Must Be Love (38 page)

‘Where’s the kit?’ I say sharply.

Shannon looks at me. Her lip quivers. ‘I’m sorry, I forgot.’

‘Have you got a kit on for the next one – the bitch spay?’

‘Um, yes … It’s due out of the autoclave.’

‘Bring me that one, then, and put a fresh kit in for the next op. We can always delay for a while – as long as we aren’t still operating at midnight.’

I stand about for a few minutes, holding up my gloved hands to avoid touching anything while Shannon’s finding me some sterile instruments. I keep my eye on the patient – his breathing’s quickening ever so slightly.

‘Shannon, can you come and check on Raffles?’ I call.

How is it Izzy always manages to be in two places at once?

There’s a crash and clatter, which I guess is the kit landing on the floor.

‘Maz, I’ve dropped it.’

‘What about the emergency kit? There must be one in the cupboard.’

While Shannon’s looking for it, Raffles’s front paws twitch. It’s no good. I can do without him waking up and biting through his ET tube. I reach over and turn the anaesthetic up.

‘Shannon, I’ll have to scrub again. I need fresh gloves. ASAP.’

At last I’m ready to go, my scalpel poised above Raffles’s manhood – or should that be doghood? I make the first cut through the skin.

‘Raffles won’t be getting any bitches into trouble from now on,’ I say to Shannon. ‘Lynsey’s being very responsible – Raffles was a rescue dog, and she doesn’t want to add to the stray dog population.’ I smile. ‘Apparently, Stewart wasn’t so keen on the idea, though. It’s a man thing.’

‘I can think of someone who should have his bits cut off,’ Shannon says bitterly, and I’m glad to see she’s angry with Drew, not merely resigned.

‘Castration reduces the desire to stray, but it doesn’t stop it entirely.’

‘I was thinking more of doing it without anaesthetic.’ She sighs. ‘I can’t believe I fell for his lies. All that about not having a girlfriend back home.’

‘That wasn’t a lie, though, was it? She was his fiancée.’

‘I know … I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, Maz. When you’re going on at me, you sound just like my mum, and I never listen to what she says.’

‘Men! Mothers! Who’d have them,’ I say lightly, closing up.

‘I’ll never go out with anyone else ever again,’ Shannon declares. ‘I’m officially off men for life.’

How many times have I said that before?

Relationships – friendships too – need commitment on both sides to work, and Drew never had any intention of committing himself to Shannon.

Once we’ve finished the ops, I give Shannon a hand with the clearing up, then go and find Emma. She’s at her desk in the office, her face grey in the glow of the monitor.

’Em, if you’re not doing anything tonight, let’s go out for a meal to celebrate. My treat.’

‘No, Maz. Stop.’

It’s only now I notice how Emma’s doubled over on the office chair with her hands pressed into her stomach. She sighs like a dying cat, a sound that cuts me through to the core, then stammers, ‘It’s all gone w-w-wrong.’

I put my arms around her and press my cheek to hers; her hair is damp, her skin cold. She pushes me away, as if she can’t stand the sight of me.

‘I’m bleeding,’ she says in a small voice.

‘It doesn’t necessarily mean …’ You can bleed when you’re pregnant – it doesn’t automatically mean you’re losing the baby. ‘I’ll call Ben.’

‘Don’t.’

‘One of the other doctors? Your consultant?’

‘No …’

In tears, I call Ben anyway. He’s with us in less than five minutes.

‘I’ll take her home,’ he says, and I watch him lead Emma, who’s almost catatonic, out to his car, and help her into the passenger seat. As he drives her away, I realise exactly how deep our troubles are.

I trawl the locum agencies again, but it’s the summer, the busiest time of year, and there are more practices looking for cover than there are locums. The baby moves; I stroke my bump. I’ve still got a couple of months. Something will turn up, and in the meantime I’ll have to keep going. I owe it to our staff, to our clients and, most of all, to our patients.

Chapter Twenty-two

A Shot in the Dark

The thought of Brutus’s euthanasia hangs like another dark cloud in the stormy skies above Talyton St George, yet for once I’m grateful for the rain. It’s late August and, according to the
Chronicle
, it’s the wettest summer for twenty years. I get the impression the weather is keeping some of our clients away, which means I can just about manage if I put in extra hours to deal with the admin and queries that crop up every day.

Emma’s here, but it isn’t the same. I’m not sure it will ever be the same again.

I’m covering for her on her bad days when she decides she can’t face work and takes off. I assumed she was going home, but I have it on good authority from at least three of the local dog walkers that they’ve seen her down by the river. I worry about her state of mind.

