Must Be Love (39 page)

‘Promise me you won’t overdo it – for the baby’s sake as well as your own.’

I don’t respond. How can I promise the impossible?

‘Is Emma planning another round of IVF?’ Alex goes on.

‘She hasn’t said.’ How do I explain that I haven’t asked, because as soon as I open my mouth, Emma takes exception? ‘She accused me of making light of her feelings today. She’s very prickly. I’m worried about her. She rushed in to the IVF before she’d allowed herself time to grieve for the baby …’ I stifle an unexpected sob at the thought of Emma’s dead child.

‘Don’t upset yourself, Maz,’ Alex says.

‘I can’t help it. I thought I’d dealt with it …’

‘Emma must be depressed,’ Alex says.

‘I’m sure she is.’ I’ve got both Shannon and Emma going around the practice as if they’re about to slit their wrists, and vets have one of the highest suicide rates among the professions. Is that because of the kind of work they do, the driven and caring characters it takes to do it, or because the means to commit suicide are readily to hand?

‘Has she seen a doctor? Other than Ben, I mean.’

‘I don’t think so, and if she was prescribed anything, she wouldn’t take it, in case it affects her chance of conceiving in the future. I know – it’s irrational. She’s gone completely mad.’ I chew my lip behind my mask. I can taste blood, but I don’t know if it’s mine or the dog’s. ‘I’m not sure I can work with her for much longer before I go mad too.’ I keep having to pick up on her mistakes, silly slip-ups like labelling up a chihuahua-size dose of wormer for a Labrador. It wouldn’t have hurt the dog, but it wouldn’t have worked either. I can’t help thinking what would have happened if it had been the other way round.

‘I don’t know what to do, Alex.’ I glance up at his face. He’s frowning.

‘All you can do is carry on being supportive. All relationships have their ups and downs. I bet one day you and Emma will look back on this and smile.’

‘You sound like a right old man sometimes.’ I’m teasing him now, enjoying his reassurance even if I don’t really believe him. ‘Bean will think you’re his granddad.’

‘His? You said, “his”. What makes you think Bean’s a boy?’

‘I don’t – it just came out. Actually, it’s Frances’s fault. She keeps telling me it’s a boy. It’s something to do with the way you’re carrying the baby.’

‘Another old wives’ tale.’ Alex smiles. ‘Has she done the thing with the thread?’

‘What’s that, then?’

‘I’ll show you after – we can use a piece of silk.’

‘I expect there’s some in the drawer with the rest of the suture materials.’

‘I’m not sure I can remember how it’s supposed to work. You hold the thread over the bump, then watch the way it twirls.’ Alex goes on, ‘Have you thought any more about the cot? Mother was asking …’

‘When have I had time to think about cots?’

‘There isn’t really anything to think about. Mother says we can have the old one from the Manor. It was mine before Lucie and Seb used it. It’s perfectly serviceable.’ Alex pauses. ‘Unless you want a new one.’

I press a swab to the blood oozing from the site of one of the pins I’ve fixed into the ends of Hal’s femur. Am I supposed to care? Alex’s silence feels like criticism. I’m not living up to his expectations.

‘It would be a good idea to have a new mattress,’ he says eventually. ‘I expect you’ll want to choose the bedding. I’m sure you have strong views on the colour scheme and whether you want ducks or teddies on the cover.’

He’s pushing me.

‘Most women,’ he begins again, but I cut him short.

‘I’m not most women, am I? How dare you lump me together with all those airheads who want the changing bag to match the buggy and the high chair and all that.’ I’m more curt than I intend, the dragging ache in my pelvis suddenly in sharp focus. However, I can’t get excited about cots and all the other paraphernalia a baby seems to require. I don’t want this baby. I don’t want anything to happen to it, but I really don’t want it. I know I won’t have any maternal feelings for it. I’ll look at it and think, There goes my life …

Alex sighs. ‘All right, I’m sorry, Maz. I’ll get a new mattress for it.’

I start finishing off the op. The repair’s looking reasonable, but there’s a long way to go. There’s a significant risk of infection: the steel shot dragged tufts of hair and skin into Hal’s flesh, and although I’ve picked as much out as I can, there’ll be microscopic fragments left. I decide I can’t do any more except put Hal to bed in a kennel with a heated pad, survival blanket and drip, antibiotics and painkillers, and hope.

‘What shall I tell my father?’ Alex asks.

‘I don’t think you should tell him anything.’ It’s way past midnight and I’m on my knees at the kennel door. ‘He deserves to be kept in suspense.’

