She left the room, finger in her ear, Jeanie’s high wail getting stronger and louder.
As the door closed Jeanie slumped to the floor again, flopping on to her side and convulsing with her whole body. Her legs were jerking like she was sprinting along a beach after a ball. Her jaws were clacking together again and Billy grabbed a book from a bookshelf and darted over, prising her teeth apart and pushing the book in between. He pulled her body to his own and tried to hold her, comfort her. He felt the vibrations, the terrible force of it passing through his own body too, setting his nerves alight as he whispered in her ear and stroked her head, her back, down her sides. Her legs were flailing against him, thuds as her paws connected with his thighs.
And then it ended again. It was over, as if it had been switched off. Her body went limp in his arms and the book fell from her mouth as her jaw muscles loosened. She was still breathing frantically, a mix of slaver and blood dribbling from her mouth.
Zoe came back in. ‘Vet will be here as soon as possible.’
‘When will that be?’
‘Quarter of an hour.’
‘Jesus. She had another fit while you were phoning.’
Zoe knelt down and stroked Jeanie’s ears. ‘Poor girl.’
Jeanie jumped up again, wary of her surroundings, staggering on weak legs around the perimeter of the room.
‘Did they say what we should do?’
‘Just try to keep her comfortable and safe till they get here.’
‘God almighty.’
Jeanie had two more fits before the vet arrived, a small one followed by the biggest yet, several minutes of convulsions and thrashing, Billy trying to prevent her swallowing or biting her tongue, making sure she wasn’t near any heavy objects when quaking. He felt helpless and panic-stricken.
The vet was a thickset woman in her forties with short fair hair, and she carried a large medical case. Billy described Jeanie’s fits as well as he could. Jeanie was staggering around the room, weary and desperate, totally confused. She looked right through them as if in a trance. The vet coaxed her to sit then lie down, examined her eyes and mouth then opened her case and took out a large syringe and a vial of liquid.
‘You’ll need to hold her tightly,’ she said to Billy.
Billy stroked Jeanie’s neck. ‘What’s that?’
‘Phenobarbital, it’s an anticonvulsant. It’ll control the seizures. I need to give her a high dosage to begin with, to break the chain reaction of fits.’
She expertly sucked the clear liquid up into the needle, then pushed until there was no air left inside. She put the needle down and showed Billy how to hold the dog, with her body pressed into Billy’s, one hand across the head, the other holding the leg she was going to inject.
‘Now hold on tight, because she’ll flinch.’
Billy could feel the thin bone and sinew of Jeanie’s foreleg in his grip. He could feel her heartbeat thudding against his body. Her eyes were glassy.
The vet approached with the needle and pressed it against the skin. Jeanie’s leg kicked free of Billy’s grasp and the needle flew from the vet’s hand, past Billy’s face, and landed at Zoe’s feet.
The vet reached for the syringe. ‘I told you to hold on tight.’ She checked the tip of the needle again. ‘Now, have you got her?’
Billy nodded. He was scared of breaking her leg if she kicked too hard.
The vet pressed the needle against Jeanie’s leg. Billy felt the thrashing reaction from the dog, but held firm as the fluid got squeezed in, the vet whipping the needle out and quickly strapping a cotton pad against the leg.
Jeanie jumped up as Billy relaxed his grip. She backed away from the three of them, looked around her. Her tail was still pointing at the floor, but her head was raised a little, and she was actually looking at them, making eye contact. She wasn’t walking, just standing still. Billy felt sick. He wanted to explain to her. He couldn’t bear the idea that she thought he was responsible for all this.
The vet was already packing her bag up.
‘She should fall asleep in the next ten minutes, it was a substantial dose. She might be out for up to twelve hours. Keep an eye on her, check she’s still breathing and her heart rate is fine. If there are any more fits or seizures, give me a call immediately.’
She handed a card to Billy. He took it without taking his eyes off Jeanie. The dog was sniffing the air, as if sensing the electrical currents out there.
The vet scribbled in a pad. ‘Here’s a prescription. It’s phenobarbital pills. You’ll need to give her three a day. Your dog is epileptic.’
‘Epileptic?’
‘It’s quite common, especially amongst pedigree dogs due to inbreeding. It mostly affects intelligent breeds like collies. It shouldn’t be life-threatening, but you’ll need to manage the condition for the rest of her life. We can monitor dosages and so forth once things have settled down. These pills have a very high rate of efficacy at controlling seizures, so she has a good chance of a long and happy life.’
Billy nodded dumbly as the vet handed the prescription to him.
‘You’ll get a leaflet with the pills detailing possible side effects. Look out for drowsiness and lack of co- ordination, especially in the first few weeks, although that should wear off as she becomes used to the medication. There is a longer-term risk of liver damage, but that’s nothing to worry about at the moment.’
Billy’s head pulsed and he felt dizzy. The vet got up to leave, but Billy stayed on the floor, the prescription limp in his hand. Jeanie came over towards him warily, sniffing the piece of paper as if it might be food.
Zoe saw the vet out.
Billy reached out for Jeanie. ‘Come here.’
She leaned in and let herself be held. Billy pulled her close and buried his face in her fur, sucking up the smell of her.
20
Jeanie slept all morning and half the afternoon. Zoe got her prescription then headed to the office. Charlie was out already on a split shift. Billy switched his phone off and stayed in the darkened room with the dog, watching her chest swell with every breath, soaking up the feral smell from her body.
When she finally came round he sandwiched a pill between two dog chocolates and gave it to her. She didn’t seem lethargic or confused. He wondered if she had any memory of the previous night. He fed her and gave her some water, then took her out.
The sun was still beating down on everything, bleaching the world. This weather couldn’t last, not in Scotland. He headed up the Radical Road; it was like a scab that needed picking.
From up high, the heat made the Pentlands fuzzy in the distance. A low haze meant he couldn’t see the Bridges. He kept his eye on Jeanie the whole time. She seemed fine. He thought about what was going on in her brain in the fizzling synapses, the surges of rogue energy. He’d spent a while earlier looking up epilepsy in dogs, but no amount of clinical blurb on the Internet could equate to the horror of watching his dog helpless and writhing on the floor.
He sucked in a deep breath and looked down. Queen’s Drive was open again, cars blurring up and down past the small clump of trees.
He took out his phone, but didn’t switch it on. He looked at his hands. Barbed-wire cuts, gorse-bush scars, nettle stings and now dog bites. They were fucked-up maps of his life. If only he could decode the information in those scabs and sores, maybe he could find a way out of this.
He switched his phone on. Three messages. Zoe asking after Jeanie. Charlie saying that Jamie Mackie had discharged himself post-op against the surgeon’s wishes. Rose asking where he was, and telling him that the Whitehouses were having a memorial service for Frank tomorrow morning at Greyfriars Kirk.
Greyfriars, Jesus, just about the most distinguished church in the city. The preserve of politicians and public
