Must Be Love (40 page)

‘Hello, my lover,’ she says. ‘This is Maz, and Shannon, of course.’

‘Ah yes. We know Shannon well.’ I notice Shannon blushing as Mr Dyer, his jowls wobbling, goes on, ‘All that about how me and the missus are murderers, how the cash I take in this shop is blood money.’ He gives his knife two strokes on the steel, and wipes the blade with the cloth tucked in his pocket.

‘I said I’m sorry,’ Shannon says, ‘but I don’t believe in killing animals for meat.’

‘We know where all our meat comes from, which farm.’ Mr Dyer touches the knife blade briefly to his arm, leaving a patch of skin bare of hair. ‘We know the animals are well looked after, and slaughtered quickly and cleanly.’

‘That doesn’t make any difference to me,’ Shannon says. ‘It’s still murder.’

‘Shannon, that’s enough, thank you.’ It doesn’t seem right talking about killing animals when we’re here to finish off the Dyers’ dog. I talk through the procedure, hoping Brutus doesn’t understand, but I can see he’s apprehensive, that he’s picked up on his owners’ distress.

‘We are doing the right thing, aren’t we?’ Mrs Dyer says.

Her husband nods.

I wish he’d put the knife away, but he holds on to it as if it’s a comfort, while Shannon and I put Brutus to sleep. It’s a little cack-handed, because I have to be careful not to put any extra stress on his front leg when I’m injecting him.

Brutus slips peacefully into unconsciousness.

‘That’s it, then,’ Mr Dyer says, when I’m checking for a heartbeat.

‘My poor darling …’ Mrs Dyer throws herself across the body as Shannon and I step away.

Crying quietly, Shannon packs the visit case and I wait, wiping a tear from my eye and wondering how differently Brutus’s life might have turned out if it hadn’t been for Drew.

‘We’re taking him straight up to the crematorium,’ Mr Dyer says. ‘We’re having a private ceremony later this week. Christine’s arranged it all with the chap at the pet cemetery. The vicar’s agreed to say a few words and all.’

‘Would you like some help moving him?’ I ask, and Mr Dyer looks at me.

‘You in your condition and your slip of a nurse? No, I’ll get one of the boys to help me.’ He disappears, then comes back with a large carrier bag. ‘This is for you, Maz.’

‘Everyone likes a nice piece of ham,’ Mrs Dyer says. ‘You can have some in a sandwich, or with a hard-boiled egg, or warm it up with parsley sauce.’

Aware of Shannon’s expression of disgust, I accept it gracefully. This is definitely not the time to stand up for your principles. I can always share it out between Emma and Frances.

When we return to Otter House, I’m not sure if I can hear Hal howling, or whether it’s a lingering ringing in my ears from the last couple of nights. I’ve been staying in the flat to look after him. Alex isn’t overly impressed at my devotion to duty, but – I smile to myself – it’s good to know he misses me.

‘It’s Hal,’ Shannon confirms for me.

‘Has he been barking the whole time we were out?’ I ask Frances, who’s at the desk, phone in one hand, pen in the other.

‘Some of the neighbours have been in to complain. Apparently, they’ve been in touch with Environmental Health, who’ve promised to come out as soon as they can to assess whether the noise is a statutory nuisance.’ Frances pauses for breath. ‘In which case, they can serve an abatement notice, which means if Hal continues to bark, you and Emma can be fined up to twenty thousand pounds and the practice closed down.’

‘Closed down?’

‘That’s what they said. I’ve checked on the interweb and it’s true. They can shut us down. Emma’s absolutely furious.’

That’s just what we need, I think, heading out the back with Shannon, where Hal is still barking. The plug-in diffuser continues to emit calming doggy pheromones to no avail. A cat that Emma’s admitted since we’ve been gone is hiding under a Vetbed with just her tail showing, twitching with annoyance.

‘Hal, will you shut up,’ I growl, but Hal takes no notice. I glance at the inpatient record card clipped to the front of his kennel. He hasn’t had anything apart from a painkiller and antibiotic since early this morning. I don’t like doing it, but I’m going to have to sedate him, because my eardrums are aching and I can’t hear myself think. Because he isn’t helping himself, thrashing about in his kennel. Because he’s upsetting everyone – patients, staff and our neighbours – and I can’t contemplate the idea of Otter House being shut down.

Kneeling carefully to protect my bump, I slip some sedative into Hal’s drip, and write it up on his card, then send Shannon in to Emma to tell her I’m free to take over in the consulting room while she makes a start on the ops.

