Vets in Love

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘I’ve seen stories in the papers of doctors being struck off for having relationships with their patients, but it seems highly unlikely that anyone would chase it up to the extent that it would jeopardise your career.’

  ‘The risk is there and I’ve worked so hard to achieve my registration, I don’t want to lose it.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he sighs. ‘Eat up,’ he adds, changing the subject.

  Later, we walk back along the waterfront in the dark, the reflections of the streetlights dancing on the water. On the way to Matt’s car we pass the massive black iron rings where the ships used to be moored and the historic Customs House.

  He reaches out. I step away but he catches my hand and interlinks his fingers through mine, squeezing them tight. He stops walking and turns so he’s facing me. ‘Nicci,’ he breathes, his eyes shining in the shadows, and I’m almost lost when he presses his lips to mine, an exclamation of desire catching in his throat. My heart is saying yes and my head is saying no.

  ‘You do want this? If it wasn’t for the doctor-patient thing?’ he adds huskily. ‘Can I register with another doctor?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s a bit awkward, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to give a reason, am I?’ He smiles. ‘Leave it with me. I suppose another kiss is out of the question?’

  ‘I think you’d better take me home,’ I say, afraid that one more kiss will lead to another and sweep away any resistance I have left.

  ‘Okay,’ he says.

  He drops me outside my house. He leaves the engine running, and if I’d thought of throwing caution to the wind I would have been disappointed because he says, ‘Before you invite me in for coffee, I have to decline, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There’s no need to sound so—’ he inclines his head towards me ‘—disappointed. It isn’t you. As you’ve said, it’s probably better that I’m not seen emerging from your house late at night, but I’ve also got to get home to let the dog out.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a dog.’

  ‘I’m just getting used to the idea myself.’

  At first I think he’s making excuses, but Matt is a vet so it’s understandable that he would have a pet, I think, as his hand sidles towards mine, his fingertips touching my skin. My pulse quickens and my lips tingle with anticipation, but there is no kiss.

  ‘When can I see you again?’ he says gently.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ I reach out for the door handle, reminding myself that I have a choice. ‘I think it’s best to leave things as they are for a while. I don’t believe I can do the “just friends” bit with you.’

  ‘Same here,’ he whispers, running his fingers down the inside of my wrist. It’s an erotic gesture, highly charged and I have to summon all my resolve.

  ‘Thanks for a lovely evening,’ I say, opening the door. ‘Goodnight, Matt.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he insists. ‘I’ll get something sorted soon, I promise.’

  I let myself into the house, turn and wave before he drives away, waving back. I go to bed, but I can’t sleep. I used to wonder why on earth doctors left themselves open to accusations and threats to their livelihoods by entering relationships with their patients, but now I understand. I toss and turn and watch the moon and stars over the church roof opposite my bedroom through a gap in the curtains. Why did I have to go and fall for a patient?

  A few days later I walk straight into Ben when I arrive at work.

  ‘Hi,’ I say. ‘How are the girls?’ and that’s as far as our conversations normally go. Ben is quite reserved, aloof even, and doesn’t like to partake in gossip like me, Claire and Janet. The price of fish and chips at Mr Rock’s, Steve’s daughter’s recent engagement to the local animal welfare officer, and teasing Claire about PC Kevin’s frequent visits to the surgery are not matters that hold any interest for him.

  We’ll talk about some of our patients, but most of our interaction is confined to the monthly practice meetings.

  ‘Have you got two minutes?’ Ben is looking cool and in control in a white shirt and fawn trousers, and he carries his car keys in one hand and a floral bag in the other. He has a crooked nose and his dark hair is thinning on top. I smile to myself. I’m not sure the image of modern metrosexual man suits him.

  ‘I was just going to make a coffee. Would you like one?’ I ask him. I was riding at seven and I could do with a pick-me-up before surgery begins.

  ‘Thank you.’ He yawns. ‘I can’t remember if I had coffee this morning or not. I hardly slept last night. The twins are insomniacs. They stay up all night and sleep all day. I don’t know what to do with them. Emma’s at the end of her tether.’ He glances down at the bag. ‘Oh no, I should have left this with them at the nursery. I’ll have to go back. Don’t worry about that coffee.’

