‘Thanks for the welcome present, but there’s no need.’ He grins, showing off a set of perfect teeth, and holds out his hand. ‘I’m Ross, the new vet.’
‘Oh-mi-god, how embarrassing. I’m so sorry.’ I shake his hand briefly. A great start, I tell myself. You’ve just mistaken the hot new vet for the courier. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to turn up on a motorbike.’
‘It’s all right. It isn’t your fault. I take it that you’re Shannon.’ He smiles as if to put me at ease, but I can’t help wondering if he’s laughing at me being wrongfooted by his arrival. ‘Maz and Emma talked about you when I came here for my interview.’
I’m not sure how to respond. I look away, focusing on the noticeboard and the posters on the walls advertising our puppy parties and our competition for Pet of the Month.
‘Um, Maz isn’t here yet. She’s probably dropping the children off at school and nursery.’
‘She’s on her way. I saw her bundling them into the car up at the manor. I’m lodging – no, slumming it – with her mother-in-law, the one who sounds like a horse.’
‘Sophia? She’s all right,’ I say in her defence. She’s been kind to me in the past. A widow in her late seventies with a consuming passion for all things equine and district commissioner for the Pony Club, she rides even now. ‘I used to waitress for her at the Fox-Giffords’ New Year parties.’
‘There was a pony in the drawing room – as she calls it – last night, a hairy thing with terrible wind. She was feeding it mints from a tin. And that house.’ He shudders. ‘It should be condemned.’
I find that I’m rather glad at his discomfort. He might be good-looking, but his scent of leather and oil is getting right up my nose.
He fetches a small bag from his bike and I show him to the staff room, where he can change into the new scrubs that were ordered for him and wait for Maz and Emma to arrive. Meanwhile I escape, running into Izzy in the corridor on the way.
‘I see the new vet’s arrived,’ she says.
‘I thought he was the courier and tried to give him Lucky’s samples for the lab.’
She smiles. ‘I thought you’d know by now not to make assumptions about people from their appearance.’
‘Yes, but he was wearing helmet and leathers – he doesn’t look like a vet.’ I follow her into Kennels where I hang on to Saba for her to check her temperature and put her on a drip since she’s been sick for a second time. ‘Emma took some blood last night – if the real courier doesn’t turn up soon, we can send Ross on his bike.’ She chuckles as we return the dog to her cage. ‘I think that’s it for now.’
‘I’ll catch up with you later,’ I say, walking away.
‘Hey, where are you off to?’
‘I need to set up for the ops. There’s a cat spay, dog castrate, and whatever they decide to do with Saba.’
‘Oh no, you don’t. You’re looking after Ross.’
‘Do I have to?’ My heart sinks.
‘Emma’s been held up and I thought you’d enjoy hand-holding our new vet.’
‘Why do I always have to be babysitter?’
‘I think you’ll find me quite a mature individual.’ I turn abruptly to find Ross standing behind us, dressed in a dark purple scrub top, chinos and black lace-up shoes, and with a new stethoscope around his neck. His tone is serious yet his eyes flash with humour, which only adds to my embarrassment. My cheeks burn as he continues, ‘I haven’t needed a babysitter since I was about twelve.’
‘You know what Shannon meant. It was a turn of phrase,’ Izzy says sharply.
‘Okay, I get it. Keep your hair on, Izz,’ he joshes.
‘The name is Izzy.’ She looks down her nose at him, as if she considers him anything but grown up, and checks the fob watch pinned to her apron. ‘Go on then, both of you. It’s nine o’clock.’
It’s going to be a long day, I think, but I’m on an early finish. I’ll be out of here by four.
In the consulting room, I turn the computer on and glance down the list of appointments on the monitor. There’s Mrs Wall and Merrie, and Cheryl with one of her Persian cats. I smile to myself. This is going to be a baptism of fire.
‘Is there anything I should know about this first one?’ Ross asks as I do a quick check on the number of vaccines in the fridge and make sure the spray for wiping down the table between patients is topped up.
‘I don’t think so.’ If I hadn’t embarrassed myself in front of him, I might have been inclined to be more helpful. ‘Will has left all the info in the notes.’
