To my relief, there’s no sign of Mr Maddocks and his son, but, as if to make me out a liar, someone has moved the post so the pony is grazing on a fresh area of grass with a bucket of water within reach.
‘She was tethered over there.’ I point out the bare patch of ground. ‘I suppose you’re going to say there’s nothing you can do.’
‘Let’s not be too hasty,’ Jack says. ‘It doesn’t do to rush in.’
There’s something in the tone of his voice that makes me wonder, as I watch him take several photos of the mare and her environment from a distance, if he could be referring to me and the way I rushed into my relationship with Nathan. As soon as I accepted Nathan’s proposal, I was bowled over and bowled along like a tumbleweed in the desert, unable to stop, to get a grip. Buying the dress, choosing the flowers, booking the church and the vicar: it was relentless. I realise it sounds like a pathetic excuse, but I didn’t have time to pause to take a breath, let alone reflect on the consequences.
‘Come here then, pony,’ Jack calls softly, putting his mobile in his pocket. She gives him a warning flick of the heels to keep his distance. He hesitates and lets her settle before moving closer, keeping his eyes averted and his body side-on to her to reduce the level of threat, which makes me smile, in spite of myself, because no one could ever describe Jack as threatening. He’s both soft-hearted and intensely masculine, an irresistible combination, but although he has many women admirers, he’s not had a serious relationship since me, as far as I know. Not that he’s a monk. He’s had his share of girlfriends.
I gaze back towards the pony, one female who isn’t impressed by Jack’s manner and physical attributes, for she decides he’s come close enough, spins around and runs towards him with her head down, charging like a rhino. With lightning-quick reflexes, Jack turns and legs it. The pony reaches the end of her tether and pulls up sharply, as if she knows exactly how far she can go, rears up and stamps her feet down twice, before standing there, tossing her head, ears back and grinding her teeth.
‘That’s one angry little mare,’ Jack observes.
Like me, I think, amused at how she behaved towards him. I admire her fighting spirit, and wonder what has happened to her to make her so feisty.
‘I’m not going to get near her, am I?’ Jack says ruefully. ‘I’ll go and have a chat with Frank to see if I can resolve this without taking further action.’
‘Is that enough?’ I say quickly.
‘I don’t see why not, if he agrees to call a vet to check the sores on the mare’s legs. It’s one of those grey areas that I come across all the time,’ Jack explains. ‘The pony’s condition isn’t great, but she isn’t the worst I’ve had to deal with. It isn’t a clear-cut case of neglect. There isn’t enough evidence to prove in a court of law that Frank Maddocks has broken the Animal Welfare Act. Don’t worry though: I’ll be keeping a very close eye on him.’
But I do worry, I think. I hate to see an animal suffering.
As if reading my expression, Jack goes on, ‘I’ll be giving him a formal warning.’
‘Can’t you take the pony away?’
Jack shakes his head. ‘Much as I’d like to remove all of Frank’s animals, I can’t.’
‘Surely you can do something.’
‘I don’t make the laws.’
‘That sounds like a cop-out to me.’
‘My hands are tied,’ Jack says simply. ‘I do what I can. I can’t do any more than that.’
‘What’s happened to you? Where’s your compassion?’ I want to stamp my foot in frustration on the pony’s behalf. ‘Do you want to know what I think?’
Jack stands with his arms folded and his head to one side. ‘No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me …’
‘You’ve been in this line of work for too long. You’ve grown hard, uncaring and cynical.’
‘How can you say that?’ A shadow falls across his face. ‘I take my job very seriously. I care, Tess. I care more than you will ever know.’ He turns away and we walk back towards the pub, Jack several strides ahead of me until we reach the stile where he stops and waits for me to clamber over. I’d prefer him not to watch because I am not one of those lucky people who can do stiles with any elegance.
‘Tess, I have something to say,’ he says as I stumble off the wooden step on the other side. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry? Oh, if this is about personal stuff, Jack, I don’t want to hear it.’
‘Please, I need to get it off my chest.’
