The Village Vet

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘Well caught, Jack,’ I call.

  He looks up and smiles, and my heart lurches as he strides up the bank in thigh-length waders. I try to avert my eyes from this stirring sight – I hadn’t realised that waders could be quite so … compelling. I focus on the swan instead, a big bird with crisp white feathers, apart from those on its head that have been stained a reddish-brown by the iron deposits at the bottom of the river.

  ‘Hi there, Tess,’ Jack says, the muscles in his arms rippling while he tries to keep the swan under control.

  ‘What a gorgeous creature,’ I say.

  ‘Do you mean me or the bird?’

  I glance up at Jack’s face. He’s grinning broadly, so I think he’s joking, but I blush anyway. I can’t help myself. Like the swan, Jack is gorgeous, inside and out.

  ‘You’ve turned up at just the right time,’ he says. ‘I could do with a hand getting this young lad into the bag. It’s along here somewhere – I’ve paddled further than I realised.’

  ‘How do you know it’s a lad?’ I ask, over the sound of the swan’s continued hissing and snorting. It might be a mute swan by name, but it’s far from that by nature. It is able to communicate its feelings all too well.

  ‘I’ve been watching a pair of swans down here. This is their first year together and the pen, the female, is sitting on some eggs on a nest downstream from here. This is the cob. You can tell from the size of the basal knob, the black swelling on the upper bill that stretches up to the forehead. It’s bigger in males than females.’

  I walk along the bank to collect the bag and pick up Jack’s keys and wallet before I help him wrap the swan.

  ‘That’s got it,’ Jack says at last, as I finish fastening the straps on the bag around the swan’s body, distracted by the sensations of being so close to him – Jack, that is, not the swan. His scent, an aphrodisiac combination of aftershave and the outdoors, tempered with the earthy smell of river water, fills my nostrils, and the sound of his voice close to my ear, and the occasional touch of his skin against mine as our arms come into contact while restraining the swan, makes my pulse beat faster and sends my imagination into overdrive.

  ‘What’s wrong with me?’ I say. ‘I mean with the swan. I’m talking about the swan.’

  I’m aware that Jack is looking at me, one eyebrow raised.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be a vet nurse.’

  ‘I’m getting out of practice,’ I say, when he shows me the lump about halfway down its neck. ‘What do you think it is? A fishing hook?’

  ‘Almost certainly. I see these injuries from time to time, along with the odd case of lead poisoning and swans that have flown into power cables. Anyway, I’m going to run this one straight to the seabird sanctuary at Marsh. This one needs to see a specialist.’ Jack hesitates. ‘Why don’t you come with me and have a look around?’

  ‘That would be interesting, but—’

  ‘It isn’t far, and we could stop for a bite to eat on the way back.’

  ‘I ought to be getting back.’

  ‘Tess, it’s Monday and you’ve worked all weekend. You’re allowed a lunch break at least.’

  ‘Are you hinting that I should get out more?’ I say, archly.

  ‘Well, yes, I think you should … as long as it’s with me.’

  ‘Ha ha,’ I say with mock weariness. He’s joking again. He tips his head to one side.

  ‘How can I persuade you, Tess?’

  ‘With your natural verve and charm?’

  ‘I’m glad I’m going up in your estimation at last,’ he chuckles.

  ‘Well, you are doing your best with all these heroic rescues to impress me … I’m being ironic, of course,’ I add quickly.

  ‘And I wouldn’t expect you to be anything but.’ Jack picks up the swan and we start walking towards the vehicles in the summer sunshine. ‘So, are you coming or not?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ I’m tempted. ‘Wendy’s doing lunch for the baby birds and Katie’s coming to do her bit of volunteering at three.’

  ‘Katie?’ Jack’s tone hardens. ‘You’re still friends then?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Okay.’ Jack nods thoughtfully as I continue, ‘We always will be. She’s the best mate anyone could have, and whatever happens, we’ll always stand by each other. I don’t know what I would have done without her when—’ I stop abruptly, not wishing to revisit the wedding and the weeks after it, and perhaps a little in denial about the fact I haven’t seen nearly as much of her recently. I don’t blame her. I’ve been consumed by my role at the Sanctuary. It’s taken over my life, so much so that I can’t remember when I last went anywhere, apart from into Talyton. How sad is that? I think, smiling to myself. How sad am I?

