Vets in Love (35 page)

‘We don’t really need her help,’ Mr Brown says, ‘but she’s a very nice woman.’

‘I’m glad it’s working out,’ I say. At least, this way, the Browns can stay together in their own home.

By lunchtime, I’m seeing my last patient.

‘Come on in.’ I show Ed Pike through to the consulting room.

‘Look at me. I’m a free man. No children. No dog,’ he says brightly.

No vest either, I notice. He’s looking well, having put on some muscle, and he’s wearing a shirt, tweed tie and cord trousers.

‘How’s it going?’ I ask as he takes a seat.

‘I feel so much better. I can’t believe how bad I felt, but I didn’t realise it. I kept putting the tiredness and lack of energy down to running around after the kids. I’m on top form now.’ His expression grows serious. ‘What about the blood results though, Nicci? Are they okay?’

‘They’re good,’ I say. ‘Your hormone levels are within normal limits, so we’ve got the dosage right. All you have to do is carry on taking the medication and come in for regular blood tests for monitoring.’

‘That’s brilliant.’ Ed pauses. ‘Do you want to see my … um, chest at all? I’ve been working out.’ He’s no longer the shy, awkward patient I saw at the beginning when he could hardly bring himself to mention his problem, and I can tell I’m going to see his chest however I respond because he’s taken off his tie and is unfastening the buttons on his shirt. He stands up and slips his shirt off, revealing his pectorals. ‘What do you think?’

‘That’s very impressive,’ I say, before wondering if my observation could be considered inappropriate. ‘It’s a dramatic change from how you were before.’

‘Yep, no one makes jokes about my moobs any more, apart from one of the estate workers who asked me if I’d had a reduction and then if I’d burned my bra.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘It’s all right. I had him beating for Lord Underbrooke, one of our regular visitors, when he turned up with his shooting party. That’s a risky business if ever there was one.’ Ed smiles.

‘How is your job?’ I ask.

‘My boss has confirmed I’ll be all right there for another couple of years at least.’

‘That’s great.’

‘It’s a massive relief, and it’s thanks to you, Nicci, because I couldn’t have pulled myself back together if I’d still felt so bad about my appearance.’ He sighs. ‘That makes me sound like such a girl.’

‘Lots of men have problems with their body image,’ I say. ‘They just don’t like to talk about it in the same way as women.’

‘I’ve left something at the desk for you. It’s nothing much, just a token.’ With that, he dresses and leaves with a repeat prescription to take to the chemist’s for more medication for his thyroid, which is what caused his problems in the first place. Curious, I go and see what he’s left for me, thinking it might be chocolates or biscuits that I can share with the rest of the staff.

‘I’ve put them in a bin bag in the fridge,’ Janet says when I ask her. ‘They’re in the drawer at the bottom, well away from the milk. It’s disgusting if you ask me.’

‘What are they?’

‘Go and see.’ Janet wrinkles her nose. ‘You’re in for a nasty shock.’

It’s a brace of pheasants! I feel quite the country GP now.

‘What do I do with them?’

‘Don’t ask me,’ Janet says. ‘The sight of them is enough to turn me vegetarian. Ugh. They’re foul.’

‘You’re right, Janet,’ I chuckle. ‘They are indeed fowl. As in F-O-W-L. Oh, never mind.’

‘I get it,’ she says. ‘If I were you, I’d get your boyfriend to pluck them and take their entrails out – he’ll know which bit’s which.’

I don’t enlighten Janet, as she answers the phone, to the fact that I’m not sure where I am with Matt at the moment.

‘Nicci, don’t go away.’ Holding the phone to her ear, she looks in my direction, her expression one of concern. ‘It’s Steve Wilde.’

I’m not sure what condition Steve’s heart is in at the moment, but mine stops. ‘Where is he?’

‘On the way here. His daughter’s bringing him. He’s having chest pains.’ She returns to the call. ‘Tessa, don’t worry about the parking. Come straight in.’

‘I’ll grab the trolley,’ I say as Janet puts the phone down. ‘Call an ambulance just in case, and if Ben or Claire are around, I could use reinforcements.’

‘Claire’s at lunch and Ben’s with a patient. I’ll fetch him.’

I open the door to the nurse’s room, grab the wheelchair from inside and push it out to the front of the surgery where Steve is getting out of a car, his hands pressed to his chest, his eyes rolling with pain and anxiety, but he’s able to walk to the wheelchair without gasping for breath or turning blue.

Joining him, I take hold of his wrist to check his
pulse, which is fast but regular.

