Must Be Love (20 page)

‘My father’s in charge until tomorrow morning. I made it a point of honour. If he can’t cope with a single night on duty on his own, then we’ll have to start thinking about taking on another vet.’ He dunks a chip in ketchup and holds it to my mouth. ‘Come on, Maz. These are the best chips in Devon and you have to eat.’

‘How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t
have
to do anything,’ I say, then wish I hadn’t. ‘I’m sorry …’

‘It’s all right – I’m used to moody mares.’ Smiling, Alex touches my cheek, the edge of one fingernail grazing my skin, and my chest tightens with love and desire. ‘I wouldn’t dare suggest it’s your hormones … Maz, darling, I love you and I’m with you and this baby all the way. I promise.’

‘Oh, Alex, I love you too,’ I say, and to my chagrin, I burst into tears.

Chapter Eleven

The Cat’s Whiskers

I overhear Frances talking to herself when I’m on my way into Reception the next morning, toast in one hand, glass of water in the other.

‘How can you be so careless? One touch of a button, one slip of my finger and it’s gone, disappeared into the virtual firmament,’ Frances goes on crossly. ‘If I had my way, I’d pull the plug on you.’ She turns to face me. ‘Oh, it’s you, Maz.’

‘Have you seen Emma?’ I was going to ring her when I woke at five-thirty, lying on my back with Alex’s hand across my stomach, but decided against it – Ben likes his sleep.

‘She’s down for the morning appointments. That’s what it said on the machine until it lost the whole lot.’ Frances means the computer. ‘I don’t know why we don’t go back to cards.’

‘Because nobody likes filing them. Emma’s usually here by now,’ I continue, impatient to give her my news.

‘I’ll call her,’ says Frances.

I try calling her too, but there’s no reply at the house, or on her mobile. I send a couple of texts, but nothing comes back.

‘Do you want me to keep trying?’ Frances asks.

‘Don’t worry. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation. It’s probably an appointment she’s forgotten to tell me about.’ It doesn’t seem particularly likely, though, considering she usually tells me of all the plans for the baby in minute detail, the visits to the midwife, the arrangements for attending Bev King’s antenatal classes and the running total of her expenditure in Mothercare. ‘Frances, how many appointments are there?’

‘Seven so far. Do you want me to see if I can cancel them?’

‘No, I can manage so long as you don’t book me any more.’ I haven’t told Frances the results of the test, and she hasn’t asked, but the question is there, hanging between us, and I don’t want to answer it until I’ve told Emma.

‘Shall I call Drew to see if he can come in to help you out?’

I don’t like to disturb him on his day off, but …’ Why don’t you ask him to come in mid-morning?’ I decide. ‘He can finish off the ops.’

Drew turns up in Kennels just after eleven, knocking back what looks like a glass of milk and raw egg.

‘Hangover?’ I ask.

‘I had a few bevvies with Stewart last night.’ He smiles wryly. ‘I’ve just had a full English breakfast, eggs, bacon, the lot. Lynsey cooked it specially – I couldn’t turn it down.’

‘I’m sorry for calling you in on your day off. Emma’s gone AWOL.’

‘I’m cool – the surf’s not up to much today.’ He pauses. ‘What can I do you for?’

‘There’s a sedate and lance abscess,’ I say hopefully. I wouldn’t normally ask, but I’m not sure I can cope with the smell right now. I’ve also been on my feet since half eight and I could do with a break, by which I mean a chance to sit down and make some phone calls at least. I don’t dash off, though, happy to hang around chatting for a while. We’re usually so busy, we don’t have the opportunity to catch up.

‘I’ll help you, Drew,’ Shannon interrupts, and starts bustling around, getting things ready under Izzy’s instruction while Drew draws up a dose of sedative. I’m a bit miffed that she shows so much more interest in Drew’s abscess than she did in my bitch spay.

‘How do you think this happened, Drew?’ Shannon says sweetly.

Izzy looks at me and pretends to sticks her fingers down her throat in a symbolic gesture, which surprises me – I thought she was a romantic at heart.

‘This little chap’s been in a fight and got himself bitten.’ Drew lays the sleepy black cat on its front on the prep bench, its legs stretched out in front and behind. ‘Why don’t you have a go at clipping him up?’

‘Can I?’ Shannon is positively glowing and Drew has a wicked twinkle in his eye.

‘It’s hardly rocket science, is it,’ Izzy mutters.

‘I’ve never used the clippers before,’ Shannon says, picking them up.

I know why – Izzy is a bit precious over the clippers.

‘They aren’t working.’ Shannon stares at them, puzzled.

