‘Come on in, Shannon,’ Declan says, showing me through to the back garden. He’s about my age, maybe a couple of years older – in his late twenties, anyway. He’s tall and skinny and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with ‘Kaiser Chiefs’ emblazoned across the chest.
‘The vet’s on his way,’ I say, secretly crossing my fingers. Where the hell is he, I wonder? He should be here by now. I walk across to where Penny, Declan’s partner, is leaning down from her wheelchair to cuddle a young chocolate Labrador who’s whimpering and holding up a front leg.
‘What happened?’ I ask.
‘I let him out in the garden as usual. He heard something, a fox or a cat, and went haring off across the lawn, where he tripped over the well cover, bowling himself head over heels.’ Penny looks up. She’s wearing a mock fur gilet, and wisps of hair of many different colours emerge from beneath the scarf that’s tied around her head. The age gap between her and Declan never fails to amaze me – she’s at least forty, probably more. ‘He’s really hurt himself,’ she goes on, almost in tears.
Never before have I wanted to hear the roar of a motorbike. Come on, I mutter under my breath as I check Trevor over.
‘Has he broken it?’ Declan hovers anxiously at my side, making me nervous. There isn’t a lot I can do apart from provide reassurance, because I can’t make a diagnosis or give painkillers without a vet’s say-so.
‘He has hurt his leg,’ I say, stating the obvious, but I can’t help feeling that Trevor’s being a bit of baby. However, he seems genuinely scared by the sight of a man in black when Ross finally turns up. He tries to hide under the wheelchair and howls.
‘I’m sorry, I took the wrong turning – all these lanes look the same and I couldn’t see a single road sign.’
‘Probably because you were going too fast,’ I say.
‘The one on the way into the village has been stolen.’ Declan shakes Ross’s hand and introduces himself. ‘This is Penny, and that’s her dog, Trevor.’
Penny smiles. ‘Why is he always my dog when he’s in trouble?’
‘It’s a shame about the circumstances, but it’s good to meet you all.’ Ross removes his jacket and puts it to one side. ‘Ah, he’s only a puppy.’
‘He’s six months old,’ Penny says, as I hold on to Trevor, who winces when Ross finds a painful spot.
‘We’ll take him back to the surgery after I’ve given him a shot of something to calm him down and reduce the pain. I don’t think he’s broken the leg, but we’ll X-ray him in the morning to check. Is that all right?’
‘I suppose it will have to be,’ Declan says.
‘I don’t like the idea of him being alone in the kennels all night,’ Penny says.
‘He’ll be fine,’ Ross says, but I’m not sure he’s won them over yet.
‘I’ll stay in the practice with him,’ I offer. ‘He won’t be on his own.’
‘I’m going to miss him so much,’ Penny goes on.
‘He’s such a sweet dog.’ Clever Trevor as I called him, was the nice but dim one at my puppy parties, scampering about on his enormous paws and bumping into the other puppies.
Penny chuckles. ‘You always have such high hopes for your babies, but he’s never going to be a genius.’
‘As long as he’s smart enough to work,’ says Declan.
‘He’ll learn. It isn’t rocket science. He’s booked in for his residential training later this year and I know I’m going to feel like a terrible mother, sending him off to boarding school.’
I undo the stretcher, but Trevor gets back on his feet and hops three-legged through the house. Declan thanks us as he shows us out.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know how he is.’ Ross turns to me as Declan closes the door behind us. ‘I’ll meet you back at Otter House, if I can find it.’
‘You’d better follow me,’ I say, and he does, riding his bike close up behind the ambulance and sometimes alongside, breaking all the rules of the road.
When we arrive at the practice, Trevor has forgotten that he’s hurt himself and leaps out, landing on the tarmac with a yelp.
‘Penny and Declan are an odd couple,’ Ross says, catching up with me as I take him through to Kennels.
‘Some people consider her to be a cougar, snagging a toy-boy like that, but she didn’t go out to hunt him down. He was her carer and their relationship grew from there.’
‘They’re like overprotective parents.’
