It's a Vet's Life: (38 page)

Alex doesn’t follow, and I spend another night alone in our big bed. Sometime in the early hours I can bear it no longer and I fetch George from his cot and bring him into bed with me. His warm body and snuffling comfort me slightly and eventually I doze off.

Dearly Beloved

I WISH I
knew what was going on between me and Alex. Sometimes, he seems happier, playing with George and talking to me about life in general, nothing deep and meaningful. Sometimes, he retreats and refuses to talk at all. He sleeps on the sofa, or in Lucie’s room, a matter of great sadness to me, because it suggests that, eventually, one or the other of us will be moving out.

‘It’s time for the old dog to go,’ I say at breakfast on a chilly mid-November morning. Hal was lying on the Axminster in front of the fireplace in the Manor house, incontinent and confused, when I checked on him earlier. (The pony has been banned from the drawing room out of respect for Hal’s feelings.) Sophia asked me my opinion on the dog, although she knew already what it would be.

‘Tell Alexander,’ she said quietly.

‘Your mother wants us to do the deed today,’ I say, watching Alex eating Coco Pops. I bought them for George, but he prefers Cornflakes. ‘Alex, are you listening?’

‘What was that, Maz?’ He looks up from the bowl.

‘About Hal.’ I decide it would be best if Alex comes to his own conclusion – maybe he’ll be more comfortable with the decision to put him to sleep if he thinks it’s his idea. ‘Will you have a look at him on your way out this morning? He doesn’t look too good.’

‘Does he ever? He’s always looked pretty manky, at least for as long as I can remember.’

‘Alex …’ Oh, what’s the point, I think. I might as well save my breath. But then I think of Hal when I kissed him on the top of his smelly old head. He wagged his tail once. That’s all he could manage. ‘Alex, it has to be done. No matter how you feel, whether you’re keeping him going because you can’t face up to making the decision at the moment, or because you can’t bear to lose that link with your father, it isn’t fair on the dog. He’s a poor old thing.’

‘He’s old,’ Alex says snappily. ‘He’s a bit rickety, that’s all. He isn’t suffering.’ He stares at me. ‘But if you think it’s the right thing to do, I suppose I’ll have to bow to your superior opinion, since Father asked
you
to look after Hal.’

My heart hammering painfully fast, I pick up my mug and walk away. I am furious with Alex for not putting Hal first for some reason known only to himself, but I realise that I can’t push him just yet. I’d hate him to regret the decision afterwards. It isn’t just the patient who has to be ready.

It’s the weekend and I’m off duty, but I find that I don’t want to hang around at home with Alex in this strange, oppressive mood. I stick my wellies on and set out with George in the cross-country buggy. We head for the river valley, singing in the rain. It’s showery and we’re well wrapped up against the cold.

As we reach the footpath at the bottom of the hill, I catch sight of a big black dog. At first, I wonder if it’s Poppy, one of the black Labs who’s followed us from the Manor, but when I call it over, it disappears among the brambles and dogwood. I don’t worry about it – there’s bound to be a dog-walker somewhere nearby.

‘Which song next, George?’ I ask, leaning over to look over the hood of the buggy.

‘Bus,’ he says, grinning in anticipation.

‘We’ve already had that one. Twice. And Mummy made up extra verses.’

‘Bus,’ George insists, so ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ it is.

Several more verses later, we reach the path alongside the river which is in full flow, snaking through the green fields where a flock of sheep are grazing beneath the trees along the edge of the old railway line. You can’t see the bottom today. The water is muddy and stained with iron.

‘Out,’ says George. ‘I. Out.’

I debate for a moment, considering the risks. George. Water.

‘If you hold Mummy’s hand,’ I say rashly. I unstrap him from the buggy and hang on to him by his coat as he toddles across the path to launch himself towards the river. ‘No, George.’ I pull him back just in time. He stamps one foot in the mud.

‘Look at the bird over there.’

‘No derd,’ he says, shaking his head, and I’m thinking, where is a bird when you need one, because I could do with one to distract him? As if in answer, a pair of ducks come flying down, slapping into the water and bobbing away on the current. George claps them. He’s happy now, but the rain that is coming down harder, interspersed with hailstones, as though
the
man in the clouds – yes, that’s what we call him – is throwing them down in odd handfuls, is seeping through my coat.

