Vets of the Heart

by Cathy Woodman

  I’m not happy with his verdict.

  ‘That behaviour was really threatening’.

  ‘He sounded aggressive, but it was all talk,’ Ross insists. ‘If he’d really meant it, he’d have drawn blood.’

  ‘I disagree.’ I turn to Heidi for moral support. ‘You know Bart best. What do you think?’

  ‘I think we should listen to the vet,’ she says sweetly, looking down her nose at me. I get the impression she doesn’t like me sharing a house with her ex.

  ‘If he bites somebody, you’ll always regret it.’ I refuse to give up. I don’t want any of my friends to get hurt. ‘How would you feel if Bart ended up on death row?’ I look back at Ross. ‘This is our home and these are our guests. This has to be a joint decision.’

  ‘Except you win so it’s down to you,’ he says dryly. ‘Okay, I’ll take Bart upstairs.’

  ‘He’ll wreck the place,’ Heidi says. ‘You know what he’s like.’

  ‘I’ll take the risk,’ I say firmly. ‘Thank you, Ross. I appreciate it.’

  ‘I’ll leave him in my room and check up on him now and again.’ Ross drags Bart away while Heidi wanders out to speak to his biker friends and Dave continues preparing the food.

  ‘I can’t understand what he saw in Heidi,’ Taylor says.

  ‘Sees,’ I correct her. ‘She’s staying over tonight.’

  ‘Oh? But you aren’t jealous, remember?’ Taylor’s earrings glint in the spotlights as she goes on with a mischievous smile, ‘You’re just housemates.’

  ‘That’s right.’ I relax and sip at my wine. Now that Bart is safely locked away, I can enjoy the party, except perhaps for Heidi’s presence. We move aside as Dave lays out the freshly cooked pizzas on the worktop and goes into the garden to announce that the food is ready.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve met someone new. He seems like a lovely guy.’

  ‘I’m very lucky,’ Taylor says. ‘I haven’t known him long, but it feels like we’ve been together forever. The only hitch is the ex-wife and mother of his child. She’s quite demanding, expecting him to change his plans at the drop of a hat.

  ‘He’s a great dad, though, and Chloe’s quite cute – she’s his daughter.’ She smiles. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but I love taking her out and about. We went to the beach the other weekend and her favourite part of the seaside was the pebbles. She cried when we had to go home.’ She pauses. ‘Shall we eat? I’m ravenous.’

  A few glasses of wine later, I turn the music up, clear the patio and start dancing. Dave leads the way with the conga and some Irish dance moves mixed in. Taylor grabs him by the waist, Ross grabs Taylor and I grab Ross, my hands on the hard muscle of his loins, and we snake our way across the lawn and back when Heidi pushes in, shoving me aside and inserting herself between me and her ex. Dave rushes forwards, there’s laughter and screaming, and the line falls apart. I notice how Ross catches Heidi as she stumbles into him, deliberately, I think.

  I felt sorry for her when she told me about how Ross let her down, but now I’m not so sure. She’s pushy and thinks she’s superior to me, a lowly vet nurse, but she’s wrong. I’m worth more than she is. I wonder how Ross feels about her as he holds her up, pulls her close and dances a slow dance with her. She has her eyes half closed as she rests her head against his shoulder and locks her manicured fingers around his neck in a gesture of possession. He, meanwhile, glances towards me, gives a hardly perceptible shrug of his shoulders and smiles, before turning back to whisper something in her ear.

  ‘Come and dance with us.’ Taylor grabs my hand and I end up in a clumsy group hug with her, Dave and one of the bikers, who introduces himself as Charlie, and the four of us end up in the living room chatting until way past midnight, when the party breaks up, the sober guests heading for home, Taylor and Dave deciding to walk and the rest crashing around the house.

  The last time I see Ross, he’s helping a very tipsy Heidi up the stairs. Does it matter to me if he’s sleeping with her this time? It shouldn’t, I think, trying to ignore the dull ache in my chest, but it does.

  The following morning, I wake up slightly the worse for wear and head downstairs to find Ross feeding Bart in the kitchen.

  ‘We don’t have any dog food,’ he says, breaking up some pizza and cold sausage into a bowl.

  ‘You lecture Mrs Dyer on how to feed Nero, and here you are giving your dog fast food.’

