Out of Practice

by Penny Parkes

  The story needed to be real. They needed to feature the doctors, the characters in the local community and how they would be affected. After all, reality TV worked for a reason; it allowed viewers to identify with the people involved.

  Holly wanted a story that provoked a response. Less ‘Isn’t that awful, darling, can you pass the Shreddies?’

  More, ‘This is the thin end of the wedge, what a lovely community – do you know, it could be our doctors closing next’.

  Holly wanted the country to sit up and take notice. It was bad enough that they’d lost their voice with the PCT; she didn’t intend to surrender it all together.

  It was a wonder that Holly got through morning surgery without leaping about in her chair. She was longing to discuss her ideas with her colleagues, but nobody seemed to be available until afternoon surgery had finished. Undeterred and with her pebble plan rolled up in her handbag, Holly had placed several calls to recommended alternative therapists. She wasn’t quite sure how the acupuncturist was intending to get Ben to sit still long enough to become a porcupine, but Willow (hmm, that was her name) seemed confident that she could.

  On a roll, and perhaps over-caffeinated, she’d even picked up the phone to call Lizzie. Well, technically, she’d picked up the phone to call Lizzie seven times. The seventh time had been the charm, as she’d actually finished dialling. Pick your moments, pick your battles, she’d recited to herself as Lizzie’s mobile rang out. Keeping it simple, Holly had opted for a simple, ‘Why don’t we have lunch?’

  Holly walked into the deli and Hattie smiled from behind the counter. She looked tired and the strain was obviously beginning to tell because the normally laden display table only contained a handful of dishes. ‘How’s my new favourite doctor?’ she said.

  Holly grinned and held out her arms in demonstration. ‘Look, no pram. I can actually sit down for once.’

  Hattie came round to guide her to the one remaining table, which was happily nestled in a corner by the window. ‘Come on then, before someone else nabs it. Sit down and have a look at the menu. I’m afraid the selection’s a bit limited at the moment, but I wanted to open up on the days I can . . .’ she trailed off.

  Holly put one hand on her arm to stop her. ‘Hey, it all looks delicious as always, Hats. You’re a wonder in the kitchen and to think that you cooked all this with morning sickness. I can barely rustle up a bacon sandwich with a hangover.’

  Hattie shrugged. ‘It’s not so bad any more and to be honest, I mainly feel sick at night. But I think that has more to do with it being quiet and missing Lance and not keeping my mind occupied.’ She didn’t need to tell Holly that this wasn’t the only week that her lovely husband Lance would be away in hospital. Even in the unlikely best-case scenario, he would have to endure weeks of treatment.

  A flurry of new arrivals, including Lizzie, meant that Hattie delivered two espressos and then left them to it, silence descending over their table for a second.

  ‘Hattie’s being terribly brave, isn’t she?’ Lizzie said eventually. As an ice-breaker, it was extremely well judged, because Lizzie knew that Holly was always very protective of her patients.

  ‘She’s amazing,’ agreed Holly, ‘and so determined to keep everything as normal as possible. She’s getting a little bit fed up of people treating her as if she’ll break, but then it seems so callous to talk about life’s trivialities when Lance’s life hangs in the balance.’

  ‘I can probably manage some triviality,’ said Lizzie wryly. ‘Shall we order some food to go with it?’

  Credit where credit was due, thought Holly. Lizzie seemed to be taking it slow. Holly had been concerned that Lizzie’s narcissistic streak would mean that she’d bound in like Tigger, oblivious to the fragility of the situation.

  Holly picked up the beautifully handwritten menu, taking in the selection of pasta dishes and salamis. Her stomach growled. It had only been a few days of total abstinence, but Holly liked to imagine that her trousers were a little looser and that, by the time her weekend away arrived, she would be able to pull off wearing one of her slinkier dresses from days gone by.

  She smoothed her hands over her hips and crossed her legs easily – something she’d struggled to do in these tailored trousers only a few days ago. She felt an odd slithering sensation on her calf and looked down in curiosity, just in time to see her favourite black lace knickers slide out from her trouser leg and on to the floor. She leaned down quickly, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment, and balled them into her hand, but not before Lizzie could clock what had happened.

