Snowed in at the Practice

by Penny Parkes

  ‘Holly, you’d be cheap at twice the price.’ He paused. ‘I know you don’t like it when I keep saying numbers, but does the same apply if I write them down?’

  Holly shook her head. ‘It’s an amazing offer, Mike, either way. I’m just not sure how it fits into my life.’ She held up her hand as he went to speak. ‘And I know about the crèche, and thank you for the offer, but this is something I need to think about.’

  He nodded. ‘Of course. I’d expect nothing less. But still, let me show you a little of how we work.’

  She followed him from room to room: from the extensive Physio Suite, via the sauna, the steam room, the therapy room with its plush sofas and soothing blue paintwork and upholstery. It was as though they had thought of everything.

  ‘We’re finding really positive results from looking at our players and their lives holistically. It makes sense though, right? If you’re going through a divorce, your head isn’t in the game. If you’re in pain, you’ll always be holding back a little. Well, our players have families and health issues and our next step is to bring their care in-house. At the moment, they’re scattered all over the city and it’s like a postcode lottery whether they can even get an appointment the same week, let alone the same day. So yet again—’

  ‘Their head’s not in the game,’ finished Holly, nodding. It made an awful lot of sense. And if they were lucky enough to have the funding, let alone the facilities to make that happen, then she guessed she would be advising a similar approach. Imagine having access to that kind of care – every treatment plan tailored individually and supported with the appropriate care on-site. It was the kind of set-up that GPs dreamed of.

  It was not a plan without pitfalls though.

  ‘And how are the costs for the nursing staff, lab access and insurance looking?’ Holly asked out of interest.

  Mike paused, the first flicker of doubt crossing his face. ‘We have comprehensive insurance for the Club already in place and surely we won’t need a nurse as well?’ He frowned. ‘I guess I hadn’t really thought about lab work.’

  Holly couldn’t help the way her eyebrows shot up in surprise; it was an automatic response. For a man who’d seemingly thought of every detail, this was a glaring oversight.

  ‘Well, Professional Indemnity Insurance is a separate beast, I’m afraid. It’s certainly worth discussing who would bear the cost. And nursing staff would be essential in any well-run practice – not to mention top-notch access to testing facilities and the like. There’s quite a range of blood tests that are essential for a GP, diagnostically. You don’t want to be over-referring to consultants all the time because you haven’t got a full picture. It could very quickly become an expensive enterprise,’ she said gently. She wasn’t trying to rain on his parade, or indeed do herself out of a job, but it seemed to her that it was better to be frank upfront.

  She walked thoughtfully around the players’ lounge, noting with interest that there wasn’t a single item left unbranded – without a logo or the trademark blue, black and white. She was all for holistic treatment of a patient – looking at the full picture of their well-being – but she couldn’t help wonder whether, in some ways, having their entire life curated and choreographed on-site might actually be detrimental to their players’ sense of individuality and, indeed, privacy. Most people didn’t want their bosses to know about every little medical foible, and she couldn’t imagine that rugby players were any different.

  Even with all the reassurances in the world, she wondered whether there might even be a question mark over confidentiality, if her services were bought and paid for by management. Would she, indeed, be under pressure to disclose any issue that might affect future reliability as a player when contracts came to be renewed?

  ‘Mike? Can you leave this with me for a few days? Not necessarily to think about whether I want the job, but just to see if there’s a better way of getting you what you need for your players. There’s just something niggling at me – the little worm of experience – that makes me think that, while you’re definitely on to something with the holistic approach, there might yet be a better way of making it happen?’

  Mike nodded. ‘I have to say, Holly, that all that talk of Medical Liability Cover has got me wondering too. I can’t believe it wasn’t on my radar. I guess I just assumed that with all the other medics we have here on staff, it would be in place already.’

  ‘And it might well be,’ said Holly. ‘But I think, to be honest, that we both need to do a little more due diligence before we go any further.’

  She paused for a moment, taking in the polish and luxury of the facilities around her and frowned. ‘Had you considered a private contract – a job share of sorts?’

