Snowed in at the Practice

by Penny Parkes

  A little stroll up to Blackleigh Farm every now and again could easily be classed as exercise, should anyone look closely enough to ask. And Holly had to admit that the riot of red and gold leaves celebrating their last hurrah was incentive enough to get walking; the drifts of colour already forming by the roadside blanketed Holly’s path and brightened her morning with each crisp, satisfying step. Was there anywhere finer to be on an autumn morning than here in the Larkford valley? She thought of Alice at her desk, with a patient beside her, and pushed the mental image away – she had never felt so conflicted.

  *

  ‘Helloooo!’ Holly called, as she pushed the pram up into the stable yard at Blackleigh Farm twenty minutes later and wildly out of puff. The slope up out of town caught her unawares every single time, but the view along the way made the effort worthwhile.

  ‘In the kitchen!’ called Charlotte, well used to Holly’s impromptu visits by now.

  What Holly still struggled to adjust to, however, was the row of empty stables – no horses looking out and whickering in greeting, no longer the sound of metal-shod hooves on the lane. Selling her eventers had been a heart-wrenching decision for Charlotte, but after narrowly avoiding losing her arm, she’d quickly found that, while she’d saved the limb, she’d comprehensively lost her nerve and couldn’t be persuaded to do more than amble around on her retired hunters.

  Swinging the pram around to the French windows so the girls could slumber on peacefully in the fresh air, tucking them in tightly under their blankets, Holly wandered into the kitchen and stopped dead in her tracks. Charlotte, the Major and young Jess were all sitting cross-legged on the flagstone floor, looking up at her expectantly.

  ‘Err—’ managed Holly in confusion. ‘I think you had the tumble dryer too hot. You seem to have shrunk your horse.’ She looked at each of their beaming faces again in turn and then returned her attention to the beautiful, perfectly-formed miniature horse in Charlotte’s kitchen. Eric froze in the doorway, his face a picture of confusion, tail clamped down with uncertainty.

  ‘He’s called Banana,’ said Jess happily. ‘Because he’s a palomino.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Holly, still completely lost for words, as she tentatively held out a hand and Banana trotted over to say hello, his velvet muzzle snuffling into the palm of her hand, and his withers barely reaching mid-thigh. ‘He is just adorable.’

  ‘Clever too,’ said Charlotte with a smile, pulling herself up and putting the kettle on. ‘What do you think? Will the stable yard sound like home again when I’ve a stud full of these little beauties?’

  Holly couldn’t help the spontaneous smile that lit up her face. ‘Are you serious? A pony stud?’

  Charlotte nodded, glancing over at the Major. ‘We’ve decided to go into business together. They’re all the rage among people who love horses, used to ride maybe, but life has kept them from pursuing their dream.’ She paused, only too aware that she herself fell firmly into that category. ‘And they’re not ponies,’ she said firmly. ‘They’re proper horses – just a lot smaller.’

  ‘So you can’t actually ride them?’ Holly checked, as Banana leaned easily against her legs and harrumphed happily as she affectionately scruffed his mane.

  The Major shook his head. ‘No, no. They’re more like a dog than a horse, really. Only, you know, with hooves and whatnot.’

  ‘Look,’ said Jess excitedly, by way of demonstration, ‘Banana! Banana! Kisses? I’m doing a project on him for my tutor.’ It was the first time Holly had heard Jess be anything but disparaging about her time being home schooled.

  The little horse turned away from Holly and ambled straight over to Jess, reaching up to nuzzle her ear and making her giggle. ‘Isn’t he wonderful?’

  ‘He truly is,’ said Holly, grateful that Taffy and the boys weren’t with her, as they would no doubt start campaigning for a miniature horse to be joining her own menagerie the moment they knew of Banana’s existence. ‘And you’re going to breed them?’ she asked Charlotte, delighted to see the colour in her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye at long last. She’d even forgotten to pull her sleeve down over the hideous scar on her arm in all the excitement.

  Progress indeed.

  In fact, now Holly came to think of it, as she listened to Charlotte outlining her plans, it had been a long time since she’d seen the three of them as animated, happy and relaxed. She stroked Banana’s soft palomino coat as he contentedly explored his new surroundings. Therapies came in all shapes and sizes, she decided. In this case, around thirty-two inches of brown-eyed, shaggy-maned, equine enjoyment.

