Must Be Love (42 page)

‘Maz, did you hear me? There’s a flood warning out for the whole of Talyton and the surrounding area.’ Frances pauses and I can see she’s expecting me to take the lead and Do Something. The trouble is, I’m not sure what. ‘I think Emma has an emergency flood plan somewhere.’

‘I’ll switch off the stopcock for the water,’ I offer. I’m not calling Emma to find out – it’s down to her to get in touch with me.

‘Let me fill the kettle before you do that,’ Frances says. ‘Shannon, you find as many buckets and bottles as you can and fill those. We don’t want to be without water.’

I’m sure we’re overreacting, I think, as I head back out to the corridor trying to remember where I’ve seen the stopcock. I notice my feet are getting cold and wet in my Crocs, and I’m making a bit of a splash as I proceed.

And then I begin to panic when I look down and see the shallow tide of sewage-coloured water spreading along the floor. It’s coming from under the stationery-cupboard door. I paddle through it – recoiling with each step because of the unpleasant rivery tang of bad eggs. I open the cupboard door, noting that the boxes of paper on the bottom shelves are ruined, and that the water is flowing through from the three-quarter-height door that leads to the cellar. I open that one, and I’m looking into an overflowing well of dark water. I can’t see the bottom and I’m thinking
Titanic
and sinking ship.

‘Frances!’ I yell. ‘We’ve got a problem!’ I shove the door shut, but the water keeps coming through, seeping and leaching its way into the fabric of the practice.

‘There, what did I say?’ Frances says from behind me.

I take two seconds to move a couple of boxes of paper up to a higher shelf, then, realising it’s hopeless trying to save any more because there are other things that are far more important than a few reams of paper, I extricate myself from the cupboard. Frances is in the corridor, kettle in one hand, bucket in the other, and wearing a pair of white wellies she must have borrowed from the cupboard outside theatre, ones we occasionally use when operating.

We have no power, hardly any water and we’re up to our ankles in a foul soup of sewage and stormwater. We need a plan.

Telling Frances to wait there, I go and collect the sandbags we use for positioning patients from alongside the X-ray machine, calling into Kennels to tell Shannon to join us as soon as she can safely leave Jack. Fortunately she’s had the common sense to squeeze him into one of the higher cages out of the way of the water, which is forming a thin film across our normally immaculate floor. The cage is too small for him, but he’s already sitting up after the op to remove the grass awn and doesn’t seem unhappy about his situation.

I take the sandbags to the corridor and pack them against the bottom of the cellar door.

‘I don’t think that’s going to work, Maz,’ Frances opines.

‘Well, we have to do something,’ I say rather sharply. ‘We can’t just stand here looking at it.’

I find myself calling an extraordinary staff meeting in the corridor, moving along as the water spreads.

‘Ugh, this is completely disgusting,’ Shannon says, arriving from Kennels, holding her nose and highstepping through the flood. ‘I think I’m gonna be sick.’

‘We need to evacuate the animals,’ I say, shutting Shannon up with a frown. ‘How many have we got?’

‘Jack, two cats – the diabetic and the fractured pelvis,’ Shannon says, calming down. ‘And then there’s Tripod and Ginge, who are about somewhere.’

‘Where are we going to put them?’ Frances says.

‘The flat would be the safest bet,’ I say, wondering how much higher the waters are going to rise.

‘I’ll find some candles for later,’ Frances says. ‘Your mum must have some, Shannon.’

‘She has loads, all different colours and scented.’ Shannon smiles and I think, At least someone’s cheerful, because it seems to me that the flood is an omen, the end of Otter House Vets. Even if Emma should have a change of heart, the practice is ruined anyway. It could take months to clean up and repair the damage.

‘I’ll call the fire brigade and see if there’s any chance of them pumping us out,’ Frances says.

I’m not sure there’s any point, considering the speed at which the water’s rising. I know it can’t get much higher than a couple of feet, but I feel as if I’m drowning. I feel utterly overwhelmed.

My mobile rings in my pocket. I wave Shannon and Frances away as I answer.

‘Maz, how are you?’ My heart lifts in spite of everything – it’s Alex. ‘I’m on my way to Stewart’s. Some of his cattle have gone through the fence – it’s mains electric and the power’s out. They’ve caused a nasty pile-up on the main road.’

‘How dreadful. Is anyone hurt?’

