Vets of the Heart

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘Hi, Shannon, it’s me . . .’ The sound of Ross’s voice seeps into my consciousness and I’m not sure if he’s real or part of a dream as he kisses my forehead, not my mouth, which seems a little weird when we’re supposed to be a couple.

  ‘What time is it?’ I mutter.

  ‘Half past eleven. I couldn’t wait until visiting hours to see you – I managed to sweet-talk my way past the nursing station. I’ve brought you your hairbrush, mobile and charger, Kindle and chocolates.’ I open my eyes at the rustling of a plastic bag. ‘The grapes are supposed to be kind of ironic – all hospital patients have grapes,’ he teases, before growing serious, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside me at the head of my bed. ‘It isn’t funny. I didn’t know what to get you.’

  I thank him, but I really don’t feel like eating. The side of my face feels tight and sore. ‘It’s good to see you,’ I say, meaning that I feel much better knowing he’s here at my side. ‘Are the kittens okay?’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten them. I’m looking after them today, and Izzy and Celine have offered to take over from tomorrow until you’re better.’

  ‘I’ll be out of here soon.’

  ‘There’s no rush.’

  ‘There is – I can’t wait to get back to normal.’

  Ross fails to smile at all and my own smile seems lopsided. I reach up and touch my face, but my fingers come into contact with a mass of bandage instead. I walk them across my cheek, discovering that whoever dressed my wounds has used an awful lot of dressing material. Emma would disapprove – she hates waste. ‘Use what’s necessary and no more,’ is one of her mantras.

  ‘What did they do to you?’ Ross asks quietly.

  ‘They’ve trimmed the damaged tissue away, flushed and closed the wounds.’ I make light of it. ‘How do I look?’

  He clears his throat before answering, ‘As beautiful as ever.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ I sigh. ‘I’m wearing a bandage.’

  ‘It’s in your eyes,’ he murmurs. ‘I mean it,’ he adds, and his words melt my heart. ‘Has the consultant given you any idea when you can come home? The house feels empty without you.’

  ‘I’m not sure if anyone’s actually said.’

  ‘Well, let me know when you know and I’ll come and get you.’ He pauses. ‘Can you remember what happened?’

  ‘Some of it, but my brain aches when I think about it.’ I gaze at him and he looks down at his feet, his shoulders slump and his forehead becomes lined with pain and regret.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I wish I hadn’t let this happen to you.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s not your fault.’

  ‘But it does matter. That dog is a complete nutter – I should have listened to you and done something about him before he hurt anyone. You’ve paid the price for my stupidity.’

  ‘Oh come on, that’s rather dramatic.’ I reach out for his hand, but we don’t quite touch. The distance across the blanket is like a chasm. ‘I should have insisted on muzzling him.’

  ‘I couldn’t let you do that. Bart was badly treated before we got him and I didn’t want him to think we were like his previous owners. Wearing a muzzle would have felt like a punishment.’ Ross looks up. To my horror, he’s close to tears. ‘I should have treated his aggressive tendencies with more care. I should never have let Heidi bring him to the party.’

  ‘No,’ I say urgently. I picture Bart jumping up to greet him, wagging his tail, and a lump forms in my throat. ‘You haven’t . . . ?’

  He shakes his head, his mouth turned down at the corners. He scratches at the back of his hand, leaving red weals.

  ‘Not yet,’ he whispers.

  ‘You mustn’t rush into a decision like that. Please don’t do it on my account, I beg you.’ I can’t begin to imagine the guilt I’d experience if Bart were to be put to sleep because he’d attacked me. I touch the dressing again. ‘It’s nothing, just a couple of stitches.’ At least, I think so. Although Mum was horrified when she saw the wounds, I’m pretty sure she was overreacting, as any parent would. I haven’t seen the damage yet – I haven’t wanted to look.

  ‘I have decided, though. It’s going to kill me, but it has to be done. I feel guilty enough already. I’d feel ten times worse if he went on to hurt someone else.’

  Tears prick my eyelids. I’m not sure who I feel the most sympathy for, Ross or the dog.

