‘You’re winding me up.’
‘I don’t know, to be honest. When I first met Cleo, I missed the “care” warning on her notes.’
‘I don’t know how,’ says Shannon. ‘It’s in red with stars and exclamation marks all over it.’
‘You know me,’ Will says. ‘Anyway, I stroked her and gave her a treat. I think she quite likes me.’
‘My theory is that she prefers male vets,’ says Shannon.
‘So she’s a misogynist, as well as being prone to violence,’ I say lightly.
‘It’s a misandrist,’ Will chips in. ‘You’re referring to a man who hates women.’
‘Thank you for that,’ I say, passing him the bag. ‘You’re doing well today. There’s a present here from Jack Pike.’
‘It looks like wine,’ Shannon says as Will pulls the bottle halfway out of the bag.
‘It’s whisky, a single malt. That’s kind of Ed. He shouldn’t have though – I was only doing my job.’
‘Enjoy it,’ I say. ‘You deserve it. I’m sorry I doubted your judgement. You saved Jack’s life.’
Will blushes. ‘At least I managed to get something right.’
He takes the present upstairs to the flat, leaving me with Shannon.
‘You were a bit sharp with Will just then.’
‘Was I?’ Shannon says blithely as she returns Cleo to her cage, straightening the Vetbed inside first.
‘You know you were.’
‘Well, he is a bit of a—’
‘Respect, Shannon,’ I cut in. ‘You have to show him some respect and cut him a little slack. He’s fairly new to all this. You remember what it was like when you started work here, you didn’t get everything right first time.’
It seems that my words have hit home.
‘I still get things wrong,’ she confesses. ‘Like the order for the vaccines. Oh, I’ll try to be nice to him. It’s just that he’s so boring when he goes on about his spiders and lizardy things, and then it takes him half an hour to examine each inpatient in the mornings when it takes you and Emma five minutes max, and he can never make a decision about anything.’
It’s true that Will finds it difficult to make decisions. He asks me through to the consulting room during afternoon surgery. It’s a reasonable call because it’s Cassie, and, as Will says, she’s definitely one of my specials.
‘One more time,’ says Clive. ‘I know, Maz. I’d rather not, but Edie isn’t ready to let her go.’
I admit her and, with Will’s help, put her on a drip to get some fluids into her. She hasn’t been eating or drinking. Her mouth is dry and, when I tweak the skin over her neck, it forms a tent that takes much longer than it should to collapse back down. She’s weak, hardly able to stand, and her breath smells of ammonia.
Within a couple of hours, her condition is worse. She’s throwing up and crying, and I can’t bear to see her like that. I call Clive. Within fifteen minutes, he’s back with Edie. Frances buzzes through to me to let me know they’re here.
‘I thought you should also know, Maz,’ Frances says, ‘that Edie is very drunk. She can hardly stand.’
‘Show them into the staffroom,’ I decide. ‘Kick Miff and Tripod out. Not literally,’ I add blackly. ‘We are supposed to be caring.’
‘Oh, Maz,’ Frances sighs. ‘You don’t have to joke about it. I know you’re upset.’
I don’t say anything. I have to. It’s my way of coping.
Shannon and I take Cassie through to the staffroom where Edie and Clive are sitting side by side on the sofa. Shannon spreads a towel across Edie’s lap and I rest Cassie on top of it. I draw up some of the final injection from the bottle I’ve brought with me.
‘My poor baby,’ Edie sobs.
‘It’s all right, love,’ says Clive, when it’s clearly far from all right. I can smell alcohol on Edie’s breath. Her long hair – dark with a silver streak – is flat and greasy, her purple top is stained and hangs from her bony frame, revealing a grubby bra strap. She’s a wreck.
‘I wish we hadn’t left her this long,’ Clive goes on, stroking Cassie’s head.
‘We gave her a chance,’ Edie mumbles. ‘She came back to us last time.’
‘She’s been a true fighter.’ I don’t understand how Cassie survived this long with the amount of urea she had in her blood. It just goes to show how you shouldn’t rely on lab tests alone. ‘Are you ready, or would you like more time with her?’
