Vets of the Heart

by Cathy Woodman

  He gets up, dragging the duvet with him, and takes a shirt from his wardrobe.

  ‘I’m off,’ I say, quietly turning away.

  ‘I’ll catch you up. Cover for me if I’m a few minutes late. Say I had trouble starting the bike or something.’

  ‘Is that ethical?’

  ‘Hardly, but I’d do the same for you.’

  I get to Otter House in time, but if Emma notices that Ross is a few minutes late, she doesn’t comment. She’s in reception, introducing Celine to Izzy and Frances, who stands behind the desk, her handbag and glasses on top of it, as if she’s guarding her territory.

  I’m not sure what to make of our new receptionist. With her blonde hair extensions, false nails and eyelashes, less than subtle fake tan and hint of an Essex accent, she could have walked straight out of TOWIE.

  ‘Frances is going to show Celine how we do things at Otter House,’ Emma says.

  Frances opens and closes the till with a loud crash.

  ‘I’ll let you all get on with it then,’ Emma continues brightly. ‘Izzy, you’re with me. Shannon, you’re with Ross. Where is he, by the way?’

  ‘His bike wouldn’t start,’ I say, amazed at how glib I sound.

  He catches up with me about ten minutes later, and we see the morning appointments and go out on a couple of visits, after which I spend some time in the office with Celine, explaining the system for obtaining a repeat prescription. She writes notes on her iPad.

  ‘I want to get this right,’ she says.

  ‘How are you getting on so far?’ I ask. She must be a few years older than me, in her early thirties, and she has what I suspect she’d describe as some postbaby weight to lose.

  ‘I’m struggling with Frances – she won’t let me do anything, yet I’m perfectly capable of inputting data into the computer and taking payments. All she’s allowed me to do is make the tea, but when I did that, she poured it down the sink and started again. She keeps running through her list of criteria for a successful receptionist: being able to cope with unpleasant discharges and secretions. I can do that – I have two kids and a baby she grins – ‘and a husband. He’s a sales team leader in Exeter – we moved here because of his job.’

  ‘Do you have any pets?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘You will do. It’s an occupational hazard.’ I smile. ‘Frances is all right when you get used to her. She doesn’t want to retire, but it’s come to the point where she has to for her health . . .’ And our patients’ safety, I want to add, but don’t because it would feel disloyal. ‘Don’t hesitate to ask me if you’re unsure about anything.’

  ‘Thank you. I’d better get back to my post.’

  ‘Good luck,’ I say, wondering how long she’ll stay.

  Ross’s favourite – I’m being ironic – arrives with Merrie towards the end of afternoon surgery. Both Frances and Celine show her through, as if they’re in competition to provide the best welcome.

  ‘You must be charging too much if you can afford two receptionists,’ Mrs Wall mutters, unimpressed. ‘I should ask for a discount.’

  ‘How is Merrie?’ Ross asks, as I pick her up and lift her onto the table.

  ‘She’s the best she’s ever been.’ Mrs Wall leans on her stick.

  ‘What do you put that down to?’ he asks in a slightly challenging tone.

  ‘Mr Curdridge, I have opened my mind to the possibility of synergy between the ancient healing arts and modern science. You would do well to do the same. What if the addition of a crystal to the drinking water allowed you to reduce the dose of tablets you prescribe?’

  ‘That would be a fine thing indeed, but it’s pure fantasy. I base my treatments on evidence-based medicine’.

  ‘I thought that now her skin is under control, I should wean her off your drugs and onto some homeopathy’.

  ‘The itch is under control because of the drugs’. Ross runs one hand through his hair in exasperation. ‘Take Merrie off them and she’ll start scratching again’.

  Mrs Wall squints at him. I can understand why he finds some of our clients infuriating.

  ‘If you don’t trust me to do what’s best for your dog, then you should see one of the other vets,’ he goes on quietly.

  ‘Oh no, I wouldn’t like that. I do trust you. Really, I do. It’s conventional medicine that I have a problem with. You are a marvel. I like a man who calls a spade a spade.’

