It's a Vet's Life: (9 page)

‘Not Frances,’ Shannon cuts in. ‘She’d tell everyone.’

‘You could speak to your tutor at college.’

‘Maz, it’s nothing. Nothing much,’ she qualifies. ‘Actually, I’m worried about Mum … She’s been really down recently and she won’t go to the doctor, even though I’ve asked her to over and over.’

That seems unreasonable of Bridget, I think, considering how Shannon’s already lost her father. ‘Would you like me to mention it – in passing, I mean?’

‘I’ll deal with it, Maz. I’ve had an idea.’

Shannon says no more on the matter, so I change the subject.

‘What do you think of Will? Are you getting on all right?’

‘He seems … reasonable enough.’ She brightens. ‘He’s a bit of a geek. And all he talks about are his scorpions and tree frogs.’

‘Not really your type then?’ I say, grinning.

‘Definitely not. Maz, I haven’t got time for a boyfriend. I couldn’t anyway, not after Drew. Men are soooo not worth it.’

Shannon sighs and I smile to myself. I don’t suppose it will be long until she changes her mind.

Bridget brings Daisy in the same afternoon at Shannon’s request. Shannon and I take some blood and do a quick test for glucose before running some through the lab to check Daisy’s liver and kidney function.

‘Daisy, you look as if you’ve lost a bit of condition.’ I run my hands along her chest, where her ribs should be. ‘Shannon, we should try to get a urine sample.’ I give her a collection dish and pot, and send her out to the garden, wishing her every success.

‘You’ll be lucky,’ Bridget smiles. ‘Daisy’s very shy about that sort of thing.’

‘How is it going with the diet?’ I ask while we wait. ‘I mean, with Daisy’s diet …’ Talk about putting my foot in it. Bridget’s cheeks acquire a deeper hue. I wonder about her blood pressure – she’s far more likely to have a problem than Frances whose occasional high colour seems to have more to do with an affair of the heart than a problem with the arteries.

‘She’s always starving.’ Bridget shrugs. ‘Daisy’s like me. Neither of us are any good at sticking to a diet. Maz, if this is diabetes, what are we talking about, treatment-wise?’

‘It will mean daily insulin injections, and a strict diet and exercise regime, but you have a vet nurse to do all of that for you, and we’re just around the corner if you need any help or advice.’

‘Thanks, Maz.’ Bridget pauses. ‘Shannon’s been telling me that you’re getting married. I’m sorry if I’m speaking out of turn, but I’d be more than happy to talk flowers with you – even if you don’t choose to order them from me. I can advise you about winter blooms and foliage, and give you an idea of whether or not you’re getting a good deal. You’ve been so kind to Shannon … and Daisy. It would be a pleasure.’

‘Actually, I haven’t thought about flowers yet,’ I admit. ‘I’m not terribly organised. Emma and Frances have already decided what I should have, but I’d prefer to make my own choices. Do I have to book an appointment, or just drop in?’

‘Why don’t you drop in one night after work when I’m not busy in the shop. Come in for a glass of wine and nibbles.’

‘Thanks. That would be great.’ That will be something else to tick off the list.

‘Tonight then?’

‘A day next week would suit me better, if that’s all right.’

‘We’re back,’ Shannon interrupts, Daisy’s claws tapping along the floor behind her. ‘Success!’ She waves a pot of dog wee at me – with the lid on, I hasten to add. I test it quickly for glucose. It’s positive.

‘So, Daisy has diabetes,’ says Shannon.

‘We’ll run the blood through the lab to check there’s nothing else going on,’ I say. ‘You can get that done before you go home, can’t you, Shannon? Then I suggest we book Daisy in for a twenty-minute appointment first thing tomorrow morning. If my nine o’clock is booked already, come in for twenty to.’ I hesitate. ‘I’m not planning to give Daisy anything now – we need to get her into a routine. She’s going to have to come in every day until we get her condition stabilised.’

‘What about Sunday?’ says Shannon. ‘We don’t have a surgery on a Sunday?’

‘Will can see her. He’ll arrange a mutually convenient time.’

‘But …’ Shannon hesitates. I know what she’s thinking. Does Will know what he’s doing?

