‘See you soon, sweetie,’ I whisper into her ear.
When the front door closes behind them, Otis circles the mat whimpering. He seems to have a sixth sense for knowing when they’ll be gone for longer than a night. I rub his head to try and calm him down but, instead, seem to do nothing for him and upset myself more. Maybe it’s my hormones – I don’t know. I just miss them and I hate that Mike always gets to be the good guy. I sink to the floor and bury my face in Otis’s soft black and white coat. He settles as though he knows I’m more upset than he is.
‘Just me and you this week,’ I whisper into his fur.
Janey is away this weekend at Center Parcs with her family and some friends. Jimmy hasn’t gone, which I thought was odd, but Janey didn’t seem to care and since I’m fully up to date on my old friend’s ‘not taking sides’ policy, I’m at a loose end for the weekend. Still, I need to pull myself together; I can’t just sit and wallow.
I get dressed and pick up Otis’s lead. He starts running around in circles of excitement. ‘Stay still, you daft dog.’
Eventually, he sits and waits patiently and I clip his lead on. We head up towards Amanda’s house and cross a stile into a field where we follow an invisible public footpath. Since the fields aren’t used to keep livestock in, I let Otis off to have a run. He darts about chasing birds he’ll never catch and I take deep lungfuls of fresh air. The view of Amanda’s house is quite prominent from here. At this angle, you can see most of the building. The glass lantern roof of the orangery peeps above the wall. On the outside, it looks like she has it all. Money, nice clothes, fancy cars and a huge house, but the one thing she craves, human connection, is missing. That’s something I have. Maybe I’m alone this weekend, but I have Ralph, Ava and Henry. I’m on speaking terms with Mike and now I have work and the book club. I’ve a lot to be thankful for and I need to stop feeling sorry for myself.
‘Stephanie?’ a voice calls. It’s coming from the stile. It looks like Amanda. Her puffy blonde hair is blowing all around her face. I wave and expect her to carry on walking down the lane but when she starts to climb the stile, I realise she’s about to join me.
When she gets nearer I notice she’s carrying Toto under her arm. ‘I thought we could walk together,’ she says. Her voice is breathy from the walk across the field. Otis runs over and starts barking at Toto. I think seeing a fellow dog being carried as opposed to bouncing around like a lunatic confuses him.
‘Yes, that would be lovely.’ I smile. ‘Shh, Otis.’
‘I really did enjoy our book club get-together the other week. I hope Janey is okay with my choice. She didn’t seem over-enamoured with Jane Eyre, but it’s very close to my heart …’ She tails off but there was an ever-so-subtle crack in her voice.
I wait a beat but when she doesn’t say anything more, I don’t press her. ‘Honestly, it’s fine. We all should be trying new things. The whole point is to read more and step out of our comfort zone a bit.’
She smiles. ‘Thank you for being so kind.’
‘Two people hardly made a book club. You did us a favour.’ I pant as we stomp over grassy mounds. ‘On another note, when we were walking home, Janey and I were wondering if you’d like us to get you set up on Zoom or something, so you can talk to your daughter?’
‘That would be wonderful.’ She stops walking. The deep lines on her forehead seem to relax. ‘Thank you.’
We head to Amanda’s house and she makes tea whilst I sit in her study messing about on her laptop. When she returns, I’ve already got Zoom set up and ready to roll.
‘You hadn’t enabled your camera, that’s all. Why don’t you text your daughter and see if she’s free?’ I ask. It’s midday here and the time difference isn’t huge between here and any part of Africa.
She pauses in thought. ‘Yes. Thank you, I think I will.’
Her daughter emails back straight away, ecstatic judging by the emojis I accidentally glimpsed. Five minutes later, the videos connect and there’s an ear-piercing squeal as mother and daughter speak face-to-face for the first time in a long time. I mouth and gesture to Amanda that I’ll see myself out and as I do, she gives me the widest grin. A ball forms in my throat and as the sound of their happy reunion dissipates the further from the study I get, another ball starts to grow in my stomach.
