The Village Vet

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘Come on, little one.’ I pick up one of the baby blue tits to clean out the toilet tissue nest. The chick is so delicate that I’m afraid that I’ll snap its legs or crush its chest. The slightest movement of air ruffles the blue and pale yellow down on its body. ‘Let’s make you comfortable.’

  ‘How are they doing?’ Jack asks.

  ‘I thought one was dying when I admitted them, but it’s still here, alive and flapping.’ I place the chick back into the nest alongside its sibling. ‘There you go. You have a good snooze and I’ll be back in half an hour. Keep eating like that and you’ll grow big and strong.’

  ‘You make a good mum – I mean, as in mummy bird,’ Jack says awkwardly. ‘Which flying school are you planning to send them to?’ he continues, teasing.

  ‘Jack!’

  ‘It’s good. It shows you care.’ Jack hesitates. ‘You know you’ve changed, Tess. You’re quieter somehow, less happy …’

  ‘It’s hardly surprising, is it? Not so long ago, I was about to be married to a lovely guy’ – okay, so there’s a hint of the rose-coloured spectacles going on – ‘when my whole life fell apart.’

  ‘It isn’t all that bad, surely?’

  ‘I gave up a good job as head nurse at a practice in Exeter, thinking I’d soon be having babies. I did some maternity cover for four months before the wedding – Nathan didn’t like it. He said he’d prefer it if I supervised decorating our house, but I knew I’d miss work if I gave it up altogether.’

  ‘He must be doing pretty well for himself,’ Jack says enviously.

  ‘You haven’t heard, have you? It was all a front. There is no money. Nathan set up his own business, but it failed. He’s declared himself bankrupt so he gets off virtually scot-free.’

  ‘Really?’ Jack’s brow furrows. ‘The bastard!’

  ‘I’m left paying off my credit card bill for the reception and honeymoon which I didn’t get to go on and Nathan did, and when the house is sold – it’s on the market now – I’ll still have a few thousand that I owe as my share of the joint mortgage. Thanks to Nathan, I’m drowning in debt.’ I pause, wondering why I am telling Jack this when it has nothing to do with him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Tess. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’m here if you need a shoulder to cry on.’

  ‘As a colleague,’ I say quickly.

  ‘Of course,’ he says, in a slightly mocking tone of voice, and I kick myself inwardly for being so prissy.

  ‘I’m lucky to have this job,’ I say, changing the subject, ‘although I have no idea how long I’ll be staying here.’

  ‘What do you mean? I thought you’d signed a year’s contract.’

  ‘I haven’t seen any paperwork yet, and anyway, with the committee and my aunt at each other’s throats, I imagine my contract could be cut short at any moment.’ It all comes spilling out.

  ‘Is there any way I can help?’ Jack says.

  ‘Pick me the winning lottery numbers, perhaps. I can’t think of anything else.’ I lean back with a sigh. If I close my eyes, maybe everything will go away. Including Jack. I open one eye. Maybe not Jack. It’s good to have company, and he is good company, or do I just feel that way because he’s the only company I have at the moment, the single person in my life who doesn’t go on about the wedding and what a shame it was?

  The Fray’s ‘How to Save a Life’ is playing on the radio that I left on for the baby birds.

  ‘I take it the dog stopped barking,’ Jack says. ‘You see, I was right when I told you to leave him alone.’

  Should I enlighten him? ‘Oh yes,’ I reply. ‘He was quiet all night.’

  ‘Good. Look, I’ll go and get Libby now,’ he says.

  ‘It’ll be good to see her again,’ I say, glad to have some space. It’s rather warm in here, and it has nothing to do with having my hands inside the incubator.

  Chapter Six

  Early Birds

  IT’S THE MIDDLE of May and I’m still here. The baby birds are more voracious than ever, getting through mealworms by the kilo, and DJ has finished the stables at last, although I’m still tripping over the cupboard doors and pots of paint. The apple blossom is on the trees and I’ve seen a little owl, nuthatches and a green woodpecker in the grounds of the Sanctuary. After a couple of weeks, I’m beginning to feel more at home and more convinced that I know what I’m doing.

