Out of Practice (19 page)

‘Marion, did I ever tell you, you’re an angel?’ Holly smiled.

‘Once or twice,’ she whispered conspiratorially, ‘but to be honest I can never hear it enough. Besides, life’s hard as it is without inviting the aggravation in –
don’t give that Cassie the satisfaction, I say. Anyway, I’m just grateful you haven’t gone over to the internet shopping, like so many of the mums round here. I know it’s
easier with the little ones, but we do miss their business.’

Holly said nothing. Only thirty seconds before, she’d been cursing herself for not being more organised and getting their life delivered in a van like everyone else. Now she felt as though
shopping locally was one more thing on her list of Things To Do To Fit In With The Locals.

‘Anyway, must dash. I’ve got the mother-in-law coming for lunch . . .’ She let that one trail off, and gave a brief wave to both Marion and Cassie before quickly slipping the
boys out of their trolley harness and into the Beast, which was now festooned with bags of shopping. ‘Bye . . . and thank you,’ she called, as she made her escape into the morning
sunshine.

She almost collided with the Major as he made his regular Sunday visit to collect his newspapers. ‘Oh God, Major, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?’

‘I’m fine, darling girl. Just fine. Although that pram seems to have the better of you there, if you don’t mind my saying? Actually, you’re just the gel who could help,
if you’ve got a mo?’

Tom and Ben were elbowing each other in the pram and fighting over who got to carry the loo roll. Their squawks of disagreement growing ever louder, Holly was a bit distracted. ‘I’m
sorry, Major, what did you say?’

‘Well, I was rather hoping you’d take a quick look at my leg?’ The Major began to unbutton his coat and the four-pack of four-ply came flying over the pram’s canopy,
bouncing squarely off the Major’s tweed cap. ‘But then maybe you’re a little busy . . .’ He backed away and headed for the supermarket.

‘But if it’s urgent,’ called Holly after his retreating back, ‘you can call the Out-of-Hours, or I’m in tomorrow morning . . .’ But the Major was gone and
Holly shrugged. It was apparently a standing joke in Larkford that the Major had never yet been seen at The Practice. He seemed to manage all life’s little ailments with supermarket remedies
and accosting the medical staff about town. Holly hated to think how he’d handle a prostate problem, should the need ever arise.

Holly retrieved the loo roll and wedged it on top of the other bags as the boys played tug of war with Ben’s left shoe. ‘Right,’ she said firmly, ‘you two obviously need
to let off some steam. Who’s up for a play at the park?’

The giggles that greeted that suggestion lifted Holly’s spirits enormously and she turned towards the church and the parkland that lay beyond, sheltered in a beautiful oasis of green,
chattering to the boys as they walked.

‘Morning Reverend, morning Dibley,’ said Holly cheerfully, as they passed each other on the pavement.

‘Good morning, Dr Graham,’ replied Reverend Taylor, her face splitting into wreaths of smiles as she watched the young twins squabbling, ‘and may I say what a jaunty hat your
young man is wearing there.’

The Reverend reached down into the pram, Dibley the terrier circling her heels enthusiastically, and emerged with an enormous pair of pants. Huge pants, covered in little rosebuds and still
bearing a price tag from the supermarket. ‘Some of Marion’s new range, by the looks of things, and possibly not the right size, if I may be so bold.’

Holly’s face turned puce as the Reverend passed her the pants. Bad enough that her children had clearly turned to crime, but to be caught by the bloody vicar was just too much! She was
about to launch into a lengthy explanation, when she noticed the vicar was still smiling.

‘Only last week, young Dibley here decided to help himself to the sausage rolls, so I’m sure that Marion will be equally forgiving.’ She gave Holly a wink and crouched down in
front of the pram. ‘Now you boys know that taking things is wrong, don’t you. So you shall have to have the same punishment that I gave Dibley. Three good deeds. Each.’

The boys nodded solemnly and Holly mouthed ‘thank you’ when the Reverend stood back up.

‘Unfortunately, one of Dibley’s earlier good deeds appears to have been impregnating the Hampton’s pedigree lurcher bitch. So, if you know anyone in the market for a puppy? Bit
Heinz 57, but adorable little things . . .’

Holly and the Reverend fell into step, as they walked towards the park, both with the express intention of wearing out their small charges. For Reverend Taylor, it was the only way to get
through the morning service. For Holly, it was the only way to get through lunch with her mother-in-law. Well, that and the Pinot Grigio.

