It's a Vet's Life

by Woodman Cathy

  ‘Nothing’s right, is it?’ He swears and throws the syringe onto the floor, the needle sticking into the Axminster and staying there. Alex gets up and goes to the window, standing there, facing out with his head in his hands. I listen to the clock on the mantelpiece ticking.

  ‘You do it, Maz,’ Alex mutters eventually, and he stays where he is while I fetch a fresh needle and a piece of bandage to use as a tourniquet to raise the vein. When I return, Hal beats his tail once against the carpet.

  ‘Good boy. Let’s get this over with, shall we?’ I clip the hair from his leg to give myself a better view of the vein, raise it, and, having planted a kiss on the top of Hal’s head, I slide the needle into the vein. I’m in, and Hal has hardly noticed. I release the tourniquet and inject the drug into his system. Within a heartbeat, his head slumps onto my arm, he utters a sigh and falls into unconsciousness. I watch the side of his chest, the dying flutter of his heart, feel the tears roll hot down my cheeks.

  ‘Goodbye, old chap,’ I murmur, stroking his crumpled ear before getting up and moving away. ‘He’s gone,’ I tell Alex, at which he walks back over and sits down, lifts Hal’s head onto his lap and howls, crying for him in a way he never did when his father died that day, and I’m crying too, and I want to comfort him, but something holds me back.

  I sit down opposite Alex with the dead dog between us, symbolic of our relationship perhaps. I don’t know how long we stay there, the three of us growing cold as the other dogs come in and out, milling around to sniff Hal’s body as if they are trying to make sense of what has happened, and say their farewells. Poppy, the young Labrador, spends ages with her nose pressed to Hal’s mouth.

  The damp wood in the grate in the fireplace sends up a curling wisp of blue smoke. It needs a good stir up with the poker, as Old Fox-Gifford used to do, but no one has bothered.

  I am choked up, but it was the best result for old Hal. I can console myself with the fact that he led a charmed life with Old Fox-Gifford looking out for him, fathering those puppies of Saba’s, the Labradoodles, and a good death, but Alex is distraught.

  ‘Aren’t you going to move him?’ I ask eventually, but Alex doesn’t reply.

  ‘We could move him together?’

  Alex doesn’t want me here, I can feel it. He doesn’t want anything more to do with me.

  I wonder about moving the dog alone. I don’t want Sophia or the children coming across Hal’s body.

  ‘What about the arrangements for Hal? I assume you’ll want him cremated and his ashes back.’

  Alex shakes his head. ‘Of course I bloody well don’t. I’m not soft. And even at cost, it’s too damned expensive.’

  ‘Alex! Your father wanted his ashes back so they can be buried with him.’ I pause. ‘If you’re so worried about money, I’ll pay.’ I lean towards him slightly. ‘And don’t you dare tell me you’re too bloody proud to accept.’

  ‘Maz, just shut up, will you? I’ve made my mind up. I don’t need to analyse every bloody decision I make. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t require counselling. What I want is for everyone to shut up nagging me.’

  I stand, my heart aching for him. For us.

  ‘Alex,’ I say quietly. ‘I can see that my presence in your life is causing you grief. If you want me and George to move out, let me know. But,’ I add, ‘if that’s what you choose, I’m making it clear that I won’t be coming back. I’ve made mistakes. I know I’m not the perfect fiancée, or the perfect mother for that matter, but I’ve been doing my best to hold everything together, and, if my best isn’t good enough for you … I love you … Always will …’ I can no longer speak. It doesn’t matter though, because I have nothing left to say. It’s over.

  I watch him kneel and stagger up with Hal’s body in his arms. As he heads towards the double doors out to the garden, he trips on the curling edge of the carpet, and struggles to keep his balance and his hold on Hal. I duck forwards to grab Hal’s front end with one hand, and open the doors with the other.

  ‘Where do we put him, Alex?’

  ‘In the freezer here?’ Alex’s eyes are puffy, and his nose is red.

  ‘What, and you’ll call the crematorium? Wouldn’t it be better to put him in the back of my car so I can run him down to Otter House? We have a regular collection, and our freezer isn’t full. There’s room for one more.’

  ‘All right. Back up then. We’ll go through the house.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It’s a long way round otherwise.’