‘You took your time,’ Emma mutters as we pass in the corridor. ‘It isn’t fair, you using your pregnancy as an excuse for slacking.’

I stop short, but she’s already gone, slipping into the cloakroom and closing the door. I haven’t been slacking. I’ve been killing myself keeping the practice going.

I grab a glass of water and a couple of biscuits from the staffroom, then, my legs heavy with weariness, I go back to Reception.

‘Mrs Tarbarrel’s here, Maz,’ Frances says. ‘One of the kittens is off colour.’

Fifteen minutes later, after I’ve checked Mrs Tarbarrel’s kitten over, and diagnosed a mild tummy upset, I send her out to Frances to settle up for the consultation. Frances isn’t there.

‘Maz, Maz! Come quickly!’ Frances is behind me, entering the consulting room by the rear door, and it doesn’t take me more than a millisecond to recognise this is more than one of her usual flaps. ‘I would have asked Emma, but she’s started operating. It’s Hal …’

I hurry out to Kennels with her. When we reach Hal’s kennel, he’s flat out and barely breathing. I open the door, and prod him with my pen. There’s no response. His tongue is blue.

‘Thanks, Frances.’ For once I’m grateful to her for interfering. ‘Go and look after Mrs Tarbarrel. I’ll handle this. Shannon,’ I yell. ‘Bring the crash kit. Now!’

‘What’s wrong?’ I hear Emma call back from theatre, but I haven’t got time – Hal hasn’t got time – to discuss what’s happened.

‘Leave the kit on the prep bench. Let’s get Hal over to the oxygen.’ I shout orders to a bemused Shannon. I know I shouldn’t be lifting such a big dog in my condition, but Shannon can’t lift him on her own, so we do it together, on the count of three, being careful not to touch the pins sticking out of his leg. I tube him and put him on oxygen, draw up the reversing agent and inject it to counteract the sedative I gave him earlier.

‘Come on, old boy,’ I urge him, as his breathing deepens and his tongue turns from blue to purple. I check his blink reflex. Nothing. ‘Don’t you dare die on me …’

‘What happened?’ Shannon stands at Hal’s head, her face pale with worry.

‘I don’t know.’ I run through the possibilities – did I miscalculate the dose? Did Hal have an odd reaction to the drug? I give him another shot of the reversing agent. Yes, I know you can have too much of a good thing, but I can’t think of anything else to do.

‘Shannon, have you finished out there?’ Emma calls through.

Shannon looks at me.

‘Go on,’ I say.

A few minutes later, Emma joins me. She stares at Hal.

‘I didn’t give him all that much,’ she says. ‘I only wanted to stop him barking, not knock him out cold.’

I watch Hal’s tongue turning from purple to a healthier pink as the implication of what Emma’s just said begins to sink in.

‘You sedated him?’

‘Yes, after Cheryl left.’

‘You didn’t write it on his card. Emma, how could you?’

‘I didn’t have a pen on me.’

‘What kind of an excuse is that?’ My bump is aching. I feel sick and tired. Drained.

‘I told you to send that bloody dog home,’ Emma says defensively. ‘I don’t know why you agreed to operate on him here in the first place.’

‘Because Alex asked me to. Hal needed my help.’ I’m close to tears. ‘After all he’s gone through, you have to go and do this to him. Who knows what a double dose of sedative is going to have done? His kidneys will probably pack up next.’

‘Well, no one will ever be able to prove what caused it, if that’s what happens,’ Emma says. ‘And I’m not going to get all stressed out worrying about it. Hal’s your patient. I’d never have agreed to take him on. You deal with it.’

‘Thanks for your support,’ I say sarcastically. ‘I can’t deal with everything any more. I’m thirty-five, nearly thirty-six weeks pregnant. I’ve hardly had any sleep in the last forty-eight hours.’

‘And?’

‘What about my baby?’

‘What about it?’

‘You’re so bloody selfish.’

‘You didn’t even want it, Maz,’ Emma spits back. ‘Remember!’

I remember to recheck Hal’s reflexes. His colour is back, but he isn’t responding. I’m not sure why I was so worried about his kidneys – I’m thinking brain-death now. I keep the oxygen flowing in. How I wish I could go back and start the day again.

I glance back at Emma. She’s staring at me blankly, her arms folded across her chest. I don’t think she cares any more.

Keeping my hands on Hal’s warm body, his heartbeat bumping sluggishly under my fingertips, I make up my mind to be honest with her, to tell her how it is.

‘You’ve changed,’ I say. ‘This baby thing – it’s become an obsession.’

‘What gives you the right to make that judgement?’