  ‘What was it you wanted?’ I say as he turns away.

  ‘I wanted to let you know that I’ve agreed to take on one of your patients. I should have spoken to you first. I hope you’re not offended, but it sounded to me as though you’re better off without him on your list. It’s the vet, Matt Warren. He says he wants to see a male doctor from now on. He sounded a bit of a misogynist to me. I was shocked actually.’

  ‘Oh?’ I say. ‘I hope you told him I was an excellent doctor – for a woman.’ I’m joking, but Ben doesn’t get it.

  ‘I don’t think we should be seen to condone any kind of prejudice,’ Ben says seriously. ‘It’s completely unacceptable and inappropriate.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry for being flippant.’ I feel as if I’ve been told off. ‘Thanks, Ben.’ I can forgive him his lack of humour. As a doctor and dad to the terrible twins – they are really sweet, but a handful – I wonder how he copes. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,’ he says. ‘I notice you’re seeing Fifi.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind. She’s rather latched on …’

  Ben gives me a broad smile. ‘No, Nicci. I don’t mind at all. I think exchanging Fifi for Matt Warren, even though he comes across as a woman-hater, is a result. I’ve had to put up with Fifi’s bunions and her offerings of chicken soup and cranberry jelly for years. I wish you the best of luck.’

  ‘Thanks for that.’ I smile back. ‘I’d better get going.’

  ‘So had I.’ Ben yawns again. ‘I must shoot back to the nursery. Lydia won’t survive a whole day without Slinky. Slinky’s her teddy bear,’ he adds in explanation.

  I grab a coffee and scrounge a biscuit from the tin in the staffroom. I didn’t have time for breakfast because Shane made me keep riding until he was happy with how Willow and I were jumping the grid of fences he’d set up in the school. I think he’d have kept us there all day if I hadn’t had to be at work. I take five minutes outside on the bench along the wall at the back of the surgery to mull over what Ben has told me.

  It’s a lovely day, and even better now that I know Matt is no longer my patient. The church bells are pealing brightly and the light breeze ruffles the petals on the petunias in the hanging baskets. We can be together. We don’t have to hold back any more.

  I dunk the biscuit, a crumbly digestive, into my coffee. I need to talk to him, but there’s no time. Above the sound of the bells I hear a car turning into the surgery car park and the sound of a horn. I tip the dregs of the coffee into the nearest planter, a tub with a bay tree. I have a job to do.

  Fifi is my first appointment. She is a vision in Country Casuals, her outfit, as ever, completed with co-ordinating accessories.

  ‘We meet again, Dr Chieveley,’ she says, sitting down stiffly on the chair beside the desk. ‘Thank you for your advice the other evening. I’m sorry if I interrupted anything. Matt is a handsome young man and if I were a younger woman, and not married, you would have some stiff competition.’

  ‘Fifi, Matt and I are friends, nothing more.’ I look her straight in the eyes. ‘Is that perfectly clear?’

  ‘Absolutely. So I’m
still in with a chance,’ she adds with a giggle. ‘I apologise. This is supposed to be about me.’

  I don’t comment.

  ‘I’ve had the report back from the lab regarding your blood test,’ I begin.

  ‘There’s something wrong,’ Fifi cuts in.

  ‘Unfortunately, there is, but not with you. There was a problem with the blood samples and I’m afraid we need to repeat them. I’ve booked you ten minutes with Claire after this appointment for her to take some more.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind. Claire is good fun. Isn’t she supposed to be going out with Kevin?’ Kevin is one of Talyton St George’s police constables, friendly and somewhat ineffectual. ‘I did ask her if she was forging a particularly close relationship with the local force, but she denied everything.’ Fifi changes the subject. ‘Dr Mackie is my doctor, but you and I get along so well, I’d rather see you for now. It’s all right, Dr Chieveley—’ she smiles wryly ‘—I, of all people, know what I’m like. I hope you don’t mind but I feel that you believe me, and that’s reassuring. You take me seriously, whereas others in this town do not.’ She shakes her head sadly. ‘Sometimes I wonder why I bother, committing myself to all the things that I do, the WI, Talyton Animal Rescue and acting on the council, but it’s my duty.’ She smoothes down her skirt. ‘It’s all about having a social conscience.’

