The Village Vet (9 page)

‘You can’t be serious,’ Jack says. ‘Can fish swim? She’s chair of the committee that appointed me. Not only that, your aunt knows everything that goes on around here.’

So why didn’t she mention it to me? Not for the first time, I wonder about Fifi. She must have known that if
I
knew about Jack working for Talyton Animal Rescue, I would have turned her down flat.

‘It’s a bit of a sideways step, but I wanted to stay in the area.’ Jack hesitates. ‘Is this about the piebald mare, the black and white one?’

‘I do know my horse colours,’ I say, a fraction insulted.

‘Of course you do. I didn’t mean anything …’ Jack’s voice, familiar yet strange, smooth yet bittersweet like molten dark chocolate, trails off. ‘Frank Maddocks keeps moving her on. The cricket club is up in arms because of the hoof-prints all over the pitch. I’m on my way home, so I’ll come straight down to have a look. Are you with the pony now?’

‘I didn’t hang around.’ In spite of my feelings for Jack, I warn him to be careful. ‘Mr Maddocks was quite intimidating. ‘I’m at the pub, the Talymill Inn.’

‘I’ll meet you there asap, Tess.’

Tess? He’s always called me Tess, but the shortening of my name seems an overly intimate gesture from an old friend from whom I’ve become estranged.

‘It’s Tessa,’ I say, the skin across the nape of my neck prickling with irritation.

‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ Jack says quietly. ‘I’d be very grateful if you could show me where the pony is, or was. Frank is more than likely moving her on as we speak.’

Bother, I think, gazing dumbly at the screen as it turns blank. Events are conspiring against me.

‘Are you all right?’ Katie slides a glass of white wine across the table and sits down opposite me.

‘That was Jack. Aunt Fifi rather conveniently omitted to tell me that he’s working for Talyton Animal Rescue.’ I take a sip of wine. ‘She’s made the
decision
for me. There’s no way that I can move in to the Sanctuary now.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t turn down a job because of a man, particularly Jack. What’s more, you can’t keep going around looking like a candidate for
Ten Years Younger
. You really have to pull yourself together,’ Katie says, stopping abruptly.

‘Katie, what do you mean?’ My fingers tighten on the stem of the wine glass.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, it wasn’t meant to sound like criticism. What I meant was that it’s time you thought about moving on with your life.’

‘It’s been three weeks since the wedding, that’s all,’ I say, upset at her apparent lack of sympathy. ‘Don’t you understand? I’ve been through three weeks of hell.’

‘All right, all right,’ Katie soothes, touching my hand. ‘I understand.’

I look at her, really look at her, and wonder if she has a clue.

‘You need cheering up, Tessa. Let me get you another drink,’ she goes on.

I glance down at my glass. It’s empty.

‘Thank you,’ I say, smiling weakly.

‘That’s better. Don’t let the bastards grind you down. Come on, you can relax now.’

‘Not quite. Jack’s meeting me here so I can show him where the pony’s tethered,’ I blurt out.

Katie picks up my glass. ‘I’ll get you that drink.’

When Jack turns up at the pub, Katie decides to stay behind while I show him where the pony is tethered. We walk in silence, the slight twitch of the muscle in his cheek betraying his awkwardness in my presence. Since I last saw him at the church, he’s had a haircut and gone back to the clean-shaven look, and although
I
try to avoid looking at him at all, I do notice that he’s wearing a green polo-shirt with the Talyton Animal Rescue logo, a pair of khaki cargo trousers and boots with odd laces, one black, one tan.

To my relief, there’s no sign of Mr Maddocks and his son, but, as if to make me out a liar, someone has moved the post so the pony is grazing on a fresh area of grass with a bucket of water within reach.

‘She was tethered over there.’ I point out the bare patch of ground. ‘I suppose you’re going to say there’s nothing you can do.’

‘Let’s not be too hasty,’ Jack says. ‘It doesn’t do to rush in.’

