Out of Practice

by Penny Parkes

  ‘What are you two gossiping about?’ interrupted Elsie, wandering through in her voluminous silk kaftan, nibbling at an olive on a cocktail stick. ‘I’ve sent Taffy out to get ice.’ She plonked herself down on the Venus Flytrap sofa and was immediately absorbed into its depths. ‘We didn’t really need ice,’ she confided with a surprisingly girlish giggle, ‘but when I heard how this conversation was going, I thought we could use a few minutes . . .’

  Holly and Julia exchanged indulgent glances. Elsie’s eccentricities were probably only amusing to them as relative newcomers. She must drive her family crazy, thought Holly with a smile.

  ‘So,’ prompted Elsie, ‘you were saying about Milo . . .’

  ‘It’s just a rough patch,’ mumbled Holly. ‘It’ll pass.’

  Elsie patted her on the arm. ‘My darling girl, these rough patches do have a habit of digging in. How long have you two been at odds?’

  ‘Well,’ said Holly, counting on her fingers, ‘If we were married four years ago and the twins were born two years ago?’ She grimaced, ‘Shit! I’d say about two and a half years, with the odd week off for good behaviour. But that’s par for the course with young kids, isn’t it? No sleep, work pressures . . .’

  ‘Affairs with their students . . .’ said Elsie gently. ‘I know, I know, it’s none of my business either, but your boys might just prefer a happy mummy?’

  Holly’s face flushed as she thought of their little laughing faces at the Spring Swim with Taffy. Her flush deepened as she remembered the expression on her own face in that photo. She shrugged. ‘I think we’ve got more pressing things to be worried about at the moment. Like The Practice closing down?’ She picked up the plans and shuffled them officiously.

  Elsie plucked them from her fingers and gave her a stern look. ‘And we’ll talk about that in a moment, but we have a small window to be frank, until our ice-bearer returns.

  ‘Now, what are you doing to get things sorted with this husband of yours? Have you told him how you feel?’ demanded Elsie.

  Holly looked a little sheepish. ‘Well, after the latest conversation we had, I’m not sure I’m even speaking to him any more.’

  Elsie’s laugh pealed out through the house. ‘Oh my darling girl, you do have a lot to learn. You don’t punish a man by not speaking to him; you punish him by speaking even more!’ She clapped her hands delightedly. ‘Oh I do so love having you girls here to chat to. It’s nice to see someone using my pearls of wisdom. So, 101 Husbands and How To Choose Them.’ She waved a hand at Julia to include her in the conversation. ‘First, you must always play Monopoly with a man before you get married. You’ll learn more about his attitude to credit than any other way. If he’s mortgaged Park Lane and Mayfair before you can say “Pass Go” then you know he’s a profligate spender and a risk taker and he’ll do the same with your money too. Second, if the sex is no good to begin with, cut your losses: a selfish lover is a selfish man. Sex and money, you see, girls. It’s always at the root of all evils. That, and greed . . . wanting more sex, wanting more money, wanting more, more, more . . . And never, ever, be with a man who takes longer to get ready than you do.’ She gave a little shudder. ‘Vain men are always egocentric bastards . . .’

  Holly laughed uncomfortably, Elsie’s comments hitting dangerously close to the bone. ‘Oh, Elsie, you do make me laugh.’

  ‘I’m not trying to make you laugh, Holly,’ replied Elsie, disgruntled at not being taken seriously. She reached out and took hold of Holly’s hand. ‘Your Milo has given you those wonderful twins. He’s been an excellent starter husband. But now you’re a grown-up and you know exactly what you do and don’t want. A man should be the seasoning to your meal, to your life, enhancing the flavour of what’s already there. He’s not the meal itself. Seems perfectly reasonable to me, that it might be time to reassess things . . .’

  Thankfully the front door slammed shut, essentially shutting down their conversation. Taffy could be heard singing, ‘Ice, Ice Baby’ in the hallway. ‘Hellooo,’ he said, poking his head around the doorway. ‘Who wants Martinis?’

  ‘We all do,’ said Elsie, struggling to get out of the sofa, until Holly and Julia gave her a pull. ‘Nothing wrong with going for an upgrade, Holly,’ whispered Elsie under her breath, nodding meaningfully towards Taffy as they all walked through to the kitchen.