‘Trevor’s their baby, and he’s caused them plenty of sleepless nights already. He’s had treatment for running onto a stick and throwing himself off the sea wall so far. I know him from my puppy parties.’
‘Did he fail the course, by any chance?’
‘We don’t use that word any more.’
‘It’s no wonder there are so many dogs out there who don’t know how to behave – so much for progress.’ He stares at me, slowly shaking his head.
‘It was a joke,’ I point out. ‘Are we X-raying him now or in the morning?’
‘Well, let me think. I was going to leave it, but I’ve no doubt that Maz, Emma and my predecessor would do it straight way.’
‘You’re mocking me now.’
‘Are you really staying to puppy-sit?’ he goes on, without answering my question.
‘I promised Penny that I’d be here to keep an eye on him.’
‘If that’s the case, we might as well get on with it.’ He throws on a surgical gown, sedates the dog and I set up for the X-rays. I switch on the machine and choose a suitable cassette loaded with film, making sure it’s labelled before placing it on the table. I collimate the beam of light, look up the exposure and slip into a lead apron that is so heavy it makes me waddle – it isn’t a good look.
Ross positions the dog so the X-ray beam is centred over the sore spot before we go outside the radiography room, and peer through the viewing pane in the door that’s only a few inches square. We’re so close that I can hear his breathing. I can’t help feeling a bit flustered. I glance towards him. His eyes dart away, and I wonder if he’s noticed.
‘Ready?’ I’m holding the controller on the lead that runs from the X-ray machine under the door, so I press the button, then leave him with the dog. I pass the film through the automatic processor and wait for it to come out the otherside. Ross has a look at it, holding it up to the light.
‘It’s nothing to worry about, just a greenstick fracture that should heal pretty quickly with him being a young dog, as long as he doesn’t charge about and run into any more walls.’ He splints the leg with a quick-setting cast that I cover with a layer of selfadhesive bandage – I choose purple – and we return Trevor to the kennel where he continues to snooze.
‘Thanks for the help.’ Ross removes his gown and dangles it over the door of an empty cage. ‘I’ll be off now.’
I bite my tongue. Will used to stay on for a while and make the tea while I tidied up after him.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, if not before. I assume you’ll field any calls, seeing you’re staying up.’ With that, he’s gone again, his feet marching away along the corridor.
How inconsiderate is that, I think, unimpressed. If only he’d asked, rather than ‘assumed’. . .
Trevor’s first reaction when he wakes up is to sniff at the cast; just as I’m beginning to think he’s going to be fine with it, he starts to nibble at the top, tearing at the bandage.
‘Oh no, you can’t do that. You’re going to have to wear the cone of shame.’ I spray some bitter tasting chemical onto the cast, and put a collar on him, a soft fabric cone, not one of the older-style plastic ones. He stands up, bumps into the sides of the kennel and tries to rub it off.
His impulsive nature reminds me of my new colleague. How many more night duties are we going to be forced to do together? I toy with the idea of talking to Maz again. What if Trevor had been more seriously injured and Ross hadn’t turned up? Why should I take the phone when it’s the vet’s responsibility?
I wo
nder if I’m being unfair. His lack of patience, uptight approach and sarcasm could be a front, I suppose. Like any relationship, it takes time to get to know someone. I’m willing to give him a chance to redeem himself.
In the morning, Tripod comes out to the garden with me when I’m taking Trevor out to stretch his legs. He doesn’t like to use the cat-flap now, partly because he has a strong sense of his position in the practice hierarchy, secure in the knowledge that if he sits peering out of the flap, someone will come along and open the door for him. The dog lunges at him, but Tripod saunters casually past, keeping just out of reach of the end of his lead. Trevor turns his attention to one of the bees that’s homing in on the remains of the apple blossom, but he misses that too. I smile to myself as I hear Ross’s motorbike arriving in the car park on the other side of the wall. Like Trevor, I need to keep a grip on my sense of humour and carry on.
It’s Thursday and, once I’ve got through the ops this morning, I have a long weekend off: three whole days to sleep, swim, walk Seven and catch up with Mitch and Taylor.
