The Village Vet

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘And I reckon we should go inside,’ I say, water dripping down the back of my neck. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,’ I point out lightly. ‘Come on, I could do with a drink before I give the babies their last meal of the day.’

  In the kitchen, having abandoned my shoes in the hallway, I search for mugs, finding two on the windowsill while Jack goes to the fridge for milk, passing so close I can feel the hairs on his arm. Trying to ignore the blip in my pulse and the vague ache in my chest, I pour the boiling water into the mugs. Jack passes me the milk carton, his fingers brushing lightly against mine. I glance up and he looks away.

  The contact, intentional or not, is the last thing I want, or seek, yet it sets up a ripple of longing through my body. In spite of Nathan, I miss being close to a man – any man, I tell myself sternly as I catch up the teabags and give them a good squeeze, not Jack in particular.

  ‘You don’t have to slum it in the office. You’re welcome to join me.’ I direct him to the living room. ‘Take a pew.’ I wish I hadn’t put it that way – we aren’t in church now. I sit on the sofa while Jack settles on the armchair, pink-faced, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake in inviting him into my home. If he does, as Libby suggests, have feelings for me, am I encouraging him?

  In another life, I might well be tempted to encourage him, I muse as I gaze at his unruly blond hair, his steady expression and the soft light in his eyes. Having been forced into Jack’s company, I’ve been reminded that he is a very attractive man: handsome, not flashy; masculine, not arrogant. In addition, Jack is caring. There aren’t many men who are interested in rescuing cats and dogs and ponies, and, thinking of ponies, I ask him if he’s had any more to do with Mr Maddocks.

  ‘I’m on the case,’ he says. ‘That’s all I can say for now.’

  ‘The pony’s safe though?’

  ‘I’m monitoring the situation.’

  ‘Is that a euphemism for doing nothing?’ I know Jack’s hands are tied, but I can’t resist pursuing the subject because I want to be sure he’s doing enough. The pony needs help, even if she has a funny way of showing it.

  Frowning, Jack shakes his head. ‘I know where she is and I’m making daily visits. I’m not ignoring it, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I hate to think of her standing in some field up to her knees in mud in the rain, thirsty and starving because Mr Maddocks has forgotten her, or can’t be bothered, whatever his reasons are.’

  ‘Well, it isn’t down to ignorance,’ Jack says. ‘He’s kept all kinds of livestock for years. I think it has more to do with his chaotic lifestyle and lack of income.’

  ‘I really think you should put the pony first. She behaves as if someone’s beaten her up,’ I point out. ‘She’s scared of people, but then you’ve seen what she’s like,’ I continue, backing down. Who am I to go telling Jack how to do his job?

  ‘If you must know, Frank has taken her back to the smallholding he rents by the industrial estate – he’s got her in a postage stamp of a paddock, so she isn’t tethered at the moment. She has access to hay and water, and I’ve confirmed that Frank’s made an appointment for Alex, the vet, to call in on him. I’m sure Alex will impress upon him the importance of keeping her in a dry and hygienic environment.’

  ‘Will Mr Maddocks listen to him?’

  ‘Everyone listens to Alex Fox-Gifford. He has a definite air of authority and he’s persistent. Between the two of us, I think we can make Frank Maddocks see sense.’

  I shake my head. ‘It’s so frustrating though. Why does it have to take so long?’

  ‘It’s the nature of the beast. Look, why don’t I take you over to see the pony next time?’

  ‘What about Mr Maddocks?’ I’m not sure I want to see him again. ‘Don’t you ever worry about your safety? I know from working in practice that where animals are concerned, people’s emotions are often running high.’

  ‘Frank is all mouth. I’m not afraid of him. There are others I wouldn’t have wanted to have met on a dark night, a couple whom I testified against in court in a case that resulted in them having their dogs taken off them and a lifetime ban on keeping animals.’ Jack picks up his mug and sips his tea. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m visiting Dolly next – that’s what Frank calls the pony. It’s Dolly after his grandmother, the woman he thought was his mother when he was growing up as a boy. She was pretty rough too, by all accounts.’

  ‘Why do you make excuses for him, Jack?’