‘You look tired, Holly.’

Holly forced a smile as she finished the washing up. ‘Probably.’ The unspoken response hanging in the air.

‘Well, I suppose it’s inevitable really. Normally I’d say you need a few days in the sun, but then you always have had that slightly pasty complexion. Can’t really be a
sun worshipper can you? Not with your skin. You know, the kind of skin that ages badly, so actually it’s probably not the best idea. Still, you do look awfully peaky.’

Holly breathed deeply. ‘Yes, you’ve mentioned that before, Jean. But thanks anyway.’

‘Well,’ mused Jean, clearly too self-absorbed to appreciate the sarcasm, ‘you could always make a bit more of an effort. Maybe get up a bit earlier and pop on some of that
wonderful fake tan they do nowadays? Might give you a bit of a lift when you look in the mirror, mightn’t it?’

‘Indeed it might, Jean. But in all honesty, if I get up any earlier there’s really no point going to bed at all.’

‘Mm, what? I was just thinking about Milo, darling, really. I mean, you might not care what you look like, but it doesn’t reflect terribly well on him, does it? After all,’ she
laughed girlishly, ‘we’re none of us getting any younger.’

Holly’s grip on the Wedgwood bowl tightened as she dried it. It was hideously ugly and completely impractical since it refused to fit into the dishwasher, but Milo still insisted on using
it every time his mother came to visit. Apparently Jean needed regular reassurance that her wedding gift to them was still in use.

Holly put down the bowl before she could do someone – Jean – a grievous injury with it and went back to the kitchen table where she’d set up the boys with some blocks of paint
and huge sheets of paper. They were busy smearing paint over the paper, their aprons and basically everything within reach. Holly couldn’t help but laugh at their innocent pleasure.
‘Right, you two. Five more minutes and then it’s bath-time.’ She picked up a brush and was soon immersed in their little world, putting aside her anger about Jean’s comments
or the fact Milo hadn’t bothered to play with his sons all day. No wonder I’m a crappy wife, she thought distractedly, as she painted around Tom’s hand, I’m a mother first
and a doctor second. When, she wondered, had being the perfect wife slipped so far down the pecking order?

‘Don’t talk,’ whispered the voice down the telephone later that evening. ‘Just listen.’

Holly tried not to laugh, as she recognised Lizzie’s voice. She held the phone tightly pressed to her ear as she surveyed the damage to the sitting room. She may well have spent half the
morning tidying up in anticipation of Jean’s visit, but now, with newspapers and empty glasses scattered everywhere, she wished she hadn’t bothered. Next time, she decided, she was
going to have a bubble bath instead.

‘In a minute, you can make all the right noises, but for now, I’m a patient in distress and you need to come out and do a home visit. Well, actually, I thought we could do a pub
visit, because if I don’t get out of this house in the next half hour, I bloody well will be a patient in distress!’

‘And does it hurt if you press it?’ enquired Holly, in her best doctoring voice, still trying not to laugh. ‘Is there anyone there who can help you?’

‘There’s too many people here, since you ask, and none of them are helping – unless the idea is to drive me to an early grave or the bottom of the gin bottle,’ replied
Lizzie indignantly. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, having his parents over this close to Easter. Now I’ll have to live through it all again!’

Holly could hear the chaos at the other end of the line as Lizzie’s three children fought over the Wii controls and her husband and his parents fought over pretty much anything and
everything.

‘How quickly can you get out?’ whispered Lizzie, as the voices clamouring for their mother to act as referee came closer.

‘Where are you?’ asked Holly, forgetting herself for a moment and earning a curiously sharp stare from Milo, who was setting up the board for another game of backgammon with his
mother and ignoring the fact that his sons were desperate for his attention.

‘I’m in the sodding laundry cupboard. Where else would I be on a Sunday evening to get a little peace and quiet? Shit! I’ve been compromised. Pub. Seven o’clock,’
and without waiting for an answer, Lizzie rang off.

‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ said Holly to a dead line, in her most professional tone and hung up too.

‘Let me guess?’ said Jean, a little the worse for wear after consuming rather large quantities of Milo’s experimental vodka jelly. Keen to encourage her son in his epicurean
experiments, she’d tucked right in, proclaiming him on a par with Heston Blumenthal. Holly was pretty sure that even Heston could knock up a quick Spag Bol midweek though, if he pushed
himself to it, but Milo preferred to preserve his energy for party pieces and shied away from what he called ‘hum-drum’ cooking and everyone else in the world called food.
‘You’ve been called out to work? And on a Sunday?’

