‘Ah. Louisa. Thought I should let you know the old girl’s out of the woods. Yes, hmmph, turned a corner…’
Then obviously confused by my silence, he says, ‘Agnes, Louisa. Um. Er, she’s going to be fine.’
But I’m too overwhelmed to speak and tears of relief course down my cheeks.
‘Just thought you’d like to know,’ he adds gruffly, before ringing off.
I sit there with my back to Karina, oblivious to the phone ringing again or to her answering it, until she taps me on the shoulder, then sees my face and says into the receiver, ‘Could I ask her to call you back in just a few minutes?’
Then she comes back over to me and puts her hand on my shoulder.
‘Louisa? Are you alright?’
I take a deep breath and mop my face, and find I’m looking into gently concerned eyes. The only snag of course being, that they’re Karina’s.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, sniffling and wiping my nose and gathering myself together. I attempt a watery smile.
‘Actually, it was good news. You must know about Agnes, that’s why you’re here…only she’s better, she’s going to be okay, and for a while there, I wasn’t so sure…’
Oh bloody hell, the tears start again, and Karina’s being all sympathetic, which is most disconcerting.
‘I’ve been so worried about her,’ I say, before finally dissolving into a weeping mess. Karina pushes a wodge of tissues into my hand and then I hear her putting the kettle on.
Once I’ve stopped snivelling, we sit there drinking hot sweet tea. She tells me I need it because I’m getting over a shock, even if it is a good one, and she needs it because it stops her feeling so disgustingly nauseous. We actually both laugh together, genuinely, for the first time ever. Then she sighs.
‘I’m not much help to you, am I, Louisa. It would be easier for you in many ways if I wasn’t here.’
And in a way she’s right – only there’s the practice to think about and I can’t do everything on my own.
‘Nonsense,’ I tell her. ‘There’s tons to do. Have you finished the invoices yet?’
I indicate a pile about a foot high that she hasn’t even touched yet. She glances at it, pauses, then without a word, goes back to her desk.
‘By the way,’ she remembers, ‘that was a Mrs Brazier on the telephone for Agnes. I told her you’d call her back.’
It really is one of those days. When I call Mrs Brazier back, she is not very happy. Actually she’s mightily pissed off. I’ve never met her, but I understand she’s a fairly abrasive kind of woman, who looks after her horses barely adequately. That’s to say they’re never thin enough or manky enough to intervene or call the RSPCA, but absolutely only just. Apparently the mighty Stella has just visited because one of them had ripped itself to shreds on the terrible fencing. And it seems she was unable to stop at just treating the animal. Yes, you’ve guessed it, she went on to give the delightful Mrs Brazier a large piece of her mind.
‘I really do not appreciate being told I don’t look after my horses properly,’ splutters Mrs Brazier most indignantly. ‘Nor being threatened by that woman…’
‘Threatened?’ I ask cautiously, thinking threatened isn’t good at all. ‘Um, what exactly do you mean by that, Mrs Brazier?’
And she’s off again. I really wish I hadn’t asked.
‘That vet told me that unless I look after my horses better, she would not be prepared to treat them in the future. She even told me to re-fence my field. Does she think I’m made of money? I told her, by the time I paid your flaming bill, it would be quite some time before I could afford a new fence. I really think I might change to that new vets that’s started up. Perhaps they’ll be more appreciative of my custom.’
Nice one Stella, I think to myself. Why didn’t the silly woman just keep her mouth shut, do her job and leave? Mrs Brazier might not mollycoddle her horses, but I know for a fact that there are far worse out there.
Eventually I pacify her and persuade her not to change vets by offering her Stella’s visit on the house. I almost suggest she spend the money on fencing, but decide against it. It seems to take the wind out of her sails, and slightly mollified, she rings off. I decide that I urgently need to talk to accessible-joint-senior-partner Miles, seeing as Beamish seems to be in another world. We can’t have Stella charging around like a loose cannon, losing us customers – even if they are like Mrs Brazier.
As it is, the way things turn out, it’s me who sees Stella first. She pops back to the practice to pick up some drugs.