  Eyes bright with mischief, Lizzie couldn’t resist, ‘Did you seriously just snap your pants elastic?’

  ‘Worse!’ whispered Holly, aghast. ‘They’re yesterday’s knickers!’ The atmosphere between them thawed a few more degrees.

  ‘Jesus, Holl – did you get dressed in the dark or something?’ Lizzie grinned broadly, well used to her friend’s occasional bouts of distractedness. Holly’s face was an instant giveaway and Lizzie knew, without pressing, that she probably had.

  She took pity on Holly’s obvious discomfort and leaned in. ‘Did I mention that Eric’s new obsession is underwear? He retrieves them from the laundry – dirty or clean, he’s not fussy – and then leaves them on the stairs as an offering. Will came in from work last night and was convinced his luck was in . . . He just followed the knicker trail up to our bedroom.’

  ‘And?’ interrupted Holly, realising with a thud just how much she’d missed Eric and wondering when she could reasonably organise a visit.

  ‘And was rather disappointed to find me on my knees scrubbing the loo!’ said Lizzie.

  ‘Not the ideal foreplay,’ Holly agreed, ‘unless it was a bloke.’ She considered for a moment, as if weighing up her options, ‘I could probably get turned on by a bloke cleaning my bathroom.’

  Lizzie shook her head at Holly’s logic. ‘And that, my darling, is why you seriously need a cleaner.’

  Hattie came back through from the kitchen, wiping the flour off her hands and looking pale and drawn. ‘Right then, do you need a little longer or can I tempt you both with the Carbonara?’

  ‘Oh my God, that sounds amazing,’ groaned Holly apologetically, ‘but really just a mixed salad for me please, Hats. I’m trying to give up carbs, but it’s so much harder than I imagined.’

  Hattie smiled tiredly. ‘No worries. Even though carbs are what makes life worth living, in my opinion. And I reckon that I can eat twice as many now I’m eating for two.’

  Holly nodded. ‘I know I did when I was having the twins, but then they’re two now and I still can’t zip my favourite jeans up.’

  ‘Do you want my advice? Buy new jeans. You look amazing, your skin is glowing and half the town has a secret doctor fantasy going on . . .’ Hattie took her menu. ‘Trust me, life’s far too short to be miserable.’

  There was a moment’s silence hanging in the air between them, as all three women were only too aware of the truth in that statement.

  ‘How is Lance doing?’ Holly asked gently, as she gratefully took another sip of her espresso, wincing at the bitter flavour and dismissing the urge to swap it for a cappuccino or add a handful of sugar cubes.

  Hattie shrugged tiredly. ‘He’s doing pretty well all things considered. I’ll pop in to Bath and see him again later, but the surgeon sounded really positive yesterday. He reckons it was all contained in the, well, you know,’ she whispered, rather than say the word testicles.

  Despite years as a doctor, Holly could still identify with patients that struggled to name bits of their body out loud. Only yesterday she’d had a confident, blousy woman confiding that she was having a bit of trouble with her ‘gazebo’. It had taken a few minutes of very confusing conversation before Holly had established that the poor woman was suffering from an awful bout of thrush but too embarrassed to come out with it.

  ‘Are you coping okay with the extra work and all the running in and out to Bath? It won’t help anyone if you
overdo it and end up on bed rest, you know. Tell me, Hats, what can I do to help? I’d offer to make you a casserole, if I didn’t know how crappy it might taste compared to your wonderful cooking.’

  Hattie grinned. ‘Food’s the one thing I’m not short of, thankfully. Although lovely Marion in the supermarket told me off about pre-natal nutrition when I kept going in to buy pickled onions and liquorice allsorts.’

  ‘Go steady on the liquorice, it can give you high blood pressure, but otherwise I’d say, just follow your cravings. Your body knows what it’s doing,’ said Holly reassuringly.

  ‘That’s the other thing I just can’t get my head around,’ Hattie confided. ‘How on earth does it know what to do? Is there like a tiny army of workmen poring over a set of blueprints in there? And I know Lance is desperate to know whether it’s a boy or a girl, but my 20-week scan isn’t for another month.’

  Holly drained her cup. ‘Do you think it would cheer him up? To know?’

