Carol, with the dead dog in her arms, ushered the woman out and then locked the door. She kept on repeating to herself that it was all right, everything was all right, she was just fifteen minutes behind schedule.
The mortuary man arrived two minutes later. Carol had to help him carry the three bags to his van. She had not had time to put the Jack Russell into his mortuary bag or fill in the form, but rather than delay getting rid of Frogton she decided she'd take the dead dog and Frogton's clothes to the local dump.
The mortuary van driver signed them out. The Rottweiler, the Dalmatian and, lastly, heaving up the body of Frogton, he signed for the Great Dane.
'They don't have long lives, do they, these big dogs?'
'No, their hearts are quite small,' she said with relief as the doors closed.
'I've got fifteen to collect all over London this morning. Do you want any ashes brought back?' he asked, heading for the driving seat.
'No, no ashes required,' she said, wishing he'd drive off and let her get down to cleaning up and getting rid of the clothes and the bloody Jack Russell.
Carol watched the van drive off, then returned to the final clearing up. She washed down the table, took off her soiled uniform and stuffed it into the same bag with Frogton's clothes and the dead Jack Russell. She then went to the sink and cleaned up the blood from Frogton, where he'd bled from the hammer blows. She wiped it clean, replaced the hammer with the tools in the back room, returned and gave the room a once over with her eyes.
'Shit,' she snapped.
The charm bracelet was just beneath the sink; somehow when Frogton grabbed her he must have broken the chain. On her hands and knees she snatched it up and checked all the charms were there. There was one missing, the fucking goblin.
'Fuck, fuck, where is the fucking thing?'
She sat back on her heels, her eyes roaming the room, but she couldn't see it. With the flat of her hand she felt under every surface, on top, down the sides; she began to pant with fear. The charm was not in the operating room. She even went back to reception, searched every inch of it, then back to the operating room and re-searched but there was no effing goblin. The reception phone rang, jangling her nerves. She snatched it up.
'Yes?'
She listened. It was Battersea Dogs Home; they had received a call from a very distraught woman who had lost her Jack Russell.
'Yes, she came here, then she left; it wasn't her Jack Russell, it was another Jack Russell.'
'Did it have a collar on it?' asked the persistent kennel maid at the end of the line.
'No, it was hit by a bus, it had internal injuries and Mr Frogton put it to sleep.'
'Could you describe it?'
'What?'
'We have a young man here who's lost his Jack Russell. He says it's got a black ear, on the left. Is that the one you have there? Only the stray we've got here has a brown ear, brown left ear.'
'Yes, it's got a black ear and a sort of brown spot over its right eye,' Carol snapped.
To Carol's fury she was left waiting as the kennel maid went to talk to the young man. When she came back she asked if the dog was still at the surgery.
'Yes, it's still here.'
'He's coming right over, can you keep it there?'
'It's dead.'
'Yes, you said, but he wants to make sure it's his dog, and if it didn't have a collar and it fits his description…'
Carol sighed. 'No. No, I'm sorry, he can't come here.'
'Is that you, Carol?'
'What?'
'This is Barbara, remember? We worked together? I knew you'd got a job at the clinic. I didn't recognize your voice. Is it OK for the boy to come over, he's so upset, Carol. CAROL?'
Carol closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 'Yes, he can see it, but he had better come over right now.'
Carol slammed down the phone. 'Fucking dog, the fucking stupid fucking dog.'
Carol checked her watch; her whole schedule was off now with this fucking Jack Russell and she had to get rid of it before fucking Hilda or anyone else turned up for surgery.
At eight o'clock the doorbell went again. Carol steamed out and snatched it open. He was red haired with round owl glasses and wearing a dirty anorak.
'Can I see if you've got Rex?' he asked, gulping, almost in tears. Carol nodded and went and brought him the dead dog still wrapped in the bloodstained towel.
'Yes, yes, that's Rex,' he said, then burst into tears.
'Do you want to take him?' she asked brusquely.
He nodded, holding out his arms, and she passed over the dog wrapped in the towel.
'You can keep the towel,' she said, opening the door to usher him out. In fact, it was quite useful that he wanted to take it. She wouldn't have to dump the dog along with the bloodstained clothes.
'I'll bury it at my Grandma's. She's got a garden,' he said, blinking, his eyes watering behind his owl glasses.
'Fine, thank you, goodbye.' She shut the door, then had to open it again as the cleaner appeared.
'Morning, Carol, love, I'm ever so late today, my other job had left the place in a right state so I had a lot of cleaning.'
Carol didn't wait to listen as Mrs Dart prattled on while she got out her cleaning equipment. By now she was way off schedule; she was supposed to have taken the clothes to the dump. All she could do was bundle them up and hide them under the counter until it was time for her to go home. She'd wasted time searching them for the charm and now it was almost eight thirty and the surgery would be open soon. Mrs Dart washed down the floor in reception, dusted and watered the plants, all with a non-stop conversation to herself. She even washed the floor in the operating room, clanking her bucket and mop.
'Can you hurry it up, Mrs Dart? It's almost time for surgery. Mrs Dart?'
Mrs Dart was still dusting when the first customer arrived. Carol couldn't believe it; they were fifteen minutes early. She felt almost as sick as their parrot! But at last Mrs Dart left. Carol itched to ask her if she had found her goblin but decided against it.
Miles arrived to start his surgery and the day began. As Carol answered the calls, she could feel the bag close to her legs under the counter. It was a full morning, and come lunchtime she put the plan back on schedule.
'I'll get off at lunchtime, going on my holiday, unless I'm needed. I wouldn't mind leaving at twelve thirty.'
'You do that love,' said Hilda as she proffered a coffee; she managed at least three mugs every morning. 'You've done enough good turns, so you go on off.'
Hilda stepped aside as Carol collected the bag and made to leave.
'Did the mortuary van come this morning?' Miles asked as he appeared at his surgery door.
'Yes.'
'Frogton got off sharpish, didn't he?'
Hilda murmured that she had not actually seen him, as he'd gone before she arrived.
'Can you get him on the phone, Hilda? It's this German Shepherd; I don't know what tests he's done and I can't find the X-rays.'
Carol was at the door, listening, as Hilda called and then replaced the phone.
'No answer and his answerphone's not on. I'll try again but I think they were all going straight to the airport.'
'I thought she had already left?' Carol said, feeling her colour drain.
'No, she changed her mind. They were all going together – well, with the baby she didn't want to travel by herself. It's understandable.'
Miles, irritated, snapped as he returned to his cubicle, 'Just try and contact him, Hilda. I really need to speak to him.'
'The X-rays are on his desk, second drawer are the details I think you'll need,' Carol said, hovering, eager to leave.
'Thank you, Carol, we'll miss you, but have a good holiday.' Miles stood at his doorway.
Hilda waved as Carol smiled and walked out.