  Yesterday, Jack took the first feral cats – there are three of them – to succumb to the temptation of tinned pilchards in tomato sauce to Otter House vets for neutering, and today, Libby, who has been volunteering daily for the past week, is helping me out with the routine chores.

  We’re in reception, taking a break, although I’m still working, investigating ways to raise funds for the Sanctuary with a fun day and a ball, having discussed various possibilities with Diane and Wendy when they dropped by for a couple of hours at the beginning of the week, ostensibly to help, although I suspect it had more to do with keeping an eye on the place as it appears there is still tension between them and my aunt.

  I have dismissed Diane’s desire for a jumble sale as too much work for too little return. Although she argued that the WI used to make lots of money from their jumbles, Wendy reminded her of the near riots that happened at the last one, at which someone broke their arm, tripping in the crush at the doors of the church hall, and two people were tackled for stealing jumble. A fun day and a ball sound far more entertaining – and much safer.

  I glance away from the laptop, another second-hand donation to the Sanctuary, towards Libby, who sits very still on one of the office chairs that were given to us by a friend of Wendy’s. You can tell that Libby is Jack’s sister by the striking family resemblance in the light blonde hair, which she wears in a boyish crop, the brown eyes and the expressive mouth. Dressed in a pink T-shirt and fraying jeans with a white plastic apron over the top, she is stroking a well-endowed custard-coloured rat that sits on her shoulder with his long, naked tail draped behind her neck. He was found abandoned under the footbridge over the river a couple of days ago.

  ‘To think he would have starved if those people hadn’t noticed him,’ she says. ‘They could have at least undone the cage door, so he could get out and search for food. He’s so cute.’

  I have to say I don’t warm to him as I do to the dogs and cats. There’s something off-putting about the twitching whiskers and red eyes. I wonder if I would like rats more if they had hair on their tails. He nuzzles at Libby’s hair. Someone must have loved him once, just not enough.

  ‘Why do people take on rats if they’re going to give them up?’ I muse aloud. ‘It isn’t as if they live for ever. You would have thought they could stay the course.’

  ‘Talking of courses, I think films like Ratatouille have a lot to answer for,’ Libby says. ‘If I was a little kid, I’d feel let down if I took on a real rat and discovered it was nothing like Remy and couldn’t cook soup,’ she adds with a giggle. ‘I’m going to speak to our neighbour, if that’s all right with you, Tessa. Ally has three sons and a dog. I do some babysitting for her now and then, and I know the boys would love to have another pet. What shall we call him though? He needs a name.’

  ‘How about Nathan?’ I blurt out.

  Libby raises one eyebrow. ‘Isn’t he your ex?’ When I nod, she goes on, ‘Isn’t that a little unfair?’

  ‘Nathan is a rat,’ I say.

  ‘I mean that it’s unfair on the rat,’ she chuckles, her face dimpling, ‘but I think the name suits him.’ She detaches the newly christened rat from her hair and lowers him back into his cage. ‘He can stay indoors here for now, can’t he?’

  ‘I guess so,’ I say with a sigh. Soon, there will be more animals living with me in the bungalow than in the rest of the Sanctuary put together, because I’m still smuggling Buster in to be with me every night. There is a steady stream of new arrivals, more animals turning up than leaving. In fact, Jack is carrying a bright red cat-carrier with the next one across the
car park right now.

  ‘Allow me to introduce you to Teddy,’ he says with a smile, as he places the carrier on the desk. ‘He’s a tabby and white domestic shorthair, about two years old, and he’s been living with his current owner for a couple of months. They saw him advertised online as needing a home and couldn’t resist, but unfortunately for everyone involved, Teddy proceeded to make their elderly cat’s life a misery, ambushing her on the litter tray and guarding the cat flap, so they decided he had to go, and here he is. He’s all yours, Tess.’

  ‘And mine, for now,’ Libby says. ‘I’ll take him.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll print off a record card and join you in the cattery in a mo.’ I turn back to Jack. ‘Are you collecting the ferals from Otter House later, or am I?’