‘Yes,’ said Holly simply, too excited by the prospect of a spontaneous Sunday evening outing to be bothered by Jean’s disapproval.

Jean turned to her son and sniffed, ‘And I suppose you’re to put the little ones to bed, are you?’ She shook her head in dismay. ‘It’s no wonder you can’t get
on with your new book, Milo, with these kinds of pulls on your time.’

If Holly hadn’t been keen to escape after an afternoon of listening to her mother-in-law on her soapbox, she was now. ‘Well, if that’s all settled then, I’ll just leave
you to it.’ She knelt down on the floor and snuggled the twins, who were already bathed and in their pyjamas. ‘Just ten more minutes, okay? Then Daddy and Granny will tuck you into
bed.’ Jean sniffed again and the devil appeared on Holly’s shoulder. ‘And Granny will read you a
really
long bedtime story.’ Holly kissed their smooth, perfect
cheeks and couldn’t resist another squeeze, before she scooped up her work bag and left.

Leaning against the wall outside, Holly was a little shocked at herself. She couldn’t quite believe she’d done a runner on a Sunday night. She also knew that Milo didn’t
believe it either. For some reason though, tonight, she didn’t actually care.

By the time Holly had walked through the Market Place, she felt better about her decision, mainly because, with every shop window she walked past, she thought about what she would have bought if
they had a little money. Two proper incomes, say, instead of relying on her wages for everything. And what she might have been able to afford if Milo didn’t consider things like the
boys’ childcare to be ‘her’ expenses.

She’d worked herself up into a state of moral indignation by the time she arrived at the pub, her feet freezing in ancient Uggs. Her resentment had only been exacerbated by spotting a pair
of glorious chocolate leather boots in the window of the Boutique on The Square. They looked warm and comfortable and very, very expensive.

‘God, I needed this,’ said Holly in greeting, finding her friend ensconced in an armchair by the fire with two G&Ts on the table and an ecstatic Labradoodle at her feet. She
pulled off her coat, scruffing Eric’s ears and relishing the beat of his over-excited tail against her legs, before sinking down beside Lizzie, who also appeared to have devilment on her mind
this evening.

‘Get stuck into that and I’ll get us another round. Then maybe some chips while we have a natter? How does that sound?’

Holly swallowed a mouthful and shook her head a little as the Bombay Sapphire left a burning trail down her throat. ‘Sounds heaven,’ she managed, as her eyes watered. She looked up
to see Taffy and Teddy, huddled together at the bar, watching her indulgently.

Without saying a word, Teddy filled a long glass of water and walked over, placing it on the table with a wink. ‘Take it easy there, Dr Graham. I don’t want any brawling this evening
from you two. Now, did I hear it was chips you ladies were after?’

‘Ooh yes please,’ said Lizzie, ‘with lots of mayo for dipping.’

Teddy smiled and walked away and Holly said nothing, mainly because she had just realised that she had come out to the pub in her ancient skinny jeans, a grandad cardigan and with a biro holding
up her hair. No wonder Teddy was offering them absorbent food – he thought she was only one step away from becoming the village nutter!

As if reading her mind, Lizzie slid down in her armchair and gave Holly the once over. ‘Nice outfit, by the way. What happened there?’

Holly shrugged. ‘I think it was one of those now-or-never type moments. Besides if you really had got a ruptured appendix, I wouldn’t have popped upstairs to put on some lippy, now,
would I?’

Lizzie grinned. ‘I imagine that would rather depend on whose appendix was rupturing. For instance, if the glorious Dr Jones over there needed medical attention, I dare say I’d manage
some eyeliner. Why
is
he staring at you, by the way?’

Holly cradled her drink in her hands, building up the courage to take another mouthful. ‘He isn’t and don’t stare.’ Holly paused for a moment, fighting the urge to smile.
‘Is he?’

Lizzie nodded and leaned in close. ‘What have you been up to, to make you go all pink, Holly Graham?’

‘Nothing. It’s just that he’s lovely and he’s been helping me settle in at work and he made me a really nice cup of coffee the other morning and . . . oh, shit, do you
think I might have given him the wrong idea?’