Out of Practice (5 page)

‘Yes, at the hospital. It’s a big change, coming here. I’m actually quite looking forward to meeting all the locals. Maybe you can give me a heads-up on the ones to watch out
for? The bonkers ones? The hypochondriacs?’

Julia smoothed her dress over her enviably taut stomach and, if Holly hadn’t known better, she would have thought that Julia was the one to be nervous. Her own heart was still thudding
ominously against her ribcage and she felt as though she were in a scene from a David Attenborough wildlife programme, where the pecking order was being established:
‘See the doctors of
the Serengeti posturing for position . . .’

Holly just needed Julia to understand that she was posing no threat to her role as Alpha female at all, but she refused to be dismissed or discounted. A little healthy respect was all Holly was
aiming to achieve at this point.

Julia softened still further, ‘Okay then,’ she said, as she made to walk away.

‘Great. Lovely to meet you, Julia,’ Holly said brightly, slowly breathing out and willing her pulse to return to normal. She took another calming breath and turned to the two men who
were gaping at her. ‘Well, I thought that went rather well, don’t you?’ Holly could feel her confidence flowing back and she couldn’t help but smile. Sod Victoria Sponge
– that had surely been a Chocolate Roulade performance.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Taffy in amazement, once Julia had left the room. ‘Who
are
you, Holly Graham?’

‘Told you she was a keeper,’ said Dan with pride, giving Holly a wink.

‘Rites of Passage have been negotiated,’ said Taffy seriously and in wonderment, sounding so very Welsh it was almost musical. ‘I never thought I’d see the day!’ He
turned to Holly and laid his hands on both her shoulders. ‘You’re a bloody marvel, you are.’ His eyes danced with mischief. ‘You have tamed the notorious Channing and
without bloodshed. I could kiss you, I really could.’

Holly’s heart rate rocketed again, as her moment of eloquence dissolved, a mental picture of that very scenario already taking precedence in her mind.

‘Come on. You sit down and rearrange your face, try and look like you’re happy to be here, and I’ll go and order us some lunch. What do you fancy?’ said
Lizzie, taking control of the situation as Holly had known that she would.

Holly felt her shoulders instantly relax, free from the responsibility of making decisions. ‘Whatever contains the most calories – it’s been that kind of morning,’ she
said gratefully. She couldn’t really let on in the genteel surroundings of Larkford’s organic deli-slash-café-slash-fair-trade-emporium, that what she was really craving was a
big juicy burger – the kind where you could actually feel your arteries clogging with every delicious bite. She spent her days advising patients to have their five-a-day, to stay away from
saturated fat and processed sugar, and then felt honour-bound to live by those same strictures herself. And most of the time she did.

‘Right then, Holly, lunch will be here in a sec. Now spill,’ ordered Lizzie in full executive boss mode.

Holly didn’t really know where to start. All she’d known was that there was a forty-minute window in her day and her best friend worked around the corner. The opportunity for moral
support had seemed too good to pass up.

‘How great is this – having lunch together on a work day?’ she dodged. ‘It’s like being back at uni.’

Lizzie’s glamorous façade wobbled for a second and Holly saw a flash of the girl she used to be: the girl who had dodgy braces and flat brown hair. This Lizzie sitting in front of
her now was altogether more glamorous, as her job as Editor of local glossy magazine
Larkford Life
dictated. But the twinkle in her eye was sheer retro and Holly felt instantly more
comforted and less intimidated.

The downside to having a best friend whose life revolved around material gratification was that Holly genuinely struggled to give a stuff and it sometimes put a strain on their friendship.
She’d rather look nice than ghastly, of course, but she’d also rather read her boys a bedtime story than blow-dry her hair to perfection. In a way – a way that she would never
confess to – she felt a bit sorry for Lizzie. The pressure to be perfect, to live the dream, must be exhausting, but she’d tentatively mentioned it once and been instantly shot down.
She wouldn’t be mentioning it again.

‘I have to confess, your call came at the perfect time,’ Lizzie confided. She looked around the room as if checking for eavesdroppers. ‘Work’s hellish at the
moment.’ She talked about print deadlines, fluctuating ad revenues and temperamental columnists until she ground to a halt. ‘But that’s old news. Tell me then – how’s
the first day going?’

‘In a sec, but I’m starving. What did you order? Pasta? Panini? Pie? I’m in need of comfort food.’

Lizzie wrinkled her nose apologetically. ‘Oh. I didn’t think you meant it! I’ve ordered you a goat’s cheese salad. It’s organic and the goat is called Betsy and
lives down the road, if that helps.’

