The Vet from Snowy River by Stella Quinn

CHAPTER

7

Josh knew the power nap wasn’t going to happen the second he walked back into the clinic. Sandy must have heard him come through the private foyer which led upstairs, because the door to the reception area flung open and she was standing there, with a pleading look on her face which did not bode well for his plans.

‘Josh, best boss ever, you got a minute?’

He supposed he did. And being called boss did still send a thrill up his spine. ‘Sure, what’s up?’

‘I need to run to the bank, and Hannah’s tied up, and—’ She angled her eyebrows to the waiting room behind her, to where a chubby-kneed kid sat huddled in a chair. ‘We have a goldfish emergency.’

‘A what?’

Sandy lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Might be dead. Kid’s used half a box of tissues already trying to stop snivelling.’

‘Seriously. A fish.’

‘Yeah. Ovoid in shape, has a tail, breathes through gills.’

Josh narrowed his eyes. ‘Snarky remarks mean I get to have a jellybean from the reception jar; you know that, Sandy.’

She winked at him. ‘The crying fish kid beat you to them. Go on, see what you can do, can you?’

‘But I’m so inexperienced,’ he said. ‘Surely this is a job for our most senior vet?’

‘Nice try, hotshot.’ She turned her head and called over her shoulder. ‘Sarma? This is Dr Cody. He’s going to take a look at your pet.’

He sighed. ‘There better be some more beans in that jar when I next come out here, Sandy, that’s all I’m saying.’

She gave him a pat on the shoulder like he was a truculent toddler. ‘Bank and jellybeans, you leave it with me. I won’t be long.’

She headed out to the street with the haste of an army retiring from battle, and he turned to the kid, who’d stood up, and was now looking at him with hope in her eyes and a plastic bag clutched to her front. When had Poppy last looked at him like that … like he could solve every problem and would never disappoint her?

Had it been weeks? Months? Certainly not since he’d first brought up the idea of moving back to Hanrahan. He had to believe he’d made the right decision, moving home. It would just be a hell of a lot easier to believe if Poppy would agree to pay him a visit.

‘Can you fix my fish, Dr Cody?’

He gave the kid a reassuring smile. ‘Call me Josh. I hope so.’

‘I put my moneybox on the counter. I dunno how much is in there, because my brother took the key when he was torturing me.’

‘Oh? Your brother torture you often?’

The girl rolled her eyes. ‘Do sheep have dirty butts?’

He grinned. Sarma, whoever she was, had a flair for the dramatic. ‘You know, I have a sister, too. I used to play all sorts of pranks on her when we were little.’

She stopped sniffling long enough to look up at him. ‘Oh yeah? Like taking her teddy bears and tying them to pretend train tracks and sending her ransom notes? That kind of stuff?’

He steered her into the last treatment room and wrestled the plastic bag from her sweaty grip. ‘Exactly that kind of stuff.’

‘Huh.’

‘You know what my sister did to me once?’ he said.

‘No. What?’

‘Put a lizard in my bed.’

She giggled. ‘No way.’

‘Yes way. Not that I’m recommending you do the same, mind you. Now, what,’ he said, holding the bag up to the light, ‘seems to be the problem with this fish?’

‘Starsha.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘That’s her name. Starsha. She’s not eating her food, and she’s just doing nothing.’

‘Let’s get her out of this bag. Fish breathe oxygen out of the water, and there’s not enough water in this bag to keep her going for long. We can use a glass snake tank for the time being, but this is where we need to have a serious talk.’

‘About dying?’

Josh cleared his throat. He’d forgotten how direct young kids could be.

‘Yes. Your goldfish—Starsha—is not my usual kind of patient. Fish are tricky to treat because we can’t take an x-ray of them, or feel their muzzle to see if they’re dehydrated, or listen to their heart with a stethoscope … that sort of thing.’

Did fish even have hearts? He wondered how unprofessional it would look if he turned to his computer and googled How to tell if my goldfish is alive.

‘Just do your best, Josh.’ Sarma sat herself in a chair and looked at him expectantly, her eyelashes wet with tears.

He sighed. Water. Neutralising agent. No sudden change of temperature. That would have to do for a start. He ran his eyes over the row of textbooks and science journals stacked in the shelving above the desk and settled on the battered copy of The Australian and New Zealand Vet Companion.