  ‘I know. I’m having to improvise.’ He chuckles. ‘Is that it then? One night and we’ve already settled into a pattern of mundane domesticity, with you nagging me?’

  ‘Hey, don’t knock it. It’s been brilliant so far – no Godfrey, no prostate, and a great party.’

  ‘I thought you were going to mention my amazing company.’ He raises one eyebrow.

  ‘And that as well.’ I pause. ‘Is Heidi about?’

  ‘She’s upstairs.’

  ‘You seemed very . . . close last night.’

  ‘Would you like some of this pizza warmed up?’ he asks.

  ‘No, thanks, not now.’

  ‘Why?’ He grins. ‘Are you hungover?’

  ‘A little,’ I confess.

  ‘I’ve left Heidi to sleep it off.’

  So he slept with her again, just as he did when she came down for the Country Show, I think, my heart sinking.

  ‘What are you doing today?’ he goes on.

  ‘I’m going swimming and I’ll probably drop in to Mum’s to see Seven on the way back.’ I pause. ‘What are you doing for tea?’

  He frowns. ‘You mean dinner?’

  I nod. ‘Will she still be here?’

  ‘No, we’re going to walk Bart before she takes him home. I’ll cook tonight.’ He gives me the sweetest smile that makes my pulse quicken, even though I know it shouldn’t because, whether he fancies me or not, nothing can happen between us while Heidi’s on the scene, and she’s going to be around for some time because of their commitment to the dog. ‘You can do the meal tomorrow.’

  When I return to the house in the afternoon, I find Ross in the kitchen again. This time he’s clearing up the last of the cans and bottles.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I unpack my swimming stuff straight into the washing machine. ‘I should have given you a hand.’

  ‘It’s fine. Heidi stayed for a couple of hours to help out.’ He ties the top of a bin bag full of rubbish and puts it outside. ‘I’ll make a start on dinner. There’s a film I’d like to see later.’

  ‘A rom-com?’ I say hopefully.

  ‘A spy thriller.’ He laughs. ‘Does that make us incompatible?’

  ‘It means we’ll be fighting for the remote.’

  We settle down for our first evening as just the two of us in our new home, making plans to buy one or two bits and pieces, such as a new kettle because the current one is broken, a rug for the hall and a couple of spare towels for visitors. I feel comfortable sharing with Ross, but it’s a few days until I’m happy kicking around in my trackies in front of him. He has no such reservations, wandering into the kitchen with just a towel – and a small one at that – wrapped around his waist for breakfast in the morning, or pacing up and down the living room in a pair of stretchy boxers, talking on his mobile. I’m not sure what to think. Should I ask him to cover up his blatant masculinity or should I let him carry on? I text Taylor to request her opinion. She says, ‘If I were you, I’d keep quiet and enjoy the view’, so I do.

  One morning just over a week after our move, I’m on an early – Ross is on a late because he did a swap with Maz. I swing through reception at Otter House, pausing at the desk to say good morning to Frances.

  ‘I can’t say that it’s good,’ she says quietly. Her eyes are red and her hairpiece has slipped to one side. ‘I’ve been given the sack. Maz and Emma have told me that I have to go.’

  ‘They haven’t said that,’ Izzy interrupts as she emerges from the consulting room.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m doing a couple of hours
of overtime.’ I offered to collect Trevor on my way to work – he’s due to have his cast off today. She turns to Frances. ‘They’ve asked you to retire.’

  ‘Same difference.’ She shrugs.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I look around for the tissues and hand her the box.

  ‘It’s hard to take. Look at me. I’m capable and active. I have years of experience and now, because I’ve made one or two mistakes, I have to leave.’ She dabs at the mascara tears that run down her cheeks. ‘I’m not the retiring kind.’

  ‘We know you aren’t – in more ways than one,’ Izzy says with a gentle smile. ‘You have Lenny, the hedgehogs and the WI. Once you’ve had time to adjust, you’ll wonder how you ever had time to go to work.’

  ‘Life won’t be the same,’ she says, and I have to agree. With Frances leaving, it’s the end of an era.

  ‘You’ll always be welcome to drop in for tea and a chat, as long as you bring one of your legendary cakes.’ Maz walks in from the corridor, fastening the poppers on her tunic, which is covered with cartoon cats. ‘Seriously, we’re going to hold a barbecue in your honour. Everyone is invited, including partners. It will be at Emma’s – she’s roped Ben into doing the cooking.’

