fantasy, but everyone thinks it must be the same here. It’s the white coat that does it. Women want to be bonked senseless by a guy in a white coat because he’s in charge and they can indulge their “I couldn’t help it, m’lud, he made me do it” fantasy.’
‘Fantasy’s all very well, but the reality is very different,’ Leonie said, giving up on her horoscope because Virgos were going to have a bad day and fight with everyone. ‘Tim’s happily married, Raoul is engaged and, unless we both turn gay, you’re out of bounds. Maybe if Raoul went back to South America, we could hire a new hunky young vet and our eyes would lock over the operating table when we were neutering a ginger tom.’ She sighed at the thought. ‘Then again, he’d want to be deranged to fall for a divorced mother of three, wouldn’t he? An insolvent mother of three, at that. I’m broke again, Angie, my overdraft is in the stratosphere and Mel is whingeing on about new clothes…’
‘Personal ads are a great idea,’ Angie interrupted before Leonie got carried away on misery. ‘Loads of people use them these days and you’re not going to meet the man of your dreams in this town, now, are you? What would you say in your ad?’
Leonie extracted a piece of folded-up newsprint from her pocket. ‘I got this from the Guardian in the surgery waiting room. It’s got pages of ads. “Soulmates” they call them. I just don’t understand what they all mean. I read it for ages earlier and it’s like reading Mongolian. Listen to this: “Zany Slim Blonde F, GSOH, n/s WLTM creative M, preferably TDH for loving r/ship. Ldn.”’
Angie translated: ‘Zany blonde female with a good sense of humour, non-smoker, would like to meet a creative male, preferably tall, dark and handsome for a loving relationship. Based in London.’
‘Ah, gotcha.’ Leonie scanned the rest of the ads. ‘The only problem is that all these women are slim and all the men want slim women. See: “seeks slim, attractive woman…” She could be an axe-murderer, but as long as she’s slim, it’s OK.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Angie, who was tall, attractive in a sporty way and very, very slim.
‘It’s true. Look at them.’
Together, they scanned the list. The men, who described themselves as anything from ‘cuddly’ (‘That means fat,’ Angie pointed out), to ‘Not easy to describe in four to five lines’ (‘Short, fat and often mistaken for a pot-bellied pig,’ said Angie).
They giggled over some of the descriptions: the surgical walker who wanted a fun and adventurous companion; and Sir Lancelot who was seeking his Guinevere.
‘Would a wimple and chastity belt be necessary?’ Angie mused.
‘Listen to this: “Shy male, 35, virgin, seeks similar for relationship.” How could you be a virgin at thirty-five? That is weird.’
‘Not if he’s religious,’ Angie countered.
‘Oh yeah, I hadn’t thought of that. What does “seeks for possible relationship” mean?’ Leonie asked, bemused.
‘That he wants to shag you senseless after a meal where you went Dutch and then he never wants to see you again,’ Angie said knowledgeably. ‘Happened to a friend of mine in Sydney. She’s a veteran of the personals, but even she got badly burned once. He said he was a gorgeous doctor and he wasn’t lying, so she forgot her plan to play hard to get and they did it on the first date. Champagne, chocolate body-paint, Polaroid camera, the lot. She never set eyes on him again. Bastard.’
Leonie shuddered at the thought of someone with Polaroid photos of her naked self. She read some more: ‘ “Seeks classy blonde for fun and games.” This is mad stuff. Why doesn’t he just hire a hooker?’
‘These are hip and trendy ads. You want a nice country ad in a country paper.’
‘You sure?’
‘Positive. Someone with a cosy hearth who has several animals, pots of money and who looks good in wellington boots.’
‘Wicklow is full of blokes like that,’ Leonie dead-panned. ‘The surgery is probably jammed with a consignment as we speak, all bearing red roses at the news that I’m looking for lurve. Oh yes, and a sick sheep they need looked at. Come on, we’d better get to work.’
They discussed the personal ads some more that morning as Angie whizzed through spaying four cats, two dogs and descaling the teeth on a very old beagle.
Leonie assisted her, shaving the animals’ bellies and disinfecting them before Angie got to work. It was also her job to monitor breathing and colour. Older animals were often put on oxygen during operations. Younger ones tended to do well without it, but Leonie kept an eye on their colour to make sure they were getting enough oxygen. At the first sign of a tongue going grey, she’d give them pure oxygen.
‘Be honest in your advert,’ Angie advised, delicately sewing up a tabby kitten’s soft beige belly. ‘Say “voluptuous”, because you are and you want to make sure whoever wants to meet you knows that. You don’t want to end up with some bloke whose aim in life is to make you lose a stone.’
‘It’s nice to have at least one friend who’s honest with me,’ Leonie said, keeping an eye on the kitten’s breathing. ‘If I asked anyone else, they’d lie through their teeth and tell me I’m slim, really. My mother is always telling me I’m beautiful the way I am and not to think about dieting, which is bullshit.’
‘Your mother is a wonderful woman and no, it’s not bullshit. Half the women in the country are trying to kill themselves dieting. It’s a waste of time – you know it. Most people who lose weight put it right back on again eventually.’
‘Tell me about it!’ Leonie groaned, feeling the waistband of her blue uniform biting into her flesh. ‘If I was to put an advert in the paper, what would I say?’
‘Voluptuous, sensual…’ began Angie.
‘Get out of here!’ shrieked Leonie, secretly pleased. ‘Sensual! You can’t say that.’
‘Why not?’ Angie finished the kitten. She gave her a shot of antibiotics and brought her back to her cage.
She returned with a Yorkshire terrier for spaying and took up the conversation as if she’d never been away. ‘You are, in every sense of the word. Sensual isn’t just to do with sex, you know. It also means someone who enjoys using their senses, and you do.’
‘Yeah but saying “sensual” in an advert in the Wicklow Times will result in a rush of callers thinking I’m looking for an entirely different sort of man friend, the sort who leaves the money on the mantelpiece.’
‘OK then, how about “Blue-eyed blonde, voluptuous, er…”’
‘…loves children.’
‘That might put him off,’ Angie pointed out, ‘ ’cos he’ll think you’re on the hunt for a sperm donor rather than a man.’
‘Well, I’ve got to mention the children.’
‘“Loves children and animals”?’ Angie suggested.
‘That’s it.’
Angie really began to get into the swing of things. She wanted to keep
