I take it, swirl it around as though it’s medicine that requires mixing, and knock it back.
‘I can’t believe he’s gone,’ I say, as Emma pours me another, and juice for George and herself. ‘He said he wanted to have a word with me, so I went to see him, assuming it was about the accident yesterday – when he ran into the lamp post and I reported him to the police because he drove off. Em, I couldn’t bear to think of him carrying on driving, causing an accident and wrecking lives, because he was too stubborn to admit he couldn’t do it any more. I feel so bad.’ I want to curl up into a ball and hide. ‘This is all my fault.’
‘Of course it isn’t. Old Fox-Gifford made his choice.’ Emma frowns. ‘It couldn’t have been an accident?’
I shake my head slowly. ‘It was no accident. He threatened to kill himself. I thought I’d talked him out of it, so I left the surgery to find help. I thought Sophia should be with him. Then there was this huge bang …’ I shudder. ‘Why did they let him keep that bloody thing? You would have thought, after what he did to Hal, someone would have made him give it up.’
‘I ’ungry,’ says George.
‘Again? You’re always hungry.’
He nods, his expression serious, and I allow myself a small smile. Life goes on …
‘Where’s Alex?’ Emma asks when we’re watching George devouring pasta and tomato sauce. ‘I don’t want to intrude, Maz.’
‘I think he’s up in the surgery.’ I want to be with him at a time like this, but he’s saying goodbye to his father, and then, I guess, he’ll have to talk to Ben and the police, and be there to comfort Sophia. I’m part of the family. I shall be a Fox-Gifford by Christmas. Unless. A tiny doubt springs into my mind. It spreads like strands of cancerous tissue throughout my brain. How can there possibly be a wedding so soon with Old Fox-Gifford dead?
I am guilt-ridden for even thinking about it, gutted at the thought that all that work and planning might go to waste, and devastated that we might have to delay our marriage. And then I’m more angry than ever at Old Fox-Gifford for wrecking everything. The shot might have lodged in his brain, but the consequences of his death will ricochet through the family, his friends and the Talyton Manor practice for a long time to come.
‘There’ll have to be a funeral first,’ I say aloud.
‘First?’ says Emma.
‘Before the wedding … it doesn’t seem right.’
Emma reaches out and holds my hand. It’s comforting.
‘I held his hand,’ I say, remembering.
‘It’s a human instinct,’ says Emma, and I recall that she’s seen more human death than I have, with her dad dying suddenly when she was in her teens, her mum dying from cancer, then the miscarriages and the loss of baby Heather … ‘Maz, would you like me to ask Ben to prescribe you something to help you sleep tonight?’
I shake my head. ‘He’s already asked me. I’d rather not. I need to be compos mentis for George.’
‘What about arranging a meeting with a counsellor? Maz, you have just been through the most harrowing experience.’ Emma talks about post-traumatic stress while the memory of Old Fox-Gifford’s demise replays in front of my eyes over and over again.
‘Maz. Maz? Have you heard a word of what I’ve been saying?’
‘I’m sorry, Em.’
‘Why don’t you go up and have a warm bath?’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re shivering. I’ll look after George.’ Emma smiles. ‘I need the practice. In fact, I need all the practice I can get. Come on, George, let’s go and run Mummy a bath.’
‘It’s all right,’ I say. ‘I’ll do it.’
I go upstairs to the bathroom. Having undressed, I glance at the mirror. I look haggard. In the bath, I scrub myself clean with soap and hot water until my skin stings.
‘Shall I stay?’ Emma asks when I return downstairs. ‘I know, I’ll stay until Alex is back. I don’t think you should be alone tonight.’
‘I’m not alone.’ I wave towards where George is sleeping on one end of the sofa, and Ginge the other. ‘I’m never alone.’
‘You know what I mean.’ Emma makes my mind up for me, saying she’ll sleep in Lucie’s bed.
‘I sleep in Loose’ bed,’ says George cheerfully. Loose is his name for Lucie.
‘I don’t mind,’ says Emma, looking at me.
