Made With Love

Chapter 10

The sun doesn’t have a chance to jar me awake this morning. Cormac beats the dawn to the punch.

‘Julie. JULIE.’ He grabs at the duvet.

‘Mmh.’

‘It’s Louie. You’ve got to come.’

Who?

‘Come ON!’

‘Alright, alright.’ I’d kill to stay in bed, but I’m right behind ya.

We tear across the back garden and up the field to the shed.

‘He was grand yesterday,’ Cormac puffs over his shoulder. ‘On his feet and all that. I was up with Marilyn, she had twins, two big piebald ones. I looked in, and Louie was lying over, not moving.’

‘Oh no.’

‘He’s in here.’ Cormac shows me into a narrow stall piled with straw. Louie lies on his side, breathing shallowly under a heat lamp. There’s a man bent over him in a sweater and surgical gloves.

‘How’s he now, Michael?’

Michael?

He turns to face us.

Holy hell. It’s Wonder Boy. Again.

‘He’s grand,’ Michael says. ‘Heart rate’s up. He’s taken a bit of milk. Just a touch of stress, I think.’

Cormac kneels down at the calf’s head and peers into his eyes.

‘Morning,’ Michael says to me. ‘Nice sweater.’

I look down. Shit—is that what I’d pulled on in the dark?!

‘Thanks,’ I grimace.

‘How’s the ankle?’

‘Good. Thank you.’

‘Glad to hear that,’ Michael grins.

Dermot pokes his head into the stall behind me. ‘How’s the patient?’

‘Perking up a bit,’ Michael says. ‘Keep an eye on him, but I’d say he’ll be on his feet by the afternoon.’

‘Please God,’ Dermot says and nods good morning to me.

‘You want to feed him?’ Michael asks me.

That’s an emphatic no. Thing smells like gone off cheese.

Before I can answer, Michael has a warm bottle in my hand.

‘Cormac’ll show you,’ he says and nudges me forward.

I stoop down, and Cormac lifts Louie’s head into my lap. He latches onto the bottle, his deep, wet eyes on mine.

Alright: I’m in love.

‘You’re fairly handy at that for a city girl,’ Michael smiles down at me.

‘Arrah, she’s from good Aran stock!’ Dermot says.

‘I’m just going to wash up. Two minutes.’ Michael disappears down the corridor.

‘You didn’t tell me Michael was a vet,’ I say to Dermot.

‘You didn’t ask,’ he winks at me.

Michael reappears, and Dermot shakes his hand heartily.

‘What do I owe you?’

‘Not a rex.’

‘Now.’

‘Pay me when the co-op settles what it owes you in arrears,’ Michael says, wiping his hands on a cloth.