Out of Practice (36 page)

Dan glanced down at the women in question and began weighing up the relative merits of Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Aniston and Gwyneth Paltrow. ‘You know, when you look at it like this, the
whole Brad Pitt brooding look makes sense. It’s no picnic when you’ve your pick of all these gorgeous women. I always thought he was a grumpy sod, which somehow seemed inexcusable when
you’ve a garage full of Ducatis.’

Taffy laughed. ‘Come on, Carter, you’re losing your touch. Snog, Marry, Avoid? And stop wittering on about motorbikes.’ He snagged the last Hobnob, leaving Dan with the rejects
in the bottom of the biscuit tin.

Dan took the last intact Rich Tea and shrugged. ‘Well, as much as she’s beautiful, I’d have to avoid Gwyneth, wouldn’t I? I’d go nuts sharing a meal with her. You
know how I feel about faddy feeders. And from there, it’s easy isn’t? Jolie’s quite fit, but you wouldn’t introduce her to your mum, would you? She’s definitely Snog,
which means I would have to marry the delectable Ms Aniston. Not really a hardship.’

Dan flicked the page, happy to be back talking bollocks with his mate and steering clear of anything too emotional. He made a mental note to touch base with George later and then presented Taffy
with his choice, deliberately taking the alternative approach. ‘Right then, you get to choose The Queen, Mrs Middleton or Joan Collins?’

‘You’re not playing that horrible game again, are you?’ interrupted Julia sniffily, having wandered over to try and force yet another window open. ‘You do realise
it’s sexist and degrading and just another example of your emotional immaturity?’

‘I do,’ replied Taffy solemnly, ‘but it’s also a bit of fun to break up the day, relatively inoffensive and every other woman in the room can see that.’

Julia huffed and looked around for someone to back her up and clocked Holly walking into the doctors’ lounge, zeroing in on the coffee machine and totally oblivious. ‘Holly!’
she called. ‘Back me up here – Snog Marry Avoid – what do you think?’

Holly tore her gaze away from the beckoning caffeine and wandered over. ‘Ooh, I love this game. Who are we doing?’

A slow smile spread across Taffy’s face. ‘Well, I’m having to go with Marry the Queen – she’s got castles after all – then, at a push I’d have to say
Snog Joan Collins – she’s probably got skills – and that leaves Avoiding Mrs Middleton – who’s bound to be unbearably smug now her grandson’s going to be king
and all that.’

‘Eww . . . snogging Joan Collins.’ Holly gave a little shudder. ‘She’s old enough to be your mother! What happened to choosing from a list of hotties? Do you play it
differently?’

‘Nope,’ said Taffy ruefully, ‘but Dan decided to punish me for giving him the Brad Pitt Trinity.’

‘Jolie, Aniston, Paltrow?’ queried Holly. ‘It is a tough one . . .’ she sympathised. ‘My turn?’

Julia, whose silence had been growing ever more ominous, flounced away in disgust, muttering about the sisterhood and leaving Holly looking completely bemused. ‘Did I say something
wrong?’

‘Don’t worry about it, she’s always in a grump about something these days. She’s been pretty much unbearable ever since Dan broke up with her. Although, that’s not
strictly accurate, since she was pretty unbearable before they broke up too.’

‘Harsh,’ interjected Dan.

‘But fair, mate, you have to admit it,’ countered Taffy.

Holly just shook her head. ‘Come on, less chat, more my turn.’ She checked her watch. ‘I’ve got three minutes until I have to go and lance a boil. I’ve a high
glamour afternoon ahead. Hit me.’

Dan was there before Taffy could muster his thoughts. ‘Based on what I’ve observed, I’m going to go controversial.’ He turned to Taffy and grinned. ‘What you may
not know Taffs, is that Holly here has always had a thing for Boffins.’

‘Not true,’ protested Holly, blushing. ‘You’re basing that on one party, nearly a decade ago, when I was dating that physicist bloke from Oxford. What was his name, um .
. . ?’

‘Nigel,’ supplied Dan. ‘He was called Nigel and he wore tortoiseshell glasses and loved talking about planetary alignment. I always assumed he must have just bored you into bed
to be honest, but then you went and married Milo and my worst fears were confirmed. Boffin lover!’

Dan realised he was going out of his way to prove to Holly that their friendship predated any of the latest dramas. He still couldn’t quite believe what Lizzie had done and the guilt was
yet another thing weighing heavily on his mind. He gave her a grin and was relieved to see that she seemed to be following his lead.