  ‘Do you think we should cover him up?’

  ‘There’s an old throw on the chair. Use that,’ Alex says. ‘You can let go now. I’ve got him.’

  Eventually, after some manoeuvring, we get Hal into the back of my car on a plastic sheet, with a throw over the top. It’s rumpled, and both of us reach out at the same time to smooth it down. Our fingers touch. Neither of us moves.

  ‘Maz?’ I hear Alex’s breath catch and feel the lightest pressure of his skin as he slides his hand over mine. I look up. For the first time in weeks he seems to have lost his cold, buttoned-up look. His eyes look moist. Is he crying again? A pulse beats erratically at my throat. ‘I’m sorry …’ he says. ‘I’ve been a complete and utter bastard. I was angry with you for interfering when you were doing it for all the right reasons. You had to go through my father killing himself and me rejecting you because I was jealous that he chose to talk to you, not me, before he died and that he asked you, not me, to look after the dog.’

  I shrug my shoulders. ‘You shut me out,’ I point out. ‘You made me feel as if you didn’t care. You haven’t confided in me, or talked about what happened with your father’s will. You told me before that the estate was mortgaged to the hilt and I can only assume from your reticence that the situation is now much worse. Alex, I wish you didn’t bottle things up.’

  ‘Oh, Maz, this isn’t about money. Mine and my mother’s financial state is about the same.’

  ‘Why couldn’t you say that before? It wasn’t that difficult, was it?’

  It’s Alex’s turn to shrug. ‘As I said, I’m sorry … I mean it.’ He slides his fingers between mine. ‘Where’s your ring?’ he says suddenly. ‘I noticed you’d stopped wearing it. Ages ago.’

  ‘I know. I kept forgetting to take it off at work, so I put it away, and then I was so busy …’ I hesitate, realising how this must have looked. ‘Alex, did you think I was deliberately choosing not to wear it?’

  ‘I began to think you’d changed your mind about marrying me. The ring disappeared. You were complaining about how hard it was to plan a wedding … Maz, what’s a man supposed to think?’

  ‘You could have just come straight out with it and asked me where it was.’

  ‘I was afraid of what you were going to say. I know you came into this with your eyes wide open, or so you said – I thought with George, the parents and the daily grind, that you’d changed your mind about … about us.’

  ‘It isn’t always easy,’ I admit. ‘Alex, what happened?’

  ‘You didn’t put up much resistance over cancelling it.’

  ‘The wedding. I was gutted, but you were adamant. I couldn’t see any prospect of changing your mind. You can’t force someone to marry you. You can’t make someone love you. Anyway, the ring’s in the safe at Otter House. I didn’t know what to do with it.’

  ‘So you’ve kept it? I thought you might have pawned it, or thrown it in the river,’ Alex says, with a tiny flash of humour. ‘I wouldn’t have blamed you.’

  I turn to look at his face.

  ‘But you do blame me,’ I say.

  ‘I know.’ Alex lifts my hand from the dead dog, and without letting go, we step away and Alex shuts the boot. We stand side by side, hand in hand, looking towards the fields and naked trees. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how I feel. I resent the way he’s hurt me, yet I’m also hopeful that this is the beginning of a reconciliation because, no matter how he’s behaved, I want him back. I’
ve been lost without him.

  Eventually, I squeeze Alex’s fingers. He squeezes back – hard, and the gobstopper of doubt in my throat begins to dissolve.

  ‘Maz, do you think … can you ever find a way to forgive me?’

  I catch sight of a pair of seagulls swooping across the grey sky.

  ‘I realise how much I’ve hurt you,’ Alex goes on. ‘I can’t take it back, but I can promise you it will never happen again.’

  ‘Now you’re blaming yourself. We’ve both done things wrong. I could have – no, should have – been more supportive. I should have trusted you. You’re big enough and –’ I was going to say ugly enough, but when I look into his eyes, I am reminded of how beautiful he is, how he can still take my breath away. His fingers tighten around mine, and he leans towards me until I can feel the warmth of his lips against mine. ‘Oh, Alex …’

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmurs.

  I’ve missed being close to you, I echo silently. It will take time for us both to forgive and forget what has passed, but for now I live in the moment, taking comfort in his embrace. It’s as if I’ve been dead, and with each kiss, he’s gradually bringing me back to life.

