Chapter 7
‘I j-j-ust wanted ‘im to have a treat.’ Tears so big they could have drowned him dripped down the four-year-olds reddened cheeks. His mum placed a hand on his shoulders and looked about as scared as her son, only for entirely different reasons. I placed my stethoscope around my neck and caressed the King Charles Spaniel’s ginger fur.
His head lolled on the exam room table, too lethargic to hold it up properly.
‘I know,’ I said, in my best kid-friendly tone. ‘But unfortunately, dogs can’t always eat what humans can. And that chocolate bar has made him quite poorly.’ Or could have killed him… but I kept that thought to myself. The little boy hiccuped as fresh tears splashed down his face.
‘It h-h-had raisins in it. Mum’s al-always saying they’re good for me. I thought they’d be good for Charlie.’ A snot bubble burst from his nose, which he wiped with the sleeve of his stained jumper.
‘He’s going to have to stay here for a few days whilst we make him all better. Then you’ll be able to take him home.’
I gave him and his mum a polite smile as I scooped up the poor dog, who put up no protest, and cradled him in my arms. Seeing his brand new puppy so limp was too much for the boy to take, and he burst into a fresh round of tears.
This wasn’t my area of expertise. Animals, big or small, I could handle.
But, kids? Absolutely not. His mum bent down and talked in a soothing tone.
All this seemed to do was cause the boy to get more and more worked up until his eyes were scrunched, and he looked like he was struggling to breathe through his sobs.
Turning all my attention to the pup in my arms, I left the mum to deal with her son’s rising panic and took Charlie to the treatment room at the back of the clinic. We weren’t busy, so only a few animals were housed in the crates against the far wall.
‘Come on, there you go, pup,' I cooed, laying him down on the metal bench in the middle of the room.
‘What’ve we got here?’ Alistair strolled in from a different exam room, removing his latex gloves and tossing them in a bio waste bin.
Lines of intrigue crossed his black skin, widening his eyes as he looked at the dog on the exam table.
Dark, curled hair faded above his ears. A Scottish man in his mid-thirties, whose skin was littered with tattoos and a jawline that could cut glass, made him an enormous hit with patients.
Little kids thought he was the coolest vet they’d ever seen, and the parents drooled over his flirty banter.
The only thing I cared about was he was a fucking good vet.
I slotted an IV into the tiny dog’s leg, taking a deep breath as I did so. ‘Chocolate.’
Understanding dawned on Alistair’s face. He came over and grabbed everything we needed to flush the poison out of his system.
‘Ah, little kid?’ He guessed as we both fell into a rhythm honed by years of working together.
I nodded. ‘Another scratch on the card of why I won’t be having them.’
He exhaled a muted laugh. ‘Right there with you.’
An hour later, Charlie was asleep in his crate, tuckered out but on the mend. I gave him a few soft strokes along his back before closing the door. Round brown eyes slid closed as he fell asleep.
‘Making a coffee, want one?’ Alistair called from the other side of the room, arching his back and stifling a yawn.
‘God, yes.’ I practically moaned at the suggestion.
By the time I’d finished cleaning up, he was pushing back through the doors, two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands.
‘Still tastes like fucking sewage to me.’ He passed me a mug and wrinkled his nose as he brought his own to his lips.
‘As long as it’s black, I really don’t care.
’ Taking a grateful sip, I let the bitter liquid scorch down my throat, hopefully giving me more energy than I currently had.
The coffee machine in the staff room was a hundred years old, and our attempts to get a new machine were met with a sharp scolding from our boss, Lawrence.
A no-nonsense Yorkshireman who saw no reason to spend good money on a new machine when it still worked.
It did… barely.
Alistair sat on one of the squeaky office chairs and propped his legs on the desk, crossing his ankles.
A lull had finally come after being rushed off our feet all morning.
We both took advantage of the quiet. My phone buzzed on the counter next to him.
Without glancing at the screen, he handed it over.
‘Thanks,' I strode over to him, taking it. A lead weight dropped into my stomach when I saw the notification. Last night, after tossing and turning for hours churning over this stupid bet and my admittedly questionable life decisions lately, I impulsively signed up for a dating app. After swiping aimlessly for a few minutes, I had my fill of gym bros flexing in the mirror, and pictures of dead fish held up by mediocre-looking men. I’d thrown my phone across the room and snuggled down with Roxy. The German Shepherd taking up all the room in my king sized bed. And quite frankly, the only creature I’d ever consider sharing a bed with.
‘Why do you look like you just squeezed a dog’s anal gland?’ Alistair asked, as I slumped down onto the seat next to him.
‘A terrible pickup line.’ I turned the phone around to show him the message that had popped up. He leaned forward to read.
‘Something must be wrong with my phone… it doesn’t have your number in it.’ His face screwed up in distaste as he sank back into the chair. ‘Jesus. Why the hell are you online dating? What happened to “men are the cesspool of humanity?”’
My brow furrowed. ‘I never said that.’
He barked out a laugh. ‘Aye, you did. One of the very first days I met you, I tried to hit on you. That was your parting line.’
Well, fuck. I gave him an apologetic shrug. ‘Shit, sorry.’
He waved my apology away. ‘Don’t be. It’s when I realised we were soulmates.
’ I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Alistair’s amorous activities almost rivalled mine in their frequency and lack of emotional entanglement.
When we first met, his flirtatious manner hadn’t allowed him to be in a room with me for five minutes before he asked me out.
The reason I liked him, and we worked so well together, was he had accepted my refusal easily and didn’t push it.
After that, we developed a solid working relationship.