  ‘Oh, go on,’ I say. ‘Why not? I’ll join you.’

  ‘Great,’ Jack says. ‘Shall we take the Land Rover or the van?’

  We settle for the van. Jack drives while the swan hisses its displeasure in the back, but it’s one of the lucky ones. When we arrive at the seabird sanctuary which is situated on an area of coastal marshland near the mouth of the River Taly, there’s a vet there who anaesthetises the swan straight away and removes the hook and fishing line that have caught in its food-pipe, or oesophagus. Having been assured that the swan will recover with antibiotics and painkillers before he’s released into the company of other swans, Jack and I are given the guided tour, before returning to the van and driving back through the small village of Marsh, where Jack stops at the pub.

  The Three Cups is a typical Devon country pub built from pink cob and thatch that has weathered to the colour of mushroom gills. There is a single seagull perched on the chimney stack at one end and a flock of them swirling and swooping in the sky above, making plaintive cries. Inside, where the air smells of cold woodsmoke and real ale, it’s so gloomy that you can hardly see the elderly man stooped almost double behind the bar. At first, I think he’s looking for something, a glass or bottle, but he doesn’t become any taller when he takes our order of a pint of prawns to share, fresh bread, cola and a lager shandy.

  ‘It’s very quiet here,’ I observe when we’re sitting outside at a rustic picnic table overlooking the small harbour at the back of the pub. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘This is off the beaten track. I think they get a few tourists visiting the seabird sanctuary; otherwise they rely on trade from the locals and the sailing club. I like it.’ Jack squints in the bright sunlight, looking out towards the sea. I follow his gaze, observing a pair of large, dark birds diving into the water and disappearing before bobbing up again some distance away.

  ‘Are they cormorants?’ I ask.

  Jack shades his eyes with his hands.

  ‘No, they’re similar, but a bit smaller and slimmer than cormorants. They’re shags.’

  ‘They’re what?’

  He turns to me, his expression flickering with humour. ‘Why are you blushing?’

  ‘Am I?’ I touch my cheeks, which are radiating heat at the thought of intimacy with Jack. Shags! I give myself a silent telling-off. How childish. ‘It’s the wind.’

  I pick up a prawn from the glass in front of us and examine it, regretting my choice. Pink and plump with a hard carapace, black eyes and various stringy appendages, it doesn’t look that appetising.

  ‘Look, you peel it like this.’ Jack takes it from me and shows me how to peel the shell from the flesh, leaving the juicy body of the prawn, which he hands back, placing it on my open palm. ‘Go on. Try it.’ Laughter bubbles up in his voice. ‘It won’t bite – the head’s gone.’

  It tastes salty and sweet, fresh from the sea, although I still think as the juice trickles down my chin that I should have gone for something less messy, like a cold beef sandwich.

  Grinning, Jack passes me a paper napkin. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘They’re delicious,’ I say, although I’m having trouble eating. Jack’s presence makes me lose my appetite – in the nicest possible way – and I can�
�t help wondering how his lips would taste right now. I turn away and gaze towards the boats in the harbour, small dinghies and fishing boats that are knocking gently against the harbour wall as the tide comes in, lifting them from their muddy berths. Jack was right. I needed a break. And I’m disappointed when he suggests that we get back to Talyton so he can check on the swan’s mate and pick up the Land Rover.

  ‘Won’t she starve without the cob to bring her food?’ I ask.

  ‘The pen should be able to rear the cygnets by herself. It’s a shame, but that’s how it is. The cob can’t be released until he’s well again.’ Jack pauses. ‘I’ll keep an eye on the nest. I always do after those kids threw the eggs into the river a couple of years ago.’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘It was headline news in the Chronicle,’ Jack says lightly. ‘We caught the little sods. Frank Maddocks’s son was among them. We could have prosecuted because swans are a protected species, but it was a first offence and they were young lads, so they got off with a caution.’

  ‘Dolly’s well away from that family,’ I observe. ‘She’s put on some weight now and seems very content pottering around in the paddock unless the flies are bothering her, when we bring her in.’

