‘What are you doing tonight?’ I ask her.
‘I need to order some more supplies and update the accounts.’
‘What’s that saying? All work and no play . . .’
‘. . . makes Jack a dull boy.’ Mum frowns. ‘Do you think I’m boring?’
‘Single-minded.’
‘Sometimes I wonder if I should get out more.’
‘That’s a great idea. We can take the dog for a walk.’
At the word ‘walk’,’ Seven turns up with his lead in his mouth, his trunk curving as he wags his tail.
‘Oh, I don’t know if I’ve got the energy,’ Mum says, backtracking.
‘It’s too late. You can’t possibly let him down now. He’ll be disappointed.’ I pause. This is where she usually says she isn’t coming with us, but she surprises me.
‘Why not? Let me get my shoes on and we can go down to the river for a nice chat, like we used to.’
We walk through town, along the Centurion Bridge and across the Green. Having passed through the kissing gate next to the stile, I check the field for sheep before letting Seven off the lead. He barks at Mrs Wall and Merrie, who are strolling along the far bank of the river, as I take a deep breath and survey the scene. The river Taly, its rippling surface glinting in the sun, meanders through the valley, and as we walk on, the air grows pungent with elderflower, sheep and a hint of river water.
There’s the sound of splashing and a duck flies across the surface, landing among a flurry of ducklings that have been caught up in an eddy and spun into the shallows beneath the bank.
‘I can hardly bear to watch,’ Mum says, as the smallest is washed out into the middle of the river and carried downstream. It starts to make panicky, pipping noises as it struggles to turn back.
I make to run down and wade in, but Mum catches my arm and I wait, watching with my heart in my mouth, as the mother duck rounds up the rest of her brood before letting the current take the family to catch up with her lost baby. When we round the first bend, the ducklings are safely ensconced on a bed of silt at the edge of the water and the mother is expressing her feelings through a series of noisy quacks.
‘We’ll go back along the old railway line.’ I whistle to Seven who’s investigating the rabbit holes in the hedge before turning back to Mum. ‘You’re very quiet for someone who wanted to chat. If this is about selling the shop . . .’
‘I’m not selling up. I would have told you if I was.’
‘What is it then?’ I walk through the gap in the hedge onto the clinker track that marks the old railway line, watching the creases at the corners of her eyes deepen. ‘You’re beginning to worry me.’
‘I’ve met someone, a man,’ she blurts out.
‘Really? Who is he? How did you meet?’ Mum doesn’t go out that much, and it’s a fact of life that the men who come in to buy flowers at Petals are either attached, suffering from unrequited love, or making up to their existing partners for a guilty conscience. I run through the eligible males in Talyton St George who are of a similar age. ‘Is it Peter?’ He’s the greengrocer and recently divorced.
She shakes her head. ‘We’ve been friends for years, but I couldn’t be romantically involved with him. There’s no spark.’
I’m uncomfortable with my mum talking of romance and sparks. She seems too old for that.
‘Come on. You have to tell me. Don’t keep me in suspense.’
‘His name’s Godfrey. He’s sweet, funny and very good-looking.’
‘Who does he look like exactly? I’m not getting the picture here.’
‘A bit like George Clooney, I suppose. He’s a little older than me, but what difference does twelve years make at my age? At least he has his own hair and is in possession of a full set of teeth.’ Mum hugs her arms across her chest. ‘He’s the Ryder-Cole part of Smith and Ryder-Cole, the estate agents.’ She pauses, gazing at me anxiously. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Mind?’ I give her a hug. ‘I think it’s amazeballs. Awesome! Why now, though, after all this time?’
‘That’s a question I’ve asked myself. When your dad passed away . . .’ She bites her lip before continuing. ‘. . . it took me a long time to accept he was never coming home. It was all so sudden that I didn’t have time to prepare myself. We were still young. We’d planned a long and happy life together and there, in the blink of an eye, it was over and I was planning his funeral and wondering how I was going to keep a roof over our heads. It was hard, raising an eight year old and running a business full time, but we survived. People were kind to us. As the years went by, I had offers, but I turned them all down. I suppose I was still grieving and afraid you would feel I was being disloyal to your dad’s memory.’
