Out of Practice

by Penny Parkes

  Holly and the Reverend fell into step, as they walked towards the park, both with the express intention of wearing out their small charges. For Reverend Taylor, it was the only way to get through the morning service. For Holly, it was the only way to get through lunch with her mother-in-law. Well, that and the Pinot Grigio.

  Chapter 14

  ‘You look tired, Holly.’

  Holly forced a smile as she finished the washing up. ‘Probably.’ The unspoken response hanging in the air.

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s inevitable really. Normally I’d say you need a few days in the sun, but then you always have had that slightly pasty complexion. Can’t really be a sun worshipper can you? Not with your skin. You know, the kind of skin that ages badly, so actually it’s probably not the best idea. Still, you do look awfully peaky.’

  Holly breathed deeply. ‘Yes, you’ve mentioned that before, Jean. But thanks anyway.’

  ‘Well,’ mused Jean, clearly too self-absorbed to appreciate the sarcasm, ‘you could always make a bit more of an effort. Maybe get up a bit earlier and pop on some of that wonderful fake tan they do nowadays? Might give you a bit of a lift when you look in the mirror, mightn’t it?’

  ‘Indeed it might, Jean. But in all honesty, if I get up any earlier there’s really no point going to bed at all.’

  ‘Mm, what? I was just thinking about Milo, darling, really. I mean, you might not care what you look like, but it doesn’t reflect terribly well on him, does it? After all,’ she laughed girlishly, ‘we’re none of us getting any younger.’

  Holly’s grip on the Wedgwood bowl tightened as she dried it. It was hideously ugly and completely impractical since it refused to fit into the dishwasher, but Milo still insisted on using it every time his mother came to visit. Apparently Jean needed regular reassurance that her wedding gift to them was still in use.

  Holly put down the bowl before she could do someone – Jean – a grievous injury with it and went back to the kitchen table where she’d set up the boys with some blocks of paint and huge sheets of paper. They were busy smearing paint over the paper, their aprons and basically everything within reach. Holly couldn’t help but laugh at their innocent pleasure. ‘Right, you two. Five more minutes and then it’s bath-time.’ She picked up a brush and was soon immersed in their little world, putting aside her anger about Jean’s comments or the fact Milo hadn’t bothered to play with his sons all day. No wonder I’m a crappy wife, she thought distractedly, as she painted around Tom’s hand, I’m a mother first and a doctor second. When, she wondered, had being the perfect wife slipped so far down the pecking order?

  ‘Don’t talk,’ whispered the voice down the telephone later that evening. ‘Just listen.’

  Holly tried not to laugh, as she recognised Lizzie’s voice. She held the phone tightly pressed to her ear as she surveyed the damage to the sitting room. She may well have spent half the morning tidying up in anticipation of Jean’s visit, but now, with newspapers and empty glasses scattered everywhere, she wished she hadn’t bothered. Next time, she decided, she was going to have a bubble bath instead.

  ‘In a minute, you can make all the right noises, but for now, I’m a patient in distress and you need to come out and do a home visit. Well, actually, I thought we could do a pub visit, because if I don’t get out of this house in the next half hour, I bloody well will be a patient in distress!’

  ‘And does it hurt if you press it?’ enquired Holly, in her best doctoring voice, still trying not to laugh. ‘Is there anyone there who can help you?’

  ‘There’s too many people here, since you ask, and none of them are helping – unless the idea is to drive me to an early grave or the bottom of the gin bottle,’ replied Lizzie indignantly. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, having his parents over this close to Easter. Now I’ll have to live through it all again!’

  Holly could hear the chaos at the other end of the line as Lizzie’s three children fought over the Wii controls and her husband and his parents fought over pretty much anything and everything.

  ‘How quickly can you get out?’ whispered Lizzie, as the voices clamouring for their mother to act as referee came closer.

  ‘Where are you?’ asked Holly, forgetting herself for a moment and earning a curiously sharp stare from Milo, who was setting up the board for another game of backgammon with his mother and ignoring the fact that his sons were desperate for his attention.

  ‘I’m in the sodding laundry cupboard. Where else would I be on a Sunday evening to get a little peace and quiet? Shit! I’ve been compromised. Pub. Seven o’clock,’ and without waiting for an answer, Lizzie rang off.