  ‘I just need to find someone who wants to rent out my paddocks,’ Charlotte continued. ‘These little chaps won’t even make a dent in sixty acres of prime pastureland. I wondered whether to offer it to the school as playing fields, but apparently there’s all sorts of liability issues, according to that lovely Mr French. And then Lizzie mentioned she might know of someone who’d be interested, but he needed the house as well, so . . .’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I guess it’s the last thing on her mind at the moment.’

  Holly nodded. ‘She’s making a good recovery though, and then I can guarantee she’ll be bored to tears and more than happy to meddle.’

  ‘I heard you on the radio yesterday,’ said the Major quietly. ‘We were all on the edge of our seats, hearing your little drama play out on the airwaves. You’re in danger of becoming a local hero, Holly.’ He shrewdly watched her blush. ‘Nice to see your fine medical instincts being put to good use while you’re taking a little time off.’

  Holly just about mustered a smile, focusing on the compliment in there somewhere. Not too shabby for a woman with no eyeliner and a recent penchant for dungarees, she thought, as she sank onto the floor and Banana lay down beside her and presented his tummy for scratching, much to Eric’s disgust.

  There were certainly worse ways to spend a Wednesday morning.

  Chapter 6

  Grace Allen closed down her computer, already mentally cataloguing the contents of the fridge and deciding that, after such a long day, she and Dan could surely justify supper at The Kingsley Arms. Being Practice Manager came with its own unique set of challenges, and while Dan had spent the day talking to patients, she herself had nothing so rewarding to report.

  The Committee for Rural Affairs had given them both a seat at the table, but a bi-annual meeting was hardly enough to count as professional fulfilment for either of them, no matter how pleasing it was to have a voice for once.

  ‘Do pass on my best to Dr Graham, won’t you?’ said Pru Hartley, stopping by reception on her way out, interrupting Grace’s train of thought. ‘She is a wonder, isn’t she? All those babies to take care of and still saving lives. We were glued to the radio in the bakery, I can tell you. And I gather Lizzie’s surgery was a success. So all’s well that ends well.’

  Grace managed a smile. Trust Holly. Always the right person to have around in a crisis – or every day, for that matter. Grace found it difficult to express how much she missed her calming presence at work.

  Obviously she wasn’t the only one. ‘Do you know,’ Pru continued, ‘I can’t wait for her to be back at work. That Dr Campbell isn’t quite the ticket, is she? I mean, I told her I’d been feeling rather dizzy of late and her reply? Had I ever had vertigo? Well!’ Pru huffed. ‘I told her I was a Scorpio and that her Third World medicine wouldn’t wash with me, but she just laughed.’

  By the time Grace had soothed Pru’s ruffled feathers and sent her on her way, trying not to laugh, Grace felt rather more relaxed herself. You could always bank on Pru’s confuzzlement with words to lighten a deadly dull afternoon. Not that things were all bad . . .

  Grace looked up as Dan wandered through from his consulting room, his eyes seeking hers automatically. She couldn’t quite believe that she got to go home every night with this gorgeous, funny, thoughtful man. ‘Hey, you,’ she said, affection laced into each syllable. ‘Nearly done? I thought we might treat ourselves t
o a pub supper? You know how Noodle and Doodle love a bit of scampi.’ It was second nature now, for Grace to plan her leisure time around the vagaries of her two adorable miniature dachshunds and Dan was quite used to it.

  He leaned his forehead against hers, a rare moment of intimacy as The Practice wound down for the evening. ‘I can meet you there if you like? I still need to see the Lawton baby. He’s off his food and his mum’s worried, so I squeezed him in. No point them worrying all night if they don’t need to.’

  Grace cupped his face in her hands and kissed him on the lips, her thumb smoothing the tired lines around his eyes. ‘You’re such a softie. And I don’t mind waiting. Come find me in the doctors’ lounge when you’re done, okay?’

  He nodded gratefully. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’

  ‘It is,’ she agreed, as she watched his face carefully, his reaction to the gurgling unhappy baby arriving in his mother’s arms telling her everything she needed to know.

