Snowed in at the Practice

by Penny Parkes

  ‘I’ve a few booked in for interviews next Monday, but to be honest that may not be my biggest hurdle anymore . . .’ She outlined the delightful Patricia’s plan and was gratified to see Lizzie’s face pucker in consternation. ‘Bonkers, right?’

  ‘Completely,’ Lizzie agreed. ‘What does Taffy say about all this? Surely there’s a sneaky shortcut for partners who’ve been away less than a year?’

  Holly’s cheeks flushed suddenly and it had nothing to do with the swift breeze lifting her hair. ‘I may not have mentioned it, actually. He seems so happy having a stay-at-home mum for the girls and it’s not as though they’re exactly shorthanded at work now, is it?’ Not for the first time, Holly felt a shiver of regret for having found such wonderful maternity cover in the form of Tilly Campbell. Outspoken, compassionate – young, but experienced – Tilly had seemingly slotted into life at The Practice like an old friend. Which of course, to Alice, she was.

  ‘Do you ever feel superfluous to your own life?’ Holly asked quietly, as they ambled through the sunshine, ochre leaves drifting to their feet as they crossed the park, watching a team of volunteers add yet more timber, branches and old furniture to the ever-growing town bonfire under the Major’s roaring supervision.

  Lizzie looked at her sharply, only too familiar with the swirly rabbit hole that was negative thinking. ‘You are anything but superfluous to these gorgeous girls though, Holls. You’re just too close to see it, right now. And don’t forget, I’d have been lost without you, during my whole going-completely-fecking-mad phase.’

  Holly nodded, stroking Olivia’s precocious blonde ringlets that bounced in the pram in front of her and smiled at Lizzie’s irreverent take on life. ‘I know. I do. And I count myself incredibly lucky to have options, but I can’t help thinking I would appreciate all of this so much more with a little professional challenge thrown into the mix. A little light and shade? Rather than everything changing at once?’

  ‘Ah well, you know what Elsie would say? “Adapt or die, my darlings. Darwin was right all along.” ’ Her off-key impression of their favourite octogenarian was so on-point, it gave Holly just the boost she needed.

  ‘Point taken,’ Holly said with a smile. ‘As long as we agree that I’m no Galapagos Tortoise?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Lizzie impishly, ‘then maybe we should talk moisturiser?’

  Any time for silliness and gossip disappeared the moment the two women stepped inside the chilly church hall, hearts sinking in tandem at the sight of Cassie Holland with her trusty guitar and basket of maracas, ‘shaky eggs’ and, of course, the eponymous tambourines.

  ‘Dear God, shoot me now,’ whispered Lizzie none too quietly, provoking a flurry of titters from the new mums already seated on the floor in a circle, their various offspring perched on their laps.

  ‘Ladies, ladies, take your seats for baby’s welcome song,’ said Cassie, her chirpy voice oddly reminiscent of Patronising Patricia. Since when did having a baby mean that women had to be treated like children too, wondered Holly. Even as Cassie’s enthusiasm roused the room into a cheerful rendition of ‘The Wheels on the Bus’, Holly’s attention was wandering. Not only because Lizzie was making snarky comments in her ear about the likelihood of any of these well-heeled children ever having to take the bus anywhere – except possibly at the airport – but also because, not so very long ago, the women in this room had been her patients. She could glance around the hall and do a quick visual check of Kerry’s rosacea, Victoria’s progress with her battle of the bulge and, judging by the animated tambourine-bashing, Lara’s chronic migraines were now well under control.

  Holly pulled her attention back into the moment, revelling in Olivia’s tenacious grasp on her ‘shaky egg’ and her seemingly instinctual sense of rhythm – something she could only have inherited from her father! Holly breathed in deeply, watching Lottie’s face light up with excitement and glee as she bashed on a bongo drum with determined fists, despite Lizzie wincing with each percussive blow.

  She was exactly where she was supposed to be right now, she reminded herself, taking pleasure in her daughters’ delight at the cacophony.

  It was odd how she’d experienced none of this conflict during the first few months, excitedly – if exhaustedly – embracing the role of motherhood and the constant demands of two sets of twins. It was only as they’d found their daily pattern and their sleep had improved that Holly’s existential angst had emerged. She was a mother first and foremost, of course, but being a doctor wasn’t just a job for her, it was a part of her identity. Without it, she felt as disoriented as if she’d lost her own shadow.