I considered so few people my friend, but at a push, I think Alistair qualified.
He took a slurp of coffee, eyeing me over the rim. ‘So why are you putting yourself through bad pickup lines and badly lit dick pics?’
Throwing my phone back on the counter, I hiked one knee over the other and cupped the hot mug to my chest. ‘I’m trying to win a bet.’
His eyes lit up with understanding. ‘Say no more.’ He held a hand to his heart. ‘I volunteer as tribute. I’ll happily date you, Rosie.’
I shot him a bored look. ‘Thank you for the offer, but sex isn’t on the table. That’s the whole point.’
His face screwed up in mock outrage. ‘Is there even a point to dating if sex isn’t involved?’
‘You really only think with your dick, don’t you?’ I laughed.
He tapped the side of his head. ‘I use this brain like a machine at work, so when I leave these walls, I like to switch off. The ladies don’t seem to mind.’ I made a fake gagging sound at his shit-eating grin.
‘Thank you, but I don’t think you are the person to help me win this thing.
My skin is on the line, literally.’ Seeing his confusion, I explained the forfeit.
Although I wouldn’t consider us close, Alistair knew about my aversion to needles.
He’d seen me give myself several pep talks in the early days of working here.
A deep belly laugh echoed out of him. ‘Oh fuck, that’s great.’ His feet landed on the floor, coffee placed on the counter, and he held his hands up in a praying motion. ‘When you get it done, can I be there? Please? Please?’
I swatted his hands away. ‘Your lack of confidence in me is insulting.’
He shook his head with a wry grin. ‘Honey, I love you, but you’re not winning this unless you cheat.’
An entire slew of unsavoury words were about to tumble past my lips at his audacity when Jean, our receptionist, popped her head around the treatment room door.
‘Rosie, got a Mrs Feely and Brian here to see you,' she said in a low voice, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder to the waiting room.
This only increased Alistair’s laughter.
I glowered at him before turning my attention to Jean.
Brian was a green parakeet known at the clinic for being bad-tempered with a penchant for biting and scratching everything he could get his claws and beak into—usually me.
His owner—an older woman—thought rainbows shone out of his arse.
‘How angry does he look?’ I asked Jean with a grimace.
A loud squawk reverberated from the waiting room, followed by a tender voice, ‘Don’t be daft, it’s only Miss Rosie.’
Jean’s pale grey eyes told me everything I needed to know. ‘Let’s just say he’s not best pleased.’
Numerous scratches and countless hours later, I headed home.
My feet ached from being on them all day.
Usually, long days at the clinic didn’t bother me.
I was used to it, and my body was fit enough that I had no trouble standing for eight hours and heading home only to get dressed, turn around and go out all night.
As I trundled up the stairs of my building and dug around my giant bag for my keys, I couldn’t ignore the fatigue ravaging my body.
For the past week, my routine was: wake up early, go to work, come home, take Roxy for a walk, drop her off at mum’s, go out clubbing or to a bar, bring a questionably handsome man back to mine and after a couple of orgasms kick him out and get my dog from mum’s so we could snuggle.
I wasn’t labouring under any misapprehension that this was a healthy lifestyle. However, the alternative was to sit in my flat, alone, watching TV and eating takeout, only to give up on life at nine o’clock and go to bed.
Life was different last year. Last year, I had Fallon.
I still do, I reminded myself. Our friendship had always been a close one—the kind that calls at three in the morning because you can’t sleep, shows up unannounced at your door when you need a hug and goes out for breakfast and dinner every week.
And if she even got wind of me feeling slightly lonely, she would march over here right now and not leave my side until I felt better. I knew that.
But I wasn’t the only person in her world anymore. I wasn’t her only love. And a selfish, childish part of me hated it was no longer us against the world.
I slotted my key into the lock, waited two seconds, and heard my favourite sound.
Nails scrambled on the hardwood floor, followed by a soft thud. When I opened the door, a wet nose pressed against my exposed ankle before two paws landed directly on my chest.
‘Hi baby, you miss me?’ My fingers buried themselves in Roxy’s fur.
Her tongue lolled out the side of her mouth, and I rained kisses on the top of her head.
When her feet were back on the ground, she went straight to sniffing me like she was trying to identify the scent of every animal I’d come in contact with today.
The smell of other animals turned her from a loving, needy pup to an investigator.
‘I know, I smell. It’s such a betrayal. How dare I?’
Getting changed as quickly as I could, I clipped on her lead, and we headed out. The sun was sinking rapidly behind the clouds, casting the city in a soft glow. As we strolled down the street, Roxy sniffing at any lamppost within reach, I pulled out my phone and clicked on the dating app.
I’d selected the most modest photos of myself, not wanting to attract the wrong kind of guys, and kept my bio short and simple.
A few guys had messaged. Most were the same generic hi. Putting the ball back in my court to make all the effort. God, men were so lazy. I scrolled through until one caught my eye.
There were no fish or shirtless pictures in his profile, and he actually started the conversation by asking me how I was. It wasn’t the most original conversation starter, but he seemed genuine. And his cheekbones rivalled Timothée Chalamet’s, so that was a bonus.
Roxy halted next to a small tree, looking back at me. Her ears perked, and her head tilted.
‘You think this is a good idea?’ I waved my phone in her direction. ‘I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s one date.’
Predictably, Roxy didn’t answer. Head cocking from side to side as she did her best to understand me. Deciding to give up, she locked eyes with me and squatted to shit.
My nose scrunched up. An unsettling sense of apprehension pinching my ribs. ‘That’s not a good omen.’