by Penny Parkes
Julia had the right idea, she thought, having opened a gushing email only last night about her plans to adopt a Ugandan baby – the email had come complete with a photo of Julia herself, all bright eyes, burnished skin, and not a dent in her perfect, untrammelled physique. She really was on track to become the next Angelina Jolie, Holly thought, tugging at her ever-tightening waistband and thinking of the glorious apartment Julia now owned overlooking the shores of Lake Geneva and of her growing role as humanitarian superstar.
Holly tripped on a Nerf gun as she made her way through the hallway, giving it a hearty kick for good measure. All of this clutter and crap brought to her in less than two hours, she realised. She was only grateful that Elsie wasn’t here to see it, in case it gave her second thoughts about the house.
The House . . . For surely it deserved a capital letter in her mind.
It had become all Holly could think about in the wee small hours last night. Focusing on the prospect of a family home with room to breathe had certainly been better than worrying about Grace. Or Dan. Or Dan’s expression when he’d said the words ‘maternity leave’.
Holly cast one last glance around the gloomy hallway and pushed open the front door to allow the light to flood in. She couldn’t help but feel that Elsie was fast becoming her guardian angel – the prospect of another set of twins all the more exciting for knowing she wouldn’t be raising them here. It was as though the stars were aligning to make this pregnancy a joy rather than a strain. It was amazing what a fundamental difference that feeling of support made to Holly’s state of mind.
Even as she walked through the streets of Larkford, the sun seemed a little brighter, the sky a little bluer, the heat haze already shimmering over the valley. Her focus was singular. Cutbacks, auctions, abusive patients all consigned to the back of her mind, as the smile spread across her face. By Christmas-time, she’d be pushing a double pram along these selfsame streets, Taffy and the boys at her side, and coming home to this—
She stood in front of Elsie’s townhouse, its pastel façade in direct contrast to its funky front door. Could she truly be fortunate enough to call this home?
‘Only me!’ she called, as she made her way through to the kitchen at the back of the house.
Elsie lay on a chaise longue, a silk dressing gown swathed around her and an eye mask draped across her face. She waved a hand in greeting. ‘Do me a favour and make me a Virgin Bloody Mary, would you? Maybe I can trick my mind into imagining the vodka.’
Holly did as she was bid on autopilot. ‘You okay there, Elsie? Bad night?’ It was something she hadn’t really stopped to consider for her feisty friend – God knows the heat was affecting a lot of her elderly patients; she just hadn’t thought to put Elsie in that category.
‘Oh the night was fine,’ said Elsie with a filthy laugh, flinging her eye mask across the room. ‘That young physio chappie does fuel the imagination, I’m finding. It’s the morning that’s gone to pot.’ She swung her legs around and sat up stretching, surprisingly limber of late. ‘Harriet popped in again at sparrow’s fart. Inconsiderate girl. Just because she has jetlag doesn’t mean I want visitors at 6 a.m.!’
‘Is she making life difficult?’ Holly asked sympathetically, handing over her drink, an acid-green stick of celery slicing through the lurid red tomato juice. ‘Maybe she really is just worried about you?’
Elsie snorted unattractively. ‘Oh my darling girl, your naïvety knows no bounds.’ She cast a hand towards the kitchen table, where a number of brochures were skewed across its surface; brochures for low-rent retirement communities in every sense of the word. ‘Harriet has been doing a little research on my behalf.’
Holly was aghast; some of these places looked bordering on the institutional. Nobody who had ever exchanged more than three words with Elsie would deem them suitable. ‘Stay here then,’ she blurted out, the shock eclipsing any thought of her own situation. ‘If it’s ruffling so many feathers. Forget Sarandon Hall and stay at home.’
Elsie shook her head. ‘Ah, but it’s not my home any more, sweetheart. It’s yours. Your baby needs light and love and space to move around without tripping over an arsenal of toys.’ She raised an eyebrow at Holly’s shocked expression. ‘Just because I don’t comment, darling, doesn’t mean I don’t notice.’
‘Oh,’ said Holly succinctly.
