Must Be Love (26 page)

‘That would be cruel to both Petra and the next unsuspecting person who takes her on.’ Alex lowers his voice. ‘You’d be passing the problem on to someone else.’

‘Petra isn’t a problem,’ Clive says, his voice breaking. ‘She’s my dog, my beautiful and loyal princess.’

My throat constricts – I can feel Clive’s pain – as Alex goes on, ‘I strongly advise you to have her put to sleep.’

‘No, not that. I can’t …’ Clive points a trembling finger at me. ‘It’s her fault. She’s the one –’

‘Listen to me. That could have been anybody, one of your punters, a child. ‘Clive breaks down, sobbing, as Alex continues, ‘She’s got to go. Maz and I will be gentle with her. You do understand?’

Clive nods, his face etched with grief.

‘Good man,’ Alex says softly. ‘Now, fetch your car and look after your wife.’

As Clive leaves with Edie and Petra starts whining behind the door, the onlookers begin to disperse, venting their opinions on dogs and dog owners in general.

I look across to Alex in enquiry. He nods.

‘I’ve got what we need in the back of my car.’

He comes back five minutes later with a box of kit, a big black bag and the dog-catcher, a wire noose on a long metal pole.

‘We can take her out the back,’ I say, recalling the small garden fenced off from the main lawn where I put Robbie down last summer. ‘It’s private.’

‘I can help,’ one of the barmaids cuts in. ‘Petra likes me.’

‘She liked Edie too,’ Alex says. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I think you’d better leave it with me and Maz.’ He opens the door and ducks inside, closing it in my face.

‘Hey, Alex.’ Sometimes his chivalry really winds me up.

‘Come through, Maz,’ he calls, and I join him in what turns out to be a small lobby, shutting the door firmly behind me. He has Petra sitting at his feet while he pulls up some sedative from a bottle. She’s still muzzled with the lead, but she’s much calmer now.

‘Good girl.’ Alex holds her, caught between his legs, and injects the drug so quickly and cleanly, she doesn’t seem to notice. He strokes the top of her head. ‘You are a silly dog. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you.’ He looks at me. ‘Let’s get her outside, shall we? There isn’t much room in here.’

He leads her by the collar out through the back door into what’s now bright sunshine, and I bring the kit with me. Alex chooses a spot on the damp grass and persuades Petra to sit with him while the sedative takes effect. Petra rests her muzzle on his knee and I watch and wait, thinking how kind Alex is, making her last minutes peaceful and without blame.

‘I wish there was some other way,’ I say.

‘So do I,’ Alex says, ‘but there isn’t. I did give a dog a chance once. It was a long time ago, but I still remember it. A cocker spaniel, one of the golden ones.’

‘What happened?’

‘The client decided to keep the dog muzzled when anyone came to the house, which I thought was a reasonable plan, but the granddaughter turned up unexpectedly. The dog shot out when she opened the front door and took a bite out of her face.’ Alex sighs. ‘Never again. Okay, Maz,’ he adds eventually. ‘We’re ready.’

I kneel down beside Petra with my scissors, swab and barbiturate injection, steadying the tremor in my hands. When I murmur her name, Petra tenses. She doesn’t like me. It doesn’t seem right that the last thing she remembers is me, her nemesis.

‘Alex, can we swap?’

We change places, and Petra’s completely relaxed when I raise the vein in her front leg so that Alex can slip the tip of the needle into it, bringing blood swirling into the syringe. He presses the plunger and Petra utters one last sigh before her breathing stops.

‘She’s gone,’ Alex says quietly, removing the needle.

Biting back tears, I remove her collar and the lead tied round her muzzle as he packs up the kit. Alex reaches out and rests his hand briefly on my shoulder.

‘She was a lovely looking creature.’ His voice is a little hoarse. ‘It’s a shame she didn’t fit in.’

‘I should have done this before. I should never have rehomed her.’

‘You weren’t to know. You took a calculated risk. No, it wasn’t anyone’s fault, apart from the dog’s.’ Alex pauses. ‘You aren’t one of those people who believe in the “no dog is intrinsically bad” theory: there are no bad dogs, only bad owners? Well, I’ve been around long enough to know that isn’t true. You can’t possibly justify blaming the owners for their nasty dogs every time. I believe there are bad dogs just as there are bad people, and some of them are born that way.’ He stands up and fetches the black bag, and together we slide the body into it. ‘And even if that isn’t the case, I find it’s a comfort to my clients who find themselves in this situation.’