  With emphasis on the ‘social’, I think, smiling to myself. Fifi loves the social aspect.

  ‘Anyway, Dr Mackie has, as I’ve said before, done wonders for my bunions, but he seems to be struggling with my other aches and pains. My wrists are killing me.’ She holds out her arms, resting the backs of her hands on the desk.

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to encourage her by criticising Ben. I don’t want that all over town.

  ‘Have you been examined recently?’

  ‘Do you mean poked and prodded, Dr Chieveley?’

  I nod.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Let’s get you undressed and on the couch. I’d like to check your back and joints properly.’

  ‘Oh, thank you. That would be marvellous.’

  I close the blinds, shutting out the sunshine, and pull the screen in front of the couch to give Fifi privacy. She takes some time to undress and I wonder if she’s struggling to unfasten her buttons. Then I watch when she gets dressed again after I’ve examined her. It isn’t easy.

  ‘I’m going to refer you to a rheumatologist at the hospital. Your aches and pains suggest you might have arthritis.’

  ‘Am I going to seize up like the tin man?’

  ‘Once we know what’s going on, we can start you on some treatment and a course of physio.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Fifi breathes.

  I don’t think she could be happier at having something really wrong with her, a genuine diagnosis, even if I’d told her she’d won the lottery, as she gushes on about how marvellous I am and how Dr Mackie got it wrong about her pains being all in her mind.

  ‘These things happen,’ I say. ‘No one can get it right all the time. And I might be wrong.’

  ‘Oh no, I think you’re right. I can feel it in my bones.’ She smiles. ‘Literally.’

  Fifi leaves for her blood test in a state of high excitement.

  The last thing I hear is her calling down the corridor to Janet, saying, ‘I told you I was ill.’

  I see several more patients, including three children with various childhood ailments: eczema, tonsillitis and impetigo. My last patient of the morning is Bridget, who owns Petals the florist’s on Market Square. She’s in her early fifties and was diagnosed with diabetes about a year ago, soon after the vets at Otter House diagnosed her dog – the bulldog I see her walking in the churchyard – with the same condition.

  They say that dogs often look like their owners and Bridget and her pet are a prime example, apart from the hair. The bulldog has a smooth tan and white coat, whereas Bridget has a frizzy, blonde, shoulder-length bob. They share the same jawline and set of the eyes, and not only look similar but share the same dogged determination to keep going in adversity. Bridget’s a single mum and works long hours. She’s also lost a lot of weight since her diagnosis, but she’s still quite dumpy. Her tatty green sweatshirt with the Petals logo and her jeans two sizes too big don’t exactly flatter her apple-shaped figure. ‘How are you, Bridget?’ I ask.

  ‘I feel fine, but have you seen the results of my last blood test?’ I call them up on the screen, as she continues, ‘Claire said I needed to see you to decide if I should make an appointment with my consultant. I’m not due to see her for another six weeks.’

  The sample shows evidence that Bridget’s blood sugar levels have not been well controlled with her medication. ‘You haven’t changed how you store the insulin, or anything like that?’

  ‘Daisy – that’s my dog – doesn’t have the same problem. She has exactly the same number of units every day.’

  ‘I can’t really comment on a dog.’

  ‘Maz, the vet, says diabetes is similar in other animals.’

  I refrain from suggesting she book an appointment at the vet’s for herself if she has more faith in them, but I do confess I’m at a bit of a loss as to what’s going on with her. I tell her I’ll talk to her consultant and be in touch.

  ‘That would be useful,’ she says. ‘I can’t keep taking time off to go to the hospital. I’ve had to leave a note on the door of the shop as it is, and I’ve had a delivery this morning that I need to see to. Cut flowers need nurturing, especially on warm days like today.’

  ‘If you think of anything in the meantime that might be significant, let me know.’

  ‘I haven’t been smuggling extra cake and chocolate into the shop, I promise you. My daughter would go ballistic. She’s a vet nurse and she’s very strict with me and Daisy. Every calorie has to be accounted for.’

