On Wednesday I had the busiest day EVER at work, which included a diabetic dog, a hyperactive cat and a very embarrassed father who had been forced to bring in his four year old daughter and her stuffed rabbit. Turns out that she had dropped the toy rabbit in the bath that morning, and was convinced that he had either drowned, or suffered some kind of post-traumatic shock as a result. An almighty tantrum had apparently ensued, which resulted in a harassed father and a very determined little girl sitting in the waiting room! He assured me that they would wait until all the real animals had been seen, and after an examination I prescribed lots of bed rest to help the bunny recover.
By the end of the day I was ready for a glass of wine and an episode of QI on the television; however the receptionist informed me that there was still one more person waiting to see me. I popped my head into the reception area, fully intending to inform the customer that I was leaving and another vet would see their animal. I quickly changed my mind however, when I saw that it was Lucy Arnold! She was looking rather worried and asked me nervously if we could speak privately, so I ushered her into the treatment room and closed the door behind us. She seemed a little on edge and was speaking really hesitantly, constantly glancing towards the door, as if she was worried that we would be overheard. Lucy told me that she thought she had an idea where the strange fleas had come from, (at last! A breakthrough!) But I must swear to keep the information to myself. This was so intriguing that I instantly promised not to pass on any information that she could give me, and to keep it between the two of us. She still seemed nervous though, and told me that I would need to see where the fleas had come from for myself. She was convinced that I would never believe her story, despite my best attempts to persuade her to tell me what was going on. Instead, she promised that everything would make sense if I met her on Saturday morning, at Battersea Power Station. She said that she would be able to show me exactly where the fleas had come from, but that I would need to show up alone and keep our meeting secret. I was so intrigued and anxious to find out what was going on that I agreed to the meeting, and with a final promise of confidentiality I showed her out of the surgery.
Except...am I mad? What on earth am I thinking, agreeing to meet a teenage girl at a disused power station on my own? It’s probably a ridiculous practical joke...I’ll arrive and thirty teenagers will leap out at me with water bombs or something. Only, I can’t help but be a little curious. The secrecy and the mysterious meeting, it’s all so cloak-and-dagger it almost seems ridiculous. Only...what if? What if it really does help to shed some light on the strange fleas and their origin? I can only deduce that I am completely insane to go, but of course, I know that I will! I’ll let you know what I manage to find out!
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