  Mike frowned and shook his head. ‘Not really. We just assumed we’d have one more dedicated member of staff. How might that work?’

  Holly ran her hand over the plush folded towels, the aroma of Deep Heat already dulling as her nose acclimatised to her surroundings. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It was just a thought, really. I love the idea of working here, and to be honest the extra money would come in handy, but even with all the wrinkles ironed out, I’m just not sure I’m ready to leave my patients at The Practice behind. And, if it helps, I know Dan Carter is terribly keen to talk to you.’

  Mike nodded. ‘Rugby fan, is he?’

  ‘Blue and black through and through,’ she replied with a smile. ‘But I don’t think it would be a bad thing to have a male doctor on the payroll too . . . Alternate days or something. Choice is always good.’

  All of Holly’s research on the topic, and she had to confess there’d been a lot in the wee small hours, told her the same thing – private patients expected time, attention and choice. And since the law forbade GPs offering private appointments to anyone on their existing patient list, whatever solution they found, it would need to be a separate arrangement. The law, on the other hand, did not prevent them offering longer appointments for their NHS patients, as long as they could make the numbers add up. It seemed to Holly that there was an answer in her mind somewhere, if only she could stop the whirlwind long enough to grasp it.

  *

  Driving away from the Rugby Club, Holly checked her watch. With the boys at school, and Plum so competently taking care of the twins, she found herself increasingly adrift. It was all very well considering becoming a part-time doctor, but having a full-time nanny already had the power to make her feel superfluous in her own life – even if this was only the first week!

  ‘First World problems, eh?’ she said to herself, as she wound down the windows, both shocked and delighted by the blast of cold air that greeted her. Controversially, Holly believed that Larkford was at her finest at this time of year; the very last of the golden leaves clinging stubbornly to their branches as the winter swept in, bringing glorious sunny days and an invigorating bite of cold. In between the swathes of rainy grey, of course. Which, to Holly, made moments like this all the more precious, as though the town was putting on a show just for her benefit. A light frost dusted the trees and hedgerows, and the river sparkled in the valley below. Did she really want to leave this behind every morning, to make the schlepp through the traffic into Bath?

  Holly was under no illusion that her current confusion was a symptom of too much choice – too many options. The chance to start again with a fresh sheet after her maternity leave was tempting in the extreme – the little voice in her head shouting out that she was more than just a mother and wanting to prove herself – but at what cost? Would it really be so awful to be the part-time mummy, part-time GP and PTA member? On the other hand, was she really happy to be an occasional team member, not fully included or, she rather suspected, fully appreciated?

  Elsie’s words echoed in her head: ‘Motherhood can be the kiss of death for professional ambition, unless you’re very strict with yourself.’

  She had a valid point.

  But surely, true liberation meant that she could also opt out of the ra
t race, should she so choose?

  She slammed on the brakes suddenly, her heart lurching in her throat, as she barely avoided rounding the bend into Connor walking his rag-tag pack of dogs in the narrow lane. Connor ambled along beside them, his overnight transformation to eccentric rock-star-farmer seemingly almost complete.

  Leather trousers tucked into battered wellies, traditional Cotswold gilet over a sloganed hoody from The Hive’s twenty-one-country tour and talking loudly into the latest iPhone, Connor shepherded his assorted canines across to the lush, riverside pastureland for a romp. Canines that looked decidedly like the hotch-potch selection that Agatha Peal had been acquiring at The Big House for years; too soft ever to turn away a muttley in need, they were hardly a cohesive group, but nevertheless they stuck together with an obvious affection. It was certainly a good sign that Connor was putting down roots, Holly realised. He needed to be part of a pack. Without the imposed form of life with The Hive, he’d been dangerously adrift.

  She wondered whether anyone else saw through him the way she did. The constant, almost frenetic activity? The forced bonhomie in the pub, as though it were a shield he’d erected to deflect sympathy or questions? She couldn’t help thinking that his almost single-minded approach was a risky endeavour, making so many big changes all at once.