‘What does this mean?’ Ross runs one finger along the screen. ‘CTTKB and CCFI. Are they some kind of coded warning? Can you decipher it, or should I ask Izzy, though she seems to be a bit of a dominatrix? How do you cope?’
‘She’s a fantastic head nurse and a good friend,’ I say, offended on her behalf.
‘I don’t doubt that – I’m just saying she’s rather bossy.’
And you’re rather judgemental and outspoken, I want to say, but I bite my tongue for now. No comment, I think, and I return to the subject of the abbreviations.
‘CTTKB is “Client Thinks They Know Better” and CCFI is “Client Can’t Follow Instructions”.’ I relent and reveal what I know about Mrs Wall. ‘She’s renowned for failing to give Merrie her tablets and she’s also the local fortune-teller.’
‘Really?’ He whistles through his teeth. ‘You’re winding me up.’
‘It’s true. My friends and I used to call her the witch because she wishes warts away over the phone. I’m not sure she has a first name. I’ve never heard anyone refer to her as anything but Mrs Wall, and there isn’t a Mr Wall, as far as I know. She lives alone in one of the terraced houses opposite the church, a few doors up from Frances. She’s pretty harmless. You just have to humour her.’
‘Why? So she doesn’t cast a spell on me?’ He grins and I begin to warm to him just a little. ‘What planet is this?’
‘I’m guessing that you didn’t have fortune-tellers at your last practice then,’ I say, amused.
‘I was working in London for my parents until recently. Their practice is in Kensington and their clients are mainly lawyers and bankers, and a few celebrities, actors and musicians.’
‘That sounds exciting. Why on earth did you leave?’
‘I won’t tell you now. It’s a long story,’ he says. ‘Shall we make a start? Hand me the cloak of scepticism and syringe of reason then send her on in.’
I call Mrs Wall. ‘The vet will see you now.’
‘Come along, Merrie.’ She smiles, revealing a set of poorly fitting dentures, as she stands up with the aid of a stick, an ebony cane with a silver top. She’s an elderly woman with tinted specs, grey slacks and red shoes. Her small dog, Merrie by name and merry by nature, is supposed to be a West Highland white terrier, but looks decidedly rusty where she’s licked and chewed at her skin. She sniffs at the doorframe on the way, as if she has all the time in the world, while Ross stands drumming his fingers against the table.
‘Good afternoon,’ he says.
‘Actually, it’s morning time,’ Mrs Wall replies, apparently giving him the benefit of the doubt. She isn’t stupid. She can recognise irony when she hears it. ‘You must be Ross’. She pulls the dog along behind her.
‘That’s right. And how is Merrie?’ He bundles her up and stands her on the table where she snuffles about, searching for a treat. He ruffles her fur as she wags her stump of a tail. ‘You haven’t stopped her tablets again, have you?’
‘I learned my lesson the last time. She’s had every pill as instructed, but they don’t seem to be working any more. She keeps biting at her feet and crying.’
I take hold of Merrie, who’s a wriggly customer, scrabbling about as Ross tries to grab a paw. In the end, I manage to grab one for him. He has a good look and prescribes a bath in a medicated shampoo after he’s taken some skin scrapings and hair pluckings.
‘We won’t have a result today’. I say aside to him. ‘The
lab kit is packed away.’
‘All I need is a microscope and a couple of slides. If you find it, I’ll set it up. It won’t take two minutes and I’d rather have an answer today than tomorrow. It’s better for Merrie.’
I can’t argue with that, although I suspect Maz might have something to say about it.
‘Her allergy’s getting worse, isn’t it?’ Mrs Wall says.
‘We don’t know that for sure. It could be something else. It could be mites.’
‘Mice?’ Mrs Wall leans closer. ‘Are you trying to tell me Merrie has mice?’
‘Mites.’ Ross spells it out. ‘M-I-T-E-S.’
‘You should speak more clearly, my lover, or no one around here will know what you’m saying,’ Mrs Wall goes on, dropping into a broad Devon dialect.
‘Maybe you should have your hearing tested,’ Ross says with a smile that could melt the iciest heart. I hold my breath, but all that Mrs Wall can do is glare at him.
‘You, young man, are very rude.’
‘It’s a serious suggestion. I’m trying to be helpful.’
