What Holly's Husband Did: A laugh out loud romantic comedy with a twist!

by Debbie Viggiano

  ‘How amazing,’ gushed Simon.

  ‘How fast can they run?’ I asked.

  ‘Almost thirty miles per hour,’ said Jack.

  ‘I think I would just faint clean away,’ said Simon, swooning, and once again clutching Jack’s arm. If Jack minded, he didn’t show it, unlike my husband who was tutting with disproval every time Simon flirted outrageously with Jack.

  ‘Yeah, I did feel somewhat unsettled when one of the hippos broke into a jog and entered the water. He proceeded to stick just his eyes above the surface and was watching me intently. I had to pay close attention to my surroundings. It wasn’t a comfortable ride.’

  ‘Would you say it was the most frightening thing you’ve ever done?’ Simon simpered.

  ‘Without a doubt,’ Jack nodded. ‘Scarier than sky-diving. Scarier than swimming with whale-sharks. Scarier than volcano boarding.’

  I boggled into my roast beef. At what point had nerdy Jack become Action Man?

  ‘I remember being scared when I went skiing,’ I said.

  ‘Black run?’ asked Jack, sympathetically.

  ‘Er, no. It was a school trip to a dry slope. But my ski fell off and I was terrified.’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake, Holly,’ said Simon, ‘it’s hardly in the same vein as Jack with his circling sharks, charging hippos and crocodiles snapping their jaws of death.’

  ‘Talking of jaws,’ said Jack kindly, ‘I gather you’re a dental nurse.’

  ‘Holly works for me,’ said Alex, interrupting. ‘I have my own practice.’

  ‘Impressive,’ said Jack. ‘You know, I’m long overdue for a check-up. Despite kayaking with fearsome beasts, nothing terrifies me more than a visit to the dentist.’

  ‘Surely not,’ said Alex, laughing. ‘Come and see me first thing tomorrow morning, before the patient list starts. My surgery prides itself on excellent chairside manner, and my wife will look after you.’

  ‘Thanks. I will. But I warn you now, Holly, you’re dealing with a coward.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said cheerfully, ‘I’m happy for you to hold my hand.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Jack, winking, and holding my gaze for slightly longer than was necessary. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

  22

  ‘Your brother is outrageous,’ Alex seethed, on the drive home. ‘Much as I love your parents, Holly, I do wish they’d take Simon to one side and tell him to tone down his behaviour.’

  ‘That will never happen, and anyway, he’s not that bad.’

  ‘I disagree. He’s rude, and he uses his sexuality to be uncouth. All that touching Jack’s arm and leg, and then talking about how he likes to handle trouser snakes. Disgusting. Goodness only knows what Aunty Shirley thought.’

  ‘Aunty Shirley was laughing!’ I protested. ‘She’s not as stuffy as you think. She really likes Simon and thinks he’s funny.’

  ‘Well I don’t. And thank goodness Sophie wasn’t there. I’d have ended up having words with your brother if he’d spoken like that in front of our daughter. Bad example.’

  I sighed and looked out of the window. There was no reasoning with Alex when he was in one of his moods about Simon.

  ‘That reminds me,’ I said, ‘we’re picking Sophie up on the way home. Can you detour past Tabitha’s house? I have the postcode.’ I leant forward and activated the car’s Satnav.

  ‘Terrific,’ Alex tutted, as the voice activation told us to proceed five miles along the road, ‘let us now drive out of our way to top off an irritating day.’ He tutted again.

  ‘You’re starting to sound like Skippy the kangaroo.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Oh never mind,’ I tutted. Might as well join in.

  For the next five minutes we drove on in silence.

  ‘Who is Tabitha?’ Alex eventually asked.

  ‘One of Sophie’s wannabe best mates. She’s apparently one of the class’s cool kids.’

  ‘And what, pray tell, is so cool about Tabitha?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’

  Ten minutes later I had a sneaking idea why everyone wanted to be like Tabitha. We pulled in on a gravel drive that led to an enormous contemporary-looking house that seemed to be made almost entirely of glass. I could see straight through to the rear garden, which looked like a manicured park, complete with swimming pool covered by a clear dome. The front door was answered by Miss Popular herself, a vision in full make-up and short skirt and looking at least six years older than her tender fourteen years. Good God. I wasn’t sure I wanted Sophie emulating Tabitha. I’d much prefer my teen to look her age, complete with spots and a slick of puppy fat. Sophie appeared seconds later, and was beaming widely.

