9
Later that week, I’m still thinking of Marcus as the new boy, when I catch Agnes drafting an advertisement for another vet. Then I wait for the onslaught that will inevitably follow, because no matter how strongly you emphasise that all applications should be made by post only, there’s always the smart-arses who insist on phoning or worse still, ‘popping in because they happen to be just passing.’ Anyone who says that is lying, because absolutely nobody just passes the back end of beyond that is Lower Shagford.
Agnes, a master of patience, tolerance and all things virtuous, says the same thing to all of them, albeit a trifle wearily, that could they please be kind enough to submit their application in writing, just like everyone else. If I were her, I’d be keeping a black list, or better still, file the smart arses’ applications in the shredder.
She, Beamish - and this time round Miles - then spend long evenings perusing the many and varied CV’s. Some of the applicants are known, at least by name, to Beamish, and he soon narrows it down to a handful, which I am then given the dubious pleasure of contacting, to invite to a formal interview. When I call them, one or two of them sound more than a little barking. This might be quite amusing after all.
When interview day arrives, fortunately we’re not too busy, which means that Miles is interviewing too. Miles seems to be moving swiftly up the echelons in the practice and looking less and less happy about it. Anyway, it’s good, because with the extra clients for Marcus to see, he spends less time hanging around here making me feel inadequate.
Never one to miss an opportunity, Paris is loitering with intent. I’ve come to the conclusion that instead of a brain, she has man-radar, and it’s fully homed in on the imminent arrival of our would-be vets. Her hair is pink this week and she’s wearing some rather flash leopard-print jodhpurs teamed with a tight, boob-hugging top that only a sixteen year old can get away with. Next to her, I look like a middle-aged spinster.
But I have to admit to finding it all hugely entertaining - much to Agnes’ disapproval. She knows exactly what I’m like. Fortunately for me though, she’s also in the interview room, so it’s my job is to welcome the candidates and give them tea or coffee, then usher them through at the required time. And so I sit quietly at my desk, pretending to be concentrating extremely hard on some rather important paperwork, all the time watching out of the corner of my eye, as the would-be vets, not ordinarily used to wearing suits, sit there most uncomfortably wiping their sweaty palms on their thighs before they are invited through to be interrogated.
After the first six, Agnes comes out. It’s nearly lunchtime anyway. She stifles a yawn.
‘Louisa, Beamish thinks we’ve probably seen enough,’ she says wearily to me. She sighs. ‘He thinks he’s found the one.’
She nods back at the closed door, behind which candidate number six, a very sensible looking woman in brogues, is enthralling Beamish and Miles with her impressive range of experience. Paris has already vanished of course, no doubt disgusted by their choice.
‘You mean...?’ I nod at the room too, slightly disappointed if I’m honest. There are another four lined up for this afternoon, one bonkers one in particular who I was rather looking forward to meeting.
‘So it would seem,’ Agnes says firmly and won’t be drawn further.
And before long, a beaming Beamish and relieved looking Miles step out, with the very sensibly dressed candidate between them.
‘Ah. Louisa. I’d like you to meet Stella,’ says Beamish, looking mightily pleased with himself. ‘She will be joining us for er, three days a week initially. It’ll um, take the pressure off all of us, no doubt you’ll agree?’
I nod my head and hold my hand out to Stella, who grips it very firmly indeed with her sweaty one and almost crushes it.
‘Good to meet you,’ she says, looking more than a little hot in her rather tight tweed jacket, which is a jolly close match for Beamish’s. Knowing Beamish, that’s probably why he chose her.
Beamish takes over. ‘Stella? Miles? How about we grab some lunch?’ Stella daren’t say no and nor does Miles, so off they all go to keep Beamish company while he has a little snifter or five.
‘Honestly,’ says Agnes in a low voice. ‘He always does this. You do think he’d at least bother to see all of them. Now we have to hope we can reach the others and put them off. And they’re probably on their way here, and will have taken the day off specially.’
