Snowed in at the Practice

by Penny Parkes

  Her face flushed scarlet as he calmly knelt down beside them and tried to extricate her hair from the worst of the tangle. He could hear people around them whispering and the occasional click of a camera as Connor’s very presence encouraged attention as it always did. When would the residents of Larkford ever get used to having him strolling in their midst, he wondered. It wouldn’t be quite so bad, but he was perfectly aware that in half of the tabloid photos, Holly and Lizzie had not fared so well.

  ‘Hive front-man strolls with ailing companion,’ screamed the headlines as Holly had joined him for an early morning dog walk sans make-up last month.

  ‘Bereaved rocker seeks solace with old friends,’ proclaimed an internet blog, going on to feature a series of blurry candids of Holly and Lizzie, which had been cropped at the least flattering angles imaginable. The one featuring a full ‘moon’ of Holly’s denim-clad bottom had been angled to perfection for maximum acreage, as she bent down to retrieve a discarded teddy bear. He knew from Taffy that it had been enough to precipitate a post-baby crash diet, doomed to failure through lack of sleep alone, and his guilt on that front was a small taste of how his fame affected the people around him, the people he truly liked, or even loved.

  He didn’t want anyone to feel persecuted just for being his friend – after all, nobody wanted to be photographed every time they went anywhere together, least of all him.

  Holly gasped in surprise as the flick of his penknife opening inches from her hair caught her unawares and he realised he’d been so deep in thought that he hadn’t even warned her of his basic untangling approach.

  ‘Keep still,’ Connor said quietly. ‘You’re just making it worse.’

  ‘Wow!’ breathed all four boys in unison, making no attempt to hide their hero worship. Rock star. Guitarist. Pen-knife-Wielder. Clearly they deserved equal billing, as far as the boys were concerned.

  Connor’s wide and easy grin put them all at ease and Holly appeared to breathe a sigh of relief as one and all were separated without loss of blood or limb. Despite a few glow stick casualties, they had all emerged intact, with the possible exception of Holly’s dignity. As the boys pestered to see every single function of the fancy Swiss Army knife, from the corner of his eye Connor noticed Holly watch in fascination and attempted to smooth the bird’s nest on her head.

  On his knees like this, kids around him, and randomly showing them clever penknife permutations, he felt a gut-wrenching twist. His baby would have been much the same age as Lottie and Olivia now. He swallowed hard and forced a smile onto his face. Still, at least he was making progress, not only coming here today, but intent on finding a new place to call home, somewhere beyond Lizzie’s kitchen table to make a step towards his fresh start.

  He straightened up as the boys’ interest was claimed by the arrival of a large box of doughnuts and lollipops – Mr French’s strict discipline clearly not extending to nutrition.

  ‘Nice save,’ said Holly, generously with a smile.

  ‘It’s all part of my Move To The Country Plan,’ he said, laughing at how ridiculous and hipsterish that sounded. ‘Used to be a plectrum and a spliff, now it’s a penknife and a Barbour. Who knew?’ He shrugged self-deprecatingly and saw Holly instantly drop her guard; she really must have thought he was judging, he realised.

  ‘Suits you,’ Holly replied, and Connor couldn’t help but agree. Not quite the improvement he was hoping for, it had to be said, but at least he was looking a little brighter these days, thanks to a little Larkford fresh air.

  Progress indeed.

  No time like the present, he thought, taking Holly’s hand and pulling her gently to one side, shaking his head as she looked questioningly at his fingers entwined with her own.

  Somehow, this in itself was more shocking than anything else. Connor was known for his effusive hugs, his frankly ridiculous and lovey way of kissing cheeks not twice, but three times on greeting and always, always being the last soul standing at every social gathering, but holding hands? This was new, he realised – and not entirely unpleasant. But at least it accounted for the blushing surprise on her face.

  He guided Holly away from the crowd, one hand in hers and one guiding the cumbersome pram where Lottie and Olivia were somehow now back in deep slumber despite the chaos.

  ‘I need you,’ he said simply, sotto voce, as soon as he turned to face her. Seizing the day.