  ‘Oh, God, Shannon. I’m sorry. Please, I don’t want you to feel bad about it. It isn’t your fault. There, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything – I didn’t want to upset you.’ His voice catches as he continues, ‘Heidi is coming to see him tomorrow to say goodbye.’

  ‘Oh, Ross, I’m sorry.’ I shift myself towards the edge of the bed to try to console him, but one of the nurses appears to check my temperature and blood pressure and chases him out because the trolley staff will soon be here with lunch.

  ‘You’re welcome to come back, but during visiting hours next time,’ she says. ‘We can’t have all and sundry on the ward getting under our feet.’

  ‘I’ll be back,’ Ross says, standing up and kissing me on the right cheek. ‘I’ll text or call you later.’

  I wish him goodbye and watch him stride out through the archway into the corridor without looking back, and I’m aching to follow him and tell him everything is going to be all right, but of course, it isn’t. He and Heidi are about to lose their muchloved dog and I’m stuck in this hospital bed not knowing what exactly is lurking beneath the dressing on my face, because although I’ve been blithely imagining a neatly closed wound at the side of my mouth, I’m becoming afraid that it’s more than that. The tingling sensation under the bandage is growing more intense and painful, but I try to put my concerns to one side until the consultant visits me with one of the nurses the following morning.

  The nurse removes the dressing and the consultant checks my face – according to him, the puncture wound on my cheek is looking good and his repair to the injury at the side of my mouth is satisfactory.

  ‘What does that mean?’ I ask, feeling a little out of the loop. It’s my face, yet I’m the only one not to have seen it. The nurse fetches a mirror and hands it to the consultant who holds it up in front of me.

  I gasp. There’s a deep, almost vertical crevice, a livid red scar about five centimetres long at the side of my mouth. It’s swollen and shocking, but the consultant seems to think it isn’t too bad. In fact, he’s proud of his handiwork. He tells me to be patient because it will take time for the scar to fill in and fade a little.

  ‘How much is a little?’ I ask in a small voice. I can’t believe this. I don’t look like me.

  ‘The cosmetic result will be better than it is now, but you will always have a scar.’ My heart is beating fast and hard as he continues, ‘We can consider revision surgery in the future, although that may not be necessary, and you can access support through your GP.’

  ‘You are going to put another dressing on it?’ I say, turning away from the mirror. I can’t bear to look at myself. I don’t want anyone to see me like this, especially not Ross.

  ‘A light one,’ the consultant says, ‘and you can go home. My secretary will be in touch to give you another appointment at Outpatients . . . All the best,’ he adds, shaking my hand.

  The consultant leaves and the nurse puts another dressing on. She chats, but I can’t concentrate. I look like a freak. I’m never going to look the same again. A wave of panic surges through me because I’m trapped in a new reality. How will Ross – how will anyone – love me now?

  Images of Bart flicker through my mind: the way he looked at me with those cold, calculating eyes the first time I met him at the Country Show and how he snarled and lunged at Dave at the party . . . Ross knew what he was like, yet he stood by and let it happen. When he came to see me, I was in denial, but now I’ve seen what the dog has done, a new emotion takes over. Anger.

  I phone my mother to tell her I’m free to go home and ask her if she’ll pick
me up.

  ‘Of course I can, darling,’ she says. ‘I’ll shut up shop and come and get you straight away.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ My right cheek grows warm and wet with tears.

  ‘I won’t be long. I’ll meet you on the ward.’

  ‘I’ll be at the main entrance,’ I say, and I throw my things into a bag, pick up a letter for my GP, thank the nurses at the nursing station and make my way there. Half an hour later, Mum pulls in and I jump into the van. She turns in the driver’s seat and throws her arms around me.

  ‘You don’t know how wonderful it feels to be taking you home,’ she says, as I rest the good side of my face against her shoulder. ‘What did the consultant say?’