  ‘I’ll get them,’ he says, frowning, and I regret being sharp with him. It must have been an attempt to hide my reaction to his presence, because I’m still confused by him, by the difference between the man who strode up the aisle in the church, determined to wreck my wedding, and the man who is here now, rescuing stray and unwanted animals. ‘Do you need a hand with Teddy?’ Jack asks.

  ‘I think Libby and I can manage one small cat between us.’

  ‘Okay,’ Jack says quietly. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  Once he’s gone, I join Libby in the cattery. Teddy is already in a run, hiding under a piece of veterinary bedding on his shelf with just his tail hanging down over the edge, the end twitching dangerously.

  ‘I’m sorry, Tessa,’ Libby says. ‘I should have left him in his carrier so you could look at him first. There’s something wrong with one of his paws – he went ballistic, hissing and spitting at me when I let him out.’

  I pick Teddy up, along with his bed, and examine him, wishing I had not been so quick to dismiss Jack, because I could do with his help. Libby doesn’t have the confidence yet to hang on to a stroppy cat that’s growling and lashing out in every direction, but I can see enough to confirm that Teddy has an abscess – one paw is swollen to twice the size of the others. I call Otter House to book him an appointment, wondering about the story that Teddy’s owners have spun to Jack, and suspicious that this is more about them being unable to afford vet’s bills than Teddy’s alleged intimidation of their other cat.

  ‘I’ll have to call Jack to ask him if I can borrow the van,’ I observe as Teddy heads straight back for the relative security of his shelf. Although I’m perfectly entitled to use the van, I don’t like having to ask Jack, but that’s how it is.

  ‘You know, Jack’s truly sorry for what he did,’ Libby begins as she clips Teddy’s record card to the door of his run. ‘I wish you could forgive him, so we could all be friends again.’

  ‘That’s a little naïve, isn’t it?’ I realise I’m sounding harsh, but that’s because I’m not sure I want to discuss it, but Libby is determined to stand up for her brother.

  ‘He has the best of intentions’ – Libby looks at me, her lips curving into a small smile – ‘especially where you’re concerned. He likes you, Tessa, and always has done.’

  ‘He has a strange way of showing it,’ I say grudgingly.

  ‘He was gutted when he found out you were engaged,’ Libby goes on.

  So he was jealous, I muse, confused and embarrassed at the thought that Jack has feelings for me, that he might still harbour hopes of becoming more than a friend.

  ‘I wish you weren’t telling me all this, Libby,’ I say. I feel awkward seeing Jack anyway, and this revelation isn’t going to help. Does he really like me? I wonder. After Nathan, I’m not sure I want to find out. I shall never understand how the male brain works. ‘Have you got a boyfriend, Libby?’

  ‘No,’ she says, her eyes soft with regret. ‘I don’t think anyone would have me.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘It’s my epilepsy.’ She raises her hand to her temple. ‘It seems to be under control at the moment with the drugs, but I could have a fit at any time. It would take someone incredibly special to take me on. I can’t drive, I can’t work full-time because I get tired and I’m not sure I could be alone with a baby or small child if I had kids …’ To my alarm, because I hate seeing anyone upset, a tear rolls down her cheek.

  ‘Jack said you were okay, that you hadn’t had a fit for ages.’ I watch her expression change. ‘You have?’

  ‘I was at work. It was nothing much. My hand started twitching and I couldn’t use the till – it does that before …’

  ‘I see.’ Libby doesn’t have to spell it out.

  ‘I’ve been in touch with my consultant and he’s tweaked my medication. I hope it will settle down again. It’s the electrical activity in my brain that causes it – the wiring went wrong somewhere along the line.’ She pauses. ‘I forgot, you’ll know about that. I assume dogs and cats have fits.’

  ‘They can do,’ I say, ‘but I’m more concerned about you.’

  ‘I haven’t told Jack because I can’t bear him fussing over me. I know he means well, but he drives me mad. And I should have told you.’ She stares at me, biting her lip. ‘This always happens to me. You won’t let me stay here now.’ She rips her apron off and thrusts it into my hands. ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘Libby, stop!’ I run after her as she disappears outside, catching up with her partway down the track leading towards the lane. ‘Please. Let’s talk about this. I’m sure we can—’

  I watch her stumble to a stop and slump down beside the hedge, sitting with her legs bent up and her chin resting on her knees, gazing straight ahead.

