Trust Me, I'm a Vet (41 page)

‘I know.’ I look at Ginge, who’s pressed himself into the corner of the cage. I’d love to say yes, but I can’t. And it isn’t about the money or feeling like an outsider. My throat chokes up with emotion. I’ll have to find a solution because the more I think about it now, the more I want to stay.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Animal Magic

I sit with Ginge for much of the night, thinking it over. When I fiddle with his drip, he bites me – in the nicest possible way, I hasten to add. It’s a mock bite, without teeth. By the small hours, he’s sitting on my lap, a purring skeleton with bald patches where I’ve had to trim the worst of the knots away. I find it difficult to put him back in the cage, because as soon as he’s confined in there he starts grumbling again. I smile to myself. He’s going to get better – he’s got enough fight left in him.

I’ve gained Ginge’s trust, but I’m no nearer finding a way of regaining Izzy’s. I’ll have to talk to her. After all, I’ve got nothing to lose.

It’s too busy first thing. Frances is at Reception, making appointments which seem to be coming thick and fast now Emma’s back. Emma’s in the office with a box of doughnuts to stave off morning sickness, going through the accounts with Nigel, and Izzy’s whizzing around with rows of stainless-steel feeding bowls on her arm, like a silver service waitress. Raffles, some of the cats and the small furries are still with us, waiting for homes. Ugli-dog has gone to one of Talyton Animal Rescue’s long-term fosterers.

Suddenly, the buzzer goes off and there’s a lot of shouting and banging of doors. Frances throws the door into Kennels open, letting in Chris, who’s carrying a dog wrapped in a bloodstained towel in his arms.

‘Emergency!’ she calls. ‘Is there a vet in the house?’

‘Oh God.’ Izzy’s face turns pale and she drops her last bowl onto the floor before springing towards the bench where Chris is unwrapping his bundle. Her voice rises to a scream. ‘It’s Freddie!’

‘Someone’s tipped some rubbish into one of our fields,’ Chris gasps. ‘He’s cut himself. It’s this leg,’ he adds helpfully, although there’s no need to tell me. It’s obvious which leg the blood’s coming from. I unwrap Chris’s temporary tourniquet made from a well-used handkerchief, grab the top of Freddie’s front leg and squeeze it to stem the bleeding, which slows to a steady ooze.

Chris turns to Izzy, as upset as she is over what’s happened to Freddie.

‘I’m sorry, love. I didn’t realise the dogs had got out. When I found them, Freddie and Meg were rounding up the sheep, would you believe it? Anyway, I whistled, they came bounding across the field and Freddie caught himself on a piece of glass.’

‘It isn’t your fault,’ Izzy says gently, seeming to have recovered from the shock of Freddie’s arrival. She hands me a swab. I dab at the area, checking for glass. Freddie fidgets – a good sign, I think, because I have no idea how much blood he’s lost – but the bleeding starts up again, spurting arcs of bright, arterial red, which spatter my scrub top, face and hair.

‘We’d better get him knocked out asap,’ I say, applying another tourniquet to Freddie’s leg which stops the bleeding, giving me time to anaesthetise him. Izzy holds Freddie’s head while Chris and Frances look on. Once Freddie’s safely asleep, Izzy releases the tourniquet. I clamp off the severed artery and swab away the blood so I can assess the rest of the damage.

‘How bad is it, Maz?’ Chris asks.

‘He’s cut through a couple of tendons,’ I say. Freddie’s bigger than when I last saw him, but he isn’t fully grown yet. ‘I’m not sure how easy it’ll be to reattach them.’

‘I hope they can be fixed,’ Chris says. ‘Just as he’s proved he has the drive to be a working sheepdog, this happens. He’ll be no good to me if he can only run on three legs.’

‘You will keep him though?’ Izzy says quickly.

Chris smiles wryly. ‘A dog is like a wife – it should be for life.’ He turns back to me. ‘I take it you’re doing the surgery, Maz.’

I don’t answer, aware that Izzy’s staring at me as if assessing my competence and Freddie’s chances if I should end up wielding the scalpel.

I clear my throat. ‘Frances, will you buzz Emma, please. I’d like her to do the surgery.’ I turn back to Izzy. ‘Is that all right with you?’

‘Yes, that’s fine,’ she says. ‘I’ll set up in theatre.’