He flicked the child a look. ‘Can you read, Sarma?’

She frowned at him in a way that made him think fondly about strapping teddy bears to fake train tracks. ‘Of course I can read. I’m nine.’

‘Look up goldfish in this index, will you, Sarma, while I fill the tank and get the temperature adjusted. Let’s get Starsha a new clean home with plenty of oxygen in it. We can work on her lack of energy and appetite later. You cool with that?’

Sarma slipped off the chair and marched up to the desk like a warrior preparing for action. ‘G for goldfish. That comes after F, right?’

He had to resist the urge to give her a hug. Plucky and cute. Just like Poppy used to be.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘That’s right. Let’s see what we can do for your pet.’

An hour later, Josh was staring at his reflection in his sister’s new bathroom mirror. The bevelled glass fixture was a fine piece of work, rising from the hip-height marble counter to disappear into the decorative plasterwork of the cornice. He should know—he’d nearly broken eight fingers installing it.

‘Tell me why we’re going to this again?’

‘Mrs Juggins’s sausage dog, Henry, was one of my first customers. And, owing to the ridiculous quantity of biscuits, sausages and well-buttered vegemite toast triangles she kept feeding him, he was one of my fattest customers, which meant he was a frequent visitor. His vet bills probably paid for the x-ray machine.’

Josh’s fingers paused on the blue silk of his tie. ‘The bunny ran under the tree. No, down the hole and over the tre—Damn it. Where’s YouTube when you need it? I can’t believe I’ve forgotten how to fasten a tie.’

‘Come here, you big lump.’

Hannah swivelled him round to face her. ‘Crouch down a bit.’ She flipped the tie into position, then pulled his collar straight above it. ‘Any luck at the council office?’

‘Some clerk made me wait for an hour, then let me fill in a form and cut me loose. The local councillor’s out of town for a few days, so I’ve booked an appointment for next week.’

‘Barry O’Malley? Our local member?’

‘Yeah. I grabbed his business card and stuck it to the noticeboard in the office.’

‘I guess that’s something.’ She smoothed the top buttonhole in his shirt then stood back. ‘You scrub up okay, big brother.’

He grinned. ‘That’s more than I can say for you. Do you even own clothes that aren’t made of denim?’

‘Some. Maybe. I think. Why?’ She looked into the mirror, fussed a little with the neckline of her no-nonsense navy blouse.

He pulled her ponytail. He should have known better than to poke fun at Hannah for what she wore, so he covered his gaffe with a comment guaranteed to annoy her so much she’d forget the clothes question.

‘Wonder if Tom Krauss will be there? Haven’t seen him since I moved back to town.’

Hannah suddenly grew very busy fixing a string of bright orange beads around her neck. ‘What are you doing in my bathroom, anyway? You’ve got your own flat. Downstairs.’

‘I don’t have a mirror. Or hot water. Or furniture.’

She snorted. ‘Heaven forbid Hanrahan’s prodigal son should rock up to an elderly lady’s funeral with his hair mussed up.’

‘Ouch,’ he said, grinning. ‘Come on, let’s get outta here before someone brings us another depressed goldfish.’

Hannah giggled. ‘That was so sweet. I had to get Sandy to pinch my arm to stop me from laughing.’

He grimaced. ‘The dizzy heights of a small-town vet practice. And me just a first year, too. I’m surprised you let me handle such a tricky case as overfeeding.’

His sister clattered down the stairs ahead of him. ‘Well, Sandy said it seemed like more of a kid issue than a pet issue. And you’re the expert there, Dr Dad.’

Yeah. Such an expert his own daughter was giving him the runaround. School holidays had started and still no word of a visit. ‘Don’t let Poppy hear you say that. Ever since she turned fifteen she’s developed this epic expression of utter disdain. Let’s not give her an excuse to use it.’

He grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. ‘You want yours?’

‘No thanks. It’s warm enough out.’

‘I heard the wake’s on at the new café. Hopefully no-one will call before I get to sample the buffet. I’m starving.’

‘Thinking with your stomach. How very like you. Come on, we don’t want to be late; Marigold will give us The Look if we interrupt her service.’

‘Marigold Jones,’ Josh said with relish. ‘Kev still kicking?’