She’s sounding most disgruntled, which is quite out of character. All we have to do now is to stand by for calls from the other vets, who will all be dying to know who their new colleague is. Marcus no doubt will be delighted to hear that there will be another female in the practice for him to exert his charms on and when he calls in, I innocently tell him, ‘oh yes, she’s really lovely, Marcus. Yes, that’s right. Just like Emma…’ He’ll be imagining another blond bombshell, not a forty something sensible lady who’s sturdy and wears tweeds.
After Stella joins the ranks, it doesn’t take long before we realise she’s quite a force to be reckoned with. She’s extremely forthright, thinking nothing about putting a client very straight this morning when they made the usual mistake and assumed Sam was the vet and Stella the vet nurse. It happens to Emma all the time. That really got her blood up and she made quite a fuss about it. I’ve decided that to avoid getting on the wrong side of her, she’ll escape being initiated with Henderson’s horse’s warty dick. Actually it wouldn’t be much of an initiation. Marcus, it would seem, has that one admirably under control.
So we kind of settle down, our newly extended (again) practice family, and after a few little hiccups, things are okay. Stella might be ferocious, but apparently she’s massively accomplished and has worked alongside some of the greatest horse experts there are. Agnes soon keeps her for the more troublesome clinical cases, where her bedside manner or rather the lack of it, are less of a handicap, because Marcus and Emma are brilliant at client relations, and even Miles isn’t bad. I guess the practice can carry one cantankerous old bat if her veterinary skills really are so mind-boggling. Elmer, however, weirder than ever, has decided that she absolutely adores Stella. She’s probably just terrified of her, but she obediently does whatever Stella tells her, all the time wagging her tail most ingratiatingly and giving me smug backward glances.
Purely by accident, Stella’s timing was good. She gets to be invited to Sylvie’s party, though as the newest recruit, she’s volunteered to be on call that night. Double bugger! That means Marcus will definitely be going to the party. I resign myself to the fact that I won’t be able to avoid him.
Emma says I protest too much and that secretly I fancy him. She must be mad. I don’t of course. It’s obvious. Anyone can see that.
And eventually I hear from Jerome, though I haven’t told Emma yet. But it’s a nice letter, which surprises me somewhat, because I wasn’t convinced I’d get any response at all. He explains that what he writes in his predictions is the most likely outcome at any given moment in time. But he goes on to say that there are always choices, and we have freedom to choose whatever we like. He expresses concern at Emma’s obsession and says that if after talking to her I’m still worried, to get back in touch. It’s not at all what I expected, but Jerome’s gone up just the tiniest notch in my estimation.
That night, as we’re having supper together at hers, my most favoured place to eat for many reasons, I broach the subject. Emma splutters her Thai chicken curry all over the table when I tell her what I’ve done. She’s not very happy at all.
‘Look, Ems,’ I say pointedly. ‘If you had a friend doing something that you were really worried about, would you just ignore it? Because I bet you wouldn’t...’
That’s got her. Very caring, Emma is. She wouldn’t be able to ignore a friend in need any more than I can.
‘But I’ve told you, Louisa. It’s not even a problem in the first place.’ She takes another mouthful.
‘Okay,’ I say calmly. Ha. Time to play the trump
card. ‘So what if I tell you that Ben thinks you’re on drugs and Marcus thinks you’re about to leave the practice.’
‘Ben thinks what?’ she frowns.
‘Every time your mobile bleeps with one of those starbursts or whatever Jerome calls them, you just jump up, whatever you happen to be doing or saying and hot foot it out of the room. It’s really noticeable, Em. Ben’s noticed and thinks you’re nipping out for another fix, and Marcus thinks you’re very distracted and looking for another job. So don’t you agree, that it might just be time to try and get this, this THING under control?’
Emma looks extremely downcast by now. ‘What did your letter say?’ she asks in a small voice.
‘Jerome simply explains that a horoscope is not an actual forecast, just the most likely set of outcomes if you don’t take into account a person’s ability to make a choice. I guess you could say it’s like a weather forecast, and you know how often they get those wrong…’ I pause, quite pleased with the bit about the weather forecast.
‘Here. You can read it if you like.’
She sits and reads. Her Thai chicken curry goes cold. What a waste, I think, looking longingly at it. It was sublime.