I worry about Alex too. How long will he put up with me not coming home until the early hours, sometimes not coming home at all?

I worry about how much longer I can go on like this.

Alex turns up at Otter House with his father late one evening, about ten minutes after I’ve seen a young rabbit that has suddenly started walking in circles. (I feel like that sometimes, as if I’m not getting anywhere.) I give the poor creature antibiotics and a guarded prognosis, and book it in to see me again tomorrow, then re-reheat the microwave meal I bought in the Co-op this afternoon by way of emergency supplies, by which time there are these two men on the doorstep, dressed in battered wax hats and coats, reminding me of a pair of poachers up to no good.

Alex has a big black Lab – it’s Hal – in his arms, and a drip bag between his teeth. Drops of water flash and glitter from the dog’s fur.

‘Take the bloody bag, Pa,’ Alex mutters.

Old Fox-Gifford turns stiffly, takes the bag, hooks it over the end of his stick and holds it aloft.

‘I expect you’re wondering why we’re here, especially on such a foul night,’ Alex says.

I didn’t deny that it seems a little odd when they have a perfectly serviceable practice of their own.

‘Have you got an appointment?’ I say lightly, in an attempt to disguise my true feelings: that I’m not all that delighted to see them. Yes, even Alex.

‘I don’t think we needed one since we’re practically family,’ Old Fox-Gifford says, and I’m about to point out that he’s changed his tune, when Hal utters a low moan of pain.

‘What happened?’ I let them through, out of the rain, switching lights on as I go.

‘I don’t know why you didn’t let me carry him,’ grumbles Old Fox-Gifford. ‘I can manage, you know.’

‘Will you please shut up,’ Alex growls. ‘It’s your fault we’re here.’

‘The old bugger was in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ Old Fox-Gifford says meekly, and it strikes me that the roles of father and son have been reversed since Alex threatened to set up in practice elsewhere. Alex is in charge.

I show them into Kennels. Alex lays Hal down on his side on a piece of Vetbed on the prep bench, injured foreleg uppermost. Panting, Hal stares into space, his eyes glazed with pain. His leg is heavily bandaged, the dressing dirty and freshly stained with blood. He smells of damp mixed with old dog halitosis, and it’s hard to believe this is the same dog who fathered Saba’s puppies.

Alex touches my hand.

‘I know how busy you are, Maz, and how exhausted you must be, and I know I keep telling you to take it easy, and I wouldn’t normally ask, but I can’t think of any other way,’ he says, the words tumbling out.

‘Alex, slow down,’ I say, smiling briefly. ‘I don’t mind. Really.’

‘I want you to make him better.’ Old Fox-Gifford’s stick clatters against the bench. ‘I want him back as good as new.’

‘I’m not sure that’s going to be possible,’ I say, quickly weighing up Hal’s situation. I can’t perform miracles.

‘I told you it was no good, son.’ A filthy mixture of dung, mud and blood drips from Old Fox-Gifford’s coat. ‘I told you she was just playing at being a vet. What does she know about dogs?’

‘Plenty, thank you,’ I cut in, determined not to let him have one over on me this time. ‘Do you remember Hal’s romantic liaison on the Green? Well, I’ll bet you have no idea what a Labradoodle pup’s worth.’

‘That damned woman, Aurora. She sent me a bill for extra food, bedding and cages, not that I’ll ever pay up.’

‘She did very well out of it in the end,’ I say, unable to disguise my triumph at getting one over on him for once. ‘She sold twelve puppies for a thousand pounds each. Work that one out.’

‘A grand apiece?’ Old Fox-Gifford goes blue around the mouth, staggers a couple of steps and sways.

‘Steady there, Father.’ Alex takes his arm.

‘That’s bloody outrageous. I should have half of that money.’

‘Hush, hush,’ Alex murmurs as if he’s talking to his horse, while Old Fox-Gifford pulls a silver hip flask from his pocket, twists off the lid and raises it to his lips.

‘It would pay for Hal’s op, wouldn’t it? I bet it’ll cost me all of my half. Son, I knew we shouldn’t have come here.’

‘Will you please be quiet!’ Alex’s voice is thunderous. In fact, he sounds just like his father. ‘It’s time you learned to keep your opinions to yourself.’

‘I’ve heard it costs a hundred quid just to step inside the bloody door,’ Old Fox-Gifford continues, ignoring him. ‘It’s a complete rip-orf.’