‘Sit down, Steve,’ I tell him.

‘I can walk,’ he says.

‘Sit down, Dad,’ his daughter says, her voice threaded with panic, which doesn’t help when someone’s having a heart attack. However, it works and Steve responds by sinking into the wheelchair so I can push him into the treatment room – with difficulty, because he’s still a large man in spite of his attempts at dieting.

‘Watch your driving, Doc,’ he mutters as I steer him into the trolley with a clash of metal against metal.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say before asking him to lie on the couch.

‘I’m having another one,’ he gasps. ‘I know I am. The pain …’

‘Didn’t I tell you to call an ambulance last time?’ I scold as I rig up the ECG machine to get a trace of the electrical activity in his heart.

‘Yes,’ he says sheepishly.

‘Well, there’s one on its way now. Hold still,’ I say as the trace jumps. ‘Tell me what’s been going on? When did these pains start?’

‘I had a couple of twinges overnight.’

‘So you thought it would be a good idea to see how you felt in the morning? How many times do I have to tell you, Steve?’

‘She’s such a nag.’ He looks towards his daughter, who’s standing out of the way in the corner of the room, clutching a bag and keys. ‘She’s worse than your mother, isn’t she, Tess?’

‘Dad,’ she sighs. ‘We’re only trying to help you.’

‘I know, love.’

I watch the trace. His pulse is slowing down, approaching a normal rate.

‘You know, I don’t think this is a heart attack,’ I say, calling Janet through to ask her to cancel the ambulance.

‘I told you so, Dad,’ says Tessa. ‘He was drinking beer and eating pickled eggs last night.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘You were.’

‘Oh no, I wasn’t,’ Steve says in the manner of a panto dame.

‘Oh, yes you were.’

‘Oh no, I wasn’t.’

‘He was, Dr Chieveley.’

I listen to Steve’s chest for a moment to give me a chance to collect my thoughts and make sure I’m not making a potentially fatal mistake.

‘So, what’s the verdict?’

‘Indigestion. I’m going to prescribe you antacids and a sensible diet.’

Steve rolls his eyes in that theatrical way of his. ‘Don’t you ever have any fun, Nicci?’

‘I have more than enough fun, thank you,’ I say.

‘You know, you should come along to the panto. We’re holding it at the school this year. I’ll let you have a couple of tickets.’

‘I thought they were sold out – I saw the posters.’

‘Oh no,’ he touches the side of his nose, ‘I have some reserved for special guests like you and Claire. It’s the dame’s prerogative.’

‘I’m not sure it’s my scene,’ I say, although it would be right up Sage and Gabriel’s street, if they’re still living here at Christmas.

‘You’re never too old for panto.’

Life goes on and I hear nothing from Matt. Although I try to convince Cheska to speak to Mum again, she stubbornly refuses to acknowledge her existence, let alone agree to see her. A week later and I’m at the yard with Sage for her riding lesson.

Having had a stern word with Willow about not trashing her new winter-weight fleece, I watch from the side of the outdoor school, my hands in my pockets and wrapped up in several layers of clothing – including some particularly unalluring pale pink thermals – against the cold. I respect my mother more than ever, standing out in the elements like this. She did the same for me through rain, wind and snow.

Sage is riding Harry, or rather Harry is taking advantage of her and tanking around the school at a fast trot with Sage trying to keep in rhythm with his manic pace.

‘Whoah, Harry,’ Delphi calls from the middle. At the sound of her voice, he slows to a walk. ‘That’s better. He’s got the wind under his tail today.’

‘Yes, Delphi,’ Sage shouts back.

‘How are you going to keep him calm?’

‘Remember to breathe! And relax!’ Sage replies.

I feel for her. I’ve ridden any number of naughty ponies.

She walks him in a small circle, but Harry soon
decides he’s done his fair share of small circles. He takes hold of the bit, sticks his head in the air and trots off in the opposite direction. In the corner, he strikes off into canter which would have been a great move if that was what Sage was asking him for. She pulls on the reins, her hands up near her face because she’s left them too long, but Harry swishes his tail, does a cheeky buck and flies into a gallop.

‘Whoah, Harry,’ Delphi calls again, but he’s well away, bolting round and round the school with Sage clinging onto the saddle now, her face as white as a freshly washed numnah. ‘Hold on, Sage.’

‘Delphi, do something,’ I yell. I can’t bear to watch. She’s going to come off. She’s going to hurt herself.