  ‘I’m not making excuses. His attitude is vile, but I have got to know him over the years. Welfare investigations aren’t merely about the animals. They’re about the people who are involved too, and many of them have issues with relationship breakdowns, substance abuse and poor mental health.’ He falls silent for a while. ‘Tess,’ he begins eventually. ‘I mean, Tessa—’

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to—’ I cut in.

  ‘I don’t want to upset you – I’ve done enough of that already.’ Jack smiles a small, lopsided smile that sends my heart into somersaults.

  ‘Tessa doesn’t sound right when you say it,’ I say awkwardly. ‘To be honest, it makes me feel as if you’re talking to someone else.’

  ‘I can give you a hand with feeding the birds.’ He glances at his watch. ‘I can stay another hour or so.’

  I want to ask him where he’s going afterwards, but that seems too personal. We aren’t teenage sweethearts any more. We’re working together. As I have to keep reminding myself, this is a professional relationship.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say gracefully. ‘There’s so much to do.’

  ‘Too much,’ Jack agrees. ‘Fifi needs to drum up some more volunteers. Is there some problem? There are rumours, according to Frances, the receptionist at Otter House, about unrest within Talyton Animal Rescue.’ Jack clears his throat. ‘They’re accusing Fifi of nepotism because she gave you this job without consulting the other committee members.’

  ‘Some of the original volunteers from Gloria’s time here, who were keen to come back, have changed their minds, and there are plans afoot to make a challenge on the leadership. I don’t know for sure, but I thought I’d let you know in case you want to forewarn your aunt … They’re only rumours though,’ he goes on, noticing my frown. ‘Oh dear, I’m digging myself furiously into a hole like a rabbit on Red Bull.’

  I smile at the thought, but I feel upset that people are talking about me and my aunt behind our backs. No one likes to be thought badly of and it affects others, like Jack and Libby, and the rescues. The fewer volunteers we have at the Sanctuary, the less time we can spend with each animal and the poorer their chances of being rehomed or released.

  ‘I’ll speak to my aunt,’ I decide. ‘I need to find out what’s going on. I might be able to persuade her to help out for a few hours too.’

  ‘You mean, Fifi doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty?’

  ‘She’s always willing to muck in.’

  ‘But not muck out, as such.’ Jack smiles again, lifting my spirits.

  It’s almost like old times, when we were friends, hanging out or chillaxing together. I sink down into the sofa. ‘Tell me about the moon bears. What is a moon bear?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s a black bear with a white patch that looks like a crescent moon on its chest. They’re beautiful creatures, wild yet gentle and very intelligent. I had an amazing trip,’ he says, ‘and I’m glad I took the time out to do it, but the suffering of the captive moon bears is unbelievable.’ He explains how they are caught and kept restrained in tiny cages so they can be milked for bile through metal pipes implanted into their bellies. It’s a life sentence, and their lives are often cut short through stress and overwhelming infections.

  ‘Why? What for?’ I ask, wincing at the thought.

  ‘Bear bile is a valuable commodity – it’s believed to have medicinal properties, and although there are synthetic versions, pe
ople want the real thing. There are several charities involved in making a difference through rescue, rehab and education, but it’s going to take time before the practice is abandoned altogether.’

  ‘You seem very passionate about the cause,’ I say eventually. ‘Do you think you’ll go back one day?’

  ‘I’d love to go back permanently,’ he admits. ‘I’d set up a rescue centre like a shot, but this is home and I have Libby to think of. My parents aren’t getting any younger and, in spite of what she says – and your opinion on the matter – she needs someone to look out for her.’

  For once, I bite my tongue.

  ‘I’ll go and feed those chicks,’ Jack says, getting up to feed the baby blue tits. I join him in the office, and just as they take their last mealworm, a car’s headlamps come flaring through the window.

  ‘Are you expecting someone?’ he asks.

  ‘It’s Katie.’ I recognise her car, an old Ford Fiesta. I dash out to the kitchen and rinse my hands before opening the door to greet her.

  ‘Hiya, stranger, where have you been all my life?’ I say.