‘I don’t care because it’s too little, too late,’ I say bitterly. ‘And you should be sorry for what you did to me, and the way you broke me and Nathan up.’
‘I’m not apologising for that,’ he says. ‘What I’m sorry for is wrecking the wedding in front of all your family and friends. Listen—’
‘Why should I?’ I interrupt.
‘I tried to contact you before, in private. I called you and texted you the night before. When you didn’t respond I dropped by at your parents’ house, but your mum wouldn’t let me in.’
‘Jack, you had no right to cause a scene.’
‘I wanted to rescue you.’
‘For goodness’ sake, you’re so melodramatic. I’m twenty-eight years old – I don’t need rescuing.’
‘You saved me once. You saved my life.’
‘If I hadn’t been there, someone else would have stepped in,’ I say, remembering.
‘They didn’t though. You did.’ Jack holds out his left arm. ‘There’s the proof.’
‘Jack, I really don’t want to see.’ I do look though – due to my interest in healing, of course, not because the sight of his taut, bulging bicep is irresistibly fascinating, all muscle and tendon. Leading down to the crook of his elbow and beyond is a long, purple scar, evidence of what happened at that party, the one Jack held for his friends to celebrate his sixteenth birthday when his parents were away celebrating a wedding anniversary in a hotel in Talymouth, and without their consent.
It was dusk on a warm summer evening, and we were dancing, drinking and kicking about in the garden. There was some horseplay going on between the boys, and I was consoling Katie on the fact that one of them whom she particularly liked had failed to call her as he said he would (it sounds like nothing, but it’s the end of the world at the age of sixteen), when there was a yell and a crash, followed by the sound of shattering glass.
‘Jack. Jack!’ Someone swore. ‘You’re bleeding.’
Within a millisecond, I was at his side. He was sitting on the ground, surrounded by gleaming splinters, his hand pressed to the crook of his elbow and blood spurting out between his fingers.
‘Call 999!’ I shouted as I squatted down beside him. ‘Jack, I’m here,’ I said, looking around frantically for something to stop the bleeding.
‘I feel … weird,’ he muttered.
‘It’s okay,’ I said, stripping off my vest.
‘What are you …?’
‘I’m making a tourniquet. Don’t look,’ I added, ferociously aware that his eyes were straying towards my bra. ‘Now, let me wrap this around your arm.’
As I tied my vest around his elbow, an arc of blood hit my chest and a wave of nausea rose in my gullet. Jack winced as I tightened the material, applying as much pressure as I could, being careful not to drive any glass that might be in the wound any deeper or dislodge it and cause more damage, the single useful snippet of advice that I’d learned as a Girl Guide.
‘There’s an ambulance on its way,’ Katie said, pushing her way through the assembled crowd. ‘It’ll be here in ten minutes and it’s already been two minutes at least since I was on the phone,’ she went on, reading my expression of near panic, ‘so it’s only going to be eight minutes, seven now …’
The tourniquet was dark and sodden with blood, and I needed another layer of material to bind over the top.
‘Katie, give me your blouse,’ I said, ‘and your belt. Now! This isn’t the time to pretend you’re shy.’
Katie provided her blouse and one of the boys handed me a belt. I wrapped both items over the top of the makeshift tourniquet and tightened the belt above Jack’s elbow. His face was growing pale, his skin clammy and cool. Trembling, he tilted towards me and fainted, and all I could do was hold him in my arms, inhaling the sickly, mingling scents of musk, crushed tomatoes and illicit alcohol from a couple of bottles of elderberry wine that I’d filched from my dad’s cellar.
‘Stay with me, Jack,’ I begged. ‘Jack. Don’t go to sleep!’
‘Don’t leave me, Tess,’ he slurred.
‘I won’t leave you.’ The words caught in my throat. ‘I promise.’
I could feel him relaxing into me. I checked his breathing, which was almost imperceptible, like the kiss of a butterfly against my cheek, and an overwhelming sense of grief washed over me as I realised I was losing him.
