by Penny Parkes
‘Oh Lizzie, I don’t know where to start with that one.’ She started shredding the paper napkin in her hands. ‘I ordered some extra tests for him when we moved – you know, hearing, allergies, bloods, the works . . . I am just so fed up of people telling me not to worry, when clearly there’s something to worry about.’
Lizzie was silent for a moment. ‘And did they show anything, these extra tests? Anything you can work with?’
‘Nope,’ said Holly, her tired voice cracking with impotent frustration, as she ditched the mangled napkin and tangled her fingers in Eric’s fur. ‘According to every test we’ve done, he’s a healthy little boy with a dairy allergy and delayed social development. The health visitor thinks he’s not bad enough to count as autistic and I have to say, I agree with her. Otherwise he’d be bad all the time, wouldn’t he? But he’s not. He’s fine for days on end. I took him for his hearing test last week and we had the most wonderful time going into Bath, just the two of us. So, then you start thinking, is he jealous of Tom? Does he just hate Nursery that much? Is it because I’m back at work full time?’ She swallowed hard. ‘I’m telling you, Lizzie, you could drive yourself properly mental with it all.’
‘Shit,’ said Lizzie with feeling. ‘You poor soul. Obviously, I knew things weren’t great, but I honestly hadn’t thought it all through. You have to stop second-guessing yourself though, or you’ll lose sight of the bigger picture. He’s such a gorgeous little boy. Please tell me that Milo is being supportive about this at least?’
There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Holly took a slug of her drink, swallowed hard and gave a slightly bitter laugh. ‘Not so as you’d notice, no. In an ideal world, I need Milo more involved, his mother less involved and a nice juicy lottery win so I can stay home with my boys.’
Lizzie’s eyes widened in shock. ‘You don’t mean that? After all the times we’ve talked about how important it is to work, to have our own identities . . . Holly? Seriously? Remember how you said you didn’t want to become one of those hollow-eyed, devastated women who come into your surgery when their kids leave home, all asking for anti-depressants. It’s got to be worth a few sacrifices now . . . Hasn’t it?’
Holly looked up. ‘You’re right, you’re right, of course. And I really shouldn’t drink gin. It always makes me teary, but yes . . . all those ideals are great until your baby’s not very well. Then, it all means shit, doesn’t it? And you’d trade any of it, to know that your little boy could walk into a room, look someone in the eye, talk to someone other than his twin, heck, talking at all would be progress . . .’
They sat quietly for a moment, as the air around them settled and Holly took a juddering breath. ‘I just need to find my normal again, Lizzie. And do you know what Jean said to me this evening? She said that if I stopped thinking about the boys and my job all the time, and put on a nice frock occasionally, my husband might not be so miserable! Can you believe it?’
Lizzie nodded and scrunched up her perfect little nose. ‘Don’t hate me, but I can actually. In fact, I seem to remember my mum saying roughly the same thing after Jack was born. And although I can’t bear to admit it, Holls, in my case she kind of had a point. I was so totally focused on the kids and my job that Will had almost become a lodger. I was just so tired and resentful and I didn’t give him any care or attention at all.’
Holly picked at the remains of the deliciously salty chips they had devoured between them. ‘So what we’re really saying here, is that I need to make a bit more effort?’
‘Oh no, no, no . . . Don’t you misunderstand me here, Graham, that is not what I said and I’m not talking about all day every day. A few tweaks, maybe . . .
‘But since you seem so bloody determined to stick to those principles of yours, against all better judgement, might I add, and stay the course with Milo, it’s got to be worth a go. You never know, you might even enjoy it. Just get your hair cut, put on a nice dress and go out for supper with your husband. I’ll even babysit if you like,’ she grinned, ‘and it’ll give me an excuse to get away from mine.’
Holly grinned. ‘Well, I suppose I could use a trim.’ She mentally flicked through her wardrobe. ‘But I either need a new dress or a smaller body. You wouldn’t think that last half stone would make such a difference when it comes to, you know, zipping things up. But honestly, I can’t face going to Weight Watchers again. Not after last time, when half the women there were only going because someone from The Practice had told them to lose weight.’