‘Of course. The two of them still gambol about like spring lambs. Love or yoga—one of the two—is keeping them young.’

‘Which one, I wonder?’ said Josh, as he held the back door open for Hannah.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said as she passed him.

‘Yeah,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I wouldn’t know either.’

The funeral was sweet. From the heart, as anything was when Marigold Jones officiated, and poignant. Sadness emanated from the bowed shoulders of Mr Juggins, alone in the front row but for Kev, who had the knack for knowing just where he was needed most.

The Jugginses had run the garage out near the local primary school for years. He could remember George Juggins as a younger man in green-stained overalls, rolling out from under a car to offer up some old-fashioned service at the fuel bowsers. His wife had managed the store and sold soft drinks and hot pies to schoolkids passing by who were lucky enough to have a few bucks in their pocket.

By the time the small crowd had made it from the cemetery down near the lake to the private room of The Billy Button Café, the general air of decorum had dissipated, leaving the older townsfolk to resume the chitter-chatter and story-swapping of people who’d known each other half a century or more.

He’d missed this. The sense of belonging, of being known. He’d thought Poppy had finally been willing to give it a try, but her school holiday was about a third over and there was still no sign of her.

No phone calls, either, and even the surly text messages had dried up. She was ghosting him, and every day she didn’t arrive, his hope grew dimmer.

He hadn’t missed all the country-kiss greetings, though. He’d been kissed by so many old biddies in the last hour, he was sure he had coral lipstick stripes on his cheeks: the wife of his old Scout Leader, the lady who ran the bowling alley where he’d hung out after school some nights, even Marigold had cornered him, demanding to know why he’d not found the time to drop by. She’d slipped him her yoga schedule for dawn stretches in the park.

Yeah. Like that would happen.

The one pair of female lips in the room that hadn’t made their way to his cheek were currently on duty by the tea urn. He let his eyes dwell on them for a minute. Soft. The colour of pinot noir in a glass held to the sun. Kissable.

‘If you’re sick of the tea, mate, I can make you a coffee that’ll strip the hairs from your chest.’

Josh turned to the waiter he’d met the other day. ‘Graeme, isn’t it? Better not. I’ve already had about six cupcakes. I won’t fit into my scrubs.’

His eyes wandered back over to Vera. She stood apart from the crowd, looking … he thought it over, tried to find the right word. Unsettled? Anxious?

‘Girl can cook,’ said Graeme in his ear.

‘Mmm,’ he said, but before he could wonder if he was embarrassed about being caught staring at the waiter’s boss, Vera picked up a plate of salmon blinis from the buffet table and began passing them around.

The crowd shifted, Graeme disappeared to collect glasses, and before he knew what was what, she was standing right before him.

She was even more breathtaking up close. Colour warmed her cheeks, throwing the paleness of her skin into sharp relief. She’d tied her hair back into some sort of braid, but wisps of it had escaped, softening the formal black suit she wore.

‘Blini?’ she said.

‘Josh.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Just reminding you what my name is.’

She sighed, a quick in-out-in that made him wonder if she’d noticed him in the same breath-seizing way that he’d noticed her.

‘I know your name. I really should keep serv—’

Before she could move on, Marigold began tapping a teaspoon against a pink and white floral teacup.

‘Can I have your attention, everyone. Everyone! George thanks you all for coming here today to celebrate the life of his wife, Joyce.’

Josh surreptitiously glanced at his watch. He was due back at the surgery in ten minutes, and Marigold Jones wasn’t famous throughout the whole Snowy River region for her brevity.

‘Our friend, Joyce Juggins, was unwell for some months, but still found time to worry about how George was going to cope after she passed. She and I planned out this gathering between us, and she asked me to read a little something here.’

‘Oh boy,’ muttered a voice behind Josh. He turned to see Kev right behind him. He raised his eyebrows at the old man and received a wink in return. What was Marigold up to now?

‘Dear George,’ she read out. ‘I want you to look around you today and see all the lovely folk of Hanrahan who’ve come to see me off. They’re here for me, but they’re here for you too, and they’re getting my sincere thanks for it. You make note of all these faces, George, and when you’re feeling lonely, you know who you can go visit. I’ve baked some casseroles for you and they’re in the freezer—’

The crowd gave a laugh, and even Mr Juggins seemed to see the funny side of his beloved wife still caring for him from the grave.

