Snowed in at the Practice

by Penny Parkes

  ‘I agree,’ said Alice quietly. ‘In fact, I’d like to refer you over to one of my colleagues at the hospital in Bath. In the absence of any obvious symptoms to point us in the right direction, I think a scan might be in order. Your tiredness and the weight loss, we could obviously put down to what’s been going on in your life, but your blood tests do suggest there is, as you rightly suggest, something else going on.’

  Aggie looked down at Coco, still sitting vigilantly at her side, her specialist skillset no secret, and the gentle but considered demeanour of her doctor. ‘So, it’s cancer then, I suppose.’

  ‘Let’s not make any assumptions, before you’ve seen Mr Choudari. He really is the most wonderful consultant and I know you’ll like him. Let’s get the ball rolling at least. The sooner we know what’s what, the sooner we can have you sipping Campari in Florence. How does that sound?’

  ‘It sounds as though I should have sold the house and buggered off years ago—’ began Agatha, her voice quavering slightly before her stiff upper lip was able to reassert itself. ‘You’re not in the market for a very beautiful, rather crumbly but historically important money pit, are you, Dr Walker?’ she said, as she left the room on shaky legs.

  ‘Let’s keep in touch,’ suggested Alice, as she held open the door to reception and wished, as always, that there was something more she could do.

  ‘Was that Aggie Peal?’ asked Dan, emerging from his consulting room and joining Alice as she headed to the doctors’ lounge for a much-needed caffeine infusion. He was, of course, the only one who dared call Lady Peal that – all the other doctors being too intimidated by her status even to attempt familiarity. Dan, on the other hand, wasn’t fazed.

  Alice nodded. ‘Not great news, I’m afraid. Coco seems to have a hundred per cent track record at this point.’

  ‘Bugger,’ said Dan succinctly. ‘And you can bet your last tenner that her spoiled kids won’t be coming back to hold her hand.’

  They pushed open the door to the lounge only to find Taffy guiltily necking a triple espresso. ‘Don’t tell Holly,’ he said by way of greeting.

  ‘Oh the power . . .’ grinned Dan. ‘Now, dance my puppet, dance!’

  Taffy just shook his head in bemusement. ‘Blackmail’s hardly your strong suit now, is it? What are you two whispering about, anyway?’

  Alice shrugged. ‘Looks like The Big House might be on the market if you know anyone with a few spare million to fling around?’

  ‘Is that what it’s worth?’ Taffy asked, clearly out of step with local property prices.

  ‘Three point four, I reckon,’ replied Dan, who had made something of a habit of devouring every single property paper since he and Grace had decided to shop for a doer-upper together. Sadly, even the most neglected of townhouses in their chosen area seemed to be completely out of their price bracket. It was lovely that Larkford was on the up, quietly recognised by those in the know as one of the most aspirational market towns in the Cotswolds, but it did also mean that their community was in danger of succumbing to a nasty outbreak of weekenderitis – houses standing empty all week, only to be overrun by retreating Londoners every weekend. Even boosting local tourist appeal was in jeopardy, as picture-perfect cottages were snapped up as second homes, rather than holiday cottages.

  ‘Listen, while it’s just us,’ said Taffy, blushing wildly at whatever he was about to say and looking around, ‘I really think somebody should have a word with Tilly. It’s just that, well, there seems to be a trail of lovelorn young men propping up the bar at The Kingsley Arms every weekend—’

  ‘Oh, let the girl have her fun,’ interrupted Grace, walking in mid-conversation. ‘If she was a bloke, you wouldn’t be having these worries, now would you?’

  Taffy shrugged. ‘I might, actually. It really is getting a little out of hand. I mean, I know we all thought it might take her a while to settle back into a normal routine after all her far-flung doctoring, but it’s been months and she’s still behaving like a sailor on shore leave. People are talking.’

  ‘So let them talk. She’s a big girl and she can make her own decisions. It’s not as though it’s affecting her work, now is it?’ Grace said firmly.

  Dan and Taffy looked at each other. ‘I suppose.’

  Alice sipped her coffee thoughtfully. ‘You don’t think that maybe it just means she doesn’t see Larkford as a permanent position? I mean, if you’re just passing through, you might care less what people think, right?’

