Must Be Love (45 page)

‘I suppose so.’

‘Izzy’s back from her honeymoon too. I’ve seen Chris – he says they had a great time.’

‘I’m glad. She deserves it.’ Thinking of Emma and Izzy and work, I put the sleepsuit aside. ‘I’ve got to get back to the practice.’

‘Not yet,’ Alex says in a tone that brooks no argument. ‘You need to rest.’

How can I rest not knowing what’s happening at Otter House?

There’s a demanding, Fox-Gifford-like cry from the cot, which has been moved into my room in the hospital, and I’m on my feet, collecting George for his next feed. I sit in the chair and nurse him while Alex looks on.

‘Everyone’s waiting for you to come home,’ he says.

‘I want to go home,’ I say. I want to show George where he’ll be living. I want to show him the cats, the horses and the hens, and I want to sleep in my own bed, so I convince Alex and the doctors that I’m ready to leave the hospital. Alex brings a car seat for George, one covered with brightly coloured zoo animals.

‘It was the closest I could get to a vet theme,’ he says proudly.

‘Do you know what happened to my car?’ I ask, remembering when I last saw it, beached in the hedge by the river.

‘Ah, I’m sorry about that – it washed up in one of our farmers’ fields. It’s a write-off this time.’

I’ll miss it, I muse, but it’s for the best. Alex was right. There’s no way I’d happily let George travel in the front of anything but an armoured tank.

I let Alex carry George out to his car, where he straps him into the back seat. I insist on sitting in the back too, afraid his head’s going to flop forwards and he’ll crush his windpipe, or the clip will unfasten and he’ll fall out, or he’ll get too hot under his blanket.

‘What day is it?’ I ask Alex as he drives us away.

‘Friday. Why?’

I’ve lost sense of time … instead of being marked out in ten-minute slots for appointments, it’s punctuated by feeds and nappy changes. I’m no longer in control of my destiny. It’s George who’s controlling me.

‘Can we stop by at Otter House?’

‘What, now?’ Alex pauses. ‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.’

‘Has the place fallen down without me, then?’ I say lightly, aware of the heartbeat throbbing at the back of my throat.

‘It’s in a bit of a mess,’ Alex admits.

‘How do you know?’

‘Emma told me.’

‘I’d like to see it for myself.’

Alex takes us into Talyton St George, where, from the outside, the place looks much like normal except for the debris at the sides of the roads left by the floods, a few stray sandbags and traffic cones. There’s also a skip on Market Square and scaffolding at the front of the ironmonger’s, nothing to warn of what’s to come as we reach Otter House, where there are
No entry
signs on the pillars at the entrance to the car park, and an arrow painted on cardboard, reading,
Pedestrians, this way
. Beyond that, there’s a tatty mobile home in green and cream livery that looks as if it’s been dragged up from the campsite at Talysands.

Alex parks on the pavement.

‘I’ll wait here with George,’ he says. ‘Go on, Maz,’ he adds, when I hesitate. ‘I’ll take care of him.’

‘Come with me.’ I feel in need of moral support, unsure of what I’m about to face.

Alex takes George out of his seat and carries him against his chest. Outside the car, there’s a strong scent of sewage and floodwater. On the way to the metal steps that lead up to the open door to the mobile home, I take a moment to peer inside the entrance to Otter House. The doors are locked and I must have lost my keys when my car disappeared down the river, so I can’t do any more than rattle the handles. Through the gloom, I can see the chairs are scattered and the floor covered with a fine silt along with the contents of the display stand: collars and leads, toys and dog-tags. It looks abandoned and unloved. I wonder if Emma felt the same wave of sadness when she saw it.

If she’s seen it …

I step up inside the mobile home, into the bedroom end, where I find Frances sitting at a picnic table with the daybook and phone, and a laptop with wires trailing everywhere, a Health and Safety officer’s nightmare.

‘Hi,’ I say tentatively.

‘Maz.’ She looks up, smiling. ‘How are you? Oh, Alexander. And the baby,’ she goes on, spotting them behind me. ‘How wonderful. Would you like some tea or coffee?’

‘Don’t worry,’ I say, but Frances is on her feet.

‘This way,’ she says. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. The others will be over the moon to see you.’

We walk down the narrow corridor, entering what should be the living area of the mobile home but which has been arranged to form a temporary consulting room/staffroom/prep area/Kennels. Emma has her stethoscope in her ears, listening to a puppy’s chest. Mrs Dyer holds the puppy, an oversized one in a deep slate blue, on the table. Shannon is writing out a label while Izzy digs around in a cardboard box in the recess between the oven and the sofa.

