And asking him to take a dog to the vet.
It took two minutes to drive the short distance to the vet’s. When he carried the dog in, an elderly guy with heavy spectacles and a grizzled beard emerged from the swing doors behind Reception. His glance at Nick was only fleeting; he focused straight away on the blood-stained towel. ‘What’s happened?’
A man after my own heart, Nick thought. Straight to the core of the problem.
‘Miss Lawrence from the local school asked me to bring this dog in,’ he said as the vet folded back an edge of the towel so he could see what he was dealing with.
‘Misty?’ The vet was touching the dog’s face, running his fingers down his neck. Feeling for his pulse. ‘Misty doesn’t have a dog.’
‘No, he ran into the schoolroom while…’
But the vet had found the collar. He fingered the nylon-checked the number, winced.
‘It’s the second.’
‘Sorry?’
‘From our local Animal Welfare Centre.’ The vet took the dog from him, holding him with practised ease. ‘Henrietta gives dogs every chance, only there are never enough homes. When the dogs have stayed there for…well, it’s supposed to be ten days but she stretches it as long as she has room…she brings them to me. Three months after Christmas, cute pups turn into unwanted dogs. Yesterday morning she had a van full and some driver ran into the back of her. Dogs went everywhere. This is one of them.’
‘So…’ Nick said, and paused.
‘So,’ the vet said heavily. ‘Thank you for bringing him in.’ He paused and then craggy eyebrows raised. ‘It’s okay,’ he said gently. ‘I promise it’ll be painless.’ And then, as Nick still hesitated, ‘Unless you want a dog?’
‘I…no.’
‘You’re not a local.’ It was a statement.
‘My son and I have just moved here.’
‘Have you just? Got a house with a yard?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘Every kid needs a dog.’ It was said neutrally, probing a possible reprieve.
‘No.’ Yet still he hesitated.
‘No pressure,’ the vet said. ‘The last thing this guy needs is another place that doesn’t want him.’
‘Miss Lawrence says she’ll pay,’ Nick said. ‘For you to treat him.’
‘Misty said that?’
‘Yes.’
‘She wants to keep him?’
‘I’m not sure.’
The vet seemed confused. ‘Misty’s dog died last year. She’s sworn she won’t get another.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know any more than you do.’
‘She won’t have realised he’s due to be put down. Or maybe she has.’ The vet sighed. ‘Trust Misty. Talk about a soft touch…’ He glanced at his watch. Grimaced. ‘I need to talk to her, but I won’t be able to catch her until after school. That’s almost three hours.’ He looked at the dog again and Nick could see what he was thinking-that three hours was too long to make a dog suffer if the end was inevitable.
This wasn’t Nick’s problem. He should walk away. But…
But he had to face Misty, the bossy little schoolteacher with the pleading eyes. Did she see this as her dog?
She’d said she’d cover the expenses. He had to give her the choice.
‘I’m going back to the school anyway,’ he said diffidently. ‘I was enrolling my son when we found the dog. I could talk to her and phone you back.’
The vet’s face cleared. ‘Excellent. Let’s do a fast assessment of this guy’s condition so Misty knows what we’re dealing with. She’s not a girl to mess me around-it’ll be yes or no. Can you give me a hand? I’ll give him some pain relief and we’ll tell her exactly what she is or isn’t letting herself in for.’
Bailey drew a great cow. Misty gazed down at the child’s drawing with something akin to awe. He was six years old, and his cow even looked like a cow.
‘Wow,’ she said as she stamped his picture with her gold elephant stamp-gold for Effort, elephant for Enormous. ‘You must really like drawing, Bailey.’
‘My dad can draw,’ Bailey said. ‘People pay him to draw pictures of boats.’
His father was an artist?
‘Then you’ve come to the right place,’ she said, glancing out of the window towards the distant harbour.
Nicholas Holt didn’t look like an artist, she thought, but then, what did she know of artists? What did she know of anything beyond the confines of this town?
Don’t think it. There was no point going down that road. For now, Banksia Bay was her life.
And for how much longer? She’d just offered to pay for a dog.
How long did dogs live?
‘Story time,’ she said determinedly. ‘Tell you what, Bailey, as you’re the new boy today, you can choose the story. Any book from the rack. Take a look.’
Bailey looked at her dubiously but he’d obviously decided this was an okay environment-this was somewhere to be trusted. And chubby little Natalie was right beside him, his new Friend For Life. ‘Choose Poky Little Puppy,’ Natalie whispered as only a six-year-old could whisper. “Cos it’s all about a puppy getting into trouble, like your new dog.’
Like your new dog…
Uh oh.
‘He’s not Bailey’s new dog,’ Misty said as she settled on the reading stool with the kids around her.
‘Then whose is he, miss?’ Natalie asked, and she knew the answer. She’d known it as soon as she’d seen the plastic collar.
She sighed. She was stuck here anyway. Why keep fighting the odds? Her dreams had already stretched a lifetime and it seemed they needed to be stretched a while longer.
‘I guess he’s mine.’
And ten minutes later when Nick walked back into the classroom the thing was settled. He entered the room, Natalie’s hand shot up and she asked before Misty could give permission.
‘Please, sir, how’s Miss Lawrence’s dog?’
Miss Lawrence’s dog. He flashed a look at Misty and she met his gaze with every evidence of serenity. As if she picked up stray dogs all the time.
Why? Dogs must give her heartache upon heartache, he thought. The lifespan for a dog was what? Sixteen years? The mutt in question was around ten years old already and battered, which meant he was sliding towards grief for all concerned. He had six years, at most-if he made it through the next twenty-four hours.
‘He has a broken leg,’ he said, aware of a classroom of eyes, but aware most acutely of Bailey. Bailey, who’d seen far too much horror already. Because of his father’s stupidity…
‘Is Dr Cray fixing him?’ Misty asked from the front of the room, and his gaze locked on hers. He could reply without speaking; he knew this woman was intelligent enough to get it.
‘It’s an extremely expensive operation to fix his leg,’ he said, trying for a neutral tone. ‘He’s already an elderly dog, so there may be complications. Apparently he’s from the Animal Welfare Centre-a stray-but Dr Cray says he’s willing to take care of him for us. All he needs is your permission. I can phone him now and let him know it’s okay.’
She got the message. He saw her wince.
The vet was letting her off the hook. All she had to do was nod and go back to reading to the children. Nicholas would relay her decision and the problem would be solved.
But this woman didn’t work like that. He sensed it already and her response was no surprise. ‘How expensive?’
So she couldn’t save the dog at any cost. She was a schoolteacher, after all.
What to say? He ran over the options fast.
Could they talk outside? Could he say, Let’s talk without the children hearing. Let’s give you the cold facts-that this dog’s going to cost a mint; he’s a stray with a limited lifespan. No one wants him; the kindest thing is to let Dr Cray do what he thinks best, which is to put him down.
He’d come to Banksia Bay to be sensible. He had to be sensible.