  ‘I was thinking we should take her off the grass every day,’ Jack says. ‘She’s verging on being too fat now.’

  When we arrive back in Talyton St George, I let Jack out of the van. He wants me to see the swans’ nest, but although I’m tempted, I decline.

  ‘I guess I’ll see you in the week,’ I go on hesitantly, wishing the day with Jack could last for ever. ‘At the Sanctuary,’ I add quickly, in case he thinks that, like the shags, I’m fishing.

  ‘I doubt I’ll be able to keep away.’ He gives me a long look, his eyes simmering with … Don’t go there, I tell myself, looking away to fiddle with the tuning on the radio, but it’s too late. In spite of my determination to blank it out, I’ve known it all along: Jack Miller is more than a little in love with me, and I with him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hungry Birds

  HOW DO I feel about it? I ask myself later. Excited, flattered and ecstatically happy, yet I hesitate to look further ahead. In spite of claiming that I’m going to remain single for the rest of my life, I enjoy Jack’s company and I can’t imagine living alone at the Sanctuary for ever, sharing the crusts of my soldiers between Buster and Tia when I’m eating boiled eggs for breakfast, and taking them for extra walks to stop me from curling up on the sofa and vegging out in front of the TV every night. I know I shouldn’t let my experience with Nathan put me off completely, but I’m not sure. Should I give Jack some encouragement, some sign that I’m interested in taking things further, or will that make life too complicated?

  Part of me says, Why should things work out between us a second time round? Part of me says, Why not? I hesitate though. It seems such a big step.

  ‘You’re very quiet, Tessa,’ Katie says when we’re feeding the baby birds the same afternoon. I’m not sure how useful she is as a volunteer, because I got back to find Wendy showing her how to do it, yet I’m sure I’ve shown her before. ‘Did Jack upset you again?’ She holds a mealworm in tweezers just above Vlad the house martin’s gaping mouth. ‘I hope he isn’t being a pain.’

  ‘A pain?’

  Vlad cheeps and stretches his neck until he can’t possibly extend it any further.

  ‘Katie, concentrate. Vlad wants his tea.’

  ‘Oh’ – Katie looks down into Vlad’s box – ‘so he does.’ She releases the mealworm and it misses, landing on Vlad’s back, at which he utters a series of angry cheeps.

  ‘Try with a fresh one,’ I say, smiling. ‘I’ll clean him up afterwards.’

  ‘I’m not good with birds.’ Katie grimaces. ‘I prefer hairy animals.’

  ‘Like?’ I go on for her.

  She glances back at me, eyes sparkling. ‘I’m not saying.’

  ‘So there is someone? Go on, you have to tell me about him now, otherwise I’ll die from the suspense.’

  ‘Tessa, I don’t want to jinx it by talking about it.’

  ‘Well, you’ve given me a clue at least. He isn’t bald.’ I’m excited for her. She has never made any secret of her desire to settle down, and I used to feel guilty when I was with Nathan because I had all the luck and she didn’t. ‘He hasn’t got a hairy back, has he? Ugh.’

  Katie giggles. ‘You know me. If he has – and I’m saying “if” because I’m not going to give you any clues – I can soon sort it out with a bit of wax.’

  ‘It’s hardly a clue, is it?’ Vlad cheeps yet again. ‘He’s asking for more, Katie,’ I say, giving her a nudge. ‘That bird is never satisfied.’

  ‘Like someone else I know.’

  ‘The new man,’ I giggle.

  ‘Tessa, I’m not going to talk about him, no matter how much you try to persuade me.’

  It’s a shame, I think. Usually she’s as keen to tell me about her love life as I am to find out.

  ‘He’s married. That’s why you won’t tell me who it is.’ Katie doesn’t deny it when I continue, ‘Please, be careful, and don’t believe him when he says he’s going to leave his wife.’

  ‘You’re the one to talk about being careful,’ Katie counters. ‘All this time you’re spending with Jack, you’ll only lead him on.’

  ‘Maybe I want to.’ I take the tweezers and load them with another mealworm so I can feed Vlad myself.

  ‘No, you don’t.’ Katie raises her perfect eyebrows. ‘Look at him.’

  ‘I have and he isn’t at all bad.’ Massive understatement. He is gorgeous.