‘Emma can’t do it,’ Frances announces. ‘She keeps dashing off to the bathroom.’ She smiles. ‘I knew it. I knew she was in the family way.’

‘You mean she’s pregnant?’ says Izzy.

‘Why else would she be craving doughnuts and feeling sick?’ Frances says triumphantly. ‘You’ll have to carry on without her, Maz.’

‘Izzy?’ I say.

Izzy’s brow creases with concern for Freddie.

‘I’ll be really careful, I promise.’

‘Go on then,’ she says, and a few minutes later, Freddie is in theatre. Izzy tells Chris to watch the bag on the anaesthetic circuit to make sure Freddie keeps breathing, while she fusses around, making sure I have the right kit.

To be honest, Izzy’s presence makes me nervous. Get a grip, I tell myself as my needle holders slip from my grasp and clatter to the floor.

‘The spare set’s stuck in the autoclave,’ Izzy observes. ‘You’ll have to improvise.’

Chris alters the angle of the light as I hunt for the ends of Freddie’s tendons, which have pinged apart and disappeared under the skin higher up his leg. Izzy holds his leg in a position that brings the ends of the tendons back into view and gives me the best chance of reattaching them. It takes me a while and the whole time I’m aware of Izzy watching over me. I can’t afford to make the tiniest slip.

I can feel sweat pooling in my armpits, and dripping from my forehead and soaking into my surgical mask. I glance up at Izzy’s face, her eyes filled with worry.

‘He is going to be all right?’ she says.

I show the repairs I’ve made. They’re good enough for me, but will they be good enough for Izzy?

‘I know I’ve made mistakes, that I’ll never match up to Emma in your eyes,’ I begin when she doesn’t say anything, ‘but —’

‘No, Maz,’ Izzy interrupts.

No. With that one word, Izzy dashes my hopes of ever winning her round. I can’t possibly stay on at Otter House now. My heart plummets and my eyes mist with tears. I turn away, pretending to look for something on the instrument tray.

‘Maz, I’m not saying you’ve done a bad job,’ Izzy says quietly. ‘I think you’ve done a fantastic job on Freddie’s leg. No, what I’m saying is that it’s true I’ve had my doubts about you – call it my suspicious mind, if you like – but I’ve seen how much you care about the animals, and the clients.’ She clears her throat. ‘Look at how kind you’ve been to Tripod, giving him a home as the practice cat. And Ginge. Most other vets I know would have put him down.’

I turn back to her as she goes on, ‘I think you’re a lovely person, Maz. And a great vet.’

‘Hear hear,’ Chris says.

‘You’re making me blush,’ I say, ‘but thank you.’

Smiling, Izzy looks past me as Emma enters theatre and I start to try and work out how I’m going to find enough skin to close Freddie’s wound.

‘How’s it going?’ Emma asks anxiously, as I begin to suture.

‘Maz has saved Freddie’s leg,’ Chris says.

‘I hear you have some news for us,’ Izzy says, her eyes shining above her surgical mask.

‘Ah,’ says Emma. ‘It’s early days, so I was trying to keep it low-key, but yes, I’m expecting at long last.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful. I’d give you a hug, but for . . .’ Izzy holds up her bloodstained hands.

‘Save it for later,’ Emma says.

‘Right, there’s a lot of tension across the repair,’ I say as I tie off the last knot a short time later. ‘We’ll keep him in for a couple of days, and splint this leg for a while to give the tendons time to heal.’

‘I’ll do the dressing,’ Izzy volunteers. ‘Chris, you hold Freddie’s leg for me.’

‘I’ll take over the anaesthetic while Maz writes up her notes,’ Emma offers, bringing in a stool to perch on at Freddie’s head. A couple of minutes later, she looks up and stares across the table at Izzy’s neck. ‘What’s that?’

Izzy stops part-way through unwinding a bandage. She smiles coyly as she lifts the diamond ring dangling from a delicate gold chain around her neck.

‘I never thought it would happen,’ she says softly, gazing towards Chris, who’s turned red as beetroot under his tan. ‘I didn’t think I’d meet a man I’d fall in love with, and he’d love me back. Chris and I are getting married next spring, after lambing.’

‘I’m not sure I can take much more good news,’ Emma chuckles, and we both congratulate them at the same time, talking over and across each other.

‘Freddie’s going to be pageboy,’ Izzy says once we’ve calmed down. ‘Maz, you will come back for the wedding, won’t you? We want you to be there.’