  Dan nodded. ‘Makes sense. And we should probably talk about that too. We have no idea how long we need her for, do we?’ He turned to look at Taffy. ‘We all want Holly to take as long as she needs. I’m certainly not going to be the one who pressures her back to work—’

  ‘Even if we do seriously need her steadying hand on the tiller,’ finished Grace wistfully.

  Alice looked from one to the other in confusion. ‘But she is ready to come back. It’s obvious she’s missing her working life. She even turned up here with an emergency patient from the Toddler Tambourine class!’

  Taffy shook his head. ‘Well, that’s Holly for you. Even when she’s off duty, she can’t help looking out for her patients. We all know she’s an amazing doctor, but right now she’s allowed to just be a mum.’

  ‘But have you actually asked her, I mean, properly talked about it?’ Alice persisted, realising she was slightly overstepping the mark as she did so.

  Taffy sighed huffily. ‘I think I’d know, don’t you, Alice? She’s just had twins. It’s hard to even begin explaining what that’s like. She’s going to need more time at home with them and they have to be the priority. Let’s not put any pressure on her. Please.’

  Alice frowned, unused to Taffy being anything other than open-minded, and certainly caught unawares by his (to her ears) slightly condescending explanation. From where she was standing – childfree obviously – Holly was showing every sign of wanting to come back to work. In fact, she’d seemed almost upset to be handing over Henry’s care earlier. Alice sighed; if Holly could see the almighty juggle that was going on in her absence, she reckoned it would seal the deal. Sure, they had four doctors, two of them female, but she was the first to admit that neither she nor Tilly had Holly’s experience, intuition or rapport with the mothers of Larkford.

  And she had to think that a conversation between the partners was long overdue. Obviously Tilly had no idea whether she was coming or going – it was hardly the optimum scenario for her to put down roots.

  ‘If Tilly thought she was staying longer, do you think she’d go out with Teddy at the pub? His crush on her is almost painful and it has to be killing him seeing her go home with a different bloke every Friday night,’ Taffy said, his compulsion to couple up all of his mates growing ever stronger since he got married himself.

  ‘I’m not sure you can base our entire business plan on getting Teddy the girlfriend of his dreams, Taffs. He might have to step up and actually ask her out—’ Dan began.

  ‘Oh God no,’ interrupted Alice. ‘If he really wants to stand a chance with Tilly, he needs to be as unavailable as possible. I’m not saying it’s logical, it’s just really effective.’

  There was a flurry of activity and conversation about coffee as Tilly made her way into the room, texting at warp speed as she walked and somehow avoiding colliding with every obstacle in her path. ‘Hi,’ she mumbled, as she clicked refresh on her Twitter feed and pored over the latest news headlines. Tilly’s world on Twitter was so tightly curated as to give her an extremely focused view of current affairs, Alice had recently decided. She would have no clue of any events in the local vicinity, or indeed on TV and radio, but she could tell you exactly how many children were being affected by the famine in Somalia, or the bombings in Aleppo, or indeed under the purview of social services in the UK. ‘What’s new?’ she asked, yawning widely after another night on the tiles – a Sunday night at that.

  ‘We were just wondering who was up for staffing Big Bertha at the Sixth Form
Health Day?’ Taffy blurted. Their Health in the Community initiative had gone from strength to strength and the addition of Big Bertha, their big yellow bus that housed a mobile health unit, had become their crowning glory.

  ‘Yup, I’ll do it,’ said Tilly easily, tucking her mane of blonde hair behind one ear and ripping open a bag of what might have been parrot food. ‘Anyone want some Chia seeds?’

  Grace made wide insistent eyes at Dan across the room that Alice struggled to understand.

  ‘Oh, you’re sweet for volunteering, Tilly, but the boys need to take their turn with Bertha too – no fobbing it off all the time,’ Grace said eventually, her visual semaphore missing its mark entirely.

  Tilly smiled. ‘I don’t mind. The students are lovely. And the headmaster said I was a big hit with the sixth-formers last time I went in, so . . .’