  ‘Hi,’ said Tabitha, with all the poise and assurance of someone much older than her years. ‘I think my mum wants a word with you, Mrs Hart.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ I said in surprise, as a slightly older model of Tabitha appeared in the hallway, her face lighting up as if she’d known me for years, rather than ignoring me at the school gates as one of the lesser mothers who never looked like that woman in the perfume commercial and, even worse, drove a dirty car.

  ‘So lovely to see you, Holly!’ she beamed. ‘Izzy,’ she quickly added, realising that I didn’t know her name.

  ‘And, er, you too, Izzy,’ I nodded. ‘Thank you for having Sophie. Very kind of you.’

  ‘An absolute pleasure. Anytime. Lovely girl,’ she gushed, ‘a real credit to you, and a wonderful influence on Tabs.’

  I glowed from all the compliments about my teen, and noticed Sophie was also pink with pleasure.

  ‘Now I wanted to see you before you drove off.’ Izzy looked furtively at the car where Alex was sitting impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘It’s about,’ she dropped her voice an octave, ‘the party.’

  I stared at her, clueless as to what she was talking about. And then realisation dawned. She was having a party. Oh wow, and she wanted to invite me! I was going to be allowed access into the clique of glamorous mothers Izzy consorted with. For a moment I felt quite heady and had a flash of insight into how flattered my daughter must feel that Tabitha deigned to hang out with her.

  ‘How marvellous,’ I purred. ‘We’d be delighted.’ I presumed my husband was included. ‘Where and when is it?’

  ‘Well that’s what I wanted to ask you,’ said Izzy chummily.

  I stared at her in confusion, then glanced at Sophie for a clue as to what Tabitha’s mother was talking about. It was then that I noticed my daughter was no longer pink with pleasure, rather red with embarrassment. The penny dropped.

  ‘Do you mean my husband’s surprise fortieth birthday party?’

  ‘But of course,’ Izzy laughed, ‘it’s so good of you to invite us all.’

  ‘B-but, it’s just a small event, you know, immediate family and a few friends—’

  ‘Hey,’ Izzy put a hand on my arm, stopping me in mid-flow. She opened her eyes wide and adopted a reassuring tone. ‘We may look grand, but we really don’t mind a small event. Nothing wrong with that at all. So where do we go?’

  ‘The golf club,’ I said faintly.

  ‘Ah, never mind,’ said Izzy, for all the world as if I’d just said it was taking place at the local village hall with galloping rising damp. ‘I’m sure your hubby will be thrilled nonetheless.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, dazed, ‘It’s the thought that counts.’

  ‘Super. I’ll let the others know and we’ll see you there!’

  Sensing dismissal from a higher being, I turned and walked back to the car, leaving Sophie and Tabitha to hug each other good-bye. I’d have to talk to Jeanie and Caro about Izzy whatever-her-name-was. See what tips they had for deflecting the Mummy Mafia from coming to the party of a man they didn’t know from Adam.

  Behind me, I heard Sophie’s feet scampering across the gravel as she caught up with me.

  ‘Mum, I’m so sorry, she just assumed that she and her friends were invited because Tabitha a
nd my other new friends were coming. I didn’t know what to say, so I bottled out and left it to you.’

  ‘And now I’ve wimped out too,’ I said, smiling ruefully at her anxious face. ‘Perhaps they won’t come. After all,’ I said, adopting a naff accent, ‘it’s only at the golf club, innit.’

  23

  The following morning, I was up extra early so I could luxuriate in front of the mirror carefully applying make-up. I then whizzed Rupert up the lane for such a fast walk we must have looked like a speeded-up film. Back home, I returned to the mirror, this time to flat-iron the frizz out of my hair. There was something about a silky mane waterfalling over the shoulders that looked so seductive, and today that was how I wanted to appear – even if the first official patient of the day was Mr Simms who had terrible gingivitis and halitosis to rival Rupert’s.

  ‘You look nice, Mum,’ said Sophie, wandering into my bedroom. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Only to work,’ I said, ultra-casually.

  ‘You don’t usually bother to glam up for Dad’s patients.’

  Ah, but it depended on who the patient was.