‘—and I want you to promise me you’re going to take up a hobby. You can take on my role up at the community hall, or join the Men’s Shed down in Cooma. Something with people, okay? Pottering about with your tomato seedlings doesn’t count. Promise me now, out loud, in front of all these good people.’

Marigold looked up at old George expectantly. ‘Well? What do you say, George? Have we got your promise?’

George cleared his throat. ‘Bloody women.’

‘I know, pet,’ she said. ‘And I’m taking that as a yes, and don’t worry about deciding on your hobby, I’ve decided for you. I’ve had an idea.’

A bony finger poked Josh in the back. ‘Really, it was my idea,’ whispered Kev.

He heard a little snort beside him, and caught Vera hiding a grin behind her hand. So. The new café owner had a sense of humour, did she? If he didn’t have Poppy and Hannah and the future of his just-started vet career to worry about, he would have liked to get to know Vera a little better. He let his eyes rest on her face, on the dark sweep of lashes hiding serious eyes, the generous curve of mouth … yeah, a lot better.

He tuned back in to Marigold, who had a head of steam up now. ‘The Hanrahan and District Community Association is having a few hiccups at present, as I’m sure most of you know. Our hall is closed for renovations, and Vera’—she smiled her thanks at Vera, who stood beside him, blini tray in hand, reminding him of a roo paralysed by a set of high beam headlights—‘has made us welcome. So welcome, in fact, that as President of the Community Association, I have made a decision. I think that instead of postponing our weekly craft meetings until the hall is back in use, we should move it right here into The Billy Button Café’s back room. Once a week, like always, Wednesday evenings. And you, George, can bring along Joyce’s unfinished craft projects and do yourself and the world a favour by joining in.’

‘Oh, hell,’ muttered The Billy Button Café’s lucky proprietor by his side. He glanced at her, ready to offer a commiserating smile at the way she’d been roped in so sneakily by Marigold, when his attention was snagged by the spectacle beyond her, staring in at him through the street-facing windows.

He’d know that kilt anywhere. Hideous orange, with a broad black plaid, teamed with stockings you could use to catch fish and a blouse that had so little fabric it’d struggle to catch a butterfly.

The tortured goth look he could cope with, but there was something new, something glinting silver amid the heavy eyeliner and powder plastered on his daughter’s face. Christ almighty, Poppy had a ring sprouting out of one of her eyebrows.

Oh, hell was about right.

The door to The Billy Button Café swung shut behind Josh and he inspected the glowering face of his daughter.

‘Hey,’ he said.

‘Six hours and fifty-eight minutes,’ Poppy fired at him. ‘You said it would take five hours tops.’

‘Do I get a hug? Or are we moving straight into the bickering? I’m fine with either.’

‘Idiot,’ Poppy said, and then she stepped forward and he wrapped his arms around her.

‘I missed you, too.’ The prickle of cheap metal dug into his bicep and his mouth kept talking before his brain had a chance to caution him. ‘I’m not loving that eyebrow ring, Pop.’

She stiffened into a plank of outrage and drew back.

‘Too bad,’ she said. ‘You won’t like my tattoo, either.’

‘Tattoo? Wait, it’s illegal for kids to get tatt—’

Her eyeroll silenced him. ‘You’re winding me up, aren’t you? Come on, let’s get over to the clinic and I can show you around. You were a toddler last time you saw your great-grandparents’ building. Hey, where’s your luggage? And come to think of it, how did you get here? The train ends in Cooma.’

‘My luggage is on my back. I caught a bus. I have no interest in old buildings. I do, however, have a keen interest in doing a pee, so maybe you could continue your interrogation when we get to wherever we’re going.’

‘That eyebrow ring has made you very stroppy, Poptart.’

She shrugged, but she didn’t pull away when he reached down to tuck her hand in his, so he left it at that. The backpack she was wearing was more like a decorative handbag with crisscross shoulder straps than actual luggage—clearly, his daughter wasn’t planning on a long visit to Hanrahan.

Well. He’d have to do something about that.

He headed across the park to Salt Creek Flats Road. ‘What are your thoughts on helping out with the clinic animals while you’re here?’