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ said Holly to a dead line, in her most professional tone and hung up too.

  ‘Let me guess?’ said Jean, a little the worse for wear after consuming rather large quantities of Milo’s experimental vodka jelly. Keen to encourage her son in his epicurean experiments, she’d tucked right in, proclaiming him on a par with Heston Blumenthal. Holly was pretty sure that even Heston could knock up a quick Spag Bol midweek though, if he pushed himself to it, but Milo preferred to preserve his energy for party pieces and shied away from what he called ‘hum-drum’ cooking and everyone else in the world called food. ‘You’ve been called out to work? And on a Sunday?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Holly simply, too excited by the prospect of a spontaneous Sunday evening outing to be bothered by Jean’s disapproval.

  Jean turned to her son and sniffed, ‘And I suppose you’re to put the little ones to bed, are you?’ She shook her head in dismay. ‘It’s no wonder you can’t get on with your new book, Milo, with these kinds of pulls on your time.’

  If Holly hadn’t been keen to escape after an afternoon of listening to her mother-in-law on her soapbox, she was now. ‘Well, if that’s all settled then, I’ll just leave you to it.’ She knelt down on the floor and snuggled the twins, who were already bathed and in their pyjamas. ‘Just ten more minutes, okay? Then Daddy and Granny will tuck you into bed.’ Jean sniffed again and the devil appeared on Holly’s shoulder. ‘And Granny will read you a really long bedtime story.’ Holly kissed their smooth, perfect cheeks and couldn’t resist another squeeze, before she scooped up her work bag and left.

  Leaning against the wall outside, Holly was a little shocked at herself. She couldn’t quite believe she’d done a runner on a Sunday night. She also knew that Milo didn’t believe it either. For some reason though, tonight, she didn’t actually care.

  By the time Holly had walked through the Market Place, she felt better about her decision, mainly because, with every shop window she walked past, she thought about what she would have bought if they had a little money. Two proper incomes, say, instead of relying on her wages for everything. And what she might have been able to afford if Milo didn’t consider things like the boys’ childcare to be ‘her’ expenses.

  She’d worked herself up into a state of moral indignation by the time she arrived at the pub, her feet freezing in ancient Uggs. Her resentment had only been exacerbated by spotting a pair of glorious chocolate leather boots in the window of the Boutique on The Square. They looked warm and comfortable and very, very expensive.

  ‘God, I needed this,’ said Holly in greeting, finding her friend ensconced in an armchair by the fire with two G&Ts on the table and an ecstatic Labradoodle at her feet. She pulled off her coat, scruffing Eric’s ears and relishing the beat of his over-excited tail against her legs, before sinking down beside Lizzie, who also appeared to have devilment on her mind this evening.

  ‘Get stuck into that and I’ll get us another round. Then maybe some chips while we have a natter? How does that sound?’

  Holly swallowed a mouthful and shook her head a little as the Bombay Sapphire left a burning trail down her throat. ‘Sounds heaven,’ she managed, as her eyes watered. She looked up to see Taffy and Teddy, huddled together at the bar, watching her indulgently.

  Without saying a word, Teddy filled a long glass of
water and walked over, placing it on the table with a wink. ‘Take it easy there, Dr Graham. I don’t want any brawling this evening from you two. Now, did I hear it was chips you ladies were after?’

  ‘Ooh yes please,’ said Lizzie, ‘with lots of mayo for dipping.’

  Teddy smiled and walked away and Holly said nothing, mainly because she had just realised that she had come out to the pub in her ancient skinny jeans, a grandad cardigan and with a biro holding up her hair. No wonder Teddy was offering them absorbent food – he thought she was only one step away from becoming the village nutter!

  As if reading her mind, Lizzie slid down in her armchair and gave Holly the once over. ‘Nice outfit, by the way. What happened there?’

  Holly shrugged. ‘I think it was one of those now-or-never type moments. Besides if you really had got a ruptured appendix, I wouldn’t have popped upstairs to put on some lippy, now, would I?’

  Lizzie grinned. ‘I imagine that would rather depend on whose appendix was rupturing. For instance, if the glorious Dr Jones over there needed medical attention, I dare say I’d manage some eyeliner. Why is he staring at you, by the way?’

