by Penny Parkes
She peered through the hallway window, just able to make out the shape of Jemima Hallow on her doorstep, fidgeting from side to side.
‘Mims? Are you okay? Is the baby coming?’ Holly asked, as she pulled open the door.
Jemima was fully dressed, her newly acquired maternity t-shirt already straining to accommodate her growing bump. Her eyes were bright with a peculiar intensity and her hair was already plastered to her forehead with the kind of morning heat that promised a scorcher of a day to come. She held what looked like some kind of road sign in her hand.
‘I’ve decided not to take this lying down,’ she declared. ‘I’m going to protest and I want you and the other partners to join us. Everyone will take us more seriously if they can see that we have our GPs’ support.’
She spun the sign in her hand around and Holly realised that it was a hurriedly constructed placard bearing the slogan:
MY BABY!
MY VAGINA!
MY CHOICE!
‘Catchy,’ said Holly drily, forcing herself awake properly. ‘Look, Mims, come inside and talk about this at least. You’re obviously upset, but I’m sure there’s been provision made. We’re all working on it, I promise you, but let’s at least get all the facts, before your blood pressure goes through the roof.’
‘But we’re going to protest,’ objected Mims, stepping aside to reveal a gaggle of pregnant women behind her in various states of undress and sleepiness, all of them clearly roused from their beds to rally to the call. Poor Emily Arden, due any day now, was leaning against the railings outside as though they were the only thing holding her, and her bump, upright.
Holly ushered them all into the kitchen, flicking the kettle on as she rootled around for peppermint tea and decaffeinated coffee.
‘Emily? Do you need a cushion? If you’d be comfier on the sofa, make yourself at home,’ she offered. ‘Anyone else? Water? Cushions? Gaviscon?’
Taffy wandered into the kitchen, yawning, wearing only his boxer shorts, and still smeared with stubborn streaks of colour from joining in the modern art fiesta at Lizzie’s the night before. He startled slightly at the panorama of bumps around his kitchen table. The volley of wolf whistles brought an embarrassed smile to his face. ‘Well, that’s one way to start the day,’ he said. ‘I suppose I’m overreaching to ask if you’ve saved me any breakfast?’ He beat a speedy retreat to find some clothes and could be heard warning Tom and Ben in the hallway that there was stiff competition for the bacon this morning.
Holly paused for a moment as her own pregnancy hormones made their own small protest, clearly thrown by the abrupt start to her day. Obviously the adrenalin had only kept her morning sickness at bay for so long. ‘Scuse me,’ she managed as she dashed from the room.
Ironically, there was something cathartic about hurling quite so prolifically and Holly returned to the room with a sharper sense of focus and a reasonable plan of action. She was delighted to find that Taffy had admitted defeat on restoring normality and was now churning out rounds of toast to order, her absence barely noted in the whirlwind of his breakfast efficiency.
‘I’ve been doing my research,’ Jemima was telling everyone emphatically. ‘This is just the beginning. So, if we want to take care of our families, then we have to take a stand!’
Holly didn’t like to say that half the women in the group looked utterly exhausted at the very prospect, and that standing around in this heat was categorically not what the doctor ordered.
‘And,’ continued Jemima furiously, clearly revved up, ‘I spoke to our esteemed town councillor, Malcolm, yesterday.’ Her words were dripping with disdain. ‘And all he could say was that the right people, who were in possession of all the facts, were making the decision. Said it wasn’t part of his “purview”.’ She shook her head disdainfully. ‘Smarmy little fucker.’
‘Little fucker,’ echoed Tom behind her, utterly thrilled with his new vocabulary.
‘Oh Tom,’ said Taffy smoothly, crouching down to look him in the eye, ‘if you’re old enough to swear, then you have to pronounce it properly.’ Tom nodded earnestly. ‘Smarmy little trucker!’ Taffy demonstrated.
‘Trucker, trucker, trucker!’ shouted Tom with glee as he ran out of the kitchen to share his new-found wisdom with his twin.