‘Haircut then,’ said Lizzie, ‘and maybe a few more chips while we work out the details of this diet.’
Holly laughed until the gin and tonic came out of her nose, which set Lizzie off again and soon had everyone in the bar staring at them. But not everyone was staring because they were making fools of themselves. Teddy was delighted to have a bit of life in the place on a Sunday night and two pretty ladies having a fine old time certainly did that. The Major was staring because, when Lizzie sat back in her chair, her jeans slid up to reveal a pair of perfect ankles and Taffy was staring because he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the sight of Holly, relaxed, laughing and having fun. It was a sight he’d quite like to get used to.
Chapter 15
The next morning, Holly rubbed at her aching temples and silently cursed Lizzie, Bombay Sapphire and her own lack of willpower. Karma was a bitch, she decided. True, she should have known better than to stay up late on a school night, let alone to bank on Milo being able to get the twins into bed at the appointed hour. And that third drink had obviously been a mistake, as she clearly couldn’t handle her liquor any more. The same could not be said for Lizzie, who’d moved on to a bottle of red, around the time that Holly had switched to mugs of tea, Cadbury’s Mini Eggs and paracetamol.
‘You looked like you were having fun last night,’ said Taffy, as he hung up his jacket and found his schedule for the morning. ‘How’s the head?’
Holly groaned. ‘Don’t ask. Just kill me now. Preferably quietly.’ She refilled her coffee mug and turned away from his sympathetic gaze. There was altogether too much affection in his eyes and it sent little shivers down Holly’s spine that had absolutely no place being there. On the other hand, perhaps she had picked up a nasty bug and was destined to spend the next few days tucked up in bed with a fever and a Lemsip, she thought hopefully.
Holly shook her head at her own stupidity, instantly regretting the sudden movement. How ridiculous was her conscience to try and project an actual, physical illness, rather than admitting the simple truths?
She was sleep deprived, hung-over and unnerved.
It was that simple.
The reasons she was feeling unnerved however, were a little more complicated.
She sat back against the worktop in the doctors’ lounge and watched Taffy assemble his coffee – three sugars, two spoonfuls of Nescafé and a huge slug of cream from the fridge. He was basically a teenager . . .
‘What? I’m hungry,’ Taffy protested, as he noticed the expression on her face. ‘And don’t judge until you’ve tried it.’ He held out the mug to Holly. ‘Go on. It’s my patented hangover cure, so I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it, if I were you.’
Holly took a tentative sip, half expecting the Mini Eggs to make an encore appearance, but to her surprise, Taffy’s sickly concoction was like a hug in a mug. ‘Well,’ she prevaricated, unwilling to succumb so easily, ‘it’s no bacon sandwich . . .’
Taffy just grinned, pulled out another mug and began to cook up a second batch. ‘Drink it, it’s yours. Now, by way of thanks, you can tell me what you and Lizzie were gossiping about last night? You can be honest. I’m not shy. It was my new jeans, wasn’t it?’ he said, his face completely dead-pan.
Holly couldn’t help but laugh, having noted with some amusement last night, the entirely shredded and shabby appearance of what was clearly a very well-loved bit of denim. ‘You’ve got me,’ she said. ‘In fact, Lizzie will probably be calling you later to set up a photo
shoot for the magazine.’ Holly tried not to think about how the soft, worn denim had sculpted Taffy’s thighs so perfectly that Lizzie had even tried to get a snapshot on her iPhone.
‘Don’t mock the afflicted,’ he said, trying to look offended and failing. ‘We can’t all roll out of bed looking gorgeous, Dr Graham.’ He gave her a cheeky grin and left the room, leaving Holly floundering for a witty response. He couldn’t possibly mean her, could he?
Perhaps he was due for his annual sight test, Holly decided in the end. It made a lot more sense than the alternative.
After a few hours of ministering to the sick, the malingering and the generally deranged, Holly was beginning to question the idea that General Practice would be an easier proposition than her shifts at the hospital. True, the atmosphere was more conducive to intimate revelations, but the stories were not so different. It seemed to Holly as though maybe she was actually seeing the same patients, just earlier on in their stories, before ‘Doctor’ wasn’t enough and an upgrade to ‘Hospital’ was required.
