‘I don’t have a car. I’ll ask Reeni,’ I say, already walking away.
Greg, who’s now standing next to me, puts a hand on my arm, stopping me. ‘I can take us. My car’s only over there.’ He points towards the part of the field being used as the car park.
‘Thanks,’ says Jackson. ‘I’ll let the vet know we’re coming.’
With Tippi laid gently on the back seat of Greg’s car, Jackson gets in beside her. I get into the front passenger seat and twist around to look at them.
‘Everything OK?’ I say, but Jackson stays looking at Tippi and simply nods.
I wince at every bump and dip the car hits on the journey. Once we get there, the vet and Jackson get Tippi out of the car and take her into the consulting room. Greg and I take seats in the empty waiting room. I stare vacantly at the notice board opposite me covered in brightly coloured posters and photos of missing pets and puppies for sale, my imagination screeching into overdrive.
‘This is all my fault.’
Greg pats my leg. ‘It was an accident.’
The door beside reception swings open and I jump to my feet, shrugging off Greg’s touch.
‘Is she OK?’ I ask. I have the urge to comfort Jackson, but it’s like he has an invisible shield guarding him from my touch.
He won’t meet my eyes and slumps into one of the plastic chairs. ‘Don’t know.’
My voice cracks. ‘I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have been so dramatic. I’ll help to pay whatever it costs.’ I have absolutely no idea how I’ll manage that, but I’ll deal with it later.
Greg reaches over and squeezes my hand and I clasp it back, then extract it and tuck my hair behind my ear. We lapse intosilence again, all staring straight ahead. After what feels like an age, the vet comes back into the room.
‘No promises, but I think she’s going to be fine. She’s on a drip and we need to let the swelling go down to be sure, but I think it’s a broken leg. She’s going to need an operation. I don’t know if you have insurance?’
‘I’ll check with Mum. But we’ll get it done whatever. Can I see her?’
‘Of course.’ The vet holds open the door for Jackson to go through.
I get out of my chair. ‘Can I come?’
‘No. I’ll go on my own,’ Jackson says, without turning to look at me.
I collapse back into my chair and the door to the back of the surgery swings shut.
‘Try not to worry.’ Greg puts his arm around my shoulders and squeezes. ‘I’m sure she’s going to be fine. Have you seen that programme on TV,The Supervet? They can do amazing things nowadays.’
‘I hope so,’ I say, still trying not to imagine the worst.
The journey back in the car is agony. Greg prattles away about how lovely the weather is and the holiday his brother and family are going on and I appease him with one-word answers while Jackson sits in the back, silent and impassive. Every so often I catch his reflection in the rear-view mirror, jaw tight, arms crossed, staring out of the window like he can’t bear to look my way. We drop him off first at his mum’s. It’s a lovely little cottage about ten minutes’ walk from the centre of Thorbridge. Milo is already home as the VW van is sitting in the driveway.
‘I’m really sorry,’ I say again as he gets out of the car. ‘I’m sure she’ll be OK. If I can do anything …’
‘Hmm,’ is all I get before the car door is slammed shut. I didn’t think it was possible, but it makes me feel even worse.
I can’t get home soon enough and I’m opening the door of the car the second Greg pulls up. I unlock the front door and head straight into the kitchen. Greg follows, unfazed, whistling softly as he flicks on the kettle as if he lives here. He makes me some honey on toast and then shoos me out of his way so he can make drinks.
Just as I plonk myself on the sofa, my phone dings.
REENI:Did you get sorted? How’s Tippi?
ME:We left her at the vet’s. They think she’s got a broken leg. How did you get on?
REENI:All good. We got rid of almost all the cakes. We made a decent amount. I’ve got it safe. I’ll bring it over tomorrow.
I glance towards the stack of bills sitting next to the kettle. I really should tell her to take the fifty-pound stall fee out of the takings, it’s the right thing to do.
