Vets in Love

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘I’m not cross.’ I pull myself up and take the mug from her. ‘Thank you very much for the wake-up call.’ As she perches on the edge of the futon, I refrain from pointing out that five o’clock is early even for me. I was hoping for a lie-in. ‘Did you sleep all right?’

  She nods. ‘I slept with Mummy and Gabriel in the end.’

  Smiling at the thought that I may well join them, having spent three uncomfortable nights on the futon, I take a sip of the watery, sweet fluid in the mug.

  ‘That is a lovely cup of tea,’ I say. ‘Have you found yourself some breakfast?’ I go on, noticing the cornflake stuck to her sleeve. This is a girl who knows her way around a cupboard.

  ‘Mummy says she’ll give you some money.’

  ‘She does, does she? Well, you’re my guests. You don’t have to pay your way while you’re staying here.’ I place the mug on the floor at the same time as a loud crash reverberates through the house from downstairs.

  ‘What is that?’ Sage says, wide-eyed at the distinct tinkling sound of breaking glass.

  ‘I think you mean what was that?’ I sigh. Pulling my duvet around me, I head downstairs with Sage running ahead to find Gabriel sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by the remains of at least three glasses. He’s crying his eyes out and holding up his finger which is dripping blood.

  ‘I hurt myself.’

  ‘Nicci, he’s bleeding,’ Sage says, squatting down beside him.

  ‘Sage, be careful. You haven’t got any shoes on and there’s glass everywhere. Everyone, keep still.’ I check Gabriel’s wound, and having ascertained that he isn’t going to bleed to death I grab a dustpan and brush and sweep up as much of the glass as I can before I fetch the first aid kit.

  It isn’t the best stocked of kits, considering I’m a doctor, and there’s a muddle of horsey and human equipment in the box. I end up applying a dressing followed by a veterinary bandage to hold it on. It’s overkill really, but Gabriel loves the fact that it’s purple.

  Sage finds him some breakfast while I clear up, but within minutes he’s off again and before I know it, he’s making a den in the living room with the cushions from the sofa and a boat from the coffee table turned upside down. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. The house is a mess, and Gabriel is giggling and shouting, ‘Auntie Nicci, ahoy there!’

  ‘Ahoy there to you,’ I call back with a chuckle before turning away to gaze out of the window. Bridget, the florist, gives me a wave as she takes her dogs into the churchyard for a stroll. I wave back.

  ‘Have you got some rope?’ Sage asks. ‘We’re going to get a sheet and make a sail.’

  ‘There’s some string in the kitchen,’ Cheska says, joining us. ‘Morning, Nicci. I hope you don’t mind – I’ve borrowed your dressing gown.’

  ‘Do I mind?’ I start to laugh. ‘Cheska, it’s like my home’s been taken over by an alien race, but no … I don’t mind in the slightest.’ I was craving company and now I have it. The house has come alive.

  Having told my sister and the kids to make themselves at home, I get ready for work. I’m itching to call Mum, but decide to give Cheska a couple more days to get herself together and call her herself, hoping that the gossips don’t get to Mum first.

  ‘Nicci, a word,’ Ben says quietly from the doorway of his consulting room when I arrive at the surgery just in time for my first appointment a few days later. ‘In here,’ he adds.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask. It’s ridiculous, but my heart is beating hard. Has someone made a complaint of some kind? It does happen occasionally.

  ‘Oh, nothing’s wrong,’ he says, smiling as he sits down at his desk, his fingers forming a steeple under his chin. ‘I didn’t want to ask you about a rather delicate situation in front of the others, but are you and Matt Warren an item?’ Ben’s cheeks grow pink. ‘I overheard the others talking.’

  ‘Yes, I think I can say that now.’ I find myself blushing too. ‘It’s all right though, he’s no longer a patient.’

  ‘And you let me call him a misogynist,’ Ben says, teasing me. ‘Really, Nicci.’

  ‘What else could I do? I said we couldn’t go out together unless he changed doctors and he had to make up an excuse. I did the right thing, didn’t I?’

  Ben nods.

