It's a Vet's Life

by Woodman Cathy

  I pick one baby out of her cot. Ben lifts the other into his arms. I have the briefest hold of the baby, smelling her eggy, newborn scent as I touch my nose to the soft new skin on her forehead. I place her into Emma’s arms as she lies on the bed.

  ‘I don’t know what to do, how to hold her,’ she says, but she’s smiling now.

  ‘Practice makes perfect,’ I say. ‘Have you chosen their names yet?’

  ‘Lydia and Elena,’ she says.

  ‘Which one is which?’

  ‘I’m not sure …’ Emma unwraps the baby she’s holding and examines her neck. ‘This is Lydia – she has a birthmark.’

  ‘Are they identical then, apart from the birthmark, I mean?’

  ‘They aren’t, but they’re pretty similar,’ says Ben.

  Lydia stretches out one tiny arm with an even tinier hand and fingers, and yawns.

  ‘She is gorgeous,’ I say. ‘They both are.’

  ‘Mum would have loved to have met them,’ Emma begins.

  ‘She would have been very proud of you.’

  ‘Sometimes I think I can hear her voice, telling me what to do.’ Emma smiles tearfully. ‘And what she’s telling me now, Maz, is that you have to get yourself out of here. Go home and get some sleep so you’re ready for the big day.’

  ‘But what about you? Will you be all right?’

  ‘Ben’s here now. Go on,’ she repeats. ‘It’s the bride’s prerogative to be late, but don’t keep everyone in suspense any longer. Especially Alex.’ She hesitates. ‘There was a time when I disapproved of you two getting together, but he’s a good guy, in his own way, and he makes you happy. You make each other happy. So, Maz, go. I’ll be here when you get back from your honeymoon. Well, hopefully not here exactly, but at home with Ben and my babies.’

  ‘Thanks, Em. I’ll see you soon though. We aren’t flying until Boxing Day.’

  ‘I almost forgot,’ she says. ‘I bought you a present for the wedding, something blue. It should be with the dress, in a bag from Aurora’s shop.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I kiss her cheek before I leave. ‘Make sure you look after yourself and those babies of yours. Don’t worry about anything else.’

  ‘What about Will?’ Emma says, half teasing.

  ‘Forget about Will. He knows what he’s doing at last. He’s found his feet. I’ll see you soon.’

  ‘You bet. Make sure you bring the piccies as soon as you can.’

  Ben walks me to the exit of the maternity ward. ‘Thank you, Maz,’ he says quietly. ‘I don’t know what would have happened if—’

  ‘Sh. You can always rely on a vet. They’re better than any doctor.’

  ‘I have to say I’m pretty glad you didn’t decide to operate.’

  ‘I would have done if I’d had to.’

  ‘I have no doubt that you would. Go on, Maz. All the best for the wedding, and I’m sorry Emma and I can’t make it.’

  ‘I’ll save you a cupcake.’

  ‘Go!’ Ben says, almost pushing me out into the corridor. ‘Hurry, or we won’t be the only ones to miss out on the wedding.’

  It’s half past two. I text Alex to say that all’s well, then call a taxi to take me back to Talyton St George, deciding to head for Otter House. I don’t want to disturb Sophia at the Manor – the dogs would go wild if I turned up in the middle of the night. I don’t want to see Alex either. Well, I do. There’s nothing I’d like more, but it’s supposed to be unlucky for the groom to see his bride on the night before the wedding, so I restrain myself. By going to the practice, I can check on Miff and let Emma know how she is.

  When I arrive, Miff is up on her feet, sniffing around for breakfast, apparently unfazed that she can’t see with her eyelids sewn shut. Someone – Shannon, I assume – has decorated the front of her cage with tinsel. I text Emma an update before I retire for a quick snooze on the sofa in the staffroom. I don’t know about Sophia, but I need some beauty sleep. My face in the rear-view mirror of the taxi reminded me of the Bride of Godzilla.

  I’d set the alarm on my mobile for seven so I could be at the Manor for the wedding breakfast Sophia’s planned for me and the children at eight, but it’s eight fifteen before I wake up. I check my phone. There are several voicemail messages from Sophia.

  I call her back.

  ‘Maz, where are you? I’ve been frantic.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise what the time was.’