  Katie stares at me as if I’m slightly touched. ‘You definitely need to get out more. What’s that saying, all work makes Jack a dull boy? Jack Miller is soooo boring. All he thinks about is rescuing animals.’

  ‘And people,’ I add, thinking of the way he cares for his sister, and his role as a retained firefighter. I don’t know about his ability to put fires out because when I’m with him all he does is fan the flames. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘He doesn’t go out anywhere—’

  ‘By anywhere, you mean to clubs,’ I cut in.

  ‘And he drives that battered old Land Rover and he doesn’t have a clue about how to dress or look after his skin …’ Katie pauses. ‘I’m sorry, but, as your friend, I’m being frank with you to stop you making yet another mistake.’ Her expression relaxes into a warm smile. ‘This is silly, isn’t it? We are going to have to agree to disagree. You go out with Jack, if it makes you happy.’

  ‘That’s just it though,’ I say. ‘How do I know it won’t ruin our friendship? Mine and Jack’s, I mean.’ Katie doesn’t respond when I go on, ‘I think I would go out on a date with him – if he asked me.’

  In spite of the Fun Day, and my and Libby’s creative adverts for the rescues, the Sanctuary becomes increasingly overcrowded over the summer, possibly because it’s holiday time and fewer people are looking to take on animals. We could do with an extension on the kennels, or even better a new kennel block, but it all costs money, money we just don’t have when I add up the general running costs. It would help, of course, if the charity would agree to release the next tranche of funds from the author’s legacy, but that is still under negotiation. There is money there now, but it won’t last for ever, so I need to make sure we continue to raise cash to keep the Sanctuary going.

  It isn’t easy though. The ball’s coming up in less than three weeks’ time, and I have thirty pairs of tickets left to sell before we break even.

  ‘You are coming to the ball with Ash, aren’t you, Libby?’ I ask her when we’re together in the office, catching up with some paperwork and making a list of animal food and medicines I need to order in for the next couple of weeks. Libby is supposed to be arranging a couple of home visits for me.

  ‘I’m still waiting for him to ask me,’ she says, her cheeks flushing.

  ‘That’s an old-fashioned view of romance, isn’t it
?’ I respond. ‘Why don’t you ask him? The ball will be over by the time Ash gets round to it.’ He’s lovely, don’t get me wrong, but although he’s quite the jolly postman, he’s also jolly slow. Some days our post doesn’t arrive until after three.

  ‘I’ll see,’ Libby says, and I know from the tone of her voice that she won’t.

  I click the end of my pen and threaten to speak to Ash myself if Libby won’t do it, although it occurs to me that this is rather hypocritical of me, because I haven’t yet plucked up the courage to ask Jack if he’ll be my partner at the ball. I’m guessing he hasn’t asked me because he’s afraid of being rejected.

  Picking up my notepad, I change the subject. ‘Look, I’ve got another dog needing a kennel today because a young couple have decided they can’t cope with a dog and a new baby. What is wrong with people?’

  ‘You can be so judgemental sometimes,’ Libby says brightly. ‘Just wait until you have children and I’ll remind you.’

  ‘There’s no way I’m having kids now,’ I say defensively because it brings back memories of Nathan and his promise that we’d have a family.

  ‘You will,’ Libby says, her eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘Now, what are you going to do about this dog?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I bury my face in my hands. They smell a bit doggie, even though I’ve washed my hands several times since I groomed Tia and cleaned her ears. ‘I might be forced to turn it away.’ I utter a long sigh. ‘Sometimes I hate this job.’

  ‘Rescue will always be like this,’ Libby says sagely. ‘You have to accept that there’s a limit to what you can do. There’ll always be too many animals needing help.’

  ‘It’s so sad though, and soul-destroying.’

  ‘If it’s a small dog, it could become an honorary cat,’ Libby suggests.

  ‘The cats won’t like it.’ I look across the office to the large dog cage in the corner where the feral kitten is making a steady recovery from cat flu and becoming quite tame. We’ve christened her Towie, and I think there’s a good chance we’ll be able to rehome her instead of letting her back out with the other cats that are living wild around the Sanctuary, if we can afford to pay the vet to fix her eye, and by that, I mean remove it.