My throat tightens as she continues, ‘I know how much you loved . . . love him. You were always his special girl.’ She gazes up at the canopy of leaves formed by the arching branches of the trees on either side of the track. The dappling sunlight catches her face. ‘I hardly got a look-in when you were around.’
I glance away. Seven is trotting out of the ditch alongside us, emerging from the stinging nettles, his paws thick with red Devon clay. A memory of myself as a child, falling into a clump of nettles, and my dad whisking me into his arms and running me across the Green to find dock leaves to counter the rash. I remember the smell of crushed leaves, the green stain rubbed into my skin, and my father’s arms around me. I miss him, always will.
‘If he could see you now, he’d be very proud of you. You’re a beautiful young woman, kind and caring, and I live in hope that you’ll meet and move in with the man of your dreams one day. What will I do then? I’ll be like a duck with an empty nest.’
‘You know you shouldn’t go looking for someone just because you’re afraid of ending up alone,’ I observe, wondering if she’s trying to pre-empt this scenario.
‘This has nothing to do with you, Shannon. I’m doing this for me.’
We walk on back towards the Green.
‘Does he have family?’ I ask.
‘He’s divorced and has a son and grandchildren.’
‘Are you sure he’s no longer married? You can’t be too careful.’
‘Please don’t worry.’
‘I don’t want to see you get hurt.’
‘Oh dear. I thought you’d got over your trust issues.’
‘What makes you think I haven’t?’ I say, exasperated at myself, not Mum, because the episode she’s referring to was years ago, when I was eighteen. Yet I still have my moments, times when I blame myself for being a complete idiot, for not realising until I’d become a pathetic, obsessed and lovesick shadow of myself that I was being played by the man in question.
‘It’s such a shame that you decided to finish with Mitch while you were on holiday. It came quite out of the blue.’
‘It wasn’t a lack of trust that broke us up. The relationship had run its course. It didn’t feel right any more.’
‘What I don’t understand is why you’re still seeing each other. I don’t think I could remain friends with an ex.’
Mitch and I were mates long before we got together, and we’ve hooked up a couple of times since our return from Ibiza in the way that exes sometimes do when neither of them has moved on. I’m still fond of him.
‘I like Mitch,’ Mum goes on with a sigh. ‘Sometimes I wonder if you’ll ever settle down.’
‘I don’t need a man to make me happy.’ I change the subject. ‘How long have you known this Godfrey?’
‘It’s been three or four weeks now. We’ve been to the café on the promenade at Talysands, he’s popped in to the shop, as you know, and we’re going out for dinner later in the week. I’m not rushing into anything – it’s friendship first.’ She hesitates. ‘I’d really like you to meet him sometime. You can give me your opinion.’
‘I’m hardly the best person to ask,’ I say wryly. There was Drew, the lying locum, Diego, the beautiful Spaniard I spent a summer with when he came to work in Ta
lymouth, and Mitch. None of them worked out, and I can’t help beginning to wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Why do I always choose the wrong kind of man? Because I tend to focus on the positive aspects of their character, ignoring the flaws until it’s too late and I’ve fallen for them hook, line and sinker.
I think about Ross as an example of the male species. There’s the charming version with the melting smile, and the rather less endearing one who is impatient and somewhat rude. Is it any wonder that I find men confusing?
‘Well, will you join me and Godfrey for coffee or a meal?’ Mum repeats.
‘I’d love to meet him,’ I say, and we head for home, Mum with a smile playing on her lips and me deep in thought.
Chapter Three
Paws for Thought
The prospect of meeting my mother’s new man turns out to be the least of my concerns because, when I return to work the next day, the new vet has another run-in with Mrs Wall. It’s our last appointment of the afternoon when she brings Merrie. into the consulting room for her checkup.
