Read Online Chocolate Cake for Breakfast by Danielle Hawkins - Free Book Online
Authors: Danielle Hawkins
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very well. You miss out on all the important cues, like facial expression and tone of voice, and if you don’t hear back you’ve got no idea whether the other person hasn’t got their phone on them or just doesn’t have anything to say to you. It’s enough to make you develop a stomach ulcer.
I managed somehow to stay awake until the replay at eleven thirty. It wasn’t a very interesting game, at least for a rugby ignoramus; it was raining heavily in Brisbane and both teams spent most of their time kicking the ball from one end of the field to the other. The Wallabies won, and at one thirty, having heard nothing from Mark and unable to think of any comment he might possibly want to hear, I turned off the TV and went sadly to bed, to be woken at six with a calving.
7
MY FIRST ACT ON MONDAY MORNING WAS TO SMASH A full glass bottle of the most expensive antibiotic we stocked. Nick put his head around the door of the dispensary, closed his eyes for a second and said tiredly, ‘Jesus, Helen.’
I knelt down to pick up the pieces, cutting my finger in the process. ‘You can charge it to my account.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a bloody martyr,’ he snapped.
Then I went to a calving north of town – a live Jersey calf with one front leg bent right back. I tried for half an hour to get the other leg, and then called for help.
Anita arrived in her briskest and most efficient mood, attached my calving jack to the leg that was coming the right way and winched the calf out without bothering about the other leg at all. ‘Alright?’ she said curtly, pulling the slimy little thing around for its mother to lick. ‘Think you’ll be able to manage that by yourself next time?’
‘Yes. Thanks, Anita.’
‘Don’t just stand there. Get yourself cleaned up. You’re late for those calf dehornings at Mulligan’s.’ And off she went, her ute screeching around the tanker loop and spraying water six feet in the air.
I had two cat speys and an abscess to lance back at the clinic, and when I went in after a seven-minute lunch break to get started the surgery was a tip. I looked at it tight-lipped for a moment and went to find Zoe, who should have been cleaning it but was instead on the phone in the vet room, winding strands of hair around her finger as she talked. Seeing me in the doorway she swivelled in her chair so her back was to me.
The blood of my Scottish ancestors, a warlike and disreputable lot whose favourite employment, I believe, was rustling English cattle from over the border, grew hot in my veins. ‘Zoe,’ I said. ‘Excuse me, please, we’ve got surgery.’
There was no response.
‘ Zoe! ’ I repeated crossly.
Zoe muttered something into the phone and slammed it down.
‘The surgery’s disgusting,’ I said. ‘What happened?’
‘I have had things to do,’ she said. ‘You could help, you know.’
‘Seeing as I’ve been doing nothing all morning while you slaved? Clean it up, please, while I pre-med the cats.’
‘Bitch,’ she said and, bursting into tears, ran out of the room.
I went wearily out to the front of the shop and leant on the counter beside Thomas. ‘ What is her problem?’
‘Boyfriend trouble,’ said Thomas. ‘I’ll have a word with her.’
‘And in the meantime I’ll go and scrub the fucking surgery.’
Thomas raised his eyebrows. ‘Not like you to swear. Are you having boyfriend trouble too?’
‘No,’ I said shortly.
‘You can tell Uncle Thomas all about it, you know.’ He bent towards me, and a gust of Lynx Out of Africa made my eyes water. ‘Haven’t you heard from your All Black?’
‘I’ve just got really bad period pain,’ I said. This was untrue, but proved a highly effective way of horrifying Thomas and distracting him from his line of questioning.
At five twenty pm I turned down Rex’s tanker track, lined up the first pothole wrong and crashed with a brain-jarring thud into the second one. It seemed a fitting conclusion to a thoroughly
I managed somehow to stay awake until the replay at eleven thirty. It wasn’t a very interesting game, at least for a rugby ignoramus; it was raining heavily in Brisbane and both teams spent most of their time kicking the ball from one end of the field to the other. The Wallabies won, and at one thirty, having heard nothing from Mark and unable to think of any comment he might possibly want to hear, I turned off the TV and went sadly to bed, to be woken at six with a calving.
7
MY FIRST ACT ON MONDAY MORNING WAS TO SMASH A full glass bottle of the most expensive antibiotic we stocked. Nick put his head around the door of the dispensary, closed his eyes for a second and said tiredly, ‘Jesus, Helen.’
I knelt down to pick up the pieces, cutting my finger in the process. ‘You can charge it to my account.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a bloody martyr,’ he snapped.
Then I went to a calving north of town – a live Jersey calf with one front leg bent right back. I tried for half an hour to get the other leg, and then called for help.
Anita arrived in her briskest and most efficient mood, attached my calving jack to the leg that was coming the right way and winched the calf out without bothering about the other leg at all. ‘Alright?’ she said curtly, pulling the slimy little thing around for its mother to lick. ‘Think you’ll be able to manage that by yourself next time?’
‘Yes. Thanks, Anita.’
‘Don’t just stand there. Get yourself cleaned up. You’re late for those calf dehornings at Mulligan’s.’ And off she went, her ute screeching around the tanker loop and spraying water six feet in the air.
I had two cat speys and an abscess to lance back at the clinic, and when I went in after a seven-minute lunch break to get started the surgery was a tip. I looked at it tight-lipped for a moment and went to find Zoe, who should have been cleaning it but was instead on the phone in the vet room, winding strands of hair around her finger as she talked. Seeing me in the doorway she swivelled in her chair so her back was to me.
The blood of my Scottish ancestors, a warlike and disreputable lot whose favourite employment, I believe, was rustling English cattle from over the border, grew hot in my veins. ‘Zoe,’ I said. ‘Excuse me, please, we’ve got surgery.’
There was no response.
‘ Zoe! ’ I repeated crossly.
Zoe muttered something into the phone and slammed it down.
‘The surgery’s disgusting,’ I said. ‘What happened?’
‘I have had things to do,’ she said. ‘You could help, you know.’
‘Seeing as I’ve been doing nothing all morning while you slaved? Clean it up, please, while I pre-med the cats.’
‘Bitch,’ she said and, bursting into tears, ran out of the room.
I went wearily out to the front of the shop and leant on the counter beside Thomas. ‘ What is her problem?’
‘Boyfriend trouble,’ said Thomas. ‘I’ll have a word with her.’
‘And in the meantime I’ll go and scrub the fucking surgery.’
Thomas raised his eyebrows. ‘Not like you to swear. Are you having boyfriend trouble too?’
‘No,’ I said shortly.
‘You can tell Uncle Thomas all about it, you know.’ He bent towards me, and a gust of Lynx Out of Africa made my eyes water. ‘Haven’t you heard from your All Black?’
‘I’ve just got really bad period pain,’ I said. This was untrue, but proved a highly effective way of horrifying Thomas and distracting him from his line of questioning.
At five twenty pm I turned down Rex’s tanker track, lined up the first pothole wrong and crashed with a brain-jarring thud into the second one. It seemed a fitting conclusion to a thoroughly
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