  Hattie nodded. ‘He just wants to be part of it all, you know, running out in the middle of the night because I’m craving ice cream and fighting in Ikea about which crib to buy. Like normal couples do. And instead, we’re making decisions about chemo and radiation and wondering whether he’ll even get to meet the baby.’ Hattie’s face collapsed as she staggered to the end of her sentence and pressed her hand against the neat little bump under her apron.

  Holly stood up and guided Hattie into her chair, thankful that all the other patrons were engrossed in their own conversations. At least for the moment. She crouched down and wrapped her arms around Hattie’s shaking shoulders and made a quick decision. ‘What time can you close up here? Could you be done by four?’

  Hattie nodded against her shoulder, the tears making Holly’s t-shirt cling to her skin.

  ‘Then let me make a few calls, okay? And then you can drink a tonne of water and drive to Bath this afternoon. If I can possibly swing it, then you and Lance can see your baby today. How does that sound?’

  Hattie’s sobs got louder, even as she pushed away and looked up at Holly. ‘Can you do that?’

  ‘Let me try. The Head of Obstetrics is a mate from way back and I can’t think of a better time to call in a favour, can you? I just need to check that Lance can get down to the ward, or that they can move the machine up to his room.’

  Hattie wiped away her tears with the back of her hand and smiled weakly. ‘That would be amazing, Holly. Thank you.’

  Any hope that the rest of the customers in the deli hadn’t been eavesdropping on every word disappeared in a moment, as they all hustled around to share in Hattie’s small moment. But with the unimaginable challenges looming in her future, it was probably these small moments that would keep Hattie going.

  Holly couldn’t help but notice that Lizzie was distinctly off with her after that. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly why – why on earth would Lizzie have a problem with Hattie having an ultrasound? It wasn’t as though there was any chance that Lizzie was getting broody – not with her ‘contraceptive children’ as she called them.

  On the surface, they were chatting like always. The odd story about the kids or what they were planning for the summer, but there was an exhausting undercurrent. Holly was picking her words carefully but Lizzie just seemed distant. If she’d been building up to an apology, it might have been okay, but Holly wasn’t so naïve as to expect one. Lizzie didn’t do ‘sorry’. It would have implied a certain culpability on her part that she was never prepared to acknowledge. This character flaw was so well known amongst her nearest and dearest that Will had even referenced it in their wedding vows. No, with Lizzie, the best you could hope was that she would behave as if she were sorry.

  It had been looking promising, but now, if anything the chasm between them seemed to be widening.

  ‘So, best joke of the week so far – why did the dog refuse to go to the zoo?’ Holly tried.

  ‘Erm, I don’t know, why did the dog refuse to go to the zoo?’ Lizzie replied, rolling her eyes.

  ‘Because it was a shih tzu!’ said Holly, unable to keep a straight face. ‘Oh come on, that’s one of Taffy’s best. He’s on a mission to keep us all smiling while . . .’

  Lizzie cut her off mid-sentence. ‘Are you still crushing on Taffy Jones then?’ she asked, the friendly tone of intimate confidences in place, but with a hint of scorn layered in for good measure.

  Holly was lost for words for a moment; this didn’t feel like a friendly compassionate arena, in which to disclose her innermost feelings. She shrugged. ‘He’s a lovely guy. You said so yourself. No harm in having a mate to chat to at work, is there?’ She found herself getting defensive and cursed herself for being so easily wound up.

  Lizzie raised an eyebrow sardonically. Before . . . well, before Lizzie had strangled their friendship, Holly would have thought that her friend was clever and witty with such a look on her face. Now, there was a curl to her lip that hinted at cruel enjoyment.

  Lizzie cast a hand around the deli. ‘You’ll have to get in line, Holls. He’s probably bedded half the girls in this town. Look, there’s Debbie his Ex, and there’s Lara, his previous Ex, and . . . Well, you get the picture.’ Lizzie drained a glass of wine, that Holly hadn’t even noticed her ordering.

  ‘I’m beginning to,’ said Holly slowly, not just referring to Taffy, and trying to evaluate how she was feeling right now. She’d made a promise to Will and she’d keep it, but nobody said it had to feel good.