Emma looks up, and my spirit lifts because she’s here. She came back.

‘Let me finish here,’ she says. ‘I’ll be with you in a few minutes.’

We wait as she gives the new puppy his first vaccination and gives Mrs Dyer wormers and flea treatments for him. Mrs Dyer then has to get past us to reach the corridor and the way out.

‘Where do I settle up?’ she calls back to Emma.

‘Don’t worry about that now. I’ll put it on the tab for next time.’

Mrs Dyer stops to introduce me to the new puppy, Nero, and we have a spell of mutual admiration of each other’s new babies before she takes Nero home for his lunch.

Frances fills the kettle at the sink and lines up several mugs on the worktop under the window, which looks out through net curtains at the entrance to the practice. The decor in here is chipped oak veneer, bobbled beige chenille and torn vinyl wallpaper, but there isn’t a single crumb or grain of sand anywhere. It’s been thoroughly and professionally cleaned.

Izzy and Shannon move up to greet me, then turn their attention to George. Alex sits down on the sofa and takes George’s hat off so they can see his face. (I insisted he should wear his hat – it isn’t cold, but I don’t want him getting a chill.)

Shannon bends down and talks to him - George, that is, not Alex. Izzy, not to be outdone, kneels on the floor to get closer. Her trip to Australia has given her a healthy glow.

‘How was the honeymoon?’ I ask.

‘Fabulous. I’ve never seen so many sheep.’ Izzy turns back to George and Alex winks at me, and I realise this is how it’s going to be for a while, and I’m pleased so many people want to welcome him into the world.

I look towards Emma, trying to read in her expression how she feels about me turning up with the baby. Does she think I’m here to rub her nose in it?

She raises one eyebrow and glances towards the door into the corridor.

I know what she means. We need to talk.

I join her outside Otter House. She slips her hand into the pocket of her scrub top – a new one covered with cartoon cats – and pulls out a set of keys. She unlocks the doors and lets me through. We walk in silence through the practice until we reach Kennels. I bend down, pick up a piece of sodden bedding, then let it fall again.

‘What a mess,’ I say quietly.

‘It is, but Otter House – well, it’s just a place,’ Emma says. ‘It’s the people that matter.’

‘I thought you’d lock it up and throw away the key.’

‘It did cross my mind. When I said about the divorce – I meant it at the time.’ Emma pulls out a piece of tissue and wipes her eyes. ‘You were right, though – about me being obsessed. When you rang and gave me that ultimatum I thought, Why bother? Then, when I heard you’d gone missing – Frances called me – I knew I had to pull myself together and take responsibility for the practice. Maz, I’ve been such a bitch. Can you forgive me?’

‘It’s you who should be forgiving me,’ I say, biting back tears. ‘You’ve been through hell during the past few months and I wasn’t there for you, not properly, because I was too preoccupied with my own problems, because I’ve always assumed you could cope with absolutely anything, because I felt bad that I was – you know – pregnant and you weren’t.’

‘You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves, you know,’ she says. ‘I haven’t changed.’

‘You’ve lost a baby, a daughter,’ I say in a low voice. ‘You’ve had two failed attempts at IVF, and we’ve never really talked about it.’

‘We called her Heather,’ Emma says. ‘We called her Heather because of her eyes. I held her in my arms. She was so beautiful …’ Emma’s expression hardens. ‘You didn’t come to the funeral.’

‘I lied … about there being an emergency.’ There, I admit it. ‘I’m sorry. I was a coward. I didn’t think I could bear it.’

‘You have been to the grave, though? The flowers …’

I nod.

‘I knew it. Ben didn’t believe me.’ Emma goes on, ‘I don’t want you to feel you can’t talk about George, or bring him to work with you. I don’t want you feeling sad on my behalf. It’s supposed to be a happy time. You are happy, Maz?’

‘I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I never expected to feel the way I do about him.’ I touch Emma’s shoulder. ‘I just wish …’

‘I know.’ Emma looks from one empty cage to another. ‘I’ve decided to take a break from the baby stuff. I’m going to leave it a year or so to give you a chance to get to know George.’

‘Emma, you don’t have to do that on my account.’ Now I have my own baby, I’m only too aware of what she’s missing. It seems like too great a sacrifice.

‘IVF – it’s like being trapped in a giant hamster wheel.’

‘I thought you were afraid your biological clock was ticking, that time was running out?’

