The Village Vet

by Cathy Woodman

  ‘He’s in a hurry.’ I jump at the sound of my aunt’s voice right beside me. She must have crept up without me noticing.

  ‘Oh, Fifi, you made me jump.’ I stroke my throat, touching the track of Jack’s kisses from the night before.

  ‘That’s because you’re clearly preoccupied by something else, or someone else not so far away from here. Did Jack say where he was going?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘I expect he’s been called out for a fire,’ my aunt continues.

  ‘I didn’t hear his pager.’

  ‘Well, he’s always in demand. I don’t know how he does it.’ Fifi pauses. ‘Shall we go and feed those babies?’

  ‘Yes, let’s,’ I agree, but nothing can take my mind off Jack. We woke up together and ate breakfast – okay, with my aunt as well – normal, everyday activities that a couple would do, but are we a couple, or are we better described as friends with benefits? I hope that in a few days’ time we’ll be able to consider ourselves as the former, and I can tell the world, my friends and family that I have a new boyfriend. I imagine the smile on my dad’s face when I drop the fact that I’m Jack’s girl into the conversation.

  I text Jack when I’m out walking Buster in the copse: Can’t wait 2 c u l8r xT. I debate long and hard about how many kisses to add, deciding one is appropriate. I don’t think Jack will be easily frightened off, but I’ve had enough experience of men for that possibility to cross my mind, so I’m decidedly worried when I start getting ready for our date and he calls to say he can’t make it.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Tess, but something’s come up. I hope you’re not too disappointed.’

  That would be an understatement. I’m gutted.

  ‘Another time,’ he says.

  ‘Another time,’ I echo. ‘Make it soon.’ I try not to sound desperate. ‘You could call in later, if you like. I’ll be here.’

  ‘Not tonight. Look, I’ll see you at the Sanctuary soon.’

  What he says is perfectly reasonable. I’m afraid it’s what he doesn’t say that tells the story. He doesn’t promise to make it up to me another time. I wipe the eyeliner from my eyes and wash my face before curling up with Buster and Tia on the sofa, stroking Buster’s belly with one hand and caressing Tia’s ears with the other. I tell myself that Jack isn’t like Nathan and there’s no way he would have cancelled our date without a very good reason, whatever it is. If only men were like dogs, the world would be a better place.

  I don’t see Jack for another couple of days. I text him because I can’t resist, using the excuse of updating him on the deer’s state of health, but he doesn’t reply.

  ‘I expect his mobile network’s down,’ Libby says when I mention it to her one morning while we’re delivering hay and breakfast to the deer, before going to clean the kennels. Libby is protective of her brother, giving me vague answers as to his whereabouts.

  ‘You aren’t concentrating,’ I tell her when she’s trying to put on a disposable apron with one hand while texting with the other. ‘I take it the course of true love is running smooth – you keep wandering around with a silly grin on your face.’ I fill a bucket with hot suds in the kitchen sink. Libby grabs a pair of yellow rubber gloves and pirouettes around the room on tiptoes, her feet squelching in her wellington boots.

  ‘Tessa, Ash has asked me to the ball. I’m soooo excited. I can’t wait.’

  ‘I’m pleased,’ I say, smiling. ‘I’m waiting for your brother to invite me.’

  ‘Jack?’ Libby says, frowning as she grabs a scrubbing brush.

  ‘Oops. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything,’ I go on, but I don’t mean it. I’ve been desperate to share my secret with someone who can keep it, at least until Jack and I decide to come out as a couple, so to speak. I trust Libby. She’s become a good friend, more so recently than Katie, I think with a twinge of guilt. Although we’re still in touch, there seems to have been a barrier between us since Nathan and the wedding.

  I follow her into the first kennel with the bucket and a mop. Libby starts scrubbing the walls, writing the letters A-S-H across the surface in soapy water before wiping them out.

  ‘Jack obviously hasn’t …’ My voice trails off before I pluck up the courage to start again. ‘Jack and I have kind of got it together at last.’ I go all Facebook on her. ‘I don’t think I’m jumping the gun when I say that we’re in a relationship. Are you sure he hasn’t said anything to you?’