  ‘Just tell me,’ Sophia goes on, ‘is there going to be a wedding today, or not? Only it could be that you’re backing orf.’

  I am getting cold feet, but not in the way Sophia believes. It’s chilly in the staffroom without a blanket or duvet. ‘Sophia, I’m getting married. Today.’ My life is about to change for ever: Ms Harwood to Mrs Fox-Gifford the Younger.

  ‘You shouldn’t have worried.’

  ‘But I do. You do make rather a habit of getting yourself lost. I’ll never forget the day you went missing in the flood.’

  ‘Alex knows where I am. Roughly, anyway,’ I say. ‘I’ve been in touch with him.’

  ‘You haven’t seen him, have you? Really, Maz. I thought the idea was to keep you apart until you meet at the altar. It’s traditional.’

  If she’s such a stickler for tradition, I dread to think what Sophia will make of the cake.

  ‘So where have you been?’

  ‘I would have contacted you to let you know, but I assumed Alex would have been in touch.’ It occurs to me that Sophia could just as easily have walked across from the Manor to the Barn to see Alex herself.

  ‘Alexander sent the children over first thing, and went off to Stewart’s to get ready. I didn’t get to speak to him – I was finishing orf the horses.’ Sophia sighs. ‘In a way, it’s a blessing that the National was cancelled. It might have been too much.’

  ‘There’s always next year,’ I say. ‘I’ve been at the hospital with Emma. We had a few anxious moments. The twins arrived early and in rather a rush.’

  ‘Oh? Are they all well?’

  ‘Emma’s lost a lot of blood and the twins are small, but out of danger.’

  ‘That’s good news then. Where was Dr Mackie?’

  ‘He was delayed getting back to Talyton. He’s with them now, though. Sophia, the wedding is on.’

  ‘Maz, let’s think this through.’

  ‘There’s nothing to think about. I said, the wedding is on.’

  ‘Logistics, dear Maz. It’s like organising Pony Club camp. Have you got time to get back to the Manor, or should I bring everything into town? You can shower and change at Otter House, and Maria can come and do your hair there. It would save half an hour or so. You’re way behind, according to your schedule.’

  I printed out copies of the wedding planner and gave one to Sophia.

  ‘Eight a.m. The bride’s breakfast – champagne and scrambled eggs. You’ve missed out on that. I know, I’ll ask Lucie to bring a basket of eggs. We’ll meet you at Otter House. Don’t move!’ Eventually, Sophia turns up at Otter House with the children and Maria in tow. In the process of texting Alex to let him know that everything is back on track for the wedding, I discover an update from Jennie with a photo of the cake set up ready for the reception.

  I show it to Sophia who, as I predicted, wrinkles her nose.

  ‘That isn’t a cake, Maz. They’re ordinary, everyday buns.’

  ‘They’re cupcakes, and Jennie’s decorated them with our initials, A and M, in red, green and gold. I had to cancel the order for the fruit cake. When I reordered, I had a change of heart.’

  ‘Well,’ Sophia sighs resignedly, ‘you’ve always been a bit of a one for rebelling.’

  Will lets me shower in the flat before we congregate in the staffroom where Sophia cooks chewy scrambled eggs in the microwave and burns the toast. I end up drinking champagne on an empty stomach while Maria does my hair. I don’t mind. I’m not hungry.

  I admire Sophia, how she’s found the strength to carry on after losing Old Fox-Gifford and
find some joy in her life. She has kept it together somehow. I look at her now, dressed in a polo-neck and slacks, her hair stiffly set.

  She’s brought the dress and all the accessories, and umbrellas in case it should snow, or rain, for the photographs. She’s also brought the three children and their clothes. I hope she’s remembered to bring her own.

  To think I didn’t want her anywhere near my wedding at the beginning. As it’s turned out, I couldn’t have done without her.

  ‘Thank you, Sophia,’ I say.

  ‘It’s nothing. It’s good to be needed.’ She sorts through the pageboy outfits – they are very simple, trousers, waistcoat and tie and a sweater if they need one. ‘Come on, Sebastian. You have to wear the tie – Daddy will be wearing one.’ She makes sure Seb is dressing himself before returning to me.