  It really didn’t matter how many times they talked it through; there was no denying the fact that Dan was desperate to become a father. At forty-two, and with two grown sons, Grace felt his longing in an almost visceral way, but that didn’t mean she could promise something so big without taking her own position into account. Did she really have it in her to go through another pregnancy, two decades after the first?

  She watched him lift little Billy Lawton easily into his arms. ‘Well, hello, young man. Your mummy says you’re not wanting your food. How about I take a look at your tummy?’

  It didn’t take too much imagination to see that raising a child with Dan would be an incredible experience, if only there was a way to skip ahead, to jump over the part where her uterus was expected to step up and provide room and board for the best part of a year. But as long as Dan’s DNA was making a play for the future, there was little point even mentioning the thorny issue of adoption.

  As the door swung closed behind them, Grace caught sight of the look on Billy’s mother’s face – part admiration, part concern – Dan certainly knew how to put his patients at ease. And, she imagined, that was part of the problem.

  It had taken so long for her to find this wonderful – blissful – relationship, that she found herself worrying more than she would like about how it might end. After all, just because her child-bearing years were drawing to a close, that didn’t mean Dan couldn’t look elsewhere for his happy-ever-after. God knows, enough of his patients carried not-so-secret crushes for their somewhat flawed, but nevertheless appealing GP; Grace was perfectly aware that the man had options.

  ‘Penny for them,’ said Dan, making her jump. How long had he been standing there, in the doorway, watching her mental gymnastics, she wondered.

  She stood up and smiled, unconsciously echoing his yawn. ‘Long day. How’s little Billy doing?’

  ‘He’s good and his mum’s happy. Just a little constipation. Hopefully they’ll both rest easy tonight.’ He yawned again. ‘I called the hospital, by the way, but they said Lizzie already has half the ward in uproar with her visitors, so I guess I’d be superfluous.’

  Grace nodded. ‘Maybe phone for a chat later? Put your mind at rest so you can rest easy too?’ She knew how close Dan and his cousin were.

  Dan smiled gently. ‘Good plan. When I think how differently that could have ended, if she’d been home alone, or on the radio with anyone but Holly. I mean, how was she to know that the pain had only eased off a little because it had ruptured? Do ordinary people know that kind of thing?’ He shrugged, as he looped his arm around her shoulders. ‘It certainly makes you think, doesn’t it? About seizing the day?’

  ‘It does,’ said Grace, an increasingly familiar feeling of panic sweeping over her chest in hot needles. She knew only too well where this conversation was heading. ‘Did you give any more thought to the local council elections? They’re seriously keen to have you as their candidate.’

  Dan just shrugged. ‘I guess it would be better than this feeling of treading water. I just can’t shift it. Everyone around me is making a difference and all I’m doing is sending out Bertha the Bus with a fistful of leaflets and my fingers crossed that a little health education might go a long way.’

  Grace laced her fingers through his own. ‘Let’s pick up a pizza, light the fire and eat it in our pyjamas?’ she suggested. ‘You look too tired to even prop up the bar tonight. I’ll take the dogs out for a quick stroll while you have a bath?’

  ‘Maybe an early night is just what the doctor ordered,’ smiled Dan, leaning forward to draw her into a lingering kiss. ‘Maybe we could seize the day on that front too? Throw caution to the wind?’

  Grace simply kissed him. Some conversations really were best kept for the privacy of their own home.

  ‘I was thinking, actually,’ said Dan, as they worked in practised tandem to flick off all the lights, ‘that we should go away this weekend. Give the bonfire festivities a miss? I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure we’re the target audience of this year’s events.’ He tried to smile, he really did, but his sleepless night was catching up with him.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Grace easily, ‘I’m not averse to a few fireworks and a bit of candyfloss in the right circumstances. But yes – let’s find a gorgeous hotel and hibernate for a few days.’

  ‘Give the little ones the run of the town . . .’ Dan said, unable to conceal the hint of wistfulness in his voice and Grace’s heart sank.

  Dan’s biological clock had always ticked louder than most, indeed it had been the catalyst for his awful break-up with Julia Channing, but the arrival of Holly’s latest twins seemed to have thrown oil on the flames. A spark of interest in becoming a father was now in danger of becoming a raging inferno and insidiously affecting every part of Dan’s life. It seemed as though ‘losing’ his best friend to the demands of fatherhood had simply compounded the problem.