As the sky darkens further, a sense of gloom descends over me. It isn’t just about Hal. It’s about me and Alex. What am I going to do if we can’t get talking and turn our relationship around? Hanging on to George, I gaze up at the hills beyond the old railway line. I can’t imagine staying here if we split up. I couldn’t bear it. Everything would remind me of Alex. We first met down here by the river …

Maz, you are not going to cry, I tell myself, but I do squat down in the mud and give my son a hug.

‘Shall we go home?’ I say, pressing my lips to his cheek.

‘No,’ he says.

‘We could have milkshake and a biscuit.’

‘No,’ George repeats, but he pulls away and starts trying to clamber into the buggy. I take him back to the Barn. It’s an uphill slog.

I’d hoped, by going out, to have given Alex the space to work out what he was supposed to do about Hal. In the end though, I have to take the initiative. By lunchtime, I’m not giving Alex the option to ignore Hal’s plight any longer. I hand George over to Sophia who decides to take him out to Talyton to pick up some shopping. She appears to be coping reasonably well – she’s started riding again since the funeral – but she prefers not to be in the house when Hal is put down.

Having helped Sophia persuade George into his car seat and sent them on their way, I fetch the visit case and ask Alex to come and look at the dog who hasn’t budged from the drawing room.

I sit down at Hal’s head and look up at Alex.

‘Do you want to do it here?’ I ask, opening up the visit case beside me.

Remaining silent, Alex holds out his hand for the syringe that’s resting in the lid. I pick it up.

‘I’ll do it, if you want,’ I say gently, noticing how Alex’s hands are trembling. He looks rough around the edges, as if he hasn’t slept for a week.

‘I’ll do it.’ He snatches the syringe from me, and my chest grows tight, my heart is breaking for Alex and for Hal. Where is the cool, devil-may-care attitude Alex used to have? I watch him spray surgical spirit vaguely in the direction of Hal’s front leg. It gets up Hal’s nostrils and makes him sneeze.

‘Aren’t you going to clip a bit of hair off?’ I ask tentatively.

I sensed Alex was upset, but he’s angry now.

‘You mean I’m going to miss the bloody vein.’

‘He is pretty flat,’ I say, referring to Hal’s circulation. It isn’t always easy to find a vein in this situation.

I bite my lip, and a metallic taste seeps across my tongue, as I watch Alex unsheath the needle. Remaining silent, I take a grip on Hal’s leg and raise the vein with my thumb. Alex peers at Hal’s leg, his brow furrowed and I wonder if he can see. It’s a gloomy, overcast day outside. I shift slightly so as not to block the meagre light falling in through the long windows.

‘Hey, don’t move,’ Alex says snappily, and I feel Hal now shifting alongside me, and I worry that he’s getting stressed because he knows Alex is stressed and it’s making me stressed worrying that this isn’t going to go well.

‘Raise it again,’ Alex says.

‘I am.’

‘Start again. I can’t see it.’

I wrap my hand around Hal’s elbow and press. I try pumping his paw to increase the blood in the vein, but the result is not impressive.

‘I said he was pretty—’

‘I know what you said,’ Alex cuts in. ‘I know. Just raise it again.’

I want to say, don’t speak to me like that. I know why he and his father never had nurses to help. No one would stay if they treated them like that. And I am – or was – supposed to be his fiancée, the love of his life … Comforting Hal, I gaze at Alex, at the curve of his cheekbone and the stubble on his face.

I fight the instinct to touch him, to tell him, no matter how he feels, that I feel the same way as I have ever done, and, no matter what happens, whether or not he has fallen out of love with me, I still love him, and always will …

Aching with uncertainty over how he feels about me, I try to concentrate on the job in hand. My legs begin to cramp as I wait, watching Alex staring at Hal’s leg and occasionally giving it a prod. Poor Hal gazes at me with his clouded eyes, his expression saying, let me go …

‘Alex …’ I say quietly. ‘It has to be done.’