‘Let me take Merrie,’ I say, in case Mrs Wall should change her mind about leaving her with us. I carry her through to Kennels where I find her a comfortable bed next door to Saba before returning to help Ross with the rest of the morning’s appointments.
‘Who’s next?’ he asks. I notice that he’s cleaned the table. That’s my job.
‘This is Cheryl, who runs the teashop and breeds long-haired cats. She calls them her babies.’
Ross rolls his eyes. ‘I can’t understand these people.’
‘She does care about them. She has them tested for genetic diseases.’
‘But they still look like they’ve run into a wall.’
I can’t argue with that.
‘Send her in.’
To my relief, he’s polite to Cheryl, and gives the cat her booster vaccination without incident.
‘Shall we see if we can find out why the lovely Merrie has such itchy feet? It’s a pretty safe bet that it isn’t mice,’ Ross jokes at the end of morning surgery, and in spite of myself, I find myself smiling. I start to wonder if he’s always this cheerful.
I fetch the microscope and a couple of slides from the cupboard in the corridor, leaving them on the prep bench for him. He examines the skin samples and prescribes a suitable shampoo. On the way to fetch Merrie from her cage, I notice that Saba has been given a reprieve from surgery. Good news, I hope, as I carry the Westie to the doggy bath, grabbing a couple of towels on the way. She is instantly suspicious, standing stiff as a statue in the bottom of the ceramic tray. I run the water from the shower head, checking that it’s warm before letting it run onto the back of her neck. She shakes herself, splashing me in the eyes.
‘Do you mind?’ I exclaim, but clearly she doesn’t, because she scrambles towards me and jumps up, placing her soggy paws on my chest. ‘Get down,’ I say firmly. ‘I can see this isn’t going to be a walk in the park.’ I shampoo her, leave the foam on her coat for a few minutes, during which time she gives herself several more good shakes, before I give her a thorough rinse, after which she shakes herself again. By the end of her bath, I’m as wet as she is.
‘Ah well, at least you know that you don’t have mange,’ Ross laughs when he sees me disappearing off to change my scrub top and trousers. So much for making a good impression, I think with a rueful smile.
When Merrie’s dry, I discharge her, making an appointment for a checkup the following day.
‘I don’t think much of the new vet,’ Mrs Wall says. ‘Merrie hasn’t taken to him at all.’ I’m not quite sure how she makes that judgement. Maybe she can read her dog’s mind as well as seeing into the future. ‘Can’t we see one of the other vets instead?’
‘I’m afraid not. Ross wants to see if she improves on the treatment.’
‘I suppose that makes sense.’ She squints at me through her tinted specs. ‘I’m sure you won’t mind me telling you this, my lover, but this year will be your year. I read the leaves this morning and now I’ve seen you, I understand what they were saying to me. Change is afoot – it won’t all be plain sailing, but good fortune is coming your way in life and love.’
‘Well, thank you,’ I say politely.
‘Don’t turn away the stranger who comes a-courting,’ she adds.
‘Chance would be a fine thing.’ I haven’t exactly been lucky in love. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Goodbye, dear,’she says.
After my lunch break, I catch up with Maz.
‘You could have reminded me to have a look at him later rather than book him during afternoon surgery,’ she observes when I place Tripod on the consulting room table. ‘I’ve just had it in the neck from Frances because she’s short of appointments. You know what she’s like.’
‘I tried that yesterday. It’s no good because you’re always rushing off to do something else. How is George anyway?’
‘We waited for three hours in A&E and all they did was give him some Calpol, stick a couple of butterfly strips across the wound and tell me to keep him under observation for twenty-four hours. I was right. I could have dealt with it myself. I almost brought him in with me this morning, but Alex stepped in and took him out on his rounds. George didn’t want to go at first, but I told him it would be far more exciting looking at cows with his daddy than sitting in a kennel all day here. Luckily, he’s still at the age where he believes everything his parents say.’
‘He is all right now?’
‘He’s fine – until the next time. We’ll soon be on the at-risk register with social services, if we aren’t already.’ She changes the subject. ‘How are you getting on with the courier?’ She giggles. ‘I heard.’
‘He isn’t like Will. I miss him.’