‘Dodged a bullet there at least,’ said Holly, shaking her head with a smile. ‘Look, I genuinely think that the weight of public opinion is vital, you know I do. But I’d also like to think that we can take a step back, to see what else we can productively do, before we go barrelling in unprepared. Knowledge is power, after all. And, I mean,’ she hesitated, frowning, unused to a placatory role when it came to standing up and being counted, ‘do you need to protest today?’
‘What are you suggesting we should wait for?’ asked Emily Arden from the depths of the sofa.
Holly shrugged. ‘I don’t really know. More information? A co-ordinated effort? Clouds?’
One or two of the ladies around the table nodded in agreement – this was obviously a knee-jerk reaction and, based on the fact that several of her guests this morning seemed to still be wearing their slippers, they probably wouldn’t mind a little more time to prepare.
‘No,’ said Jemima firmly, still clasping her placard incongruously, even as she sat at the kitchen table sipping peppermint tea. ‘Every day that Rosemore is closed is a day too long. Look at Emily!’ Everyone turned to stare at poor Emily, who promptly looked as though she wanted to disappear into the sofa cushions. ‘She’s fit to pop any day. It has to be today and it has to be all of us.’
‘How about a compromise?’ Holly suggested after a moment, her mind racing about how best to avoid all her pregnant patients being felled by heatstroke. ‘How about we head out to the Market Place before it gets too hot, and catch all the commuter traffic? How about we make a little video of the protest, featuring all the support you need, and then you ladies can take care of your health, while the video gets sent to all the news outlets, on message, and doing all your legwork for you?’ She looked at her watch. ‘If you want to get dressed and gather some warm bodies, we can meet you there in an hour? Give Taffy here half an hour with a camcorder and your work is done.’
There was a hushed excitement at the very suggestion; it was as though she had somehow stumbled upon exactly the right line to tread – protesting-lite for the pregnant lady. Nobody was complaining though.
Jemima stood up. ‘I’ll handle all the press releases and whatnot and the sending out – if you’re really happy to do this?’
‘I’ll even call the NCT co-ordinators for the region in case they want to send along their members,’ said Holly, mollified. ‘It’s a bit short notice, but get knocking on doors – you won’t be short of support.’
As the ladies hustled out into the street, Taffy stood behind her, watching them go, his arms cradled around her waist and his chin on her shoulder. ‘Is this your sneaky way of ignoring Harry Grant then?’ he asked quietly.
Holly sighed, knowing only too well that, in the past, it would have been her leading the charge. She couldn’t decide whether she liked this new status quo or not, but if there was one thing Mims was not short of, it was motivation. Standing down and waiting was all very well and good, but Mims made a valid point: even one day without cover was one day too many.
‘This is local though, just like Harry said. We’re just keeping the wheels turning, yes?’ Holly replied with a shrug, turning round to face him. ‘And when Harry can tell us more, then we’ll have more to work with. But at least we’re doing something.’
‘Okay then,’ said Taffy, kissing her forehead lovingly, knowing her well enough to realise there was little point in arguing. After all, there were but a handful of people in Larkford who knew how emotionally invested Holly was in these maternity cuts. Not that she herself would be off to Rosemore necessarily, more that it brought home so very clearly the notion of choice. After all, what could be more personal than choosing where to welcome the new addition to
your family? ‘Tell me what you need—’
There was no way that Holly could have foreseen the effect of her suggestion. Somehow, the spontaneity and earliness of the hour conveyed the urgency of the situation far better than weeks of campaigning and invitations might have done. By half past eight, the Market Place was heaving. Mothers and fathers on the school run pulled their cars over to join in. Large marker pens appeared from somewhere and soon people were taking it in turns to write slogans on each other’s t-shirts. ‘My Choice – My Baby’ was popular, although Holly couldn’t help but snort when she saw Teddy Kingsley’s offering – a somewhat more abrupt homage to Derek Landers: ‘$%@€ Off Walrus Face!’ Although to be fair, he’d also turned up with impromptu bacon butties and soft drinks from the pub, so he could be forgiven almost anything at this point.
Dan made his way through the crowd towards them. ‘This is genius. It’s like a flash mob!’