  Frances forces a small smile.

  ‘We’ll never be able to replace you,’ Maz continues, ‘but I have spoken to someone who’s keen to train to be a veterinary receptionist. She’s called Celine – you might know of her. I met her a while ago, dropping the children off at nursery, and we got talking. She gave up work to have her kids and now she’s ready for a break from full-time motherhood.’

  ‘Celine?’ Frances taps her nails against the desk. ‘I know who you mean, the blonde lady who wears too much fake tan. Her house has the fountain and statues of naked women outside.’

  ‘They’re supposed to be nymphs,’ Maz smiles.

  ‘What does she know about working at a vet’s?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Maz says cheerfully, ‘but we’re going to find out. She’s starting on Monday on a month’s probation, so you can teach her everything she needs to know.’ She looks past me. ‘Here’s my first one.’

  I open the door for Jennie. Lucky is in her arms, clinging to her with his paws around her neck.

  ‘He’s so much better than he was at the show,’ she says as I lead her into the consulting room. ‘He still goes mad whenever anyone turns up at the house, but he sleeps a lot. I think he’s been better off the chemo and I’m wondering if we can just forget it, and let nature take its course. What would you do if he was your dog? Be honest with me.’

  ‘You know him best, but I agree, I don’t like to see him feeling sick for those few days after each round of treatment.’

  Jennie turns to me. ‘What about you, Shannon?’

  I hesitate. ‘It’s your decision.’

  ‘You’ve nursed him,’ Maz says. ‘You can have your say.’

  I gaze at Lucky, who glances towards me and wags his tail.

  ‘No one likes needles, but Lucky’s beginning to hate them. Every time he comes in for a blood test or treatment, it’s a battle.’

  ‘I’d like his last weeks, or months, to be happy ones, so we should stop,’ Jennie decides. ‘I’d rather not prolong his life at any cost. It seems selfish.’

  ‘You can say you did your best for him,’ Maz reassures her. ‘No more needles then?’

  ‘No more,’ Jennie says.

  ‘We won’t make any more appointments – call me once a week to let me know how he is and we’ll go from there.’

  ‘Thank you. We’re going to spoil him from now on.’

  Jennie seems to be holding it together, but Maz and I are struggling as I open the door to let her out. I duck out and grab the box of tissues back from Frances.

  ‘We should have shares in Kleenex,’ Maz sniffles.

  I take a break after morning surgery, sitting in the garden with a mug of coffee. Tripod lies in my arms, purring. He fixes his gaze on a blue tit, which is pecking at the feeder that hangs from one of the branches on the apple tree. Deciding that he can’t be bothered to chase the bird, he butts his face against my chin, asking to be stroked, but at the sound of a motorbike, he wriggles out of my arms, jumps down with a light thud and stalks away towards the back door. Faithless creature, I think: so like a man.

  ‘You have poor taste,’ I call after him, but I’m generalising. Ross is untidy around the house, but he’s a great cook, and I’m telling the truth when I say that my inability to prepare anything but basic meals was not a deliberate strategy to force him into the role of house chef.

  On the way home at the end of my day – I finish at four – I pop into Petals to see Seven. I have a quick chat with Mum, who’s worried that I’m not eating properly, which is ridiculous because I’m eating better than I ever did at home. I buy a couple of reed diffusers and fragranced candles at cost price, and take them back to the house, where I start preparing dinner.

  ‘Are you intending to bum the place down?’ Ross says when he walks in much later. ‘It smells like a whore’s bedroom.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know . . .’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘I’ve incinerated a pair of your socks – you left them on the kitchen floor.’ I glance towards the living-room window, where the garden brazier is aglow with some burning weeds that I pulled up from between the slabs of the patio earlier. ‘I wish I’d brought a set of forceps home to pick them up with.’

  ‘Shannon, you haven’t?’

  ‘Not really. I put them in the washing machine – I even put detergent in and switched it on.’ I’m being sarcastic. ‘Would you like me to give you a lesson?’

  ‘I’m sorry. We’re definitely incompatible when it comes to housework.’ He pauses and gives me a weary smile. ‘Would you like me to move out?’

