Читать книгу Searching For Sophia - Andrew Saw - Страница 20

15

I felt pretty good walking to work that morning. Emma was back in my world and there seemed to be a future. Even though I was well aware of her default ruthlessness, I was thinking the things we all think when there’s hope for love. Would we live together and, if so, where? Would we work together? Would she like my friends? What would I make of hers?

The stardust algorithm was surging and I know enough about biochemistry to realise that there was not a lot I could do to stop it. Plus the speculation was fun. It was a nice idea to think that both Joe and I might have found “The One”. There was an elegant equilibrium about it.

But always in veterinary medicine, patients will anchor even the most deluded lover to Mother Earth. Cleopatra is an Egyptian Mau, one of the most beautiful cats I’ve known. Pale grey, with leopard spots and light-green eyes, she’s intelligent and caring. And the same has to be said of her owner, Lily, who’s just twelve years old. My heart sank when I saw Cleopatra, Lily and her mother in the waiting room. Cleopatra had been suffering a number of symptoms: weight loss, dull coat, gastroenteritis, diarrhoea and recurring skin infections.

I ordered blood tests and the results were as I had feared. Cleopatra had contracted Feline Immunodeficiency Virus, the cat version of AIDS. There’s no cure for the condition. All anyone can do is set up a strict regime of vaccination, plus anti-bacterial and anti-fungal drugs, regular blood transfusions and a high calorie diet, but eventually an infection or cancer would set in and it would be over.

That morning before she left Emma had outlined a plan. “You’re a good-looking man, Tim,” she said. “I’m going to market a new practice in Kentucky; you’ve got just the presence I need.”

“What presence?”

“You’re tall, Anglo, handsome, articulate – perfect for the South.”

“Okay, stop it, you’re killing me.”

“I’m serious. I really don’t know why you’re wasting your time chasing pets around Elizabeth Bay. The real money is in thoroughbreds.”

“But I like pets.”

“Bullshit.”

“I do.”

“Come on – think about it. You and me, great sex, big money, work all over the world. What’s not to love?”

I laughed it off, but there’s something intoxicating about the idea of throwing away the past and launching a new life. Ambition is a beguiling mistress and it’s amazing how easy she is to justify.

Then I had Cleopatra and Lily in my surgery, and I was left with the melancholia that always hits when a child is about to lose their pet. There’s no shame in sparing an animal misery with the Big Sleep. People say it’s good for a child to understand the cycle of living and dying, but when you’re sitting in surgery with a little girl crushed by the weight of oblivion, there is nothing more important in life than easing her pain.

It was late by the time I got home, exhausted and annoyed by temptation, ready only for mindless TV and a bottle of wine. When my phone rang I didn’t look to see who was calling. I knew it would be Emma; but when it rang twice more in succession, I gave in to the inevitable.

“God, Tim, where the hell have you been?”

It wasn’t Emma but an agitated Joe.

“Home and at work, where else?”

“I’m downstairs.”

“Really?”

“She’s disappeared.”

“What?”

“She’s gone and I don’t know where?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Buzz me in, you idiot, I haven’t got a lot of time.”