Golden Luckenbooth

Nineteen

In the movie version of my life, this would be the time when Madelaine Petsch (obviously playing me) would choke on her tea, and then everyone would make sure she was alright, but the future grandmother (maybe played by Jennifer Aniston or Nicole Kidman – either of them would play Anne well) would recognize the action as a sign of an impending pregnancy.

None of that happened.

But perhaps it would have if Shortbread, my guardian angel, hadn't barked and risen quickly. She garners the attention of everyone in the room as she chases a moth. Piper picks up her head, looks at Shortbread, and then back at me. It's almost like she's saying, 'Close call.'

"Shortbread, quiet!" Harry attempts, but to no avail. My normally sweet golden retriever merely continues acting like a puppy with a new toy, jumping around at the moth no one can spot anymore.

"Shortbread, quiet." I repeat in my firm voice, not raising my volume as I rise from the floor to stand near her. She obeys reluctantly, her back paws skittering on the rug-covered wood floors as a slight whimper escapes her. "Shortbread, come." I indicate she should sit next to me, and again she follows my direction, resting next to me, her arse barely touching the floor, her eyes and snout anxiously shifting between me and the location in which she last saw the moth. "Good girl," I tell her. "Shortbread, good girl." On the floor behind us, her tail wags. When I reach to pet her, she calms instantly.

"That was brilliant!" Anne applauds me. "I wish my cats would listen like that."

"Cats rarely listen," I smile. "Or rather, they listen when it suits them."

"Oh yes," Gemma giggles, "Like when they hear the tin opener."

"Shall we head to breakfast?" Harry gestures, and like sheep, we follow him.

The moment for talking about future grandchildren has thankfully passed, and I vow to give Shortbread an extra treat for her heroic actions in distracting everyone from the topic.

With the rain still falling like only a Scottish shower can, we enjoy a seated meal of Scottish morning rolls, fresh fruit, and more of that wonderful breakfast tea which I skip in favour of chamomile. My tummy and I are pleased with the meal as I pray that the morning sickness and diarrhoea have chosen to give me a break.

After an enjoyable meal, with the rain continuing to trap us indoors, we decorate the tree, and I'm thankful that the staff has provided the materials to do so. Anne and Darren are busy creating paper chains while the younger generation attempts to hang the decorations in the most balanced places. Except for Harry. He does his best to hide his allotment of decorations deep in the branches.

When my phone rings, I reach for it. Probably my dad with another reason they're going to be late. "Dr. McInroy," I answer nonchalantly, knowing my dad will say something silly like, 'No I'm Dr. McInroy' just to tease me.

"You've got to come right away! My sweet Rainbow is peeing red, and she has the worst diarrhoea. I'm terribly worried about her."

Now, Mrs. Ferguson can be a pain in the arse, but she's never sounded this frantic, so I freeze, my hand holding an ornament and hovering over a branch. The others in the room sharpen their focus on me, and I grimace.

"Did she eat something she shouldn't have? Like a grape?" I glance at Harry, noticing a small tilt of his lips. I guess it's no longer too soon for jokes at his expense.

"I've not seen her eat anything but her food. Can I come to the clinic? I know it's Saturday and Christmas is in three days, but..."

A way to escape the awkwardness of this gathering! "Where are you, Mrs. Ferguson?" Harry glances at me sharply, and I know he will understand that I need to go. The possibility of an emergency is why we chose an estate near the clinic in the first place. It's not like I could have my dad cover my practice while I'm away since he will be here too. And there really isn't anyone else to take care of the animals since Blair is visiting her own family for Christmas.