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looked raw and uncomfortable, the effect of urine scorching her skin. A pungent, dark-coloured puddle had already appeared at her feet.

      ‘See what I mean?’ The old man gave the dog a rough tug.

      ‘There’s no need for that!’ Duncan said, unable to contain the sharpness in his voice.

      It was the kind of appointment he abhorred. When a client had had enough of his animal’s problems and wanted the cheap, easy way out. The man wasn’t worthy of owning a dog. He eyed the colour of that puddle on the floor.

      ‘There’s nothing here we can’t fix. Incontinence is not unusual in an elderly female dog. Is she relieving herself normally outside?’

      There was a hesitation, then the man nodded.

      ‘Aye. Tak’ her out most days.’

      Duncan frowned. The dog was panting and she’d dipped her head as if it were too heavy to hold up. Duncan gritted his teeth. What had Garfield been doing to her this time?

      ‘Is she drinking plenty?’

      Another hesitation. Duncan’s suspicion increased.

      ‘You are giving her plenty of water?’

      The man still didn’t answer.

      ‘Jesus Christ, man – if you don’t give her enough water, you’ll make things even worse. Is that what you’d do to yourself?’

      The man dropped his eyes. Duncan took the dog’s head gently in his hands, observing her face and nose, then carefully pushing on each side of her mouth to inspect the gums.

      ‘She’s clearly dehydrated. What are you playing at, eh? Did you think reducing her water would mean less mess? You need to give her plenty!’

      It could be an infection, Duncan mused. The water would help flush it out. Or it could be loss of control of the sphincter muscle. That wasn’t uncommon for a dog her age.

      ‘The more concentrated the urine, the more uncomfortable it’s going to be.’ Duncan leaned back and the man grunted. ‘See that rawness under the tail? How would you feel if that were you?’

      Garfield didn’t reply.

      ‘How long have you had her?’ Duncan stroked the dog’s head.

      He already knew the answer; Garfield had been coming to the practice for years. The question was more to make a point.

      ‘Since she were a puppy,’ said Garfield reluctantly.

      ‘So you do care about her, don’t you?’

      ‘Course I do!’ The man ground his teeth.

      ‘Well, she’s definitely not ready to meet her Maker.’ Duncan’s tone hardened. ‘I suggest you make sure there’s plenty of padding in her bed, that she has a clean, full bowl of water every morning. Take her for walks, every day. Especially first and last thing – and as many extra ones as you can both manage. You need to wash her backside with clean, warm water on a regular basis and we’ll start her on this.’

      Duncan tapped out a prescription on his PC and the printer began to chug.

      ‘Quite often, it’s the result of a hormonal imbalance, so I’m hoping this will help. There’s lots we can do, Mr Garfield, before …’

      Duncan snorted. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He turned his back on the man, reaching out to grasp the prescription from the printer tray.

      ‘Humph.’ Garfield took the piece of paper and stood up.

      The dog was still looking at Duncan, as if to say: Don’t make me go with him.

      ‘If it’s causing you a problem, keep her in the kitchen – and remember that absorbent padding on her bed.’

      Another grunt.

      ‘I want to see her again in a week’s time.’

      You’d better bloody turn up, thought Duncan.

      The man and his dog left.

       CHAPTER 12

       DUNCAN – AFTER

      The emergency exit door of the veterinary stockroom slammed open, bouncing against the brick wall. Duncan stepped out into the cold air. His fists were closed tight and a fierce expression creased his face.

      The door pushed open again and Paula appeared in the doorway.

      ‘Fucking idiot!’ said Duncan.

      He pushed a hand into his trouser pocket, searching for a new stick of chewing gum. He knew Paula was there but didn’t turn round.

      ‘How can anyone claim to love their animal,’ he said. ‘Then demand it be put down just because it’s incontinent!’

      But this was Garfield, so he wasn’t that surprised. Paula didn’t reply, standing on the doorstep as if waiting for him to vent his fury. She was still relatively new to the practice, but she already seemed to have the measure of Duncan.

      ‘He wanted me to put the dog down!’ he carried on. ‘Garfield doesn’t deserve any animal! It’s all very well when they’re cute and cuddly and doing what they’re told, but when they grow elderly and actually need a bit of time and attention, funny how the love dries up!’

      ‘It’s not as simple as that. It never is,’ said Paula. She stepped away from the door.

      ‘Isn’t it? Then how should it be?’ Duncan swung round.

      He was caught up again by her red hair; it had been hard to ignore it when he’d interviewed her – a bright, lustrous natural red. Her academic credentials had been impeccable.

      ‘It’s hard looking after a dog when you get to Garfield’s age,’ she said.

      ‘So why have one?’ he snapped back.

      ‘Company, affection – he clearly lives on his own.’

      ‘Then he should be more loving towards his animal. Don’t be fooled by Garfield’s doddery old man routine! That man’s been coming here for years. He knows exactly what he’s doing.’

      Garfield had always liked to play a part. Just because you were old and apparently fragile, thought Duncan, didn’t make you a nice person.

      ‘Jeez – you’ve really got it in for him, haven’t you?’

      ‘Aye, and I’ve good reason to. He couldn’t care tuppence for his dog!’

      ‘He must do or he wouldn’t come down here like he does – particularly given how you treat him!’

      ‘And how would you know, Paula?’

      Duncan’s fingers closed into a fist. Paula’s eyes dropped to his hands and then back to his face and there was an imperceptible tightening of her expression. Duncan felt a twinge of guilt. She didn’t know Garfield came here because the treatment was free, how could she? She’d barely been at the practice six months. Duncan had kept it quiet. It wouldn’t do if everyone thought he was a soft touch. Not that it was an act of generosity, but the whole story was complicated, and only Sally and Frances knew. The man still pressed his buttons, though – now even more so.

      ‘Don’t take it out on me!’ said Paula. ‘I deal with these people every day, remember!’ She was flushed with anger.

      Duncan let out a deep breath. Paula was right to push back. Perhaps he should tell her.

      ‘I’m sorry, Paula; really I am. He comes here because we give him free treatment – I don’t normally do that and it’s a long story. And I’d be grateful if you didn’t

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