‘The situation with Harriet does require a little thought, I’ll grant you. But I promise you this, it won’t be me, or you for that matter, making the compromises. Now, are you going to keep me on tenterhooks about your scan? Do we have a firm date? I have all your wedding arrangements positively poised for the get-go.’
Holly reached into her handbag and wordlessly passed Elsie the printed screenshot showing beautifully the two babies nestled together. They say a picture is worth a thousand words and Holly held her breath as she waited for Elsie’s reaction.
Elsie blinked, held the photo at arm’s length and squinted. ‘Am I missing something, Holly? You appear to have a litter of puppies on the way.’ She tilted her head to get a better angle. ‘Two babies, darling?’
Holly nodded, partially holding her breath; Elsie’s opinion was so incredibly important to her.
Elsie raised her glass into the air, her eyes shining. ‘Well this changes everything,’ she said. She patted the seat beside her. ‘Come and tell me all about it. I may not be medically trained, but there appears to be a distinct lack of penises in this picture – are you saying I’ll have two little girls to take to the ballet next Christmas?’
Holly smiled. ‘Well, technically, you can take them this Christmas but they’ll be fresh from the oven. And we’re really not sure if they’re girls or boys – they were both frustratingly shy.’
‘Well, boys can enjoy the ballet too – I’ll have no bias, thank you very much.’ Elsie stared at the scan once more. ‘Your dates . . .?’
‘All quite wrong,’ said Holly happily. ‘I’m just over sixteen weeks gone already.’
‘Not, in fact, a treehouse baby then?’ Elsie clarified.
Holly shook her head. ‘Nope, just two regular babies. Who knows when they first made an appearance – it’s not as though we were planning it this way round.’
They both paused, unwilling to bring up the spectre of the wedding. The dates, the multiplying factor, the prospect of a house-move – it was as though everything was conspiring against Elsie’s bucolic vision of matrimonial perfection.
‘Hmm,’ said Elsie after a moment. ‘Well I think we can forget a corseted dress, don’t you?’ She looked at Holly, waiting for some sign that she had a plan for this contingency.
Holly’s awkward hesitation, however, spoke volumes as they held each other’s gaze.
‘But wouldn’t you rather be married?’ Elsie ventured. ‘What if you’re all bloated and shouty and hormonal? Isn’t it better to get the legal “I do” in place?’ she said, in one last-ditch attempt to convince Holly to go ahead with their plans, any plans.
‘I don’t think he’s going to change his mind,’ Holly said gently, affection laced into her every word. ‘We’re building a family and a life together. And in many ways, that’s more important than one day. A day that can easily wait until next year.’
Elsie looked instantly chastened. ‘You’re absolutely right. I deserve to be shot.’ She took Holly’s hands in her own, the left one still struggling to take a grip even after all these months of physio. ‘Congratulations, darling. Twins! I couldn’t be more thrilled for you both. Taffy will be wonderful, attentive and generally fabulous. You will be serene and beautiful throughout, even when you look like a Zeppelin. I have no doubt.’
‘And I am sorry,’ continued Holly sincerely. ‘I know how much effort and energy you’ve invested in our wedding, but I happen to remember how stressful weddings can be from the first time around and I’m not doing anything that would put these little monkeys at risk. My blood pressure tends to have delusions of social climbing when I’m pregnant anyway.’
Elsie looked duly contrite. ‘I didn’t think of that.’
Holly shrugged. ‘I’m probably just playing it safe.’
‘Well, why wouldn’t you?’ Elsie said with feeling, leaning in to kiss her cheek. ‘That’s precious cargo you’ve got there.’ She was, of course, the consummate actress, but on this occasion, even Elsie was unable to disguise the whisper of disappointment behind her congratulatory smiles. ‘I guess I’m all out of excuses not to help out with the bloody Flower Festival now, though. I’ve half a mind to take you down with me, Holly – if it weren’t for your reputation of being a plant murderer.’
As she worked through her list of patients later that morning, Holly felt the relief of having finally had that conversation with Elsie and, perhaps more importantly, that Elsie had seemingly come around to the idea. Sure, there was a frisson of guilt that she was taking Elsie’s longevity for granted – it had been the unspoken comment in the room. How easy it was to put things off until next year, when the concept of next year was a given.