  ‘I know. But today,’ I shrugged carelessly, ‘I thought I’d make a bit of an effort.’

  ‘You don’t fool me. I know the reason for this,’ she said, picking up a lock of my hair and letting it slip through her fingers.

  I reddened. ‘I’m doing it for me!’

  ‘Oh come off it, Mum,’ Sophie scoffed, ‘apart from anything else you’ve gone the same colour as our front door.’ Bugger. Had Alex mentioned Jack to Sophie? Had he happened to say, in passing, that my godmother’s son was Hollywood handsome, and this morning the man himself was gracing the surgery for a dental check-up? ‘It’s because of Tabitha’s mother, right?’

  I looked at my daughter blankly. ‘Izzy?’

  ‘Yes. It’s because she’s super pretty and mega trendy, and yesterday she made you feel like one of Dad’s old slippers. Worn out. And smelly,’ she added, as she watched me liberally spraying myself in perfume that was usually only worn on special occasions.

  I mentally sighed with relief. ‘Ha ha,’ I laughed, ‘you’re right. You’ve sussed me out!’

  ‘You’re so transparent, Mum,’ Sophie grinned. ‘And you look really nice, by the way.’

  ‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ I said, touched.

  ‘Not as gorgeous as Izzy, but keep practicing. You should try using an eyebrow pencil too. Do you want to borrow mine? It would frame your face and bring harmony to your features. Your brows are very sparse and need some definition.’

  Since when had my daughter been buying eyebrow pencils? Zoella had a lot to answer for.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘but make it quick. I need to get a wiggle on.’

  ‘Don’t rush it, Mum,’ said Sophie. ‘You need a steady hand.’

  ‘Right. Are you nearly ready for me to take you to school? I’m sorry, but you’re going to be a bit earlier than usual. Dad wants to squeeze in a new patient before the list gets underway. It’s Aunty Shirley’s son, actually. Jack,’ I quavered. If Sophie noticed the tremor in my voice, she made no comment.

  ‘You don’t need to run me to school this morning,’ said Sophie, colouring up slightly but sounding very chipper, ‘because Tabitha’s mum is taking me.’

  ‘Is she?’ I frowned. Right. No doubt come to see what the Harts’ house looked like, and whether it was posh enough to permit entrance to the yummy-mummy elite club. Izzy was going to be disappointed.

  Sophie skipped off to get the eyebrow pencil, oblivious to school politics and parental one-upmanship.

  ‘Want me to do it for you?’ she asked, returning with the pencil.

  ‘I’ll manage, thanks.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it.’

  Five minutes later, I had a pair of eyebrows that made Cara Delevingne’s look moth-eaten. Wow. Go me.

  ‘Are you ready, Holly?’ Alex called up the stairs. ‘I can’t afford to be late.’

  ‘Coming!’ I grabbed my handbag and skipped along the landing, just as Sophie had earlier. I felt like a new woman, and all thanks to an eyebrow pencil. I wondered if it might do the same for Alex. Put some led in his pencil, so to speak. ‘Bye, Sophie,’ I called, ‘don’t forget to lock up on your way out.’ I heard a grunt of acknowledgement by way of response. Ramming my feet into shoes, I hastened joyfully after Alex, throwing myself into the passenger seat with – it had to be said – far too much enthusiasm for a Monday morning session with grumpy members of the public.

  ‘I don’t want to spend too much time on Jack,’ said Alex, as he floored the accelerator. ‘If he needs treatment, I’ll work out a quick dental plan and leave you to go through the price options.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said lightly, my heart already quickening at the mention of Jack’s name. I instantly felt guilty. But then I thought of Annabelle Huntingdon-Smyth, and wondered whether Alex had joyfully skipped off to the surgery, full of delicious anticipation at seeing such a beautiful woman as he snapped on his gloves, planted his feet wide and huskily said, “Right, shall we get down to it?” No, actually I wouldn’t feel guilty. Jack was just… well, Jack. He was still the same nerdy Jack. Just all grown up now. And there was no harm in admiring a drop-dead gorgeous guy, was there? It was no different to Alex appreciating Annabelle’s loveliness, or Sophie having a girl-crush on Tabitha. It didn’t mean anything.

