‘Okay, then,’ Tom says, and he brings her body towards his, but he doesn’t kiss her, not yet, just whispers something incomprehensible but nice, his words travelling from his mouth, right into hers, until their lips meet.

‘Wait, there’s two more,’ Cathy says, as they go into the backroom to get her bag and collect Macca after a few minutes. ‘Two prescriptions of Joe’s,’ she says. ‘Then we can go.’ He leans his elbows on the desk right next to her, peering at what she writes.

‘Joe’s thyroid cats,’ she says. ‘Two lots of methimazole. One is tablet form, one a cream.’

‘A cream?’

‘You wipe it on the flap of their ear,’ Cathy says.

‘Nice.’

‘And done.’ Cathy bags up the prescriptions and puts them into a yellow plastic basket. Tom is so close to her. His clothes smell of the rain outside. His skin of cut grass and chewing gum. ‘Okay?’ she says.

‘Joe the brother?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What’s he like?’ Tom says as they walk through to the prep room. He pulls at one of the gas tubes coming from the ceiling. ‘Shit, sorry,’ he says, when it moves more than he expected.

Cathy laughs as she flicks off the main light. Her entire body feels lighter for Tom’s kiss. All she wants is more. ‘Joe will probably hate you,’ she says. ‘He’s not as amenable as Macca here.’

‘One of those.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Over-protective?’

‘Sort of. More of Frannie than me,’ she says, and she must say it darkly, because Tom’s eyebrows raise in surprise. ‘He would do absolutely anything for her,’ Cathy explains, and, as she does so, she tastes the truth of the words. He would. He would do anything for Frannie. So where, exactly, does that leave Cathy?

‘And for you?’ Tom says incisively.

‘Less sure on that,’ Cathy says lightly.

‘Ah – odd one out?’ he says, leaning against the doorframe. They’re still in the darkness. Macca sighs and lies at their feet. ‘One of my friends feels that way. He always says that he wouldn’t choose them as friends.’ His words are as light and as powerful as settling snow. Cathy thinks of the various snatched conversations her siblings seem to be having without her, the secrets they might be keeping, and shivers. Would she be friends with Frannie and Joe?

‘What about your mum?’ Cathy is glad he’s moved the conversation on.

Cathy thinks as they stand there in the darkness. ‘She’s a traditional kind of vet. She was lectured at. We learnt through doing. She’s still so theoretical,’ Cathy says, thinking of how her mother is so smart with differentials but misses easy physical tells.

‘Amazing that there are types of vet,’ Tom says, and Cathy laughs too. Being a vet is as normal as driving a car in her family, and it’s nice to see his perspective.

‘Will Bella be okay?’ Tom says.

‘There’s a nurse here to look after her,’ Cathy says.

‘Oh, so you were merely occupying me.’