Vets in Love (17 page)

I’m so tired of being the grown-up, responsible sister all the time. I wish I could kick over the traces just for once, but I can’t. It isn’t me.

Chapter Nine

Love Me, Love My Dog

WITH MATT, IT
isn’t a case of out of sight, out of mind, because firstly, I can’t stop thinking about him and secondly, he’s constantly reminding me by phone call and text that he’s keen to see me.

‘N E time after 1pm, don’t 4get Mattxx’

‘As if x’, I text back.

On the day of our date, with butterflies dancing in my stomach, I park on the driveway in front of the brick and tile building that is part way through its transformation from a pair of semi-derelict farm-workers’ cottages to one house, as evidenced by the presence of two separate front doors, one red and one green, that open onto a path that borders a single lawn. The grass has been mown, but the flowerbeds are overgrown with a mixture of shrubs, roses and pink mallows.

When I get out of the car, Matt comes marching up with the Bobster at his heels giving me a bark and a growl.

‘Hey, that’s enough,’ Matt says sternly.

‘She really doesn’t like me,’ I say, feeling a little threatened. ‘She’s snarling. I can see her teeth.’

‘She’s smiling,’ Matt insists.

‘I don’t believe you. She’s sucked you in completely. Love me, love my dog.’

‘She’s a great dog.’ He reaches for my hand, pulls me round and kisses me on the lips, and I’m buzzing with joy and happiness and anticipation. He’s amazing.

‘Thanks for the invite.’ Much as I enjoy their company, I need a break from my sister and her children. It’s been a shock to my system, having been used to living alone and pleasing myself. ‘If I talk in a funny voice today, Matt, it’s because I’ve overdosed on children’s TV –
Peppa Pig, Postman Pat
and endless repeats of
Bob the Builder
.’

‘You can talk however you like. Welcome to my humble abode.’ Matt grins as he guides me to the rear of the house, his hand on the small of my back while the Bobster runs back and forth barking. ‘Do come in.’

I follow him through the open door into the kitchen where there is a dish of strawberries and a jug of clotted cream on the oak table and a kettle whistling on the range. I look around at the beams that run across the high ceiling, the rustic dresser and the colourful plates arranged on it. There are postcards on the walls, sent from all over the world.

‘I can’t bear to throw any of them away,’ Matt says. ‘This is my favourite room in the house,’ he goes on.

‘It’s lovely.’ I gaze out of the double doors and across the garden, where the lawn, big enough to require a
ride-on mower, sweeps down to two fruit and vegetable plots. Along the edges of the grass are borders of shrubs and flowers: hollyhocks and lavender, and in the centre, a pear tree. Beyond the end of the garden are green fields with grazing sheep and a distant farmhouse.

‘Help yourself to strawberries, then I’ll show you around.’ Matt leans his head to one side. ‘I could show you the bedroom, if you’re interested.’

‘Matt!’ I blush in spite of, or maybe because of, the fact that I was thinking along the same lines. It’s a dilemma for me, though, because in my heart I want to leap straight into bed, but my head is telling me it’s too soon.

‘I’ve been looking forward to having you to myself, just the two of us.’

‘Don’t forget the Bobster,’ I add.

‘She won’t let me,’ he says, picking out a strawberry and holding it to my lips. ‘Taste this. I picked them from the garden less than an hour ago.’

It’s sweet, succulent and fragrant with summer sunshine, and I laugh when Matt leans up close and kisses away the juice that trickles down my chin. He holds me closer until I can feel the growing heat between us. ‘Let me show you around,’ he whispers, releasing me slowly, and taking hold of my hand, but before we can go anywhere, a buzzer sounds from the range.

‘That’s my cake,’ Matt says. ‘It’s ready.’

‘You bake cakes!’

‘One variety only – fruit cake.’ He moves away and I watch him grab what looks like a tatty old T-shirt, using it to take the cake out of the oven.

‘Haven’t you heard of oven gloves?’ I say, horrified.

‘It’s all right,’ he says sheepishly. ‘It’s clean.’

‘Yes, but …’ I bite my lip. I expect the oven’s hot enough to have killed any bugs.

‘We’ll let it cool down for a bit. I don’t want it to crumble when I cut it.’ Matt rests the tin on a wire rack. ‘Let me show you the rest of the house. The living room’s next door. I haven’t lit the fire for a while …’ He kicks a dog bed to one side.

‘Where does the Bobster sleep?’ I ask.

