Must Be Love (27 page)

‘Clive’s dropped by to see Maz,’ Frances interrupts. ‘How’s poor Ginge? He looks like a drunk.’

‘He’s drying out,’ says Emma. ‘You go, Maz. I’ll keep an eye on him.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, and I join Clive in the consulting room.

It isn’t often a man walks in with chocolates and apologises for being a prat, his actual words.

‘Don’t, Clive,’ I say, embarrassed by his largesse. It’s a very big box of chocolates. ‘How’s Edie?’

‘She’s doing really well. We’ll soon have her pulling pints again.’ Clive shakes his head. ‘I should have listened to you.’ He pauses. ‘I don’t know which of us Petra hurt the most – me, or Edie. She betrayed my trust, and injured the woman who’s stood by me through all my mad schemes for the past twenty years, even though I couldn’t give her what she really wanted.’ He gazes at me. His eyes are bloodshot, his nose red, and I wonder if he’s been drinking. ‘I couldn’t give her a child.’

I remember how he often called his last dog ‘Son’. Was Robbie the boy he and Edie couldn’t have?

‘I’m sorry too. I really regret foisting Petra on you.’

‘We gave her a chance, Maz. It was the right thing to do. I brought her home and buried her alongside Robbie. You see, I hated her for what she did to Edie, but I loved her all the same … It’s a funny old world, isn’t it?’

I have to agree.

‘When I took her up to the Manor, Old Fox-Gifford told me what I wanted to hear, but he was wrong and I don’t like his manner.’

‘Neither do I,’ I mutter under my breath.

‘So what I’m saying in a roundabout way is, can we come back? To Otter House?’ Clive goes on.

‘You’re always welcome. But, Clive, you haven’t got a pet.’

‘Ah, not yet. I couldn’t face having another dog – I respect Edie’s feelings more than that. What’s more, I can’t risk putting the punters off coming into the pub. They were pretty shocked by what happened. Anyway, I’ve promised Edie a pedigree cat, and Cheryl at the tea shop has a litter of kittens ready to go.’

I know Cheryl – she and her sister breed Persians. Last year I inadvertently shaved their prize-winning stud cat almost completely bald, and needless to say, they’re no longer clients of Otter House.

‘Persians take a lot of looking after,’ I say.

‘Edie’s prepared for that. She wants something she can make a fuss of.’

‘I look forward to meeting him, or her,’ I say, smiling. Clive’s talk of kittens reminds me that Saba’s puppies must be due anytime now, and by coincidence, as he leaves, Aurora turns up without an appointment.

‘Saba’s in a right state,’ she says. ‘She wouldn’t touch her breakfast, so I did her some scrambled egg and smoked salmon, and she won’t touch that either.’

‘She’s in labour,’ I say, checking her over.

‘Oh? Thank goodness for that. I thought she was sick.’

‘She should have had her puppies by this time tomorrow.’

‘Can’t I just book her in for a Caesarean? I can’t bear the thought of her being in pain.’

‘It’s better for her and the puppies to let her give birth naturally.’ In my opinion, no poodle, no matter how highly bred, is too posh to push, but then a little doubt niggles into my mind as to how I’ll feel about having a natural labour when it comes to it.

I give Aurora some tips as to what constitutes a normal labour and make sure she knows how to get in touch out of hours, which she does at midnight, ringing the bell and hammering at the door.

I let her in, in my dressing gown and slippers. She’s in such a panic, she’s forgotten all my instructions about phoning first. I show her and a distressed Saba into the consulting room.

It’s clear that one of the puppies is stuck in the birth canal and I have no choice but to admit Saba and send Aurora back home to wait with her boyfriend for news. It occurs to me to call Izzy in to give me a hand, but I decide that wouldn’t be fair since we’ve paired her up with Drew for night duties. Throwing a surgical gown over my pyjamas and exchanging my slippers for Crocs, I call Shannon instead.

‘I’m not sure I can do this,’ Shannon says when we’ve got Saba anaesthetised and ready for surgery. ‘What if I faint again?’

‘You’ll be too busy,’ I reassure her. ‘Come on. There are puppies depending on us.’ There are at least eight or nine in there and I wonder about calling for backup, but there isn’t time. If we hang about any longer, the placentas will come away and the puppies will die.

I make the incision through Saba’s belly and into her womb, take out the first puppy, clamp and cut the cord, and lower it, a fist-sized warm, wet, slippery blob, still covered in a grey sheet of membrane, onto the towel in Shannon’s outstretched hands.