Delphi ambushes Harry, holding out her arms and standing in his path, but he’s too quick, changing direction to avoid her, at which Sage loses her stirrups and her seat, flying into the sand and landing on her back with an audible thump. Delphi goes for the pony – typical! – while I run to Sage.

‘Keep still,’ I tell her. ‘Don’t move.’ There are tears in her eyes and she’s trying not to cry. ‘Where does it hurt?’

‘Um, all over …’ She touches her side.

‘There?’ I ask.

‘A bit.’

‘What about your neck? Your back? Your head?’

‘A bit,’ is her response to every question, and it’s a while before I decide that it’s safe to let her sit up.

Delphi brings Harry across. ‘On you jump, Sage,’ she says.

‘Just a minute, Delphi. She’s had a hard fall.’

‘It wasn’t that bad, was it?’

‘It wasn’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me,’ Sage says bravely.

‘Well, it’s lucky we have our yard doctor here to give you the all-clear,’ Delphi goes on. ‘Let me give you a leg-up.’

Before I can argue that Sage should take a break, she’s back on Harry and Delphi is walking around the school beside her, not holding the pony but close enough that she can grab him if he gives any trouble.

‘Delphi, was that cantering?’ Sage says.

‘That was a bit faster – it was a good gallop.’

‘That’s brilliant – I’ve always wanted to gallop like Auntie Nicci does.’

Delphi turns to me as they walk past. ‘Harry’s getting too big for his boots. He does this sometimes. He’s lovely with the complete beginners but as soon as they can start telling him where to go and what to do, he starts to assert himself. He can be a very naughty pony.’

I don’t say anything. He gave me more of a fright than I care to admit. I touch my chest – somewhere in the depths of my clothing my heartbeat is beginning to return to normal. It’s been an eventful lesson for Sage, and an important lesson for me. I can see where Matt is coming from when he says he’s scared to watch me event. I can watch my fellow competitors ride cross-country – Henry, in particular – with equanimity, but it’s much harder to watch someone I care deeply about falling off a pony.

‘Can I ride Willow one day?’ Sage says, beaming from ear to ear at the end of the lesson.

‘One day, when she gets better,’ I say, because she’s going to get better eventually. I’m determined that she’ll be sound enough to be a hack. ‘But you’ll have to have a few more lessons on Harry before you’re ready for a bigger horse.’

‘Your turn, Auntie Nicci,’ Sage says when she dismounts in the lower yard. ‘You’re riding Dark Star. Shane says I can watch.’

Why have I chosen to ride again? Because, as Shane says, I have nothing to lose. I’m clear to ride and I’m not competing, not that it matters because I haven’t seen Matt since that cold rain-swept night a week ago.

‘You know what VB stands for now?’ Shane says as I lower myself gingerly into the saddle onto a soft, padded seat saver that Delphi has kindly added to my ever growing list of horsey must-haves – and added to my livery bill, of course.

‘Go on. You’re going to have to tell me.’ I lean down and check the girth.

‘It means Visibly Bruised.’ Shane chuckles.

‘Oh, shut up,’ I say lightly.

We work in the indoor school this time, under the floodlights, one of the advantages of being a grown-up, I tell Sage. I don’t have to prove anything to Delphi or Shane any more.

I don’t fall off this time and I don’t carry a whip.

‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ Delphi asks.

‘He doesn’t like it.’ I trot past, flicking sand up
against the boards at the side of the school. ‘He’s going much better without it. Put a jump up for us, Shane?’

‘Are you sure? It’s always better not to run before you can walk, VB.’

I don’t respond. I relax my fingers on the reins and squeeze lightly with my calves, sending Dark Star forward into canter. He moves beautifully and jumps one metre, then one metre twenty without hesitation.

‘Good boy,’ I tell him, stroking his neck.

‘Do you want me to put it up again?’ Shane shouts across the school.

‘I’m going to stop there.’ I bring the horse back to walk, giving him another pat as he blows softly through his nostrils and stretches his neck. ‘He isn’t nasty, Delphi. He’s just a sensitive soul.’

‘Oh, you’ll be telling me he’s finding himself in a minute, Nicci. You do talk nonsense sometimes. He’s lulling you into a false sense of security. You wait – he’ll soon try you out again.’

I smile as I walk him around on the end of the buckle, but my good humour gradually wanes as thoughts of Matt flit into my head, like the small birds that fly from rafter to rafter above.

I miss him. I miss his smile. I miss waking up with him in the morning with the Bobster at our feet, something that happened regularly in the weeks before my accident.