‘It helps if you plug them in,’ Izzy says, and Drew sticks the plug in the socket.

‘Let me turn you on, Shan,’ he says, flicking the switch, at which the clippers start their smooth purr.

I notice how Izzy turns the fan up as Shannon starts shaving the top of the cat’s head, which is swollen to twice the size it should be. I guess I’m not the only one to notice it’s getting steamy in here, and it isn’t down to the autoclave. At least it’s only harmless flirting. I’d be more concerned if Shannon and Drew were actually going out together. I know how awkward it is being involved with a colleague when you’re on the same small team. I can remember the bitching and whispering from the nurses and receptionists when I moved in with my boss while working in London. Even worse, I can remember how isolated the other staff made me feel when it all fell apart and they sided with Mike. I guess because he paid their wages, they felt more loyalty to him than me, even though he was the one who was unfaithful.

‘Now you can give him a bit of a scrub,’ Drew says when Shannon’s finished, ‘and then, when you’ve done that, you can get me a fresh blade, one of the pointy ones.’

When he’s ready, Drew spreads the skin over the top of the cat’s head and stabs the tip of the blade into the abscess. A thick yellowy-grey liquid spurts out and a warm stench fills the air. I cover my nose.

‘You got me!’ Shannon exclaims, but she doesn’t run away to sort out her hair and make-up. Is it a sign she’s beginning to take the job seriously, or is it all to do with impressing Drew?

‘That’s what comes of not keeping your distance,’ Izzy observes coolly. She shows Shannon how to flush the abscess out, squeezing it to extract the last of the pus. ‘I love a good abscess. This stuff’s just like blue-cheese dip.’

‘Not the ones I’ve eaten,’ I point out.

‘Right, I’ll give him a shot of antibiotic, then he can have a collar on,’ Drew says.

‘Do you think a drain might be useful?’ I cut in as tactfully as I can.

‘Yeah, yeah. Good idea.’ Drew rubs the back of his neck. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

The expression ‘too many cooks’ – or should that be vets? – comes to mind, but although putting a drain in will take a few minutes more, it’ll probably save the cat coming back in for a repeat performance. Abscesses have a nasty habit of re-forming. It’s painful and unpleasant for the patient and costly for the client.

‘Do I smell?’ Shannon grabs the front of her scrub top and sniffs at it.

Drew walks round the bench behind her. Gallantly, he sniffs the back of her neck, making her blush.

‘Shan, you smell absolutely gorgeous as usual.’

Izzy rolls her eyes at me.

‘I know it’s a terrible joke, but it’s true,’ she whispers as Drew fixes up the drain. ‘Abscess really does make the heart grow fonder.’

‘Izzy!’ I’m laughing. It’s the first time I’ve been able to laugh about something since I found out about the baby, and yes, it’s a terrible joke, but it’s the way Izzy tells them, completely deadpan.

‘Well, look at Shannon now. She thinks he’s the cat’s whiskers.’

Drew carries the cat back to its cage with Shannon tagging along behind.

Whatever happened to feminism? I muse, as I head back to Reception to pick up any messages and check if there are any visits planned for later. Frances is answering the phone.

I catch sight of her expression – the practised smile as she picks up a pen, the deep frown, then utter devastation. Bad news. My heart misses a beat.

‘Oh no. Not that.’ The pen clatters to the desk. Frances looks around wildly, her hair fluffed up and glowing like a halo in the sunlight from the window. When she sees me, she waves the phone at me. ‘Maz, it’s Dr Mackie.’

‘Ben?’ I snatch the phone, my chest tight with apprehension. ‘What is it? Where’s Emma?’

‘Maz.’ He sounds very calm, and for a moment I can almost believe there’s nothing wrong.

‘I wanted to let you know as soon as I could. Emma’s in hospital – she’s lost the baby.’

‘Oh, Ben.’ My chest tightens. Every breath is painful. ‘I’m so very sorry.’ I don’t know what else to say. All I can hear is his silence, empty with despair. ‘Give Emma my love, won’t you?’

The line goes dead. Poor Emma, poor Ben. I glance around Reception, at the notices on the board, the reports of lost and missing pets. What do they matter now? Emma has lost her precious baby. My best friend’s dream is shattered.

‘What terrible news,’ Frances sobs.

‘The baby …’ I can see that picture of the baby girl with the flyaway hair in Emma’s arms fading away, and Emma folding up with grief. It’s completely devastating.

