by Penny Parkes
‘Well,’ Cassie fidgeted. ‘So, as I was saying, I went for this “manicure”,’ – she said the word in the same tone normally reserved for ‘orgy’ or ‘opium den’ – ‘and the girl took one look at my left hand and told me to see a doctor.’ She blushed deeply. ‘She seems to think there’s some kind of fungal situation going on with my thumbnail.’
Cassie released her clasp and held out her left hand, Holly only then aware that she had been hiding the offending nail out of sight.
‘I only asked if she could use a dark colour – a burgundy or something – to cover this horrible stripe. She was most tactless, I’m afraid. And so, here I am. Not only have I succumbed to the vanity of the ignorant bourgeoisie, but also, it transpires, with a fungus.’ She shuddered and Holly was left unclear which of the two most offended her patient.
She slipped on a pair of gloves and angled her lamp to illuminate Cassie’s thumbnail more clearly, ready reassurances on the tip of her tongue that nail fungus was easily treatable and happened all the time. No biggie.
She paused and pulled open her desk drawer, rootling around for her magnifying glass. It wasn’t as fancy as the one over by her treatment couch, but it had remarkable clarity. And clarity was what she needed right now.
‘I think,’ she began slowly, ‘that going for a manicure might just turn out to be one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.’ She switched off the lamp and turned to face Cassie, a little overwhelmed by the empathy she felt for this cantankerous woman and what she was about to endure. ‘I’m guessing this dark line has been here for a while, yes?’
Cassie nodded. ‘About six months,’ she whispered, shedding all bravado in light of Holly’s reaction.
‘Then I don’t think we should mess around. There’s a condition called subungual melanoma, or cancer of the nail, if you prefer. Do you see here, where the black stripe has depth and is actually pressing down into the skin under your nail?’ She pointed to the tip of Cassie’s thumb, looking down the cross-section of her nail. ‘Well, this is where the melanoma is extending. So I’m going to refer you across to the Oncology unit in Bath and I need you to prepare yourself for a bit of a whirlwind, okay?’ She paused to check that Cassie was actually taking any of this information in.
‘In all likelihood, they will want to do a biopsy of this and also your lymph nodes, just to get a feel for where we are.’
Cassie stared at her blankly. ‘So, not a bruise? Not a fungus?’
‘No, Cassie. This is something we need to take seriously.’ She cradled Cassie’s hand in her own, as Cassie stared down at the offending nail as if it were an intruder – which, in a way, it was. ‘Is there someone who can go with you to the hospital, Cassie? A friend, a relative?’
Cassie shook her head, a stubborn set to her jaw that Holly knew only too well.
‘Cassie? This is not a time to shut people out. What about the friend who bought you the gift certificate for the manicure? That was a lovely gesture – the kind of thing you do for someone you care about?’
A single tear released from Cassie’s lashes as she blinked. ‘It wasn’t a friend. It was my brother, actually. But we don’t really speak.’
‘I’m not sure people who don’t speak normally send thoughtful gifts, Cassie. Are you quite sure he wouldn’t help you out?’
Cassie shrugged and then the floodgates opened. ‘I don’t speak to him, I mean. We disagree about everything. Everything. It’s not a real relationship at all.’
‘Siblings that don’t agree? Sounds perfectly normal to me,’ Holly said gently. ‘And this isn’t a question of organic food, or recycling, or natural childbirth, Cassie. This is your life. Let me call your brother for you, if it’s just too awkward. You’re going to need a little help and support.’ Strike that, thought Holly, glancing down at the black mark and its incriminating thickness, a lot of help was actually more likely.
Cassie nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll call. At least he’s local these days.’ She looked up at Holly through tear-filled eyes. ‘He’s the head teacher at the primary school.’
‘Oh!’ gulped Holly, completely blindsided. Now that was something she hadn’t seen coming. Glorious Alec French and his open, friendly demeanour, his rapport with the kids and parents alike – how on earth had they been cut from the same cloth? Although, it did go some way to explaining Cassie’s disproportionate dislike of the poor man before he’d even got his name on the stationery.