‘What do I do again?’

‘Check the pup’s mouth and nose are clear. Look to see if it’s breathing, then give it a rub and put it in the incubator. Quickly, because there’s another one on its way.’ And another. And another. The first ones starts squeaking as I hand over the seventh. Shannon stares at it as if there’s something wrong.

‘If you’re feeling faint, sit down quick,’ I say sharply. ‘Whatever you do, don’t drop it.’

‘It doesn’t look the same as the others,’ she says.

‘If it isn’t breathing, stick a couple of drops from that bottle on its tongue.’

‘It isn’t that – it’s got a pink nose. The rest of them are black.’

‘Don’t worry about that now.’ I don’t think a puppy’s going to be scarred for life because he looks a little different from his littermates. ‘Here’s another one.’

‘It’s like the film
101 Dalmatian
, except they’re Labradoodles and there are how many of them?’ Shannon says, astounded.

There are thirteen in all, piled up and wriggling under a blanket in the incubator. I check I haven’t left any behind in the womb, then sew up.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Shannon says.

‘Neither can I.’ I’m on a high. I look at Shannon, at the light in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks. Not only has she managed to stay on her feet, but she’s made a brilliant job of helping the puppies into the world. ‘Thanks, Shannon. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘I couldn’t have done it without you, Maz,’ she says a little shyly. ‘You’re the best of anyone at explaining what to do.’

‘Oh? Thank you.’

‘Izzy can be very impatient, and I don’t get to do much with Emma.’

‘What about Drew?’

‘Sometimes he forgets I haven’t been here long, and he kind of expects me to know stuff …’ She pauses, and I’m expecting her to mention something technical like the names of all the different surgical instruments we use, but she goes on, ‘Like how he can’t stand Coronation chicken sandwiches.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘I have to go and buy his lunch for him when he’s busy.’

‘You don’t have to.’ I’m worried she’ll do anything Drew asks, and being her boss, I feel ever so slightly responsible for her welfare. ‘You don’t have to be a full-on feminist—’

‘Like you are,’ she cuts in.

‘But, I was going to say, you don’t have to be a masochist either. You don’t have to let anyone take advantage.’

‘You mean Drew again,’ Shannon says with well-practised weariness.

‘I don’t expect you to take any notice of me.’ Why should she? I might be an older woman, but I’m certainly not wiser. ‘Please don’t rush into anything …’

Shannon raises one eyebrow as I falter, because I can see it’s already too late. She’s completely smitten.

We let Saba come round before we reunite her with her babies, which gives me a chance to take a closer look at puppy number seven. I can see what the problem is now.

‘He’s got a harelip.’ I show Shannon how part of his upper lip is missing, exposing the gum underneath.

‘What can you do about it?’ Shannon is peering over my shoulder. ‘He’s very cute.’

‘It might be possible to repair it when he’s older.’ I lower him back into the cage with his littermates as I weigh up the options for his future. ‘I’ll have a chat with Aurora. She might prefer not to, er, continue.’

‘You mean?’ Shannon stares at me, her eyes wide with alarm. ‘You aren’t going to put him down, are you? You can’t. You saved his life!’

‘You saved his life,’ I correct her. ‘You’ve done a great job tonight, and I’m very proud of you.’

‘You can’t kill him.’ She’s sobbing now, and I realise her occasional reluctance to get her hands dirty isn’t because she’s uncaring, but because she cares too much. I can remember that feeling of being afraid of doing more harm than good. ‘He’s just a baby …’

‘He might not survive anyway.’ I’m not being mean for the sake of it. I’m being practical. Not every story has a happy ending. ‘He won’t be able to suck milk from his mother, which means he’ll have to be reared by hand.’ Shannon opens her mouth to argue, something she is becoming overly fond of doing, but I silence her with a glance. ‘That means feeding him every two hours, day and night, to begin with. If he does make it through the first couple of weeks, there’s every chance he’ll end up with a canine ASBO because he won’t have his mum to boss him about in a doggy kind of way.’ I hesitate. ‘I can’t imagine Aurora having the time or energy to make that kind of commitment.’

‘You mean, she brought these puppies into the world, and now she isn’t prepared to look after them,’ Shannon says, appalled.

‘Aurora has a full-time job, running her shop.’

‘I’ll do it. It’ll be good experience for me before I go to college.’

‘You’re going to college?’

‘Emma talked to me about it. She’s enrolling me on the day-release course that starts in September.’

‘Oh, that’s good,’ I say, although it’s news to me.

