The Single Mums’ Book Club. Victoria Cooke

Carly keeps a paper record. I’m just going to put you on hold.’

      He starts to flick through a paper file on the desk. Two deep lines form between his eyebrows.

      ‘Buggering bugger.’ He slams the file down. ‘For God’s sake.’

      I shrink down into the chair hoping he doesn’t notice me, and for once Henry rests quietly against me.

      The man turns his attention back to the computer and starts clicking away. ‘Bloody hell.’

      He eventually picks his phone back up. ‘Mrs Pearson, I’ll need to double-check with Carly but I think you’re up to date. Don’t worry. You too.’

      He hangs up his phone and slumps in the swivel chair, letting out a sigh that sounds like a slowly deflating hot air balloon. I don’t really know what to do. He’s never going to give me a job now I’ve just witnessed his outburst; he’ll be too embarrassed to ever want to see me again. I sit silently, hoping he goes back in the other room without spotting me.

      Then his eyes lock on mine. I freeze, like it helps with invisibility or something.

      ‘Oh, Jesus. I’m so sorry. Can I help you at all?’ he asks, rising to his feet and smoothing down his trousers.

      I look away, feeling more than a little awkward but Otis yanks on the lead, desperate to get over to the man for a head pat and before I know it, I’m about a foot away looking up into his mesmerising blue eyes.

      ‘Hi,’ I say, plastering on a smile whilst wrestling the lead. ‘Sorry, he gets excited.’ The vet crouches down and fusses Otis, who, in turn, wags his tail in a state of euphoric glee. Honestly, you would think he was neglected.

      ‘I’m Edward and I’m afraid I don’t cope well with chaos.’ When he’s not cursing, his voice is less harsh. It’s richer, deeper and much more smooth. He’s wearing tweed. Lots of tweed and looks like he’s wandered off the set of All Creatures Great and Small. Despite that, I can tell he’s a similar age to me; mid (okay, late) thirties. I thought you had to go to university for forty-seven years to train to be a vet but apparently not. He’s tall and strong-looking with light brown hair but there’s something incredibly warm about him too.

      ‘Did you need me to take a look at him?’ He gestures to Otis, who is still ridiculously excited to the point where he seems to have forgotten about his fear of the vet’s. This place doesn’t have the same feel as the large, modern chain that Mike made us go to in the city centre. It’s traditional, homely. Perhaps Otis is picking up on that.

      ‘Oh, no. He’s fine. Mental but fine. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. You seem really busy. I can come back.’ I turn to leave.

      ‘Don’t be silly, you’re here now and besides, I’m always busy so you’d be hard pushed to find me otherwise.’ He smiles and his sodalite eyes crinkle a little in the corners. They’re the kind of eyes that are hard to look at. The kind that compel you to look, but when you do, they make you … feel things. Like their beholder can see deeper into your soul with each glint. I look away. How can someone who shoves his arms in cow bums for a living be so captivating?

      I shake my head subtly and focus. ‘I just popped in for an application form for the bookkeeping job.’

      He sighs and his cheeks flush a blotchy rose. ‘Ah. That makes you witnessing my little outburst even more embarrassing. Carly should be on reception but she’s always buggering off for a fag when I’m not looking and despite having a doctorate, I can’t for the life of me fathom her quirky admin systems. There should be some here.’ He rummages through a paper tray on the reception desk and eventually pulls something out.

      ‘Are you a bookkeeper?’ he asks, handing me, but not letting go of, the forms.

      ‘I am,’ I say, then point to Henry. ‘At least I was, before children came along. I’m looking to get back into the workplace.’

      ‘Great. Though I have to warn you, I inherited this practice from my late father and I’ve not had a chance to update the systems and things yet. I’m afraid our books are paper-based and we still use Roman numerals.’

      My forehead crumples, then I realise he’s joking and relax. This could be perfect. ‘Well, that suits me. I’m a little out of date myself – I have a son who’s doing his SATs soon and we’ve been revising Roman numerals.’ I smile and watch as his upper body loosens. ‘In all seriousness, when I took time out to have children, the whole sector seemed to take that as their cue to change everything!’ He smiles again and his eyes catch a stream of dusty sunlight beaming in through the small window in the entrance door.

      ‘So, how long have you had the surgery?’ I ask, somehow intrigued by this tweed-clad stranger.

      ‘Eight years.’

      ‘Oh.’ I can’t hide my surprise.

      ‘I know. I’ve had plenty of time and I’m a real stickler for being organised normally. It’s just that my dad’s old bookkeeper stayed on for a while. Mabel, God rest her soul. She was lovely but not exactly the computer whizz I needed to make any efficient or meaningful change. Anyway, Carly came along and has had a bash but, between you and me, she’s not exactly up to the job either.’ The door opens and a young woman walks in. ‘Ahh, Carly!’

      ‘Sorry, Doc, felt faint and needed some fresh air.’ She erupts into a quite timely, crackling smoker’s cough.

      Edward glances at me and raises a humorous eyebrow. I stifle a giggle.

      ‘Can’t beat a good old lungful of fresh air. Glad you’re feeling better. Anyhow …’ He gestures to me.

      ‘Stephanie,’ I supply.

      ‘Steph wishes to apply for the bookkeeper job and I have to wrestle some antibiotics down the throat of a labradoodle, so could you take over?’

      ‘’Course,’ she says.

      When he leaves I sort of hover in his wake. Nobody ever calls me Steph and I quite liked the familiarity of it. Edward seemed to fill the waiting area somehow and now he’s gone, the place seems cavernous. I have what I need but it seems rude to just leave now he’s introduced me to Carly.

      ‘He’s a bit stuffy but he’s all right. Anyway, the application deadline is next Tuesday.’ She leans forward on the desk, her dry, mousy hair tumbling over the edge. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, but we’ve not had any applicants yet. Between you and me I don’t think he’s paying enough.’

      I glance at the hourly pay on the advert. If I get the job, I shan’t be turning left on an aeroplane any time soon, or indeed stepping onto an aeroplane any time soon but it’s enough to top up what I’m short of each month. ‘That’s good to know. Thanks.’

      I leave with a strange feeling. Animals have never really been my thing; Otis was Mike’s idea but we decided it was best he stayed with the children and I’ve grown to love him. I don’t dislike animals, but I’ve never called myself an animal lover. I’ve never even taken my kids to the zoo, but something about this dated little practice makes me feel like I belong.