Ross joins me in Kennels, placing his helmet and a paper bag on the prep bench. ‘I reckon we could use breakfast before we start. Coffee and bacon rolls from the baker’s.’
‘Oh,’ I say, surprised and touched at his thoughtful gesture. ‘Just coffee for me though, thank you.’
He frowns. ‘It’s a peace offering – I’m not trying to poison you.’
‘It’s kind of you, but I don’t eat meat.’
‘I see,’ he says slowly. ‘I should have asked. Idiot! I’ll get you an egg sandwich next time.’ He unwraps a roll and stuffs half of it into his mouth. ‘I’m starving.’ He grins. ‘Still, one woman’s vegetarianism is another man’s gain.’
‘You can’t eat and drink in here,’ I say. ‘It’s practice rules.’
‘What are rules for but to be broken?’ he says dismissively.
I stand my ground. ‘Take it to the staff room, please.’
He gazes at me and, just as I’m expecting him to refuse, he backs down with a shrug.
‘As long as you come with me. We can run through the ops list at the same time – I’ll pick up a print-out on the way.’
It doesn’t take long. Frances buzzes from reception to say that the first patients have arrived, and Ross goes to admit them while I make sure I have the right surgical kits lined up ready. I feel slightly apprehensive. It’s all rush, rush, rush, and he works so quickly that I’ve barely recovered the first cat spay before he’s anaesthetising the second one.
‘You aren’t used to working at speed, are you?’ he says cheerfully as I join him at the prep bench. He’s clipping the cat’s flank there, leaving a ragged patch of skin. He scrubs up while I finish preparing the patient. He starts the operation but, part-way through, he pauses and stares at his hand.
‘I’ve torn my glove. Can you fetch me another? Today would be good,’ he mutters as I move around the table. In my hurry, my arm catches against the instrument tray, sending forceps and swabs flying across the floor.
‘I’ll get a fresh set,’ say, my face burning. I haven’t dropped a kit since I was a trainee. I fetch a pack of gloves and another set of instruments.
‘I don’t know about you, but I’d like to finish by midnight.’
Smarting, I turn my attention back to the cat. I don’t know where I stand with Ross. One minute he seems quite human, the next he’s having a meltdown. I take my break outside with Tripod; when I return to Kennels, I hesitate at the door. I can see Ross sitting on the prep bench and talking on his mobile.
‘No, I’m talking about the younger nurse, Shannon – she’s just knocked my spay kit on the floor, can you believe it? Yes, I know, it was a pretty dopy thing to do.’
I push the door open. He looks up and continues, ‘About the dog, there’s no way I can have him here this weekend. We’ll discuss it again later. I have to go.’ He slides down onto his feet. ‘I don’t know how much you heard,’ he says quietly. ‘I was sounding off, that’s all, and I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t care,’ I say, although I care deeply about his criticism when it was just a clumsy mistake. I didn’t do it deliberately. I fetch the next patient and we finish the ops in virtual silence. Ross appears contrite, but it’s too late. As I leave to go home in the afternoon, I’m still too upset to speak to him.
I say goodbye to Maz, Izzy and Frances, glad to get away. I collect my car and drive to the leisure centre in Talymouth, where I swap my clothes for my costume in the changing rooms that smell of chlorine and sweaty trainers. I grab the locker key, fasten the bracelet around my ankle and walk out to the pool, where the lifeguard is putting the floats away now that lessons have finished for the day. I watch him reorganising the tapes that divide up the pool, leaving two lanes in place, the fast one for speedy swimmers like me and the slow lane for the oldies who swim breaststroke with their heads above water, not wanting to splash their specs or mess up their hair. He’s good-looking, blond, clean-shaven and lightly tanned, with blue eyes, a square jaw and the perfect six-pack, and I know for a fact that he waxes his chest.
I twist my hair up and stretch my swimming hat across my head, and glance across at my reflection in the glass that divides the pool area from the spectators. I don’t look bad, but if I could alter anything about my appearance it would be to add a few curves to my slim, rather straight, boyish figure.
‘For goodness’ sake, stop admiring yourself and get in that water,’ Mitch calls. ‘Fifty lengths.’