  ‘At last, I’ve got you alone,’ said Connor intently, oblivious to Holly’s apparent self-conscious confusion. ‘Can this be just between you and me? Just us for now. I don’t want to get Lizzie involved.’

  ‘Wha—?’ managed Holly eloquently, as his intense blue eyes stared questioningly into hers.

  ‘Elsie tells me you’re the one I need to talk to.’

  ‘Elsie?’

  ‘For the inside line on houses around here? Come on, Holls, you can tell me: debt, divorce and death. It’s the only way I’m ever going to find what I’m looking for, isn’t it?’

  Holly’s eyes widened instinctively at his cavalier words and he blanched. His grief therapist had warned him that the events of the last year had, to an extent, inured him to loss of life, that not everyone would be comfortable with his bluntness – a little tactful tiptoeing around other people’s feelings might be a good idea, rather than jumping in with both feet and waving his cheque book. Until he saw the expression on Holly’s face, he hadn’t really thought it was a valid point.

  He did now.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have been quite so hasty in quitting his regular sessions?

  He leaned in closer, eager to explain himself. ‘It’s just that I’ve been to every single estate agent in a twenty-mile radius and they’ve got nothing. Loads of fancy houses, but farms are in short supply. I guess they just stay in the same family for generations, but how can I start building a legacy if I can’t even pass “go”?’

  Holly squeezed his hand and let go. ‘It’s not going to happen overnight, Conn. You’ve got something really specific in mind, and that’s great. But sometimes that makes it harder to find.’ She paused and bit her lip and he could tell she was weighing up how blunt to be with him – it was a look he was now accustomed to. People here didn’t seem to have the measure of him yet – he was hardly the snowflake diva the popular press seemed to imply.

  Rock star, or widower.

  Those were his two roles and he felt a quiet ripple of disappointment that only a very few people here had taken the time to get past that, to the real him. He had thought, until that moment, that Holly was one of them.

  ‘To be honest, I rather thought you’d already bought the house next door and were just keeping it quiet because you knew you were pissing off all the neighbours,’ she said, after a moment, raising her gaze appraisingly to his. No tiptoeing at all. She offered a small smile, an opening to confess and he was almost disappointed not to give her the response she was so clearly expecting.

  Connor shook his head and gave her his best, most effective grin. ‘Now, would those be the same neighbours you thought had more money than sense? And probably no taste either?’ Connor asked wryly.

  Holly laughed, taking him by surprise. ‘Oh. I did say that, didn’t I?’

  ‘Not me, though, no matter how well your artful description applies.’

  Holly sighed. ‘Well, somebody has to know who they are. It’s ridiculous to think that no one has even met them yet, but their builders have been terrorising us all for weeks!’

  ‘But that’s not true—’

  ‘Oh-ho, it bloody well is—’ Holly interrupted crossly.

  ‘No, I mean, Elsie’s met them. Twice at least, I’ve seen her coming out of their front door. All smiley, friendly-like.’

  Holly’s glare zeroed in on him like a hawk. ‘It must be one of her red-trousered, chinless cronies then. Someone she’s met through Sarandon Hall, maybe?’

  Connor shrugged, his interest in the comings and goings of Larkford’s pensioners, property owners or not, was fairly li
mited. ‘Unless you think one of her cronies might be selling a nice farmhouse, with about a hundred acres?’ Connor tried to bring the conversation back on track, but he could tell he’d lost Holly’s attention the moment he’d, possibly rather tactlessly, let slip that Elsie knew more than she was letting on. ‘You know, for me to buy . . . ?’

  Holly wrinkled her nose guiltily. ‘Sorry, yes. Got a bit distracted.’

  It was unusual, he realised suddenly, for Holly to drop the ball, even for a moment. They’d been talking for a while now and even while he felt that she was hearing every word, focused on him, her eyes would still casually log in with all the various children in her care – no drama, no fuss, just multi-tasking at an Olympic level. Was that why she was widely considered to be the best, most empathetic GP at The Practice, he wondered. Because she had an innate skill to make everyone she spoke to feel heard and understood? He could certainly do with a little more empathy in his life, and a little less sympathy.