‘Maybe it already has. Maybe I’ll never have a child of my own. I’m not sure I’ll ever accept it, but I can bear it. Don’t feel guilty about it, Maz. I’m doing this for many reasons: the future of Otter House Vets, my sanity, my marriage.’ Emma pauses. ‘I want my life back.’

While we’re heading back outside, I try not to think of what we’d have lost if we’d gone ahead with the divorce.

Emma glances behind her as I follow her inside the mobile home.

‘Can I have a cuddle?’ she says, then bursts out laughing. ‘Not with you, Maz. With gorgeous George.’

‘You can have him, if you can tear him away from Frances,’ Alex says, looking up at me as we rejoin them in the living area.

‘He’s adorable,’ Frances coos as she passes him over to Emma. ‘What a lovely little man.’

I feel nervous seeing everyone playing pass the parcel with my baby, probably because I’ve only just learned how to hold him myself, but Emma seems quite competent. She gazes at George’s face and smiles, then holds him over her shoulder, supporting his head. He utters a belch and vomits down her back.

‘Oh, yuck,’ she says, grinning as she hands him back to me. ‘Time to go back to your mummy.’

I hold him tight, taking a breath of his scent of milk, wet nappy and sick. He fixes me with his eyes and makes sucking noises, and my breasts start to leak again.

‘Time to go home,’ I say, looking at Alex.

‘I don’t know why parents have a nursery nowadays. As far as I can see, children end up sleeping in their parents’ rooms until they’re ready to go orf to university,’ Sophia says. ‘Do you remember how Alex used to sleep in that little room in the attic? Ice on the windows in winter, roasting hot in the summer. It never did him any harm.’

Alex gives Lucie and Sebastian presents from the baby. Teddy bears. I don’t know where he got them from, but it’s a great idea because it distracts Sebastian from poking his fingers at his new brother’s face.

‘What do you think of George?’ Alex asks Lucie.

‘He’s all right,’ she says, ‘but can you and Maz have a girl next time?’

Alex looks at me, eyebrows raised. I shake my head.

‘We’ve got something to show you,’ Lucie says, and I’m touched when she slips her sticky hand into mine.

‘It’s surprise ducks,’ Seb pipes up.

‘Did you just give it away, Seb?’ Alex scolds him gently.

Seb looks at his father, shading his eyes.

‘No,’ he says. ‘I didn’t telled Maz it’s ducks. Maz, it isn’t ducks.’

Lucie drags me after her, and the others follow up to the box room next to the master bedroom. Hal is still confined to his cage, although he’s doing well, and I reckon he’ll soon be able to move back in with his master.

‘Daddy had the nursery painted while you were in hospital,’ Lucie says, jumping up and down with excitement. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Yes, of course.’ I look around at the walls in pale duck-egg green, a frieze of ducks waddling around the room, at the cot and the nursing chair and the changing station with cupboards underneath. ‘It’s fantastic.’

‘That’s Sebby’s duck over there.’ Lucie points to the yellow duck from the Duck Race, which sits on the windowsill. ‘That’s his present for George. And my present for George is that egg. I decorated it myself.’ I take a closer look at the hen’s egg that is beside the duck – it’s got
Goerge
written on it in thick zig-zagging letters and a horse’s head.

‘Thank you, Lucie. That’s very kind.’

Alex pushes past and lowers a sleeping George, who’s still in his car seat, into the cot. Old Fox-Gifford moves up alongside the cot, crowding everyone else out of the way.

‘I’ve got my eye on a pony up at Delphi’s,’ Sophia says from the doorway. ‘It’s a stunning Dartmoor, oozing quality. It would make a nice project for the winter. Lucie and I could break it in so it’s ready for George next year.’

‘That’s a bit soon,’ I say quickly.

‘You can’t put me orf, Maz. It’s his grandmother’s duty to find him a half-decent mount.’

‘Isn’t it time for tea? The old dog will be waiting for his dinner,’ says Old Fox-Gifford, apparently unimpressed so far by the arrival of his new grandson, and we’re just leaving the nursery when he stops and leans right into the cot. George jerks, opens his eyes wide and screams.

‘What did you do that for?’ I say, moving to lift George out of the cot and car seat. ‘You frightened him.’ It’s frightening me too, seeing the resemblance between George and his grandfather.

‘He needs toughening up, not all this mollycoddling,’ Old Fox-Gifford says, and I notice for the first time that he has a rather nice stethoscope round his neck, half hidden by his old tweed jacket, and I think it’s mine. ‘The veterinary profession is no place for wimps.’ He looks at me. ‘Not that I’m counting your mother as a wimp. Or that partner of hers.’