  It was fair to say that Elsie’s little outburst was playing on Holly’s mind for most of the evening. They talked about the concert and who might take part. Taffy had some ridiculously wonderful suggestions for embarrassing skills they might learn and Julia was surprisingly relaxed and easy company.

  Even when Elsie climbed onto her soapbox occasionally, they all listened indulgently. A few of her ideas were solid gold and Holly was excited about calling some of Elsie’s more famous contacts to pull in a few favours. Certainly, if Elsie were to be believed, half of the BAFTA committee were in some way indebted to her.

  As the Martinis flowed and the hours flew by, Holly realised how much she adored having someone older and more experienced in life to chat to. It was all very well talking to your mates, but weren’t they all essentially winging it too? Elsie came with a veritable cornucopia of life skills – some of them bonkers, some of them dated, but some of them spot on the money.

  Right now, Elsie was illuminating them all with theories about drinking. ‘The trick,’ she opined, ‘is to only drink to feel even happier. Don’t drink to feel happy.’

  Holly rather wished that Lizzie was here to hear that one, but then quickly changed her mind, as Elsie continued.

  ‘If you drink regularly, I mean one, maybe two little cocktails a day, it’s actually healthier, isn’t it? Because then you gradually pickle yourself from the inside, like a little onion, keeping your face nicely relaxed and everything else beautifully preserved – and you live longer!’

  The three doctors in the room all spoke up at the same time, pointing out all the glaring errors in Elsie’s reasoning. ‘Science, schmience . . .’ grinned Elsie. ‘Now who’s for another, while we plan this fabulous concert of yours?’

  Elsie and Taffy disappeared again with the Martini jug and Holly and Julia flopped back into their chairs. Elsie on high-octane Martinis was a little exhausting.

  Julia was still fiddling with the Lego figures and Playdoh that had fallen out of Holly’s bag earlier. Her fingers worked the orange dough expertly. ‘Here,’ she said, passing Holly a beautiful Dali-esque teardrop, ‘this is how I see you.’

  Holly took the little sculpture in her hand and marvelled at the delicate curves that Julia had created.

  ‘I sculpt things,’ Julia said unnecessarily. ‘Anything actually. My mind works better in 3D.’

  ‘And this is me?’ Holly said, nestling her thumb in the perfect petal-shaped dent in the teardrop.

  Julia leaned forward. ‘Here, in the middle is your heart – see – and this is you being stretched too thin in all these directions . . .’

  ‘I love it,’ said Holly simply, overwhelmed by the emotions that holding this little sculpture evoked. It just . . . fit somehow. ‘Thank you,’ she managed as she took another sip of her second Martini to steady herself. She knew she was approaching her lightweight limit, but they were just so damn tasty that she hadn’t been able to refuse a refill. And now she was an emotional wreck.

  ‘You’re not so bad at this, you know,’ said Holly suddenly, realising that for the first time in a long time, she was having a conversation with a female friend without bracing herself for a put-down. ‘The friendship thing – I know you said you couldn’t do it – but you’re not so bad.’

  Julia smiled weakly, still working the remains of the orange Playdoh between her perfectly manicured fingertips. ‘Ah, Holly, you are sweet, but you’ll see . . . I have no filter. Even now, while you’re saying lovely things to me, I’m desperately resisting the urge to correct your grammar.’

  Holly laughed. ‘Well, me grammar never were me strong point,’ she said in a silly voice, brea
king the intensity that had been building in the room.

  Julia couldn’t resist joining in the laughter, catching Holly’s glass mid-air as she sent it flying with her elbow. ‘Dear God, you’re clumsy! Thank God you’re not a surgeon.’

  Holly blinked hard, in for a penny. ‘Why aren’t you?’ she asked bluntly. ‘Only Grace mentioned . . .’

  Julia flinched, caught off guard. ‘Honestly? Too much guts on the patients’ part, not enough on mine.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Holly quietly. ‘It’s just that you seem so . . .’

  ‘Emotionally ill-equipped to be a GP?’ interrupted Julia. ‘I am a bit. On paper, I’m the perfect surgeon – bright, dexterous and arrogant enough to play God. But you know, real surgery is nothing like the cadavers at med school. For one thing, your patient’s alive and you want to keep them that way. And that first cut,’ she shuddered, ‘the sensation of the scalpel, the gush, that metallic smell that just fills your nostrils and makes you want to . . .’ She put a hand over her mouth, even the memory was enough to make her nauseous.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Holly, entranced. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Julia dismissively. ‘I probably should talk about it more, but it’s embarrassing, you know. Failed surgeon. Stand-offish GP. Rubbish friend.’