‘I’ll have a word with him and let him know where we’re at.’

‘Thanks, Maz,’ Shannon says, apparently reassured.

‘Um, what are the signs of diabetes?’ says Bridget.

‘Polydipsia – that’s drinking lots,’ says Shannon, ‘along with weeing lots and eating lots.’ She smiles. ‘You see, I have been revising. I do know something.’

‘So, it’s the same in dogs as it is in humans?’ says Bridget.

‘Pretty much so,’ I say.

‘It sounds … What happens if you don’t do anything about it?’

‘You die,’ I say, putting it bluntly. ‘Eventually, the blood sugar level goes up so high that the body can no longer cope. The uncontrolled diabetic collapses, has fits, then goes into a coma, and that’s it.’

‘You are going to let Maz treat her, aren’t you, Mum?’ Shannon says, wide-eyed with concern. ‘You aren’t going to let her die?’

‘I shan’t let her die,’ Bridget sighs. ‘I’d better make that appointment.’

‘I wish you’d look after yourself like you do the dogs,’ Shannon says quietly. ‘I can bring Daisy in tomorrow morning so you can see the doctor before you open the shop.’

Bridget doesn’t respond. From her expression, I don’t think she’s being difficult. I think she’s scared.

‘Please, Mum,’ Shannon says. ‘For me?’

‘Oh, all right. For you,’ Bridget says eventually. ‘Yes, I’ll have a chat with Dr Mackie.’ Shannon glances at me, her face etched with relief.

Bridget has the last word though. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with me.’

When I picture the fairy-tale dress, it is a blurry silhouette of off-white silk. I really don’t know what I’m looking for. I hope Emma has a better idea than I do. She gave me some magazines to inspire me. There were some beautiful dresses, too many to choose from.

‘Where do we start?’ I ask as we leave the multi-storey car park in Exeter, Devon’s historic cathedral city, and head into the shopping centre.

‘In this vast metropolis …’

‘You are joking, right.’

‘Well, yes, although I’m comparing it with Talyton St George. Anyway, we can try the charity shops if you want the vintage look. We’ve got the department stores, if you want something ready-made and straight off the hanger, so to speak. It might be advisable because you haven’t got much time to order a dress that needs making up from scratch, and have it altered if needs be.’ Emma pauses. ‘You’re bound to lose a few pounds before the wedding day.’

‘That won’t be such a bad thing.’ I’m still carrying a couple of kilos of baby weight.

‘Does Sophia know you’re out shopping for the dress?’

‘I haven’t mentioned it. I don’t want her taking over, Em. I expect her to be offended that I didn’t ask her opinion, but she’s completely out of touch.’

We make a start in a bridal shop where we are welcomed by an assistant called Cara who appears to have been Botoxed, burnished with fake tan and basted with foundation that doesn’t match the shade of her skin.

‘So which of you young ladies is the blushing bride?’ she says, having introduced herself. She wears a navy jacket and skirt, and a diamanté hairclip in the shape of a starfish in her sleek mahogany hair. ‘It’s Maz here,’ says Emma, and if I wasn’t blushing before, I am now.

‘Emma’s my wedding planner and matron of honour, if she’ll accept the position.’ I’ve rather sprung it on her, although I can’t imagine her turning it down. ‘Please, Em, I need you to keep Lucie, Seb and George in order.’

‘How can I resist? Oh, I’d love to,’ she says, hugging me. ‘I’m so excited. How are we going to choose this dress?’

‘I don’t know.’ I don’t know where to start.

Cara steps in.

‘Have you a theme for the wedding?’ she asks.

‘Not really.’

‘Of course you have,’ says Emma. ‘It’s a country wedding … A Christmas wedding.’

‘A Christmas wedding,’ I echo.

‘So as well as the dress, you’re going to have to think about how you’ll avoid those blue arms and goose bumps in the photos and video. Of course, these things can be airbrushed out nowadays, but it’s always better not to start with them in the first place. You can still choose quite a revealing dress, if you add a coat or cloak. We have a lovely hooded cape lined with faux fur for the winter season.’ Cara pauses. ‘Take a seat. I’ll fetch some coffee and we can talk through some preliminary ideas.’