*
Only four hours later and Holly was still reeling from the turn her morning had taken. She sat numbly in the squishiest armchair she could find in the doctors’ lounge, hiding away while she processed the tangled web of Cassie Holland’s life – no wonder the poor woman was so uptight. But then, as to which came first, she couldn’t help but wonder.
‘You okay there, Holly?’ Alice asked gently, sitting down beside her and holding out a bacon sandwich on a plate. ‘We saved you one of these if you’re hungry?’
Holly shook her head, even as her stomach let rip with an ominous growl. She smiled. ‘Well, maybe a little bit.’ She took a bite, the ketchup oozing down her chin, and realised that sustenance was always the answer in a time of crisis. ‘Thank you.’
She idly watched the nurses tie themselves into pretzels with a quick game of Twister, no doubt part of this bonkers league that Dan had devised to improve staff morale. She could only be grateful, she supposed, that strip poker had been struck from the list of challenges.
Alice remained beside her. ‘Holly, is now a good time to ask you something?’
Holly nodded, her mouth full of crusty bread.
‘It’s just – well, you know how my mum has been nagging me to go home, back to the Orkneys? And that there’s a job there waiting for me?’ She stopped, and took a deep breath, her words then tumbling out as though she couldn’t say them fast enough. ‘Well, I’m wondering if she’s got a point and I’m not really valued here and that I should just admit that and head north?’
Holly swallowed her mouthful with a jolt. ‘Jesus, Alice. Where did all that come from?’
Alice looked pained. ‘I guess, I see the partners coming and going as they please, and it’s always me and Tilly covering their clinics. And then Tilly – Tilly, who’s been here all of five minutes, shagged half the male population and caused scandals left, right and centre – is the one who’s given her own project!’ Her voice had gradually risen until the nurses in the kitchenette were beginning to stare.
Alice sighed. ‘I mean, if I’m not going to be a valued team member, then why am I always the one going the extra mile? Coco too. If you can’t all see that we bring something special to—’
‘Alice,’ Holly interrupted her, ‘Alice, stop. I can see why, on some level, you might have drawn this conclusion, but it’s just not accurate.’ She plonked the plate down onto the coffee table, much to Coco’s delight, as she wasted no time in snaffling a stray rasher of bacon, as Holly pulled Alice into a hug. Workplace etiquette and Patronising Patricia’s advice be damned.
‘Look, I know the partners have been taking the piss of late. There’s been an awful lot going on in all our personal lives, but that’s no excuse.’
‘I suppose you are the bosses though, right?’ Alice mumbled.
‘All the more reason to lead from the front, I’d say,’ Holly countered. ‘But the Tilly situation doesn’t reflect on you. It reflects on her need to relate to her patients, to feel as though she can make a difference, even outside a war zone or a famine. Look, you’ve known her an awfully long time – she needs to find her feet somewhere.’ She paused. ‘And you are the one, Alice, who suggested I be her mentor, don’t forget.’
‘I did. But I guess I didn’t think it through.’ She bit her lip and looked at Holly. ‘I don’t suppose you want to mentor me as well?’
Holly laughed. ‘Oh, you daft muppet. You don’t need a mentor. Your head is firmly screwed on. Normally.’ She smiled at Alice, her gaze encompassing Coco chewing her bacon on the floor b
eside her. ‘What you and Coco have achieved is phenomenal. And all the partners are so grateful that you’ve stayed here, and brought the canine clinic here. I guess maybe we thought you had your hands full already? But also, maybe we don’t tell you enough just how indispensable you are to the team—’ She held up a hand to stop Alice interrupting. ‘And no, I don’t just mean as emergency cover for when the partners are skiving off work.’
There was a ghost of a smile on Alice’s face now, these worries having clearly been bothering her for some time.
‘And if you miss your mum, and the Orkneys, then obviously we will let you go with our blessing. But, Alice, please don’t. Please stay. There are so many changes on our horizon here at The Practice – some big, some small – but all of them are going to make this a better and happier place to work.’
‘Give me an example?’ Alice asked, obviously wary of having flattery turn her head.