  Spotting Holly at the wheel, Connor spoke briefly into the phone and walked over towards her, the dogs milling around his ankles and subsequently Holly’s car. ‘Hello!’ she said, her arm resting on the open window ledge. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack!’

  Connor grinned goofily. ‘Sorry, got distracted by a call. I was so chuffed to have mobile phone signal, I forgot we were on a proper road.’ He glanced up and down the single-track lane doubtfully, where the hedgerows had begun to claim even a share of that. ‘This is a proper road, right?’

  Holly nodded. ‘It’s not on the satnav, but you’ll find a lot of the locals use it as a shortcut if they’re going into Bath. Be careful, won’t you?’

  He glanced at her sideways, obviously realising that her simple request had more layers than a mille-feuille. Holly blushed. It wasn’t her place to interfere, was it? But then, when had that ever stopped her?

  ‘Lots going on for you at the moment, Conn. Take it steady?’

  Connor shook his head. ‘No chance. Gotta keep on swimming.’

  He may have been smiling, Holly thought, but it didn’t reach his eyes. In fact, every time she looked at Connor of late, the same word popped into her head: dysthymia. High-functioning depression.

  His shark analogy wasn’t lost on her either – keep swimming or drown was the subtext of his words.

  But Taffy, and Lizzie for that matter, didn’t agree. They thought she was looking for problems. When they looked at Connor they saw someone making positive changes after an horrific event, taking steps towards balance and a fresh start.

  And God knows, the notion of a fresh start must be incredibly appealing for him.

  She could empathise.

  But she didn’t quite buy into the hype. ‘I’m coming over for a cuppa and a snoop soon,’ Holly informed him. ‘Anything I can do to ease the transition just say, won’t you?’

  Connor nodded. ‘Of course.’ It was clear from the tightening around his eyes that he had absolutely no intention of doing so.

  Holly decided to bide her time, but that didn’t mean for a moment that she wasn’t convinced of her assessment. ‘Are you walking every dog in Larkford today, or just Agatha’s?’ she asked with a smile, changing the subject and trying to count the number of wagging tails beating against her car door.

  Connor waggled his eyebrows and grinned, relieved to be on safer ground. ‘Just following doctor’s orders, ma’am. Pick’n’mix you advised, wasn’t it?’ He gave her a wave and continued on his way, tooting a shrill whistle to bring his pack to heel.

  Holly watched them go in her rear-view mirror, wondering whether at any point Connor could be tempted to confide in her. And if not her, then whom? She didn’t like to think of him censoring himself with his friends to meet perceived expectations. Even his own.

  She put the car into gear and it stalled almost immediately, as Holly banged on the steering wheel, struck by a moment of clarity. Pick’n’mix! That was the answer. Not just for Connor, but for her current situation too.

  Pulling slowly away, she allowed herself a quiet whoop of delight. Somehow focusing on Connor meant her subconscious had been doing all the heavy lifting behind the scenes. She just needed to get to a notepad before life intervened and muddied the waters.

  Chapter 19

  Plum placed a tiny cup and saucer at Holly’s elbow, the steam from the thick espresso carrying the most exquisite aroma into the kitchen. Using her own vintage stove-top espresso maker was her own small protest against the ‘filthy, commercial dregs’ that the British were apparently happy to settle for. Holly was not complaining – if coffee snobbery was Plum’s only flaw, it was one she could happily live with.

  Holly smiled her thanks, her skittering gaze returning to the array of Post-its and notes that covered the table and wishing that ideas that seemed so simple in one’s head, driving through the Larkford lanes, weren’t quite so slippery and evasive when you tried to pin them down on paper. It had been a long day, her visit to Lizzie notwithstanding. Far from being the tonic of friendship she had hoped for, Lizzie had been in a cantankerous mood.

  ‘So your friend Lizzie, she is mending though, yes?’ checked Plum, Lottie balanced easily on her hip, as she replenished snacks and nappies and various toddler accoutrements in her Louis Vuitton handbag, having already declared Holly’s ducky nappy bag a ‘crimine contro la moda’ – a sentiment that Holly had initially taken as a compliment until she’d Googled it.