  Leaving Alex to fetch his briefcase and a bag of clean scrubs from the boot of the car, I went ahead, sweeping into Reception with new-found confidence and poise. Jack hadn’t arrived yet, and the waiting room was empty. Jenny, the receptionist, was simultaneously switching on her computer and listening to answering machine messages. She looked up as I came through the door.

  ‘Good morning,’ I trilled.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Hart,’ she said formally.

  She never called me by my Christian name, preferring to keep things professionally chilly, although she was quite happy to call Alex by his first name and flutter her eyelashes whilst doing so. Our dislike for each other was mutual. I nipped into the Ladies, ready to change into my scrubs. As the door closed after me, a snort of laughter followed in my wake. I ignored her. Anybody who resorted to sniggering needed to go back to the playground. Some women, like Jenny, just never grew up.

  Emerging from the cloakroom, I went into my husband’s surgery and began setting out instruments. Alex walked in a minute later, now wearing his own scrubs, and I was thrilled to see Jack was with him too. However, this time I was prepared for my body’s knee-jerk reaction to Aunty Shirley’s son. Oh yes, indeed. Today there would be no foolish clumsiness. No dropping things or knocking stuff over. Instead, Jack would see a woman in her prime. Confident. Poised. Efficient. Indispensable, and downright glamorous with it.

  ‘Well, hello,’ I said, sounding like a female version of Leslie Phillips. Steady, Holly. You’ll be saying ‘ding-dong’ next. I cleared my throat. ‘Lovely to see you again, Jack. Do take a seat.’ I indicated the dental chair.

  ‘Hey there,’ said Jack, raising his eyebrows. Was that some sort of secret communication? I raised mine enquiringly. He lowered his and grinned. ‘Don’t forget you’ve got to hold my hand.’

  ‘Yes,’ I squeaked, composure slipping for a moment. I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘I’d be delighted to.’ Hell, now I sounded like Jessica Rabbit. I gave another little cough.

  ‘Are you all right, Holly?’ asked Alex, turning to me. ‘Do you need a glass of wat— Good God!’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said quickly, picking up his loupes and slipping them over his nose. ‘Are you okay… the cough?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said crisply, now sounding like I’d sprayed my tonsils with laundry starch. I turned to Jack. ‘Let me put these on your face.’ I popped some goggles over Jack’s very perfect straight nose. ‘And this goes around the neck,’ I said, tucking a bib under his chin. He was sporting designer stubble this morning. Lovely. Very… r
ugged.

  ‘Thank you,’ Jack whispered.

  Why was he whispering? ‘Feeling okay?’

  ‘Just a bit nervous,’ he said, reaching for my hand.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ I assured, as his warm fingers encircled mine. I wasn’t sure I would be though; his touch was making parts of my body sparkle like never before. I momentarily clung on to the rinse basin with my free hand in order to steady myself. ‘Just remember, it’s only a check-up.’

  I peered at him. Was it my imagination, or was he turning the colour of putty?’

  ‘Now then, Jack,’ said Alex, coming over. ‘Nothing to worry about. Open wide.’ Alex pulled the overhead light down, as Jack obliged and opened his mouth.

  ‘Oh that’s brilliant,’ I said, stroking Jack’s hand. I wasn’t entirely sure if that was ethical, so I stopped. ‘You’re doing really well.’

  ‘No he’s not,’ said Alex.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘He’s passed out! Oh, for goodness sake,’ said Alex irritably, ‘I thought the man was a doctor.’

  ‘He is a doctor!’ I cried, ‘but even surgeons can have phobias. Do something, Alex!’ ‘Can you stop panicking, Holly?’

  ‘Panicking? Me? What if he dies? Oh God, he’s choking, he’s choking, listen to the noise he’s making,’ I gabbled, as an unconscious Jack emitted sounds like a hissing coffee percolator.

  ‘His tongue has rolled to the back of his throat,’ said Alex, sliding two hands either side of Jack’s jaw, and lifting him so his airway cleared. ‘He’ll come to in a minute.’ Alex reclined the chair so Jack was completely horizontal, and then used a foot button to slowly elevate his legs. ‘Loosen his clothing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We need to increase blood supply to the brain so it gets more oxygen.’

  ‘Right, loosen clothing, loosen clothing,’ I repeated, hands fluttering about. I could feel myself breaking out in a sweat, indeed my whole forehead was damp as I unbuckled Jack’s trouser belt and, averting my eyes heavenwards, reached for his zipper.