  ‘Has it really been that long, Tessa?’ she says, grinning. ‘I’ve been let down at the last minute so I thought I’d come and catch up with you. I’ve brought wine, chocolate and Robert Downey, Jr – well, not him exactly, but a DVD with him in it. I thought you might need cheering up.’

  ‘So what’s happened to the new man then?’ I have to ask.

  ‘New man?’

  ‘There must be one: I’ve hardly seen you, you’re looking great and you’ve lost weight.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve had a lot on.’ Katie stops abruptly and lowers her voice to a whisper. ‘Hey, what’s Jack doing here? Are you and he—?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I meant, are you talking to each other,’ she says archly. ‘What did you think I was going to say?’

  ‘Hello, Katie,’ Jack says, walking up behind me.

  ‘Hello,’ she says icily.

  ‘I’ll see you soon, Tess,’ Jack goes on. ‘I won’t stop.’

  I wish him goodnight and thank him for his help as he steps aside to let Katie pass before walking out into the rain.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ Katie asks when the van disappears off down the track. ‘Why are you letting him hang about here with you?’

  ‘Because he works here, no other reason.’

  ‘It’s gone eight o’clock.’

  ‘Shall I open the wine?’ Trying to divert her line of questioning, I reach out to take the bottle from her.

  ‘You know, sometimes I forget how good-looking Jack is,’ Katie says, following me into the kitchen.

  ‘So does he, I think,’ I say, before wishing I hadn’t.

  ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘Oh, nothing.’

  ‘Yes, you did. I believe you’ve just admitted that you find Jack Miller good-looking.’

  ‘Katie, I can appreciate his looks and hate him at the same time,’ I say, amused. At least Jack doesn’t make a big deal of his appearance, unlike Nathan, who is, or was, a walking encyclopedia of male grooming products.

  Katie changes the subject. ‘How are you getting on with living here in the middle of nowhere?’

  ‘It’s great.’ I’ve had fun today with Libby and Jack, and the animals. I’ve enjoyed walking Buster through the copse, past the unfurling bracken, the beech trees and the ancient oak. ‘Katie, I know you don’t understand, but I’m doing something useful. I haven’t thought about Nathan and the wedding, and I haven’t had time to fret over the money, or lack of it either.’

  ‘That’s good, Tessa,’ Katie says, frowning, ‘but you don’t have to pretend with me.’

  ‘I’m not pretending,’ I counter. ‘I mean it. I’ve had a great day.’

  She looks at me, her head to one side as if she thinks I’m slightly touched.

  ‘I really don’t think it’s going to take me as long as I thought to get over it,’ I say optimistically.

  ‘You’re being so brave. I know I’d still be in bits if I’d split with Nathan, and so publicly.’

  ‘He isn’t worth it. He’s really messed up and I can console myself with the fact that as it was all so public, everyone around here knows exactly what he’s like.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Katie says cheerfully. ‘No self-respecting woman will go out with him now.’

  Chapter Seven

  The Nature of the Beast

  I PLANNED TO sneak Buster back to kennels the next morning before anyone else turned up, but I overslept, having drunk too much wine with Katie last night, finishing the bottle myself because she was driving. Libby is on the doorstep, wondering where Buster is.

  ‘I thought he’d made a break for freedom.’ She smiles as he jumps up and down barking at her, but when she approaches to stroke him, he stands stock-still, hackles up and tail down, and growls.

  ‘Buster! No!’ I tell him in no uncertain terms. ‘That is not acceptable.’

  ‘You sound like Supernanny,’ Libby says, backing off. ‘I don’t think he likes me much.’

  ‘I don’t know why he did that,’ I say, concerned. Is he protecting me? Is this a sign of persistent aggressive behaviour? Did he think Libby was going to hurt him? Would he have gone further than a growl, if I hadn’t told him off? ‘I took pity on him last night, and to be honest, Libby, I don’t feel quite so sorry for him now.’ I’ve redressed his foot because he ripped the dressing off while I left him unattended for a few minutes, and I’ve wrapped the whole thing in a plastic bag to stop it getting wet. ‘Did Jack drop you off?’

  ‘Yes, he’s gone to visit that pony, the black and white one that belongs to Frank Maddocks.’