All I say to her, rather pointedly is, ‘Mrs Brazier phoned in. She wasn’t very happy.’
Stella raises her eyebrows, but clearly isn’t prepared to discuss the matter with a mere office minion such as myself, which suits me fine too. I’m more than happy to let that little task rest with Miles.
When she leaves, Karina says to me, ‘Is she always like that? Only the other vets are all so personable, and Stella doesn’t have quite the same manner, does she…’
‘You could say that,’ I agree, ‘but apparently she has amazing surgical powers and all this extraordinary experience that seemingly no-one else has.’
Like maybe at bullshitting.
We raise our eyebrows. There’s not much else to say.
Later on, Karina says, ‘I know I don’t know all the ropes yet, but if you want me to stay on one afternoon so you can visit Agnes, I’d be quite happy to….’
‘Thanks,’ I say, quite surprised. Actually, that would be good. Really good. At the moment, if I go to the hospital after work, I don’t get home until at least 8.30pm.
‘That would be great. Thanks, Karina.’
So the next afternoon finds me taking her up on her offer, and after lunch I make my way over to Winchester General. It’s about a thirty minute drive, mostly wooded country roads until you get near the town, and I turn my music up loudly, put my foot down and enjoy it.
When I get there, Agnes is sitting up in bed with a little more colour in her pinched cheeks than last time I saw her… I kiss her on the cheek and give her the flowers I brought for her – cornflowers I think they are, mixed with lavender and something else that smells nice. Well, I liked them when I saw them, and Agnes does too, burying her nose in them to inhale their delicate scent.
‘How are you feeling?’ I ask her.
‘Oh, I’m doing fine,’ she gives me a small smile. ‘Just weak as dishwater. It’s a darned nuisance. I hate being laid up like this.’
Now that sounds much more like Agnes.
‘Now, Louisa. Tell me how things are at the practice.’ That sounds even more like Agnes.
Do I tell her the truth? But then it’s pointless not to. This is Agnes we’re talking about. She has special powers that enable her to see through absolutely anything.
‘It’s all absolutely fine,’ I say firmly. ‘Well, apart from you not being there. Stella managed to upset Mrs Brazier yesterday, but I think I did a reasonable job of pacifying her. And the usual percentage of invoices has been paid, and…’
‘How are you coping with Karina there?’ asks Agnes quietly.
I sit there blinking. I didn’t know she knew.
‘Oh, Beamish told me,’ she said wearily. ‘How he convinced himself it was a good idea is beyond me,’ she adds resignedly. ‘Sometimes men can be unbelievable. I’m so sorry, dear, that you’ve had that added pressure too.’
I’m silent, then decide to tell her the truth. ‘It was a shock at first. I couldn’t believe it either, but actually we’re extremely civil to each other, and it’s okay. She even offered to stay on this afternoon so I could come and see you.’
Agnes raises her eyebrows and says nothing, no doubt impressed with my new powers of tact and diplomacy. But before we can say anything else, both of us spot Marcus, looking very spruced up and carrying a bouquet of flowers. Actually, what really happens is that we both spot this massive elaborately wrapped bouquet making its way towards Agnes, behind which we catch a glim
pse of Marcus. Of course, this serves to make my little bunch of flowers look pathetically inadequate.
‘Marcus! How lovely! Oh, you shouldn’t have…’ Agnes looks slightly embarrassed.
‘Hello, Marcus,’ I say, without much enthusiasm, getting up to leave. ‘I better get back to work, Agnes. Don’t go overdoing it,’ I say to her, just as another visitor arrives.
Gosh, Agnes is popular today. This girl is petite and extremely pretty, like a little Barbie doll with chestnut hair, a button nose and sparkling eyes.
‘Oh I’m so glad you’ve come, darling,’ says Agnes, a smile positively lighting up her face, as the Barbie doll flings her arms around her and kisses her lovingly on both cheeks. Radiantly, she turns towards me and Marcus.
‘Louisa, Marcus, this is my daughter, Rachel.’