‘Put her out of her misery,’ Clive says gruffly.
I slip the needle into the plug on the drip tubing, kinking the tube so the drug goes into the cat and not into the bag. Slowly, I push the plunger, sending the blue fluid swirling through the tubing. Within seconds, Cassie rests her chin on Edie’s hand and utters a low sigh as her body relaxes and her breathing stops. I know before I check for a pulse that she’s gone. I nod towards Clive as Edie is hugging Cassie to her chest, tears running down her face.
‘We’d like her cremated. I don’t like to think of her left outside with the dogs.’ Clive means the ones he’s buried before in the garden at the Talymill Inn. ‘And I’m going to make an appointment to have the kittens tested. I don’t want to see them suffer in the same way. I don’t want Edie to have to worry about them each time they’re off colour for any reason.’ Shannon extricates the cat’s body from Edie’s grasp, then Clive helps his wife up, an arm around her waist. ‘It’ll give us some peace of mind, at least.’
I watch them go, Edie stumbling along the corridor and Clive holding her up.
Shannon looks at me, eyebrows raised.
‘It’s very sad to see her like that,’ I say. It reminds me that some people have problems far worse than mine. Will Clive’s problems be compounded by the kittens’ lab results?
When their results come in after another week, I call Clive straight away.
‘Don’t keep me in suspense,’ he says.
‘It’s good news. They’re both clear.’
‘Thank goodness for that. I’ll tell Edie …’
There’s a long pause and I’m not sure what to say.
‘Actually, Maz, I don’t think she’ll care,’ Clive begins again. ‘She’s at rock bottom.’
‘I’m sorry, Clive. If there’s anything I can do …’
‘There’s nothing anyone can do now. Edie has to decide for herself …’ Clive clears his throat. ‘I’m very sorry too, Maz. I heard about you and Alex. Elsa mentioned it – we buy our sausages from her.’
‘It’s one of those things,’ I say glibly. ‘Clive, I’ve got to go …’ I’m not in a great hurry, but I don’t want to talk. I go home early to spend some time with George.
Alex is in the surgery, tidying up. I offer to help, but he makes excuses. He says it’s something he has to do on his own. He doesn’t seem to be getting very far, I notice, because he’s in the office at midnight with the light on, asleep with his head on the desk. When I check up on him, all he appears to have done is take down his father’s ancient veterinary textbooks off the shelves and stack them up on the floor.
I reach out to touch his shoulder and change my mind.
‘Alex,’ I say quietly, thinking that this is much like waking George. You’re never quite sure how he’ll react. ‘Alex, come to bed.’
He sits up and yawns.
‘I’ve too much to do,’ he says, his voice like shattering ice. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘Can we talk? I could stay and chat while you’re sorting the books out. Shall I go and find a couple of boxes? I’ll bring drinks, and something to eat. You didn’t have any dinner.’
‘Maz, stop trying to mollycoddle me.’
Mollycoddle? What kind of a word is that? It sounds like his father speaking.
‘It’s suffocating,’ Alex goes on. ‘Please go, before I say something I regret.’
‘Alex …’ His name catches in my throat. I take a breath, telling myself to calm down. He’s lost his father, he’s depressed and overworked … He’s a man and he’s ret
reated to his cave to lick his wounds. Well, he can’t stay in there any longer. I’ve had enough of keeping it all together, and taking sole charge of George, and walking on eggshells because I don’t know where I stand. ‘Alex, I need you to make a decision about …’ My heart hammers so loudly, I can hear it echoing around in my head. ‘… us. I need to know if we have any kind of future, because I can’t carry on like this. It’s the not knowing …’ I turn and walk away, stumbling down the steps. I can’t continue. It’s too painful.
Alex doesn’t follow, and I spend another night alone in our big bed. Sometime in the early hours I can bear it no longer and I fetch George from his cot and bring him into bed with me. His warm body and snuffling comfort me slightly and eventually I doze off.
Chapter Nineteen
Dearly Beloved
I WISH I knew what was going on between me and Alex. Sometimes, he seems happier, playing with George and talking to me about life in general, nothing deep and meaningful. Sometimes, he retreats and refuses to talk at all. He sleeps on the sofa, or in Lucie’s room, a matter of great sadness to me, because it suggests that, eventually, one or the other of us will be moving out.