‘Okay. So, one of the big things I want to implement is that everyone will have their own area of responsibility, or research, that they feel passionate about, that they’re accountable for. Tilly was my test balloon on this. When it comes to you, I have a particular project in mind, but I haven’t had chance to talk to the people involved yet. So this is purely theoretical, okay?’
‘O-kay,’ agreed Alice, leaning forward fractionally.
‘Well, I see you and Coco, and how fundamentally different your life is, simply for having her in it. And then I see children like Jess, like Lulu, even – children who have got through enormous challenges and traumas – and how they react to Banana, for example.’
‘Emotional support animals,’ breathed Alice, her eyes bright and her smile no longer tentative.
Holly nodded. ‘There’s loads of legislation and licensing to research. And you might need to consult with Jamie about the training side of things. But I genuinely cannot think of a better person to be the liaison and lead on this.’
‘And you think I could do this alongside my usual clinics, and Coco’s clinics?’ Alice queried.
Holly nodded. ‘There may only be two or three patients a year that this concerns, but those patients are going to need an awful lot of time and attention. What do you think? Am I on the right track for you?’
‘Spot on,’ said Alice, reaching automatically for Coco’s soft ears. ‘It’s almost as if you know me all too well.’
Holly grinned, satisfied at last that even with a hangover she was finding her niche back at work once more. ‘I’m not always the fastest at making change happen,’ she said, ‘but I like to think I’m generally pointing in the right direction.’
Chapter 42
Connor deliberately picked up his pace, as someone called his name across the Market Place. Old habits died hard.
Even as Matthew Giles jogged to catch up with him, Connor felt his pulse ricochet up a notch, braced instinctively for cameras and microphones and intrusive questions. ‘All that rock music made you go a bit deaf, mate?’ Matthew joked easily, as he fell into step beside Connor.
‘Something like that,’ Connor said, the faintest apology in his tone, as he wondered how often he’d recently snubbed people he knew, in his quest for evasion and privacy. ‘Good of you to come along tonight, Matt. Really appreciate it.’
‘Chuffed to be invited to be honest,’ Matthew replied without guile. ‘Mike from Bath Rugby’s coming too, did you know? Dr Graham’s definitely got a few ideas up her sleeve, but she was kind of cryptic when she called. Speak of the devil . . .’
Holly emerged from the wine shop on the Market Place, with a clanking bag of bottles. ‘A little lubrication for the little grey cells,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘Hopefully an evening of brainstorming and vino will get the show back on the road.’
Connor coloured slightly under her none-too-subtle scrutiny as they walked together across to Number 42. ‘I’m doing okay,’ he said to her, avoiding the inevitable question, but somehow touched, rather than irked, by her concern. That was progress in itself, he thought, despite the dry mouth and nausea that seemed to accompany his new ‘happy pills’. He could almost hear his new therapist cheering him on – ‘Talk about it,’ he would say, ‘don’t hide it.’
‘Good,’ said Holly simply, squeezing his hand in a way that was so reminiscent of Rachel that for a moment the breath caught in his throat. He squeezed back, just for a second, and then pulled his hand away.
Baby steps, human contact, learning how to breathe all over again.
Connor hung back as Holly pushed open the front door of Number 42 and stepped inside. The expression on Taffy’s face as they all piled in was one that Connor recognised only too well, that of a man out of his depth and unwilling to admit it.
‘Fun afternoon with the kids, darling?’ Holly asked, kissing him lightly on the lips and passing him the bag of wine.
‘Well, I can’t say I wasn’t warned,’ Taffy replied, picking at the orange Play-Doh that seemed firmly welded to his eyebrow. ‘Hi, guys, Holly roped you in too, has she?’
‘The more the merrier,’ said Mike Urquhart, catching them up as they congregated in the hallway. ‘I, for one, can’t wait to hear what you have in mind.’
‘Me too,’ Connor confessed, vacillating between a desire to throw in the towel on this festival completely, and his natural competitive drive to overcome any challenges in his path. Like it or not, Cassie Holland’s sabotage had, in a way, also been the proverbial gauntlet . . .