Ah. So this is the famous Rachel… I stand there feeling mousier, dumpier and more inadequate than ever in the combined presence of Marcus, his bouquet and this little bombshell, who smiles brightly at us both and holds out her dainty hand.
Marcus is looking rather silly with his chin nearly on the floor. Get a grip man, I think, watching him. But I don’t need anyone else adding to my inadequacies and I leave them.
25
That evening, I catch up with Leonie and Pete. I’ve invited them for supper and they’re actually coming, which is great news because I don’t think Pete’s been anywhere much lately - apart from to see his therapist. He’s doing well, Leo’s told me, and is at last receptive to the idea he can be helped. Apparently that’s half the battle, she tells me, because until recently, he was pretty much in denial that he had a problem at all. So it’s great news all round and knowing that Agnes is on the mend too, my heart feels lighter than in ages.
I’ve splashed out on a farm shop speciality – steak and mushroom pie - to have with red wine and crusty bread and salad.
Leonie and Pete are both looking better. Less pale and haggard and weighed down with stress, I’m relieved to notice, as they hug me on the doorstep.
‘Nice place,’ Pete nods approvingly. Gosh. I’d forgotten he hasn’t been here before. He’s looking trim and slightly tanned.
‘Pete, you look really good,’ I say. He looks slightly embarrassed.
‘Pete’s taken up cycling,’ says Leonie proudly, by way of explanation. ‘Apparently exercise is really helpful if you suffer from depression, so he decided to get a bike.’
Pete’s shifting uncomfortably by now, clearly finding the topic of his illness a difficult subject of conversation.
‘Used to race as a teenager,’ he mumbles.
Oh my golly gosh. So Pete has joined the ranks of the men in lycra has he? I’ll have to watch out for him when Horace and I are on our Sunday morning travels. And I’ll have to stop my eyes being drawn to the tightest bits. Ew….this is Pete, after all.
‘Come and meet Horace,’ I say to Pete, partly to deflect the attention away from his illness and the thought of all that lycra, and partly because I want to show off my beloved horse.
Pete tells me he’s seen quite a bit of Arian, but neither of us mentions Karina directly.
‘You called him a two-timing shithead,’ I remind him admiringly.
‘Did I?’ says Pete wonderingly, sounding quite pleased with himself. ‘Good.’
We actually have a good evening in the end. Lower key than in the past, but enjoyable nonetheless. Leo drags them away early.
‘Pete needs his sleep at the moment,’ she says protectively, and Pete doesn’t argue.
Elmer and I stand at the door and watch them go, my dear friends. At least they’re sticking together through probably the hardest time either of them has ever known. I can’t help but wonder if the same thought has crossed Arian’s mind…somehow, this time, I can’t imagine it.
26
Suddenly another week’s flown by, and it’s Saturday again. Horace and I get a soaking while we’re ambling through the woods, and then my mobile rings in my pocket. It’s Emma.
‘Fancy going to see Agnes together this afternoon?’ she suggests.
Which is perfect, because I haven’t seen Emma properly in ages, because she’s spending more and more time with Ben.
But she’s a little quiet as we drive to the hospital.
‘How’s Ben,’ I ask, never suspecting for a minute that the fairytale department that is her love life would be anything other than just that.
‘Okay,’ she says, with a fraction of her usual enthusiasm. Then nothing.
I wait a while, then ask, ‘Is something wrong, Em? Only you don’t seem your usual sunny self.’
‘I’m fine,’ she says tersely. I get the message and back off.
Agnes is looking better today. Rachel is already sitting at her mother’s bedside and they both give me a big smile.
‘Hi,’ she says. ‘It’s nice to see you again! Mum’s been telling me how you had her whisked away in an ambulance, and how you stepped into the breach at work. Thank you,’ she says more soberly. ‘I hate to think what might have happened if you hadn’t acted so quickly.’
Golly gee. I only did what anyone would have done, which is what I tell her.
Then I remember Emma is standing beside me.
‘Emma, this is Rachel, Agnes’s daughter. Emma’s one of the vets,’ I explain to Rachel.