Taffy’s Tincture had worked wonders and Holly couldn’t deny that having him around was making her new job that bit more fun. It was the one thing she’d been worried about when going into General Practice – the dark and wonderful sense of humour at the hospital had kept them all going through some tricky times. It had built up their sense of camaraderie and Blitz-spirit and Holly had adored it.
She’d already seen that Dan and Taffy approached medicine in much the same way. Thankfully the rest of the team seemed to follow their lead – with the notable exception of Julia Channing and Henry Bruce.
Even George Kingsley had turned out to be a bit of a hoot. Although, to be fair, Holly wasn’t entirely sure that it was intentional. Only this morning, she’d popped through to his consulting rooms to find him playing duck with some cervical dilators. He seemed to be even clumsier than she was – in his embarrassment, he’d knocked a huge pot of tongue depressors flying.
According to Grace, in the last week alone, he’d broken an anatomical model of a knee joint and nearly injected himself with insulin by mistake – apparently he fiddled when he was nervous or distracted.
By all the evidence then, Holly reckoned he must be pretty nervous and distracted about his retirement plans.
Holly poked her head around the waiting room door. ‘Martin Lane? If you’d like to follow me?’ Holly held open the door to her consulting room and guided him through. He looked fragile and emaciated and Holly pulled a chair around so it was closer for him.
Even so, pale and struggling, Martin looked defeated by the distance to the chair.
‘So, Martin, what’s been going on with you? I gather you’ve lost about a stone in the last few weeks?’ Holly leaned in closer, guiltily thinking that, after a morning of ear infections and thrush, it was quite nice to have a more challenging case.
Martin nodded. ‘I’ve been really under the weather, Dr Graham. At first we thought we’d got the flu from the grandkids, but they all got better and I didn’t.’
‘When you say the flu,’ said Holly sympathetically, her eyes ranging over him, searching for visual clues, ‘what symptoms did you have?’
Martin rubbed at his forehead. ‘Well, the little ones were all coughing and sneezing, but I just had really aching joints, splitting headache, exhausted . . .’ His words trailed off as if the effort of talking alone had indeed exhausted him. ‘I’ve been off work, off my food, off my game generally really.’
Holly quietly made notes as Martin spoke. ‘Okay, but you did get your flu jab this year, didn’t you?’
‘Just goes to show it’s a waste of time, doesn’t it?’
‘Obviously there are different kinds of flu, Martin, but what you’re describing is so generalised, we could be looking at almost anything. Has there been anything else unusual? Any other illness in the family? Any change in routine?’
Martin shrugged, reluctant to admit the extent of his illness. He blinked hard to get the tears from his eyes. ‘Sorry to be a bit weepy about all this, Doctor. It’s been a miserable couple of weeks, with no sleep and feeling so wretched and now I daren’t even cuddle the new grandson in case I’m contagious . . .’ His voice petered out and Holly discreetly handed him a tissue.
It seemed that most of Holly’s time here had been spent dispensing tissues to crying patients. Most people seemed to wait until they were at their wits’ end before booking themselves in for an appointment. With so many concoctions available over the counter, Holly realised that it was inevitable really. Most people, after all, weren’t in a desperate hurry to spend ages sitting in a germ-filled waiting room. Except, ironically, the Worried Well. The WW, as Taffy would say, were terribly suggestible and one bad episode of Horizon or Panorama could have the waiting room packed to the gills.
Holly let Martin chat on as she methodically checked his temperature, ears, throat and blood pressure. She felt around for swollen glands and tried her best not to show her shock at the extent of the swelling around Martin’s lymph glands in his armpit and at the side of his neck.
She could see from his file that Martin’s father had recently passed away from leukaemia and he’d been in a couple of times, asking for something to help him sleep. She offered up a silent prayer that this was not going to be a case of history repeating itself. He obviously wasn’t a young man, but he’d apparently been in reasonable health and Holly hoped that he might dodge ticking the statistical boxes for a little while yet.
Holly leaned forward in her chair, elbows on her knees, brain crunching data. ‘Think for me, Martin. Have you had a sore throat? An earache?’