Grinning, Alex puts out his hand and helps me up, but I struggle, catching my breath as a fresh ache grips my belly, like a boa constrictor squeezing its prey. I feel as if I’ve operated on three dogs, not one.

‘Are you all right, Maz?’

‘Oh, stop fussing, Alex. It’s nothing.’ I force a smile. ‘One of those Braxton Hicks contractions, not the real thing.’

‘Are you sure?’

I nod.

‘This only goes to show you’re working too hard,’ Alex goes on sternly. ‘Listen, Maz, you can’t work to the bitter end. You’ll end up having the baby early if you’re not careful.’

‘My consultant says I can work for as long as I feel comfortable.’

‘You don’t look comfortable.’

‘It’s trapped wind – I ate too many onions.’ I pause, reading his expression. Maybe I am protesting too much.

‘Come and put your feet up. I can give you a massage, if you like.’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I point out. ‘I’m not leaving Hal, not yet.’

Alex stays for another hour, then pushes off home, at which Hal decides he should be going home too. He keeps snuffling and sighing, then, before long, he starts barking, and he’s still barking at dawn, and I’ve had no sleep. I am not a happy vet.

‘Will you please shut up,’ I beg, but he doesn’t hear me. Fathering Saba’s puppies must have been Hal’s one last fling. He’s stone deaf as well as senile and incontinent, making me question whether I made the right call trying to save his leg and keeping him alive. I console myself with the thought that you don’t put down your elderly great-aunts and grannies for the same problems.

Noticing that Hal’s kennel is flooded with wee, I clear up after him and give him a clean bed. I also give him a small bowl of food, which he gulps down as if he’s never been fed before; then I sit down again, and wait with bated breath. One minute. Two minutes. The barking starts all over again. When I can’t stand it any longer, I escape to the staffroom for an early breakfast – Frances stocked up with cereals and bread for toast when she realised I was sometimes staying overnight.

As I pour orange juice onto my cornflakes and milk into a glass, I calculate roughly how much longer Hal can stay as an inpatient before he drives us and our neighbours barking mad.

‘He’s missing the rest of his pack,’ I tell Shannon when Hal continues barking, even when she’s in Kennels with him, preparing for the day’s operations.

‘Perhaps you should invite them to come and stay too,’ she says, which isn’t such a bad idea, I muse. Except, knowing Old Fox-Gifford’s other dogs, they’d all be barking too.

‘I’d better give the old fart a call and let him know his dog’s still alive,’ I say, staring at Hal, who barks on, oblivious to my disapproval. ‘You didn’t hear me say that, Shannon.’ It’s just that I find it hard to show him any respect, considering how he’s treated me.

‘He’s been in already,’ Shannon says.

I catch sight of my distorted stainless-steel frown in the back of a cage as Shannon goes on, ‘Old Fox-Gifford came to see Hal. He was feeding him custard creams.’

‘Who let him in? You know the rules, Shannon. No member of the public is allowed in here, unless Emma or I say so.’

‘He isn’t exactly a member of the public, though,’ Shannon points out. ‘He’s a vet, and anyway, I didn’t let him in. Frances did.’

‘She wouldn’t have …’ The more I think about it, though, the more likely it seems. Frances used to work for the Talyton Manor Vets and it appears she’s still loyal to them.

‘And by the way, Maz,’ Shannon goes on, ‘he asked me to get you to call him. He wants to speak to you.’

I sigh inwardly. I have no great inclination to speak to him. He’ll only find something to criticise or complain about. However, I do phone him at the surgery.

‘Good morning, Maz,’ he says, sounding surprisingly cordial. ‘I’m sorry I missed you when I came in to visit the old dog. Your young nurse says he’s been howling the place down.’

‘He has been a little vocal,’ I say, playing it down because the last thing I want is Hal going home just yet.

‘He’s a loyal one, that one. The best dog I’ve ever had,’ Old Fox-Gifford says. ‘And I wanted to say how – uhum – grateful I am for your expertise. I thought you might have had to cut that leg right orf.’

‘There’s still a chance of that,’ I say. ‘There’s a pretty high risk of infection, especially around the implants.’

‘Oh yes. Of course. Only to be expected,’ he mutters.

I can hear the lack of his usual bluster in his voice and I feel just a teensy bit sorry for him. He doesn’t sound like a grumpy old vet right now. He could be any one of my clients, desperately worried about their pet.

‘Can I pop in again sometime?’ he goes on.

‘Yes, as long as you call first to check it’s convenient,’ I say, not wanting to make it too easy for him. ‘I’ll let you know how he is later, after evening surgery.’ Having said goodbye, I cut the call. I can hardly believe it. Old Fox-Gifford actually thanked me. However, it doesn’t predispose me to think any better of him – he hasn’t mentioned the baby.