There’s something in the tone of his voice that makes me wonder, as I watch him take several photos of the mare and her environment from a distance, if he could be referring to me and the way I rushed into my relationship with Nathan. As soon as I accepted Nathan’s proposal, I was bowled over and bowled along like a tumbleweed in the desert, unable to stop, to get a grip. Buying the dress, choosing the flowers, booking the church and the vicar: it was relentless. I realise it sounds like a pathetic excuse, but I didn’t have time to pause to take a breath, let alone reflect on the consequences.

‘Come here then, pony,’ Jack calls softly, putting his mobile in his pocket. She gives him a warning flick of the heels to keep his distance. He hesitates and lets her settle before moving closer, keeping his eyes averted and his body side-on to her to reduce the level of threat, which makes me smile, in spite of myself, because no one could ever describe Jack as threatening. He’s both soft-hearted and intensely masculine, an irresistible combination, but although he has many
women
admirers, he’s not had a serious relationship since me, as far as I know. Not that he’s a monk. He’s had his share of girlfriends.

I gaze back towards the pony, one female who isn’t impressed by Jack’s manner and physical attributes, for she decides he’s come close enough, spins around and runs towards him with her head down, charging like a rhino. With lightning-quick reflexes, Jack turns and legs it. The pony reaches the end of her tether and pulls up sharply, as if she knows exactly how far she can go, rears up and stamps her feet down twice, before standing there, tossing her head, ears back and grinding her teeth.

‘That’s one angry little mare,’ Jack observes.

Like me, I think, amused at how she behaved towards him. I admire her fighting spirit, and wonder what has happened to her to make her so feisty.

‘I’m not going to get near her, am I?’ Jack says ruefully. ‘I’ll go and have a chat with Frank to see if I can resolve this without taking further action.’

‘Is that enough?’ I say quickly.

‘I don’t see why not, if he agrees to call a vet to check the sores on the mare’s legs. It’s one of those grey areas that I come across all the time,’ Jack explains. ‘The pony’s condition isn’t great, but she isn’t the worst I’ve had to deal with. It isn’t a clear-cut case of neglect. There isn’t enough evidence to prove in a court of law that Frank Maddocks has broken the Animal Welfare Act. Don’t worry though: I’ll be keeping a very close eye on him.’

But I do worry, I think. I hate to see an animal suffering.

As if reading my expression, Jack goes on, ‘I’ll be giving him a formal warning.’

‘Can’t you take the pony away?’

Jack shakes his head. ‘Much as I’d like to remove all of Frank’s animals, I can’t.’

‘Surely you can do something.’

‘I don’t make the laws.’

‘That sounds like a cop-out to me.’

‘My hands are tied,’ Jack says simply. ‘I do what I can. I can’t do any more than that.’

‘What’s happened to you? Where’s your compassion?’ I want to stamp my foot in frustration on the pony’s behalf. ‘Do you want to know what I think?’

Jack stands with his arms folded and his head to one side. ‘No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me …’

‘You’ve been in this line of work for too long. You’ve grown hard, uncaring and cynical.’

‘How can you say that?’ A shadow falls across his face. ‘I take my job very seriously. I care, Tess. I care more than you will ever know.’ He turns away and we walk back towards the pub, Jack several strides ahead of me until we reach the stile where he stops and waits for me to clamber over. I’d prefer him not to watch because I am not one of those lucky people who can do stiles with any elegance.

‘Tess, I have something to say,’ he says as I stumble off the wooden step on the other side. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry? Oh, if this is about personal stuff, Jack, I don’t want to hear it.’

‘Please, I need to get it off my chest.’

‘I don’t care because it’s too little, too late,’ I say bitterly. ‘And you should be sorry for what you did to me, and the way you broke me and Nathan up.’

‘I’m not apologising for that,’ he says. ‘What I’m sorry for is wrecking the wedding in front of all your family and friends. Listen—’

‘Why should I?’ I interrupt.

‘I tried to contact you before, in private. I called you and texted you the night before. When you didn’t respond I dropped by at your parents’ house, but your mum wouldn’t let me in.’

‘Jack, you had no right to cause a scene.’

‘I wanted to rescue you.’

‘For goodness’ sake, you’re so melodramatic. I’m twenty-eight years old – I don’t need rescuing.’

‘You saved me once. You saved my life.’