‘I’m speaking as your friend. I’m being honest. You’re chasing around after something which, let’s face it, you might never achieve.’

‘How can you say that? I’ve got every chance. Frances says so. My consultant says so. Everyone says so, except you. Yet you – you don’t want me to be happy.’ Emma’s dark eyes flash with anguish and despair.

‘Emma, please …’ I try to calm her down. ‘I imagine all this is making you very depressed. Have you talked to someone? Seen a doctor?’

‘Yes, every day.’ Emma swears. ‘And I hate him because he’s just like you, Maz. He keeps saying, What if? What if it never happens? And I want to punch him in the face for even thinking it because I need him to be positive. I need him on my side.’

‘You need to keep a sense of perspective,’ I tell her.

‘I need a baby,’ she says in a very small voice.

‘If you keep on like this, you’ll end up having a nervous breakdown. You’ll end up with nothing – no friends, no husband. No practice,’ I add hesitantly.

‘Maybe I don’t care,’ she says, confirming my earlier suspicions. ‘I hate this place. I hate my work. I hate Otter House because it represents everything that’s gone bad in my life …’

I understand. Her mother died here, her baby, her embryos …

‘I know it sounds trite, but life does go on. You still have a great business. You have me, Frances, Izzy and Shannon. Our clients. We’re all behind you, Emma.’

‘Well, I’ve had enough of it,’ she says. ‘How do I know it isn’t something in the practice that poisoned my babies?’

‘That’s impossible. Look at all the Health and Safety guidelines we have to stick to.’

‘It could be the anaesthetics. It could be the X-ray machine.’

‘We’ve got an efficient scavenging system, and the X-ray machine’s tested every year.’ We also wear badges to detect exposure, but none of them has ever shown up anything above the expected background radiation. ‘You’ll be telling me there’s something in the water next.’

‘I know it isn’t that because you’re still pregnant,’ she says bitterly. She takes a sucking intake of breath, and I know what’s coming … I recognise the sickening sensation in the pit of my stomach, the suffocating tightness in the chest, the melting of the skeleton. I’m about to be dumped.

‘I can’t take it any more,’ Emma says. ‘It’s over. I want a divorce.’

Divorce? For a brief moment my heart lightens unreasonably at the thought that she might be referring to her marriage, but she goes on, ‘I want to end our partnership. The Otter House Vets are finished.’

I want to go after her when she storms out, tell her not to be so silly, that it’ll all come right in the end, but I’ve got Hal to look after.

‘What do I do now?’ Shannon reappears from theatre with a limp black and white cat with stitches in a spay wound in her flank.

‘Pop her on the prep bench,’ I say, moving Hal’s tail to make room for her.

‘Can I take the tube out now?’ Shannon says, as the cat lifts her head.

‘Yes,’ I say quickly.

Shannon removes the tube and drops it in the sink. I put one hand on the cat so she doesn’t get up before Shannon can return her to her cage.

‘I heard what Emma said,’ she begins.

‘Yeah,’ I say.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘So’m I.’

‘You won’t give up the practice, though, will you, Maz? You can’t.’

‘I’m not sure I’ll have a choice.’ I can’t get as close as I’d like to the bench because my bump’s in the way. I feel as if I’m doing everything at full stretch. ‘When the baby arrives, I’ll have to find the nanny’s wages as well as the money I already pay on the mortgage on Otter House. I can’t see how I’d afford to take out a second to buy Emma’s share.’

‘What will we do? Me, Izzy and Frances? We’ll be out of a job. And where will everyone take their pets?’

‘Shannon, I know all that.’ I change the subject. It’s too painful. ‘Let’s have another look at Hal.’ I explain the situation and show her how to check his reflexes.

‘He moved,’ she says, when I pinch one of his paws.

‘Did he?’

‘Look.’ She points to his thigh as I pinch him again. The muscles twitch.

Is he going to make it, after all? I begin to believe he might. However, I’m not sure about the Otter House Vets. Can Emma and I find a way to reconcile our differences in the face of my unplanned pregnancy and Emma’s struggle with infertility, or will our partnership have to end in a bitter divorce?

‘Do we have to do this tonight, Alex?’ I lean into him, letting his arms encircle me when he arrives at Otter House after evening surgery. His hair is wet and his shirt smells of damp sheep. ‘I’ve had a really bad day.’

‘So you’ve told me.’ Alex nuzzles at my neck, his breath warm on my skin. ‘Don’t worry about my father – what the eye doesn’t see, and all that. For all the cases that go wrong, there are loads more that go right. Hold that thought, Maz.’