Page 8 of Christmas at the Home Farm Vets
‘Yes, I saw it.’ Oli stuffed two pieces of bread into the toaster and swapped the plugs again. ‘That’s fine. Reminds me of the old days.’
‘Oli, don’t, please,’ she said helplessly. They hadn’t worked together since their sixth and final year at Catz, sharing punishing rotations in the university’s animal hospital. That had been forty weeks free of lectures when they’d consulted almost as qualified vets, extending their knowledge across a dizzying range of small animal surgery and medicine, rural farm practice, equine studies, and more. Erin had adored it, her dream and ambition finally within reach despite the constant pressures, preparing case reports, presentations and studying for finals.
Her rotations had coincided with Oli’s more than she’d have liked, and her unwritten rule was to behave as though everything they’d shared in their first year and the way it had ended had never occurred. But that hadn’t prevented her pulse pounding whenever he walked into a room or the air between them vibrating if they were near, consulting on a case. They’d stood in surgery together time and again, masked, gowned and almost invisible to one another bar the intangible thread which quivered between them.
But her farm clients wouldn’t care less about their shared past and what he meant to her now. They’d want to know if he could identify pneumonia in a vulnerable calf or diagnose bloat from a sudden death in a herd of dairy cattle, and prevent any more. Would he understand exactly when to perform a caesarean on a ewe whose labour wasn’t progressing before she and her unborn lamb were lost?
Erin really hoped there was a nice, messy cattle de-horning on today’s list of calls, or a massive angry bull with a giant stinking abscess to drain. That ought to put a dent in his megawatt smile.
Chapter Four
Yorkshire, thirteen years ago
Erin directed Oli to her street, her discomfort growing with every mile as she wondered how she might be able to avoid inviting him into her home. Outside the house he switched off the ignition and rubbed his temples. The traffic had been heavy around Leeds, and it was fully dark now. She glanced at the house, not needing daylight to read the familiar signs: the stone blackened over the years; the old plastic Santa she’d stuck in the window of her front bedroom every Christmas since she was eight. This year someone else, probably her grandad, had put it up for her and it was a welcome sign of home.
‘I honestly don’t know what to say,’ she told Oli quietly. ‘I appreciate this more than you know. If you give me a minute, I’ll google a hotel for you.’
Erin turned her phone over to unlock it and shrieked as a hand thumped the window. Her head snapped around to see her nan’s cheery face beaming at her beneath a thick woolly hat. She wound down the window, chilly winter air rushing into the car.
‘I thought it was you, love. I’m just on me way t’bingo with Margery, then I saw the car an’ I said to meself that looks like our Erin inside, but it can’t be, cos she’s at university.’ She bent down awkwardly to stare past Erin to Oli. ‘Hiya love, I’m Joyce, Erin’s nan. What are you two doin’ sittin’ outside our ’ouse?’
‘I was worried about Mum.’ Erin was squirming in her seat, hand on the door handle ready to escape. She couldn’t open it yet, not without sending her nan flying. ‘She didn’t reply to my messages, and you know she always lets me know she’s okay.’
‘She’s takin’ it easy, love. She’s feelin’ rough, but she’ll be all right in a day or so. She won’t be ’appy if she thinks you’ve come all this way on ’er account. Anyway, who’s your friend?’
‘Nan, this is Oli,’ Erin said weakly. The relief that her mum was okay was huge, but she was embarrassed too; that she’d dragged him all this way in a panic when there was no need. And now she’d have to explain him to her family and her family to him, and her face was hot. ‘He was kind enough to give me a lift.’
‘Now then, Oli. You’d best get inside, the pair of you, it’s proper cold.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you too, Joyce.’ Oli caught Erin’s eye, her hands twisting together in her lap as she fought the indecision over what do to.
‘Well, are you comin’ in or not?’ Joyce made up Erin’s mind for her and tugged the door open. ‘You’ll need a brew to warm you up.’
‘Oli’s not coming in, Nan,’ Erin said desperately, tempted to slam the door and hope he would just take off somewhere else.
‘Not comin’ in? Don’t be daft.’ Joyce heaved the door wide. ‘The lad’ll need summat to eat if you’ve come all the way from Cambridge, an’ I’ve been bakin’. Get inside, the pair of you, I’ll get t’kettle on.’
Erin’s shoulders slumped. Her nan might be tiny, but she was mighty, and most people didn’t mess with her. ‘What about Margery and the bingo?’
‘It’ll keep for another time, she’s goin’ with ’er daughter anyway. I’ll ring an’ let ’er know we’ve got visitors.’
‘Nan, I live here.’ Erin got out and went to the boot to fetch her bag, and Oli did the same, locking it after them. ‘I’m not a visitor.’
‘No, but your friend is. Do you like mince pies, Oli?’
‘I love them.’ He smiled at Joyce, waiting for Erin to walk up the paved path to the front door ahead of him. ‘It’s very kind of you to invite me in.’
‘Any friend of our Erin’s is always welcome ’ere, Oli. Just you remember that.’
Inside, Joyce hollered for her husband and Bill came through to the hall, pumping Oli’s hand before wrapping Erin in a hug. She took Oli’s jacket and hung it up with hers on the battered old coat stand, its small round mirror reminding her that her face was flushed and her curls wilder than normal. She was trying not to view the house through his eyes as they followed Joyce into the living room, wondering what he’d make of the Anaglypta wallpaper painted a murky shade of magnolia, the 1960s fireplace with its brick surround, green swirly patterned carpet and old beige suite. Joyce pointed to the sofa and Oli took a seat as Bill settled in his armchair beside the fire, his beloved radio nearby and a folded newspaper on the floor.
‘I’ll just run up and see Mum,’ Erin said quickly, still hovering in the door. They’d have a cup of tea, then she’d make their excuses and get Oli out of here as quickly as possible. He had rarely spoken to her of his family, and she knew only that he had a sister. Her grandad was questioning him about Cambridge, so she raced upstairs and knocked quietly on her mum’s door in case she was sleeping.
‘Mum? It’s me.’ She carefully opened the door, a lamp illuminating Heather pushing herself up in bed.
‘Erin, love, what are you doing here?’ Heather smiled and held out her arms. ‘Not that it isn’t wonderful to see you, because it is. Are you home for the holidays already? Have they let you off early?’
‘No, that’s next week.’ Erin crossed to the bed and held her mum gently, trying to impart some of her own strength and energy in the gesture. ‘Just popped in to make sure you’re okay. You know what Nan’s like with the phone and Grandad’s no better.’