  ‘That’s settled then.’ Ross smiles and she smiles back. ‘I would suggest that you leave Merrie here for an hour so Shannon can give her another bath.’

  ‘She does love coming here for a shampoo and set.’

  Little does she know the trauma that we go through each time, I think, amused.

  ‘Take her through, please,’ Ross says. ‘You can collect her any time after four, if that suits you.’

  ‘I shall have a wander around town.’ Mrs Wall pats Merrie, fumbles for her stick and walks out of the consulting room, tripping over her own feet on the way. She regains her balance and continues out of the practice while I take Merrie for her bath. As usual, I end up soaked through and smelling of dog shampoo, while she turns out clean, white and fluffy. I give her a pedicure, trimming the fur between her toes and clipping her nails, but before I can put her in a kennel to await her owner, Ross comes to tell me that she won’t be going home for a while.

  ‘Mrs Wall’s been carted off to hospital. She was in the church – she had a fall.’

  ‘Is she going to be all right?’

  He shrugs. ‘I’ll find out later.’

  I glance across to where Merrie is sitting in a nest of towels, her ears pricked and her expression hopeful, and my heart goes out to her because she’s going to be disappointed at not going home yet. We walk back to the consulting room.

  ‘Who’s next?’ Ross asks, closing the door behind us.

  ‘Trevor,’ I say, checking the monitor.

  ‘It isn’t very long ago that his cast came off. What’s he done now?’

  ‘It says he’s suffered a wheelchair injury – Penny’s run over his paw.’

  Suddenly, the sound of yelping carries through from reception.

  ‘He’s here,’ Ross says with a sigh. ‘That’s definitely Trevor.’

  Luckily, his foot is merely bruised, so he goes home with a couple of days’ worth of painkillers and orders to rest.

  ‘You’re done –’ Celine pops her head around the door when we’ve seen the last client – ‘and so am I. I’m not working with Frances again. She’s doing my head in. She won’t let me do anything or get a word in edgeways.’ She looks at her iPad and reads from the screen. ‘Mrs Wall has phoned from the hospital to ask if we can look after Merrie. I didn’t run it past Frances – I just assumed that we would as these are circumstances beyond anyone’s control.’

  ‘It’s good to find someone who can use their initiative’. Ross says.

  ‘I’m going to call Maz. I can’t work under these conditions.’ She touches the corner of her eye, as if dabbing at a tear, sending her gold bracelets jangling down her arm.

  ‘You aren’t going to leave?’ I say anxiously. ‘You’ve hardly started.’

  ‘I’m not staying to be treated like a child. I’ve had a customer service role before so I have at least half an idea of what I’m doing.’

  Ross rolls his eyes as she heads out in her heels with a massive designer handbag over her arm. ‘Is Frances still here?’

  ‘I think she’s gone home,’ I say, pulling the rubber cover off the table and putting it to one side so I can clean underneath it.

  ‘What is this? Receptionist wars?’ He turns away and closes down the computer. I reach out and place both hands on his waist to ask him to move aside, but he freezes – we both do – at the contact. My breath catches in my throat as I feel the heat and hardness of his flesh through my fingertips.

  He turns his head to face me and gives me a long, smouldering look. Fighting a wave of desire, I force myself to take a step bac
k, clasping my hands together and popping the joints of my fingers as a distraction. It’s dangerous being in such close proximity. It would take very little to tempt me to move in closer and slide my arms right around his waist, but it cannot be. We’re colleagues and housemates, and that’s how it has to stay.

  ‘I wish you’d stop cluttering up the room. You’re in my way,’ I say lightly, before returning to the subject of our new receptionist. ‘It’s wrong to expect Frances to train someone new. It’s like rubbing a puppy’s nose in it when they’ve had an accident in the house – and besides, she’s too set in her ways. She’ll only teach Celine how not to do it.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear your opinion,’ Emma interrupts as she arrives in the consulting room via the other door, with a bottle of injectable antibiotic which she puts back on the shelf.