As Mike slipped off his coat and hung it on the newel post, he leaned in towards Connor. ‘You know, you couldn’t hope to have a better team on your side. What young Matthew has achieved with his support group is phenomenal – young carers, invisible disabilities – his efforts are going to change so many lives. Between you and me, I’m pulling together a consortium to fund his centre outright.’
‘Impressive,’ said Connor awkwardly. Was Mike hitting him up for a little investment too?
Mike walked towards the kitchen with a smile. ‘You can blame Holly, really. She seems to have a knack for spending my money on things I didn’t know I wanted.’
‘Are you talking about me again?’ Holly said, pouring out two glasses of wine and handing them across the kitchen island.
‘Always,’ Mike said easily. ‘And at the Rugby Club Board Meeting just now, actually. We’ve been hearing a few interesting things on the grapevine about you, Holly, and about The Practice.’ He paused to sip his wine and Connor frowned, wondering where this was heading. ‘We wondered if you were in the market for a few more patients? It occurred to me that anything we could set up at the Club was only an imitation of what you’re already doing, just down the road in Larkford.’
‘Wow,’ said Holly, clearly blindsided a little, turning to Taffy to gauge his reaction to the suggestion.
Taffy nodded. ‘We might need to do a few sums, check out the funding allocations for new patients and whatnot, but—’
‘I’m sure we can make it work,’ interrupted Holly excitedly. ‘And we could afford to keep Tilly on the payroll if we have more registered patients.’
Mike shrugged. ‘Have a think and talk to the partners. Most of the guys and their families live in your catchment area anyway. It’s one of the reasons I was so intrigued by your invitation tonight. Tell me, what’s the plan?’
*
Several hours later, and well into the third bottle of wine, Connor, Holly, Taffy, Mike, Matthew, Lizzie and Elsie were all carving chunks of parmesan from the monolithic chunk that had arrived by Parcelforce from Plum’s adoring parents. Since the ‘care package’ also included Parma ham, olives and salted, twisted grissini that melted in the mouth leaving a hint of rosemary, it was fair to assume that they had little faith in their daughter’s transition to English cuisine.
On the other hand, Plum was so unbothered by its arrival that she had simply plonked it in the middle of the table and called it her contribution to the cause, thereby enabling her to duck out to the pub with Tilly with a clear conscience,
their fledgling relationship growing stronger by the day, and with it, Tilly’s confidence.
‘Look, all I’m saying,’ said Taffy, as he expertly whittled a roll of parmesan with the potato peeler, ‘is that just because you can do something, doesn’t always mean you should.’
Connor and Holly both looked at him with matching expressions of confusion. Such a notion was obviously anathema to both idealists.
‘Why not, though?’ said Connor with feeling. ‘I can bring together an amazing experience for loads of punters. It can bring extra business and tourist money to Larkford, not to mention giving a little something back to the town that has, for the most part, welcomed a grieving grumpy guitar player with open arms.’
‘For the most part,’ Taffy reminded him.
Elsie had been uncharacteristically quiet all evening, even earning herself a few concerned glances from those around the table accustomed to her usual garrulous response to a few glasses of vino bianco.
When she did choose to speak, everyone fell silent to listen. ‘You know,’ Elsie said tentatively, ‘I’m aware that some of this is my fault, and I can’t imagine what I was thinking letting Cassie have her say on the radio, but I still think that what you have here is actually just a simple problem of perception.’
Connor turned, no longer scowling at Taffy, receptive to any and all suggestions.
‘I mean, at no point have you actually told everyone of your plans in a transparent way – it’s all coming out in dribs and drabs, half of it second-hand. The way it’s being talked about in town, you’d think none of us were invited to come along – as though the residents and businesses of Larkford are just here to service the fancy-pants festival-goers who can actually afford an extortionate ticket. It only goes to feed into the notion of Them and Us.’
Connor frowned, noting that Elsie hadn’t made it clear which camp she felt that she herself belonged to. He put down the sliver of Parma ham he had instinctively rolled into an attractive meat spliff. ‘But how can that even be – when every resident is getting a free weekend pass?’
