Trust Me, I'm a Vet (34 page)

‘They’re Gloria’s small furries. The firemen found them unharmed when they were damping down after the fire. I’ve cleaned them out, and given them fresh sawdust and toilet-roll insides. Frances is going to print up labels for them all and make some posters to put up around town. There must be some families out there who can give a couple of mice and gerbils a good home.’

‘Where are we supposed to work though? It’s complete chaos.’

‘It’s organised chaos,’ Izzy says, ever the optimist. ‘I have a list.’ She pulls a clipboard out from under an empty cat carrier. ‘First, I’d like you to have a look at the Siamese. Second, I thought it would be a good idea to X-ray Raffles again, because yesterday’s piccies were inconclusive. Then you can go and see your appointments – and there are quite a few today – while I give Petra a bath. If you like, I’ll change your dressings too.’

‘What about Ginge? I don’t want him stuck in that trap for any longer than necessary.’

‘If he falls for it,’ Izzy says. ‘I imagine he’s too savvy for that. Anyway, there’s no need for you to go – Fifi and some of her volunteers are going to the cottage this morning to see if they can catch any of the other cats. The firemen saw several about, but they all ran away, except for the Siamese.’ She takes him out of the cage, bringing the Vetbed with him attached to his claws. She puts him on the draining board, the only free surface left. ‘They’ll bring Ginge back, if he’s there.’

Wincing as I straighten my arms, I run my hands over the Siamese. He’s an elderly gentleman with long white whiskers and terrible breath. His teeth are dripping with pus and his gums are yellow with ulcers, telltale signs of chronic kidney failure.

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Izz?’

She nods as he lies purring gamely but effortfully in her arms. ‘’Fraid so. I think he’s too far gone.’

‘I’m not being mean, am I?’

‘I’ll fetch the juice,’ Izzy says, and five minutes later the old Siamese is at peace with Izzy and I the only ones to mourn his passing.

Izzy wraps him up in an old blanket and I head off to Reception, aware of the ache in my arms: it’s there all the time, a constant throb made worse by any movement, however small. I don’t feel so great this morning. When I did manage to get to sleep last night, I woke up with a raging thirst and now I feel weak and sick and sweaty.

I turn into the consulting room, where I remove the dressings. It’s a slow process. I pick at the edge of the last non-stick pad, which is well stuck on, then, scolding myself for being a wuss, I take a deep breath and rip it off in one go.

‘Are you in there, Maz?’ Frances comes bursting through anyway, waving a copy of the
Chronicle
with the headline ‘Vet Rescue’ in one hand, and a box of cat food in the other. Tripod accompanies her, I notice, his eyes fixed on the box.

‘Is that brunch?’ I shuffle around in one of Emma’s cupboards for some more bandages; hot pink is the only colour left.

‘If you like beef in gravy. The residents of Talyton are rallying round, bringing us gifts of pet food and offers of homes, and the phone hasn’t stopped ringing. I’m not sure I’ll have enough appointments for everyone today.’

Worrying that I’ll be too busy to visit Alex, I wind the bandage around my right arm first, then start on the left. I hope I’ll be able to keep going.

‘DJ would like a word,’ Frances adds. ‘He’s in Reception.’

‘What’s up?’ I ask DJ a moment later. As always, Magic, his dog, is waiting patiently by his side.

‘It’s more about what’s coming down, my lover.’ He smiles. ‘I’ve noticed some cracks in the render at the side of the house. I’d hate it to come down on one of your clients, so I wondered if we could put up some extra scaffold and make a proper job of it, not a bodge.’

‘How much more is it going to cost?’ I wish Emma was here – she’d know what to do for the best.

‘A little more than the front – because,’ he quickly adds, ‘of the difficulty of working over and above the glass extension.’

‘How long will it take?’

‘Ah, that, my lover, will be —’

‘Let me guess,’ I interrupt, ‘as long as it takes.’

‘You’re getting the idea. I’ll go and get started.’ DJ sticks his hand in his pocket. ‘By the way, me and the lads had a whip-round this morning’ – he pulls out a wad of notes and a few coins – ‘for the animals you saved from the fire.’