  ‘There’s a present here from Emma.’ She hands me a tiny bag. I open it up.

  ‘It’s a blue garter,’ I say, laughing. ‘Izzy and Shannon bought me one too.’

  ‘You’d better put them both on, before I help you into the dress. And then I have something borrowed for you … My fox fur. I’ve watched how you covet it.’

  ‘Er no, Sophia. You’ve got it wrong—’ I begin.

  Sophia’s eyes sparkle with amusement, and I realise, with relief, that she’s joking. She has her reflective moments, but she’s becoming quite the merry widow.

  ‘If you could accept a loan from me, I have a ring – it was my mother’s and I wore it on my wedding day. Don’t worry, it’s very discreet. I’ll show it to you.’ She takes a small box from her handbag and opens it in front of me. Inside, glitters a simple gold ring set with three rubies.

  I remove it carefully and slip it onto my right hand.

  ‘It’s lovely, Sophia,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’

  To my surprise, Sophia kisses my cheek. ‘I hope you and Alexander will be as happy as Fox-Gifford and I were. Happier, in fact,’ she goes on, with a wry smile.

  At last we are ready, or as ready as we ever will be, and I prepare to leave the practice as a single woman for the very last time. Sophia and the boys take the first turn in the car, a cream Bentley decorated with white ribbons. Lucie and I take the second trip, agreeing on the way that the journey which should have been from the Manor to the church is way too short. I know I’m running late now, but I need time to collect myself. It’s all been too much of a rush, and I’m ridiculously nervous.

  The driver drops us at the gate of the churchyard. Lucie fetches my bouquet and her posy from where Bridget has left the flowers in the porch of the church, while I straighten the dress and tweak the veil.

  ‘How do I look?’ I say, taking a step back.

  ‘Very pretty, Maz.’

  ‘So do you, Lucie.’ The evergreen leaves, roses and berries in her headdress and posy complement her scarlet dress. For warmth, she wears a fluffy bolero cardigan. She hands the bouquet, a cascade of evergreen and red roses, back to me, and we walk along the path together, between the gravestones inscribed with the history of the families of Talyton St George. The sky above us is dark with cloud, as if it might snow at any minute, but I don’t care about the weather. I can’t wait to get inside the church.

  Sophia is waiting inside the porch with the boys. Frances and Lenny are here too.

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt on your big day,’ Frances says, looking flustered, ‘but I have to know what the news is about Emma. I’ve heard she’s in hospital.’

  ‘She’s a little fragile,’ I say, happy to put Frances out of her misery, ‘but she’s going to be fine.’

  ‘And the twins?’

  ‘They’re doing well too. Ben texted me to give me an update. They’re very small, but not unexpectedly so.’

  ‘Thank goodness.’ Frances touches her throat.

  ‘They’ve called them Lydia and Elena. They look like Emma.’

  ‘I should think so. They’d be funny little mites if they took after their dad,’ Frances says fondly.

  ‘Well, neither of them have all that much hair yet,’ I say, with a smile.

  ‘Frances, we mustn’t keep the groom waiting any longer,’ Lenny says, taking her hand. ‘All the best, Maz.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The church is packed – even the extra seats set up at the back are occupied. There are arrangements of Christmas foliage and flowers, holly with scarlet berries, ivy, lilies and roses along the nave and at the altar. I notice, too, that there are lots of hats.

  The organist strikes up the wedding march. It’s a hurried version, more of a run than a march, but I’m tempted to speed down the aisle anyway, because I’m so late. Lucie, to my right, keeps me to a snail’s pace as she imagines befits the occasion. Sebastian walks along in front, breaking into a trot at the end when he sees his daddy.

  ‘Daddy, she’s here – your runaway bride,’ he calls, at which there is a ripple of laughter from the congregation. ‘You thought she wasn’t coming.’

  George, holding on to my left hand, stops to smile at one of the mums and tots from Toddler Group halfway along, and I realise that I’m going to miss Emma being here in more ways than one.

  Luckily, Sophia and Lynsey rescue me, collecting up the three children and taking them aside.