Holly turned her attention to Percy Lawson, lying on her treatment couch and stubbornly refusing to give her the full story.
‘You don’t have to tell me, Percy,’ said Holly tiredly, as she gingerly applied an antiseptic solution to his legs, ‘but it would be really helpful to know just how you did so much damage to yourself.’ She swallowed another wave of nausea as she took in the carnage on the treatment couch in front of her.
Percy just looked shifty and embarrassed. And it took quite a lot to embarrass Larkford’s resident adrenalin junkie; his ineptitude had long been legendary. Whatever he’d been up to this time, both of his knees and shins were virtually skinned to the raw and the angry areas of flesh that survived were discoloured and lividly inflamed.
‘If you came off your motorbike,’ Holly persisted, ‘then I need to take extra precautions to make sure there’s no gravel or tarmac lurking in the wound. The last thing you want is for an area this large to get infected.’ Even as she said the word, her stomach heaved in protest.
Was it psychosomatic, she wondered, but ever since she’d discovered she was expecting twins, she had felt doubly sick and doubly exhausted. Or had the scan results simply given her permission to stop pushing on through the worst of it, putting on a brave face that sapped her energy even more? Maybe now was the time to admit that she might need to start taking it easy? After all, she reasoned, stifling a yawn, she was four months pregnant already – nearly halfway through growing two people.
‘I don’t have the motorbike any more,’ Percy confessed petulantly. ‘I had a little, erm, incident with it and the insurance people thought it was better just to write it off.’
‘Maybe not such a little incident then,’ Holly said gently, quietly breathing a sigh of relief that Percy and his red BMW bullet would no longer be terrorising the streets of Larkford; the man was a liability.
‘Still, all’s well that ends well, because they sent me a cheque and I went bungee-jumping in Australia instead. Bit of white water rafting. Bit of scuba.’ He frowned. ‘For some reason they wouldn’t let me do the base jumping I had planned. Something about a risk assessment? But anyway, it was a fabulous trip. I just need to save up for the next one now.’ He winced yet again as Holly ministered to his wounds, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the treatment couch, but not uttering a word of complaint.
‘So,’ Holly prompted, ‘how did you get your legs in such a state?’
‘I was trying to make a bit of cash,’ he confessed in the end. ‘Did you know a decent treadmill montage on YouTube can make you megabucks? But it has to be new and fresh. You know, daring.’
‘Right,’ said Holly, struggling to comprehend why someone would risk life and limb, apparently, for a few clicks online. ‘Should I even ask?’
Percy shrugged, his face beginning to gain a greyish pallor that told Holly the adrenalin was wearing off and the pain was kicking in. ‘You know how you can bounce a mountain bike on its back wheel? Well, if you do that on a treadmill then—’ He waved his hand at his mangled legs.
‘Jesus,’ sighed Holly. ‘You do know you’re a liability, don’t you, Percy? At this rate, we ought to send you on a health and safety risk assessment course!’
‘No need,’ said Percy. ‘I can weigh up the cost-benefit of every stunt myself.’ He exhaled sharply as Holly began to dress his injuries, layering gauze to keep the antiseptic in situ.
She wobbled for a moment, her face matching Percy’s in an attractive shade of apple-white. ‘Give me a sec,’ she said, turning away to slowly sip some water and willing the queasiness to pass. ‘You know, if this had been only fractionally worse, I’d have been referring you to the hospital. They might even have wanted to do some skin grafts – this kind of friction burn is almost as destructive as an actual burn.’ She struggled to put this in a way that would limit Percy’s thrill-seeking: ‘They would have taken skin off your backside to patch your legs.’
She felt a small moment of relief that something she had said had got through to him, as an expression of revulsion flickered across his face. He cautiously swung his feet off the couch and lowered them towards the floor. ‘Okay, point taken,’ he said, clearly annoyed. ‘Now while I’m here, Doc, can you do me a favour and whip off my sock? Since I got back from my trip, I have a sneaking suspicion there’s a fungus among us.’ He grinned his best little-boy-innocent smile. ‘My girlfriend reckons my athlete’s foot is the only truly sporty thing about me.’