‘It’s time for the old dog to go,’ I say at breakfast on a chilly mid-November morning. Hal was lying on the Axminster in front of the fireplace in the Manor house, incontinent and confused, when I checked on him earlier. (The pony has been banned from the drawing room out of respect for Hal’s feelings.) Sophia asked me my opinion on the dog, although she knew already what it would be.
‘Tell Alexander,’ she said quietly.
‘Your mother wants us to do the deed today,’ I say, watching Alex eating Coco Pops. I bought them for George, but he prefers Cornflakes. ‘Alex, are you listening?’
‘What was that, Maz?’ He looks up from the bowl.
‘About Hal.’ I decide it would be best if Alex comes to his own conclusion – maybe he’ll be more comfortable with the decision to put him to sleep if he thinks it’s his idea. ‘Will you have a look at him on your way out this morning? He doesn’t look too good.’
‘Does he ever? He’s always looked pretty manky, at least for as long as I can remember.’
‘Alex …’ Oh, what’s the point, I think. I might as well save my breath. But then I think of Hal when I kissed him on the top of his smelly old head. He wagged his tail once. That’s all he could manage. ‘Alex, it has to be done. No matter how you feel, whether you’re keeping him going because you can’t face up to making the decision at the moment, or because you can’t bear to lose that link with your father, it isn’t fair on the dog. He’s a poor old thing.’
‘He’s old,’ Alex says snappily. ‘He’s a bit rickety, that’s all. He isn’t suffering.’ He stares at me. ‘But if you think it’s the right thing to do, I suppose I’ll have to bow to your superior opinion, since Father asked you to look after Hal.’
My heart hammering painfully fast, I pick up my mug and walk away. I am furious with Alex for not putting Hal first for some reason known only to himself, but I realise that I can’t push him just yet. I’d hate him to regret the decision afterwards. It isn’t just the patient who has to be ready.
It’s the weekend and I’m off duty, but I find that I don’t want to hang around at home with Alex in this strange, oppressive mood. I stick my wellies on and set out with George in the cross-country buggy. We head for the river valley, singing in the rain. It’s showery and we’re well wrapped up against the cold.
As we reach the footpath at the bottom of the hill, I catch sight of a big black dog. At first, I wonder if it’s Poppy, one of the black Labs who’s followed us from the Manor, but when I call it over, it disappears among the brambles and dogwood. I don’t worry about it – there’s bound to be a dog-walker somewhere nearby.
‘Which song next, George?’ I ask, leaning over to look over the hood of the buggy.
‘Bus,’ he says, grinning in anticipation.
‘We’ve already had that one. Twice. And Mummy made up extra verses.’
‘Bus,’ George insists, so ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ it is.
Several more verses later, we reach the path alongside the river which is in full flow, snaking through the green fields where a flock of sheep are grazing beneath the trees along the edge of the old railway line. You can’t see the bottom today. The water is muddy and stained with iron.
‘Out,’ says George. ‘I. Out.’
I debate for a moment, considering the risks. George. Water.
‘If you hold Mummy’s hand,’ I say rashly. I unstrap him from the buggy and hang on to him by his coat as he toddles across the path to launch himself towards the river. ‘No, George.’ I pull him back just in time. He stamps one foot in the mud.
‘Look at the bird over there.’
‘No derd,’ he says, shaking his head, and I’m thinking, where is a bird when you need one, because I could do with one to distract him? As if in answer, a pair of ducks come flying down, slapping into the water and bobbing away on the current. George claps them. He’s happy now, but the rain that is coming down harder, interspersed with hailstones, as though the man in the clouds – yes, that’s what we call him – is throwing them down in odd handfuls, is seeping through my coat.
As the sky darkens further, a sense of gloom descends over me. It isn’t just about Hal. It’s about me and Alex. What am I going to do if we can’t get talking and turn our relationship around? Hanging on to George, I gaze up at the hills beyond the old railway line. I can’t imagine staying here if we split up. I couldn’t bear it. Everything would remind me of Alex. We first met down here by the river …
Maz, you are not going to cry, I tell myself, but I do squat down in the mud and give my son a hug.