  As Cassie took a break between songs to pour forth her traditional breast-is-best-only-organic-for-baby lecture, Holly bit her lip and tried not to smile. Lizzie’s impression of this very monologue had the ability to reduce her to tears of laughter after a glass or two of rosé. As mothers cracked open their mini Tupperware and doled out dutifully healthy snacks under Cassie’s watchful scrutiny, Holly began to wonder when parenting had become so regulated and restricted. The irony, of course, being that Cassie was the biggest local advocate of free speech and individuality – so long, apparently, as it dovetailed nicely with her own beliefs about child-rearing.

  Holly paused, an odd sensation prickling her scalp. Instinctively, she leaned forward to check both Lottie and Olivia, ignoring Lizzie’s queer look of concern. It was the faintest whisper of a noise, but Holly’s hearing was long honed over the years of medical practice and she knew that her ears weren’t deceiving her.

  She slid Olivia gently into Lizzie’s arms and stood up, holding out a hand as though directing traffic. ‘Stop, stop—’ she said gently, turning within the circle until her gaze alighted on Mims, the vet’s wife, and their darling baby boy, Henry. A hubbub of conversation grew around her bizarre behaviour as Holly dropped to her knees and held out her arms for Mims’s baby.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ she murmured calmly, clocking the grapes in Mims’s Tupperware pot with alarm. Cut in half, the way everyone advised, but not lengthwise and so still a miniature grenade . . . His weak, whistling breaths and the hint of blue to his lips told her everything she needed to know.

  In that moment, Holly was oblivious to the people around her, even her girls balanced on Lizzie’s lap, and the murmurs of consternation building in the background. She took Henry, slight for his age, and checked inside his mouth, before laying him along her forearm, face down, at an angle, making sure that her fingers supported his neck and chin. Five adept blows between his shoulder blades with the heel of her hand elicited no sound from Henry, only the sharp intake of breath from the women surrounding her.

  Holly murmured a running commentary to Mims, as she turned Henry onto his back and placed two fingers in the middle of his breastbone, positioning them carefully in line with his nipples before giving five firm thrusts.

  Still nothing. And Holly’s heart began to race.

  It was all very well being the doctor on site, but emergency measures were always stressful in any scenario, let alone with a full audience and a fleeting suspicion that she might be a little more out of practice than she’d realised. Turning Henry over onto her forearm again, it was the third blow that did the trick – a mangled grape flying from his mouth and the reassuring gasp of air, and then tears, that followed.

  From beginning to end, less than a minute.

  To Mims, and to Holly, it felt more like a lifetime.

  Henry’s puce and screaming face was the most welcome sight Holly could possibly imagine.

  ‘Why don’t we call it a day here and head over to The Practice? I think a little reassurance that young Henry here is none the worse for his adventures is a good idea, don’t you?’ Holly said, amazed that her voice could still sound so calm and reassuring, while her heart was pounding and sweat prickled in her hair.

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about, but it’s definitely time to call it a day,’ said Holly calmly, as she helped Mims to her feet and sco
oped up Lizzie and her girls in less than a minute, leaving Cassie mouthing vaguely at the front of the class.

  Leaving the church hall, the low sun was almost blinding, and Holly squinted her eyes to refocus.

  ‘Well,’ said Lizzie with feeling. ‘Say what you like about a morning with you, Holls, but it’s never dull. How did you even hear this little tyke wheezing above all that noise?’

  Mims nodded, still mute with shock, as she cradled Henry to her chest. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t—’

  Holly shook her head. ‘No recriminations, Mims. It happens to all of us, sooner or later. Although grapes are the very devil and I spend more time cutting them in quarters than I care to imagine. Ben choked on a piece of apple, Tom choked on a— now, what was it?’

  ‘Malteser, I think,’ said Lizzie matter-of-factly. ‘And my Jack has been banned from eating those bastard lollies with the round balls on a stick. The number of frights he’s given me . . .’

  Mims looked at each of them and then back again in disbelief. ‘You mean, it’s just something I have to get used to. Choking?’ She clung ever tighter to little Henry until he squawked in protest.