  ‘Do you mind if I join you?’ I say, sitting down beside her. ‘Are you okay?’ I ask eventually.

  ‘As okay as I’ll ever be.’ She turns to me. ‘Tessa, this is it. This is my life.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ I pluck a blade of grass, idly wrapping it around the base of my ring finger as we talk.

  ‘She said I could tell you,’ I say to Jack when he returns from taking Libby home and visiting Otter House to drop Teddy off and collect the feral cats. (Teddy is staying the night at Otter House, having been sedated to have his abscess lanced and thoroughly flushed.) I’m in the kennels when Jack arrives, feeding Buster. ‘She thought I’d say she couldn’t work here if I knew, but that isn’t the case. It’s better to be prepared if anything should happen while she’s here. Jack, please don’t be angry with her.’

  ‘I can’t believe she kept it from me,’ he says brusquely. ‘What if she’d been here on her own?’

  ‘She hasn’t been on her own,’ I point out, ‘and she hasn’t had a proper full-on fit either. She might never have another one.’

  ‘But if she had, she could have been lying here hurt, or worse,’ Jack says. ‘If she has a prolonged seizure that goes on for more than two or three minutes, she could end up with further brain damage. Tess, I don’t think you realise how serious this is. Libby could die.’

  ‘I realise that,’ I say after a pause, ‘and it must be a terrible thing to have hanging over you – for Libby, you and your parents – but you can’t stop her coming here.’ I open Buster’s kennel door and ask him to sit before I place the bowl of food – chicken casserole in gravy with a biscuit mix – in front of him. He dives forwards and gobbles it down. ‘Libby loves the animals,’ I go on as Buster chases the bowl across the floor in a frantic attempt to lick it clean.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Jack says, shaking his head.

  ‘Please, Jack. You need to trust her.’

  ‘How can I when she’s been lying to me? To our parents?’

  ‘She says she’s managing it. She’s taking her medication as prescribed, and she gets a few hours’ warning before she has a fit, so she can remove herself to somewhere that’s safe. Jack, I’ll do a proper risk assessment, and as long as we make sure there’s always someone else on the premises, and everyone knows what to do, there’s no reason at all why she shouldn’t volunteer.’ I relax a little to try to lighten the mood. ‘We need all the volunteers we can get.’

 
; ‘I know.’ Jack runs his hands through his hair. ‘It’s just that I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to her. She’s my little sister and I’ve looked out for her since she was born.’

  ‘She’s twenty-four,’ I say. ‘I understand where you’re coming from, but you can’t keep watch over her for ever. She has to be free to live her life as she chooses. If you forbid her to come here, you’ll make her hate you.’ I pause, remembering Libby’s desire that I should treat Jack more kindly. ‘Lecture over. Let’s get these cats released back where they belong.’

  ‘Maz says they’re ready to go,’ Jack says, and I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s still talking to me. ‘She’s given them names, but it’s pretty obvious which is which.’

  I follow him out to the van where he’s left the rear doors open to allow the air to circulate, so the cats don’t overheat. He passes me one of the traps, and brings the other two over himself. ‘The scrawny black and white one is called Scabby; the ginger one with its tail missing, No-Tail; and the grey long-haired one which is almost bald since they shaved it, Knotty.’

  I have Knotty. He lies cowed in the trap, keeping his eyes on me, the enemy, and uttering a strangled yowl when I speak to reassure him.

  As we take the traps around to the rear of the bungalow, the early evening sun disappears completely behind the clouds and it starts to rain. The weather isn’t ideal, but it’s warm and the cats will be happier outside in their own surroundings, so Jack and I open the traps and stand back, watching and waiting, and it isn’t long before two of the cats fly out and disappear into the bushes, whereas Knotty, who seems a bit slow, takes a few minutes to realise that only a couple of steps lie between him and freedom. When he does leave the trap, he stalks across the lawn, picking his paws up high as if he has an aversion to wet grass.

  ‘He’s a bit of wuss,’ Jack observes, as the rain starts to turn his sweatshirt a darker shade of blue. ‘I reckon he was a pet that’s gone over to the wild side.’