Then she looks at me. Sheepishly. ‘I have let this get a bit out of hand, haven’t I?’
I nod exaggeratedly. ‘But luckily you have a good friend like me to sort you out.’ Then I say more seriously, ‘Em, you will stop being so hung up on it all, won’t you?’
She nods. ‘I’ll try, it’s got a bit silly, I admit that. But I’m glad you told me about Ben - and Marcus. I had no idea.’
Result. But I’m watching her. I know what these addicts can be like.
We change the subject. The next most burning topic of conversation, after Stella’s arrival, which we’ve exhausted for now, is Sylvie’s party. And the rather pressing issue of what to wear.
‘We should go shopping,’ says Emma suddenly. ‘I haven’t bought clothes for ages. We could go this Saturday if you like. I’ve got a whole weekend off.’
Excellent. I can keep an eye on her phone habit too, while we’re at it. Suddenly, I’m looking forward to this. Sylvie’s party will be my first big public outing, if you don’t count the pub, as a newly post-Arian single person and I can’t wait. I’m going to find myself a frock to die for, glam myself up and have a truly fabulous evening.
10
It’s Saturday, and I spend a glorious morning riding Horace. I love my new life, I’ve decided and Horace is the best thing that’s happened to me in ages. I adore him. He really is my perfect male, I can’t help thinking. Gorgeously handsome, affectionate and unquestionably loyal. Even better, he doesn’t answer back and lives in a field.
This morning, we amble up the lane to the bridlepath that leads down to the river. You can ride for miles along the flat, grassy bank and today we canter, his feet pounding rhythmically. It’s bliss, I tell you, just me and this beautiful horse.
After, I hose Horace down and then he mooches happily in the shade of an oak tree while Emma and I go shopping.
Even though we go into what must be every dress shop for miles, Emma can’t find a thing to wear. I buy my outfit in the third shop we go into, but Emma is being very blonde and indecisive. It gets so bad, I almost suggest that she asks Jerome, but bite my tongue in the nick of time. By the end of the day, there’s just one shop we haven’t looked in yet, and I’m determined to make her buy something if it kills me.
The price tags are astronomical, but Emma doesn’t appear to mind, or maybe she hasn’t noticed. Luckily for us both, she finds a dress that’s been worth waiting for - a beautiful, flowing Grecian style gown, which is dead posh and transforms her from grubby vet into total goddess in the blink of an eye. I resign myself to looking my usual inadequate self beside her, on the night, while she pays the extortionate cost without batting an eyelid.
At last! We hurry back to mine to find out what havoc Elmer has wreaked while we’ve been shopping. Actually, apart from a well-licked butter wrapper on the floor, she hasn’t done anything diabolical. I let her out in the garden and put the kettle on.
Emma rarely talks about herself and I’m realising how little I know about her life before we worked together.
‘Em? How long have you lived here?’
She’s looking extremely relaxed sitting in my garden. ‘Oh, about two years now. I bought the barn after my divorce came through.’
Golly. I didn’t know she owned it… She reads my thoughts.
‘I’m lucky, Lou. Well, in that respect anyway. Andy was extremely wealthy. It’s probably at least part of the reason I persuaded myself we should get married. I mean, I know everyone says money doesn’t buy you happiness, but honestly? After my student days, I can tell you, it certainly does help.’
I can’t help but be impressed by her honesty. But it brings a lump to my throat as once again, I imagine sweet, insecure Emma disentangling herself from a loveless marriage to a total bastard and left all alone.
‘He didn’t do anything wrong, Lou,’ she reminds me softly. ‘I left him in the end. One of us had to do something. I knew he wasn’t happy either, but he hung on and hung on… In the end I had no choice.’
Oh dear. It’s still terribly sad but not at all as I’d imagined. And actually it’s struck a bit of a chord. Maybe I made a mistake marrying Arian in the first place. Did it for all the wrong reasons, just like she did. And it’s starting to make me wonder just how Arian would tell his side of the story.
Then Emma goes home, and we arrange to meet in the pub later. Suddenly I think, I haven’t seen her look at her mobile once.