‘Jack’s parents,’ I called up to Katie. ‘Has someone contacted his mum and dad?’
‘It’s here. The ambulance!’ someone screamed. ‘Let them through.’
The paramedics took over. The police arrived, and my dad turned up too, having been summoned by Jack’s parents, who were making their way straight to the hospital. Dad took one look at me, handed me his jumper and said, ‘All right, folks. The party’s over.’
The party was over, but soon after, our romance began. I recall visiting him at his house once he was discharged from the hospital, taking him grapes for a joke, and sitting with him outside on a bench near the greenhouse from which his parents had removed all the glass as a safety precaution a little too late. I remember his scent of mint and recently applied aftershave, and how his arm – the good one – crept along the back of the bench and slid down onto my shoulders, and how I turned and gazed into his eyes, my pulse bounding as I read the intensity of his expression, not one of brotherly affection this time, but desire.
He moved closer until our lips touched, igniting the fires of teenage passion, and that was that. We saw each other virtually every day, kissed a lot and gave each other little notes, presents and tokens until Jack went away to college, when we decided, by mutual agreement, to call it a day. It seemed the sensible thing to do, but it felt like the end of the world, and, until Nathan came along, I was never sure that I was over Jack.
‘You saved my life,’ Jack repeats, as we approach the pub once more. Is this why Jack feels that he owes me? Is this why he walked into my wedding? Is this why he’s still hanging around?
‘I don’t want to remember,’ I say firmly. I look at his expression, gentle, straight and inordinately sad, and my heart twists with regret. ‘Jack, I don’t understand. I didn’t need some self-appointed knight in shining armour blundering in to rescue me. So what if my fiancé was sleeping with someone else? It was none of your business. And if you did it out of jealousy’ – who’s blundering now, I think, annoyed with myself for letting that idea slip out – ‘then I’m sorry. Since we broke up and went our separate ways, I’ve never thought of you in a romantic way, not once,’ I go on, my words drowning in the vehement sound of water rushing through the mill race alongside us.
‘I heard you, loud and clear,’ Jack says sharply, and with neither triumph nor satisfaction I watch him stride away into the bar and disappear. If Jack was lying about Nathan, then I am as bad as he is because I’m lying too.
Another memory flashes into my mind of when my parents were hosting a house-warming party. They hadn’t done anything much to it, except clear out the glasses from the bar of the old pub, and drink the barrels in the cellar dry. Anyway, there were nine children, including me, Jack and his sister. The younger kids – I thought I was so mature, being one of the oldest at twelve – were continually pestering us for squash and biscuits, so Jack suggested a game of sardines.
‘What do you think?’ he said, addressing me and his sister, Libby. ‘We can hide from this lot,’ he added, flashing me a cheeky grin. Jack explained the rules of the game and elected Libby as searcher. When she began counting up to one hundred, we scattered. I hid in the cupboard in the spare room upstairs, sitting in the dark, listening to the footsteps and shouting from other parts of the house. One set of footsteps grew closer and the door opened, letting in a crack of daylight.
‘Tess, is there room for a small one?’ Jack said in a whisper.
‘Course,’ I said. ‘Quickly,’ I added as he scrambled in. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘I watched you.’ He pulled the door shut and sat down beside me, almost on top of me, with his weight against my leg. I remember sitting there unsure which leg was his and which was mine, tingling with pins and needles. I wished I could have stayed in that cupboard for ever.
Walking up past the willow trees in the beer garden, I return to sit with Katie, who’s texting on her mobile. ‘Anything interesting?’ I ask her as she presses ‘send’.
‘I lead a very dull life,’ she responds, dropping the phone back into her bag. ‘How did it go with Jack?’
‘It was pretty hopeless really. He isn’t going to do anything for the pony apart from talk to Mr Maddocks, and I can’t see any point in that.’
Katie frowns. ‘I wasn’t asking about the pony. I was asking about him and whether he said anything about what happened at the wedding.’
‘He tried to apologise, but it’s irrelevant now.’