Holly shook her head and smiled. ‘Good old Betsy. Where would we be without her? I don’t suppose there’s an Aberdeen Angus around here who’s planning to give his life for
the enjoyment of others, is there? I could literally kill for a burger.’

‘Nope, not in here anyway . . . Strictly veggie. But I am reliably informed that there’s an organic grapevine in Herefordshire whose self-sacrificing actions have made this possible
. . .’ Lizzie proudly produced a bottle of cloudy liquid that claimed to be Organic Sauvignon Blanc. She unscrewed the lid and waved the bottle vaguely in Holly’s direction before
pouring herself a large glassful.

Well, glassful wasn’t really the word, thought Holly, as she put a hand over the top of her own vintage jam jar and sighed. ‘Not for me. I’ve got my first solo clinic after
this and I’m not sure that turning up sozzled is the right note to start on. Although, frankly a bit of Dutch courage might just be what the doctor ordered.’

Their meals arrived and Holly sighed deeply, poking at her salad without enthusiasm. ‘I am not my best self today, Lizzie. You know how you only get one chance to make a first impression?
Well, if that’s actually true, then I’m a little bit screwed.’

Holly recounted her morning, starting with denting the Mercedes and ending up with her
Life on Earth
stand-off with Julia Channing.

She grimaced slightly as she ran out of steam. ‘Be honest. How bad is it?’

Lizzie clapped a hand over her mouth and tried to stifle the laughter. ‘Oh Holls, what are we going to do with you? It’s not that bad, honestly. I mean, given, when you string it all
together like that, it’s not really ideal . . . Did you really stand up to Julia?’

‘Yup,’ said Holly despondently. ‘I just didn’t want her to think she could walk all over me, like she does every other female at The Practice.’

‘Well then, hats off to you – she’s horrifically ambitious, that woman. Her bedside manner may leave a little to be desired, but she’s a cracking doctor. Her
column’s getting loads of really positive feedback and, strictly between you and me, I had a call from a TV production company last week, asking for a reference. You never know, she may not
be around for too much longer.’

‘Cool,’ said Holly. ‘I get the impression that everyone’s a little bit scared of her. Apart from Dan, obviously, since they went out.’

‘Oh he told you that, did he? I wondered if he would,’ Lizzie said with studied casualness.

Holly frowned. ‘No, Taffy Jones let it slip. Is there a story there I should know about?’

Lizzie shook her head. ‘Let’s just say that seeing those two together was World War 3 just waiting to happen. The only irony being, that they were actually really smitten with each
other to begin with; we even got a glimpse of the softer side of La Channing. Then it all sort of imploded and nobody really knows why.’

‘Another reason not to get involved with a colleague,’ said Holly vehemently.

Lizzie gave her a strange look. ‘Quite.’

There was a lull in the conversation, then Lizzie picked up where she left off, reviewing Holly’s opening act. ‘Did you really go all tongue-tied with Taffy then? I wouldn’t
worry. He’s such a sweetheart, he won’t hold it against you and he’s been a good mate to Dan too. Actually, your job is starting to sound much more fun than mine. Assuming you can
avoid interacting with the patients, of course!’

‘They’re quite the comedy duo,’ said Holly, ignoring Lizzie’s theatrical shudder. ‘They seem to have a really good bantering thing going on – it was almost
like being back at med school. They even eat like teenagers. And obviously, I still have the emotional maturity of a nineteen-year-old – all it takes for me to go all pathetic is some dishy
rugby player to hold my hand and smile, and I forget how to speak!’

Lizzie raised a deprecatory eyebrow but said nothing.

‘What?’ demanded Holly.

‘Nothing. Nothing at all. I just suddenly can’t help feeling that this thing with Taffy has thrown you more than all the other stuff put together. Am I right?’

‘Maybe,’ replied Holly slowly. ‘I’m really not nineteen any more. It is a bit feeble, you have to admit.’

Lizzie tilted her head to one side and took in her friend’s obvious discomfort. ‘I’d just let it go, Holls. I’m pretty sure that nobody noticed but you and you’ve
got a lot on your plate at the moment. Stressing about this is just easier than focusing on all the changes you’ve got going on.’

Holly half-heartedly chewed on a spinach leaf. Lizzie certainly had a point. It was a lot nicer to think about Taffy Jones holding her hand than it was to think about the reality of her
situation at home.

‘I don’t know if I can do this, Lizzie,’ she said quietly. ‘The pressure in my head is crazy. I just can’t get past the responsibility, you know? Of knowing that
it’s my call.’