  ‘You know,’ Holly said, proving his point without even realising it, ‘what if you just took a step back, stop listing bedrooms and outbuildings and acreage to these estate agents and actually think, really think, about what matters the most to you? You never know, the perfect house might be waiting for you and you’re not hearing about it because you only wanted en-suite bathrooms or something?’

  His hand sought hers again, again with the unintentional and confusing double meaning to his every word. ‘Tell me what I need.’ His tone was almost plaintive. ‘If I want to rebuild my life and have a family like yours, Holly, tell me where to start.’

  She shrugged, closing her eyes briefly, deep in thought.

  She’d been there, after all, Connor recalled. Starting over. Divorcing Milo had certainly been no picnic, if Lizzie’s indiscreet tales were any measure.

  ‘You need a home, not a house,’ she said eventually. ‘It actually doesn’t matter if it would look good on the pages of a magazine; you need the comfort. For me, it starts with a kitchen I never want to leave – you know, long suppers talking nonsense, lazy Sunday breakfast . . .’ She sighed deeply. ‘But then, we both know it’s not bricks and mortar and fancy worktops that make a kitchen welcoming. You need to live there, really inhabit your space and make it yours.’

  Connor nodded, taking in every word. ‘A great kitchen, okay. Got it. What else?’

  Holly laughed. ‘This isn’t my wish list, you doof. It’s yours.’

  ‘Did you really just call me a doof?’ Connor said, shocked and amused in equal measure. He shook his head and laughed. ‘You know this place – Larkford? I can just be me here. And this is where I want to live. Nobody calls me a doof in LA. Shocking, right? And it turns out, I hadn’t realised that I missed that.’

  ‘So there you go,’ said Holly with a smile. ‘Number one on the list: has to be in Larkford. And for the record, I’m happy to call you a doof as often as necessary. Then you just need to work out what else means the most.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe you won’t find it all in one house, though. I mean . . .’ She looked around, catching sight of Charlotte and Henry Lansing holding hands as they watched the Bonfire Night celebrations unfold. ‘Maybe you just find the perfect home and then rent a few acres from the Lansings – they’ve about seventy or eighty acres going spare last time I looked. You know, mix and match? Pick’n’mix?’ She grinned. ‘I bet they don’t have that in LA either.’

  Ben and Tom charged across to swing around her legs, hyped up on sugar, and scrambled excitedly for her undivided attention. ‘Did you see us, Mummy? Did you see?’

  ‘I didn’t even trip over,’ said Ben solemnly.

  ‘And I remembered all my words,’ countered Tom, his competitive one-upmanship with his twin still running strong. ‘Mr French said I was brilliant,’ he said modestly.

  ‘Come on!’ shouted Ben, the doughnuts and applause having clearly gone to his head. ‘Jack and Archie are doing the next song. The hard one.’ The two boys were gone again, weaving through the legs of the crowd, hands automatically connected, as always.

  ‘One day some horrible child is going to point out that holding hands isn’t cool. That their natural urge to connect is weird, or gay or something equally cruel, and I think my heart will break a little,’ Holly said out of nowhere, a confidence that Connor felt he really had no right to have earned.

  Connor leaned over and kissed her cheek spontaneously. ‘You’re a lovely mum,’ he said. ‘And even, possibly, a bit of a genius.’

  ‘I am?’

  Connor nodded vigorously. ‘Pick’n’mix,’ he said vehemently, claiming another kiss on the other cheek and pulling her into a hug. A full, no-holds-barred, genuine hug of friendship, leaving Holly flustered and blushing.

  ‘Looks like I got here just in time,’ said an amused voice beside them in the crowd. ‘It’s a good job I’m not the insecure type.’ Taffy clapped Connor on the back in greeting, somewhat more forcefully than normal. He leaned down to kiss Holly fleetingly on the lips, his whisper all too easy for Connor to hear: ‘I turn my back for five minutes, Wifey, and you’re smooching with a rock star.’ He was joking, of course he was, but there was still that tiny boost to his very Welshness that only happened when he was feeling on edge. ‘Anything else I’ve missed? Like, for example, why the Guy Fawkes effigy awaiting a fiery death appears to be wearing my favourite shirt?’

