Read Trust Me, I'm a Vet for Free Online Page B

over my shoulder. ‘It must be some private code. At the practice where I did my training we used them all the time. NGOR was my favourite.’
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘No grip on reality.’ Izzy grins. ‘TPNN was another – take payment now, or never. I’ll ask Frances to come through.’
    Frances joins us, slamming the door behind her and leaning back against it.
    ‘How I wish Old Mr Fox-Gifford was here.’ Her lipstick is bleeding into the fine lines around her mouth. ‘One look from him could silence the most unruly child.’
    ‘What’s wrong?’ Izzy asks.
    ‘One of Lynsey’s is eating a sample pack of rabbit food like it’s a bag of crisps and another is scribbling on the notices on the board. I’ve threatened them all with a spell on the naughty chair, but will they listen?’ Frances waits as if she’s expecting Izzy or me to go and sort them out.
    ‘I’m not good with children,’ Izzy says quickly.
    ‘Leave it to me,’ I say. ‘First though, Frances, do these asterisks mean anything, or are they down to a slip of the mouse?’
    ‘Alex Fox-Gifford says that it’s a universal code, something every vet learns at vet school.’ The tone of her voice rises, as if she’s questioning my competence. ‘The number of asterisks corresponds with the saying “this year, next year, sometime, never”.’
    Izzy and I look blank.
    ‘It’s a warning to take payment at the time of consultation. The Pitts have always been rather slow at settling their account.’ Frances stares at me. ‘Before you say anything, Maz, I’ve checked that the puppy isn’t registered with Talyton Manor Vets.’ She glances towards the door. ‘I’m sending them in before they wreck the place.’
    ‘Go ahead,’ I say, and the boys – six of them, including a set of twins securely strapped into a pushchair – traipse in with their mother, who has a sandy shoulder-length bob, and shades on top of her head. Clearly an expert in the art of multitasking, she has one hand on the buggy and the other clasping a puppy to her breast – a chocolate Labrador with hazel eyes, and skin which falls in wrinkles over its belly.
    ‘I’m Lynsey. I rang the surgery about worms not so long ago.’ She lowers the puppy onto the table where he pads about on oversized paws, wagging his body as well as his tail. He’s gorgeous.
    ‘We had worms once,’ says the oldest boy, who must be about eight.
    ‘Thank you for that, Sam.’ Lynsey’s jacket is Puffa, her jeans are Next Maternity and her wellies Overdown Farmers, local wholesalers of farm supplies. ‘Boys, please be good,’ she says, looking a bit fraught as two of the boys crawl under the table, one starts investigating the contents of the fridge, and the remaining boy on the loose, Sam, mauls Cadbury affectionately about the head. I turn to the one who’s now pulling boxes of vaccines out of the fridge. He reminds me of my brother when he was about four years old, taking eggs out of the fridge and dropping them one by one on the kitchen floor while my mother was out at work and I was in charge.
    ‘Will you stop doing that, please.’ I use my best It’s Me or the Dog voice, one guaranteed to stop the most aggressive hound in its tracks. (Well, almost.) The boy stares at me, his cheeks glistening with snail trails of snot. ‘Now put them away and close the door.’
    He hesitates.
    ‘Didn’t you see the notice on the board in Reception?’ I ask him. ‘The one that says, “Warning, This Vet Bites”.’
    He shakes his head, flicking his hair so that blond strands catch and stick to the snail trails. Keeping his eyes on me, he bends down, picks up the boxes and puts them back in the fridge.
    ‘Thank you. What’s your name?’
    ‘Ryan,’ he whispers contritely.
    ‘OK, Ryan, you can come and help me find out what’s wrong with your dog.’
    ‘He’s been very quiet for the past couple of days,’ Lynsey says, although Cadbury looks pretty bright to me, bouncing up and down