‘How the hell did you remember all that? And anyway if I’m not mistaken, did you not have one of your identikit blondes on your arm as per usual? Katie? Sophie? Lucy? And judging by
your gorgeous ex, nothing much has changed there either – all style, no substance.’ Holly clapped her hands over her mouth in shock. ‘I did not say that about Dr Channing, I mean,
that’s not what I meant about
her
. . .’

Taffy just grinned. ‘It’s alright, Holls, your secret’s safe with us, and to be honest you’re not that wide of the mark. I, however, am loving all this walk down memory
lane. I thought you two barely knew each other.’

Holly shrugged. ‘Well, we’d only met three, maybe four times before I came here. It’s Lizzie who’s got the real dirt on both of us.’

At the mention of Lizzie’s name, there was an uncomfortable silence, Dan and Holly both looking away awkwardly. Luckily, thought Dan, Taffy seemed to be oblivious, apparently focused so
strongly on the little row of freckles that scattered across Holly’s collarbone.

‘Four times, huh? Well, you both seem to have made quite an impression on each other. No youthful fireworks there?’ Taffy probed. He slapped his hand to his forehead. ‘But
then, what am I thinking, Dan’s clearly lacking a bit intellectually for you, Holly, isn’t he?’

‘Taffy,’ said Dan warningly, as Henry Bruce walked into the room and Holly’s watch beeped the hour.

She leapt to her feet instantly. ‘Right, work to do, boils to lance . . . Think me up a challenge for later.’ She paused and looked undecided for a moment and then blurted out
suddenly. ‘But don’t make it too boffiny, will you. I think I’ve outgrown that particular phase.’ She dashed from the room, eschewing the chance to grab a coffee in her
quest to start her clinic on time.

‘Well, credit where it’s due,’ said Dan slowly. ‘She’s very punctual.’

‘Punctual?’ said Taffy in total disbelief. ‘That’s your takeaway from that conversation, is it?’

Dan shrugged distractedly, trying to work out how he was going to make amends there. ‘It’s just a game, Taff.’

Taffy shook his head in sheer disbelief. ‘Come on, Carter, even with your supermodel filter running – how can you not have noticed? She is properly gorgeous. And when you get to know
her, she’s kind of quirky and funny too. In fact, I’ve just decided that, since she’s not only gorgeous but also fun, sweet and basically everything I’ve ever wanted in a
woman, she should probably be mine.’

‘Did we not just discuss this? Are you not forgetting the married bit?’ Dan said patiently, used to his friend’s flights of fancy.

‘Yeah, I will admit, that does throw a bit of a spanner in the works, doesn’t it? But you heard her – she thinks she’s outgrown her Boffin phase. Maybe all’s not
rosy in the Graham garden, if you know what I mean.’

‘Bad idea,’ said Dan bluntly.

‘Because I’m stepping on toes? Please say now if I am, Dan, after all you have known her longer . . . But then do keep in mind this is me, your very bestest friend and you
wouldn’t want me to be unhappy now, would you?’

Dan shook his head. ‘No toes stepped on, Taffy. On the other hand, she is married and she does work here and the milk tends to last longer than your crushes. This is going to get messy.
Why not just give this one a miss, eh? Not least because Lizzie will string me up if I let you anywhere near her best mate.’

The idea of Lizzie standing up for Holly suddenly seemed laughable. In fact, the idea of Taffy giving Holly some of the care and attention she so clearly wasn’t getting elsewhere, suddenly
didn’t seem so daft after all. Dan sighed, wondering when life had got so complicated.

Taffy sat staring at the doorway, where Holly had left only moments before. ‘You’re probably right,’ he said quietly. There was a slightly awkward pause and then he took a deep
breath. ‘And it’s all academic anyway, because she’d never take a guy like me seriously. Once a player, always a player, isn’t it?’

Dan sighed and stood up tiredly. ‘If I’m honest, Taffs, the fact that you’re even considering pursuing a married woman with two small kids kind of proves my point.’

Privately, he was beginning to think that it might be time for both himself and Taffy to grow up a bit and find someone willing to take that leap of faith with. And really? What were the chances
that both their dream women worked here at The Practice? One of them married and one of them very, very angry with him. Dan watched Julia struggling with another sash window and wondered, not for
the first time, whether his ship had already sailed.