  ‘Tessa, Jack might be my brother, but he doesn’t tell me everything that’s going on his life.’

  I dip the mop into the bucket, wring it out and make a start on the floor.

  ‘I reckon I’m going to have to take the initiative. At least, being the organiser, I can keep a couple of tickets back if he leaves it to the last minute,’ I say, thinking aloud.

  Libby pauses scrubbing.

  ‘Um, I think I’d wait for him to ask you. It’s kind of traditional, isn’t it, for the boy to ask the girl?’ she goes on brightly.

  ‘I didn’t think you would be such a stickler for tradition,’ I say, surprised by her attitude. ‘Libby, you’re really quite old-fashioned.’

  ‘Well, it’s a convention that’s worked well for years.’ She dips the brush back into the bucket.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to give your brother a nudge in the right direction for me and explain this protocol he has to follow.’

  ‘Since when has Jack taken any notice of me?’ she says, returning to scrubbing the wall with a vengeance. ‘Have you had any votes for names for the deer yet?’

  ‘There are some.’ Ally Jackson put the competition into the Chronicle yesterday. ‘I’ve had four suggestions by email and our recent visitors have filled in the slips and put them in the box in reception. Three people have gone for the same name. Can you guess what it is?’

  ‘I know,’ Libby says, ‘Bambi. It suits him. He’s so sweet.’

  ‘Do you think so? Having watched him wreck the shed, I don’t think it suits him at all. Conan is better, after Conan the Destroyer.’

  ‘What will happen to him in the end?’ Libby asks.

  ‘It’s too early to say. There could be complications with that wound on his leg, and there’s still a risk he’ll get over-stressed and come down with post-capture myopathy. If the wound heals and he stays healthy then we’ll aim to release him back into the wild as soon as possible.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be better to keep him? I don’t like the idea of him fending for himself, or being run over or shot after all he’s gone through.’

  ‘He’s a wild animal,’ I say. ‘He should be out with other deer, wild and free.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Libby says. ‘I’ll cry when we let him go.’

  ‘I expect I will too,’ I admit. I am surprised how emotional I get about all the animals. It’s impossible not to get involved. In fact, I’m missing Buster and Teddy already, and neither of them has left the Sanctuary yet.

  ‘We have a home for Teddy,’ I tell Libby. ‘He’s going to live with a retired couple, an ex-admiral and his wife, in a house up on the cliffs near Talymouth.’

  ‘I hope he won’t be in any danger,’ Libby says, immediately anxious.

  ‘I’ve done the home check and I reckon that Teddy will fit in very well there. He’ll be an only cat and he has an enclosed garden to play in.’ Luckily, the virus in his body isn’t causing him any major problems at present, and, according to Maz, it looks as though he could well live into a comfortable old age. ‘The house isn’t right on the edge of the cliff, if that’s what you’re worrying about, Libby. It’s set quite a way back.’

  ‘When’s he going? I need time to say goodbye.’

  ‘At the end of the week. They needed time to fit a cat flap,’ I explain.

  ‘What about Buster? He’s going soon, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’s supposed to be, but the Nelsons have delayed the date they’re picking him up for a second time because they’re going on a last-minute holiday and don’t want to ha
ve to put him into kennels for the two weeks they’re away.’

  ‘That’s fair enough, isn’t it?’ says Libby, dropping the brush in the bucket. ‘It’s better for Buster.’

  ‘It is,’ I agree, but it worries me that they’ve chosen a dog, yet put the holiday first. However, it means I don’t have to angst about Buster leaving, because I know that letting him go will be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

  Since the night we slept together, I’ve been on tenterhooks, hardly able to wait to see Jack again, but I’ve tried to carry on as usual. In the middle of the week, I’m swinging from euphoria to something akin to clinical depression. I’m in love, and it’s making me slightly crazy.

  Before I go completely mad, I make a mental ‘to do’ list as I work through the morning: post the latest orders for tickets, contact the band to confirm what time they’re planning to arrive to set up and do the soundcheck, talk to the chef about the vegetarian option for the starter and, last but very much not least, talk to Jack, if I ever get to set eyes on him again. He hasn’t been in touch since cancelling dinner, apart from giving me a brief wave from the Land Rover when he dropped Libby off yesterday.

