Trust Me, I'm a Vet by Cathy Woodman Read Free Book Online Page B

in the event of an emergency – fire or flood, that’s all.’
    ‘Oh, I don’t know . . .’
    ‘Yes, you do, Em. Now, have a fantastic time. Give Ben my love. And don’t worry about Otter House.’ You have me to do that, I think. ‘I’ve told you – I’ll take care of everything. Trust me,’ I add, ‘I’m a vet.’

Chapter Four
    Kittens
    I’m always a little on edge when I’m on duty, never sure exactly what I’ll be called upon to do, or when. At Crossways I saw everything from an urban fox cub abandoned by its mum to a very sick marmoset. I also treated a puppy who’d snaffled up his owner’s spliffs and a cat who’d been shot with an airgun. However, Emma says it’s pretty quiet here in Talyton St George. Nothing much happens after nine o’clock at night.
    I settle down in front of the television to catch up with the news and it can’t be more than ten minutes later when the phone rings. I grab the handset.
    ‘Hello?’ It takes me a moment to remember where I am. ‘Otter House Vets.’
    ‘Is that Emma?’
    ‘It’s Maz, Maz Harwood. Emma’s away. I’m the locum.’
    ‘It’s Cheryl here – I served you a cream tea at the Copper Kettle a couple of weeks ago. Anyway, one of my queens is kittening. She’s in terrible distress – I need someone to look at her straight away. I can’t get hold of Alex, my usual vet. I’ve phoned several times in the past hour, and driven up to the Manor. The dogs are there, but there are no lights on.’
    I recall Emma’s warning about getting involved with Talyton Manor Vets, then dismiss it. This is about the welfare of an animal, not unfair competition.
    ‘You’d better bring her straight round.’
    ‘You’re an angel. I’ll be with you in five minutes.’
    I call Izzy to warn her there’s a heavily pregnant cat on the way to the surgery, fling on a grubby T-shirt and jeans (I seem to have mislaid some of my clothes on the way from the car to the flat when moving in), shut Miff in the flat and head downstairs. I hesitate when I hear noises coming from Reception. I push the door open.
    ‘Who’s there?’ I call sharply.
    ‘It’s me, Nigel.’ A man with a tidy ginger moustache, a waistcoat and bow tie looks up from the innards of the computer in Reception. ‘You must be Maz.’ He smiles. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you. I let myself in.’
    ‘I’d rather you’d let me know you were here.’ I don’t like the idea of people I don’t know creeping around the building while I’m upstairs. So much for Miff being a good watchdog, I think. ‘Do you think you’ll get that computer back up and running by tomorrow?’
    ‘I’m pretty sure I know what the problem is.’ Nigel taps the box with a miniature screwdriver. ‘It’s the loose hair – it clogs the hardware.’
    I hope he’s right. I don’t want to deal with a whole day without access to my patients’ casenotes.
    ‘Oh, while I remember, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve ordered a new trolley,’ I say. ‘The brakes aren’t working on the old one. It isn’t safe.’
    ‘I’ve cancelled the order.’ Nigel gazes at me with shifty grey eyes. ‘Frances contacted me to let me know. It isn’t a case of while the cat’s away, the mice can play. There’s no money in the budget for new equipment.’
    I can’t say I’m entirely happy about Frances going behind my back and Nigel cancelling my order.
    ‘Who’s in charge here?’ I say. It’s a rhetorical question, seeing Emma’s given me the responsibility for the running of the practice, but Nigel doesn’t see it that way.
    ‘Me, au naturel . I’m practice manager, in all but title anyway. You’re the locum, temporary staff.’
    How does he justify his naked ambition, I wonder? He seems to have given himself a promotion in Emma’s absence. I don’t think Nigel and I will get on if he’s going to throw his weight around and make a fuss about the cost of a trolley, although – my conscience pricks me like a large