Every Living Thing Part 10

"In what way?"

"Oh, just lyin' stretched out, unconscious, like."

I suppressed a scream. "When did this happen?"

"Just found 'im this morning. And Mr. Fawcett can't bring him to you-he's poorly himself. He's in bed."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'll come round straight away."

And it was just the same as before. An almost lifeless little creature lying p.r.o.ne on d.i.c.k's bed. d.i.c.k himself looked terrible-ghastly white and thinner than ever-but he still managed a smile.

"Looks like 'e needs another of your magic injections, Mr. Herriot."

As I filled my syringe, my mind seethed with the thought that there was indeed some kind of magic at work here, but it wasn't my injection.

"I'll drop in tomorrow, d.i.c.k," I said. "And I hope you'll be feeling better yourself."

"Oh, I'll be awright as long as t'little feller's better." The old man stretched out a hand and stroked the cat's shining fur. The arm was emaciated and the eyes in the skull-like face were desperately worried.

I looked around the comfortless little room and hoped for another miracle.

I wasn't really surprised when I came back next morning and saw Frisk darting about on the bed, pawing at a piece of string the old man was holding up for him. The relief was great but I felt enveloped more suffocatingly than ever in my fog of ignorance. What the h.e.l.l was it? The whole thing just didn't make sense. There was no known disease with symptoms like these. I had a strong conviction that reading a whole library of veterinary books wouldn't help me.

Anyway, the sight of the little cat arching and purring round my hand was reward enough, and for d.i.c.k it was everything. He was relaxed and smiling.

"You keep gettin' him right, Mr. Herriot. I can't thank you enough." Then the worry flickered again in his eyes. "But is he goin' to keep doing it? I'm frightened he won't come round one of these times."

Well, that was the question. I was frightened, too, but I had to try to be cheerful. "Maybe it's just a pa.s.sing phase, d.i.c.k. I hope we'll have no more trouble now." But I couldn't promise anything and the frail man in the bed knew it.

Mrs. Duggan was showing me out when I saw the district nurse getting out of her car at the front door.

"h.e.l.lo, Nurse," I said. "You've come to have a look at Mr. Fawcett? I'm sorry he's ill."

She nodded. "Yes, poor old chap. It's a great shame."

"What do you mean? Is it something serious?"

"Afraid so." Her mouth tightened and she looked away from me. "He's dying. It's cancer. Getting rapidly worse."

"My G.o.d! Poor d.i.c.k. And a few days ago he was bringing his cat to my surgery. He never said a word. Does he know?"

"Oh, yes, he knows, but that's him all over, Mr. Herriot. He's as game as a pebble. He shouldn't have been out, really."

"Is he...is he...suffering?"

She shrugged. "Getting a bit of pain now, but we're keeping him as comfortable as we can with medication. I give him a shot when necessary and he has some stuff he can take himself if I'm not around. He's very shaky and can't pour from the bottle into the spoon. Mrs. Duggan would gladly do it for him, but he's so independent." She smiled for a moment. "He pours the mixture into a saucer and spoons it up that way."

"A saucer...?" Somewhere in the fog a little light glimmered. "What's in the mixture?"

"Oh, heroin and pethidine. It's the usual thing Dr. Allinson prescribes."

I seized her arm. "I'm coming back in with you, Nurse."

The old man was surprised when I reappeared. "What's the matter, Mr. Herriot? Have you left summat?"

"No, d.i.c.k, I want to ask you something. Is your medicine pleasant-tasting?"

"Aye, it's nice and sweet. It isn't bad to take at all."

"And you put it in a saucer?"

"That's right. Me hand's a bit dothery."

"And when you take it last thing at night there's sometimes a bit left in the saucer?"

"Aye, there is. Why?"

"Because you leave that saucer by your bedside, don't you, and Frisk sleeps on your bed..."

The old man lay very still as he stared at me. "You mean the little beggar licks it out?"

"I'll bet my boots he does."

d.i.c.k threw back his head and laughed. A long, joyous laugh. "And that sends 'im to sleep! No wonder! It makes me right dozy, too!"

I laughed with him. "Anyway, we know now, d.i.c.k. You'll put that saucer in the cupboard when you've taken your dose, won't you?"

"I will that, Mr. Herriot. And Frisk will never pa.s.s out like that again?"

"No, never again."

"Eee, that's grand!" He sat up in bed, lifted the little cat and held him against his face. He gave a sigh of utter content and smiled at me.

"Mr. Herriot," he said. "I've got nowt to worry about now."

Out in the street, as I bade Mrs. Duggan goodbye for the second time, I looked back at the little house. " 'Nowt to worry about,' eh? That's rather wonderful, coming from him."

"Oh aye, and he means it, too. He's not bothered about himself."

I didn't see d.i.c.k again for two weeks. I was visiting a friend in Darrowby's little cottage hospital when I saw the old man in a bed in a corner of the ward.