  We’re together, but I have no expectations beyond that. Hope, yes, but it’s fragile, waxing and waning over the next few days, as Alex begins to come to terms with his father’s death.

  One evening I return home from work in the dark with George to find Alex waiting for us in the Barn.

  ‘You’re early,’ I say.

  ‘I postponed my last call to vaccinate a couple of ponies out in a field.’ Alex turns to George. ‘They might have eaten their carrots, but I’m not stumbling around in the dark and the mud. Besides, I have other plans for tonight.’ He looks at me, and his lips curve into a smile that hints of mystery and anticipation. My heart lurches. ‘First though, Mother’s asked us to get the mare and foal in. Lisa had to go home early, and Mother’s going along with Mrs P to play bridge. You don’t mind, Maz?’

  I don’t have much to do with the horses, if I can avoid it, but I’m happy to help out occasionally. Alex persuades George to wear a coat and hat, and straps him into the buggy, giving him a toy tractor to keep him occupied for a few minutes.

  ‘Shouldn’t he have his snowsuit on?’ I say. ‘It’s freezing.’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Alex grins. ‘Let’s get this done.’ He parks George outside Liberty’s stable and fetches a head collar and foal slip, and together, we head out to the paddock where the horses are waiting at the gate. Liberty whickers, recognising Alex. He catches her, while I try to get hold of Shezza, who appears to have changed her mind about coming in.

  ‘Stand still and let her come to you,’ Alex says. ‘That’s it,’ he goes on, as I slide the slip over her head. Alex opens the gate and leads Liberty through, while Shezza prances about beside me all the way to the stable. We let them go and watch them settle, Liberty pulling at the hay in her net, the foal lying down in the bed of shavings.

  ‘She’s grown, hasn’t she?’ I observe. ‘Look at those legs.’

  ‘I’d rather look at yours,’ Alex says, nudging me.

  Is that his rather clumsy way of saying the old Alex is back, I wonder? I’m not sure. I turn my attention back to the foal.

  ‘When will you start her?’ I ask.

  ‘I’ll begin with some long-reining when she’s two, then I can back her lightly at three, turn her away and bring her into proper work at four. That’s the plan anyway.’

  ‘It seems such a long time …’

  ‘Some things are worth waiting for,’ he says gruffly. ‘Maz, I meant to wait until George was in bed, but …’ He turns to me, goes down on one knee on the concrete and takes my hand. With the other hand, he fumbles around in his coat pocket, pulling out a ring, my engagement ring.

  ‘Maz, I thought, after what happened, that I shouldn’t take anything for granted, so here we go.’ A pulse of joy throbs at my throat as he continues, ‘Will you marry me?’

  ‘Alex, of course I will.’

  ‘Really?’ he says. ‘I thought you might have changed your mind.’

  ‘There were times when I was all for walking away,’ I say quietly, ‘but my feelings for you haven’t changed. So yes, Alex, I will marry you.’ Trembling, I stretch out my left hand. Alex slides the ring onto my finger where it glints in the light above the stable door.

  Standing up, he wraps his arms around me and presses his lips to my hair, my cheek, my ear … I interlink my fingers around the back of his neck, and breathe his warm, musky scent.

  ‘Let’s set the date,’ he murmurs. ‘For the wedding,’ he adds, as if I don’t know what he’s talking about.

  ‘I suppose it will have to be sometime next year now.’

  ‘I don’t want to wait,’ Alex says abruptly. ‘I thought we’d revert to the original date in December.’

  ‘That’s next month, Alex.’

  ‘So? We can do it. I’ll do my share of the organising this time. Please?’

  ‘If you’re certain.’ It makes sense, I think. We can still have our Christmas wedding.

  ‘I’ll advertise for an assistant and book the honeymoon. Maz, I want to make it up to you. I’m here for you now, and always will be, I promise. For better, for worse.’

  Eventually, he releases me and we walk back across the yard with George.

  ‘So,’ Alex says later, ‘how did you find the perfect assistant?’