‘Well, it could be the way she was brought up,’ I persist. ‘Petra didn’t have a very good start.’

‘You have to take some responsibility for your actions,’ Alex goes on, and I don’t think he’s talking about dogs now. His lips curve into a small smile and the mood lifts a little. ‘You can’t blame everything on your upbringing – even if you want to.’

Chapter Fourteen

101 Labradoodles

Emma’s back, sweeping through Otter House, a whirlwind of efficiency and enthusiasm. I suspect it’s a phase she’s going through, her way of coping, although I wish she’d talk to me about the loss of her baby. I feel as if we should clear the air, but I can’t find a way to start the conversation.

This morning I’ve seen to Snowy, the flu cat, who’s back in Isolation, sneezing and snuffling, and now I’m on my way to give Ginge his medication before I get started on the day’s consults. However, I can’t find him in the usual places, curled up on the clean laundry, or squeezed under the shelves in Reception, or hiding behind the sofa in the staffroom.

‘Has anyone seen the cat?’ I call from the staffroom.

‘Which one?’ Emma calls back from the corridor.

‘Ginge.’

‘I shouldn’t worry about him – he won’t be far away.’ Emma looks round the door as a sound catches my attention, a regular, thudding sound with an under-lying mechanical squeak.

‘There’s something wrong with the dryer.’ I push past Emma and hurry to the laundry area, which is to one side of the wide corridor leading to the back door. I yank the tumble dryer open, at which a ginger cat tumbles out, his claws embedded in various pieces of the animal bedding that fall out with him, his body limp and lifeless as it hits the floor. The hot static sparks between his fur and my fingers, but it’s Emma who pushes me out of the way and scoops him up, calling for Izzy to bring towels soaked in cold water.

I’ve killed him. I’m not sure if I’m screaming aloud or inside, or both, as I follow Emma into Kennels where she and Izzy start to work on him. Poor Ginge. He’s lying on the prep bench with his head and tail sticking out from a mound of wet towels and a thermometer sticking out of his bum. Emma checks it and removes it rather quickly.

‘Forty degrees and rising. Let’s get him under the shower.’

She extracts him from the towels and takes him across to the dog-washing station. Izzy’s already there, gripping the shower attachment and turning on the tap, and I can feel tears pouring down my cheeks as Emma holds Ginge’s limp body in the spray.

‘Is he …?’ I hover a few feet away. If Emma responds, I don’t hear her, my ears filled with the sound of water slapping against skin, and it seems like half a lifetime before Emma decides it’s enough and returns Ginge – or what’s left of him – to the prep bench in a dry towel. I hold my breath until I feel faint from apprehension and a lack of oxygen.

‘He’s still with us,’ Emma says, and I can breathe again.

I send up a silent prayer to Bast, the Egyptian goddess and protector of domestic cats – well, you never know, do you, and at times like these …

‘That’s better,’ Emma says, partially unwrapping him to recheck his temperature. He looks like a cartoon cat, his eyes rolling from side to side, his coat in rats’ tails, and his tongue, which is brick-red, sticking out. ‘He’s taken a bit of a battering, but I think there’s a good chance he’ll survive.’

‘Shannon will be relieved,’ Izzy says. ‘I don’t know how many times I’ve told her to check for cats before she puts the laundry on.’

‘Shannon isn’t in yet,’ I say. ‘It was me.’

‘You?’ Izzy and Emma stare at me.

‘I wasn’t thinking. I walked past this morning to put some rubbish out, saw the door of the dryer was open and slammed it shut.’ I remember giving it a shove with my foot. I was tired, in a hurry, thinking about something else – the baby of course. I didn’t look to see what, or who, was in there. I walk forwards and touch Ginge’s head. ‘I’m sorry, old boy.’

I notice how Emma flashes a glance at Izzy as if to warn her off giving her opinion on people who don’t look out for their pets.

‘We’ll put him in a cage, just for today, so we can keep an eye on him,’ Emma says.

‘He hates being caged,’ I say, but I realise the worst thing that could happen is for him to wander off and not find his way back. Yes, he’s alive, but it’ll be a while before we know if he’s suffered any permanent damage to his brain, for example.

Emma sits with Ginge, her scrub top soaked through. I fetch her a dry one, then help Izzy clear up.

‘It looks like we’ve had a flood,’ Izzy grumbles.