Holly spotted within seconds the way Taffy’s eyes lit up and she gently put a hand on his arm before he could even suggest it. ‘Let them have their moment, Taffs. These women deserve every second of recognition for pulling this together; don’t swamp the news cycle with you and Dan being silly buggers.’
Dan nodded. ‘Yeah, we can always do that later.’ He leaned in closely. ‘Anybody else think that Emily Arden looks a little off-colour?’ Before Holly could answer, Taffy and Dan split off in a chivalrous pincer movement to rescue poor Emily before her legs gave out entirely.
It gave Holly an incredibly proud moment to see them carrying her so sweetly over to a shady bench; a moment that also didn’t escape the stringer from the local press who seemed to have stumbled onto their protest more by accident than design, if the supermarket shopping bag banging against his leg was any indication.
Rupert Hallow appeared at Holly’s side, a mixture of concern and pride on his face. ‘I’m so sorry if this has put you guys on the spot rather, but there was just no talking to her.’
Holly smiled. ‘I’m actually delighted. It’s quite nice for somebody else to be leading the charge for a bit. I think I’m getting a reputation as a bit of a meddler.’
Rupert nodded. ‘Yeah, just awful having proactive doctors that care about their patients,’ he said drily.
Whatever he was going to say next was drowned out by his wife’s incredibly vocal rallying cry. In no time at all, she had all four generations of Larkford’s residents chanting in unison. This in itself was rare as hen’s teeth – possibly the one and only issue they could all jump on board with. Whether it was the Air Ambulance, the Maternity Unit at Rosemore, or indeed the incipient threat of what might be next, it was an oddly unifying moment.
Holly didn’t even realise she was crying until Rupert handed her his freshly pressed handkerchief. He sniffed. ‘It kind of gets you, doesn’t it, seeing Mims pull everyone together like that. She’s going to be a great mum.’ He wove his way through the crowd and plucked his pregnant wife off her feet, manfully swinging her around to cheers and applause, as he kissed her thoroughly.
Holly swallowed another happy sob as the emotions rolled over her, no longer in control at seeing her beloved community come together in yet another time of crisis. Even if this one happened to be bringing the Market Place to a halt during what passed for rush hour, as the cacophony of hooting delivery trucks grew louder on the outskirts of town, with no idea what was causing the hold-up.
‘Dr Graham!’ interrupted Gladys Jones, insistently tugging at her sleeve. ‘Help me out, love. I was too rushed to put in my hearing aid. What are we protesting about?’
Holly leaned down to the elderly lady amongst the crowd, making sure to keep the twins in sight. ‘It’s about the Maternity Unit,’ she said, enunciating every syllable, ‘closing it down.’
‘Quite right too,’ replied Gladys incredibly loudly. ‘Don’t want that kind of nonsense in the town.’
Holly paused. ‘Maternity?’
‘Yes! It’s the start of the rot,’ Gladys said firmly. ‘Those young men aren’t at university to party every night!’
Holly just smiled, unable to work out how on earth Gladys had any experience of the controversial new fraternities at the nearby university anyway. ‘Come on, Gladys,’ she said, offering her an arm. ‘Come and get a cold drink from Teddy and you can tell him all about it.’
‘You’d think old Gladys would have worked out where babies come from by now,’ sniffed Tom disparagingly, as they made their way through the crowd, causing a ripple of laughter to follow in their wake.
Chapter 21
Alice paused on the corner of her road that evening, strangely reluctant to head home just yet. The emotional ripples from the morning’s protest had stayed with her all day. And with her patients, come to that; there hadn’t been a single person to walk through her consulting-room door who hadn’t offered their support in some way and, as the number of photos and videos online began to gain momentum, it had been all anyone could talk about.
It went without saying that the picture of Taffy and Dan carrying poor Emily Arden had been the one to get the most retweets and shares, but then what’s not to like about two dishy doctors being chivalrous in the extreme? Even Tilly had managed to comment on that one, from another time zone . . .
Alice had never lived anywhere like this before; where your business was everybody’s business, or so it seemed.
She couldn’t quite work out how she felt about that either. Seeing everyone rally together behind Jemima and Emily and the rest of the newly anointed Preggie Protesters had been quite the eye-opener. People here cared. Perhaps it was the Cotswold equivalent of the South American communities that Tilly was always extolling?
