‘I would be if I could just clear this debt. Looks like I’ll be doing locum work on call for quite some time, which I don’t mind but it’s just knackering and then I worry I might make a mistake through sheer tiredness. I nearly totalled the car lastweek coming back from stitching a sheep back together in Eaton Bray.’
‘That’s not good, Devon.’
‘What is it about you? I spill all my secrets.’
‘Maybe I’m a secret agent in disguise,’ suggested Ella, with a quick light-hearted grin.
‘You’re certainly a champion painter. I can’t believe how much better Bets’ kitchen looks.’
‘Hmm, and I can’t believe that you didn’t show up until beer o’clock,’ teased Ella.
‘Ah, I have a good excuse, Buster the knicker-stealing dog. Unfortunately he ate them.’
‘Seriously?’ Ella tilted her head, checking his expression. She had a feeling he was having her on.
‘Yup.’
‘Eeuw. What do you do about that?’
‘Emergency op to retrieve them. If it weren’t for my financial situation I’d be investing in keyhole surgery equipment and using cameras. Something like that can be retrieved, the same way they went in. Although they don’t come out in the same state they went in.’
Ella shuddered. ‘I dread to think. Do you get that sort of thing a lot?’ She’d never really considered the sort of things he dealt with on a daily basis.
‘On a reasonably regular basis.’
‘How much does one of those cameras cost?’
‘Tens of thousands of pounds and there’s the training, although I had started that.’ A dark expression doused the enthusiasm on his face. ‘I started the training when . . . well, you know I told you the other day about the weasel. The course finished early that day, the lecturer wasn’t well . . . cliché of clichés I came home earlier than expected to find Madam andthe weasel giving our bed a through road test.’ He screwed up his face. ‘For a little guy he certainly had some stamina.
‘I did carry on the training but then it quickly became apparent that at the moment I can’t afford it or the equipment, but one day. It can make such a difference . . . ’ he trailed off. ‘Sorry, I’m getting evangelical.’
‘No, it’s interesting. So how does it make a difference?’
‘Well it’s like keyhole surgery for humans. Instead of an incision and cutting through layers of tissue, which has to be stitched up afterwards and takes days or weeks to recover, this is one small hole. You try explaining to a dog that they can’t move or pull at the stitches. This makes things much easier for them.’
When they returned and towelled off the two dogs, they found Bets waiting for them in the newly painted kitchen and the air full of the scent of spices.
‘That smells good,’ groaned Devon in appreciation.
‘Bhajis. Chicken tikka.’ Bets rummaged in the brown paper bag, pulling little plastic tubs out with the aplomb of a magician pulling rabbits from a hat. ‘Bombay potato. Sag aloo. Chicken balti. Ella, would you mind grabbing some plates from that cupboard next to the cooker? Devon, you’re on drinks. Beer and wine in the fridge.’
Ella sank gratefully into the sofa with a loaded plate on her knees. The only sound in the room was the chink of forks on the plates and the odd moan of satisfied greed.
‘This is delicious,’ she said, finishing off the last mouthful, her stomach heavy and full. The sofa was so comfortable she could have happily curled up and snoozed right there. She couldn’t remember an evening like it since she’d left college. Devon and Bets were easy, undemanding company. They chatted idly about the village, the dogs, the best walks and the forthcoming village fete.
Bets wasn’t going to let go of her idea of playing Trivial Pursuit. Ella caught Devon’s eye as she busied herself setting up the board. It felt like they were indulgent parents giving in to a child that need humouring.
‘Right, who’s the oldest between you two?’
‘Bets, you’re the youngest, you can go first and then we can go round clockwise. I’m not going to embarrass a lady by asking her age. It’s just not what a gentleman does.’
Bets snorted rudely. ‘Gentleman! Huh!’ But she threw the dice pretty promptly before any further argument. ‘Five. I’ll go for yellow. That’s History, isn’t it?’
‘How many old pennies were there in a shilling?’ Devon read the card.
‘What?’ Bets groaned. ‘That’s impossible.’
‘Dad would know it.’ Devon offered.