The image of my own mum fills my head. She’s holding out her arms to me because I’ve climbed onto a wall and I can’t get down. She’s smiling and telling me to jump. I’d give anything to jump into her arms right now. My throat tightens. I’m choking. I swing the front door open and run down the steps gasping for air. Otis is lying in a sunny spot on the driveway and bounds towards me when he sees me.
‘Hello, you.’ I crouch down and hug him but everything gets too much and forceful tears erupt. It’s weird because I was a happy kid. I missed my mum a lot but for the most part, I was okay. Nobody spoke much about Mum but old photographs propped up my fading memories. Perhaps life would be different if she were still here. Would she have liked Mike? Would I even have married him? I have no idea what she was like as a person. I mean, people said such nice things about her, but she was dead. Nobody was going to say otherwise.
She was a good mum though. In my five years of being with her, she never raised her voice and she loved me. She’d have been a wonderful grandma; I know that much.
Chapter 15
After a long, relaxing bath, I slip on a new pair of pink llama-print pyjamas that I’ve had since Christmas, and pour myself a glass of Malbec, which I hope will help me sleep. Netflix doesn’t have anything that takes my fancy so I pick up the copy of Jane Eyre that Amanda lent me. I only manage a few chapters before a horrendously guttural noise sounds from the kitchen. I run in and find Otis throwing up everywhere. He’s lying down and looks, well, for want of a better expression, as sick as a dog.
‘Otis, what’s wrong?’ I ask, stroking his head. He’s warm and doesn’t answer, of course. I try to make him stand up to go to his water bowl but he won’t budge so I carry his water to him.
‘Drink something,’ I coax but he turns his head away. Then, he starts to tremble. ‘Oh no. This isn’t good.’ A quick Google search confirms that he’s probably quite unwell. Before I even think about what I’m doing, I’m dialling the vet’s emergency ‘out-of-hours’ number.
‘Hello. Prescott’s Veterinary Practice.’ Edward’s voice is sleep-thickened.
‘Edward, I’m so sorry to call so late. It’s Stephanie.’
There’s a pause. ‘Oh, hi Steph. Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m calling about my dog, Otis. He’s vomiting and shaking. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Okay, try to stay calm. How is he in himself? Lethargic? Off his food?’
I take a breath to recalibrate. ‘Yes, very lethargic. He won’t get up and …’ I look to his food bowl ‘… he hasn’t touched his dinner, which is a world’s first.’
‘Okay. I think it’s best to take a look at him, just to be on the safe side,’ Edward says in the same soothing tone he adopts with his clients of the human, feathered, scaly or furry variety.
‘Yes, okay.’ Relief washes over me.
‘Can you get him to the practice?’
I glance at Otis’s flaccid body, sprawled across the tiled floor. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Okay, give me your address. I’ll come to you and check him over.’
I mumble my address and Edward says he’ll be here in ten minutes.
When I hang up the phone, I dash back to Otis who hasn’t moved a muscle. I check he’s still breathing and he peels a heavy eyelid open to look at me before clamping it shut. The worst thoughts go through my mind. I’m so glad the kids aren’t here. What will I tell them if …
When the doorbell rings, I race down the hallway before realising I’m still in my llama pyjamas. I glance down at the ridiculous print. There’s no time to run up and change. This is an emergency.
I run my fingers through
my hair and swing the door open. Words jar in my throat. The tweed I’m so used to seeing Edward in has been replaced by more regular attire: dark-blue jeans, a white T-shirt and a burgundy hoodie. He looks at least ten years younger.
‘Hi, thank you for getting here so fast. Come in,’ I say eventually.
‘No problem. Where’s the big guy then?’ He steps past me carrying a black leather bag that’s the same size and shape as the one favoured by Mary Poppins.
‘At the end of the hall, in the kitchen on the left.’
Edward is halfway there before I’ve even closed the door and when I enter the kitchen, he’s already crouched down by Otis.
‘Hey there, big guy,’ he says, ruffling his fur. ‘I’m just going to check you over if that’s okay?’
He opens his bag with his other hand and takes out a stethoscope. While he listens to Otis’s heartbeat I look on feeling helpless then realise I’m holding my breath. Then he looks at Otis’s gums and starts pulling at his skin on his back.
