Page 4 of A Cosy Christmas with the Village Vet

Her call had dampened his mood big time, making him wish he hadn’t answered it. But at least it had stopped him from forgetting his phone, he thought. ‘Yep, think positive, Nick, it’s the way ahead for you,’ he said, keen for his previous enthusiasm to return to face his first day at his new job.

5

BROGAN

After the third attempt, the engine of Brogan’s ancient little four-wheel drive spluttered into life. She heaved a sigh of relief, her panic skittering away. ‘Thank goodness for that.’ The last thing she wanted was to be late for her first day at work; she was eager to create a good impression from the get-go. She turned the fan on full blast, directing all the air vents towards the windscreen in a bid to speed up the defrosting process before she set off. Not that her car ever produced much heat, except for in the summer when it blasted out hot air. In winter months, it seemed to switch to Arctic temperatures. Like today. Brogan could swear it felt colder inside the car than it did outside. She jumped out and sprayed de-icer liberally over the windows. Right now, she was still absolutely nithered from her quick dog walk with Wilf, and Bert Hoggarth’s Labrador, Nell – it was her last one before Ella took over since her friend hadn’t been able to do this morning. The wind on the moors had been particularly cruel, but despite the biting cold, Brogan had got the impression Bert would have been happy to chat on the doorstep for hours when she’d popped Nell back. It had been hard to pull herself away, and she’d felt guilty about doing it; the old chap was obviously feeling lonely. She’d made a mental note to still call in on him regularly, make sure he was okay. He’d lived on his own for as long as she could remember and he’d never mentioned family. On top of that, he didn’t go very far owing to the pain in his hip he complained of. No wonder he was lonely.

Brogan knew what it was to feel lonely. Much as she loved living at Pond Farm, it was in a remote spot and since her grandparents had passed away, the long winter evenings sometimes dragged. The cottage seemed empty without her grandparents going about their daily life. She missed her grandma’s infectious laughter ringing around the place, the way she’d hum when she was busy with whatever task was in hand. And much as her grandma used to grumble – albeit good-naturedly – about her husband’s whistling, calling it a ‘bloomin’ tuneless racket’, Brogan missed the way her grandad’s chirpy notes filled the yard. Instead, an echoing silence took their place, closing in on her at times. She could understand why Bert would want to hang on to a visitor for as long as he could. Though, unusually for him, he’d seemed somewhat agitated about an unfamiliar dark-grey van he’d seen loitering outside his cottage the day before which, like Pond Farm, was in an isolated corner of the moors.

‘Had a great big dent on his right-hand passenger door. I managed to get the number plate down, mind, lass. Just in case there’s any bother in the area.’ Brogan had been relieved to hear that; she’d spotted a similar vehicle at the end of the lane to her home the other day. She’d noted there were two people in the front but hadn’t been able to get a glimpse of either of them since she’d got the impression they’d been hiding their faces. It had sent a prickle of unease running up her spine. Since then, she’d made sure to be extra vigilante about locking up the outbuildings, and she made doubly sure to lock the door of the rickety porch when she went to bed. She made a mental note to get in touch with the local bobby, PC Snaith, and share her concerns about the van with him.

As a rule, there was very little crime in the area; what little there was usually occurred in spates, with criminals coming in from the towns, taking advantage of the villagers’ complacent attitude to security, raiding outbuildings, stealing quad bikes, lawnmowers and the like. A couple of years earlier, someone had reported the theft of a trials bike, a strimmer and a stash of cooking apples, the latter item raising local eyebrows.

With what Bert had told her still running through her mind, Brogan pulled her woolly bobble hat down further over her ears before she set about liberally sprinkling salt over the old uneven flagstones in the yard. It gave a satisfying sound of cracking ice as it took effect. That done, she turned her attention to scraping the thick layer of frost from the windscreen, working at it briskly, the bitter cold nipping at her face and her fingers. Wilf looked on with interest from his place on the front passenger seat as if to say, “Come on! Hurry up! Have you any idea how bloomin’ cold it is in here?’ She eyed her grandparents’ well-loved Land Rover parked in the far corner, wishing she’d been able to afford to have its rusted chassis replaced, but the quote from Jed at the new garage in Danskelfe had been prohibitive and, in turn, the vehicle had failed its MOT. Brogan had loved driving it; it had made her feel safe, as if she could tackle all weathers in it. Her grandparents had bought it brand new donkey’s years ago and it had been a real workhorse, but they hadn’t exactly taken good care of it, and decades of not getting things fixed, and standing out in so many moorland winters had taken its toll.Maybe one day… she thought.

By the time she’d finished scraping ice from the car windows, her fingertips were completely numb.

‘Right, Wilf, I expect you to be on your best behaviour when we get to work, okay?’ she said, her frozen hands struggling to click her seat belt in the dock. Wilf looked across at her, giving a quick wag of his tail. He seemed thrilled to be joining her for this new adventure. Chris Crabtree, one of the partners at the surgery, had told her she could take Wilf to work as long as he behaved himself, declaring he’d be welcome company for his wirehaired Dachshund, Oscar. This had been music to Brogan’s ears who’d been loath to leave Wilf at home all day, nipping back at lunchtime to check on him. That would have been too awful for the poor lad, not to mention lonely for him; he was a sociable little chap and thrived on company. The alternative was to drop him off at Ella’s boarding kennels for the day, but though Ella’s rates were reasonable, the cost would still eat a great chunk into her wages, which again wasn’t ideal. And even more reason for Brogan to be thrilled when Chris had said Wilf was welcome.

