The Village Vet by Cathy Woodman

‘You wouldn’t have been my first choice. It would have been Jack.’
    Jack again, I think, my heart sinking. Everyone loves him, apart from me.
    ‘So where exactly do I stand?’ I ask. ‘I mean, have I got a job here or not?’
    Having got this far, I find that I’m looking forward to the challenge of running a rescue centre more than I ever thought possible, of working with a team of animal-mad volunteers and the animals themselves, sick, distressed and unwanted animals in need of rescue, like the black dog who should be on his way to the Sanctuary with Jack as we speak. I can’t bear the thought of having the opportunity snatched away from me at the last minute because of some silly spat between the chair and the rest of the committee.
    ‘I’m sorry, but we can’t answer that right now,’ Wendy says. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’
    ‘We’ll let you know when we’ve spoken to your aunt,’ Diane says more brusquely. ‘Now, let’s get on. Have you got any decaff? No? In that case, I shall have to drink tea. You do have tea?’
    ‘I think so.’ I hope so, I muse. I had assumed that volunteers would go out of their way to be accommodating, but I sense that Diane in particular is going to be a very demanding woman, and I’m actually relieved when I catch sight of Talyton Animal Rescue’s white minivan – the one that I’m supposed to have the use of as part of the deal – arriving in the car park.
    ‘That’s Jack, your first unwanted animal,’ Katie says, coming outside with me. ‘Tessa, this must be so awkward for you.’
    ‘I’ll be fine. If I tell myself that often enough, I might just come to believe it,’ I go on wryly. What with meeting Jack again and finding that I could be out of here before I’ve had time to settle in, it hasn’t been the easiest of days so far.
    Katie and I shimmy past Wendy and Diane, who remain standing on the doorstep but facing towards the minivan, Diane’s mouth half open, I notice, as Jack jumps out and walks around the back. He flings the doors open, at which the black dog flies out on the end of a rope lead. Jack catches the end and pulls him up before he can make his getaway and return to his previous existence as a stray, terrorising the pet dogs of Talyton St George.
    Jack, dressed in a sweatshirt and cargo trousers, brings him across to me and Katie.
    ‘Hi,’ he says, looking directly at me.
    ‘Hi,’ I respond, struggling to find something to say. He gives the impression he is finding this situation as difficult as I am, but he deserves it, I tell myself, although it’s hard not to sympathise with those beautiful brown eyes gazing deep into mine (and I’m not talking about the dog’s).
    ‘I’ll take him from here.’ I hold out my hand and take the end of the rope lead. The black dog stands with his head down and his tail tucked between his legs.
    ‘Here’s his discharge note from the vet,’ Jack says, handing me an envelope. I take it by the corner as if it’s stuffed with anthrax, and slip it into my pocket.
    ‘Aren’t you supposed to book him in or something?’ Katie says helpfully.
    ‘Well, yes, eventually, I suppose.’
    ‘Fifi has put some forms in the office. She said we should use those.’ Jack holds up his hands. ‘Not that I’m trying to tell you how to do your job.’
    ‘I must go,’ Katie says. ‘I’ll see you later, Tessa.’
    ‘Thanks for your help,’ I say, wishing her goodbye before I let the dog sniff at my arm and stroke his short velvety fur, at which he shrinks away. He is one unhappy dog.
    ‘What’s his name?’ I ask, glancing up at Jack.
    ‘He has no name,’ he says gravely.
    ‘Didn’t the staff at Otter House give him one?’ I’m surprised, because it’s usually the first thing that happens in a vet practice.
    ‘They call him the black dog. I tried out a few names on the way over, but he doesn’t respond to any of them: Dillon, Danny, Derek.’
    ‘You’ve only reached the Ds,’ I say,