‘I don’t think he’s in any danger but he’s definitely feeling unwell. Could he have eaten something he shouldn’t have? Chocolate? Grapes? Anything with onion or garlic in? Spaghetti bolognese or those fancy sausages with leek in?’
I shake my head. ‘Not that I know of, but we were out on the field earlier and he was off running about. I got distracted talking to someone so I suppose he could have found something there.’
‘I’d like to keep an eye on him for an hour or so if that’s okay – just to make sure he doesn’t get any worse. I can take him to the practice if you like or if you’re not doing anything, I could hang around here?’
Suddenly my reasonably spacious kitchen closes in, transforming into something smaller and more intimate. The thought of Edward, my boss, sitting in it, filling the space with his masculine frame gives me a funny sensation.
Bodily responses aside, I can’t say no. ‘Of course, stay; make yourself comfortable. I was having a glass of red if you want one or I can stick the kettle on?’
He tugs at the stethoscope still hanging round his neck. ‘Thanks but I’m on duty so I’d better go with the tea.’
‘Of course.’
I put the kettle on and excuse myself before heading into the downstairs loo. When I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I’m horrified. It’s so much worse than I thought, the llama pyjamas a meagre introduction to the sight of me; they’re the precursor equivalent of warming up an André Rieu audience with a kid playing the triangle. My hair is like the straw in the bottom of a rabbit’s hutch and my teeth have gone purple. Oh God. I smiled like a fool when I answered the door. I throw my face into my hands, reeling at the memory. Edward must think I’m such a sad sack, drinking alone in my pyjamas. I run upstairs to brush my teeth and hair before heading back into the kitchen.
‘Hope you don’t mind but I started making the tea.’ Edward is standing by the kettle stirring milk into one of the cups. ‘I wasn’t sure how you take yours.’
‘Just a drop of milk, no sugar, please.’
He places the teacups on the table and turns the handles so they’re both facing the same way. I fight the urge to smile. It’s something I would have done pre-kids.
‘Thanks,’ I say, suddenly a little embarrassed at calling Edward over. Otis is sleeping now and if I hadn’t heard him be sick earlier, I’d be none the wiser to his plight.
‘So, are the children in bed then?’ he asks, taking a sip of tea.
I shake my head. ‘They’re at their dad’s, thankfully. I’d have hated them seeing Otis like this.’
‘Yes, he’d have given them quite the fright.’ He takes another sip of tea and I remember I have some dark chocolate digestives. I keep them in a high cupboard where the kids can’t reach them. I pop a few on a saucer and place them down on the table between us.
‘Oh, I love these,’ he says taking one. ‘So, how are you finding working at the practice?’
‘I’m enjoying it. I think I’ve got to grips with everything now and the new software is a dream. It’s quite a novelty having random animals passing my desk each day too.’
‘That’s a bit harsh – I shower every day and wear a suit.’
I get a sharp stab of panic before realising he’s teasing me. He has such a dry tone that it’s hard to tell.
I tilt my head to the side and almost ask him about the tweed before realising it’s a bit over-familiar; rude even. Being around children all day can really mess with your social filter. ‘Did you work in the practice before you took it over?’ I ask instead.
He nods. ‘Yes, for thirteen years. My dad used to run it and after Mum passed, I qualified and worked for him until he died.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay. It was a long time ago now. Somehow over time, I got used to living without parents. That was his bag.’ He gestures to the black Mary Poppins bag. The All Creatures Great and Small look is starting to make sense. ‘I guess you’re also wondering why a hip and trendy young thing like me wears tweed most days?’
‘I wasn’t … I never …’
‘Relax.’ He laughs softly. ‘My dad used to wear tweed suits and I thought it would give me more credibility when I took over the practice. I was only in my twenties and some of the old regulars had been seeing my dad for over thirty years. I had some big shoes to fill. It didn’t matter that I was probably more up to date than Dad with my knowledge; nobody would have let me operate on their family pet if I looked inexperienced. With my tweed suit on, I could practically run around giving everyone’s pet a dose of Calpol if they were off-colour, without anyone raising an eyebrow.’