‘I knew it. I knew all along something wasn’t right. Oh my …’ Frances grabs a handful of tissues from the box she keeps at Reception for emergencies, and clutches them to her mouth. It isn’t the time to point out that it was she who reassured me everything was all right, that Emma’s concerns about the baby were perfectly normal. Frances knows all about loss. She has a son who’s grown-up now with a daughter of his own, but she also had a daughter who died three weeks after she was born. She didn’t tell me about it until we had a litter of kittens in, which faded and died one by one, over the ensuing days.

‘There must be something we can do, Maz,’ Frances says. ‘What can we do?’

‘I don’t know, Frances. It’s such a shock, the last thing I expected.’ I assumed that after all the waiting and hoping, when Emma finally fell pregnant, it would go smoothly. It seems so unfair that it hasn’t. So cruel.

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Frances decides.

‘I’ll do it.’ I use it as an excuse to hide in the staffroom, trying to go easy on the tissues while I make tea. I know it sounds dreadful and I’m appalled at myself, but it crosses my mind … Why did it have to be Emma’s baby, not mine?

I stroke my stomach to ease my conscience, and when I’ve pulled myself together as far as I can, I call Alex.

‘Alex,’ I say, ‘it’s about Emma.’

‘What did she say?’ Alex asks. ‘How did she react?’

‘I haven’t told her.’

‘Oh, Maz. Why not?’

‘The baby’s dead.’ I’m finding it difficult to speak. ‘Emma’s baby.’

‘I thought for a moment …’ There’s a catch in Alex’s voice. ‘Oh my God, Emma must be distraught.’

‘I’m going to see her as soon as I can get away,’ I tell him. I screw up yet another tissue and drop it in the bin.

‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘I’d rather go alone.’ I guess I’m a coward because I’d rather not go at all. I don’t know why. Emma’s my best friend and she needs my support. What am I so afraid of?

‘Come over later, then,’ Alex says.

‘I’m not sure I’m in the mood.’

‘I’ll give you a hug.’

A hug sounds good.

‘I’ll see how I feel,’ I say, ‘what time I get back.’

I blow my nose, wash my face and return to Reception with Frances’s tea. Izzy is with her, white-faced and tearful.

‘It’s just like losing a newborn lamb,’ she stutters.

It might sound hurtful to some, comparing Emma’s baby with a sheep, but I know Izzy doesn’t mean it in a bad way. Her view is that all life is equally precious, human and animal, and I’m inclined to agree.

‘Why did it have to happen to Emma?’ Izzy goes on. ‘All these women who get pregnant at the drop of a hat and don’t want their babies …’ The way she looks at me unnerves me, which is ridiculous because Izzy doesn’t know that I’m one of those women. ‘Emma really doesn’t deserve this.’

‘She seemed so well,’ I say.

‘Perhaps it was something here in the practice,’ Frances suggests, ‘one of the chemicals we use.’

‘I don’t believe that, Frances. We’re very careful. You know that.’

‘I said I’d babysit and now …’ Frances stifles a sob. ‘Oh, poor little scrap. What a terrible thing …’

It’s never occurred to me before what happens to women when they lose their babies. When I reach the hospital, I find Emma in a side room off the maternity ward. It seems inhumane and distressing, treating her alongside mums with their new babies, and it reminds me that nothing’s perfect. It’s like us at Otter House, thinking it’s all right to treat rabbits and other small prey animals in the same room as the dogs and cats, and I make a mental note to Do Something About It.

Inside the room, the blind is up even though it’s dark outside. Emma sits on the bed, rocking back and forth, her chin tucked behind her knees, her fingernails digging into her shins. Her eyes are red and swollen, her face crumpled and pale like the sheets. There’s an empty glass beside her, and the bag she’s been packing for weeks in expectation of the happy event on the floor.

I hesitate at the side of the bed, biting at my lip, not knowing what to say. I mean, what can you say? I’m sorry? Better luck next time? It wasn’t meant to be? How can I say anything when I’m too choked up to speak?

‘Maz.’ At the sound of the door clicking shut behind me, I turn to find Ben, who moves up and touches my back. ‘We’re glad you came.’ He turns to his wife. ‘Aren’t we, Em?’

Emma doesn’t respond.

I lift my hand, let it hover close to her arm, wanting to touch her, to comfort her, but I don’t think she’s aware I’m here. I shuffle back a step, feeling as if I’m in the wrong, encroaching somehow.

‘Don’t come rushing back to work,’ I say awkwardly, to fill the silence. ‘Don’t worry about a thing.’ I turn back to Ben, whose face is like a mask. There’s a coffee stain on his shirt, and his broad forehead is shiny under the lights. What’s left of his receding dark hair stands on end as if under the influence of static. An ex-rugby player with a crooked nose and chunky body, he looks utterly defeated.