‘Thanks, DJ.’ I’m touched. Everyone’s being so kind. It reminds me of Alex and his kindness to me when I lost Cadbury. I can hear his voice.
Maz, I did it for you
 . . .

I close my eyes, trying to get a grip on my emotions when all I want to do is collapse in a snivelling heap. I can hear Magic’s nails pattering across the floor towards the exit and the tap of DJ’s boots; the clattering of stainless steel bowls somewhere from out the back; a phone ringing; a dog barking, Petra perhaps. I can smell boiled chicken, fresh coffee, antiseptic wash and greasy dog. It’s comforting.

I open my eyes again. Alex was right. I didn’t kill Cadbury. It was bad luck, and in spite of everything that’s happened, I still love my job, and if it should ever turn out that I have nothing else left, at least I have that.

‘Otter House Vets, how can I help?’ Frances is on the phone behind the desk. I notice that she’s re-personalised her workspace – the rosette is back, along with a photo of Ruby, and it reminds me that I must have a word with Nigel to see if there’s any way we can find the money to pay her wages and take her back on. She’s been wonderful, identifying those clients who really do need to bring their animals in as a matter of urgency, and those who want to see what’s going on and be part of the event which is coming to be known as the Great Fire of Talyton.

I return to Kennels to catch up with some notes. Izzy is at the far end of the room, brushing Petra in preparation for a bath in Emma’s innovative dog-washing station, a shower cubicle with a sunken tray. There’s a patter of dog claws and Miff comes flying in, huffing and puffing as if she’s trying to tell me something.

‘Who let the dog out?’ I call.

‘I did.’ A perfumed shadow falls across my paperwork.

I look up. ‘Oh, Emma! Is it really you?’ My heart lightens. ‘You’re back.’ I stand up and put my arms up to hug her, but the pain forces me to sit down again. ‘Am I pleased to see you! It’s gone a bit mad here.’

‘So I see,’ she says dryly. The break has done her good. Her hair is sleek and shiny, like something out of a Pantene ad, and she has a tan, set off by a red dress that shows off her curves.

‘I’m sorry about the mess.’

‘There’s no need to apologise, Maz.’

‘And I wish I hadn’t cut your holiday short.’

‘I did get your texts,’ she says, ‘but we were on our way home anyway. Ben made the decision – I’ve had a dodgy tummy for a couple of weeks. He said he’d be happier if we came home early.’

‘Em,’ I start, but a drum roll of hammering coming from outside the building takes over.

‘I told you there’d be trouble if you got involved with Talyton Manor Vets,’ Emma says over the noise, and I realise she knows about the slurry, as she goes on, ‘and I come back to discover that you’ve been fraternising with the enemy. Frances caught me on the way in – she mentioned you just happened to be out and about with Alex when Gloria’s cottage went up in smoke.’ She hesitates. ‘How is he?’

I shake my head, not daring to speak in case I dissolve into tears.

‘I saw the headlines on the billboards outside the newsagent’s.’ Emma doesn’t say any more about it, either to save my feelings or so as not to offend the dying, perhaps both. Instead, she stares at my arms. ‘What about you?’

‘I got out with superficial burns, that’s all.’

‘Superficial codswallop,’ Emma says. ‘Let me have a look.’

‘I’m fine.’ I’d rather she didn’t see my wounds, the wet, raw weals where the skin was burned right through to the flesh underneath, but Emma takes both my hands and leads me to the sink, where she grabs a pair of scissors and starts to snip at the dressings. I can’t argue with her any more. I can’t speak for the pain.

‘I’m going to ring Ben,’ she says. ‘You’ll be no use to anyone if you go down with some hideous infection. What’s more, you won’t be able to wear short sleeves at the wedding – those burns will scar if they’re not looked after properly.’

‘The wedding? I’m not getting married.’

‘Not yours, unless there’s something you’re not telling me,’ Emma says lightly. ‘Izzy’s.’

‘I didn’t know she was getting married,’ I say, a little hurt she hasn’t told me.

‘Frances told me about the dog which brought Izzy and Chris together.’

‘Freddie,’ I cut in.

‘That’s right. The goss in Talyton is that they’ll be married within the year.’

‘It’s just talk,’ I say, but Emma tips her head to one side and goes on, ‘Ah, but there’s no smoke without fire.’

