Mr Braden?” said Jackie, opening the door from the reception area to the surgery. “Rodney?”
“What is it? I’m examining a gerbil.”
“I know …”
“It’s got a very unusual condition. Only by extreme focus and concentration can I restore it to health.”
“I thought he’d eaten a crayon,” said Jackie. “A purple one.”
“It has.”
“Is that … an unusual condition?”
“If I show you the X-rays, Jackie you’ll see that …”
His insides have gone purple? His tiny gerbil bladder actually has a drawing on it of a purple house and some purple clouds? was what Jackie Bailey was thinking.
But she didn’t say it, as Rodney Braden the vet was her boss, and someone who took his veterinary work very, very seriously. So she just let him waffle on about how the X-rays showed some toxic effects on the gerbil’s tummy – obviously he didn’t say tummy, he said intestines – until finally he took a breath.
“Yes, of course, Rodney, I realise you’re very busy doing extremely delicate work with Gandhi …”
“Who’s Gandhi?”
“The gerbil.”
Rodney looked down at the tiny creature anaesthetised in front of him, as if surprised that, beyond being a collection of organs, it had a name.
“I know him,” continued Jackie. “He’s Jinesh’s – Mr and Mrs Bhaskar’s son’s gerbil. They live two doors down from us.”
“Right. Well, as I say, Jackie, I’m very busy … the operation is at an absolutely crucial stage …”
“Yes. I was just wondering if I could use the landline to make a personal call. To my son – at this farm, this school trip he’s on. My mobile’s run out of power.”
Of course, if you weren’t so mean, she thought, I wouldn’t have had to come in and ask that.
She watched the vet frown, caught, she knew, between two opposing instincts:
At that point, while the vet was frowning, Ghandi’s tiny body twitched. It might just have been a purple crayon-y burp, but it was enough to make up Rodney Braden’s mind.
“Yes, whatever!” he said, waving her away.
Gavin was just cutting the Stinky Blinky when the farmhouse phone rang. Which might explain why no one heard it at first, as almost everyone in the room was going “uuurggh” and “arrrgghh” and “my eyes are watering!”
But Maven, who was smiling and licking her lips, picked it up.
“Hi!” said Maven.
“Hello? Sorry, I was going to call Mr Barrington’s mobile, but the reception wasn’t very good last time, so I thought I’d call the farmhouse landline … anyway, sorry, it’s Jackie Bailey, Malcolm’s mother.”
“Cool.”
Jackie wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. So she said:
“Yes. Thanks. Um. Anyway, is Malcolm there?”
“Wait a minute …” said Maven. “Uh … Gavin?”
“Hey, Maven,” said Gavin, handing her a plate. “The Blinky’s just so stinky tonight. You gotta try it.”
“OK!” Maven took a large slice and held it in front of her mouth.
“Sorry, hello?” said Jackie. “I was wondering about Malcolm?”
“Oh yuh. Soz.”
She put the phone down and addressed the dining room.
“Is Malcolm here? Malcolm Bailey?”
Well, that’s what Maven was trying to say. Unfortunately, she chose to put the big piece of Stinky Blinky in her mouth first. And so it came out as:
“Ibrgh Molkolmmm blah? Mollkollloommm Bladibley?”
Which very few of the children heard above their own shouts of “urggh”, “arrrgh” and now also “I’m going to be sick!”
“Soz,” said Maven. “Oy dink hee mblguht pee sglight oootgird pleepggin wlgh de anishckmals.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Jackie.
Maven did a big – and to be honest, even though she always said how much she liked it, quite forced (she closed her eyes and screwed up her face, anyway) – swallow. “Oh blimey,” she said, taking a long breath. “Soz again. I said: I think he might be still outside playing with the animals.”
Which was at least true.
At that point, at the vet’s, Rodney reappeared. He came out of the surgery, holding Gandhi the gerbil in one hand, and a half-digested purple crayon in the other. Despite the obvious success of the operation, he – Rodney – was looking cross (Ghandi, to be honest, was looking just a bit bemused).
Jackie knew why this was: she’d been on the phone too long.
“OK, well … send him my love when he comes in!” said Jackie, hurriedly putting the phone down. So hurriedly, in fact, she didn’t hear Maven say, “Brill poo!”
Which was her way of saying “Will do!”
… with her mouth full of more Stinky Blinky.