I went over and sat down by his side. His face was desperately thin, but serene.

"h.e.l.lo, d.i.c.k," I said.

He looked at me sleepily and spoke in a whisper. "Now then, Mr. Herriot." He closed his eyes for a few moments, then he looked up again with the ghost of a smile. "I'm glad we found out what was wrong with t'little cat."

"So am I, d.i.c.k."

Again a pause. "Mrs. Duggan's got 'im."

"Yes. I know. He has a good home there."

"Aye...aye..." The voice was fainter. "But oftens I wish I had 'im here." The bony hand stroked the counterpane and his lips moved again. I bent closer to hear.

"Frisk..." he was saying, "Frisk..." Then his eyes closed and I saw that he was sleeping.

I heard next day that d.i.c.k Fawcett had died, and it was possible that I was the last person to hear him speak. And it was strange, yet fitting, that those last words were about his cat.

"Frisk...Frisk..."

Chapter 15.

I HAVE TO GO back now to those early days when John Crooks departed from the practice and it was difficult to adjust my mind to the fact that he had gone for good. I couldn't believe that I would never hear that booming voice on the other end of the phone saying okay, I could stay in my bed, and he'd go out into the cold darkness to calve that heifer. And it wasn't just that. As I have said, I was young enough then to be a friend to an a.s.sistant and I was losing a friend now-two, in fact, when John and Heather set off to build their own life in Beverley-and it left me with an empty feeling.

However, it was no use brooding. We had to have another a.s.sistant, and since our advertis.e.m.e.nt in The Veterinary Record had been successful, there was one on his way to us at this moment. I looked at my watch. It was nearly two thirty. Calum Buchanan's train would be pulling in to Darrowby in a few minutes. I ran out to the car and drove to the station.

When the train drew in, only one pa.s.senger alighted. He was a tall young man with a huge lurcher dog trotting by his side, and as he came along the platform towards me I took in the battered suitcase, flowing black moustache and very dark eyes, but the most striking feature was a large hairy animal draped over his left shoulder.

He put out his hand and grinned. "Mr. Herriot?"

"Yes...yes..." I shook his hand. "You'll be Calum Buchanan."

"That's right."

"Good, good...but what's that on your shoulder?"

"That's Marilyn."

"Marilyn?"

"Yes, my badger."

"Badger!"

He laughed, a carefree laugh. "Sorry, maybe I should have warned you in my letter. She's my pet. Goes everywhere with me."

"Everywhere?"

"Absolutely."

All kinds of apprehensions boiled up in my mind. How did a veterinary a.s.sistant carry out his duties with a wild animal hanging from his shoulder at all times? And what sort of man would roll up to a new job not only with a badger but with a giant dog?

Anyway, I'd soon find out. I pushed my misgivings to one side and led him out to the car, running a gauntlet of pop-eyed stares from a booking-clerk, two ladies sitting on the platform seat and from a porter who nearly wheeled a load of packing cases into a wall.

"I see you've got a dog, too," I said.

"Yes, that's Storm. Lovely, good-natured animal."

The lurcher waved his tail and gazed up at me with kind eyes. I patted the s.h.a.ggy head. "He looks it.

"Incidentally," I said. "With a name like yours I was expecting a Scottish accent and you haven't got one."

He smiled. "No, I grew up in Yorkshire, but my ancestry is Scottish." His eyes gleamed and his chin went up.

"You're proud of that, eh?"

He nodded gravely. "I am indeed. Very proud."

At Skeldale House I showed him his car and helped to kit him out with the essential equipment we all carried-the drugs, instruments, obstetric gown and protective clothing-then I took him up to the flat, where his main interest seemed to be directed not at the interior but at the birds and flowers he could see through the window overlooking the long garden.

"By the way," I said. "I should have asked you earlier. Have you had lunch?"

"Lunch?"

"Yes, have you had something to eat?"

"Eat...eat...?" The black b.u.t.ton eyes took on a thoughtful expression. "Yes...I'm sure I had something yesterday."

"Yesterday! My G.o.d, it's nearly four o'clock in the afternoon. You must be starved!"

"Oh, no, not at all, not in the least."

"You mean you're not hungry?"

He seemed to find the question unusual, even irrelevant, and replied with a non-committal shrug of the shoulders.

"Anyway," I said, "I'll slip downstairs and see what I can find for you."

In the office cupboard was a large uncut fruit-cake Helen had just baked to go with the cups of coffee we s.n.a.t.c.hed between visits. I put it on a plate with a knife and took it up to the flat.

"Here you are," I said, placing the cake on the table. "Help yourself and then you can get a proper meal later."

As I spoke I heard footsteps on the stair and Siegfried burst into the room.

"Calum Buchanan, Siegfried Farnon," I said.

They shook hands, then Siegfried pointed a trembling finger at the young man's shoulder. "What the devil is that?"

Calum smiled his engaging smile. "Marilyn, my badger."