‘You did remember to wear decent underwear?’ whispers Emma when Cara is on her way back with a cafetière, cups and saucers on a tray.

‘Yes, thanks to you.’ I smile.

‘What time of day is the actual wedding ceremony?’ Cara asks.

‘Late morning, I hope. We still have to agree a time with the vicar.’

‘That’s ideal. You know what they say – always get married in the morning. That way, if it all goes pear-shaped, you haven’t wasted the whole day,’ Cara says brightly. ‘Anyway, according to the law of the land, you have to marry in daylight so the groom can see he’s marrying the person he thinks he is.’

There’s nothing I can say to that, and even Emma appears lost for words.

‘Have you thought about your silhouette?’ Cara says. ‘The shape of the dress?’

‘I know I don’t want to look like a meringue.’

‘Think about highlighting your best bits,’ says Emma. ‘You have a neat bust, slim hips and a flattish stomach. I am so jealous.’

I’m beginning to feel like an exhibit in a show for best pet.

‘A column dress might suit you, Maz, or a fishtail shape which hugs the figure then flares out below the knee. We’ll start with those,’ Cara says. ‘How about a train? Are you getting married in a church, registry office or somewhere more exotic?’

‘The local church,’ says Emma.

‘That’s wonderful. It gives you so much more flexibility when it comes to choosing the train. A cathedral-length would make quite a statement.’ Cara appraises me once more. ‘Let’s try the column dress first. Come through to the changing room and take your clothes off. Have you got your shoes with you?’

I glance down at my flat pumps.

‘They won’t do. You need something with a decent heel. I have a pair you can try for now.’

I strip down to my underwear and wait, surrounded by mirrors that make me feel completely exposed. I half expect Gok Wan to walk in, but it’s Cara who turns up, laden with dresses. She helps me into the first one, a plain ivory gown with a cowl neck. She zips and buttons me up at the back before tweaking the sides and sticking a few pins into the fabric, making me wince.

‘That is gorgeous. You do have a lovely figure.’ She pulls the curtain across to show Emma. ‘Doesn’t she look fabulous?’

Emma looks me up and down. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘I feel a bit like a nun.’

‘We can’t have that,’ Cara says. ‘That won’t put you in the mood for your wedding night, will it. Take it off. I have plenty more.’

Five dresses later and we are no nearer finding the One.

‘This is more difficult than finding a husband,’ I say.

‘Well, in both cases, you have to be sure of your choice,’ says Cara. ‘Ah, here’s the one I was looking for. Try this.’

‘Go on, Maz,’ Emma says, sensing that I’m already running out of enthusiasm. ‘I tried over a hundred when I was looking for mine.’

‘Is that all?’ says Cara. ‘I’ve had brides in here who’ve tried on more than two hundred and fifty before they could make up their minds.’ She pulls the curtains back across, helps me into the next dress and laces it up tightly.

‘It’s a smaller size,’ she explains. ‘We can order the next size up,’ but I can see as she steps back and wrinkles her nose that she already knows I’m not going to like it. ‘Personally,’ she goes on, one hand on her hip, ‘I think it’s wrong for you. It’s too bouffant over the hips and it’s making a shelf of your bosom.’

‘Would you unlace me, please?’ I can hardly breathe and it’s a relief to discover my ribs are intact, only bruised, as the dress comes off again.

‘Don’t worry, Maz,’ Emma calls out. ‘There’s always eBay.’

‘I have two more,’ Cara says, unappreciative of Emma’s teasing. ‘There’s the one I describe as being after the Duchess of Cambridge’s style, but it’s white which won’t suit your colouring, although we can obtain one in ivory. Then there’s the mermaid gown –
that’s
in ivory, with a sequinned bodice and scalloped sleeves. I’ll find that one for you.’

The mermaid gown is a perfect fit. It’s stunning. I feel several inches taller, very much the princess and definitely not a mermaid.

‘I reckon that could be the one,’ says Emma.

‘You don’t sound terribly convinced,’ I say.

‘It isn’t that … I’m disappointed we’ve found it so soon.’

‘Oh, but you still have to choose the shoes, headdress, cape, and bridesmaids’ dresses,’ Cara says quickly. ‘You’ve hardly started yet.’