‘To be fair, that’s all we parents do,’ I joke. Edward laughs and helps himself to another biscuit. I’d take one too, but they’re so hard to clear from your mouth quickly and I’m enjoying our conversation.
‘Do you have children?’ I ask without thinking about how potentially loaded the question can be.
He’s just taken a bite of his biscuit so shakes his head.
‘So what’s your favourite animal?’ I ask instead.
‘Oh, that’s a hard one. I’m a dog person at heart, but it depends on what I’m doing and, I know I shouldn’t judge a pet by its owner, but sometimes if I don’t like the owner …’ he puts his hand by his mouth and stage whispers ‘… I don’t always like their pets.’
‘Wow, the secrets are all coming out now,’ I say and he laughs. His eyes sparkle under the fluorescent light. ‘What did you put in the tea?’
He laughs softly but doesn’t answer my question. ‘There was this old lady, who sadly expired a few years ago. She hated everyone and everything but had this goldfish.’
‘You hated a goldfish?’ I clamp my hand over my face to stifle a giggle.
‘No, well eventually, yes, I suppose I did. Enid used to bring this stupid fish in at least once a week …’
‘Are you allowed to call a fish stupid?’ I widen my eyes in faux horror.
‘No, not really. I don’t know, despite the fees almost plunging my parents into penury, it wasn’t covered at vet school. Anyway, the reason for Geoffrey’s frequent visits ranged from, “he’s not eating or pooing” to “he’s eating and pooing too much”. She never saw the connection.’
I smile, trying not to laugh.
‘Then there was my personal favourite: “he’s sad”.’
‘A sad goldfish called Geoffrey? Crikey.’
‘Yes. I tried to explain that perhaps the mini tsunami that occurred in his bowl every time she took him on a bus probably made him feel a little out of sorts.’
‘Is that true?’ I wonder how all the fish on Deadliest Catch must be feeling in those giant waves.
He shakes his head. ‘I’ve no idea. I did try to tell her that the little bowl wasn’t the best environment for a fish but she accused me of trying to swindle her out of her pension and sell her a big fancy tank. I wasn’t, by the way. My deviance was limited to simply trying to deter her from the practice. Anywa
y, that sort of verbal delight was a common theme right until she passed. I suppose she was lonely and I did recommend places she could go to socialise and get support but she was adamant I was wrong and it was all about the bloody fish.’
‘What happened to Geoffrey?’
Edward pats his stomach animatedly. ‘Fish finger sandwich with tartar sauce.’
I almost splutter my tea. ‘You didn’t!’
He laughs. ‘No, I’m kidding. I’m a ketchup man, through and through.’
I nudge him playfully before remembering he’s my boss and now my vet, not some old friend. It’s so easy to blur the lines with him.
Edward drains his cup, rises to his feet and gestures to Otis. ‘He looks like he’s through the worst.’
‘I hope so. He’s given me such a scare.’
‘I’ll check him over again and if I’m happy he’s on the mend, I’ll let you get some peace.’
I nod, disappointed that he’ll be leaving and a little embarrassed that it may have been my fault for crossing a line. I wasn’t trying to be flirty. Oh God, the very idea makes my insides curl up and want to evacuate my body in well under the fire-brigade-recommended two minutes.
‘He’s stopped shaking and he’s not been sick for a while now. I’m going to try and get him to drink some water. Do you have any cooked meat in the fridge?’
I go and look. ‘There’s some roast chicken – the sort you buy ready-cooked for sandwiches when you’re lazy like me.’
‘Let’s try him with a few small pieces.’
I crouch down and offer Otis a piece. He barely moves at first, but then his nose starts sniffing at the meat and he takes it. I smile at Edward, who nudges the water bowl closer and Otis laps up a few drops. We feed him the rest of the chicken and when he’s had another drink, he stands.
‘Oh my goodness,’ I say, feeling two stones lighter.
‘Whatever the matter was – he seems to be over it now.’
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ Edward says modestly.
‘You did. You saved me from having a meltdown.’ I smile. ‘What shall I do about the bill?’
The Single Mums' Book Club Page 7