“I will pay, it’s no problem.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course.”
“Okay then, we’ll keep them for a couple of days and be in touch.”
“Thank you. I think it’s the best plan.”
She stood, leaned across the desk and shook my hand, her grasp firm and cool. I could practically feel my prefrontal cortex humming.
When she walked out I stayed seated, mildly stunned, with the sound of snuffling schnauzers filling the room. Left alone, I would have to think through what had just happened.
But there was no hope of avoiding Joe. “What an amazing woman,” he said, stepping back into the room.
“Do we really have to have this conversation?”
“Who is she?”
“You know as much as I do.”
“Beautiful eyes.”
“Who are you – the ghost of Hugh Hefner?”
“Come on, Tim, you were as impressed as me.”
“This is a veterinary practice, Joe, not a right swipe on Tinder. Can we just do our work?”
That’s when he talked excitedly about Sophia knowing him since they were kids.
“Now you’re sounding a little crazy,” I said after a brief but reasonably rational rant about the psychology of memory confused by desire.
“Why so negative?” he asked, with genuine surprise.
“I’m not negative, you idiot, just busy. And so are you.”
“You’re right, sorry. Stuck with the schnauzers, are we?”
“You could say that.”
“Okay, no worries. So a beer after a work?”
“Yes, Joe, after work let’s have a beer.”
4
Even though we’d promised to talk about Sophia, it didn’t happen. At first I thought my crack about Joe being the veterinary ghost of Hugh Hefner had shamed him into silence. I’ve never seen him engage with a woman who wasn’t welcoming, so I assumed he was offended and I was reluctant to bring up Sophia for fear of the avalanche it might let loose.
I did the tests on Kevin and Ralph and, as I suspected, there were signs of heart and liver dysfunction, something to be expected in such elderly animals. I emailed Miss Banks, explaining Sophia’s visit and asking what she’d like me to do with her “boys”.
Her reply landed at light speed. She told me, for the first time, that she’d been dosing Kevin and Ralph on Benadryl three times a day since they were puppies, to keep them “happy” as she put it. It was reasonable to assume they were addicted to the active ingredient diphenhydramine, although not sufficiently happy to stop Kevin practically tearing off my thumb. She asked me to make sure they received their usual dosage, so Kevin and Ralph would soon be back to bad-tempered bliss, while waltzing on the streets of Elizabeth Bay.
When Sophia turned up to collect the dogs it was another frantic morning, with slithering and scuttling things adding a special layer to the squawking and flatulence. Joe had disappeared into his surgery with a Fiji banded iguana that we thought had swallowed a golf ball (which proved to be a massive kidney stone). I assumed Joe would sense Sophia’s presence and magically appear with a squirming reptile in hand, but there was no sign of my partner or his colourful patient.
Instead, I found Sophia in the crowded waiting room sitting straight-backed, hands in lap, staring into the middle distance with a gagging mackerel tabby on one side, and a small but obese carpet python on the other. I had a few valuable seconds to observe her before being spotted and I was struck by her calm – a stately, yet not imperious, presence in the middle of the tiny raucous circus.
I was hoping for her lovely cosmic smile but, when we shook hands in my surgery, her grasp was marble cold and her expression grave.
“Are you okay?” I asked, for want of something more original to say.
For an instant she seemed puzzled. “Yes,” she said, and left it there.
“Sorry, you seem worried.”
“I am okay.”
She sat straight-backed once more, her hands in her lap, gazing at me, or rather straight into me, with her sea-green eyes.
“Well, no need to worry. The Schnauzers will be much easier to manage, I’m sure.”
“This I know.”
“Really?”
“Miss Banks sent me an email. She has asked me to give the dogs drugs every day.”
“Correct, it’s not ideal but …”
“It’s very bad.”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“These dogs are drug addicts.”
“But didn’t you bring them in asking for a sedative?”
“Yes, it was not right for me to do this.”
“Well, your instinct was right. They are probably addicted to cough medicine but at their age I don’t think there’s much of an alternative.”
“Addiction is cruel.”
She spoke with such icy certainty I knew I was being accused of malfeasance.
“There’s nothing really cruel about this,” I said. “Even though, as I say, it’s not ideal.”
“For me it’s a crime.”
Permafrost was in the air and I knew I was wasting time with a justification I didn’t believe.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but Miss Banks’ instructions are very clear.”
“Is there no choice?” she asked.
“I don’t think so, no.”
It would be wrong to say that she looked at me with distaste, but the chill in the room intensified and it was obvious she wanted to leave.
“Doctor, are you happy when choices are made for you?”
“It depends, I suppose.”
“I think you do not know what such a thing means. When you have no choice, you have no life.”
“I’m sorry this is an issue.”
“It’s more sorry for me than you know.”
The implication was that dark forces were at play. It wasn’t hard to connect the words drugs and crime, but what it might mean for a classical violinist I didn’t want to imagine.
“Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll meet you in the waiting room with Kevin and Ralph and you can take them home.
“As you wish.” Then in a single fluid movement she rose and left the room.
It would be a while before I understood Sophia’s ability to cause an “it’s my fault” default reaction in Joe and me whenever she was displeased. Not knowing this, I was surprised by my relief to find her talking to Joe at the reception desk. Even with her back to me I could feel that her mood had changed. When she turned, she actually smiled.
“Well, here they are,” Joe beamed when he spotted the schnauzers, “The terrible terror twins. I hope they’re going to be okay.”
“It’s what I wish too,” she said, giving me an approving glance. I felt forgiven, although I wasn’t exactly