‘You’re as bad as the rest of them,’ I tell her.

‘Then you’d better give me the true version of events,’ she says.

‘Oh, Emma, so much has happened, I hardly know where to start.’

‘I think it’ll have to wait. We’ll talk later,’ Emma says, as Fifi sweeps into Kennels with two of her volunteers, both weighed down with cat baskets. She certainly knows how to delegate.

Izzy looks up from the dog-washing station where she’s bathing Petra, who isn’t having any of it. There’s foam up the walls and in Izzy’s hair – everywhere except on the dog.

‘We’ve got another nine for you,’ Fifi says.

‘We’ll have to double them up,’ I say. ‘Even then I don’t know how on earth we’ll fit them all in.’

‘You’re very busy,’ Fifi observes. ‘It’s just like
ER
.’

‘Except there’s no George Clooney,’ Izzy calls out.

‘Did you find a ginger cat,’ I ask, ‘a skinny-looking thing?’

Fifi looks towards the volunteers, who shake their heads, then turns back to me. ‘Good news though, Maz. At last night’s emergency meeting, the committee agreed to offer all the practical and financial support available to treat and rehome Gloria’s animals. It was a unanimous decision.’

I thank her.

‘I let my personal feelings come between me and my duty to protect lost and abandoned animals. I shouldn’t have done,’ Fifi continues. ‘I could have handled things very differently.’

So could I, I think.

‘Gloria and I used to be great friends.’ Fifi dashes a teardrop, like one of the diamonds on her necklace, from her cheek.

‘I’m sorry, Fifi,’ Emma says, touching her hand to comfort her as she goes on, ‘At least this way I can make amends.’

‘Maz, could you throw me another towel?’ Izzy calls.

I fetch one from the cupboard under the sink.

‘Make that two!’

‘Is that Petra?’ Fifi frowns. ‘I thought she’d gone to a family in Talymouth. I suppose that was another of Gloria’s stories.’

‘Do you know where she came from?’ I hand Izzy the towels. I’m not sure who’s wetter, Izzy or the dog.

‘A breeder gave her to us when she was a few months old because she didn’t quite make the grade as a show dog. I can’t understand why – she’s so glamorous.’

‘She will be when she’s had a blow-dry and pedicure,’ Izzy says.

‘I’m sure we’ll be able to rehome her several times over, but I think I shall have first refusal,’ Fifi goes on.

Fifi and Petra? In my opinion, they’re completely unsuited.

‘I’ve already found Petra a home,’ I say quickly. She needs a calm and experienced handler, and I know just the person. ‘I’m sorry, Fifi. There’s another very cute little dog who needs a good home though.’ I show her Raffles, but I can see she isn’t impressed.

‘No,’ she says, ‘he isn’t my kind of dog.’

I’m glad. On second thoughts, I’m not sure that Fifi is Raffles’s kind of person.

‘Hi, all . . .’ It’s Ben, and he’s wearing a bright yellow polo shirt and smart trousers. ‘Emma sent for me.’

‘It’s a house call then?’ Izzy cuts in.

‘An Otter House call.’ Ben smiles. His hair is short and receding from his broad tanned forehead and his nose is crooked, evidence of his enthusiasm for rugby.

‘Good to see you back,’ Izzy says, giving him a damp hug. ‘How was the holiday?’

‘Fantastic – I’ve got hundreds of photos to bore you with later.’

‘Then it’s a good thing you only got halfway round the world, not all the way,’ Izzy says.

‘Dear Dr Mackie’ – Fifi joins the conversation – ‘promise you won’t leave us to go flying off round the world again. I’ve been dying to have another word about my’ – she glances down at her feet – ‘my little problem.’

‘Save me,’ Ben whispers; then, ‘Not now, Fifi. I’m taking Maz to the hospital.’

‘Oh? There’s nothing seriously wrong, is there?’

‘We won’t know until we get there,’ Ben says, keeping a straight face. I don’t know how he does it. He should have been an actor. ‘Come on, Maz. Let’s go.’ His hand is on my back, steering me past her.

‘Our Lady Mayoress treats me as if I’m on the set of
Street Doctor
. I’ve told her the bunions would soon clear up if only she’d wear sensible shoes.’