Everything seemed to be falling into place with surprising ease. It was as if this new job was meant to be. Until her doubts about her ability had set in, that is.

Brogan made her way carefully along the bumpy track from Pond Farm. Her stomach was performing somersaults, making her regret the toast she’d had for breakfast. It was times like this when the loss of her grandparents hit her hardest. Yes, she’d been over the moon to get this job, but it would have been so much better if they’d been here to share her news. Her mum had been pleased when she’d told her, of course she had, but Cathy was busy leading her own life as a busy conveyancer at a firm of solicitors in York. Nothing would ever be able to match the enthusiasm of her grandparents, nor the pride that would have undoubtedly shone in their eyes. She pictured her grandmother’s kind, plump face, the gentle smile she would have worn, of how her grandad would have beamed down at her. Brogan felt a pang of longing. How she wished they were still here. What she’d give to feel the warmth of her grandmother’s embrace right now as she wished her luck, waving her off on her first day at her new job.

Feeling the sting of tears, Brogan blinked quickly and sniffed, wiping a gloved hand under her chilly nose. ‘Come on, Brogan, pull yourself together, lass. Now’s not the time to get all maudlin,’ she said to herself. The car was still freezing and her words came out in a puff of steam. ‘Flippin’ ’eck.’ She gave a shiver; the cold had got right into her bones. Wilf glanced across from his place in the front passenger seat and gave a little whimper. ‘It’s all right, lad; s’just me being daft, that’s all.’ She reached across and gave him a reassuring ear ruffle, making his tail wag.

The country lanes to Danskelfe Vets were thick with ice; though the gritter had been out on the bigger country roads the previous evening, it clearly hadn’t ventured out to these more remote parts. Glad to have winter tyres fitted to her car, Brogan took it steady, her heart lurching when the vehicle skidded on a stretch of thick ice that ran across the road from one of the many springs.

At just before eight o’clock, she was pulling up beside Chris Crabtree’s smart new Land Rover in the courtyard of the Danskelfe business “units” as their landlady, Lady Carolyn Hammondely, referred to them. The word “units” didn’t do the old sandstone buildings justice, with their beautiful arched windows and thick, broad doors. But it was good to see the once dilapidated property restored and being put to good use after so many years of standing unloved and empty.

‘Right, Wilf, here we are.’ She glanced across to the vets’ surgery where the lights were glowing in the windows. Her heart was lurching for a different reason now.

Brogan pushed open the heavy door, the smell of disinfectant rushing at her, making her nostrils twitch. Everything looked pristine and new and white. Chris Crabtree was leaning over the reception desk in mid-conversation with a young woman dressed in pale-green scrubs. Brogan recognised her from nearby Arkleby, her name temporarily evading her. The pair were poring over a computer monitor. Chris looked up and beamed. ‘Ah, morning, Brogan.’

‘Morning.’ The young woman greeted her with an equally wide smile.

Wilf lunged forward, pulling on his lead, eager to make friends. ‘Morning,’ Brogan said, smiling back.

‘Welcome to Danskelfe Vets; we’re delighted you’ve joined our team.’ Chris strode across the waiting room to her. ‘And this must be Wilf.’ He got down on his haunches, rubbing the Labrador’s head. The vet was rewarded with a sweep of Wilf’s tongue across his face. ‘Well, aren’t you a friendly fella?’ Chris said, with a hoot of laughter.

A moment later a whiskery-faced miniature dachshund appeared, trotting over to them in a jaunty manner. He had quite possibly the shortest legs Brogan had ever seen. ‘Oh, my goodness, he’s so cute!’ She bent down, offering Oscar her hand to sniff before giving him a scratch between the ears which, judging by the tail wagging, he enjoyed enormously.

Wilf pulled towards the little dog and a bout of sniffing commenced, each apparently meeting with the other’s approval.

‘Meet Oscar,’ said Chris. ‘What he lacks in size, he makes up for in personality. And you’re right, he is a cute little guy; been desperate for a canine companion since we lost his buddy and partner-in-crime, Giles, which is why I thought you bringing Wilf here would be a good idea. Actually they should be joined by another friend any minute; my new business partner’s bringing his dog too. The three of them can curl up together in front of the stove in our little staff room at the back; they’ll be fine out of the way there.’

‘Sounds perfect. Wilf will be glad of the company too.’ Brogan really couldn’t believe her luck.

‘I’m Jules, by the way; I’m the receptionist, well, one of them. The other one’s Jo; she’s part-time; works Wednesdays and the odd Saturday morning.’ The young woman, who Brogan guessed was in her mid-thirties, had come round and was now fussing Wilf who was enjoying every moment of the attention.

‘Oh, I do apologise, I got so distracted by this wonderful lad, my manners failed me,’ said Chris, giving another laugh. ‘Brogan, meet Jules, Jules meet Brogan.’

‘Hi, good to meet you, Jules,’ said Brogan.

‘Likewise.’ Jules smiled broadly.

‘Morning, Brogan. Ready for your first day with us?’ Brogan peered round Jules to see Yvonne Peirson. She was the practice manager who’d also sat in on her interview alongside Chris and another of the practice’s vets, Georgia Collier, who was mum to two young boys and worked part-time at the surgery. In her early fifties, Yvonne was wearing a friendly smile and scrubs in the same shade as those worn by Jules.

‘Hi, Yvonne, yes; I’m really looking forward to it.’ Brogan’s stomach gave a quick lurch at the reminder.

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