  Holly cradled her drink in her hands, building up the courage to take another mouthful. ‘He isn’t and don’t stare.’ Holly paused for a moment, fighting the urge to smile. ‘Is he?’

  Lizzie nodded and leaned in close. ‘What have you been up to, to make you go all pink, Holly Graham?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s just that he’s lovely and he’s been helping me settle in at work and he made me a really nice cup of coffee the other morning and . . . oh, shit, do you think I might have given him the wrong idea?’

  ‘Jesus, Holl! I was only teasing and that was, like, 27 “and”s in one sentence there. Is there something you want to talk about?’

  ‘No,’ said Holly firmly, catching hold of herself. ‘Don’t be silly, of course there’s nothing to talk about. I’m married.’

  ‘Hmm. Well that didn’t seem to stop your husband ogling every blonde on campus. No one would blame you for having a little flirt with the dishy doctor, you know. And you have to admit that Taffy Jones ticks an awful lots of boxes . . .’

  ‘So does Milo,’ insisted Holly loyally, but even to her own ears, her voice sounded hollow and unconvincing. ‘And what’s the point in having principles if you don’t live by them. Otherwise, otherwise,’ she said vehemently, ‘we’re all one step away from being like Henry Bruce!’

  ‘Alright. Steady. Point taken,’ said Lizzie quietly, draining her drink without even flinching. ‘Dare I ask how His Lordship has taken the news about the ructions at work?’

  Holly said nothing.

  ‘Holls? You are going to have to tell him, you know. Especially if there’s a chance, however small, that you might be out of a job.’

  ‘I know. You’re right. But to be honest?’ Holly sipped her drink. ‘Between you and me, I just can’t deal with his drama at the moment. So there’s no point mentioning it really, not until I know more. And the more I think about it, I was probably right and this partnership debacle might just be a storm in a teacup. I know they’re all at each other’s throats now, but it’ll all be sorted in a week, I reckon.

  ‘You’ve worked with Julia Channing, haven’t you, Lizzie? I mean, she seems a right piece of work and Henry Bruce is just a bit, well, slimy for my taste. So it’s an obvious choice isn’t it? Dan Carter. And he supported my application, so there’s probably nothing to worry about and I’m just over-reacting.’

  Holly looked up to see her friend watching her sceptically. Lizzie wasn’t a journalist for nothing. She had the ability to turn you in knots, get you questioning yourself and blurting out every secret you’d ever held, just by sitting quietly, saying nothing and letting you hang yourself.

  ‘What?’ said Holly eventually. ‘Lizzie, if you know something, please tell me. I’m going quietly bonkers over this. I need this job. Milo can kid himself as much as he likes, but when your Head of Department puts you on unpaid leave for improper conduct, they’re not really expecting you to come back, are they? And I know I promised we’d have a fresh start when we moved here, but I just don’t know that I can.

  ‘Lizzie, he still swears blind that it was all innocent, that the girl just misinterpreted something he said. But, I’m not stupid,’ Holly said darkly. ‘There’s no smoke without fire and the University wouldn’t put him on leave if there was nothing to it. Would they?’

  Lizzie just shrugged. They’d been around this particular roundabout more than once before, with Holly alternately supporting or vilifying her husband. ‘Do you want me to make some calls, go on a fishing expedition? I can be discreet. Or you could actually just ask him. Put him on the spot.’

  Holly wrinkled her nose. ‘If I told you there’s no point, because I wouldn’t believe whatever he said, I know what you’d say next.’

  Lizzie leaned forward in her chair and grasped Holly’s hand. ‘Run. Run. Run away. Which is actually what I thought you were doing when you applied for the job here, to be fair. I didn’t think for a minute that you’d bring him with you!’

  ‘I didn’t bring him for me,’ Holly said matter-of-factly. ‘He’s their dad. How can I tell those two boys that I left their father based on a rumour? Seriously? I know what it’s like to have no dad, remember. I can’t do that to them.’

  ‘Holly, you must see that this is different. Your dad loved and adored you and he died. Milo is only interested in Milo. You must see that? He is never going to change, no matter how much you want him to. Does he even appreciate that you’ve given him a second chance or is he back to taking you for granted and ignoring the boys already.’

