CHAPTER TWO
15 December
‘Deck the halls with boughs of holly. Fa-la-la-la-la …’
Sophie gritted her teeth as the carol blared out while she waited in the vet’s waiting room with her cat carrier on her lap. Over the top of it, she could see a border collie in a bow tie glaring at a pug in an elf jumper. The teenager next to her had festooned his guinea pigs’ cage with tinsel and even the practice manager, the formidable Mrs Hazeldine, was wearing a knitted Rudolph dress with a light-up nose.
Sophie sighed. You’d have thought a vet’s surgery would be a refuge from the human festivities, but apparently not.
McKenna’s Vets was located in the heart of the large and bustling village of Bannerdale, a twenty-minute journey from Sunnyside. As she’d driven down to the surgery this morning, the pale winter sun had emerged, thawing the early frost and making Lake Windermere sparkle in the morning light. It was another moment when she felt grateful to live in such a beautiful part of the world.
A vet nurse in a headband with antlers returned a chameleon to the man sitting next to Sophie, and who leaned over to the cats. ‘Not long now,’ she promised.
A door opened and a tall man in blue scrubs and a Santa hat called out cheerfully, ‘Jingle and Belle Cranford, please.’
Sophie rose to her feet, trying to ignore the sniggers from the teenage owner of the guinea pigs.
He turned to her with a smirk. ‘Are your cats really called Jingle and Belle?’
‘Yes,’ said Sophie, trying to keep a polite smile in place.
‘Why’s that then?’ he asked.
‘Because I had them as kittens from the rescue centre on Christmas Eve.’
‘Aw, bless the little fur-babies!’ A lady wearing a Russian hat that looked like a racoon poked a finger through the carrier mesh. ‘You’resuchlucky kitties to have a cat mum who loves Christmas so much.’
‘Thank you,’ Sophie said through gritted teeth.
‘Jingle and Belle, the vet is ready for younow, please,’ the vet called again, holding open the door to his consulting room as a hint for her to get a move on.
Sophie hauled the carrier past him and into the room.
‘Hello,’ he said, as she carefully placed the carrier on the exam table. ‘So how are the lucky kitties and their cat mum doing today?’ He chuckled.
Sophie groaned. As much as she loved Jingle and Belle, she hated the phrase ‘cat mum’, mainly because bloody Ben had used it ad nauseam when they first got the kittens. Oh, it had seemed cute at the time; how she’d laughed and called him the Cat Dad. Now she rued the day she’d ever been tempted to give her cats such daft monikers, but the two fluffy bundles were crying out for a festive name when she’dpicked them up from the rescue shelter – a small Christmas miracle of her own.
‘She’s fine, thanks, Brody. How’s the most popular vet in the village?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘I’m the only vet in the village,’ he corrected her, unhooking the catch on the carrier. ‘Well, not the only vet; I do have partners. Do you like the hat by the way?’
Sophie hadn’t the heart to say she’d gone off Santa hats of any kind. ‘It’s – very festive.’
‘Do you think so? To be honest, I feel a right prat and I’m beginning to suspect it might have attracted fleas, but Cora, our practice manager, insists we all get into the festive spirit. She says it’s good PR and it helps the patients feel less nervous.’
‘Does it? Jingle and Belle run away if they see tinsel.’ An extra excuse not to have any in the guest house – the last time she’d seen tinsel, it was wrapped around Naomi when she caught Ben cheating on her.
‘It’s for the owners really. It makes us seem more approachable, warm and – er – human.’ Brody scratched the back of his neck.
Sophie laughed.
‘I don’t mind really,’ he said unconvincingly as he peered into the carrier door. ‘Come on then, you two, let’s take a look at you. I’m sure you’ve been looking forward to your annual check-upsomuch.’
‘They can’t wait,’ Sophie smiled as Jingle sauntered out, while Belle lurked at the back of the carrier.
‘Good lad, Jingle,’ Brody said, running his hand alongthe sleek black fur of Jingle’s back. ‘Come on, Belle. Be a good girl for Uncle Brody.’
Sophie let out a snicker. Uncle Brody … it always made her laugh when he talked to the cats as if he was their favourite uncle.