  Libby said he was rushed off his feet the first time I asked her where he was. One of the cygnets that had hatched in July from the nest by the river had collapsed in the reeds with suspected lead poisoning, and Jack had taken it over to the seabird sanctuary at Marsh. Without me, I thought, remembering our lunch overlooking the harbour and the sea beyond. He could have at least asked me, even if I couldn’t get away. When I asked Libby for the second time, she said he was busy helping a friend in need.

  ‘In need of what?’ I said.

  ‘Of rescue or something like that. You know what he’s like, Tessa. He’s always helping people.’

  That’s when it hit me: although I’d let myself think of Jack as my lover and potential soulmate, I didn’t know everything about him.

  Having stuck a stamp on the last envelope containing ball tickets, I decide to make my way to the kennels, but if I thought that being with the dogs would help take my mind off my preoccupation with what to do about Jack, it doesn’t. Surely, it would cost him nothing to send me a text to let me know where he is. That he hasn’t is preying on my mind. Is it because he’s completely thoughtless, or is it because he doesn’t want me to know where he is? Maybe he just doesn’t understand what the other night meant to me.

  I try to dismiss my concerns. I’m naturally suspicious because of what happened between me and Nathan. He was secretive about his business dealings and our financial situation, managing to hide the fact we were thousands of pounds in debt, so I’m bound to find it difficult to trust again. But Jack is not like Nathan and there is no reason for history to repeat itself.

  To my surprise, Jack appears in the flesh just as I’m thinking about him, silhouetted against the door into the kennels. I’m sweeping down the concrete floor to kennel number three with a broom and bucket of diluted disinfectant, in readiness for the next occupant, the last one, Linford the lurcher, having been rehomed the day before.

  ‘Hi, Jack. I thought you’d gone off me.’ I smile out of relief at seeing him at last. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘I’ve been a bit tied up.’ Jack steps towards me.

  ‘Tell me about it.’ I exit the kennel and move in his direction, assuming that we’ll kiss – if not a full-on snog with tongues and the clash of teeth, at least a brush of the lips, brief contact to acknowledge what has gone on before and hint at what is to come. As I approach, though, Jack hesitates and ducks aside as if the sight of me, dressed in rubber gloves, wellies and a plastic apron, repels him.

  ‘I’d have made a bit more effort if I’d known you were coming,’ I say, forcing a smile. ‘I probably smell or something.’ I raise one eyebrow, noticing that Jack isn’t smiling back. ‘You haven’t bought your tickets for the ball yet,’ I go on, and it’s here that he’s supposed to say in a sexy and ironic tone, ‘Is that a subtle hint, Tess?’

  ‘You still have some tickets, then?’ is what he actually says.

  ‘I’ve put a couple aside for you.’

  ‘Thanks. Er, how much is it for two?’

  I give him the figure, waiting for him to ask me to go to the ball with him, but he continues, ‘I’m taking someone, a friend.’

  ‘Oh?’ I knew something wasn’t right. Jack’s face is shiny with sweat and he keeps looking down, scraping imaginary dirt from under his nails. ‘Anyone I know?’ I ask, a pulse of impending disappointment bounding in the back of my throat when Jack opens his mouth to answer.

  ‘Her name’s Karen.’

  ‘Karen?’ I fear that my voice says it all. I’m devastated.

  ‘Remember I told you about the woman I met in Asia?’

  ‘Yes?’ The pain of loss and rejection is unbearable. ‘You said …’

  ‘I know what I said.’ Jack gazes out behind him through the doorway as if he wishes he was out there in the hills, well away from me. ‘She came to find me.’

  ‘The day after we …’

  Jack’s brief nod of the head explains why he’s been so evasive. It wasn’t that I scared him off by falling into bed with him. It’s because someone better turned up, and along with the initial shock that he’s dropped me for someone else, comes anger.

  ‘You bastard!’ I lean against the broom, my fists clenched around the handle and forcing the bristles flat against the floor.

  ‘She’s left her husband and moved in with me,’ Jack goes on.

  It’s all making sense now, the way Libby’s been avoiding entering into any conversation about her brother.