  Holly nodded. ‘I mean, it’s not a weekly occurrence or anything, but kids do shove things in their mouths and it does happen more often than you’d think.’ She leaned forward and smiled at Henry’s pink cheeks and steady breaths.

  ‘Maybe a baby first-aid class wouldn’t be the worst idea,’ Mims said, her brow still concertinaed in concern. ‘I still can’t believe I hadn’t even noticed there was a problem before you were across that room like a gazelle.’

  Lizzie snorted with laughter at the notion of there being anything gazelle-like about Holly these days. ‘And don’t forget, as another bonus,’ Lizzie chimed in, ‘you get a guilt-free pass on Tambourine Torment. It’s been a win-win situation really.’

  Mims nodded, as they followed their feet to The Practice. Even as Mims watched Henry like a hawk, Lizzie leaned in close to Holly. ‘Hey, Miss Marple, you did well back there. I hate to think what would have happened if we’d skived off and gone to The Deli instead. It’s probably just as well I pissed off Hattie on the radio this morning, or that’s exactly what I would have suggested.’

  Holly managed a smile; the suggestion had been on the tip of her tongue too. It was only the ever-present guilt trip about socialising her babies that had propelled her into the church hall that morning.

  Pushing open the door to The Practice, she was assailed by the sights and sounds of her professional life and she had to confess that she craved it like a drug. Even briefing Alice as she reluctantly handed over care of Henry and Mims in the middle of a heaving morning surgery felt like a primeval wrench.

  Their Practice Manager, Grace, gathered Holly into an impromptu hug in reception. ‘Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?’ she said affectionately. ‘No pressure from me, but it’s properly lovely to see you.’ She dropped her voice. ‘We’re in danger of letting the lunatics run the asylum if you stay away much longer.’ She nodded towards the Staff Photo wall, where Taffy, Dan, Alice and Tilly smiled down benevolently, albeit with the recent addition of moustaches and devil horns. Grace hugged her again. ‘But it’s good to know you haven’t lost your touch. Good save with young Henry.’

  Reluctantly saying goodbye, Holly returned to Lizzie and the girls outside. It was only then that she realised: there’d been no hesitation, no need for work-shadowing or retraining that morning. She had been a doctor, pure and simple. A doctor in mum’s clothing, to be sure, but nevertheless her instincts had been fast and faultless. She allowed herself to smile.

  ‘Now, how badly did you piss off Hattie, or can we have a celebratory cappuccino at The Deli without threats of violence?’

  Lizzie shrugged. ‘Let’s live a little and take a chance. I only suggested she might like to experiment a little in the bedroom—’ She paused. ‘And I may have accidentally let slip who she was . . .’

  Holly shook her head. ‘For what it’s worth, we were all listening over breakfast and it was a hoot and a half. You’ve got a real skill for the radio.’

  Lizzie clasped her arm in excitement. ‘That’s what we should do! You’ve just proven you’ve still got your head in the game – stuff Patronising Patricia – come on air with me. We can be a duo to contend with and, frankly, I know the producer would leap at the chance – he keeps saying I need more credibility. Madness, right? Apparently raising three children isn’t enough experience to advise Janet not to let her hamsters sleep in her children’s beds!

  ‘But still, Holly – come on . . . You know you want to. I can be the Agony Aunt and you can be the Doc of the Airwaves!’ Lizzie’s voice had risen in excitement with each suggestive sentence. ‘Seriously. Let’s do this.’

  ‘Well . . .’ hedged Holly.

  Lizzie fixed her with a look and adopted her best radio announcer intonation. ‘Dr Holly Graham – Radio Larkford needs you . . .’

  ‘Well, it is always nice to be needed,’ laughed Holly. ‘But seriously, what on earth could I possibly talk about?’

  ‘Come and talk about the hazards of choking on a grape, talk about toddler biting, or immunisations, or whatever the hell you like – it’s never stopped me. Say yes!’

  Holly paused and then slowly nodded; there was more than one way to be a doctor, it seemed. Might this actually be enough to placate the clamouring medic inside her?

  ‘Woohoo!’ cried Lizzie, making Holly jump and the twins clap in excitement. ‘Big morning all round!’