  ‘I think you should cut yourself some slack,’ Holly said. ‘You’re doing okay. And everyone has flaws – honestly – I know I’m way too judgemental.’

  Julia raised an eyebrow in disbelief and, for some reason, Holly felt compelled to elaborate. ‘Look, would it make you feel better to know that I’ve just essentially lost my oldest friend by being judgemental rather than supportive?’

  ‘You mean Lizzie?’

  Holly remembered suddenly that, when you live in a small town, everyone knows everyone.

  Julia shrugged, looking uncomfortable. ‘Would it sound a bit stalkery to say that I’ve seen you two together. Actually, in the spirit of honesty, I’ve been jealous of you two together. What happened?’

  Holly sighed, in for a penny, in for a pound . . . ‘She hasn’t been the best friend to me lately. I won’t bore you with the details, but I was furious with her. And now I’m more furious, because she won’t take it seriously that I’m still really hurt. But just because I’m angry with her doesn’t mean I’m not worried about her. She obviously had a reason for doing what she did . . . But at the moment, it seems she’s just happier to keep on drinking her troubles away . . .’

  ‘There doesn’t need to be a reason. Alcoholics don’t need a reason,’ said Julia in an oddly detached tone.

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure she’d qualify as an alcoholic, she just . . .’

  ‘Likes to drink. A lot. All the time?’ Julia said quietly.

  Holly shook her head, feeling suddenly disloyal and trying to backtrack. ‘Still, that’s quite a label, isn’t it? But then, she does like a drink these days. But then, lots of people do, don’t they? It’s one of the more socially acceptable addictions really.’ She lifted her Martini glass, as if to emphasise the point, noticing for the first time that Julia was sipping an elderflower cordial.

  ‘Holly,’ said Julia softly, ‘you need to follow your instincts on this. And please don’t worry about me repeating anything you’re saying. Trust me, on this topic, I’m the soul of discretion. Someone I know well, someone close . . .’ Julia trailed off looking uncomfortable before taking a breath and carrying on, ‘Crap this is hard, how do girls have these relationships where they tell each other everything? Alright – tell anyone this and I won’t forgive you, but my mum. She drank a lot. She drinks a lot. Still. So if you want to, I don’t know, talk. This one’s my specialist subject, if you like. And if your friend was drinking enough to make you worried, then to be a real friend, you didn’t have a choice. Trust me. Friends say something.’

  There was a pause while they both regrouped and then Holly spoke up, ‘Do you think we should say something to Elsie then too?’

  Julia shook her head. ‘Seems to me that Elsie knows exactly what she’s doing.’

  What Elsie appeared to be doing, was trying to teach Taffy the Can-Can. It was only when Taffy appeared at the doorway, begging for respite that the girls relented and followed him through.

  ‘Now, I know we’re all having a lovely time, but you’ve probably been wondering why I summoned you all here tonight? Well,’ Elsie paused dramatically, as if waiting for a drum roll, ‘I wanted to offer to compère your show. It’s probably too late to teach an old dog new tricks, but I could do a little something and I like to think my name adds a certain glamour and gravitas to the proceedings. Don’t you think?’

  ‘I do actually,’ said Holly, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it herself. ‘Are you sure it wouldn’t be too much for you?’

  ‘Pah!’ dismissed Elsie. ‘No problem. And then when you ring around all my friends, you can tell them I’m already in. Might sway one or two. And, if you wanted to make an old lady very happy, I could do a little scene . . . maybe a duologue with Dan Carter . . . maybe with a kiss?’

  Taffy laughed and removed her Martini glass. ‘Alright, Townsend, I’m cutting you off. I think it’s a fabulous idea that you host. But I think Dan should host it with you, like at the Oscars . . . What do you think?’

  The imprint of Elsie’s bright red lipstick on his cheek was as good as a seal of approval. Taffy smiled over at Holly and her stomach swooped once more.