  ‘I saw it when they took the dressing off.’ I burst into tears again. ‘Oh-mi-god, it’s awful.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I’m sure it will get better as time goes by.’ She presses her lips to my forehead before sitting back and holding my arms. ‘I suppose Ross is at work,’ she adds rather stiffly. ‘Have you got a key?

  It takes me a moment to realise what she’s talking about.

  ‘Oh no, I’m not expecting you to take me back to Talyford.’ I gaze at her and my throat constricts with grief and fear. Yes, fear, because I’m terrified about what the future holds for me. ‘I want to come home for a while, if that’s all right with you, and you think Godfrey won’t mind. I need to get my head straight.’

  ‘Of course. You’re always welcome, you know that.’ Mum smiles a small smile as she puts the van in gear and pulls away from the hospital entrance. ‘The bed’s made up – I got it ready, just in case – and I can’t wait to see Seven’s reaction. He’s going to be over the moon to see you.’

  As we reach the outskirts of Talyton St George, Ross calls on the mobile.

  ‘Hi,’ he says warmly. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Not good.’ I’m not in the mood for talking to him at the moment.

  ‘What did the consultant say?’

  ‘He said I could go home.’

  ‘That’s brilliant. I’ll give you a lift. I can be with you in half an hour. Just let me clear it with Maz.’

  ‘No, don’t worry. Mum’s taking me back to Petals – we’re on our way there now. I’m going to stay with her and Godfrey.’

  ‘Oh, I was all prepared to look after you.’ He sounds disappointed. ‘It’s all right. I’ll pop in with some of your things – you’ll need clothes for a few days.’

  I thank him and add that I’ll see him later.

  Back at the shop, a dog comes flying through to see me, leaping up and down and squeaking. As a memory of Bart turning on me with his teeth flashes through my brain, I have to remind myself that it’s only Seven and he would never hurt me. Seven rushes back inside to grab a slipper, bringing it back to me as some kind of present. I hug him, being careful not to let him lick at my dressing. I take a deep breath of roses and eucalyptus oil and relax. It’s good to be home.

  When Godfrey returns after work, he’s pleased to see me, for which I’m very grateful. He makes coffee and cooks stir-fry and noodles for dinner; although I’m not hungry, I eat what I can to show willing. I’m sore, traumatised and on tenterhooks waiting for Ross to make an appearance with my things, because I’m not sure how I’ll feel when I see him. He turns up on the doorstep later, with a suitcase of clothes and bits and pieces from the house.

  ‘Can I come in?’ he asks.

  I look at the dark circles around his eyes and the stubble on his chin and I’m torn between a desire to console him and an impulse to send him away because it’s his fault that I’m in this mess.

  ‘Please . . .’ he says gruffly, and my heart softens slightly.

  I hold the door open for him and show him into the shop.

  ‘I won’t stop for long – I expect you’re tired. I just wanted to let you know that I put Bart to sleep today.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I am because I can imagine how he’s feeling. I’d be devastated if it had been Seven. ‘How is Heidi?’

  ‘She’s extremely cut up as you’d expect, but she’ll survive. Shannon I’m sorry too.

  ‘I can’t find the words to explain how guilty I feel for what I’ve put you through. I know I’ve said this before, but I gave Bart one chance too many.’ He holds my gaze. ‘You do, don’t you, when you love someone. If I could turn the clock back, I would.’

  ‘I know,’ I say quietly. Can I forgive him? I can live with the fact that he has had Bart put down, because I couldn’t live with a dog I couldn’t trust, but I can’t forget that he took a risk, the outcome of which is that I’m going to be scarred for life. It’s too soon, too raw and I’m still too angry.

  ‘I’ll catch you later. Go and get some sleep,’ I say, dismissing him. He ducks towards me as if to kiss me, but I step aside, putting the door between us. He frowns as he says, ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Night.’ I watch him turn and walk back to the ambulance, before closing the door behind him. I’d love a hug, but I can’t let him near me while I’m working out how to cope with my altered appearance and rebuild my life.

  I start by calling Taylor, who’s away on another course. She is appalled when she hears what has happened.