  Holly held Olivia against her chest so that she could sneakily breathe in the heady scent of her daughter’s baby shampoo. ‘I think so, yes. It’s probably a good sign that she’s getting bored.’

  ‘Well, she’s hardly making life easy for the people around her,’ Elsie said, coming into the kitchen and snaffling Holly’s coffee. ‘You’d think that, with three children, she’d be delighted to have a little enforced recuperation.’

  Nineteen pressed his snout against the French doors and grunted pathetically in greeting, still disgruntled at being banished to the garden.

  ‘Maybe a little bit of meddling on her doorstep will give her something else to think about,’ Holly mused, thinking of Connor and the vast house he had taken on. Planning the décor for a house like that could keep Lizzie busy for weeks if she could persuade Connor to give Lizzie free rein. And, from where she was standing, they could both use a little company and moral support.

  ‘Well, meddling always cheers me up,’ Elsie said seriously. ‘Walk with me to The Deli, Holly? It’ll do you good to stop staring at those Post-its and muttering to yourself like a crazy person. And besides, I have a hankering for cheesecake,’ Elsie said, as she slipped into her quilted jacket, its delicate vintage shades making no secret of its designer heritage.

  Holly brushed a little chalky residue from the sleeve. ‘Where have you been, to have chalk dust all over you?’ she asked, without really thinking. It was only Elsie’s blustering response that actually caught Holly’s attention. ‘J’accuse!’ she said. ‘So you do know the new neighbours! And you’ve been round there snooping at their refurb.’ Holly narrowed her eyes. ‘You told me Connor had it all wrong.’

  Elsie shrugged. ‘Ooops.’ She didn’t elaborate and Holly waited, poised for some nugget of information, some juicy titbit. Discretion had never before been Elsie’s forte.

  ‘Well?’ Holly demanded after a moment. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me anything at all?’ Her frustration bubbled over into her words, aggrieved that the clarity of thought she’d found earlier had seemingly deserted her the moment she walked through the front door. ‘Are you having a torrid affair with some married man? A secret poker game? Give me something!’

  Elsie was still
stubbornly refusing to give so much as a hint as to the mysterious new neighbour’s identity, but at least they’d had the diplomacy to start limiting the noisier jobs to the working week. Whether Elsie had been instrumental in passing along the neighbours’ displeasure was anyone’s guess. But she refused to be drawn.

  ‘You’ll have to come clean at some point, you know,’ said Holly. ‘You can’t keep a secret in Larkford for long.’

  ‘You might not be able to, darling girl, but I have been doing it for years,’ Elsie said smugly, the affection in her eyes more of an embrace than a challenge.

  Holly blew her fringe from her eyes and tucked her arm through Elsie’s. ‘We’ll see,’ she said confidently.

  *

  In a flurry of kisses and goodbyes, Holly and Elsie stepped outside, the Market Place peaceful for once under an increasingly leaden sky, in the lull between afternoon and evening. Elsie pulled up short and placed a hand on Holly’s arm to quieten her.

  On the bench opposite their house, young Jess Hearst was having what was clearly a deep and meaningful conversation. With a miniature horse. But the sharing and mutual adoration was no less expressive for being inter-species.

  Jess leaned forward and buried her face into the tiny palomino’s mane, murmuring words that Holly couldn’t hear, even as the little chap whickered into Jess’s shoulder. Not even three feet high and perfectly proportioned, Banana’s palomino coat shone with health, much care and attention clearly having been lavished on his grooming.

  So much for not intruding, thought Holly, as Elsie barrelled over to say hello. ‘Well, aren’t you delightful?’ Elsie said, plonking herself down on the bench beside Jess and holding out a hand for Banana to snuffle. ‘I’ve heard all about these chaps but I haven’t had the honour. Jess, will you introduce us?’

  Jess giggled, as ever sweet, charming and a little in awe of Elsie Townsend. It was so wonderful to see her young face relaxed and happy, thought Holly. She’d been through so much, and coping with her mother Lavinia’s neuroses couldn’t make for an easy home life at the best of times.