  ‘Sounds like your plan has legs now, Holls, are you ready for this?’ he asked quietly. Without her asking, he poured her a glass of elderflower and passed it to her, the frisson between their fingers when they touched nearly spilling it everywhere.

  ‘Let’s hope it’s enough to save The Practice,’ Holly managed.

  ‘God, I hope so,’ said Taffy with feeling. ‘How else would I get to see you every day?’

  Holly swallowed, regretting that last Martini and wishing she’d kept her wits about her. She couldn’t help the look of panic that spread across her face. She also noticed that Taffy immediately followed her lead and back-pedalled.

  ‘Well, who else can I try my awful jokes on, eh?’ he said gently, his eyes suddenly shadowed. He pulled up a stool by the worktop and sighed. ‘My friend drowned in a bowl of muesli, you know. A strong currant pulled him in . . .’

  Holly couldn’t help it. His jokes were just so bloody awful, but they struck a note with her. She snorted with laughter and watched as Taffy’s face transformed, lit up in a way that needed no translation.

  Holly pressed her hand to her chest, partly to quell the nervous laughter and partly to slow her racing heart.

  Elsie, quick as a dart, missed nothing. ‘Don’t forget what I said now, Holly,’ she whispered. ‘Life’s too short to live in compromise and you can’t fake chemistry.’

  Taffy stared at Holly, Elsie’s whisper being audible somewhere across the Market Place in all probability.

  ‘Now,’ said Elsie, clearly delighted to have stirred up a little trouble, ‘pass me that folder, will you? I’ve a list of VIPs who live locally. You can have a little phone around.’

  Holly reached across for a big thick folder secured with a beautiful grosgrain ribbon.

  ‘Oh no, not that one, dear. That’s my funeral file. I like to keep it up to date. Friends will insist on dying and messing up my guest list!’

  Holly flinched a little, the thought of Elsie’s mortality more upsetting than was logical. ‘Oh, Elsie, please don’t spend your time thinking about things like that . . .’ she began.

  ‘Tish tosh,’ Elsie interrupted her. ‘You didn’t think I’d let someone else write my eulogy, did you? I’ve never read my own reviews; after all everyone’s entitled to their opinion. And what else is a eulogy if not your Final Review? Oh no, Holly darling, that one I’m writing myself! I’ve drafted a lovely Obituary for The Times too. I like to be prepared.’

  Elsie’s words may have been feisty and confident, but Holly noticed a slight tremor in he
r hands as she spoke. She reached across and squeezed Elsie’s trembling hand.

  Elsie gave a gentle squeeze in return and then stood up, seemingly shaking off any concern. She clapped her hands. ‘Enough of all this, Ginger darling, let’s whip up a batch of Mai Tai’s shall we?’

  Elsie’s pronouncement was like an old LP record, scratching to a halt.

  There was an awkward pause. ‘Do you mean Taffy?’ Julia asked perplexed.

  Elsie started. ‘Of course, I did. Sorry, darlings, just been a long day.’ Elsie looked properly rattled by her mistake though.

  ‘Who’s Ginger?’ asked Holly softly, intrigued as always by every morsel of Elsie’s life.

  ‘Ginger was my eldest,’ replied Elsie vaguely, choosing not to elaborate.

  ‘Oh,’ said Holly. ‘I’m sorry, Elsie, I didn’t even realise you had children.’ There were certainly no photos of any children dotted around the house, but then maybe Elsie kept them just for herself in her opulent bedroom upstairs.

  ‘Three actually,’ said Elsie, still distractedly plucking at the bundle of fresh mint she’d been feeding into the blender. ‘One dead, one drunk, one greedy. Parent of the year, I am not,’ she said.

  Holly caught Taffy’s eye but neither of them knew what to say.

  Elsie filled the yawning chasm by sighing deeply. ‘Darling Ginger was the best of the bunch really, but he drove his MG into a lake on his twenty-fifth birthday. Polly lives in LA while she snorts her way through her trust fund and blames me for everything and Otto has already spent all of his. He pops round twice a year to borrow some more and drop heavy hints about avoiding inheritance tax by giving him the houses now.’ She gave a small unhappy laugh. ‘He’s rather kidding himself if he thinks I’ve got another seven years left in me. He’s going to be equally disappointed when he discovers I’ve not left him a bean.’

  ‘Oh, Elsie,’ Holly sympathised, ‘I had no idea.’