Martin shook his head. ‘I was absolutely fine, helping out the youngest with her new business and then bam – I was knocked for six. Thought it might be the early starts, you know? I’ve got out of the habit of getting up early.’
Holly stood up and pulled a roll of paper over the treatment bed and helped Martin to his feet. ‘Well, let’s get you comfortable lying down and we can discuss what happens next. You know, one of us could have visited you at home, Martin. You only had to ask.’
‘I didn’t want to be a bother,’ Martin replied.
Holly quickly and expertly drew enough blood to send off to the lab, hoping that Grace wouldn’t give her stick for doing what was technically a job for the nursing team. But she couldn’t see the point in making Martin wander around the building when he was clearly struggling. As Holly held down a ball of cotton wool on the inside of Martin’s arm, Martin himself was chattering away about his Fiona’s wonderful new enterprise and how proud he was that she was so dedicated.
Holly turned Martin’s arm to and fro in the light, leaning in to examine his skin amongst the dense black hair that seemingly covered him from head to foot. ‘Martin?’ she said slowly. ‘When did these lumps appear?’
Martin looked down at his arm. ‘Oh about a month ago, the first one. It was like a little ganglion, you know. I had to stop the wife from bashing it with a bible! And then, the others, slowly since then. Fiona made me stop picking up the heavy boxes after that. Obviously not as fit as I used to be.’
Holly pulled the overhead light down and examined the lumps that ran from Martin’s wrist to elbow, some pearly pink, some purple, others openly weeping. She racked her brains as a germ of an idea stayed stubbornly out of reach. ‘We’ll send all the blood off, Martin and I think I’ll give you something topical for these too, in the meantime. Can you really think for me, Martin, did anything happen before the lumps began?’
‘Only helping Fiona out, like I said.’
Holly printed out a prescription for some topical ointment and shook her head with frustration, knowing that the answer was in there somewhere. ‘I’ll call you when the results come in and if anything changes, I want you to come straight back in, okay?’
Martin nodded and stepped down from the bed. ‘And if you want a few flowers to brighten up the waiting room, I’m sure Fiona would love to help. She’s a wonder with a flo
ral arrangement, my girl. She’ll be the best florist for miles around soon.’
Holly felt all the cogs of her brain click into place. ‘Martin, sit down. You’ve got sporotrichosis. You pricked yourself on a rose thorn, didn’t you? When you were helping your daughter?’
Martin looked perplexed. ‘You know, you’re right. I did. But what’s that got to do with this? It was weeks ago.’ He looked down at his arm and ran his fingers over the lump on his thumb, which was now a deep purple.
Holly breathed a sigh of relief and then tore up Martin’s earlier prescription. ‘There’s mould spores on rose thorns that can cause some really nasty infections if they get under your skin. If you don’t catch them early, it can actually get pretty serious, Martin. So, we’ll still get the bloods checked and I’m going to speak to a colleague about whether we need to refer you, but in the meantime I want you to use this potassium iodide and I think an anti-fungal wouldn’t go astray here either.’
Holly talked Martin through his proposed course of treatment and other developments to keep an eye out for. The last thing they needed was for this to develop into a nasty cellulitis. All the while, in her head, Holly kept thanking the gods that Martin was a chatty fellow, or she may have missed this one completely.
Score one for General Practice, thought Holly, as she saw Martin through to the Pharmacy. A little squiggle of excitement in her stomach reminded Holly how much she loved her work – the challenge, the puzzle, knowing she’d made a difference. Knowing now, more than ever, that she’d made the right decision.
‘You look like the cat that’s got the cream,’ said Grace, as Holly perched on her desk after a long morning surgery.
Holly shrugged. ‘A lucky catch, that’s all.’
Grace nodded. ‘Some days you win . . . I have to say Holly, George and I are thrilled at how well you’re settling in. Seems like you’ve been here for ages. I know he’s worried about how his little team are going to cope when he’s gone. Let’s his heart rule his head, that one. But between you and me, with this partnership fandango, I rather hoped he would stay true to form. But, he’s got a bee in his bonnet about being fair and open-minded.