‘If I hadn’t been there, someone else would have stepped in,’ I say, remembering.

‘They didn’t though. You did.’ Jack holds out his left arm. ‘There’s the proof.’

‘Jack, I really don’t want to see.’ I do look though – due to my interest in healing, of course, not because the sight of his taut, bulging bicep is irresistibly fascinating, all muscle and tendon. Leading down to the crook of his elbow and beyond is a long, purple scar, evidence of what happened at that party, the one Jack held for his friends to celebrate his sixteenth birthday when his parents were away celebrating a wedding anniversary in a hotel in Talymouth, and without their consent.

It was dusk on a warm summer evening, and we were dancing, drinking and kicking about in the garden. There was some horseplay going on between the boys, and I was consoling Katie on the fact that one of them whom she particularly liked had failed to call her as he said he would (it sounds like nothing, but it’s the end of the world at the age of sixteen), when there was a yell and a crash, followed by the sound of shattering glass.

‘Jack. Jack!’ Someone swore. ‘You’re bleeding.’

Within a millisecond, I was at his side. He was sitting on the ground, surrounded by gleaming splinters, his hand pressed to the crook of his elbow and blood spurting out between his fingers.

‘Call 999!’ I shouted as I squatted down beside him. ‘Jack, I’m here,’ I said, looking around frantically for something to stop the bleeding.

‘I feel … weird,’ he muttered.

‘It’s okay,’ I said, stripping off my vest.

‘What are you …?’

‘I’m making a tourniquet. Don’t look,’ I added, ferociously aware that his eyes were straying towards my bra. ‘Now, let me wrap this around your arm.’

As I tied my vest around his elbow, an arc of blood hit my chest and a wave of nausea rose in my gullet. Jack winced as I tightened the material, applying as much pressure as I could, being careful not to drive any glass that might be in the wound any deeper or dislodge it and cause more damage, the single useful snippet of advice that I’d learned as a Girl Guide.

‘There’s an ambulance on its way,’ Katie said, pushing her way through the assembled crowd. ‘It’ll be here in ten minutes and it’s already been two minutes at least since I was on the phone,’ she went on, reading my expression of near panic, ‘so it’s only going to be eight minutes, seven now …’

The tourniquet was dark and sodden with blood, and I needed another layer of material to bind over the top.

‘Katie, give me your blouse,’ I said, ‘and your belt. Now! This isn’t the time to pretend you’re shy.’

Katie provided her blouse and one of the boys handed me a belt. I wrapped both items over the top of the makeshift tourniquet and tightened the belt above
Jack
’s elbow. His face was growing pale, his skin clammy and cool. Trembling, he tilted towards me and fainted, and all I could do was hold him in my arms, inhaling the sickly, mingling scents of musk, crushed tomatoes and illicit alcohol from a couple of bottles of elderberry wine that I’d filched from my dad’s cellar.

‘Stay with me, Jack,’ I begged. ‘Jack. Don’t go to sleep!’

‘Don’t leave me, Tess,’ he slurred.

‘I won’t leave you.’ The words caught in my throat. ‘I promise.’

I could feel him relaxing into me. I checked his breathing, which was almost imperceptible, like the kiss of a butterfly against my cheek, and an overwhelming sense of grief washed over me as I realised I was losing him.

‘Jack’s parents,’ I called up to Katie. ‘Has someone contacted his mum and dad?’

‘It’s here. The ambulance!’ someone screamed. ‘Let them through.’

The paramedics took over. The police arrived, and my dad turned up too, having been summoned by Jack’s parents, who were making their way straight to the hospital. Dad took one look at me, handed me his jumper and said, ‘All right, folks. The party’s over.’

The party was over, but soon after, our romance began. I recall visiting him at his house once he was discharged from the hospital, taking him grapes for a joke, and sitting with him outside on a bench near the greenhouse from which his parents had removed all the glass as a safety precaution a little too late. I remember his scent of mint and recently applied aftershave, and how his arm – the good one – crept
along
the back of the bench and slid down onto my shoulders, and how I turned and gazed into his eyes, my pulse bounding as I read the intensity of his expression, not one of brotherly affection this time, but desire.