‘She found the forms on the floor in the office. They should have gone in ages ago, but she managed to persuade the college to accept them anyway.’

That was my job. I should have made sure those forms went in while Emma was away, I think, as Shannon makes her final stand.

‘I promise I won’t faint or threaten to walk out ever again, Maz, if you’ll let me give this puppy a chance.’

Chapter Fifteen

Puppy Love

When I discuss the puppy with Aurora, I don’t let on that I’m secretly relieved at Shannon’s offer. When it came down to it, I wouldn’t have been able to stick the needle in. I’d have ended up trying to rear him myself.

Shannon has little success persuading him to feed on bitch’s milk substitute via a dropper, so the next day, during a break and having been up pretty well all night, I visit the pharmacy to buy a baby’s bottle and teat, Shannon finding the thought of running into one of her friends there just too embarrassing to contemplate.

I hand over my selection to the assistant at the counter.

‘Hello, Maz. I’ve got the pops.’ I turn at the sound of a voice, which turns out to be much bigger than its owner. Lucie looks up at me like a small ghost, her face smothered with calamine lotion. ‘Humpy, it’s Maz.’

‘Keep away, darling.’ I notice how Sophia grabs Lucie’s arm and pulls her towards her, and I feel myself bristling like a chilled pig. How rude can you be?

‘She has chickenpox. I don’t think it’ll hurt the baby, but you can’t be too careful,’ Sophia goes on to explain, which is surprisingly thoughtful of her, seeing she’s disowned it.

‘It’s all right,’ I say to reassure Lucie, not Sophia. ‘I’ve had chickenpox before, so the baby will be fine.’

Sophia nods towards my purchases. ‘Are you nesting early, or is the baby due sooner than I thought? Alexander won’t tell me anything.’

I don’t want to upset Lucie, but I have to be straight with Sophia.

‘I don’t see why he should. You made it quite clear you didn’t want anything to do with me and the baby. In fact, you were pretty nasty about it.’ I can see the assistant listening with interest, and lower my voice accordingly, so as not to share my business with the whole of Talyton St George. This is between me and Sophia.

‘Madge, I’m sorry … We need to talk, but not here. Why don’t you join me and Lucie at the Manor for tea one afternoon? Any day that’s convenient for you. I know you’re busy.’

For the first time, Sophia looks like an old woman to me. Her face is etched with lines and liver spots. Her scarf – one of those silk ones covered with horsey motifs – is frayed along the edge, and her mac is smeared with lotion where Lucie’s rubbed her face on it. She looks weary and a little sad as she digs about in her handbag, scattering Polo wrappers and tissues before taking out a folded piece of paper and handing it to the pharmacist.

‘Please, Maz,’ Lucie joins in. ‘Humpy says we can make fairy cakes with Hetty’s eggs.’

‘Hetty’s one of Lucie’s hens,’ Sophia says in explanation. ‘How about this afternoon?’

‘All right,’ I say. I was going to finish early anyway, having been up all night. ‘I won’t be able to stay for long, though. Half an hour or so.’

‘How lovely,’ Sophia gushes. ‘We look forward to the pleasure of your company.’

‘I’ll see you at about four, then,’ I say. ‘And, Sophia, it’s Maz, not Madge.’

‘Yes, of course. I remember,’ Sophia says apologetically.

I take the bag and receipt from the shop assistant, just as the pharmacist emerges from the back of the shop, waving the paper Sophia gave her.

‘It appears your husband has been prescribing for himself again, Mrs Fox-Gifford,’ he says. ‘I can’t possibly put this through. I could report him, you know.’

Sophia takes a spectacle case out of her bag and puts on a pair of horn-rimmed glasses so scratched it’s a wonder she can see through them.

‘Oh dear,’ she says, reading the prescription. ‘So he has. What am I going to do with your grandpa, Lucie?’

‘Put him in a sack and throoooow him in the river,’ Lucie says gleefully.

‘I’ll make him see the doctor, even if I have to drag him kicking and screaming. Men,’ Sophia adds, aiming this at me as if we’re both part of a common sisterhood all of a sudden. ‘My husband refuses to admit he’s a very sick man. When he pops orf I’m going to have “I told you so. I told you, you were ill,” written on his grave.’

As I prepare to leave, following Sophia and Lucie out of the pharmacy, Declan turns up and holds the door open. I stand aside to let Penny through. She’s in her wheelchair, a basket on her lap and a light dressing on her leg. Sally tags along in her coat and harness. She greets me, wagging her tail, then runs off around the shop.