Page 85 of The Quirky Vet

Over the years, I've watched as she's treated Muir, Sid, and people around town like crap. I've kept my mouth shut. It's not exactly appropriate for a teenager or even a young adult to be calling older people out on their shit.

I've stood by and did the one thing I think a best friend is meant to do in a situation like that—I supported Muir. I listened as he ranted about the latest thing she'd done, the nasty argument she'd gotten into, the husband who was treating her like dirt.

All the stuff riled me up, but nothing—nothing—ever got to me as much as seeing the effect she had on him. When she's around, Muir shuts down. It's a protection thing, I know, since the woman destroys anyone who disagrees with her. Muir learnt veryearly on that in order to have a relationship with her, he had to comply with her will.

But that's not cool. That's not a good foundation for any relationship, especially a parent-child one. And it sucks because it's caused him to hold back, to be on guard, to suppress himself rather than freely share his thoughts and feelings and opinions.

I'm sure there's a reason why Sally behaves the way she does. There always is. She's probably just acting out some unprocessed trauma from her past that she may not even be aware she has and is now inflicting on those around her. But that's no excuse to force your son to retreat into himself and not be allowed to be his fullest, best self.

The casket gets lowered, and the officiant says a few words about Sid being in his final resting place, but I'm not really paying attention to what he's saying. Muir begins sobbing uncontrollably, and I immediately drape my arm over him for comfort. He leans into me, burying his face into my shoulder, his body shaking as I slide my hand up and down his back.

Sally clocks it, her head tilting slightly.

The funeral wraps up with the officiant offering some closing words. The family is given a few moments to say their final goodbyes.

"I'll be with the fellas," I say to Muir, gesturing in the direction of the vet gang. "If you need me, just yell, okay?"

Muir sniffs. "Thanks. I will."

I hate leaving him alone with his mother when he's so fragile, but as I pass her, I smile sombrely and nod, hoping she has the decency to not upset Muir even more than he already is.

"How's he doing?" Linus asks when I join him, Ryde, Wilby, and Col.

"He's hanging in there."

"And how about you?" Wilby asks. "You've been spending every waking minute with him, looking after him. You must be tired."

"A little."

I'm not really concerned with how I feel at the moment. And in all honesty, looking after Muir isn't hard or taxing. Worrying about him is. Making sure he's eating enough, drinking enough, sleeping enough. But he's grieving, so it's all part of the process.

My eyes drift to Muir and Sally by the casket. He's crouched down, saying his last words to his grandfather.

"I think he's in shock at the intensity of his emotions," I say to Linus. "But it makes sense. That man meant the world to him. And even though he was getting on in years, you can never really prepare for losing someone."

"That's true," Linus agrees, placing his hand on my shoulder. "The next few days are a bit quieter at the clinic. Take some time off. Spend it with Muir. Or on your own. Take some time for yourself and recharge."

"Thanks, mate."

I appreciate the time off, and I hear what he's saying, but I'm not going to rest or focus on anything other than Muir until I know he's all right.

And I don't care how long that takes.

As is customary in Scuttlebutt, the reception is being held in the pub. It's a long-standing tradition that goes back generations. It saves the grieving family from having to host it at their place, which means any member of said grieving family can get up and leave whenever they're ready to.

"We can go home," I tell Muir when I notice he's looking well and truly over it. His face is drawn with fatigue, and his eyes are glazed over with an unfocused stare. I've been trying to get him to have a bite of one of Mrs. Mangle's pies or sausage rolls, but he's refused every time.

"Um, yeah, I don't know." He looks around the packed pub. Most businesses have shut down for a few hours, so everyone ishere. Sid was deeply loved. "I think I should probably do another round."

"Mate, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"Actually…" His jaw tightens as he focuses on someone across the crowded room.

I follow his gaze to his mother who's talking with a few women her age. "Oh."

"I've put it off for long enough."

"Did she say anything when you were at the casket?"