‘Will was one in a million. Emma and I felt like we could trust him to handle any case, any situation. It’s bound to take a while for us to get used to Ross and vice versa. I was impressed that he used his initiative and used the microscope, even if Izzy did have to put it away after him. He seems very efficient.’
‘Either that or he’s in a hurry to get through his appointments as quickly as possible. I think the clients might feel he’s in too much of a rush, compared with Will, I mean.’
‘We can’t compare him with Will. That isn’t fair.’
‘I know.’ I’m wondering how tactfully I can put it. I don’t like to disappoint her, but this is her practice and her reputation at stake. If anything goes wrong, the buck stops with the partners. ‘Ross and Mrs Wall didn’t exactly hit it off. He was pretty sharp with her.’
‘You mean, he was rude?’ Maz hesitates. ‘Frances said she wasn’t terribly happy when she paid her bill. She said she could foresee trouble ahead, not that I believe in that crystal ball of hers. Oh, never mind. We’ll see how things go.’ She strokes Tripod, tickling him under the chin. ‘So, what’s the problem?’
‘I was hoping you’d be able to tell me,’ I say cheekily.
Maz looks up with a weary smile. I feel sorry for her – she must have been up all night with the children. She starts examining Tripod from the tip of his nose to his tail. He’s loving the attention, purring and rolling over to show his belly. Eventually, she looks up and glances towards the empty hook on the wall.
‘Have you seen my—?’
‘It’s around your neck,’ I cut in. ‘And it isn’t yours,’ I add when she reaches the stethoscope. ‘It’s the one from the spares drawer.’
‘All right,’ she sighs. ‘I’ll put it back later.’
‘I’ve heard that one before.’
‘I promise.’ Maz sticks the stethoscope in her ears to block me out as much as to listen to Tripod’s chest. She grins when he continues to purr. ‘I can’t hear anything. Come on, pussycat.’ She blows on his nose to make him pause for just long enough to hear his heartbeat.
‘He’s losing weight and drinking more. Izzy and I checked his blood pressure this morning and it’s a li
ttle high. I thought maybe it would be worth taking some blood.’ We could easily have taken some ourselves but decided it would be wise not to overstep the mark. ‘It could be his kidneys, or thyroid, couldn’t it?’
‘There doesn’t seem to be much wrong with him, but we’ll take some blood to check – anything to give you and Izzy peace of mind.’
‘I know you think we’re fussing, but there’s definitely something wrong.’
‘He’s getting old, like Frances.’
‘Are you taking my name in vain?’ Frances’s head appears around the door.
Maz looks up, her face pink. ‘I wish you’d knock first. What is it you want?’
‘Alexander is on the phone wanting to speak to you.’ She means Alex. She used to call him Young Mr Fox-Gifford to distinguish him from his father, for whom she used to work.
‘Tell him I’ll call him back.’
‘How long will that be? Only this is the third time he’s called. It’s about George—’
‘There’s nothing wrong?’ Maz interrupts.
‘Not with George. It’s Alexander. He says he’s had enough – he wants to know if there’s a kennel free.’
‘For him or for our son? Tell him I’ll be five or ten minutes then I’ll go and pick him up.’ Frances disappears again, and Maz takes the blood, leaving me to give Tripod a cuddle for being so good-tempered about it before I pack the sample for transport to the lab.
Later, after I’ve said a quick goodbye to Ross, and George is ensconced in reception with Frances, some juice and a packet of chocolate biscuits, I overhear Maz telling Emma that she decided to run some blood tests on Tripod. I smile to myself. Sometimes, you can’t tell a vet. You have to let them think it’s their idea. It turns out that it’s much the same with parents.
When I get home, I shower and serve up pasta and a mixed salad for tea, and we chat about the new vet and the latest gossip – being the local florist, Mum is a fount of knowledge when it comes to hatches, matches and dispatches. After we’ve eaten, I clear the plates from the table in the kitchen while she gazes out of the window, past a souvenir of Greece, a fishing boat with striped sails and a bronzed sailor at the helm, that she bought when we went on holiday a couple of years ago. He reminds me of a waiter who liked to flirt with her – we went to the same beach tavern every day for a week.
Vets of the Heart Page 3