  ‘I’ll treat him gently,’ he says. ‘He said you were rough with him.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Yes, when he was denigrating your medical skills. He said you hurt him, your hands were cold and you refused to listen.’ Ben’s brow furrows briefly. He tips his head back and rolls his eyes. ‘How could I have been so stupid? I should have guessed something was up.’ He grins – he’s in an unusually good mood. ‘He’s a great actor – he should have been on the stage.’

  Having talked with Ben, I see my first couple of appointments before running into Claire, who calls me aside into the nurses’ room.

  ‘Can I have a word?’ she says quietly, closing the door behind us. ‘This might be nothing, but I think you should hear it and make up your own mind.’

  ‘That sounds ominous,’ I say, trying to guess what this is about.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ She falters. ‘I’ll present it as a hypothetical situation. Let’s say, hypothetically, that someone, let’s call them A—’ She gazes at me, eyes wide. ‘That’s you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Is going out with someone, B—’

  ‘Matt?’

  ‘That’s right. But someone else, C, has categorically stated to the practice nurse that they are in a relationship with B, even though the aforesaid nurse was under the impression that A has just started going out with B.’ Claire pauses and I start to feel slightly sick when she continues, ‘I hate these kinds of situations, but I don’t want to see A get hurt.’

  I bite my lip. What is going on here?

  ‘There’s probably no truth in it at all,’ Claire adds.

  ‘Then why did Mel say it?’ The hairs on the back of my neck prickle with unease. Someone is lying, but who? Matt or Mel? ‘When did she talk to you?’

  ‘You mean, when did C say this to the practice nurse?’ Claire gives a small smile. ‘About ten minutes ago, when C came in for a tetanus booster. C was full of her plans to go and work away from here for a couple of years to gain more experience before coming back to Westleigh as B’s partner – in the veterinary sense at least. She’s very ambitious.’

  ‘She does give that impression,’ I say calmly, but inside I’m all churned up because this conversation suggests that either Mel has designs on a partnership at the hospital, or she has designs on Matt, or he’s stringing both of us along.

  ‘Have I said too much?’ Claire says quietly. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped the mark, but I thought you’d prefer to know.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say, raising my hand.

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Well, no, it isn’t. I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster, up one minute and down the next.’

  ‘Don’t do anything rash,’ Claire says. ‘Give Matt the chance to give his side of the story.’

  ‘Why would Mel make something like that up?’

  ‘A woman scorned and all that. Speak to him.’

  ‘How will I know if he’s telling me the truth? He told me they’d split up three months ago, but what if they’re still together and he’s been lying all along?’

  ‘Do you believe that?’

  ‘I don’t know what to believe.’ I shake my head, swallowing back the tears that are perilously close to spilling over and rolling down my cheeks. ‘I do know one thing though. I’m not going to let Matt make a fool of me.’

  ‘You aren’t having the best time, are you?’ Claire says. ‘The gossips are out in force. Fifi has been in to drop a request for a repeat prescription in the box at reception.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous, she has at least a month’s supply of her tablets and creams. I should know because I prescribed them.’

  ‘Frances turned up with a poster advertising a W
I event, a cake sale to raise funds for Talyton Animal Rescue, but all she wanted to talk about was your sister turning up out of the blue. And, although it’s probably a complete coincidence, your other neighbour has arrived,’ Claire says. ‘Be careful what you say. She’s the reporter for the local newspaper, the Chronicle, and she’s roving around the waiting room, looking out for a story.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘She’s always looking for a story.’

  ‘You mean Eternally Frazzled Mum?’ I begin to pull myself together, forcing a small smile. ‘That’s what I call her, but not to her face,’ I add quickly.

  ‘I’m not surprised she’s frazzled – she has three sons and a touch of acopia.’

  Acopia is our informal term for someone who is unable to cope with everyday life. It affects most of us from time to time, but not me, not today. My patients come first.

  I call my neighbour Ally Jackson in with one of her sons, eleven-year-old James, who she shoves along in front of her. She’s dressed in a pale pink trouser suit and big white beads, while her son – a slightly overweight boy with a pudding-basin haircut, striped shirt and long trousers – holds out his hand, showing off a finger wrapped in an enormous bandage, suggesting partial severance if not complete amputation. I’m tempted to send him straight to A&E, but decide to unwrap it first to assess the injury. I ask him to lie on the exam couch because he’s looking pale and sweaty and I’m worried he might faint. I insist that his mum sits down for the same reason. I have one patient on my hands – I don’t need another.