  Dan’s gaze flickered between Tilly’s microscopic skirt, endless forty-denier legs and Grace’s face until slowly the penny dropped. ‘I’m sure you were,’ he said with feeling, ‘but Grace is right. Some of those sixth form lads don’t have much by way of a male role model, so Taffy and I need to take a turn at the helm as well.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said easily. She popped her empty wrapper in the bin. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t want me flirting with the underage lads as well as a different bloke every Friday night.’ She gave a little wave as she left the room, leaving them in no doubt that she had overheard every word of their earlier conversation.

  ‘Well, that went well,’ said Alice drily.

  Dan and Taffy looked at each other and blushed. ‘Are you going to make us take the Tactfulness in the Workplace seminar again, Gracie?’ asked Taffy ruefully.

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t be the worst idea, now would it?’ answered Grace, looking just as uncomfortable for her part in the proceedings. ‘I mean, it’s hardly any wonder the girl can’t settle down if she still feels like she’s under scrutiny all the time.’

  Alice couldn’t help thinking Grace had made a valid point. The issue from her perspective was somewhat thornier: professionally she couldn’t wait for Holly to return, she missed her guidance and her company, but personally, there was also the risk that Holly’s return would mean that Tilly’s time in Larkford might be over and Alice wasn’t yet ready to relinquish her best friend to the jungles of South America again, especially with Jamie still gadding about in the wilds of Donegal.

  Not for the first time, she wondered whether it had been some kind of madness to put their fledgling relationship to the test like this. A nine-month placement ought to be manageable, shouldn’t it? But then, why did she miss Jamie quite so very much, or become so easily perturbed by thoughts of him meeting new people, new clients, new friends . . . After all, hadn’t she been one of his clients when they met?

  She turned and emptied a packet of Jammie Dodgers onto a plate – little point searching for a biscuit tin, the whole lot would be scavenged in moments – before deciding that pushing the agenda for Holly might have to take a back seat for a while. After all, Holly had her husband on staff to communicate her wishes, didn’t she? Who did Tilly have on her ‘team’, except Alice? And possibly, right now, vice versa.

  ‘Got any new pictures of the babies, Taffs?’ Alice asked, in a sure-fire manoeuvre to change the subject, for her own benefit as much as Tilly’s.

  Chapter 4

  ‘I can’t believe you get to be on the radio!’ said Elsie the next morning. ‘Did you not tell your Lizzie that I was available?’

  Holly smiled. ‘I imagine she thought Radio Larkford might be a bit of a comedown from what you’re used to.’ She had a point; far from being the hi-tech studio of the local BBC, or indeed Media City where Elsie had last been interviewed, Radio Larkford occupied a nondescript office suite above the fishmonger’s. Quite regularly, the echoing shouts of the boys downstairs for ‘another bag of scallops, Bill’ could be heard in the background, not to mention the pervasive smell that seemed to cloak Lizzie whenever she’d been on air. Holly wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t mentioned this morning’s plans to Taffy earlier – perhaps it was because, secretly, she wondered whether he’d consider being a radio phone-in doctor a bit of a comedown too?

  ‘Do I look okay?’ asked Holly nervously, doing a twirl for Elsie’s benefit. ‘I don’t want to wear anything too nice or it’ll end up stinking of halibut.’

  Elsie snorted. ‘Does my halibut look big in this?’ she laughed. ‘Nah, you look fine – besides, my darling, this is radio, remember? You could turn up in your pyjamas and nobody would notice.’

  Holly grinned and rolled her eyes. ‘Well, if you’d told me that an hour ago . . .’ She turned and settled Olivia and Lottie into the pram, holding her breath as the inevitable tantrum failed to materialise. ‘Wow,’ she whispered under her breath, unwilling to jinx whatever magic was making her morning run so smoothly. ‘And are you sure you want to come and watch?’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss your radio debut for toffee,’ confirmed Elsie. ‘The girls and I will hang out in the Green Room with some refreshments and be your entourage for the day. You should always have an entourage, darling.’

  ‘I always do,’ said Holly, managing a wry smile; the days when she could scoop up her handbag and keys and follow her feet were long gone.

  *

  ‘And now, we have a very exciting addition to our line-up this morning,’ crooned Lizzie into her microphone an hour later, as Holly fidgeted nervously beside her, sipping water from a plastic cup. ‘Dr Holly Graham is joining the show to offer some words of wisdom on the medical front – so if you call in today, you can have two opinions for the price of one. Good morning, Dr Graham. Thanks for joining us.’