  ‘You mean Will?’ I smile. I’m sitting on the sofa. Alex is lying down on his back with his legs crossed over the arm, and his head in my lap. George is tucked up in bed. The fire is burning in the grate, the guard clipped across, and Alex’s faint aroma of antibiotic and mints mingles with the fragrance of pinewood. ‘He isn’t perfect yet, but he’s getting there. He’s worked out a real-life approach to cases and charging for them at last, and he’s learned to speak what I suppose you’d call clientese, so they actually understand what he’s talking about. Emma and I put an ad in the Vet News. I thought I showed it to you.’

  ‘You may well have done, but I would have ignored it back then, thinking you had an ulterior motive, trying to convince me I needed an assistant when I didn’t want one.’ He adds, ‘When I didn’t think I wanted one … I’ve been a stubborn bastard, haven’t I?’

  ‘Alex!’ I bash him lightly over the chest with a cushion.

  ‘What did you put?’

  ‘“Keen new graduate wanted for friendly country practice. Small animals only.”’

  ‘That was wrong.’

  ‘Only by one goat,’ I point out.

  ‘Will could have you for misrepresentation,’ Alex teases. ‘What else?’

  ‘“One in three rota”, although that’s going to change when Em has her babies …’

  ‘Cluck, cluck,’ says Alex. ‘You sound broody, Maz.’

  ‘No more,’ I say quickly. ‘Not yet anyway.’ I return to the subject of the advert. ‘The real hook was the mention of doughnuts. I’m sure that’s why we had so many enquiries. Several applied, we had a shortlist of three and Will was the best candidate for the job. Except, funnily enough, he isn’t that keen on doughnuts. He only plucked up the courage to tell Emma the other day that he preferred flapjacks.

  ‘Seriously though, Alex,’ I continue, ‘you have to decide what you’re offering and what kind of person you want for the job. Do you want to train up a new graduate, or take on someone with experience?’

  ‘Considering what you’ve gone through with Will, I’d have to choose an experienced vet – as long as they’re not too set in their ways. Maz, you mustn’t let me talk myself out of it.’

  ‘I shan’t, don’t you worry. I’ll write the ad for you, if I have to.’ I stroke the side of Alex’s face, feeling the prickle of his stubble and the heat of his skin against my fingertips.

  ‘You haven’t got time to write the ad,’ Alex says eventually. He takes my hand and kisses it. ‘You’ll be too tied up with reorganising the wedding.’ He hesitates
. ‘Chill, Maz. As I said, I’m going to help this time, and I’m sure Mother will want to contribute. It would keep her occupied and her mind off, well, you know …’

  I smile wryly.

  ‘Alex, we’ll never be ready. It’s too short a time. I struggled to plan everything when I had five or six months, let alone less than five weeks.’

  ‘We’ll do it,’ Alex says. ‘Stop looking at me as if I’m mad. I know I’ve been useless recently.’

  ‘With good reason,’ I cut in.

  ‘Maybe. Losing my father was a massive blow. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I’m back on track now though. I’ll still have dark moments when I feel like I’m in a tunnel with no end in sight …’ He clears his throat. ‘We didn’t always get on. In fact, there were many times … Oh, it doesn’t matter now.’ Alex sits up and shifts around to embrace me. ‘What does matter is … you, me and George … and the wedding.’ He kisses me on the tip of my nose, and fresh flames flare from the fireplace. ‘I love you, Maz.’

  ‘I love you too …’

  What is the first thing I do? I call Emma the next morning to let her know that Alex and I are back on track and the wedding is on. After that, I call the vicar to re-book the church – which isn’t a problem – and Elsa at the Barnscote to talk about the reception – which is. I contact Clive.

  ‘Clive, I have a favour to ask.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ he says.

  ‘I’m planning a wedding. It’s back on.’

  ‘That’s great. I couldn’t understand why it was off in the first place. You two are made for each other. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks, Clive. Anyway, we were going to have the reception at the Barnscote, but it’s too close to Christmas and they’re fully booked. And then I remembered that Izzy and Chris held their reception at the Talymill Inn.’

  ‘Yes, we don’t normally do wedding receptions. They’re all right in the summer when you can put a gazebo up on the lawn, but in winter, the venue is – well, snug,’ Clive says. ‘I suppose what I’m saying in a rather long-winded way, Maz, is that yes, we’d love to host your reception, but it depends on how many guests you’re expecting.’