Alice paused outside The Boutique On The Square, more out of habit than intent, squinting hopefully through the darkened windows and wondering whether a cathartic half-hour trying on designer jeans might be just the salve she was looking for. She felt disoriented and not a little claustrophobic.
Laughter and conversation caught her attention as Rupert the vet and his wife spilled out of The Deli, their paper sack of takeout food wafting its delicious aroma towards Alice as they passed. They waved, Jemima calling out her thanks for Alice’s earlier support.
Drawn to the idea of company, without company, she pushed open the door to The Deli and let her eyes travel along the shelves of delicacies. Maybe a little deli-picking would deal with the almost overwhelming urge to buy something, anything really. Hattie waved a friendly hello from behind the counter, where she ladled out casserole for Marion Waverly, with precise instructions for how best to reheat it later. Watching Marion hand over a crisp ten-pound note caused Alice a flicker of guilt. She tried not to think about the effect customers like herself had on a small business’s cash flow. But then, she justified, they had offered her the option to run a pay-day tab . . .
‘Alice!’ said Hattie, as Marion left with a wave and Alice studied a jar of puttanesca sauce. ‘I know it’s out of hours, and I hope you don’t mind, but can I ask you about teething? My twins are getting their molars through and seem to do nothing but grizzle. They’re driving me nuts, to be honest.’
Alice put down the jar and saw that Hattie wasn’t kidding; she looked tired, drawn and thoroughly pissed off at the thought of another sleepless night. ‘Well,’ she said slowly, feeling oddly touched that Hattie would ask her, child-free and off-duty. It almost felt as though they were becoming, well, friends. ‘If you’ve tried the gel and it doesn’t do the trick, there’s some little sachets of homeopathic powder that work wonders—’ Alice looked around The Deli for a moment and dropped her voice. ‘Although to be fair, I grew up in Scotland, where everyone just rubbed a drop of whisky on their gums. Works a treat, with the added bonus that they sleep like a dream. But you did NOT hear that from me.’
Hattie laughed, instantly looking five years younger. ‘And now you come to mention it, I think my teeth are a little sore as well.’
The bell above the door chimed and they both looked
up to see Grace, who had abandoned all pretence at her usual calm composure and was looking flustered and decidedly pink. ‘I give up,’ she announced to Hattie. ‘I’ve got nothing to wear and I’ve just heard that the High Commissioner is on the bloody guest list!’
‘Crikey,’ said Hattie with feeling. She turned to Alice, sweetly bringing her up to speed on whatever drama was unfolding. ‘Grace is going on a date with a hunky pilot, but it’s black-tie and she’s wigging out.’
‘It’s not a date!’ Grace protested, snaffling one of the individual biscotti from the counter, without bothering with the accompanying espresso. ‘Is it, Alice? Tell her.’
Hattie grinned. ‘Yes, do let’s get Alice’s take on this. She can be the tie-breaker. So, gorgeous Chris Virtue called earlier on to invite Grace to be his plus-one at the Regional Air Ambulance Dinner. He says,’ she couldn’t help but smile, ‘that it’s to give Grace a chance to meet the movers and shakers and see behind the scenes. But you’ll note that he hasn’t extended the same invitation to Dan. Presumably, because he doesn’t look so fetching in a silk evening dress as our Gracie—’
‘Oh you do talk rot,’ cut in Grace.
‘Although Dan has got lovely legs,’ Alice mused deliberately, loving their easy banter.
‘It’s not a date, because it’s a work do,’ Grace said firmly. ‘But that doesn’t mean I can’t look nice.’
‘I think he likes you,’ said Hattie in a singsong voice designed to torment.
‘But does he have to like me in “cocktail attire”?’ Grace said peevishly. ‘I think Alice here should go instead. I’ve been trying to introduce them for ages. He’s really very lovely and you’ve no shortage of fancy frocks.’
‘Ooh,’ said Hattie, instantly intrigued, ‘waste not want not—’
Alice was distracted for a moment, uncomfortable in the extreme at the very suggestion, and hardly heard the words around her, until Hattie repeated her name.