  ‘So, James, you better tell me what happened to you,’ I say, talking calmly to reassure him. ‘I’m going to take this dressing off.’ I pick up the scissors, noticing how he winces when he sees them as if he’s afraid I’m going to cut off a second finger.

  ‘He got bitten,’ Ally says.

  ‘Mum, I can speak,’ James says with the confidence of a boy who has had to grow up quickly.

  ‘What was it?’ I say, assuming it was a dog at least.

  ‘It was Nathan.’

  ‘You mean another person did this?’

  ‘Nathan’s our pet rat,’ Ally says.

  Very gently, I unwrap the outer layers of bandage until I can peel off the cotton wool padding underneath, which reveals a tiny indentation in the boy’s finger and an almost invisible streak of blood.

  ‘It’s pretty bad, isn’t it?’ he says, admiring the damage.

  ‘Oh, I can’t look.’ Ally hides her face in her hands.

  ‘It’s going to be all right.’ I bite my lip to stifle a chuckle. I love my job. ‘Tell me again, this Nathan, why has he taken against you, James?’

  ‘We adopted him from the Sanctuary, the rescue centre where Buttercross Cottage used to be. Do you know it?’ Ally says.

  ‘I know where it is.’

  ‘Anyway, we took Nathan on a few months ago.’

  ‘It was ten months ago. Get your facts right, as you keep telling me, Mum.’

  ‘Is he a healthy rat?’

  ‘He’s yellow, like the colour of custard.’

  ‘Why did he bite you, do you think?’

  ‘I was giving him a treat, and unfortunately, he thought the end of my finger was a yoghurt drop.’

  ‘He’s one spoiled rat,’ Ally says proudly. ‘James looks after him very well.’

  ‘It’s never a good idea to bite the hand that feeds you though,’ I point out lightly. ‘Now, what do we need to do, do you think? Have you cleaned the wound?’ It’s so small I can hardly call it that, but it could do with a flush with antibacterial wash. To make an occasion of it, I move across to grab a kidney dish from under the sink.

  ‘I want to be a doctor,’ James says.

  ‘Not an ordinary GP though,’ Ally says, apparently oblivious to her put-down remark. If only she knew how important a GP’s role is in the community, supported, of course, by practice nurses like Claire and receptionists like Janet. I wonder what she would do without us, I think, as she continues to sing her son’s praises. ‘He’s doing well at school. He’s in the top set for maths and his tutor praised him for his art project.’

  ‘Mum, do you have to?’ James groans.

  ‘That’s great though,’ I say. ‘You’ll need good grades in your exams.’

  ‘What does a doctor do all day?’ he asks me.

  ‘I see patients like you, ones who’ve been hurt, and I decide when someone needs to go to hospital. Basically, I make people’s lives better, I hope.’

  ‘He needs antibiotics,’ Ally says officiously. ‘You are going to give him some.’

  ‘Not this time. We don’t give out antibiotics like sweets. If he develops an infection, we’ll use them, but not before.’

  ‘I’d prefer the wound not to get infected in the first place,’ she says.

  ‘Just keep an eye on it and come back if there’s any redness, heat or swelling.’ I turn to check James’s records onscreen. ‘You’re up to date with your tetanus injections – that’s great.’ Except that it reminds me of what Claire told me about Mel this morning.

  ‘What about Weil’s disease?’ Ally interjects. ‘I’ve been looking it up on the web.’

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about in this situation. It’s highly unlikely.’ Not only is Ally Eternally Frazzled, she’s also the archetypal pushy mother and completely neurotic.

  ‘Is that you on the horse?’ she asks, spotting the photos on the wall.

  ‘It is. I take her to competitions. She’s an eventer.’

  ‘You see, when you’re a consultant, James, you’ll be able to afford the luxuries in life,’ Ally says.

  I suppose it’s true that horses are considered luxuries.

  ‘I see my lovely horse as an essential,’ I say, smiling.