The phones were ringing off the hook as Holly poked her head into reception to say goodbye. She was still trying to work out what to do about Will’s request. Jean was
taking the twins back to her house for tea so technically it was the perfect opportunity to pop by Lizzie’s – casually, easily, like they used to. But Holly felt drained already and she
wasn’t sure she had the emotional energy to cope. The afternoon had passed in a blur of sobbing patients – some days it felt as though everyone was running on a hair trigger –
crying with pain over a crippling migraine; crying with frustration over a lack of a clear diagnosis; crying with joy over a much-longed for pregnancy . . . Holly hoped that Maggie got a good deal
on Kleenex, the amount of tissues they got through!

Lucy and Grace were each on calls already, so Holly popped her bag on a chair and picked up the ringing phone. ‘Larkford Practice, how may I help you?’ Holly smiled as Grace mouthed
‘thank you’ across the room and took down a message for repeat prescriptions. She hung up and rotated her shoulders, still stiff from lugging the boys around in the river at the
weekend. Just the thought of the weekend was enough to get Holly’s thoughts racing again. She’d spent all morning avoiding Taffy, for fear of feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable and
then, easy as you like, they’d been able to chat and play that silly Snog Marry Avoid game with no underlying tension at all. Admittedly, he’d been a little bit odd, staring at her neck
like that. She self-consciously rubbed her hand along her collarbone, wondering whether she was walking around covered in porridge again.

And if you’d asked her this morning how she felt about Dan and Lizzie, she’d have said that she was bloody furious, outraged, cheated, manipulated . . . well, let’s just say
she wouldn’t have been short of adjectives. Nowhere on her list would the words compassion, understanding or empathy have been found. But somehow, here she was – comfortable with Taffy,
understanding of Dan and just plain worried about Lizzie.

At this rate, Holly was concerned that she may actually be maturing!

The phone rang again and without thinking, Holly picked it up, ‘Larkford Practice, how may I help?’

A sharp efficient voice pierced her distracted reverie. ‘I need to speak to someone about getting a statement for the press. I don’t suppose you have a PR department do
you?’

‘Erm . . . Can you hold the line one moment and I’ll find out for you,’ said Holly, feeling rather gauche and ill-informed. Catching Grace as she hung up the other line, Holly
clasped her hand over the receiver, unsure which of the multitude of buttons on the phone console would be mute and which would simply disconnect her caller. ‘Grace,’ she whispered
urgently, ‘do we have a PR department?’

Grace shook her head. ‘Nope. Oh come on, Holls, give it to me. It’s probably just some survey again – they think we’ve got nothing better to do than comment on the rise
of Prozac prescriptions or how many obese kiddies we’ve got on our list!’ She took the phone, pulled a face at Holly and, using her best BBC announcer’s voice, she said,
‘Hello, this is Grace. I understand you have a PR enquiry?’

She wiggled a little, mouthing la-di-da at Holly and pushed her glasses down her nose a little, playing the PR dolly to a tee.

Holly and Lucy both watched, grinning, as Grace picked up a pencil and stuck it provocatively behind her ear.

Suddenly, the colour drained from her cheeks and Grace sank down into her chair, her face stricken with anxiety. ‘And if I could just confirm which report you’re referring to?’
she managed, whipping the pencil out from behind her ear and scribbling on the back of an envelope. ‘Of course we can get something for you. Tomorrow you say? No problem, let me just take
down your details.’

Grace’s movements were jerky and uncontrolled and Holly was concerned to see a small tear streaking down Grace’s pale cheek. Grace laid the phone back in its cradle and typed in the
code to divert their calls to the Out of Hours Clinic.

She swivelled in the chair and her eyes were tired and hollow. ‘That was
The Times
,’ she managed. ‘They’d like a comment on the news that we’re being
rationalised.’

Lucy looked from Grace to Holly and then back again. ‘Rationalised?’

‘Closed down. Cut back. Terminated,’ Grace said quietly. ‘We’ve got three months and then all the local practices are going to merge into one big centralised medical
centre. The Primary Care Trust announced it today. Job cuts to follow.’ Grace took hold of Lucy’s hand, a tremor making her fingers dither. ‘We’re all out of a
job.’

‘But,’ interrupted Holly, more upset than she would care to admit to, at seeing cool, calm, sanguine Grace reduced to a dithering wreck, ‘they can’t just do that –
can they?’

Grace shrugged. ‘From what that journalist was saying, it looks as though they already have.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Apparently there’s been a consultation period among key
personnel for some time.’

Holly sat down then too. So hard in fact that she bruised her hip against the edge of the desk. Was it possible that George Kingsley had known this all along? Was it possible that she’d
been duped by him too. ‘Grace,’ she asked carefully, ‘who would be our key person? I mean, I presume that George is our representative with the Primary Care Trust, yes?’