And after that, we’re all chattering while Agnes assumes her usual long-suffering expression.
Then Rachel says, a little cautiously, ‘Um, why doesn’t one of you fill me in on Marcus? Bit of a dish isn’t he?’
Her words are like a blow to my stomach and Emma catches my eye. But hold on. I stuffed up with Marcus - I can’t blame it all on him. So doesn’t he deserve a chance with someone else?
‘He’s lovely,’ I say. ‘Very good looking, yes, as you’ve no doubt noticed, and charming and a genuine nice man.’
Emma looks at me oddly. So does Agnes. Rachel sits there beaming.
‘Oh, cool!’ she says excitedly. ‘Only he’s asked me out for dinner.’
When we drive home, this time Emma and I are both quiet. I’m mulling over how I go about becoming a nun and Emma, well, I’ve absolutely no idea what she’s thinking. She’s giving nothing away.
‘Fancy meeting at the pub?’ she asks. ‘If I don’t get any calls?’
But I shake my head. ‘No thanks, Em. Not tonight. I could do with a quiet evening at home to catch up on stuff.’
Besides, I don’t feel much like bearing witness to the latest development in Lower Shagford’s great romance (Emma and Ben) nor do I feel like risking running into Marcus and stunning Rachel.
I have a pleasant enough evening. I clean Horace’s saddle and bridle, do some ironing and eventually settle in front of the TV flicking through every channel half a dozen times before settling for a re-run of Friends, with a large glass of wine. And just the one, I think virtuously, instead of the three I would have got through if I’d gone to the pub with Emma.
I’m woken too early by the phone on Sunday morning. It’s Emma, sounding very wobbly and upset. Seems I’m about to find out what was bothering her yesterday.
‘Can I come round?’ she asks in such a small voice, I can’t find it in me to say that actually, no, it’s too early and normal people are still in bed snoring.
Five minutes later she’s at my door. I’m still in my pyjamas but I’ve hurriedly put some coffee on to brew and she comes in looking as though she’s been up all night.
‘Emma? You look like you’ve hardly slept a wink…what’s wrong, my friend?’ I ask her, rather concerned.
She struggles to find the words and then it all comes out in a rush.
‘Ben broke up with me.’ And she dissolves into tears. I hug her tightly and then get her some tissues. Then I pour her some coffee and make her drink it. When she’s calmed down, I make her tell me what’s happened. It can’t be that serious, not really. After all, I was almost planning my wedding outfit.
‘Okay,’ I say, now that she’s calmer
. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘It’s true,’ she says, a picture of abject misery. Then to my surprise, she lifts up her tear stained face and says, ‘If only I’d listened to you Lou. None of this would have happened. It’s all my fault.’ And she’s off again.
Still none the wiser, I put my hand on her arm.
‘What is it Em? You still haven’t told me what it is.’
‘Oh, those stupid texts,’ she wails, dissolving again. ‘I’m such an idiot. I had to see what Jerome said. I really thought Ben might be about to propose…’
I have to say I did to.
‘He asked me why I kept running off. Asked what was so important that it couldn’t wait. He told me I was secretive and that he couldn’t have a relationship with someone who kept secrets from him. Oh Lou…’ Her voice was getting higher and higher. ‘He said he really loved me…but…then he said… it was over…’
And she’s sobbing her heart out, devastated, her hopes and dreams shattered into tiny pieces. And don’t I know how that feels.
‘Emma,’ I say firmly. ‘Stop crying. Look, have some more tissues. Now listen. If Ben loves you, you need to talk to him and explain you have a problem. A problem you’re trying to solve, but you have to tell him the truth. No more fobbing him off, okay?’
She wipes her eyes and looks at me. ‘I can’t… What if he won’t listen to me?’
‘Well, you’ve nothing to lose have you? You can at least try. And the other thing is, I am writing to Jerome today and I’m going to set up a meeting. And come hell or high water, you, my friend, will be there. Get it?’
She looks at me again, and doesn’t dare to say no.
The Impossible Search for the Perfect Man Page 15