  ‘Well, it’s all right for some,’ Ally says, rather sharply, and I think how she must struggle as a single parent on a reporter’s wages. She can’t earn very much and she has three sons. I have only one horse.

  She softens a little. ‘I should run an article about you and your horse. It would be wonderful, Talyton’s galloping GP. Oh, Dr Chieveley—’

  ‘It’s Nicci.’

  ‘Nicci, I could run it in our Tuesday edition – it’s always quiet news-wise on a Tuesday.’

  ‘It’s quiet every day of the week round here – that’s what you’re always saying, Mum. Nothing ever happens in Talyton St George, except hatches, matches and despatches. Did you know,’ James goes on, turning to me, ‘there’s never been a murder in this town? The most exciting thing that’s ever happened is when we had the great flood and the bridge got washed away.’

  ‘Please don’t create any more dramas, James,’ Ally says. ‘Just be careful when you’re feeding Nathan in future. Thank you, Nicci. I’ll be in touch about the article.’

  ‘I’m always happy to help.’ I type up the notes and leave Matt a message on his voicemail saying I need to talk to him, before wandering into reception.

  ‘Crisis over?’ Janet asks, looking over the top of her monitor at reception.

  ‘I hope so. Boy mauled by rat.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ she says. ‘There’s a message for you from Mr Brown. He’s requesting a home visit for his wife. You know, it isn’t my place to say, but I really think he should be getting some respite care. He’s exhausted.’

  ‘In an ideal world,’ I begin. It’s been difficult for us as a surgery to provide support for carers since the cottage hospital closed a few years ago. Mr Brown does need a break. In fact, I’ve become more worried about his state of health than his wife’s. He looks unkempt in his old nylon shirts and trousers and squeaky shoes.

  ‘He looks after that old dog of theirs too, the one with the dodgy tummy. I know it’s on a special diet, but it’s never quite right.’

  I admire Mr Brown for his dedication. He never complains.

  ‘I don’t think you realise how hard it is being a full-time carer,’ Janet goes on.

  I thank my lucky stars that I don’t. I h
ave an inkling now as to how tough it is, seeing my sister with Sage and Gabriel. Keeping Gabriel out of mischief is a full-time occupation. It’s relentless, which is one of the reasons why I’m grateful for the excuse that I have to go straight to the yard after work to ride Willow – it’s Friday so it’s my early finish. The other reason is that it gives me time to think about Matt, who hasn’t responded to my message yet.

  Hiding behind the screen in the consulting room, I change into my jodhs and polo top, waiting until I reach the yard to put my boots on – short ones with half-length chaps which are cooler in the summer than long boots.

  I grab Willow’s head-collar and head down to the paddocks to find her. As I approach, I notice a fence is down and there are two horses in Willow’s field instead of one, and the interloper looks like Dark Star.

  What has he done to my horse? Has he kicked her, or bitten her?

  With a sense of foreboding, I start to run.

  Dark Star walks over to greet me while Willow hangs back, but it isn’t Willow that’s hurt. Dark Star has come off worst. He’s scraped his shoulder galloping through the fence and has a gash across his knee. It isn’t bleeding much but the flies are already settling on the wound. I catch Dark Star first. Although he’s keen to see me, he isn’t so impressed by the idea of wearing Willow’s head-collar, but I have mints in my pocket and he’s a quick learner – the head-collar goes on before he gets a mint, not the other way round.

  ‘Walk on,’ I say, and he moves forward, his head level with my shoulder but nodding with each stride. He’s lame. My heart sinks. Delphi won’t be happy, but then it’s her problem if the fences aren’t secure. Someone must have forgotten to switch the energiser on to electrify the section between Willow and Dark Star, and Dark Star took advantage of it to go visiting. He’s a gelding, and what Delphi would describe as a bit ‘studdy’ and keen on the mares. When I reach the stables I call Delphi to come and have a look at her horse.

  ‘I found him with Willow,’ I say, somewhat annoyed. ‘She could have broken her leg. I can’t risk this happening again.’

  She apologises and promises to fix the fence.

  ‘What do you think, Nicci?’ she goes on. ‘Does that need stitching?’