  Holly’s lack of reply was answer enough.

  ‘Right,’ said Lizzie, driven to frustration at seeing her gutsy, animated, eloquent friend reduced to this. ‘I’m getting in another round and then you can tell me all about the delicious Dr Jones. There’s no harm in window shopping, is there?’

  Holly twisted in her chair to see Taffy still propping up the bar. He and Teddy were in deep conversation, but he turned as she looked, as if he could feel her eyes on him. He smiled gently and gave a tiny nod, before turning back to Teddy. Shit, thought Holly as her stomach somersaulted and she clung on to her principles, what the hell do I do now?

  The two girls passed a couple of happily relaxed hours putting the world to rights. Husbands, children, work, wardrobes – they skipped about like butterflies through each other’s lives. In the way of friends that have seen each other through a few ups and downs, there was a kind of shorthand to their conversation that would certainly have bemused anyone attempting to listen in.

  Best friends since university, neither of them could remember what life had been like before they’d had each other to laugh with, to moan to and, above all, to rely upon for unconditional support. Holly valued Lizzie’s outspoken opinions and irreverent wit, but also knew how fragile Lizzie could be, beneath the perfectly honed veneer of the career, the curls and the confidence. Lizzie meanwhile, did everything she could think of to counteract the damage Milo was doing to Holly’s self-esteem and to find any opportunity for the funny, feisty side of her friend to shine through.

  And of course Eric, their newly time-shared-puppy, would become the glue that held them both together. He clearly loved them both with all the passion in his little doggy heart and his trademark howl, a gentle, loving woo-oo-oo, had always been reserved only for Holly and Lizzie. Holly claimed that he was trying to say I Love You, but Lizzie had always been adamant that he was actually trying to recreate Eric Clapton’s hit classic, ‘Layla’. To Lizzie’s mind, it was only logical that he should be named after his rock hero, although most of the town would comment from time to time, that Eric was an unusual moniker for a dog. Holly didn’t care either way. She would have adored him no matter what.

  ‘Did I tell you we went for Archie’s interview at Charrington?’ Lizzie said, twirling the stick in her G&T, and name-dropping the exclusive prep scho
ol for boys nearby. ‘Three hours of aptitude tests for a five-year-old! Honestly, the whole thing was a farce. I thought we were doing okay, despite the fact that we had the gall to turn up without a double-barrelled surname . . .’

  Holly started laughing, amused and fascinated in equal measure. ‘I’m sure you could have fudged that one.’

  ‘No,’ said Lizzie with feeling. ‘It’s Will’s cock-eyed idea anyway. I’m very much take us as we are, or leave us, thank you very much.’

  ‘And which is it? What was it like?’

  ‘Well, to be honest, Holls, I think it’s become rather clear that Archie’s not quite the academic elite they’re looking for. The little boy before us had a portfolio of his work, for Christ’s sake. They were talking about the motivation of Christopher Robin when he goes looking for Winnie the Pooh!’

  ‘And Archie?’ asked Holly tentatively.

  Lizzie grinned. ‘Well, what’s there to say? He’s five. He can’t read, he can’t write and he wants to be a dinosaur . . .’

  Holly clapped her hand over her mouth to prevent a spray of gin. ‘So probably not Charrington for you, then? What about Jack?’

  ‘Nah, we’ve cancelled Jack’s visit. If Archie’s interview didn’t convince me, then all the glamorous mummies at pick-up would have. Who wants to live under that kind of pressure?’ Lizzie habitually chose to ignore the fact that she was, in fact, one of those glamorous mummies and would still outshine most women, even if she chose to turn up in a bin bag.

  ‘Speaking of mothers on the rampage, I forgot to tell you,’ said Holly, ‘I got Cassie-d in the supermarket earlier on. She was going on about oatmeal and nutrition and there I was with a trolley full of Curly Wurlys and plonk. Then Tom started kicking off because I wouldn’t let him have chocolate in the house.’

  ‘Well, you’re damned either way really, aren’t you? If you have the blasted stuff in the house, it’s unfair on Ben. If you don’t, it’s unfair on Tom. How’s he doing at the moment? He looked a bit blue at Nursery on Friday.’