I glance at Emma, who’s removing Freddie’s ET tube. She takes a piece of cotton wool and wipes the drool from his face as he lifts his head up, his expression bemused, as if to say, ‘What am I doing here?’

I’ve always respected Emma for knowing exactly where she’s going, and now I’m in a position to follow her example. I know exactly where I’m going. Nowhere.

‘I’m sorry, Izzy,’ I begin, trying to keep a straight face. ‘I can’t come back for your wedding.’

‘Why on earth not?’ she says.

‘Because . . .’ I’m aware Emma’s looking at me, her lips curving into a smile. ‘Because I’m staying on as Emma’s partner.’

Emma screeches with joy, Freddie tries to roll onto his front and Izzy’s jaw drops.

‘I can feel a party coming on,’ Emma decides, and later in the day, Ben drops off a couple of bottles of champagne, which she puts in the freezer – yes, that one.

At the end of a busy evening surgery, she fetches wine glasses from the flat and calls Frances and Izzy through to the staffroom to join us in a toast. Even Nigel is there to join the celebrations.

‘Frances, you must have some champagne,’ Emma says.

‘Not for me, thank you,’ she says. ‘A little bit of what I fancy always seems to do me in. I’ll have lemonade, like you.’

‘First of all, please raise your glasses to Maz, my new partner,’ Emma says. ‘When I set up the practice, I always hoped that one day Maz would come and work with me.’ She turns to Nigel, who’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt and spotty bow tie. ‘Here’s to you, Nigel, for doing your best to keep Otter House Vets afloat.’

‘I reckon I have the toughest job around here, keeping you vets in order,’ he says smugly. Emma winks at me, and Izzy rolls her eyes.

‘And to you, Frances,’ Emma says, ‘for coming back and sticking with us.’

‘Well, as I might have said before, I do love a good crisis.’ Frances’s cheeks glow like the poppies on her tunic.

‘If it hadn’t been for you – and Fifi and her volunteers, of course – I don’t think we’d have managed to rehome so many of Gloria’s animals,’ Emma goes on. ‘Even the little cockatiel’s gone.’

‘He’ll be back,’ says Izzy wryly. ‘He’ll drive his new owners mad with his constant chattering.’

‘Here’s to the team then,’ Emma says.

‘You’ve missed something, Emma,’ I point out.

‘Oh yes. Congratulations to Izzy and Chris on their engagement.’

‘And one more.’ Emma frowns as I go on, ‘A toast to you and Ben, and the baby, of course.’ I take a sip of champagne, but it won’t go past the lump in my throat.

‘Thank you, everyone,’ Emma says with a sob. ‘I’m so happy . . .’

So am I, I think. It’s been a difficult journey, but I’ve made real friends along the way. There’s only one more thing that would make my happiness complete.

‘Please don’t cry, otherwise we’ll all start,’ Izzy says, but it’s too late and Frances has to dash out for her tissue box, which turns out to be empty.

‘It’s that Ally Jackson,’ Frances says. ‘Every time she’s here, she empties it with her blubbering. Last time she broke down over each and every one of the rescues’ stories. I’m surprised she could read her notes.’

I think it’s Emma who recovers her composure first. She offers me more champagne.

‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘I’m going out tonight.’

‘With Alex?’ Izzy cuts in.

‘I can think of a million men I’d rather see you going out with,’ Emma begins.

‘It’s a pity you haven’t introduced any of them to me before,’ I say lightly. ‘Anyway I’m not going out with him. I’m going to see him. There is a difference.’

‘I wasn’t sure whether to believe the rumours that have been flying round. Do you really like him, Maz?’ Emma says.

I nod. I can’t describe how I feel about Alex Fox-Gifford. Words aren’t enough.

‘In that case I’d better get over it, hadn’t I?’ Emma smiles. ‘I hope you have a lovely evening. I mean it.’

I’m not sure how he’s going to react, but I can’t wait to see his face when I tell him that I’ll be staying now. I check up on Ginge on my way out. He’s out of the woods, so to speak, but he isn’t all that grateful. Gloria was right – he hates being confined.

‘I’ll let you out with Tripod as soon as you’re fit enough to look after yourself,’ I tell him. ‘You’ll have to have butter on your paws though.’ It’s an old wives’ tale, but I’ll try anything to make sure he doesn’t run away again. Hopefully, like me, he’ll come to realise where he’s better off.