  Holly took a calming breath. ‘Well, for all Taffy’s womanising ways, he’s been amazing about this whole closure thing. There’s so much to do, so much support to rally. Hey,’ she said, speaking without thinking, ‘do you want to do something in your magazine about supporting The Practice? It’s a local magazine after all – this has to be relevant . . .’

  Holly stopped talking at the expression on Lizzie’s face. ‘Holly, I’m sure you’re a brilliant doctor, but please don’t pretend that you know how to run a magazine as well. Besides, I would have thought that the last thing you would want, was for me to get involved in your “professional life”.’ Lizzie made air quotes with her fingers. ‘I’ve already had a gut full from Dan and your wonderful Taffy about how appallingly I’ve treated you. I’m not sure I can cope with any more.’

  The silence sat pugnaciously between them. Words just wouldn’t come for Holly, at least none that were polite enough for use in public.

  ‘Do you know,’ said Holly in the end, tucking a twenty-pound note under the edge of her plate. ‘I think I need to leave.’

  She picked up her bag and left the table.

  ‘Bye, Holly! Lovely to see you,’ called Hattie from behind the counter. ‘Oh, and you too, Lizzie, of course.’

  Holly caught the furious look on Lizzie’s face as she pulled the door closed behind her.

  Holly kept on walking. Pick your battles. Pick your moments.

  But what was really quite strange, if she hadn’t known better, was that Lizzie looked positively jealous. Jealous of what though? wondered Holly, racking her brains for an answer, before deciding that she must have the wrong end of the stick yet again. There were probably several thousand more realistic explanations. Right now though, Holly had a patient with blue legs to see and a meeting to chair.

  What were the odds that Rachel Haldon had been buying cheap denim jeans off the market again, Holly thought, as she mentally changed gear and walked into The Practice for her afternoon clinic.

  Chapter 32

  Julia sighed as she rifled through the leaflets in her desk drawer. Unusually for her, she wasn’t rushing this morning, checking her watch or her reflection. Since the crushing news from the Primary Care Trust, she couldn’t seem to find any enthusiasm for anything. She’d tried calling the TV production company that produced Doctors In The House but had been routinely stonewalled. Eventually, she’d tracked down one of the interview panel on their mobile and they’d been characteristically blunt. They wanted to forge an ongoing relations
hip. In simple terms, no Practice, no starring role for Julia Channing.

  In even simpler terms, no money either.

  Her motivation had completely deserted her.

  Last night, she’d even gone to bed without taking off her make-up. In Julia’s ordered world, this was nothing short of Defcon 2 – the highest level of drama being saved for the days when she was so distressed by life, that she resorted to eating carbohydrates. Julia thrived on a controlled environment. It made her feel safe and secure.

  Today, however, that security had blossomed into an unwelcome malaise and the cloying pull of defeat. Even perky Holly Graham seemed to be more driven to find a solution to the problem than she was. Julia was so exhausted, she couldn’t see the wood for the trees. She wanted to be annoyed at Holly, for being so god-damned energetic in the face of such overwhelming opposition, but their recent conversations had actually given Julia a little taste of what it might be like to have a female friend. To be honest, she’d actually quite enjoyed it.

  She knew, because her mother’s shrink had told her so when she was twelve, that she was socially retarded. She didn’t do friendship. All the confessionals and in-jokes and the unbearable neediness of it all . . . She shuddered. On the other hand, when she saw girls together, in cafés, jogging, just chatting comfortably, she always felt excluded. This friendship thing was obviously a big deal to some people, but for Julia there was one underlying stumbling block: she just didn’t like people very much.

  Well, she now amended that thought: she didn’t like most people. Holly Graham and possibly bonkers old Elsie, might yet be the few exceptions to that rule. Julia assiduously ignored the image of Dan Carter that flashed into her mind.

  She ignored the mobile phone vibrating yet again on her desk, knowing without looking that it could only mean yet another drama at home. Didn’t she have enough to deal with here, for goodness’ sake? All her carefully laid plans were slowly falling to pieces and, as much as it was easier to blame Dan, or George, or her parents, sometimes it just felt as though the universe was simply conspiring against her.