‘Old Mr Fox-Gifford was desperate to see Hal,’ Frances says a few minutes later, when I tackle her about letting him in to see the dog. ‘He loves him to bits.’

‘He shot him to bits last night,’ I say, ‘but it does appear that he’s fond of him. I’ve said he can see him again as long as he contacts us first.’

‘You don’t think he’s spying, do you?’ Frances’s eyebrows are like the trace from an ECG: her pencil must have slipped this morning.

‘Who knows what goes on in that man’s mind?’

‘Maz, you’re talking about your future father-in-law.’

‘Oh no, I’m not. Alex and I aren’t considering marriage.’

‘It isn’t good for a child to see its parents living in sin.’

‘Frances! At least our child will see its parents living together.’

‘But it isn’t right,’ she goes on.

‘In your opinion,’ I say. We’re all different. Yet I have a strange, hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach when I think of marriage and commitment, and I remember Izzy’s wedding and how happy she was. Oh, Maz, you’re going mad. Am I beginning to regret my harsh views on marriage? Am I going to rue making such a fuss about it in front of Alex? Deep down, is there part of me that hopes he’ll overrule the objections I’ve voiced in his presence, and propose?

Chapter Twenty-three

A Double Dose

Thoughts of marriage don’t linger long. The next day, I’m with Emma and Frances in Reception. Emma’s looking fed up already, and she’s only just stepped inside the door. What have I done now? I wonder. What is it with me and partnerships?

‘Don’t tell me that dog’s still here.’ Emma turns to me. ‘I thought we’d decided he had to go home.’

I bite my tongue. I want Hal confined for a good six weeks to give that leg time to heal, and I’m not sure I can trust Old Fox-Gifford to do that. He’s been in to see Hal again – at eight this morning, on his way to look at a pet pot-bellied pig with apparent bellyache. He brought a box of chocolate biscuits for everyone at the practice and was surprisingly charming – almost, but not quite, likable.

‘Old Fox-Gifford can look after him himself.’ Emma takes off her mac, sprinkling water across Shannon’s clean floor in Reception. ‘It’s his dog.’

Hal utters a high-pitched howl, like the Hound of the Baskervilles.

‘He sounds like he’s in agony,’ Frances says. ‘Are you sure he isn’t in pain?’

‘I’ve got him maxed out on painkillers,’ I say, a little hurt that she thinks I’d leave an animal in pain and distress. ‘I can’t give him any more.’

‘Well, I’ll leave him with you,’ Emma says. ‘Maz, you’d better get it sorted before everyone ends up with a headache.’

‘Christine Dyer wants a visit this morning,’ Frances says. ‘She says she can’t bear to watch Brutus struggle any longer.’

‘I’ll go,’ Emma says.

‘Actually, she’s asked for Maz.’

‘So you’re her pet vet now,’ Emma says. ‘Well, good luck to you.’

‘I’ll take Shannon with me.’

‘I need Shannon here,’ Emma says. ‘I’m not operating without a nurse.’

‘If we go now, we’ll be back within the hour.’ Why does she have to make my life more difficult than it already is? Why does she have to take her misery out on me? What have I done to deserve this?

All right, I’ve got myself pregnant, said some insensitive things, perhaps not been as supportive as I might have been …

I gaze at Emma, at the dark circles around her eyes and her taut, bloodless mouth, but she looks away.

‘You’d better get going,’ she says flatly, and I leave as soon as I’ve set up a pheromone-releasing plug-in close to Hal’s kennel, hoping this will shut him up.

‘Can’t you take Frances with you?’ Shannon says.

‘Frances isn’t a nurse, and she’s got creaky knees.’ I picture her struggling up from kneeling on the floor beside Brutus. ‘I understand you’re upset about what happened, but it’s your job.’

‘I know, but …’ Shannon pauses. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’

Shannon and I meet Mrs Dyer in the sitting room at the back of the butcher’s shop, where Brutus is lying on an old sofa with a huge marrowbone, watching TV.

‘Hi, Brutus,’ I say. He gives me a cursory glance, then turns his attention back to the screen where a dog’s advertising sausages.

‘He loves all the daytime shows, don’t you, Brutus?’ Mrs Dyer’s eyes are red and her voice furred with grief. She sits on the floor beside the dog, stroking his head with a screwed-up tissue in her hand. She looks up as her husband joins us, dressed in a white coat and striped apron, a boning knife in one hand and a steel in the other.