  Holly’s eyes widened in surprise, but she kissed him firmly in greeting, dodging his question, instinctively covering for the boys. Connor noticed there was no mention of her earlier struggles to keep all the children in check and get everyone ‘show ready’. Maybe, to her, it was already old news? Or maybe, she was just too proud to let Taffy know that him bailing out on her today had actually been more of a problem than she was willing to admit. He allowed himself a private smile; she certainly didn’t seem too set on chastising the twins about the impending incineration of Taffy’s clothes.

  Every marriage was different, and who was he to comment?

  ‘Oh,’ Holly said, as the thought just occurred to her, ‘there is one thing that’ll make you both laugh. I’ve been offered a job!’ She grinned and folded herself into Taffy’s side as she chattered away about Matthew’s charity and The Big Cheese from the Rugby Club hearing her on the radio, almost laughingly telling them both of the plump, juicy offer on the table.

  It seemed to Connor that she’d already made up her mind. Perhaps she was just so easy and comfortable in her decision not to accept, that she didn’t seem to notice Taffy’s reaction, so keen to share the joke that she completely missed the tightening of his jaw and the peeved flash in his eyes.

  But Connor didn’t. From where he was standing, there was trouble brewing and he could only hope that Holly’s diplomacy extended into her own life as well. It looked like she was going to be needing it.

  ‘Still,’ Holly concluded happily, ‘it’s always nice to be asked.’

  ‘Yes,’ Taffy replied stiffly, turning away as the firework finale began in earnest, lighting up the Larkford sky. ‘I imagine it must be.’

  Chapter 10

  ‘Well!’ exhaled Elsie loudly, a few days later, the roll of her eyes almost audible as Holly showed Bettina von Harden to the door, trying desperately to keep a straight face.

  ‘If I’d known being your wingman for nanny interviews would be this exciting, I’d have joined in weeks ago,’ Elsie continued, topping up her cup of tea.

  Holly closed the front door and returned to the sofa, shaking her head. ‘Seriously, what the actual fudge?’

  Elsie snorted. ‘I see the no-swearing plan is going well?’

  Holly frowned. ‘You try interviewing all these vapid girls without a few choice expletives up your sleeve.’ She glanced at her watch, grateful for once that Lottie and Olivia had gone down for their nap without complaint. Of course, it had been an exhausting morning of constant stimulation to make it so, and now Holly had two more interviews to conduct before she could officially call the afternoon’s offering a
bust.

  ‘Should we switch to wine, darling, just to be sure? This amount of stress can’t be good for either of us. I mean, what on earth was Bettina von Clueless even going on about? You could tell from the moment she walked in the door that she’d never even got close to an infant!’

  Holly agreed wholeheartedly, but she didn’t dare tell Elsie the reason why. The nanny agency had already forewarned her that the notion of a fine Georgian townhouse, two doctor parents and a semi-resident movie star were proving irresistible to their applicants. Despite all their best efforts, there were one or two muppets slipping through the net to interview stage and it was now, apparently, Holly’s job to weed them out.

  No such worries with their next contender though, as she bustled inside at Holly’s behest, her starched brown uniform its own calling card of sorts in the world of professional nannies. ‘I’m Melva Cumberland. How do you do?’

  ‘Melva?’ said Elsie, with a twinkle, unable to resist meddling. ‘That’s an unusual name.’

  ‘Yes, well, um . . .’ For a moment the professional façade dropped and a flurry of discomfort tweaked her features. ‘My father was called Melvin and he, er, wanted to keep the name in the family. So to speak.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Elsie. ‘And not a name that’s easily forgotten, I would imagine. I wonder, was he hoping for a son?’

  Melva turned her attention to Holly, almost imploringly, hoping for the actual interview to start. None of these candidates seemed to realise that, for Holly and Elsie, the chit-chat part of proceedings was where they gleaned the information that made all the difference. Their personality, after all, was often just as important as their CV.

  ‘So,’ Holly said, taking pity on her. ‘Your résumé is beyond impressive. I wondered, have you any experience with twins?’

  The relief on Melva’s face at being back on solid ground was nothing compared to the five-minute monologue she launched into, clearly pre-prepared. She was obviously determined to show that, although none of her charges to date had been twins ‘per se’, that didn’t mean she was fazed by the prospect.