‘Is she feeling better?’ Ross asks without any preamble.
‘She’s hardly scratched at all since I put the crystals in her bed last night.’ Ross raises his eyebrows as she continues, ‘I swear by quartz and jade.’
‘You don’t think the improvement in her skin has more to do with the shampoo and injection she had here yesterday?’
‘You shouldn’t be so sceptical,’ Mrs Wall says coldly.
‘Why? Because you have special powers?’
‘At this moment, I can see into your past,’ she says, holding his gaze.
‘You don’t have to tell me about it – I was there.’
‘You should take time to reflect on what’s happened, because the past informs the decisions you make in the future.’
‘I’m sorry, I haven’t got time for this. I’m fully booked so, if you don’t mind, I’ll just get on and look at the dog,’ he says politely but firmly.
As Mrs Wall opens and closes her mouth like a fish, I pick Merrie up and pop her onto the table. Ross examines her and dispenses some tablets with a warning.
‘I don’t need special powers to predict that without the full course of medication, Merrie will not get better. I will be able to tell if you haven’t followed my instructions.’ He relaxes a little, a smile crossing his lips. ‘There are no known adverse reactions with any crystals, be they jade or quartz, so if you insist on using them you can continue, reassured that they will do no harm – and absolutely no good either.’
I notice how Mrs Wall grinds the end of her stick against the floor. She is not happy, and neither is Merrie, who is looking in vain for her treat.
‘Will always gave her a biscuit when he’d finished,’ I say. ‘They’re in the drawer by the computer.’
The concept of treats seems alien to Ross, so to keep Mrs Wall and Merrie on side, I give the dog a biscuit myself.
‘Are you drumming up takers for your nurse-led slimming courses?’ he says when they’ve left the room.
‘Of course not. It’s good PR and I love it when the animals come in all keen and pleased to see us.’ I pause. ‘You could at least try to humour Mrs Wall like Will used to. He had such a lovely pet-side manner.’
‘Whereas I don’t?’ Ross says harshly. ‘I don’t pander to people and their ridiculous ideas. Jade and quartz as a cure for allergic dermatitis? I’ve never heard such utter garbage.’
‘I’m sorry. I was trying to be helpful. I didn’t mean to criticise.’
‘I do what I think is right. The patients are my priority.’
But you have to treat the clients too, I want to say. That’s one of the first things Maz taught me when I started work at Otter House. They are the ones who are paying your wages. If you lecture them or make them feel guilty, you drive them away.
‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t feed the animals,’ he continues. ‘I’m sorry if that makes me sound like a killjoy, but I can’t teach clients about diets and obesity when the nurse is giving their porky pets extra calories. We’re going to have to agree to disagree on certain things when we’re working on the same shifts. I believe we’re spending the night together – ’ his mouth smiles, but his eyes do not – ‘and I have to say, I can’t wait.’
‘Great,’ I say, matching his insincerity. I’m really not sure about him. I don’t know where I stand when he’s always in a rush and determined to make his mark by making sure everything is done his way. Perhaps he’s feeling the pressure of being in a new job. I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.
We manage to survive the rest of the day without further incident, and I’m cleaning the waiting area when Ross is preparing to leave the practice. He’s wearing his leathers, and has his helmet under one arm as he fishes about in his pocket.
‘Cheer up, Shannon.’ I bang my bucket with the mop, sloshing some suds across the floor. I am cheerful. ‘If you’re lucky, it’ll be a quiet night,’ he goes on. ‘I can’t imagine you get that busy. Everything around here closes at five. The place is dead.’
‘People move here for the peace and quiet. If you don’t like it, you know what you can do.’
‘I was making an observation,’ he says, looking hurt, but I don’t believe him. ‘It’s just that I’m used to being called out three or four times a night – it was hardly worth going to bed.’ He rolls an earplug into a squishy ball and slips it into one ear.
‘Don’t speak too soon,’ I warn him. ‘That’s like tempting fate.’