  Once Bridget has gone, I lock the consulting room door and call Matt. I can hardly speak I’m so nervous.

  ‘Matt Warren here.’ He pauses. ‘Ah, it’s you, Nicci. Is this about the horse or is it a social call?’

  ‘Social,’ I say. ‘I wonder if you’d like to come round to my place for dinner one night?’ I purposely don’t include the dog in the invitation because it gives a reason for him not to stay over, which means I won’t have to go through the awkward conversation where, if he asks to stay, I have to tell him I’m not ready to sleep with him. It’s far too soon for me.

  ‘I’d love to,’ he says.

  It takes a couple of minutes for us to synchronise our diaries and set the date.

  ‘I’ll see you then,’ I say, aware that I’m grinning from ear to ear. ‘Goodbye, boyfriend.’

  Chapter Seven

  If Wishes Were Horses

  ‘DID I MENTION I’ve invited Matt round for a romantic meal tomorrow night?’ I say to Claire as she removes the paper towel from the exam couch in the consulting room after the last patient.

  ‘Nicci, you know that’s the first I’ve heard of it,’ she says with irony. ‘I don’t understand why you haven’t raised the subject before.’ She gazes at me as I type up a letter of referral. ‘Have you decided what you’re going to give him?’

  ‘I was hoping you might be able to help me out. I need something really easy that I can do in the slow cooker, perhaps.’

  ‘Oh no, it’s impossible to make a stew look sexy,’ Claire says. ‘What about a meaty meal, steak and thick-cut chips?’

  ‘I wouldn’t feel as if I’d put enough effort in to that.’ Inside, my inner goddess suggests that there isn’t much point in putting in lots of effort when I won’t be able to eat a thing. Matt makes me feel sick to the pit of my stomach in the nicest possible way.

  ‘How about oysters?’

  ‘I don’t think we’re in need of any aphrodisiacs,’ I say, smiling.

  ‘How about a chilli? Don’t give him fish – I gave my last boyfriend prawns and it turned out he was allergic to them.’ Claire chuckles ruefully. ‘It turned out he
had a bad reaction to me as well.’

  ‘Prawns aren’t classed as fish,’ I point out.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re so wound up about this. It must be very serious, Nicci. You don’t offer to cook for a man if it’s just a date.’

  ‘For goodness sake, I thought I’d cook for him, in a friendly kind of way.’

  ‘Since when have you cooked for your friends? The only time you’ve invited me over was for scrambled eggs on toast.’ She pauses. ‘Dress in something hot, give Matt a glass of wine and he won’t care what he’s eating. Don’t give him garlic though. Avoid it at all costs. You don’t want garlic breath in the morning.’

  ‘Who says he’s staying over?’

  ‘He will be, won’t he?’ she says, sounding surprised.

  ‘I’m not ready for all that yet,’ I say. ‘It’s early days.’ I rushed in with Henry and look where it left me. ‘I want to take it slowly. I want to enjoy going out on dates and being treated like a princess.’

  ‘That doesn’t have to stop when you go to bed with someone,’ Claire says, appalled.

  ‘Well, it kind of did with Henry. Once I slept with him, he seemed to think he didn’t have to bother any more.’

  ‘I think you’re frightened of emotional commitment, Nicci. If I were you, I wouldn’t be worrying about dinner at all. I’d be concentrating on breakfast.’ Claire giggles. Her humour is infectious and I find myself giggling along with her. ‘Steve’s here,’ she says eventually. ‘Do you want me to send him in?’

  ‘I need five minutes to finish this letter – I want to do it while it’s fresh in my mind. You go and get on with whatever you’re doing. I’ll call him in when I’m ready.’ It doesn’t take long.

  ‘Am I glad to see you again, Doc,’ Steve says when I fetch him from reception. He walks along the corridor to the consulting room, dressed in a baggy Hawaiian-style shirt, blue cargo shorts that stop below the knee, white socks and brown sandals. ‘I really thought I was a goner.’ He takes both my hands and gives them a powerful squeeze. ‘You saved my life.’