‘There won’t be room for you, the babies and George,’ I say, afraid that George will accidentally kick her in the stomach. ‘He isn’t a good sleeper.’ It occurs to me that he might not sleep at all because he had an unusually long nap today, as if he understood something bad was happening and chose to sleep through it. It also occurs to me that, if I’d taken George to see his grandfather this morning, Old Fox-Gifford might still be alive.
When I tell Emma of this theory over another small vodka, she dismisses it.
‘Don’t torture yourself, Maz. He would have done the deed eventually.’
‘Yes, but I’m sure he wouldn’t have done it if George had been with me. I would have had time to get him some help.’
‘Do you really believe he would have accepted it? Of course he wouldn’t. The fact that you said he was tidying up the paperwork, and that he asked you to go and see him so he could talk about Hal, suggests he had this planned.’ Emma strokes her bump. ‘He could have had it planned for years.’
‘He always said he wanted to die in harness. He didn’t want to be turned out to grass.’
‘He wasn’t the retiring kind, in more ways than one,’ Emma sighs.
‘I can imagine he always wanted to go out with a bang, and he succeeded there,’ I say blackly. Whenever my conversation with Emma falters, I can hear the ringing of the shot in my ears.
‘Where is George?’ Alex’s voice cuts into my consciousness. It’s strident and harsh, but my heart lifts. I stand up from the stool in the kitchen and walk across towards him, holding out my arms, but he bypasses me without even glancing in my direction. He bends down and whispers in George’s ear to wake him before sweeping him up from the sofa.
‘Dada, Dada, Dada.’ George clasps his hands around Alex’s neck and kisses his cheek.
‘Hello, Son,’ Alex says quietly, while I look for clues as to how he is feeling. His face is impassive, unreadable when he turns to me. I recognise that look, yet I don’t recognise my fiancé. I begin to shiver again. He’s brought the evening chill in with him.
‘Emma.’ He acknowledges her with a nod of his head.
‘I came as soon as I heard the news,’ she says, getting up to greet him with a brief hug. ‘I’m so sorry, Alex. How is Sophia?’
‘She’s in shock,’ says Alex gruffly. He lowers George to the floor.
‘If there’s anything Ben and I can do, just say.’ Emma takes George by the hand.
‘Thanks.’ Alex bites his lip.
‘I’ll take George up to bed and read him his favourite bedtime story,’ Emma says. ‘What do you like best, George?’
‘Poteman Pah,’ says George, sticking his fingers into his mouth.
‘Postman Pat,’ I say, translating. ‘I’ll be up to kiss him goodnight.’ I turn back to Alex.
‘Will you take the phone, Maz?’ he says. ‘It won’t stop ringing. It’s upsetting Mother no end.’
‘Of course. What if someone wants a visit?’
‘Then you can hand it over to me.’ Alex makes to move away, but I stop him, my hand on his arm.
‘How about you, Alex? How are you?’
His eyes are dry, his mouth set in a grim straight line.
‘All right, I suppose.’ He shrugs, and reconsiders. The barrier between us lifts briefly when he adds, ‘Numb,’ and falls again.
My chest tightens with the agony of feeling that I can’t reach him. He isn’t going to let me.
‘Would you like me to come back over to the Manor with you?’
He shakes his head.
‘How is Hal? Is he with you?’
‘My father has just died an
d all you can ask after is the dog?’ Alex swears.
‘That isn’t fair, Alex,’ I say, hurt.
‘Isn’t it?’
‘I asked because your father asked me to take care of Hal.’
‘He did, did he?’ The muscle in Alex’s cheek tautens. ‘Was this before or after he found out that you reported him for driving away from a major accident? I know all about it. He rolled into a lamp post at what, two miles an hour, when he was turning out of the car park at Otter House. Kevin – PC Phillips – told me.’
‘He shouldn’t have done—’
‘It was good of him to let me know, seeing you were too cowardly to mention it yourself. What were you thinking of?’
‘Alex, you’re upset.’ I’m crying again.
‘Of course I’m bloody upset.’ Alex hesitates.