The pub is busy when we get there, but then it is Saturday night. And actually I’m feeling good, even next to Emma. My skinny jeans fit me again, and I’ve pinned up half my hair in a scruffy-sexy updo. Ben’s already there, and his face lights up as soon as he sees Emma. And oh blast, why does Marcus have to be here too? Shouldn’t he be on call or something? Uh oh. It looks like he might have one of his girly admirers with him tonight too. A small, pretty one with big boobs, spray-on jeans and half a ton of mascara. For some reason, I’m not comfortable with this at all.
Emma and I buy a bottle of white wine and wander over to join Ben. Then we all go outside because it’s a glorious evening and the sun is still warm. It seems a waste to spend it sitting inside a gloomy bar. Emma has so far survived without her mobile bleeping once. I’m impressed. Hopefully she can keep this up. Ben is looking more relaxed too, now that she’s not jumping up and down every two minutes.
And here comes Marcus. Hmmm… On his own.
‘No lady friend?’ I enquire coolly, looking at him from under my eyelashes.
He gives me a look. ‘She’s a client, actually. She was just giving me an update on her horse.’
Oh, I bet she was, I think crankily, not liking one bit that I’m beginning to sound jealous. Jealous? Why would I be? I don’t even particularly like him.
He sits down on the chair next to me, which makes me stiffen. Noticing, he shifts slightly away from me. We chat for a bit, the four of us, mostly about Sylvie’s party, which is next Saturday. Ben is going too, of course. I don’t think I know anyone who isn’t.
After a while, I make my excuses and leave, saying Elmer’s been on her own all day and I should get back. I don’t want to cramp Emma’s style, and she and Ben seems to getting on like a house on fire tonight. Nor can I particularly be bothered to make conversation with Marcus, who stands up at the same time, yawning. I notice for the first time how tired he looks.
‘Think I’ll join you,’ he says, regretting it when he sees my expression. ‘Not, you know, I didn’t mean...’
We leave together, stiffly, careful to avoid any physical contact with each other as we walk out to the car park.
‘Like a lift?’ he says gruffly, no doubt waiting for another of my typical overreactions.
‘Um, thanks, but I’m only over the road. I can walk,’ I say.
‘Okay,’ he heads ove
r to his enormous Land Cruiser, then stops and turns back towards me.
‘Um, Louisa, have I er, done anything to upset you?’
I’m dumbfounded. I don’t actually know what to say.
‘Only you seem quite abrupt, so I just wondered...’ he adds.
‘Um, am I? I don’t mean to be,’ I say.
He stands there a moment, just looking at me. ‘Oh. Well, I’ll be off. Sure you wouldn’t like a lift?’
I shake my head, mostly because I’m stubborn, but as he turns to get in his car, I’m left in a dither. I don’t know what it is, but something about him throws me completely off my guard. For a brief moment, I consider walking after him, but then he speeds away in the Land Cruiser.
I walk quietly home, alone.
11
When I arrive at work on Monday, everyone is running around like headless chickens. It transpires that Marcus has been up with some poor horse who has colic all night. Seems he was on call after all. The horse has taken a turn for the worse. It’s in acute pain, and everyone’s agreed that as a last ditch attempt to save it, they’re going to operate. Stella’s doing it. She wouldn’t normally even come in on a Monday, and she’s already been here for two hours. Apparently she’s done these before. Miles is assisting and Sam’s in there too. Marcus and Emma are off on calls, and Agnes is making a cup of tea for the owner, who’s sitting outside, white as a sheet. I go in to the office where the phone is already ringing.
Agnes soon follows.
‘Poor Mrs Kilburn. It’s her daughter’s horse, Parsifal. They bred him apparently. She’s out of her mind with worry.’ I can well believe it. I shudder to think how I’d be feeling if it were Horace in there and I’ve only had him a few weeks.
The surgery goes on for hours, or so it seems. From time to time, Agnes or I go out and sit with Mrs Kilburn for a bit, or take her more tea. For once in her life, Elmer is being useful and has attached herself to our client and is being most companionable.
The Impossible Search for the Perfect Man Page 7