‘Broken bones, I think. According to Stewart, the cattle are worse off.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, as he continues, ‘The Taly’s burst its banks too and the valley’s like a big brown lake. I wondered if you were okay.’

‘We’re flooded.’ Somehow I feel better, talking to Alex about it. ‘It’s coming up from the cellar. We’re sloshing about in several inches of water and we’ve no power.’

‘Why don’t you bring your patients back to the Manor – you can use the surgery there for now. I’m sure we can make room.’

I’m not so sure. The Talyton Manor Vets’ surgery above the stables is chock-a-block with clutter, much of it left over from the days when Old Fox-Gifford qualified, I’d guess. Idling through one of the drawers in the desk in their office one day while waiting for Alex, I found an ancient blood stick and fleam for bloodletting, and some glass syringes.

‘We’ve got a small generator, so we can provide you with light, if nothing else. Please, Maz. I’d be much happier …’

I rest my hand on my bump. The baby presses a knee or an elbow against my palm. We’ll be safe there, and I’ll be able to spend the night in Alex’s arms, as long as he isn’t called out again. I make up my mind.

‘Thanks, Alex. We’ll bring the inpatients straight over.’

‘Take care,’ he says. ‘The roads are passable now, but I wouldn’t like to guarantee that later. Love you.’

‘Love you too.’ I catch Frances and Shannon in Kennels as they’re loading a furious Ginge into a carrier. ‘Change of plan. We’re taking the animals up to the Manor.’

‘Talyton Manor?’ says Shannon. ‘But they’re like the enemy.’

‘Well, we aren’t staying here. Come on. Let’s load the animals up into whatever carriers and cages we can find, then move the equipment that’s at risk up onto the worktops and benches, or up to the next floor if we can, before we take my car up to the Manor.’

‘I’m not driving in these conditions,’ Frances says.

‘I’m not expecting you to,’ I say, catching the sound of sirens from somewhere out on the street.

‘You shouldn’t be driving either, Maz.’

‘I’m fine.’ I’m aware of the depth and ferocity of her gaze and my resolve wilts, replaced with a mother’s guilt because I know what that phrase means now, a mother’s guilt. I’m not putting my baby first, and Frances condemns me for that. In her eyes, I am and always will be a bad mother. ‘Frances, I can take Shannon up to the Manor and come back for Ginge and Tripod. You can go home if you like.’

‘No, I’ll stay and help out. You shouldn’t be lifting anything, Maz.’ She pauses. ‘You are going to call Emma? I think she should know what’s going on. In fact, I think she should really come in and help. This is a crisis, after all.’

She’s right. Emma still has a half-share in Otter House, whether she likes it or not. It’s in her interest, whatever she decides about the partnership and the practice, to minimise the damage. What’s more, I have a strange aching sensation deep in my pelvis, as if my insides are being slowly but steadily pulled out, and earlier on I lost a touch of blood, nothing much, but enough to make me guess that lifting computers and monitors, and shoving the X-ray machine about, wouldn’t be a good idea.

Excusing myself, I hide in the staffroom to make two phone calls, the first one to Emma. I have to dial her mobile three times before she answers.

‘Emma, we’ve got a bit of a disaster on our hands,’ I say quickly, getting to the point. ‘Otter House is flooded.’

‘Oh dear.’ The way she says it – with an insouciance that suggests she couldn’t care less – makes me want to snarl at her, but I bite my tongue.

‘I need you to come and give us a hand. It’s just me, Frances and Shannon. I want to get as much as possible out of harm’s way before we take the inpatients up to the Manor.’

‘You’d better get the Fox-Giffords to help you, then,’ Emma says.

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Oh, they’re too busy looking after their own, are they?’ she says sarcastically.

‘Well, yes, actually.’ I hesitate. ‘Haven’t you looked outside your house today? Haven’t you heard the news? The river’s burst its banks. There are severe flood warnings for Talyton St George and the surrounding area.’ I sense from Emma’s silence that I’m not getting anywhere. ‘Emma, I’m doing all that I can. I’m up to my ankles in filthy water, we’ve got no power, everything’s getting wrecked, I’ve got animals to move – sick ones – and I’m not sure if this baby’s on its way.’

‘What do you mean, you’re not sure?’ she says in a scathing tone. ‘You’re a vet, not some airhead.’

I feel more like an airhead right now. I wish I’d been to a couple more of those antenatal classes, so that I was properly clued up.

‘Please, Emma,’ I beg. ‘I can’t do this alone.’