‘Alex, will you hold me? Please …’ I sob, clutching blindly at his clothes. I sense he is torn. He lifts my hand and plants a cool kiss on my skin, making me feel more hopeful. He wants to go through everything again, as I have done with the police and Emma, because I was the last person to speak to Old Fox-Gifford. And I don’t really want to relive the scene, but I do it for him.
‘So what else did you say to him, exactly?’ Alex’s breath smells sour. ‘He was my father. I need to know what happened, Maz.’
‘I don’t know, Alex. He killed himself.’
‘Bloody hell, Maz. You were there.’ Alex steps back, his eyes dark with anger. ‘What did he say?’
‘He asked me to meet him at the surgery. I assumed he was going to have a go at me about reporting him to the police, which he did.’
‘And?’
‘He was going through the bills. He had the gun on the desk and Hal at his feet.’
‘Go on.’
‘He closed the gun and rested it on the journals so the muzzle was pointing towards him. Then he asked me to look after Hal. He’d tried to put Hal down himself – whether with the gun, or by injection, he didn’t say.’
‘Did he say why?’ Alex says. ‘Why did he decide to …?’
‘He didn’t explain, apart from showing me a letter from the Royal College with a date for a preliminary hearing over the ram vasectomy he missed. He said he couldn’t live with the shame of being struck off the register. I told him it wouldn’t come to that.’ I sigh deeply. ‘I tried to stop him, but when has he ever listened to me? When has he ever listened to anyone?’
I feel slightly drunk, my mouth furry and my tongue not moving with its usual synchronicity.
‘We talked about him having to give up his job, about the possibility of him adopting more of a consultancy position, rather than being hands on. It was my idea – I thought it would help.’
‘You what?’ Alex says. ‘You said what? What business is that of yours?’
‘You wouldn’t speak to him. What else could I do? Carry on watching you being ground down, losing clients, possibly losing the practice altogether because you couldn’t talk to him about giving up? You’re the coward, Alex.’
I wish I hadn’t said that. I wish I could take it back, but it’s too late.
‘Alex, I didn’t mean it,’ I say, in desperation. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I’ve got to get back to Mother,’ he says curtly, turning on his heels.
‘Oh, Alex … Don’t go. I’ll come with you. Let me be there for you, please.’
‘Goodnight,’ he says, cutting me short.
I watch him leave. He’s in control. He’s bolted, chained and padlocked his emotions in a metaphorical chest at the bottom of the ocean, and thrown away the key. I wonder how long it will be before he releases them, before he can start getting back to normal, whatever the new normal will be now that Old Fox-Gifford is gone.
Emma returns downstairs and pours me another vodka. We sit on the sofa until Emma is nodding off and I send her off to bed. I remain, not caring about the cold or the dark. I am numb like Alex, but not comfortably so.
Chapter Seventeen
All Creatures Great and Small
‘ALEX DIDN’T COME home last night,’ I say to Emma when we’re in the staffroom at Otter House, during a break. I had a few days off before I came back to work. I could have taken longer, but Alex doesn’t need me – it seems as if he can’t bear me anywhere near him – and I’d rather keep busy. ‘He hasn’t slept at the Barn with me and George for three days. He says he doesn’t think his mother should be in the old house alone.’
‘I can understand that,’ Emma says.
‘I don’t mind, but …’
‘It’s early days, Maz.’
I know that Emma is right. I can’t help feeling hurt though that Alex hasn’t been over to spend an hour or so here and there with George, at least. George is a toddler. He doesn’t understand that his grandfather has died. For myself, I guess I’m yearning for some reassurance that everything will work out in the end, because our relationship hasn’t felt all that strong recently. Alex even made it clear that my presence wasn’t welcome when Old Fox-Gifford’s will was read.
‘I’d almost prefer it if Sophia stayed with us, in Lucie’s room.’
‘I expect she wants to be in her own home, with her memories of Old Fox-Gifford,’ Emma says. ‘How is she?’
‘Wretched.’
‘And the funeral arrangements?’ Emma lowers her voice. ‘Everyone’s expecting a fitting send-off.’
‘I’ve offered to help, but Alex and Sophia are making plans together. I believe Fifi has a hand in them as well. She’s been up to the Manor with quiches and salads, and jars of coffee. Ben has visited again, and it seems that the vicar can hardly keep away.’ I sit back on the sofa with Tripod on my lap. ‘Actually, everyone’s been really helpful and supportive.’