‘Down here at night.’

‘That’s good. I thought you might have let her sleep on the bed.’

I accompany Matt on a tour of the house. He’s understandably proud of his home and what he’s managed to do to it so far. It’s warmer and more personal than the house where I live, although it’s chaotic with coats hung over the dining room chairs and photos of his family propped up on the piles of vet journals that overwhelm the bookshelves.

I can’t help it but I find myself on the lookout for signs of the ex-girlfriend. All I find is a bottle of pink shower gel in the bathroom, which is a good sign that whatever they had together it wasn’t all that much. I reckon the length and depth of a relationship can be measured by the number of shared possessions and the extent of the mingling of belongings.

It didn’t take me long to disentangle my things from Henry’s, which in retrospect should have told me something long before we split up. Even when I stayed over, he didn’t like me to leave anything behind. Every
hairbrush, spare toothbrush and sock was handed back to me pronto, and vice versa. The only item Henry left at my place was a DVD of
Twilight
that someone – another ex-girlfriend, I suspect – had left with him and he didn’t want.

Even so, I find it surprising that there’s nothing of the ex-girlfriend’s here. Unlike the Bobster, either Matt didn’t let her get her paws under the table or he made sure every reminder was removed. There is another alternative, I tell myself, that he didn’t invite her here, which confirms what he’s told me, that it was nothing more than a fling, and lends weight to the argument that Mel was lying to Claire for reasons known only to herself.

Matt shows me his bedroom. I walk over to look out of the window at the hills beyond the garden, keeping my eyes on the sheep in the fields as Matt moves up beside me, his hand on my waist. My heart is pounding.

‘It’s a fantastic view,’ I murmur, unable to frame anything more interesting to say while he’s standing right next to me.

‘It is,’ he says in a hoarse whisper.

I take the tiniest step aside, afraid of the intensity of my attraction to him and his to me, because I know he’s gazing intently at me.

‘It’s all right, Nicci,’ he sighs. ‘I’m not going to grab you and throw you down on the bed, although there’s nothing I’d like to do more.’

‘I don’t want to rush into—’

‘It’s fine with me. I understand, and I respect you for that. When I make love to you, I want it to be special.’

‘Thanks …’

‘I’m very fortunate living here,’ he says, abruptly changing the subject. ‘If I have trouble sleeping, I can always count sheep.’

‘Very funny,’ I say drily as his mobile rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and checks the screen.

‘I’m sorry. I’ll have to take this.’ From the way he’s frowning, I can tell it’s bad news, for our date at least.

‘I’ve got to dash off to the hospital. There’s a colic on its way in.’

‘That’s all right.’ My heart plummets with disappointment and some confusion because I didn’t think Matt was on call today.

‘It isn’t really,’ he says, echoing my thoughts. ‘I can’t believe how the fates seem to be conspiring against us.’

‘Why do you have to go?’

‘I’ll explain later. I need to shift.’

‘We’ll have to organise another date and make it third time lucky.’

‘Why don’t you come with me and see what we get up to?’ Matt hesitates. ‘That’s if you don’t think you’ll be bored.’ He grins. ‘It does involve horses though, if that helps to persuade you.’

‘Well, yes, if you’re sure. That would be great.’

‘I can show you around the hospital, and depending on how long it takes, we can come back here later.’

‘I’d hate to miss out on the cake.’ I giggle because I can see the funny side of the situation.

On the way to the hospital, he explains why he’s been called in.

‘I’m doing a series of studies for a paper, and this
colic fits the bill,’ he says. ‘It’s sod’s law – these cases always turn up on my days off.’

‘Perhaps you could write a paper on that,’ I say flippantly.

‘Yeah,’ he says, but I don’t think he’s listening to me now. His mind is elsewhere as he drives us straight around the back of the hospital and parks the car.

‘This way,’ he says, and I follow him, trying to keep up as he marches into the building. We head along an indoor walkway laid with a rubberised floor and painted white with five looseboxes along one side. Three of the boxes are occupied. Matt nods towards a big bay horse. ‘That one’s stable-blocking, so to speak. He needs to go home.’

‘Do the horses mind being here?’ I ask.

‘They get used to it. We don’t keep them longer than necessary. Like people, they do better at home.’ We turn the corner into a high-ceilinged room occupied by a chunky black pony standing in the stocks, trapping it in a small space where it can be safely restrained for a thorough examination. The pony is surrounded by a crowd of people, including another vet, nurses and the pony’s owner.