  ‘Thanks,’ I whisper, before stepping aside for a moment to greet my mother and brother with a hug. Fifi, who is standing beside her, looks more like the mother-of-the-bride than the mother-of-the-bride does. My mother is wearing a black mini-dress with a tight-fitting red jacket that reminds me of the gear a biker would wear. I’m pleased to see her, though. I’m glad she could make it, in spite of the bad weather.

  ‘You look wonderful,’ she says quietly. ‘I’m so relieved you turned up – I thought you were going to miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime.’ I can’t help wondering if she’s about to embarrass me in front of everyone – she’s always been good at that. I frown as she goes on, ‘One day, you’ll be lady of the manor. Think of that, Amanda. You’ve done very well for yourself. I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘I’ll catch up with you later, Mum.’ I kiss her on the cheek and make my way to where Alex is waiting for me, his eyes apparently fixed on the angels in the stained-glass window in the wall beyond the altar and choir stalls.

  ‘Alex?’ I say quietly. ‘I made it.’

  He turns and the world seems to stand still. I lift my veil – against protocol perhaps – but I find I prefer not to look at my bridegroom through a haze of tulle. Alex looks me up and down, before gazing into my eyes and mouthing, ‘Maz, you are beautiful …’

  ‘So are you,’ I murmur. Dressed in a suit and tie, Alex looks more handsome than ever.

  ‘I love you.’ He takes my hand and leads me to the altar where the vicar is waiting. Stewart moves up behind us.

  I think I can hear the words, ‘unconventional’ and ‘not in my day’, being uttered among the assembled crowd, our friends and family, but I’m glad I chose not to be given away.

  The vicar welcomes us and introduces the wedding service, before making the declaration, ‘First, I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry …’

  ‘Did he say “awfully”?’ I hear Lucie pipe up.

  ‘Sh, darling,’ says Sophia.

  ‘Hurry up and get married, Daddy,’ Seb joins in. ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘Where my Iss–?’ says George, apparently missing his toy tractor.

  ‘Decorum, children,’ Sophia says. ‘One more squeak out of any of you, I’ll take you outside and you will miss it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the vicar says kindly. ‘Can I go on now and get these people married before Christmas Eve, before Santa starts out on his rounds?’

  ‘Yes,’ Seb says, ‘otherwise we won’t have any presents.’

  I glance behind me to find three children with Sophia, mouths firmly shut.

  The vicar completes the first part of the declaration, and in spite of the fact that I know there is no impediment t
o our marriage, I hold my breath until the vicar continues.

  ‘Alexander Abelard Fox-Gifford, will you take Amanda Harwood to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?’

  There’s a long pause. Lucie, caught up in the excitement of the day, can’t help herself. ‘Say yes, Daddy,’ she calls out. ‘You have to say yes, right now.’

  ‘All right, Lucie.’ Alex turns back to me, and gives me a small, apologetic smile.

  ‘As long as you both shall live …’ the vicar repeats to help him out.

  ‘I will,’ Alex says, his voice gruff with emotion.

  When it’s my turn, I can hardly speak. ‘I will …’

  After the collect and sermon, we sing a hymn, ‘All Creatures Great and Small’. I glance at Alex as he sings out loud and clear, and wonder if he is remembering how we sang the same hymn at his father’s funeral. It’s one of the reasons we chose it for our wedding – as well as the obvious link to us being vets, and the fact that we were confident that the organist could play it – to honour Old Fox-Gifford’s memory.

  ‘Is it finished now?’ Seb says, as the final chords fade away.

  ‘Sh!’ says Sophia. ‘They have to say their vows and Daddy must give Maz the ring.’

  Alex and I repeat our vows after the vicar.

  ‘I, Maz, take you, Alex, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer …’ My chest aches with joy.

  ‘The ring,’ the vicar says. ‘Stewart, you do have the ring?’

  I’m aware that Stewart is patting the pockets of his suit.

  ‘You haven’t lost it?’ Alex says worriedly.

  ‘Course not,’ Stewart smiles. He places the ring on the vicar’s prayer book. The vicar says a few words, then passes the ring to Alex.

  ‘Maz,’ he whispers. ‘Your hand. The other one.’

  I hold out my left hand, and Alex slides the ring partway onto my finger.

  ‘Maz, I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage. With my body I honour you, all that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you.’ Alex slides the ring the rest of the way, and my eyes fill with tears.