Alex seems to make his mind up and stabs the needle into Hal’s skin. Hal winces as Alex draws back on the syringe. To my alarm, there is no blood. He’s missed the vein. Cursing quietly under his breath, Alex withdraws the needle, then takes a second stab. Still no blood. Hal utters a whine of protest. It hurts. I can feel his pain and I can’t stand it.

‘Alex, stop right there. This isn’t right, and you know it.’

He hesitates, and looks me right in the eyes, and to my horror, I find he’s crying.

‘Nothing’s right, is it?’ He swears and throws the syringe onto the floor, the needle sticking into the Axminster and staying there. Alex gets up and goes to the window, standing there, facing out with his head in his hands. I listen to the clock on the mantelpiece ticking.

‘You do it, Maz,’ Alex mutters eventually, and he stays where he is while I fetch a fresh needle and a piece of bandage to use as a tourniquet to raise the vein. When I return, Hal beats his tail once against the carpet.

‘Good boy. Let’s get this over with, shall we?’ I clip the hair from his leg to give myself a better view of the vein, raise it, and, having planted a kiss on the top of Hal’s head, I slide the needle into the vein. I’m in, and Hal has hardly noticed. I release the tourniquet and inject the drug into his system. Within a heartbeat, his head slumps onto my arm, he utters a sigh and falls into unconsciousness. I watch the side of his chest, the dying flutter of his heart, feel the tears roll hot down my cheeks.

‘Goodbye, old chap,’ I murmur, stroking his crumpled ear before getting up and moving away. ‘He’s gone,’ I tell Alex, at which he walks back over and sits down, lifts Hal’s head onto his lap and howls, crying for him in a way he never did when his father died that day, and I’m crying too, and I want to comfort him, but something holds me back.

I sit down opposite Alex with the dead dog between us, symbolic of our relationship perhaps. I don’t know how long we stay there, the three of us growing cold as
the
other dogs come in and out, milling around to sniff Hal’s body as if they are trying to make sense of what has happened, and say their farewells. Poppy, the young Labrador, spends ages with her nose pressed to Hal’s mouth.

The damp wood in the grate in the fireplace sends up a curling wisp of blue smoke. It needs a good stir up with the poker, as Old Fox-Gifford used to do, but no one has bothered.

I am choked up, but it was the best result for old Hal. I can console myself with the fact that he led a charmed life with Old Fox-Gifford looking out for him, fathering those puppies of Saba’s, the Labradoodles, and a good death, but Alex is distraught.

‘Aren’t you going to move him?’ I ask eventually, but Alex doesn’t reply.

‘We could move him together?’

Alex doesn’t want me here, I can feel it. He doesn’t want anything more to do with me.

I wonder about moving the dog alone. I don’t want Sophia or the children coming across Hal’s body.

‘What about the arrangements for Hal? I assume you’ll want him cremated and his ashes back.’

Alex shakes his head. ‘Of course I bloody well don’t. I’m not soft. And even at cost, it’s too damned expensive.’

‘Alex! Your father wanted his ashes back so they can be buried with him.’ I pause. ‘If you’re so worried about money, I’ll pay.’ I lean towards him slightly. ‘And don’t you dare tell me you’re too bloody proud to accept.’

‘Maz, just shut up, will you? I’ve made my mind up. I don’t need to analyse every bloody decision I make. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t require
counselling
. What I want is for everyone to shut up nagging me.’

I stand, my heart aching for him. For us.

‘Alex,’ I say quietly. ‘I can see that my presence in your life is causing you grief. If you want me and George to move out, let me know. But,’ I add, ‘if that’s what you choose, I’m making it clear that I won’t be coming back. I’ve made mistakes. I know I’m not the perfect fiancée, or the perfect mother for that matter, but I’ve been doing my best to hold everything together, and, if my best isn’t good enough for you … I love you … Always will …’ I can no longer speak. It doesn’t matter though, because I have nothing left to say. It’s over.

I watch him kneel and stagger up with Hal’s body in his arms. As he heads towards the double doors out to the garden, he trips on the curling edge of the carpet, and struggles to keep his balance and his hold on Hal. I duck forwards to grab Hal’s front end with one hand, and open the doors with the other.