  ‘I didn’t realise you were listening,’ I say awkwardly.

  ‘It’s all right. I’m going to suggest that they do alternate half-days until Frances leaves the practice. The rest of us will have to help Celine out – we can’t afford to lose her.’ Her eyes narrow as her gaze settles on Ross, who is standing very close to me, reaching past me for the disinfectant spray. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Yes, fine,’ I say a little too quickly.

  ‘It’s all good,’ he adds.

  ‘You will remember to send us an invite?’ Emma continues. ‘For the wedding,’ she adds with a giggle. ‘Come on, it’s so obvious.’

  ‘There’s nothing going on,’ I stutter.

  ‘Sure,’ she says, retreating. ‘See you later.’

  Ross starts cleaning the table.

  ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘And you don’t have to be quite so vehement in your denial.’ He glances up with a spark in his eye and a flash of his teeth. ‘There is some truth in the saying: methinks the lady doth protest too much.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ I argue, half laughing because he’s right and I don’t want to admit it. ‘Remind me to feed Merrie, won’t you?’

  ‘I’ll take her home,’ he decides.

  ‘That’s a little unconventional,’ I point out. ‘She can stay here overnight.’

  ‘That seems a bit mean when she isn’t an inpatient as such.’

  ‘I don’t mind – in fact, I’d like to have a dog around the place – but I didn’t think you’d provide your least-favourite client with such a personal service.’

  ‘She’s a strange old bat, but I have to admire her. I like people who stick to their guns. She’s all right.’

  Later in the evening, we settle on the sofa with Merrie between us. Ross has a cushion across his lap where the dog rests her head. She seems to like men, or maybe she’s enjoying the novelty, having been living with Mrs Wall. I sit back with a glass of apple juice – I’m trying to be healthy – and rest my feet on the footstool, stretching out my long bare legs.

  I sense Ross’s eyes on me and the warmth of his gaze sends flickers of heat through my body. When he becomes aware that I’m watching him, he looks away abruptly. I reach for another cushion and hug it tight.

  ‘I’m off to bed,’ he says suddenly. ‘I’ll put the dog out – she seems to think she needs to go out rather often.’ He gets up and moves past me, stopping to lean down and brush his lips against my cheek, not once, but twice. His breath lingers on my skin as he kisses the side of my mouth then my lips. ‘Goodnight, Shannon,’ he murmurs.

  ‘See you in the morning,’ I say, touching my face. He kissed me. My heart is doing somersaults. I’m not sure where we are, or where we’re going? I can’t stop thinking about him and I start to wonder if I’m going mad.

  The next day at work, I manage to fix it with Izzy so that I can spend a couple of hours at the end of the day setting up the lab, now that the builders have gone. It’s out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the practice, and I can clear my head as I set up the microscope and pack the spare sample tubes, slides and chemicals into the cupboards.

  ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding?’ Ross puts his head around the door.

  ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it? DJ did a good job, even if he did miss the deadline.’

  ‘I’m off home. I’m going to make a curry – vegetarian, of course – if you’d like it.’

  ‘Ah, no thanks. I’m going straight to Talymouth for a meal with a couple of the girls I met on the vet nursing course. It’ll be fun – I haven’t caught up with them for a while.’ It was a last-minute arrangement. I contacted them via Facebook this morning and they both happened to be free.

  ‘Are you going without me?’

  ‘It’s a girls’ night out,’ I add to make it clear.

  ‘You’re bored with my company already,’ he says lightly.

  ‘Of course not.’ Far from it, I think. He is always in my mind. That’s why I have to go out to put some distance between me and the object of my affection. ‘You have Merrie,’ I point out.

  ‘I’m going to walk her back to Mrs Wall’s before I jump on the bike. It turns out that it was just a sprained ankle, so she’s home. Have a good evening. I’ll see you later.’ He smiles. ‘I’ll be able to have the remote to myself. Oh, I forgot to say, Bart’s coming to stay this weekend.’

  ‘It’s all right, you don’t need to ask. That was part of the agreement when we moved in together.’