I apologise again. Sometimes I feel as if I can’t do anything right. I load a washing basket with wet towels and take them along to the washing machine before rejoining Emma and Ginge, who’s beginning to look more normal. His eyes are steady, although the pupils are still huge, his breathing has settled, and he doesn’t seem to be radiating so much heat.

Emma looks up. ‘I’ve got something for you, Maz. I almost forgot.’ She disappears, returning a few minutes later with a package wrapped in pale blue and pink tissue paper, and decorated with ribbons. ‘Open it.’

I tear through the paper, finding a book –
Pregnancy for Dummies
– and a pair of tiny white socks.

‘Thanks, Em.’ I’m touched, and upset at the same time. I didn’t think to buy anything for her baby.

‘I’ve not been a very good friend, or partner, recently.’ She smiles. ‘I’ve been too wrapped up in my own problems to be wrapping presents.’

‘That’s hardly surprising, is it?’ I pause, waiting for her to guide the conversation. I’d love her to open up to me about losing her baby, but all she wants to talk about is mine.

‘You haven’t bought anything for the baby yet, have you? I thought so. Honestly, Maz …’ She looks at me accusingly, thinking perhaps of all the bits and pieces she collected together for hers. ‘When are you going to move in with Alex?’

‘We haven’t talked about it.’ I remember him mentioning it when we were down at the beach café, but he hasn’t said anything since. I would have asked him to move in with me, but the flat is too small for three of us, and there’s no way I’m moving in with him: the thought of having his parents as next-door neighbours is too much to bear.

‘You’re not going to let Alex off his share of the night feeds, are you?’ Emma goes on. ‘Maz, how many weeks are you now?’

‘I don’t know.’ It’s the middle of April now, so … ‘Fifteen, maybe.’

‘Which means you’ve got twenty-five to go, perhaps less if it comes early. It isn’t long.’

‘Okay, I’m in denial. It’s easier not to think about it, to pretend it isn’t happening.’

‘You sound as if you don’t want the baby,’ Emma says, seeming hurt. ‘I know you said you never wanted children, but I can’t believe you meant it.’

‘I didn’t make all those sacrifices to get through vet school for nothing.’

‘It wouldn’t be for nothing, though, would it? You can have a baby and a career, for goodness’ sake. The human race would have died out by now if everyone thought that way.’

‘It isn’t just that,’ I say, playing with the socks – even at full stretch, they’re incredibly small. ‘It’s lots of things …’

‘You can tell me. You don’t have to keep everything to yourself.’

‘I don’t know where to begin,’ I say, wondering how much to censor my words to spare Emma’s feelings.

There’s the pressure of living up to Astra’s standards as the perfect mother. The difficulty of not sounding ungrateful when Emma so desperately wants to be a mum herself. The fact that I’m at the stage when I’m supposed to be blooming, and all I can say is that I’m blooming exhausted. The regret that Alex and I haven’t had time to do the things you do when you’re a couple. We haven’t even been away together, just the two of us with time on our hands.

The worst thing, though, is the old Fox-Giffords’ rejection, disowning their own grandchild. It makes life difficult for Alex, and it seems so unreasonable when he works all hours to keep the family practice afloat. They don’t appreciate him at all. It’s also going to be awkward for me, I realise. Once the baby’s born, Lucie particularly will soon notice the baby is being treated differently from her and Seb, and then I’ll have to deal with all her questions.

I sigh out loud. I don’t expect everyone to love me, or like me even. What I do expect, though, is to be treated with respect. I don’t like the idea that the old Fox-Giffords are dissing me to all their friends and acquaintances. In spite of pretending it doesn’t matter, I’m finding it extremely hurtful.

‘Come on, Maz,’ Emma says. ‘You don’t have to keep it all to yourself. I might be able to help.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Emma’s good at solving problems, but I don’t see she’ll be able to do anything about the rift between me and the old Fox-Giffords. ‘The situation is irretrievable,’ I pronounce gloomily.

‘You mean, you and Alex’s parents?’ Emma says. ‘I’m sorry – Frances is full of it. She thinks it’s her fault because she let slip you were pregnant to Old Fox-Gifford. She says he was deeply offended because he wasn’t the first to know. I expect it’ll blow over, you know.’

‘They were unbelievably rude to me, Em.’

‘Does it really matter?’ Emma asks. ‘I mean, you don’t have to see them.’

‘Well, yes, it does. It makes life difficult for Alex for a start. He’s pretty hurt that his parents have rejected his child before it’s even born, merely because they hold some grudge against me because I wasn’t born into the right family.’