‘You keep animals now?’

‘Sure. We have a sleepover room with cages which connects to a grassy area out the back. Dogs recovering from snake bite, rabbits with hotspots who need to be on antibiotics, that sort of thing. Your Auntie Hannah runs her practice more like an animal hospital than a day clinic, so there’s always a house guest or two that needs its ears scratched or its water bowl filled.’

Poppy gave a noncommittal grunt, so he decided to sweeten the bait.

‘You’ll love Jane Doe and the gang.’

‘Who are they?’

‘Jane is a lost dog. She was brought in to the clinic a couple of weeks ago and we delivered eight pups. The mum’s a labrador, father unknown.’

‘I guess puppies are kinda cute.’

‘You should see the fat one. He’s a heartbreaker.’

Josh stopped on the footpath when they reached the clinic and looked up at the old Cody building. His old building … his and Hannah’s, and Poppy’s, too, one day. The midday sun was shining down on the granite gneiss blocks, making the façade gleam, and the fresh white he’d painted on the windows of the upper storeys gave the building a touch of the elegance it must once have had. Before some butcher architect in the seventies tacked on a plywood storefront to the ground floor.

‘Here it is. Home.’

Poppy looked up. ‘It’s, um … big. I guess.’

‘Yep.’

‘And kinda bodgy looking.’

He pulled her ponytail. ‘I’m working on that. Clinic’s on the bottom floor, you and me are in the middle, and Hannah’s got the top floor.’

‘I do have a bed, right?’

‘Bed, doona, pillows.’ He wondered if this was the right time to mention he hadn’t got the hot water working on his floor yet. Nope. Some news was best delivered over pizza.

They didn’t make it upstairs.

A rap on the windowpane from inside distracted him from his building-gazing. A woman was eyeballing him from the reception area, pointing at her watch.

Shoot. His noon appointment had arrived ahead of schedule.

‘Looks like you’ll have to show yourself around the apartment, Pop. Sandy—that’s the receptionist, you’ll need to keep on her good side if you want access to the high calibre biscuits—will show you where to go.’

‘Whatever.’

‘Come on, let’s drop your bag inside. Me and Han usually use the side door to get in and out without cutting through the reception room, but you see that woman staring us down?’

‘With the big hair?’

He grinned. ‘Kelly Fox. Went to school with me. She’s a little snippety, but she has a kid not much younger than you. Let’s say g’day.’

‘I’m not here to meet people, Dad.’

‘Whatever,’ he said, giving her his best Poppy impersonation. She frowned at him and he laughed. ‘Come on, at least come in and meet their guinea pig.’

He pushed open the front door of the clinic and ushered Poppy in ahead of him.

‘Kelly,’ he said. ‘And Braydon, isn’t it? Let me just grab your file and we can go through.’

Sandy’s eyebrows disappeared under her fringe when he walked over to the counter to collect the chart she was waving at him. ‘Is that your daughter?’ she whispered.

‘Sure is. Poppy, honey, come and meet Sandy.’

‘Hi,’ his daughter said.

‘Hello at last,’ smiled Sandy. ‘I love your boots!’

He chuckled. ‘Don’t encourage her, Sandy. Do you mind showing Poppy around while I see to the Fox family?’

‘Not at all. You’ve got a pair of cats in at two, then a break until Pete Harris at five. His border collie’s coming in to get the drain out of his ear and a few stitches put in.’

‘Gotcha.’

He turned back to Kelly and the kid beside her who had a shoebox with—he assumed—an arthritic guinea pig tucked up inside of it. ‘Come on, team, let’s head into the treatment room. Pop, you want to meet Peanut?’

Kelly had made it into the treatment room ahead of him, but she only had eyes for Poppy. ‘So this is your daughter, Josh.’

Josh frowned. Kelly’s tone sounded a little too interested.

‘Yes. She’s visiting from Sydney. Poppy, this is Mrs Fox and her son Braydon.’

The boy was lifting the lid on the shoebox and Poppy was leaning in to have a look at Peanut, a smile on her face for the first time since she’d arrived in Hanrahan. Animals, Josh thought. The world’s greatest source of comfort.

‘So, is it true about your mum?’ the boy said to Poppy, wiping the smile from her face. ‘You know, what we read about her in the paper?’