  Holly paused, her mouth a perfect O. ‘Lottie clapped! That was the first time! Did you see that? She clapped! Oh you clever, clever girl.’

  Lizzie fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment. ‘Probably not the best time to tell you that she did it in class this morning too. While you were holding Henry, she watched Olivia do it and then just copied. It was terribly sweet actually . . .’

  Holly felt the glow of accomplishment from her morning’s efforts quickly extinguish, to be replaced by a thud of guilt. She’d missed it. Another milestone in her babies’ lives and she’d missed it. And if it felt like this now, how on earth would she cope if they decided to take their first steps while she was at work, or their first words while she was covering the evening shift?

  Maybe frightful Patricia had a point and there was more to be figured out about going back to work than she’d realised?

  Chapter 3

  Alice pulled the door closed behind her and allowed herself a smile; it had been so lovely just now to be back talking medicine with Holly, however fleetingly. And thank God she’d been so on the ball about little Henry Hallow; sometimes a matter of moments could make all the difference with an airway obstruction, especially in one so young.

  Right now though, she had her own patient to concentrate on and this conversation wasn’t going to be easy.

  ‘Lady Peal. Thank you so much for coming back in,’ said Alice, as she ushered the formidable, yet delicate dowager into her consulting room. The way Coco sat instantly beside her and laid one paw on her thigh yet again confirmed what the hastily drawn blood tests had already confirmed; there was something seriously amiss with Lady Peal’s immune system.

  ‘All this fuss just to get some decent travel insurance,’ said Agatha with a nervous laugh. ‘Although I can’t fault the NHS – I’ve seen you more of late than my own children, Dr Walker.’

  ‘How are things at home?’ asked Alice tentatively. Since the passing of Lord Peal a few months previously, she knew only too well the frustrations and grief that had been dogging one of her favourite patients. Wandering alone through the echoing halls of Peal Hall – or The Big House, as it was affectionately known locally – couldn’t be easy, and knowing that neither of her high-flying, career-driven children were keen to return couldn’t help.

  Agatha Peal shrugged, a world of eloquence in her tweed-clad shoulders. ‘Well, I must admit everything’s a little easier now everyone’s stopped tiptoeing around me. It’s hardly as tho
ugh the old bugger’s passing was a surprise to anyone.’

  ‘Still,’ said Alice, a little blindsided by her matter-of-fact approach. ‘Bereavements, not to mention funerals, can be stressful—’

  Agatha shook her head. ‘We had plenty of notice, Dr Walker. I suppose it makes me sound callous, but Mary and I had stocked that freezer with enough vol-au-vents and sausage rolls to feed his entire regiment, although he was an absolute pest for trying to eat them before we could get them frozen,’ she said fondly. ‘Old sod.’

  ‘Right,’ said Alice, trying to recalibrate; the older Larkford residents really were cut from a different cloth. ‘And your children?’

  ‘Well,’ continued Agatha, ‘I’m more convinced than ever that there’s very little point in me spending my dotage keeping the home fires burning, if my little darlings have absolutely no intention of actually coming home.’

  Alice nodded sympathetically, all too familiar with the burden of family expectation and the pressure of the looming line of inheritance. ‘Maybe they’ll change their minds when they see Larkford in all her Christmas finery?’ she suggested. ‘Perhaps they might like The Big House as a weekend retreat from the city?’

  Aggie snorted unappreciatively. ‘The Big House is no weekender, Dr Walker. She’s a lifetime’s commitment. Frankly, if they can’t step up, I’ve half a mind to sell her to the highest bidder – no need for a fortnight in Florence if I can move there indefinitely, is there?’

  Alice faltered; Aggie’s plans for emigration would clearly be under threat by the news she was about to impart. ‘Well, let’s get you hale and hearty before you make a break for the Uffizi, shall we? How’s the tiredness been?’

  ‘I would suggest that tiredness would be somewhat of an understatement. I just can’t seem to rally. I know they said grief was exhausting, Dr Walker, but I can’t help thinking it’s disproportionate to how much grieving I’ve actually been doing.’ She looked up at Alice and her hands clenched repeatedly around her long strand of pearls. ‘I rather think there might be something else going on.’