Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?. Claudia Carroll

I’ve had, ever since I discovered, a long time ago, that it was the only way I could make sure Dan was getting some kind of vitamins into him, given the number of mealtimes he’d end up skipping when he was out doing farm calls. Except these days, because our kitchen is like a bus station more often than not, I end up making juices for everyone else as well. So I head to the pantry, grab some apples, fresh carrot and ginger and get chopping, while Dan fills Andrew in on the difficulties he had delivering a calf late last night.

      ‘ANNIE, DID YOU NOT HEAR ME TELLING YOU TO GET TEA BAGS?’ Mrs Brophy snaps at me, on her way to open up the surgery with our new intern in tow.

      ‘YES, ON THE WAY,’ I smile back at her through gritted teeth, tempted to tell her that not only did I hear her, half of County Waterford did as well. Quick as I can, I feck the veggies into the blender as Andrew continues to quiz Dan about the intricacies of dystocia in cows.

      (Loosely translated as a tough birth, for eejits like me.)

      ‘Any superfetation during the pregnancy?’ asks Andrew, peering over the top of his newspaper, with eyebrows exactly like one of the Marx Brothers.

      ‘No symptoms. But just to be on the safe side, I did prescribe a course of…’

      ‘…Anti-inflammatories. Good, good, that should do the trick. But no harm for you to pop out there on your rounds and check in again.’

      ‘Yeah, of course…don’t worry, I’ll make a point of it…’

      ‘And what about Fogarty’s racehorse?’

      ‘Hard to tell, I don’t anticipate any long-term damage, but I doubt he’ll be running again for the rest of the flat season…’

      OK, I don’t mean to be rude, but I know only too well that this conversation could go on for about half an hour. And time is of the essence here before Dan disappears for the whole day, which leaves me with no choice but to step in.

      ‘Guys, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but, Dan, if it’s alright, I really need to have a lightning quick word with you before you start work…’

      ‘Oh yeah, you were telling me about…emm…sorry, what was it again?’ says Dan distractedly and even though I don’t have his full attention, I go for it. Let’s face it, it’s now or never. Knowing him, there’s a fair chance I mightn’t see him again till about two am tomorrow morning. If I’m lucky, that is.

      ‘Yeah…well, the thing is, it’s good news. At least it might be…I have an audition, you see…’

      ‘Hey, good for you,’ both Dan and Andrew chime disinterestedly, just as Dan’s mobile rings.

      ‘It’s today, you see, the audition, that is, and it means going back to Dublin for it…’

      ‘Hang on one sec, Annie, this might be Paul Fogarty. Hello?’

      And just like that, I’ve lost him. He takes the call, of course he does; phones never, ever go ignored in this house. Turns out it’s a local farmer who needs him to call out ASAP. No surprises there; just about every call we get to the practice is urgent. In fact, the day a client calls and says take your time in calling out, sure there’s no rush whatsoever, is the day that hell will freeze over.

      Dan immediately whips out a pen and starts scribbling down symptoms on a spare supplement to Andrew’s paper that’s lying on the kitchen table, still talking away on the phone and never for one second losing focus.

      ‘OK,’ he says patiently, ‘just slow down, I’m on the way. Any symptoms of fever or loss of appetite? No progressive paralysis? General listlessness? OK…I’m on my way. Give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there. And don’t panic, I’m pretty certain we can sort this.’

      I pour out two juices while Dan wraps up the call, then hand one to Andrew and try giving the other one to Dan, but he’s too busy packing up his bag and pulling on his warmest coat from where it’s hanging on the back of the kitchen door.

      ‘Sounds to me it might be a straightforward case of Listeria,’ he calls back to Andrew, ‘but I’d better go out there and take a look to be on the safe side. Are you OK handling the surgery here on your own till I get back?’

      ‘Of course, you head off and I’ll see you later on.’

      I grab the juice I made for him and follow him down the kitchen passageway, as he strides on ahead of me, huge and hulking, making the passageway seem smaller just because he’s in it.

      ‘Dan, I still haven’t told you the most important part of my news…’

      ‘Can this wait till I get back?’ he asks, heading out the side door and over to where his jeep is parked.

      ‘But I mightn’t be here when you get back, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. My audition is up in Dublin, you see, it’s for a part in a new play…’

      ‘Good, good, good,’ he says automatically, although I know right well that he’s only half-listening. ‘Best of luck with it, love. You know I’ll be rooting for you.’

      He’s already clambered up into the driver’s seat by now, engine on, raring to go.

      ‘Dan, that’s not really what I wanted to tell you…’

      ‘OK, gotta go. You’ll do really well at your…emmm…your whatsit…your audition…I’m certain.’

      ‘That’s not actually the issue here…’

      ‘…and I’ll try my best to catch you tonight…’

      ‘Dan! Don’t leave just yet, I urgently have to talk to you…’

      Suddenly one of his black-eyed glares.

      ‘Annie, can you not just understand? I really have to go…so this’ll just have to wait. We’ll talk about whatever it is later, OK…?’

      He’s sounding irritable and narky now which I try my best not to take personally; deep exhaustion always makes him a bit snappy.

      ‘But this will only take two minutes! I still haven’t explained to you why…’

      Jesus, by now my face must be blue from the pressure behind it of needing to talk, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. And what’s really stabbing me is that I remember a long-distant time when he would have actually paid attention. Would have listened.

      God knows, might even have been supportive.

      ‘See you when I see you, drive safe to Dublin.’

      And just like that, he’s pulled the car out of the driveway and is gone, sending gravel flying in twenty different directions in his haste to get away. Most astonishing of all though is that this is actually the longest conversation we’ve had in I can’t remember how long. Honestly.

      Which leaves me feeling yet again like I’m the lowest priority in my husband’s life. Or worse, that I married a man who’s just not that into me. Because everyone, absolutely everyone and everything else comes ahead of me: cats that need neutering, constipated race horses, his mum and all her neuroses, his sister Jules and her cash flow problems, Lisa shagging Ledbetter and her entire catalogue of woes…you name it. Show any kind of weakness or neediness and Dan’s your man, whereas a strong, capable woman trying to make the best of the hand life has dealt her will always be bottom rung on the ladder as far as he’s concerned.

      Not his fault; I sometimes think that he’s just not calibrated to bring happiness to one person, not when he can serve the many instead.

      Funny, isn’t it? How women spend the longest time trying to separate romance from friendship. And for the longest time, I thought I was the luckiest woman on earth because I had both.

      And now it looks like I’ve neither one.

      He never even touched the shagging juice.

      Chapter