‘I reckon he made up that stuff about Nathan being unfaithful because he didn’t want anyone else to have you. I don’t think he ever got over you.’ Katie casts me a sideways glance. ‘I used to wonder about you too, before Nathan came along. You used to fancy Jack like mad.’ I start to deny it, but Katie continues, ‘We used to joke about it. Don’t you remember? Before you and Jack got together, you used to hang around town, wishing you would spontaneously combust so he could rush in and rescue you. I’m surprised you didn’t burst into flames – you were pretty hot for him. And when you broke up, you were gutted.’
‘All right, maybe I was.’ I hold my hands up. ‘But I don’t feel anything for him now,’ I add hastily. ‘Can we change the subject, please?’
We talk about the progress of the sale of the house – mine and Nathan’s – Katie’s work at the beauty salon and the salon’s plans to diversify into male waxing. It’s almost like old times and I feel much happier when I return to my parents’ house later in the evening, where they are playing bridge with friends.
‘Fancy a glass of rosé?’ Dad asks me, throwing peanuts into his mouth.
‘No, thanks.’
‘Party pooper,’ he calls after me as I head into the kitchen and extract a mug from the pile of dirty crockery by the sink, rinse it out and make myself a tea before going upstairs to my room to have a word with my aunt.
‘You didn’t tell me you’d taken Jack Miller on as animal welfare officer,’ I say.
‘Didn’t I?’ There’s a long pause, too long, and I smile to myself when she continues, ‘It must have slipped my mind.’
‘Sure,’ I say with irony.
‘It really shouldn’t concern you, Tessa. You’ll be based at the Sanctuary while Jack’s field-based. He’ll be on the road most of the time.’
‘I’ll still see him though.’
‘He’ll be collecting and delivering animals, but I can’t imagine that will be every day.’ Fifi sighs. ‘You really mustn’t let your personal issues get in the way of what is a wonderful opportunity for you to get back on your feet. Of course, you’ll have to settle your differences with Jack eventually.’
‘There’s no way—’
‘Think of the animals.’
‘I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t want him anywhere near me.’ I feel as though I’ve been deceived. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I knew what your reaction would be. You would have turned it down.’
‘Yes, I would.’ I hesitate. ‘I am turning it down.’
‘You must never let a man get in your way. Whatever happened to girl power?’
‘I think yo
u’ll find that that went out with the Spice Girls,’ I say, amused. My aunt likes to think she’s in touch with modern culture, but she’s several decades behind the times.
‘Listen. Maz at Otter House has been absolutely wonderful, but she can’t keep the black dog there at the surgery any longer, he has to be moved out tomorrow – and there are three orphaned ducklings that Mrs Dyer’s Great Dane rounded up by the river that she’s bringing with her because she hasn’t got anywhere to keep them. So, whatever you decide, there will be animals arriving at the Sanctuary.’ I hear the desperation in my aunt’s voice, and I think of the black dog confused and abandoned in the kennel at the vet’s. ‘Tessa, they need you,’ Fifi continues. ‘We need you. For the sake of the animals, if nothing else, please, please don’t turn this opportunity down.’
Chapter Five
Ducks in a Row
A COUPLE OF days later, I’m collecting the rest of my belongings from the home that was mine and Nathan’s. I check I’ve picked up everything from the vast open-plan kitchen-diner, the one the estate agent described as perfect for the growing family when we bought the house, and I recall standing arm in arm with Nathan, my heart overflowing with joy as I pictured the high chair pulled up close to the breakfast bar, the baby’s bottle on the tray and the toys and teddies strewn across the laminate floor. There’s nothing left in this room now that belongs to me, not even a single happy memory of my time here with my ex-fiancé.
With the very last box of make-up, paperbacks and shoes in my arms, I look back at the front of the house, at the windows glittering in the sun, and I feel sick with the realisation that that is all our relationship was, a façade.
‘Hurry up, Tessa,’ Katie calls from her car, which is parked on the drive. ‘You said you didn’t want to run into Nathan.’
The Village Vet Page 7