‘As they should be,’ Frances says, entering the staffroom with the phone. ‘Old Fox-Gifford was quite a character.’
I smile to myself at some of the double-edged tributes Old Fox-Gifford has received. For ‘character’, read ‘difficult old bugger’.
‘Frances, have you been eavesdropping?’ Emma says, amused.
‘You two, you speak so loudly …’ Frances hands me the phone and a note. ‘It’s Robert at Headlands Farm – he wants Alex to visit.’
‘I’ll call him.’ We’ve been fielding all the calls for Talyton Manor Vets during the day, and I’ve managed to provide advice for a couple of Alex’s clients, but Robert is definitely a special. I contact Alex on his mobile.
‘Hello, darling,’ I say. ‘How are you?’
‘How do you think?’ he says brusquely, making me wish I had been more tactful and not asked. I’m not sure where I stand with him at the moment. ‘What’s up?’
‘Robert wants a visit. I wondered if you wanted me to hand it over?’ When I say hand it over, I mean to the nearest large animal practice which has helped Alex and his father out in a crisis before.
‘I’ll go.’
‘But—’
‘I have to go. It’s what Father would have expected.’
‘Alex—’
‘I’d appreciate it if you came up to sit with Mother. Mrs P has gone out. It’s bridge night.’
‘I’ll have to get George from nursery on the way.’
‘Whatever,’ he says. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘I wondered if it would help if Emma took your calls while she’s on duty tonight. She offered.’
‘Maz, leave it.’ Alex swears.
‘I’m only trying to help.’
‘I don’t need it. I can manage perfectly well myself. In fact, I’ll take the phones back now, thank you very much,’ he adds, dismissing me and cutting the call.
I stare at the phone, my eyes pricking with tears. Emma reaches over and takes it from me, resting it on the arm of the sofa. She pats my shoulder.
‘Don’t take it personally, Maz,’ she says. ‘Alex must be devastated. He’s been going out and about with his father since he was a boy, and he’s worked with him for years.’
‘It fe
els like he blames me.’
‘He’s taking it out on you because you’re the person he’s closest to. It’s no excuse, but it’s understandable.’ Emma pauses. The patting stops. I shift away from Emma’s touch. ‘You see, you’re pushing me away now,’ she goes on. ‘It’s a natural reaction.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Alex might have reacted very differently, if Old Fox-Gifford had had a stroke, or cancer. His father chose to die. I can’t imagine how Alex must be feeling.’
‘I know,’ I say quietly. I’m trying to be strong and hold it all together for George, but, like a sandcastle on the tideline, I’m preparing for the waves to overwhelm and wash me away, because I’m grieving too, for Alex.
Thanks to Old Fox-Gifford, I’m not sure that anything will be the same again.
‘I’d better go,’ I tell Emma.
I take George to the Manor. His presence does help, I think, because he’s someone to care for. He picks up on our sorrow, but it doesn’t impinge on him in the same way. Life goes on, I guess.
Sophia holds him, carries him to the window of the drawing room, and looks out into the darkness that is falling over the sweep of parkland beyond.
‘I’d better let the dogs out,’ she says out of the blue, her voice constrained. ‘He always let the dogs out at seven. And nine,’ she goes on. ‘He loved those dogs. They were his life. That’s why I don’t understand.’
Sophia doesn’t understand, and she was the person who was closest to him. I don’t say anything. I don’t know why he did it, although I am beginning to take comfort in the realisation that it wasn’t my fault. Old Fox-Gifford had many issues that could have triggered his decision to end it all.
‘You know, Maz,’ Sophia begins again, ‘I truly believe that he put those dogs before me. I’m not sure he ever loved me. He never said as much.’
‘He did say to me once when he was talking about the attributes of a good wife, that he couldn’t have chosen better … Yes, those were his words. “I couldn’t have chosen better.”’
Sophia turns towards me, touching her throat.
‘Did he really? That doesn’t sound like my husband.’
‘That’s what he said.’
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