  ‘She had nowhere to go. What else could I do?’ Jack shrugs. ‘I should have told you before, but I couldn’t bring myself to.’

  ‘Yes, you bloody well should have done.’ I am livid now. I throw the broom down, and I don’t know what possesses me, but I grab the bucket and throw the contents at him.

  ‘What the—’ Jack stands there, spluttering, water dripping from his hair, his face and his clothes and forming a puddle at his feet. ‘What the hell did you do that for?’

  ‘What do you think?’ I drop the bucket and it clatters across the floor.

  ‘I’m trying to explain,’ he says, exasperated. With a shiver, he tugs at his shirt, lifting the fabric from his skin. ‘You could have used warm water at least,’ he adds, his tone softening.

  ‘There are plenty of towels in the kitchen.’

  ‘That sounds like one of your brighter ideas,’ he says wryly. ‘I’ll grab one.’

  I’d rather he left me alone, but he returns, drying his hair with a ragged beach towel. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘What do you think?’ I bite my lip. ‘It was cruel to string me along like that when you had no intention—’

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ Jack interjects, but I don’t give him time to elaborate.

  ‘If you love her and it’s meant to be …’ Tears burn like acid down my cheeks. How typical of Jack to do the right thing!

  ‘Tess, I wish things had been different. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Okay, it’s fine. I didn’t expect’ – I begin to sob aloud – ‘I didn’t expect anything.’

  ‘Tess, come here.’ Dropping the towel around the back of his neck, Jack holds out his arms, but I turn away, embarrassed and ashamed for letting my passion for Jack overcome all sense of reason and restraint, and devastated that I misread the situation, mistaking his embrace for love. How does it go? A woman has to feel bonded to have sex while a man has to have sex to feel bonded. I’m gutted. I’ve been such an idiot, yet again. I don’t understand men. I give up. I’m going to be a nun.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jack repeats.

  ‘What are you sorry for? We had a fling, a one-night stand. These things happen.’ I refrain from adding, Just not to me. ‘You don’t owe me anything. It was my choice. No one forced me …’ I’ll get over it. Maybe. One day. The words ricochet inside my head. It should hav
e been me moving in with Jack, not this mysterious stranger. It should have been me! I dig my fingernails into my palms. I didn’t know I could feel such agony.

  Swallowing hard, I wipe my eyes and muster my remaining self-control.

  ‘I’d better get on and finish up here,’ I say, feigning normality. (I must have inherited some of my dad’s acting genes after all.) ‘I have a ball to organise.’

  ‘What about you?’ Jack says, his tone bright yet tinged with sadness. ‘Who’s the lucky guy taking you to the ball?’

  ‘I’m not planning to dance.’ I hear myself laughing like a madwoman. ‘I’ve got two left feet and I could never get the steps in the right order when I did ballet.’

  ‘I don’t remember you doing ballet.’

  ‘I was five or six, and my enthusiasm lasted three weeks. All I wanted was the tutu.’

  Jack smiles. ‘I can’t see you in a tutu now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I glance down at my combats. Is he suggesting I’m a tomboy? Am I not girly enough for him? I never have been much of a girl. Is that why he doesn’t want me? ‘I’ll be coordinating everything anyway.’

  ‘You know how women grow old to be like their mothers. You’re going to end up like your aunt.’

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ I say flatly. ‘Look, I’m sorry about the water. Now, I need to get on. I really must finish up here.’

  ‘What can I do?’ Jack asks.

  ‘Whatever you like,’ I say, dismissing him. As long as you’re out of my sight, I refrain from adding because I can’t bear his presence any longer. It’s too much of a reminder of my massive error of judgement. What was I thinking? That Jack was somehow different from every other man I’ve met? I bash the end of the broom into the corner of the kennel, knocking out the cobwebs and dust.

  ‘I’ll go and feed the baby birds for you.’ When I don’t respond, he adds, ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’

  ‘Don’t worry, if you have to get back,’ I say. ‘Everything’s under control here.’ Or it will be, when I can get a metaphorical lid on my emotions. I pause, listening to his footsteps disappearing off outside. How could he do this to me? I feel more depressed than I did on my wedding day. Within a few months, I have both hated Jack and fallen in love with him.