‘You aren’t. You said that you’ve got Shannon and Frances.’

‘Yes, but –’ I stop mid-sentence. I can’t explain it. I’m glad of their support, but I need Emma here too. She’s part of this. She’s part of the team. Not only that, if I should have to rush off – I shudder at the thought – I need her to take over. ‘Listen. I’ve had enough. Emma, I’m not asking you. I’m telling you! And if you don’t get yourself either down to Otter House or straight up to the Manor within the hour, I’ll book an appointment with the solicitor personally.’ I cut the call, then press the mobile to my chest, where my heart is pounding with anger and resentment.

Tears of frustration and intense regret burn my eyes. If Emma fails to make an appearance, I’ll know for certain that the Otter House Vets are finished, and I’ll never, ever forgive her.

I make a quick call to the doctor, but Ben’s the only one available. He tells me to get back to the Barn and put my feet up, and he’ll call in after surgery. He doesn’t mention Emma or the practice. Neither do I.

‘You have packed your bag, haven’t you?’ he says, ‘and you have told Alex?’

‘I’ll let him know,’ I promise, but I can’t get hold of him. As for the packing of the bag – has anyone told these women that they’re going into hospital to have their babies, not travelling to some remote island somewhere? I stare down at my bump. Okay, I’ve been putting it off – more proof, if needed, of my state of denial. It’ll be fine, though, I reassure myself. Once I’ve got the animals settled at the Manor, I’ll be able to nip back to town in the morning and pick up some food for the fridge, and nappies. I have plenty of time: even if I am in the early stage of labour, it’s my first and only baby, and therefore I should have a good twenty-four hours yet. I gleaned that much from Emma’s book.

‘I’ll lock up here,’ I say almost an hour later when we’ve cleared all that we can out of the reach of the flood. I kept looking out for Emma, but she didn’t come. I thought she would. I really thought she would …

‘The fire brigade can’t help,’ Frances says. ‘They’re needed elsewhere.’ Then, as if I’ve shamed her, determined to drive to the Manor in spite of my advanced pregnancy, she offers to bring her car too.

‘That solves the little problem of Tripod and Ginge.’ Frances tweaks the blonde curls on her current wig. ‘It’ll be nice to see the old place. I wonder if either of the Mr Fox-Giffords are at home.’

‘Alex isn’t,’ I say, explaining.

‘How will we get in?’ Shannon says.

‘I expect Sophia or Lisa will be on the yard. We’ll ask them for the key.’

A little later, I run through a mental checklist. Have we done everything we can? I think so. As the three of us hover in the puddle that is forming in the porch of the extension, hoping for a lull in the rain before we make a dash to the cars with our patients, all I can do is pray the water doesn’t come up too much further.

‘Shall we make a run for it?’ Shannon says.

‘Don’t expect me to run anywhere, not with my knees,’ Frances says.

‘Let’s give it another couple of minutes,’ I say, aching too much to consider moving at any pace faster than a snail, and still hoping against hope that Emma will turn up.

‘She isn’t coming, Maz,’ Frances says over the sound of the rain slamming against the glass. There are hailstones in it now, bouncing up off the path and settling in the grass. ‘I’m sorry … I overheard.’

‘It’s all right,’ I say. ‘You don’t have to apologise.’ It’s after eight o’clock and growing steadily darker under the sweeping clouds, and another ache drags its way through my pelvis and down my legs. It’s time we were leaving.

I drive out of Talyton behind Frances. The rain is coming down, the water coming up and the lights in the town are out. Candles flicker in some of the upstairs windows. Ginge yowls from his carrier.

‘It’s real, like, spooky, isn’t it?’ says Shannon.

I agree. I want to get away from here as quickly as possible. I want to go home and curl up with a warm wheatie bag, and wait for Alex.

Up at the Manor, Frances fetches the key from Sophia before we unload the animals. Shannon clears out the handful of cages at the back of the Talyton Manor Vets’ surgery, of which only one or two seem to have been used in recent months. The others are filled with boxes of drugs, old blankets and papers. I find some dog and cat food, checking it’s all within date; then my mobile rings.

Alex? Emma? I answer it. It’s the police.

Chapter Twenty-five

Come Hell or High Water

All kinds of possibilities run through my mind, but I try to keep calm. In a monotone, the sergeant tells me they’ve rescued Penny from the Old Forge, which has had part of its cob walls washed away, but they need me to sedate her vicious dog because they can’t get near it.