‘Given all he went through, he wouldn’t give a shit.’
Smiling uncertainly, I walk around Audrey. ‘Hello, Miss Bates. I’m Amelie.’
‘If you’re Amelie, I’m Maggie.’ She waves me in. ‘I thought I’d never get rid of that woman.’
Audrey, an expression of disappointment and forbearance on her face, is looking over her shoulder as I hurriedly close the door. The grandfather clock at the end of the hallway strikes six.
‘Sorry to get here so late.’
‘It was good of the McLeod lad to send you, and even better of you to come.’
As she leads me through a door to a tidy sitting room and kitchen, Maggie tells me Rocket has a scratch on the back of his neck.
‘He must have been attacked by that British Shorthair cat down the road. Bloody British Bulldog, if you ask me. Otherwise, Rocket would never have run onto the road like that.’
‘Cameron said he’d been hit by a car.’
‘To give credit where it’s due, the driver who hit him had the decency to stop. Poor little Rocket, yowling like a banshee, he was. I ran across the road to get him and almost got wiped out myself.’
Rocket, mostly ginger with four white paws, is lying on his side. When I kneel next to him, he lifts his head warily.
‘Aren’t you a handsome boy?’
‘One of the local lads was good enough to drive me to the animal hospital in Denman yesterday afternoon, and he got a mate to drive me back last night. The vet was nice enough, but he wanted to do test after test after test.’ Her voice wavers. ‘I’m on the pension, but I also had savings and was happy to use them.’
‘What tests were done?’
‘The X-ray I could see the sense in, but blood tests? What’s that all about for a broken leg?’
‘If the surgery went ahead, they’d be helpful.’
‘How can I afford surgery when they charged eight hundred and twenty-two dollars for the X-ray and blood tests? I only had a thousand in the bank.’
I rub under Rocket’s chin. ‘I understand.’
‘Do you?’ She points an accusing finger. ‘Really?’
‘I wasn’t always a vet.’ There must be something in my voice, because Maggie lowers her finger.
‘I’m no friend of Rachael’s, but she said you used to live at old Farley’s place.’
‘Did she also tell you my parents owed her money, and I had crossed eyes?’
Maggie’s fingers twist in her lap. ‘That Rachael’s not only a gossip but a bitch.’
‘When we lived at Mr Farley’s, I found a horse I named Atticus. I looked after him as best I could, but one day he got colic. I wanted to call the vet, I begged my parents to do that, but we didn’t have the money. I knew Atticus shouldn’t lie down and roll so I walked him around.’ When I blink, Maggie puts a hand on my arm.
‘It’s a terrible thing, colic.’
‘It was my fault because I’d fed him food that was supposed to go to the chickens.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘There wasn’t much grass in the paddock. He was hungry.’
‘Did he live?’
‘Thankfully, yes.’
