Magpie. Sophie Draper
Chapter 62: Duncan – After
Chapter 63: Claire – After
Chapter 64: Claire – After
Chapter 65: Duncan – After
Chapter 66: Duncan – After
Chapter 67: Claire – After
Chapter 68: Duncan – After
Chapter 69: Claire – After
Chapter 70: Claire – After
Chapter 71: Claire – After
Chapter 72: Duncan – After
Chapter 73: Claire – After
Chapter 74: Claire – After
Chapter 75: Duncan – After
Acknowledgements
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There’s a dog protesting from one of the cages on the ward. Pain, the animal’s in pain. Its cries cut across my thoughts and I turn away from Duncan’s consulting room, past Sally on reception and through the doors to the back of the building.
Imogen, the animal care assistant, is already there, doing her rounds. Her body is bent as she checks each animal. She reads the clipboards pegged to every cage and tops up food and water.
‘Is it the Great Dane again?’ I ask.
She nods, gesturing to the biggest enclosure. It’s out of sight by the stockroom and I turn the corner. The dog is on its feet, swaying from side to side, one back leg visibly shorter than the other. It lifts its head, jowls wet with saliva, pressing its cheek against the bars. Large brown eyes roll as it recognises a human face and it howls again, a long two-toned cry, setting off another sequence of barks and whimpers in the room.
I unhook the door, dropping to my knees. The Great Dane hobbles cautiously towards me. It easily matches me for height in this position, pushing against my body. I take the animal’s head into my arms.
‘Hey, there, big fella, how’re you doing?’
I shift my feet, holding one hand to the side of the dog’s head, the animal panting. Its eyes are dilated, its tongue hanging out, tasting the very smell of me. The dog tugs away, distrusting even the comfort of my body, yet drawn to me. Its oversized legs are partially splayed, its tail tight and stiff. I run my hands along the underside of its stomach, pausing in the middle before slowly rising up and along the back, approaching one hip. The animal lets out a moan and throws its head like a horse.
‘It’s okay, sweetheart, I know.’
I press with care, eyes watching the dog closely, pressing just enough to determine the exact spot and no more. The dog moans again and I let my hand drop.
‘Imogen.’ I raise my voice. ‘Can you come and help me here a moment?’
‘Coming!’
I hear the clatter of a metal bowl being set on the floor and Imogen appears, slightly out of breath.
‘What is it?’
‘How long has she been like this?’
‘Since I came in this morning.’
I frown. My hand reaches up to turn a page on the clipboard.
‘Has she eaten at all?’ I nod to the full bowl of dried food pellets.
‘She had some of the wet food last night, but none of the dried.’
‘But she’s drinking?’
The water bowl is full too, I note.
‘Claire – I’m not sure …’ Imogen looks at me uncertainly. Then: ‘Yes – I filled it only a few moments ago.’
‘Okay. It’s happened again – she’s dislocated her hip …’
‘Claire!’ It’s Duncan, my husband, striding round the corner.
He stops in front of us, lifting one hand to his smooth round head. He towers over me as I crouch on the floor and glares at me with barely concealed annoyance.
‘Claire. Sally said you were looking for me.’
His voice is clipped and professional. He smiles at Imogen.
‘Would you give us a moment?’
She throws me an anxious glance.
‘Sure,’ she says. ‘Lovely to see you, Claire.’
Duncan’s arms are toned, his neck bare against his dark blue tunic. His name is embroidered on the front pocket: Duncan Henderson, Clinical Director. He waits until Imogen has gone, then turns on me.
‘What are you doing, Claire? I really don’t appreciate you coming onto the ward like this. It confuses the hell out of the staff and undermines my authority. We’ve talked about this before.’
He steps between me and the Great Dane, gently pushing the dog back into its crate.
‘Come on, now,’ he says to the dog. ‘I know, I’m sorry. But you’re next, I promise.’ He pats the dog.
I feel the heat rising up my neck. The Great Dane moves slowly around in the confined space, claws tangling in the blanket at its feet. Water spills from the bowl. I feel clumsy and embarrassed as Duncan slips the door catch back into position. He turns to me, but I speak before he does.
‘She’s got a dislocated hip and I noticed the femoral head on the x-ray—’
‘Have you been going through my notes?’ He’s openly angry now.
‘You left them on the kitchen table,’ I say. ‘It’s the second time this month, isn’t it? Dislocation. Manipulation isn’t going to work this time, there’s a—’
‘You need to go, Claire. And leave me to do my job. Why did you come here?’
‘I …’
I don’t know what to say. I came to say hello? He’s not going to believe that. I thought … I don’t know what I thought – that there was still a way for us to connect? When we were newly married, we always discussed difficult cases. As I look at his face now, I know he doesn’t even remember that, or doesn’t want to. And he certainly doesn’t want to hear what I have to say about the Great Dane. Well, screw you, Duncan, you can work it out for yourself, then.
‘Nothing. I was in town and I was dropping off the notes you left behind.’
I rummage in my bag and produce a folder. He takes it, our fingers not even touching.
But that’s a lie. The file is just an excuse. I know there’s no point in trying anymore.
I came for a look, to check out the staff. To work out if … which one of them, this time, it might be.
I was never quite sure about this house. It’s not a house, it’s a barn.