‘Actually, I’m afraid that’s been my room for a while now, Mum.’
Angie stopped and turned, her face fixed; not from Botox, but from trying not to react in front of Scott. ‘Blue room, then?’ Her tone was strained.
‘Um, sorry, Zach’s in there.’
‘Green room?’ Angie was beginning to talk like a ventriloquist’s dummy.
‘It’s got single beds. Perhaps you’d be happiest in the Roman room as it’s next to the bathroom.’ Angie shot her a warning look and Lottie frowned. She wasn’t trying to be annoying, she was simply thinking of her mother’s need to get up for a wee in the night. Lottie thought it had been quite considerate of her and the mattress was comfier in there as well.
‘Fine. The Roman room it is then,’ said Angie, continuing upstairs without a backwards glance.
‘What, no colour scheme?’ Scott asked Lottie, reaching for the luggage.
‘Er, no, a previous owner believed that the Romans had a camp near here, so over the years Nana and Granddadcollected prints and Roman-looking jugs and it’s all in there.’
‘LikeGladiator?’ asked Scott, looking enthralled.
‘Not really, moreLife of Brian,’ said Lottie, wondering why her mother hadn’t warned her that she was bringing her latest boyfriend with her.No need to panic, she told herself. She could definitely cope with one extra; she’d bought food like she was expecting to be under siege for the festive season, so it would be fine. Scott gave a jolly shrug and headed upstairs, having a good look at the paintings on the wall as he passed. Lottie gave herself a mental pat on the back – she was over the first hurdle.
Chapter Five
Joe was checking his emails when someone banged hard and repeatedly on the door of his rented cottage. The dog sat up and he patted his head. So far Joe had discovered that the dog had no microchip and he’d not been reported missing to the local police, nor any vets or rescue centres. The continued banging made him hurry to answer it, being careful to shut the little dog in first. He opened the front door and found himself looking straight out across the wet street – there was nothing in his eyeline to obstruct his view. Looking down, his eyes met a small elderly woman and a tartan wheelie trolley, which she was already thrusting forwards towards his legs. He leaped out of the way with moments to spare.
‘Um, can I help you?’ he asked the lady, who was already heading into the cottage.
She took off her rain bonnet to reveal hair like a dandelion clock. She turned her head and her fluffy white hair bobbed about. ‘You can, Joseph Broomfield,’ she said, handing over the tartan trolley on wheels and giving him a thorough look up and down. ‘Well, you’ve grown up a bit. How was America?’
‘Shirley,’ he said, recognising the old woman and marvelling that she was still alive – she’d been ancient even when he was a child. ‘It’s good to see you again.’ He leaned over the trolley to give her a kiss on the cheek. ‘America was a great adventure.’
‘Are you stopping for good?’ She scanned him with unblinking eyes.
‘For now, yes.’ He gave a cursory check outside before shutting the door.
‘Excellent.’ She seemed genuinely pleased. ‘They tried to close down the village stores, you know, but the residents were having none of it. We protested,’ said Shirley, proudly. ‘Now a lovely lady called Beth runs it and there’s a group of volunteers that all do an hour or two each to help out. I’ll put you down for a shift.’
‘Er, well, I’ll be busy setting up the new veterinary practice and—’ But it seemed Shirley wasn’t really listening.
‘Now, are you sure your fancy American veterinary qualification allows you to practise over here?’ She narrowed her eyes at him.
‘Yes, I’ve been accepted by the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons, so I’m good to go once I get the practice up and running.’ The nearest vet was in Stow-on-the-Wold in one direction and Cheltenham in the other since the local village offshoot had been closed some years ago. He’d spoken to both practices and, whilst they weren’t over the moon about the competition, they both admitted there was more than enough business.
Shirley waved her hand as if swatting a fly only she could see. ‘Excellent.’ She popped her hand into the trolley, barely lifting the lid, and he thought for a moment she was going to produce a rabbit like a magician. Instead she pulled out a bottle. ‘Sherry?’ she offered.
This probably explained why she was so well preserved. ‘No, thanks. What can I do for you, Shirley?’
‘Ah, now, here’s the rub.’ She took a swig from the bottle and made anahhhsound. ‘What would you give someone with arthritis?’ She patted the top of the trolley.
Joe wasn’t sure if it was a trick question or not. ‘Um, you know I’m not allowed to treat people. Right?’
This set Shirley off cackling, like a witch fromMacbethbut jollier. ‘It’s okay, I’m not after a shot of ketamine.’ She tilted her head as if considering something. ‘Arthritis in animals – what would you recommend?’ She fixed him with a disconcerting stare.
Joe was puzzled by the random question. It was as if she was checking he was fit to practise. He treated it like an exam. ‘Well, it would depend on the animal, its age, medical history and the severity of the condition.’
‘Cat. Sixteen. No other problems. Stiff as a board.’
Joe chuckled. He was warming to the game. ‘Okay, assuming the stiffness isn’t rigor mortis …’ Shirley thumped him on the arm for his cheek, and as he laughed he marvelled at the force behind the tiny woman’s swipe, ‘then I would ask if the owner would like to try to help the condition with food supplements first. I’d recommend cod liver oil or green-lipped mussel extract. Then I would discuss options like acupuncture.’ Shirley’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I know, makes a change from cats sticking their claws in us, but it has good results. Alternatively, I would prescribe Metacam drops and want to see them again in six weeks’ time.’ Shirley was nodding sagely. ‘Did I pass?’ asked Joe, trying to make eye contact as Shirley returned the sherry to the trolley and patted the lid.
‘Hmm.’ She looked up. ‘I’ll let you know,’ she said slowly. ‘Right, I’d best be off. I can’t be hanging around here allday.’ She scuttled for the door, trolley first. Joe stepped to the side.