  ‘Oh, I see. That’s good to hear.’ Why didn’t he stop to invite me along as he said he would last night? I wonder. I shrug off an irrational sense of being let down. Jack knows that Libby and I have enough to do at the Sanctuary without taking time out to run around the countryside, glorious as it is on this sunny May morning, to look at ponies.

  ‘Do you want me to take Buster back to kennels?’ Libby says, sounding not entirely enthusiastic – unsurprisingly, given the mixed greeting he gave her.

  ‘It’s all right, Libby. There’s no need to take your life into your hands. If you can get his breakfast ready, I’ll bring him over in a couple of minutes. I’ve written up a new card to go on his kennel in case we have any more potential adopters to visit.’

  ‘By the way, thanks for talking to Jack yesterday, Tessa. He listens to you.’

  When I meet Libby in kennels, she’s bringing Buster’s water bowl from the kitchen. Wanting to avoid further confrontation, I take it and put it in the kennel with him.

  ‘Can Buster be put up for rehoming yet?’ Libby asks.

  ‘What do you think?’ I respond.

  ‘Tessa, I don’t have to think. I’m staff. I do as I’m told – most of the time.’ She looks over my shoulder as I peg Buster’s new card to the front of the kennel with a list of instructions for his daily routine. ‘It’s better than a hotel: twice daily walks and breakfast – is that full English or Continental?’ She laughs at my hesitation. ‘You take everything so seriously.’

  ‘Someone has to make sure we get it right,’ I say, a little hurt. Am I that serious, that dull? ‘The bit about changing the water – it should be bottled, not tap, and preferably sparkling,’ I go on, straight-faced.

  ‘Really?’ Libby stares at me. Her expression makes me chuckle.

  ‘Okay, very funny. I get it,’ she sighs.

  ‘Going back to the subject of rehoming Buster,’ I begin, ‘I don’t think it’s going to be easy. For a start, we know he can’t be rehomed where there are other dogs, due to his penchant for trying to kill every one he sees, as evidenced by his behaviour on the Green when he was free to roam … And I’m not sure he should be rehomed where there are humans of any age, considering how he growled at you,’ I add. ‘I can make as many excuses for his attitude as I like, but it d
oesn’t change the fact that he has a problem.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll trust him now though,’ Libby says, snapping the fingers of a pair of rubber gloves. ‘He’ll hardly endear himself to the general public by growling at them.’

  I recall how Buster grumbled at the chauffeur when he took him into the vet’s on the way to the wedding after his altercation with the car. I blamed it on him being in pain from his injuries and confused from the bump to his head, but I fear that this attitude of ‘growl first, ask questions later’ is more engrained in Buster’s character than I first thought.

  I watch him reinvestigate the kennel. He sniffs at the plastic bed and cocks his leg over the fluffy bedding.

  ‘Never mind, house-training can break down when dogs are kennelled,’ I say, but a wave of doubt washes through me. If I was dreaming of uniting animals with their perfect people, the reality of rescue is now beginning to set in. Buster has issues that mean he’s going to need an extra-special home. Does it exist? Why should anyone step forward and choose a dog like Buster over some cute puppy?

  We do have our first success later this morning though, thanks to Libby. I get to hand over our first adoptee to his new owner.

  ‘There you go.’ I give the rat, which is in a cardboard box with ventilation holes and a securely taped lid, to one of Ally Jackson’s boys. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy together,’ I say. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I feel sorry that I associated my ex with this fiercely intelligent and playful creature.

  ‘Oh, they will be,’ says the proud and enlightened mum, standing beside her ten-year-old son. Ally is in her thirties and wearing a powder-blue trouser suit. ‘Is there anything I can do to help the Sanctuary? I can’t volunteer – I don’t have time – but I am the roving reporter for the Talyton Chronicle, and I could write a feature on some of the animals.’

  ‘That would be great. We need all the publicity we can get,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t thank me. I’m grateful to you because I have to fill the pages of each edition, week in, week out, and not much goes on in Talyton, as you know.’ She’s smiling as she goes on, ‘Sometimes, I pray for fire or flood, something dramatic to report, instead of stories of missing cats, school nativity plays and gallant grannies throwing themselves out of planes for charity.’