept it together somehow. I look at her now, dressed in a polo-neck and slacks, her hair stiffly set.