‘Robert? And Mum,’ I exclaim, when I catch sight of my mother standing beside her man-friend.

‘Nicci,’ she says, walking over to me and bursting into tears. ‘It’s Beauty. Robert’s driving pony,’ she adds in explanation.

‘Why didn’t you let me know you were here?’ I say, hugging her.

‘Because I knew you were going to Matt’s today.’

‘You should have called.’ I change the subject. ‘How is she? What happened?’

‘Robert took me out for lunch, and when we came back to the farm, we found her lying down in the field. The poor thing, she’s in so much pain.’ Mum steps back and wipes her eyes, smudging her mascara. ‘We’re afraid she’ll have to have an operation.’

‘And that will cost me a bloody fortune,’ Robert grumbles, taking over comforting my mother.

‘But you will have it done?’ Mum says anxiously. ‘You won’t have her put down?’ Robert doesn’t answer. He strokes my mother’s back and gazes towards the pony, his mouth set in a grim straight line as the vets work on her. There are two – Matt and Mel, one of the last people I wanted to see.

She is preoccupied with fixing an intravenous cannula in the pony’s neck with a stitch. Although her long wavy locks are tousled, she doesn’t look as if she’s been on her feet all day and probably the previous night too.

Matt picks up the probe on a small ultrasound scanner mounted on a trolley and runs it over the pony’s belly as Mel gives him Beauty’s temperature, respiration and pulse. Having scanned the pony, Matt sticks a great big needle into the lowest point of her belly and drains off some fluid into a tube which he hands to one of the vet nurses.

‘It’s surgical,’ he says. ‘Let’s get her prepped asap. Mel, you make a start while I talk to the owner, Mr—’

‘Robert Ash.’ Robert steps up to shake Matt’s hand and holds onto it as if he’s clinging to Matt as his only
hope. Matt calmly disengages himself and explains the surgery and the possible outcomes.

‘Worst case scenario is that we put the pony through the surgery, it doesn’t work out and you’re left with no pony and a bill of several thousand pounds,’ he says. ‘Is she insured for vets’ fees?’

‘I’ve never believed in insuring everything. I’m a farmer and you know what farming’s like. There’s no money in it.’ He shrugs. ‘The pony’s of little monetary value.’

Mum gasps at this comment.

‘It’s your decision,’ Matt says. ‘Would you like five minutes to talk it over?’

‘Robert, you have to give Beauty a chance,’ Mum interrupts. ‘She works hard for you. She’s saved you an awful lot of diesel.’

‘I don’t know.’ Robert scratches at his sideburns. ‘I’m very fond of her.’

I join Matt while they deliberate.

‘Let’s give it a go, Matt,’ Robert says, as Mum puts her arm through his. ‘I don’t want to lose her.’

‘Would you like to wait at the hospital while she’s in surgery?’ Matt asks.

‘I’ve got stock back at the farm that need looking after,’ Robert says. ‘What about you, Kathryn? Do you want to stay?’

‘Not really. I don’t think I can bear it.’ She looks towards me.

‘I’ll be here,’ I say, watching Robert walking up to the pony standing with her head down and eyes half closed, swaying slightly with the effect of the sedative
she’s been given. He slides his hand under her long mane and gives her a pat.

‘Take care, Beauty,’ he mutters. ‘Best of luck.’ With my mother following along behind him he turns and walks straight out through the double doors into the yard, where an ancient Land Rover with a battered trailer is parked.

He might pretend he doesn’t care, but he’s gutted. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if it was Willow.

‘Let’s get her into prep,’ Matt says. ‘Nicci, you can come along too.’

‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’ Mel says when we join her and the rest of the team in the prep area.

‘Of course.’ Matt sounds cool, but I detect some tension in his voice. ‘Mel, this is Nicci. We were at my house when I got the call. Nicci, this is Mel, our houseman.’

She stares at me, and now I know why Matt’s feeling uncomfortable. It can’t be easy having to introduce your girlfriend to your ex, particularly such a critical ex. I’m aware that I’m being inspected, like one of the horsey patients, picked apart and dissected under Mel’s cutting gaze. She really doesn’t like me and it crosses my mind that she suspects I know about her strange behaviour with Claire, pretending she’s still with Matt.

‘Matt,’ she goes on, dismissing me. ‘I need to speak to you about the horse that came in last night.’