  ‘Let’s spoil ourselves. What’s that fancy restaurant-with-rooms that’s always in the press? The one near Oxford?’ Grace suggested, hoping to distract Dan with the promise of culinary perfection and a roll-top bath – so long as he was focusing on quail’s eggs, not her own, they could at least unwind and rest up a little.

  He paused, able to read her like a book. ‘Adults only getaway it is then.’ He kissed her gently. ‘I do love you, Grace Allen. I hope you know that.’

  ‘The feeling is entirely mutual,’ Grace said with a smile. ‘And you know how I love a mini-break.’

  ‘Come on then, Bridget, let’s get home and PJ’d up. All the glamour for us tonight. We’ll schedule saving the world for another time, then, yes?’

  He pushed open the door into the car park, caught unawares by the wind that was picking up, and Grace stilled for a moment, as two figures emerged from the darkness. It wasn’t as though she consciously thought about the night she’d been attacked at The Practice after-hours; it was more that a subconscious part of her brain was always on alert for warning signs these days. Her grip on Dan’s arm tightened and an involuntary gasp of fear caught in her throat.

  ‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Dan reassured her, knowing exactly how her mind worked. ‘They’re just sixth-formers. It’s okay.’

  ‘We’re not okay,’ cried one of them in the twilight. ‘Can you help us?’

  Grace pushed the door wide open so the last light in the building flooded out to illuminate a wedge of the car park and two girls with tear-stained faces, their school uniforms awry, one of them clearly supported by the other. Conscious but rambling, one of the girls was finding it hard to stand and had a trail of vomit down her school tie.

  ‘Jesus, Laura? Is that you?’ Grace cried, recognising the supporting girl as their neighbour’s seventeen-year-old daughter. ‘Come in, come in. What happened? Have you been drinking?’

  ‘It’s Vicky! Her heart rate is going mental and then she couldn’t breathe.’ Laura sobbed. ‘We weren’t drinking,’ she said, her pupils vast and dark, amidst the smudges of electric blue mascara.


  ‘What were you smoking?’ asked Dan, as he deftly laid Vicky down on the treatment bed in his office. ‘Does she use marijuana a lot?’

  Laura fell silent, staring down at her hands.

  ‘I need to know,’ said Dan. ‘I need to know what she’s been taking or using so I can help her.’

  ‘Laura,’ said Grace encouragingly. ‘You brought her here for help. Let us help.’

  ‘It was just one roll-up,’ Laura whispered. ‘And I know Dr Campbell said it only takes once to be dangerous, but everyone was doing it. We just wanted to join in with our friends. One puff, honestly, that’s all she had.’

  Dan caught Grace’s eye, wondering whether they were ever going to get through to their teenage patients with all the outreach in the world. Apparently, they heard the message and then ignored it anyway.

  ‘Different people react in different ways,’ said Dan quietly, as he measured Vicky’s heart rate and blood pressure, noting the slight blue tinge to the tips of her fingers. ‘And you’re sure it was a cannabis roll-up? No pills? Nothing else?’

  ‘Just a joint,’ said Laura, still unable to meet his eye. ‘But I remembered about the leaflets from the bus, you know, Bertha. So I knew we had to get her here . . .’ She burst into great swallowing gulps of sobbing. ‘She has allergies.’

  Grace wrapped her arms around Laura and allowed her to sob against her shoulder. Dan worked quickly and quietly, assessing the situation before him. He crouched down beside the bed and took hold of Vicky’s hand.

  ‘Am I going to die?’ Vicky asked, as she gasped for air. ‘I can’t feel my fingers. They were tingling, but now . . .’ She broke off and her gasping got worse as she cried, pressing her knuckles into her chest and keening disconsolately.

  ‘Vicky,’ tried Dan again, ‘I want you to look at me. I know your heart is racing and that’s scary, but you need to look at me.’ He lifted her chin very gently until she could no longer avoid him. ‘You’re having palpitations because of the drug. And that’s scary, I know that. But the panic is what’s causing your fingers to go tingly. I need you to breathe with me, okay, nice and steady. Match your breaths to mine.’