I turn and give him a cheeky grin. ‘I’ll race you.’
‘Not now. I’ve been lifeguarding and teaching all day. I’m going to get some food and chill for a bit.’
‘You’re making excuses because you know I’ll beat you.’ He’s stronger than me in the water, but not as fast – built more for stamina than speed. ‘Dream on, Shannon.’ Something – or someone – catches his eye and his attention drifts. I follow his gaze to the young woman who’s walking up the steps out of the pool. It’s Gemma, one of the leisure centre receptionists. She has a chain of flowers tattooed around one ankle, but Mitch isn’t looking at her feet.
‘Put your tongue away,’ tell him lightly.
‘Are you jealous? You are, aren’t you?’ Mitch grins.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ say, wondering how I really feel about him. We aren’t in a relationship any more, but I still feel drawn to him.
He moves up closer, touches the small of my back and gives me a kiss on the cheek before whispering in my ear, ‘We should catch up again for old times’ sake, just the two of us.’ His hand slides down to my buttock.
‘Hey.’ I point to the pool rules on the sign on the wall. ‘No petting.’
He chuckles and steps away. ‘You do love me?’ he says lightly.
‘You know I do.’ I’ve known him a long time. We were at school together, although we didn’t become friends until I took up swimming three or four years ago. We started going out with each other about eighteen months ago and then, as I’ve said, we finished it while we were on holiday, having realised that we didn’t want to spend the rest of our lives together.
‘How’s the new vet?’ he asks. ‘Is he behaving himself?’
‘He’s being a bit of a pain, but I haven’t come here to talk about work. I’ll catch you later – for a coffee,’ I add, to make my intentions for the rest of the evening perfectly clear.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come back to my place tonight? I have a bottle of tequila, some pizza in the fridge, and a couple of new DVDs.’ Mitch tips his head to one side.
‘It’s tempting, but no, not tonight. I had very little sleep last night – I’m shattered.’
He studies my face for a moment. ‘You do look tired,’ he agrees. ‘Another time then.’ He looks past me. ‘Here’s Taylor. Hi, we’re over here.’ He waves. ‘She’s forgotten her contact lenses again.’
‘There you are.’ She squeals with laughter. She is shorter than me and wears a sho
cking pink swimsuit that matches her nails. She has her long blond hair extensions tied back.
‘I didn’t think you’d make it with your other commitments,’ Mitch teases.
‘The next module of the management training course starts on Monday, and as I’m at a loose end, I thought I’d do a few lengths and catch up with you at the same time.’ Taylor has recently been promoted to assistant manager at the garden centre on Stoney Lane. ‘Of course, we could always skip the swim and go straight to the pub.’
‘Shannon’s planning on a quick coffee followed by an early night,’ Mitch says.
‘You can’t,’ Taylor says.
‘Oh, I can. You’ll have to forgive me for being such a lightweight – I was on call last night.’
‘With the new vet?’ She links her arm through mine. ‘I want to know all about him. Come on, you can join us for one drink.’
‘No, really. We’re going out for your birthday tomorrow and I’d like to be awake enough to enjoy it.’
‘In that case, you tell me all about him while we swim.’ She turns to Mitch. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’
There’s hardly anyone in the pool – just me, Taylor, an elderly couple and a pair of teenage girls who are practising under the watchful eye of their coach for the next local gala. When I swim alone, I’m focused on getting as many lengths in as possible, but when I’m with Taylor, I find myself setting out with good intentions, but usually end up drifting alongside her as she swims breaststroke with her head out of the water, so we can catch up. We discuss the course she’s started and the trainer who sounds quite promising as a potential date, and we talk about Ross, but I want to enjoy my time off, so I don’t say much. The less said about him the better.
Chapter Four
That Monday Morning Feeling
For the first time I can remember, apart from around exams at college when I was panicking about the practical day, I have that Monday morning feeling.
‘Don’t go in if you aren’t feeling well,’ Mum says as I rinse out my cereal bowl in the kitchen sink. ‘No one is indispensable.’
Vets of the Heart Page 5