‘Father, I’ve just about had enough of you,’ Alex says icily. ‘Now’ – he pulls a set of keys from his pocket and throws them at his father – ‘get yourself outside and wait in the car. Go! The old bastard,’ Alex snorts when he’s limped out. ‘I’m sorry about that, Maz. He’s embarrassed.’

‘Sure,’ I say sarcastically.

‘He is. He pretends he doesn’t, but he loves this dog.’ Alex strokes Hal’s head. ‘It was an accident. The stupid old fool was cleaning his gun when it went off indoors.’ He shudders. ‘It could have been any one of us – Lucie, Seb, the baby … Anyway, I can’t fix this leg. I haven’t got the kit or the expertise.’

‘It isn’t like you to admit defeat.’

‘I know my limitations.’

I don’t know about my limitations, but I thought I’d reached my limit when it came to Old Fox-Gifford. I don’t see why I should do him any favours, but Hal’s hot breath on my hand reminds me that if I do agree to operate, it’ll be for Hal’s sake, not his owner’s.

‘Who put this on?’ I ask, unravelling the layers of bandage.

‘I did,’ Alex says.

‘I’ll give you a three out of ten for your bandaging. Shannon can do better than this.’

‘Father doesn’t want him put down. Whatever the impression he may have given you before, it was pure bravado.’ I can feel Hal’s shattered bones grating beneath my fingers as Alex goes on, ‘When it comes to the crunch, he can’t bring himself to do it.’

I give Hal a quick examination, then step back, my stethoscope in my ears, giving me time to think. I gaze into Hal’s eyes. He gazes back. I’m not sure he can see me properly through his cataracts. The wound’s a mess. The bones are in pieces. Is it fair to go on?

When I put my stethoscope down, I realise Alex is talking.

‘He’s a real character. I’d like him to have a chance.’

It occurs to me that referring Hal to an orthopaedic specialist would give him a better chance than I can offer. I suggest it to Alex, but he shakes his head.

‘The weather’s hideous. The motorway’s closed northbound because of a pile-up and they’ve shut the Old Bridge because the river’s high. I don’t think he can wait until morning.’ Alex touches my arm. ‘Please, Maz.’

It’s the last thing I need right now, major surgery on an ancient dog who wasn’t necessarily in the best of health before this accident befell him. I don’t need the extra hassle, and I’m going to worry that Old Fox-Gifford will sue me and spread the word if it all goes horribly wrong.

I touch Hal’s soft ear, covered with dense short fur, like moleskin. Hal beats his tail once, twice, against the bench. He’s got some fight left in him. He doesn’t want to die.

‘All right then,’ I decide, ‘as long as he doesn’t sue me if it doesn’t work out.’

‘Hal won’t.’ Alex smiles. ‘I can’t vouch for my father, though. Do you think you can handle it?’

‘I’m not sure I can save that leg, but I’ll give it a damn good try.’

We take a couple of X-rays, and assess the pictures on the viewer.

‘You must be able to do something with your Meccano set,’ Alex says.

‘I’m going to stick a pin in each end of the bone and join them up with another pin on the outside to give the pieces time to heal, then wrap it all up, give him painkillers and antibiotics, confine him and hope for the best. He won’t be out chasing the girls for a while.’

‘Shall I be nurse?’

‘Please. I’d rather not call Shannon. She’s working long days while Izzy’s away. She’s exhausted.’

‘You look shattered too, Maz. You know, I shouldn’t have come.’ Alex shakes his head. ‘I really should have had a bash at this myself. You should be tucked up in bed.’

‘I’m fine.’ Planning the surgery on Hal sends a rush of adrenaline through my body. My nerves are on edge, as I wonder if I can really save Hal’s leg. There’s no way I could sleep now.

I fetch the drugs I need for Hal from the cabinet and get on with the job of repairing his shattered limb. It makes me feel better. I like working with Alex. I like the reassuring regular sigh of Hal’s breathing. I don’t like the way my bump keeps pressing against the table as I operate, or the sound the rain’s making outside, and the repeated bulletins on Megadrive Radio warning of worse weather to come, but soon I’m completely absorbed in the surgery, so absorbed, I miss the warm spurt of a small arterial bleeder against my face, until Alex wipes the blood away with a damp swab.

‘I expect you’ve been on your feet all day,’ he says softly.

It’s true. I have, and if I wasn’t dressed in scrubs and bloodied gloves, and on the other side of the table, I’d fall into his arms and sleep. Yes, sleep. What happened to those nights of unbridled lust and passion?