‘Shall we go home?’ I say, pressing my lips to his cheek.
‘No,’ he says.
‘We could have milkshake and a biscuit.’
‘No,’ George repeats, but he pulls away and starts trying to clamber into the buggy. I take him back to the Barn. It’s an uphill slog.
I’d hoped, by going out, to have given Alex the space to work out what he was supposed to do about Hal. In the end though, I have to take the initiative. By lunchtime, I’m not giving Alex the option to ignore Hal’s plight any longer. I hand George over to Sophia who decides to take him out to Talyton to pick up some shopping. She appears to be coping reasonably well – she’s started riding again since the funeral – but she prefers not to be in the house when Hal is put down.
Having helped Sophia persuade George into his car seat and sent them on their way, I fetch the visit case and ask Alex to come and look at the dog who hasn’t budged from the drawing room.
I sit down at Hal’s head and look up at Alex.
‘Do you want to do it here?’ I ask, opening up the visit case beside me.
Remaining silent, Alex holds out his hand for the syringe that’s resting in the lid. I pick it up.
‘I’ll do it, if you want,’ I say gently, noticing how Alex’s hands are trembling. He looks rough around the edges, as if he hasn’t slept for a week.
‘I’ll do it.’ He snatches the syringe from me, and my chest grows tight, my heart is breaking for Alex and for Hal. Where is the cool, devil-may-care attitude Alex used to have? I watch him spray surgical spirit vaguely in the direction of Hal’s front leg. It gets up Hal’s nostrils and makes him sneeze.
‘Aren’t you going to clip a bit of hair off?’ I ask tentatively.
I sensed Alex was upset, but he’s angry now.
‘You mean I’m going to miss the bloody vein.’
‘He is pretty flat,’ I say, referring to Hal’s circulation. It isn’t always easy to find a vein in this situation.
I bite my lip, and a metallic taste seeps across my tongue, as I watch Alex unsheath the needle. Remaining silent, I take a grip on Hal’s leg and raise the vein with my thumb. Alex peers at Hal’s leg, his brow furrowed and I wonder if he can see. It’s a gloomy, overcast day outside. I shift
slightly so as not to block the meagre light falling in through the long windows.
‘Hey, don’t move,’ Alex says snappily, and I feel Hal now shifting alongside me, and I worry that he’s getting stressed because he knows Alex is stressed and it’s making me stressed worrying that this isn’t going to go well.
‘Raise it again,’ Alex says.
‘I am.’
‘Start again. I can’t see it.’
I wrap my hand around Hal’s elbow and press. I try pumping his paw to increase the blood in the vein, but the result is not impressive.
‘I said he was pretty—’
‘I know what you said,’ Alex cuts in. ‘I know. Just raise it again.’
I want to say, don’t speak to me like that. I know why he and his father never had nurses to help. No one would stay if they treated them like that. And I am – or was – supposed to be his fiancée, the love of his life … Comforting Hal, I gaze at Alex, at the curve of his cheekbone and the stubble on his face.
I fight the instinct to touch him, to tell him, no matter how he feels, that I feel the same way as I have ever done, and, no matter what happens, whether or not he has fallen out of love with me, I still love him, and always will …
Aching with uncertainty over how he feels about me, I try to concentrate on the job in hand. My legs begin to cramp as I wait, watching Alex staring at Hal’s leg and occasionally giving it a prod. Poor Hal gazes at me with his clouded eyes, his expression saying, let me go …
‘Alex …’ I say quietly. ‘It has to be done.’
Alex seems to make his mind up and stabs the needle into Hal’s skin. Hal winces as Alex draws back on the syringe. To my alarm, there is no blood. He’s missed the vein. Cursing quietly under his breath, Alex withdraws the needle, then takes a second stab. Still no blood. Hal utters a whine of protest. It hurts. I can feel his pain and I can’t stand it.
‘Alex, stop right there. This isn’t right, and you know it.’
He hesitates, and looks me right in the eyes, and to my horror, I find he’s crying.
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