  ‘No, of course not. I want it to be . . . homely, that’s all. I don’t mean to nag. How did the rest of your day go?’

  ‘Frances couldn’t cope and went home early, so Izzy had to take over at reception. I see that Tripod’s looking better.’

  ‘You’ve noticed?’

  ‘Of course. It’s my job.’ He smiles. T know how fond of him you lot are.’

  By ‘lot’ I assume he means me, Maz and Izzy in particular. He changes the subject. ‘Have you had dinner?’

  ‘There’s vegetarian lasagne in the oven.’ I hesitate. ‘Having said that, I can’t smell it.’ I dash out to the kitchen where my worst fears are confirmed – I haven’t turned the oven on. I swear out loud as Ross walks up behind me and rests his hands lightly on the curve of my waist.

  ‘Never mind,’ he says. ‘It’s the thought that counts. How long do you think it will take?’

  ‘An hour by the time it’s come up to temperature.’

  ‘Let’s have a glass of wine while we wait.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to wait?’ I find myself leaning back into him. His breath is warm against the side of my neck. I can hear my heartbeat, pounding, persistent, and I feel slightly sick in the best possible way. Ross reaches past me and turns the oven on.

  ‘White or rosé?’ he says, apparently oblivious to the way he makes me feel.

  ‘Have you heard from Heidi recently?’ I have to ask.

  ‘She’s texted a couple of times – she sent me a selfie of her and Bart in Richmond Park.’ He hesitates. ‘I was wondering about buying some kind of fold-up bed in case she wants to stay over again. That sofa is – ’ he swears – ‘uncomfortable.’

  ‘Oh?’ I turn. T thought . . .’

  ‘What did you think?’ he says, amused. ‘That I’m sleeping with her? No way.’ He frowns. ‘I’m not into one-night stands, especially with an ex.

  ‘But you danced with her and helped her up the stairs,’ I point out, wanting to prove once and for all whether or not there is anything going on between them.

  ‘I suppose the dance was for old times’ sake and she was was so drunk I felt I had to make sure she made it to bed.’ He looks at me
, his expression serious. ‘It didn’t mean anything. I’ve told you before – without the dog, I wouldn’t see her again, especially after the other night at the party. She was pretty rude, looking down her nose at you and pushing you out of the way. I’m not blind.’

  We look at beds on the Internet, using Ross’s tablet, but we don’t end up buying one. All I can focus on is the revelation that there is nothing going on between him and Heidi. My housemate is both irresistibly gorgeous and quite possibly available. My imagination runs riot.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Receptionist Wars

  Tripod continues to improve and I’m hopeful that he’ll be with us at least for the rest of the summer. Maz announces at one of our practice meetings that the finances are falling into place for the purchase of a branch surgery, which is everyone’s preferred option for expanding the practice, and the builders move out. Ross and I settle down to some kind of routine. We make a good team – when we’re on duty, we take if in turns to go out. Either he will ride off on his motorbike, or I’ll go swimming.

  Last night, he cooked an amazing dinner of bean casserole with garlic bread and green salad, and we spent most of the evening chilling on the sofa with him at one end in jeans and a T-shirt and me at the other in my summer pyjamas, shorts and a vest top, watching comedies and a detective drama. I’m not sure I got the gist of the story because my mind – and my eyes – kept drifting towards my gorgeous housemate and the gap between us, wondering how to close it.

  This morning, I’m up drinking tea in the kitchen, but Ross hasn’t made an appearance yet. I text him. There’s no response so I head upstairs, knock on his door and push it open.

  ‘It’s time to get up. You’ll be late for work.’

  He sits up abruptly and swings his legs so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, naked with the duvet strategically placed across his belly and thighs. He runs one hand through his hair, shaking out his curls before looking up.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep last night,’ he mutters.

  Neither could I, I think. What is that saying? Familiarity breeds contempt. It doesn’t apply in this case, because the more time we spend together, the more I get to know him and the more I want him. I yearn for the pressure of his lips on mine and the taste of his kisses. I dream that he’ll sweep me off my feet and carry me into his room – I glance down at the heap of laundry on the floor, the open laptop and glasses of water and food wrappers – okay, it would have to be my room, where he would lay me down on the bed and . . . well, let’s close the bedroom door on what I’d like him to do to me.