Owen dropped the birthing chains with a clatter.
Nate
By the time he’d pulled on a hoodie, run outside and reached Laurel, she was pulling on wellies. Owen was unfocused, a little shaky and red eyed, the alcohol clearly tiring him out.
‘Why the fuck have you got her, Jess? We had it under control,’ Alex spat.
Owen snapped to.
‘Don’t speak to my wife like that,’ he said, pointing a wavering finger at Alex. Even Lucia was standing up straight, watching Alex and Owen, wide-eyed.
Laurel swooped to pick up some chains from the floor and stroked her hand down the side of the cow, murmuring softly. True enough, there was a leg sticking out of its back end.
‘Have you phoned the vet?’ she said.
‘No, and Stapleton didn’t answer,’ Owen said, like a scolded schoolchild.
‘Fucking Stapleton. This is his actual job,’ Alex chugged on his beer and slung an arm over Lucia’s shoulders, who rolled her eyes. Huh, so much for that liaison.
‘Mr Stapleton is over seventy, and no, it is not his actual job to be on call twenty-four-seven,’ Laurel snapped. ‘Bring me the phone and the vet’s number.’
Owen scurried as fast as he could.
Jess found Nate some of Owen’s too small wellies and he forced his feet into them.
‘What can I do?’ he asked, standing not so close that the cow could kick him if she wanted to, but close enough.
‘Nothing, yet,’ Laurel said, pressing her small hands to the swollen side of the cow.
Owen emerged from the office and held out a portable phone to Laurel.
‘Here you are, it’s ringing,’ he said, chastised. Laurel wedged it under her chin, looking at the cow’s backside and the leg sticking out of it.
‘We could have done it. I don’t see what the big deal is,’ Alex muttered to Lucia.
Nate whirled on him. ‘If you don’t have anything supportive or helpful to say, keep your fucking mouth shut.’
He was done with Alex and his shit. Absolutely done. He’d had his lips on Laurel, her leg around his waist. She had wanted him, and Alex had fucking ruined it.
Alex pushed off the wall and strutted closer to him, puffing up his chest. ‘So now I can’t even exercise my right to free speech?’
‘Don’t be a dick, Alex,’ Nate said, shaking his head, but not taking a step backwards.
Jess pushed her hands through her hair and stepped between them, her back to Nate’s chest.
‘Guys, come on. We’re all tired and drunk,’ she said. ‘Let’s not get into it tonight, yeah?’
Alex sneered at Jess, fucking sneered, at one of his oldest friends and Nate wondered what had gone wrong in Alex’s life to mean that he was like this. How had he gone from carefree and lovable, to bitter and spiteful? Or had he always been like this, and Nate had just turned a blind eye? Alex’s vitriol was mostly directed towards Laurel. Was there more to the story about Alex and her in university than Nate knew about? He’d ask, but now was not the time.
‘Whatever, man,’ Alex said, sauntering back to Lucia.
She narrowed her eyes at Nate and leaned into Alex’s side, tilting her head and cocking her eyebrow defiantly. If that was supposed to make him jealous or chastised, or whatever, it really wasn’t working. He put his hand on Jess’s shoulder and turned her to face the cow, their backs on Alex and Lucia.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Jess whispered.
‘Fuck knows,’ he whispered back, training his eyes on Laurel. Owen hovered with a pair of long, clear, plastic gloves and a plastic apron.
‘Yes, the old Stapleton Farm,’ Laurel was saying to the vet. ‘Yes, I’m Bill Fletcher’s daughter.’