  ‘I was there when that dog had a go at Dave and I heard what you said to Ross. I can’t understand why he didn’t get rid of him straight away. I would have done.’

  ‘I hope I’d have been strong enough to make the decision earlier if it had been Seven who was going around threatening people, but it’s hard to know how you’d behave if you were in that position. Ross adored that dog – I feel so guilty and furious with him at the same time.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. I don’t think I’d be able to bring myself to speak to him for a while.’ Taylor hesitates. ‘Is it really that bad?’

  ‘It’s much worse than I expected – all swollen and lumpy.’

  ‘I’m sure it will get better,’ she says brightly before pausing. ‘I take it from your silence that you think otherwise?’Please don’t get too down about it. I’m certain there are things that can be done to fix it – and if everything fails, there’s always make-up. There are some amazing concealers available now.’

  ‘It’s going to take a trowel and cement at the moment,’ I say more harshly than I intend.

  ‘I’m sorry; I’m not trying to be flippant or make light of it. I want to help. In fact, I really wish I was at home so I could take you out for a few drinks, but that will have to wait because I’m tied up here learning about staff motivation and blue-sky thinking.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re going to end up over-qualified to be a garden centre manager?’ I say, glad of a change of subject.

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘How’s Dave?’

  ‘Oh, he’s absolutely amazing. He’s taking me away for a weekend in London. I can’t wait.’ She hesitates. ‘How does this leave you and Ross? You are going to have that date?’

  ‘You’ve reminded me: I must give you your dress back.’

  ‘You can hold onto it for now. You aren’t going to let this wreck everything, are you? I’ve seen the way you look at each other – you’re both completely besotted.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m confused.’

  ‘How does he feel about it?’

  ‘He’s been kind, coming to see me—’

  ‘That’s lovely,’ she cuts in.

  ‘I can’t help feeling it’s out of guilt.’

  ‘He might feel responsible, but Ross adores you,’ Taylor counters.

  ‘He won’t fancy me any more when he sees my face.’

  ‘Surely he saw it when he took you to the hospital?’

  ‘He gave me the impression it wasn’t too bad.’ When I think back, I recall that he was actually non-committal.

  ‘Because he didn’t want to upset you, I expect. Give him a chance, Shannon. I like Ross and I really don’t believe he’s one of those men who is only interested in a woman for her looks.’

  ‘He went out with
Heidi for years and look how gorgeous she is.’

  ‘She looks amazing, but she’s also rude and devious. Her beauty is skin deep and Ross knows that so you can forget about her.’ I open my mouth to argue that I can’t see why he should settle for me with my wrecked face when he could have absolutely any woman he wanted, when she goes on, ‘Concentrate on staying strong.’

  I promise her that I’ll try, but when I’m rinsing my mouth in the bathroom, having waited for Godfrey and the prostate to use it first, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, picturing the horror that lurks underneath the dressing, and my confidence in the force of Ross’s feelings for me washes away like mouthwash down the plughole.

  The following lunchtime, Maz and Emma drop in to see me, bringing chocolates and wine, and a card signed by all the staff, and gently suggesting that I consider initiating a claim against the practice insurance over the incident and taking some time off work. When I talk it through with Mum and Godfrey in the evening, they agree that my lovely bosses are right, although I’m not sure. I’d like to get back to work – I’m missing it – but I don’t see that it’s worth seeing a solicitor about a claim when I won’t be off for long. What’s more, I’d feel like I was being disloyal – the vets at Otter House have been good to me.

  Ross texts and calls me during the following couple of days to let me know how some of our patients are and asking me if he can come and see me, but I can’t face him. He invites me out for a drink too, but I decline the invitation, saying I wouldn’t be good company. His response is to drop by on his way home from work on the Thursday, but he’s late and I’m already in bed, so Mum makes my excuses for me, something I suspect she’s quite happy to do because she’s quite clear that she blames him, while I’m wavering.

  The following day I have an appointment with Nicci, my GP at the surgery in Talyton St George. Normally, I don’t mind seeing her, but today I’m frantic, because she removes the dressing and tells me that I don’t need another one.