  ‘It’s lovely to be here,’ Holly said, holding herself stiff and trying not to let her voice wobble. She glanced up to see Elsie watching her through the glazed partition and swallowed her laughter at the hastily handwritten sign she was holding up: Just remember not to bloody well swear, when you’re talking live on the bloody air. She felt her shoulders drop and a smile spread across her face and into her words. ‘I’m delighted to have the opportunity to connect with our Larkford listeners.’

  Lizzie nodded her approval and flicked a switch on the complicated-looking control panel in front of her. ‘Well, if you want to talk to Dr Graham or myself – Lizzie, your Agony Aunt – then get dialling and in the meantime, let’s start as we mean to go on. Here’s Robert Palmer with a “Bad Case of Loving You”.’ She faded in the song and sat back in the swivel chair with a grin on her face as Mr Palmer called repeatedly for the doctor. She held up her hands. ‘See? Easy peasy. And if that light’s showing, we’re off air and can talk privately, okay? I’ve got a whole doctor motif running in my play list this morning.’ Her face puckered for a moment and she went a slightly sickly colour.

  ‘The fish smell getting to you too?’ asked Holly, who had been breathing through her mouth for the last five minutes.

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. It’s just something I ate; it’s the last time I’m being adventurous with the curry menu. I was so sick last night and I’ve still got awful tummy ache.’ She winced again, waving away Holly’s concern. ‘Bloody Will and his competitive spiciness.

  ‘And here’s hoping Mr Palmer makes a speedy recovery,’ Lizzie said, back on air, in her upbeat-radio-DJ voice that made Holly want to giggle despite her concern. ‘Let’s take our first caller, shall we, Dr Graham? Hello, caller, you’re on the air.’

  ‘Hi,’ said the caller, her voice tentative and quiet. ‘I wanted to ask about restless legs? I’m finding it really hard to sleep at night and I keep kicking my husband.’ She sighed. ‘We’re both exhausted and grumpy and to be honest it’s causing a few marital issues. I wondered what you’d recommend?’

  Before Holly could even formulate a response, Lizzie had dived right in. ‘Well, it seems to me, caller, that we might be looking at this from the wrong angle. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? I mean, if there are unresolved tensio
ns in your marriage, might the kicking actually be your subconscious way of expressing your frustrations?’

  ‘Oh,’ breathed the caller, utterly winded by the suggestion. ‘Well, I didn’t think we were unhappy. We’ve been together so long, you see, and barely a cross word. But we do both love our sleep, so I put the recent problems down to that.’ She sounded really concerned now. ‘Maybe I was just kidding myself?’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘It’s always easier to be objective from the outside looking in.’

  ‘If I could just ask,’ Holly interrupted, unable to sit idly by while this poor woman’s apparently happy marriage was taken apart on live radio, ‘have there been any other changes in your life of late? Moving house, hormonal milestones?’

  ‘Not really,’ replied the caller. ‘I’m too young to be menopausal, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’ She sounded a little peeved actually and Holly rallied quickly.

  ‘What about dietary changes?’ she offered.

  ‘Oh, well, yes. I suppose. I became a vegetarian about six months ago. I couldn’t stomach the idea of food-with-a-face anymore.’

  Holly watched the colour leach from Lizzie’s already pale and clammy face with concern. ‘Are you okay?’ she mouthed silently.

  Lizzie nodded, waving her hand at Holly’s microphone to continue.

  ‘The reason I ask, caller,’ said Holly, completely relaxed into her zone now, nerves eclipsed by the distraction of Lizzie looking increasingly awful, ‘is that iron deficiencies can be one of the triggers for restless legs at night and, if you’re not making sure to get enough iron from your new meat-free diet, it may be a contributory factor.’

  ‘You mean, me giving up steak might have caused this?’ the caller clarified in bewilderment.

  ‘Well, obviously, it’s hard to say exactly without meeting you, but it would seem like a promising place to start, before you begin looking for problems in your marriage that might not even be there. Have you been feeling guilty about this, by any chance?’