Holly looked up to see her friend watching her appraisingly, jam jar full of cloudy moonshine pressed against her bottom lip. Lizzie cleared her throat, took another slug of wine and sat forward
in her seat. ‘Are you honestly saying that checking a bunch of old biddies for high blood pressure and the odd nit-check is more stressful than being at the hospital? You were in A&E for
years – I don’t get it.’

Holly shrugged, frowning slightly as she realised her ramblings had given Lizzie the wrong idea. ‘I didn’t mean the patients. That bit’s easy. Shit – that sounds
arrogant. What I mean is . . .’

Holly pushed her uneaten salad away and slumped in her chair. ‘Please don’t make me burn my bra – for one thing it’s actually my only nice bra that fits and for another,
I’m not letting down the sisterhood by saying this. It’s just a fact of life. If we’d relocated for Milo’s job, it would be fine, yes? If we’d sold the house and moved
the boys to a new nursery and uprooted everyone, it would just be . . . well, something we all had to do.

‘But, Lizzie, I’ve kicked up such a fuss about this. I’ve essentially forced the move and now, I’m here: the buck stops with me. And if this doesn’t work out, if
the boys aren’t happy . . .’

‘It will all be your fault,’ suggested Lizzie calmly.

‘Well, yes,’ said Holly quietly. ‘I never really felt responsible for everyone else’s happiness before. And now, because
I
insisted on moving as part of our
whole “Fresh Start” . . .’ She mashed Betsy’s special cheese into a paste with the back of her fork and swallowed hard.

Lizzie refilled her jam jar and looked Holly straight in the eye. ‘Do you want me to say “there, there” or can I give you some home truths?’

‘Why do you think I needed an emergency lunch summit? You may be drinking for one, but I need you thinking for two. Give it to me straight.’

Lizzie grinned. ‘Ooh Carte Blanche – where to begin. Shall we start with the new fringe or those hideous shoes?’ She flapped a hand at Holly’s open-mouthed protest.
‘Only joking, Holls. But let’s just put a few things in perspective, shall we?

‘One, you’ve hated working at the hospital since the boys were born and you’ve been a trouper and just got on with it. But then, you were offered a choice. Something a bit
different: a way to see the boys more, to see me more and to be happy in your work.’

Lizzie paused for breath and another drink and then began ticking her points off on her beautifully manicured fingers. ‘Two, Milo isn’t on a voluntary research sabbatical from the
University and I don’t care what he goes around telling everyone. You and I both know the truth. Frankly I think the University Board were pretty amazing for not firing him and you’re
made of sterner stuff than me for not punching him, leaving him or let’s face it, castrating him. If I thought Will was mucking around with a student, he’d be out on his ear . .
.’

‘Hey, that’s not entirely fair,’ interrupted Holly. ‘There was no
actual
misconduct, the Board said so . . . Milo said so . . . And, for what it’s worth, I
do believe him, Lizzie. The Board just thought it would be better all round if he took some time out to work on his manuscript.’

Lizzie’s eyebrows rose under her fringe and she took a deep breath, clearly restraining herself. ‘Putting aside for another day, whether you do or don’t believe he’ll
ever
really
change, I will say this and I’m going to be harsh, okay? His book is niche publishing: he might sell twelve copies if he’s lucky. He’s not on paid sabbatical.
He has, to all intents and purposes, been banished. You, my darling, are now the primary and sole breadwinner in the family. And forgive me, if I think that gives
you
the right to choose
what job
you
do – endless nightshifts full of car crashes and drunks in Reading A&E, or a nice set up as a country GP, seeing the boys, supported by your oldest friend and
earning more money than you were before!’

There was an awkward moment when the café fell silent just as Lizzie was building to a crescendo and Holly’s face flushed to a painful hue. ‘Don’t mince your words
there, will you, Lizzie?’

The pregnant pause went on so long it was in danger of having triplets, before Holly sighed, the breath seeming to come from the much loved but much maligned ballet slippers on her feet. Perhaps
Lizzie had a point – maybe Holly’s value system was as dated as her footwear? ‘Look,’ she managed, ‘in my head, I agree with everything you’re saying, Lizzie,
you know that. But, in my heart, I still feel that the pressure is on me to make a go of this. I’ve got Milo brooding at home and spending hours bemoaning the lack of a decent research
library for his manuscript. I’ve got his mother breathing down my neck and questioning my priorities at every turn. And I just know that I have to make this job work.’