Holly gently pulled off his hi-tech, super-wicking, extra-outdoorsy sock and gagged instantly. ‘Percy, if you got back from Australia a week ago, how on earth can you have missed the fact that there’s sea urchin embedded in your foot?’ she exclaimed.
Professional courtesy be damned, Holly clamped her hand over her mouth and dashed from the room, only just making it to the ladies’ before the sickness caught up with her. It was all very well saying she could carry on business as usual, but even her resolute control of her hormones was not designed to cope with the onslaught that was Percy Lawson.
Chapter 36
Alice pushed her hands deeper into her pockets and watched as Coco looped the loop around the ancient horse chestnut trees in the Larkford parkland the next morning. At this hour, even the hardiest of the local dog walkers were probably still tucked up in bed. It was definitely worth the extra resolve to get out of bed just to have such a magnificent space all to herself, she decided, even as an enormous yawn ambushed her.
She needed time to think, space to find some clarity – and with the best will in the world, her terraced cottage would never qualify as spacious, even without all her boxes. And therein lay the cause of her bad mood that morning. She’d woken to the dawn chorus and lain in bed mentally cataloguing the boxes in her bedroom, then in her euphemistically named ‘dressing room’ – even though there wasn’t even enough room to put on a pair of trousers in there without causing a tsunami of accessories.
Jamie’s absolute faith in her and his willingness to stand beside her in the negotiations about Coco had certainly given her pause; it was a long time since anyone had given her such cause for self-reflection. Sure, Tilly liked to tease and prod her into action occasionally, but there was never a moment where Alice felt that their friendship was in jeopardy if she didn’t take action.
With Jamie, she was navigating different waters.
How could he possibly look at her with such trust and affection if he knew the truth, thought Alice, as she threw Coco’s tennis ball unnecessarily hard. But more than that – more than wanting his good opinion of her – his faith had given her the resolve to make some changes.
As the sun began to filter through the foliage above her, creating stripes of light and shade, Alice breathed out slowly. This parkland was her favourite place in the world right now and it didn’t feel right to contaminate it with her bad mood. She stood under the largest and presumably oldest of the horse chestnuts and ran her fingers over the crumbling bark.
How long had this tree been hearing the joys and woes of Larkford’s residents, she wondered, feeling comforted at the very thought.
‘I see I’m not the only one confiding in the trees these days,’ Grace said quietly as she ambled towards her, Noodle and Doodle straining at their leads. ‘It always seems such a shame that they can’t talk back.’ Grace was pale and the bruise on her face now bloomed in Technicolor.
‘Morning,’ said Alice, blushing lightly at having been caught ranting at the trees. ‘I thought you’d be having a lie-in.’
Grace shrugged. ‘I was too tired to sleep, if that makes sense?’ She hesitated and that flicker of hesitation told Alice the real story. No doubt nightmares had been her constant companion since the attack, even with Noodle and Doodle at her side.
‘You know, I still keep hoping these trees will come up with the answers . . .’ She deliberately let the idea float. Somehow it felt incredibly important to Alice in that moment that Grace realised she wasn’t alone in her fight with the nightly vigil of insomnia, even if she didn’t know how to say it.
As the dogs circled and played around them, Alice and Grace both leaned back against the sturdy tree trunk. ‘I’ve spent so much time with Mr Google at night in the last week, it might just mean we’re in a committed relationship,’ Grace confessed.
Alice smiled. ‘Even if it does, it wouldn’t last. Can you imagine going out with such a know-it-all?’
Grace laughed, the sound echoing under the branches, and seemingly giving them both a lift. ‘All information, no application,’ she mused. ‘He’d just be suggesting recipes for fancy food with no intention of mucking in.’
‘Or washing up,’ Alice joined in.
‘Bastard,’ said Grace with feeling.
‘Cut him loose,’ agreed Alice, ‘before it goes too far.’
‘But he’s excellent company at two a.m., right?’ Grace said astutely, clearly one of the very few in Larkford not to fall for the competent image of Alice that she normally worked so hard to portray.