‘You sound like Mrs Wall. You’ll be telling me that a black cat crossing your path is bad luck next.’ He’s grinning as he slips an earplug into the other ear.
‘It is, if it makes you swerve off the road. Unlucky for you, lucky for the rest of us.’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t hear you,’ he mouths, pointing at his ears.
‘Take the stupid things out then,’ I say, a little irritated that he’s cut the conversation without waiting for me to finish. ‘I don’t know why you wear them anyway.’
‘Because the bike’s noisy and I want to preserve my hearing for as long as possible. I can lip-read, you know.’
‘Yeah, it’s funny how you can only hear what you want to hear,’ I say as he slips his helmet on. ‘I assume you’re taking the phone for now. That’s the accepted routine. The vets take the calls while the nurses are on standby.’
He frowns, looking at my mouth as I repeat what I’ve just said.
‘Phone?’ I say. ‘You are taking the phone.’ Finally as I’m about to explode, he gets it.
‘Actually, I was planning to go for a spin, if you don’t mind, that is.’ His expression is soft now, entreating. ‘I could do with a break.’
What about me? I want to ask. I wouldn’t mind going for a swim.
‘I can’t hear the phone above the sound of the engine . . .’
‘Can’t you put it on vibrate or something?’
‘I wouldn’t feel that either. She’s a monster of a bike.’ He gazes fondly towards the car park, then turns back to me. ‘It doesn’t have to be a special favour – I know I’m not your favourite vet – but I won’t forget that I owe you one. I’ll be half an hour, tops.’ And he’s off before I can either agree or argue, striding out of reception and up to his bike where he swings his leg over with one light movement and sets it going with a kick-start. I cross my arms as I watch him ride away, slightly irritated with myself because I can’t help thinking that there’s something very sexy about the combination of man, leather and machine, even if the man alone is a pain in the—
The sound of the phone interrupts my train of thought and I run back to the desk to grab the duty mobile.
‘Otter House vets . . .’ I don’t need to ask what’s wrong because I can hear the sound of a dog yelping in distress, and my heart sinks because I have no vet and no way of contacting him. I don’t even know where he’s gone.
‘It’s Declan here from the Old Forge,’ a voice says. ‘I think
Trevor has gone and broken his leg. He’s in a lot of pain.’
‘Okay, we’ll be there with you shortly,’ I say to reassure him.
‘Thanks. Is Maz about?’ he asks hopefully.
‘Ross is the vet on call tonight. He’s very . . .’ If it had been Will in the early days, I’d have described him as ‘nice’, but I can’t say the same for Ross. ‘. . . professional,’ is the best I can come up with. Okay, he’s downright hot as well, I think as I cut the call and phone him.
I grab the visit case with the phone tucked under my chin, leaving a message with the address at Talyford and an outline of the problem, because he isn’t answering, but as I get into the ambulance, he calls me back.
‘Where are you?’ I can hear the throb of his motorbike in the background.
‘I’m on the escarpment, looking down at the sea. Don’t worry. I can be back at the surgery in ten minutes.’
‘Didn’t you listen to my message?’ I say, slightly miffed. ‘It has to be a visit.’
‘Really? The dog will need to come in for X-rays anyway.’
‘Trevor is one of Maz’s specials. She’d authorise a house call, without question, and bring him back in the ambulance if necessary.’ I give him no option except to meet me there, and set out, yearning for the good old days with Will.
I drive out of Talyton St George along the one-way system of narrow streets originally designed with single-file horse-drawn traffic in mind, and north along the road signposted to Talyford. I cross the ford where the water is clear and only a couple of centimetres deep, and carry on down the hill where the stream passes in front of a row of pink cottages that seem to glow in the evening sunshine, a shop with a post office, a small church or chapel and a courtyard of converted barns. I park outside one of the cottages, the Old Forge, carrying the stretcher and visit case across the narrow wrought-iron bridge over the brook to the house. The door is open.
Vets of the Heart Page 4