  ‘I know you aren’t keen on him.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s keen on me either.’ I force a smile as I try to dismiss my memory of his aggressive behaviour at the party. ‘We’ll get used to each other eventually.’

  Ross disappears again and I return downstairs to change and drive to Talymouth. The girls and I have a good laugh, sharing our vet nursing stories, including mine about the builders and the snake, and gossiping about our love lives. I don’t say much about that. I talk about how I’m sharing a house with one of our vets, but I don’t let on how I feel about him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two Little Kittens

  I don’t see Ross in the morning, at least not until I get to work. I get up late and take coffee and toast to my room, and wait for him to leave before I pick up my bag and keys and drive to the practice. He calls up the stairs to let me know he’s going out and check that I haven’t gone back to sleep.

  ‘I’ll see you soon,’ he says.

  ‘Okay,’ I call back, but even when I reach Otter House, I occupy myself with feeding Tripod and checking the drug order so I can have a few more minutes before starting work with him. Ross catches me in the corridor.

  ‘Are you trying to avoid me or something?’ He stands in the doorway with one hand on each side of the frame, his bulk creating a shadow across the floor. ‘You would tell me if I’m stinking of l’eau de dog’s bottom? I’ve just been squeezing some anal glands.’

  ‘No?’ I stammer. ‘I mean “yes”. Oh, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’ve got a bit of a headache.’ I smile weakly. I feel very awkward. It was a kiss, just a kiss, even if it was on the lips.

  ‘Are you sure that’s all it is?’

  ‘You know how sometimes you just need a bit of space . . .’

  ‘That’s when I shoot off oh the bike for a couple of hours.’ He smiles. ‘You need a motorbike so you can get away from it all.’

  ‘No, thanks. It doesn’t appeal to me. I’d rather go swimming.’

  ‘If you can bear my presence for a couple of hours, I could do with a hand in Kennels.’

  ‘Okay, anything for you,’ I say, ‘but you’ll have to move,’ I add, as I try to pass him in the doorway, catching his scent of fresh deodorant and shampoo. He’s wearing a new shirt, short-sleeved and striped. It seems as if he’s made a special effort and I can’t help hoping that it’s for me. Grinning, he steps aside, apparently unaware of how he makes me feel. ‘What is it?’

  ‘One of the cats Jack has trapped and brought in today, a feral with aspirations to be a tiger.’

  ‘Oh, thanks. I think I’ve changed my mind.’ I glance at the silvery, thre
ad-like scars, evidence of previous cat attacks on my arms, as we make our way into Kennels and he holds the door open for me.

  The cat is in a crush cage, which is hidden underneath a towel for privacy. Murmuring sweet nothings, I push the inner bars of the cage up close to her so she can’t turn around. Ross lifts the corner of the towel and injects her through the bars, at which she hisses and pants, open-mouthed, scared and angry at the same time.

  ‘She’s a feisty little thing,’ he observes.

  ‘You could say that.’ We step away for a few minutes, keeping an eye on her from a distance while she wobbles then sinks onto her tummy, looking completely dazed. I prod her gently through the bars. She doesn’t respond with any more than a slight quickening of her breathing.

  ‘It looks like she’s good to go,’ Ross says from over my shoulder. ‘Are you wearing the gauntlets, or am I?’

  ‘I think that’s traditionally been the role of the vet nurse,’ I say sarcastically.

  ‘Of course, the vet’s safety is paramount,’ he teases.

  I put on the leather gauntlets just in case, but the cat is out for the count and I’m able to take them off as soon as I’ve transferred her to the prep bench.

  ‘I’ll make this quick.’ Ross checks her over. ‘She’s got milk. Jack didn’t say anything about her having kittens when he dropped her off,’ he adds, and my heart sinks.

  ‘I’ll call him when I have five minutes.’

  Ross spays her – I have to remind him to use stitches that dissolve under the skin because there’s no way she’ll let us catch her again – and soon she’s recovering in the trap, in preparation for release late the same evening or the next day. When I phone Jack, he says he isn’t aware that she has any kittens.