Out of Practice

by Penny Parkes

  About the Author

  Penny Parkes survived a Convent education largely thanks to a ready supply of inappropriate novels and her passion for writing and languages.

  She studied International Management in Bath and Germany, before gaining experience with the BBC. She then set up an independent Film Location Agency and spent many happy years organising shoots for film, television and advertising – thereby ensuring that she was never short of travel opportunities, freelance writing projects or entertaining anecdotes.

  Penny now lives in the Cotswolds with her husband, two children and a geriatric spaniel. She will often be found plotting epic train journeys through the Alps, baking gluten-free goodies or attempting to prove that you can, in fact, teach an old dog new tricks.

  Follow Penny on Twitter: @CotswoldPenny

  First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2016

  A CBS COMPANY

  Copyright © Penny Parkes, 2016

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

  The right of Penny Parkes to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-4711-5304-4

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-4711-5305-1

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Typeset in the UK by M Rules

  Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd are committed to sourcing paper that is made from wood grown in sustainable forests and support the Forest Stewardship Council, the leading international forest certification organisation. Our books displaying the FSC logo are printed on FSC certified paper.

  For Rosie and Bertie

  With all my love, always

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 1

  Holly blew her fringe from her eyes and the familiar hot prickle of embarrassment began to crawl across her chest. ‘Please don’t let anyone be watching,’ she murmured under her breath, as she turned the steering wheel even harder to the right, until the ancient suspension on her beloved Golf groaned in complaint. Tentatively, she lifted her foot off the clutch, gingerly checking that, this time, she actually was in reverse.

  It made no sense to anyone who knew her. As a doctor, a mother, a bright, articulate woman, she had always been the capable one – the one you’d go to in a crisis – but somehow the part of Holly’s brain that was required for parallel parking simply refused to engage.

  The sound of metal on metal always made Holly shudder. This morning, her first day at her new job, the sound of Golf on Mercedes nearly made her sick.

  It was hardly the first impression she’d been hoping for and Holly swallowed hard to regain her composure. She slipped out of her car to survey the damage. She was just reassuring herself that her own car had taken the worst of the impact when a tiny powder-blue Fiat whipped into the car park. The driver was barely visible above the steering wheel, but nevertheless executed a faultless one-two-slide into the minuscule space that Holly had previously given up on.

  ‘Perfect,’ muttered Holly, awkwardly rubbing at the ding in the Mercedes’ paintwork with her sleeve, ‘out-parked by a pensioner.’

  ‘Well, good morning to you!’ called the Fiat’s driver, as she attempted to exit her car and untangle herself from the seatbelt at the same time. Holly turned in surprise, recognising the voice and struggling to place it. As she watched, a glamorous old lady, probably as vintage as her vehicle, emerged from the Fiat and it only took a few seconds for Holly to realise who it was.

  Elsie Townsend, star of stage and screen and Larkford’s resident celebrity, stepped out as if she were on the red carpet. She was sporting a glamorous confection of scarves and draping cardigans that were clearly eye-wateringly expensive and belied the fact that they were standing in a rather muddy, country doctors’ car park at 8:30 on a Thursday morning.

  ‘Hi,’ managed Holly, quietly in awe.

  ‘Chatty little soul, aren’t you?’ said Elsie drily. ‘Don’t be shy now. Do please tell me that you’re the new GP. We’ve all been simply longing for a lovely lady doctor.’

  Holly felt her fingers being taken in a surprisingly strong clasp by a delicate hand that looked and felt like paper, but somehow supported a sapphire the size of a gull’s egg. Before she could reply, she’d been pulled into a half embrace and powdery air kisses were whistling past both cheeks.

  ‘You’ll be like a breath of fresh air around here, young lady,’ Elsie said.

  Holly felt her cheeks growing pink and she couldn’t help smiling. All the nerves this morning, not to mention the hideous sweatiness of the parking debacle, slipped from her mind in the warmth of Elsie’s appraisal. ‘First day today, in fact. I’m Holly Graham by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms Townsend.’

  Elsie’s eyes danced with delight at being instantly recognised, ‘Elsie, please. Well then, Dr Graham, may I be the first to welcome you to Larkford. We’ve all been looking forward to your arrival. I’m afraid some of our residents may even have been speculating about your reasons for joining our little community. They can’t help it – not a lot to do but gossip, some of these old biddies.’ She gave Holly a conspiratorial look.

  Holly laughed, loving the fact that even though Elsie herself was clearly in her eighties, she certainly didn’t regard herself as one of the ‘old biddies’. ‘Ah, well, then I’m sure I shall provide plenty of fodder for the gossip machine, especially if I make a habit of reversing into expensive Mercedes.’

  Elsie shrugged and waved a hand. ‘That’s just Dr Bruce’s car. He’s actually a bit of a shit,’ she pronounced incongruously, ‘so I rather think you’ll win Brownie points from the locals for that one. Might even bring him down a peg or two. If there’s one thing people round here don’t like, it’s uppity people looking down on them, and Henry Bruce is just so full of himself, he can’t see how offensive he can be.’

  �
��Brilliant,’ said Holly quietly, having met the indomitable Henry Bruce at her interview and already suffered his condescension for having the nerve to be a woman, a mother and a doctor all at the same time. She knew full well that he was the only partner not to have supported her application and now she’d reversed into his car!

  ‘Worry not, my petal. We, your loyal patients, will support you,’ Elsie announced, holding out an arm as if she were on the stage at Stratford and reeling off a bit of Will Shakespeare. ‘Come on, or I’ll be late for my slot with the delicious Dr Dan. I’ve been summoned in for bad behaviour,’ Elsie confided disgustedly. ‘Again! It’s unseemly, apparently, for a woman my age to be caught having fun. Gets all the neighbours in a pickle, you see. Quite why I can’t dance around my garden in a nice evening frock doing a bit of gardening, I do not know. But here we are and the dementia drums are beating . . .’

  Holly felt Elsie tuck her arm through hers. ‘Well then,’ Holly said, ‘we can’t miss your slot now, can we? Not if it’s with Delicious Dan Carter. He always was rather easy on the eye, even when we were teenagers. He’s my best friend Lizzie’s cousin actually.’

  ‘Excellent,’ replied Elsie, ‘I do love a bit of healthy nepotism. I hope that’s why you’re here in Larkford?’

  ‘Partly,’ replied Holly diplomatically. The car park was hardly the place to divulge the intimate tangles of her life, but it did remind Holly that she needed to work out a public version of events sooner rather than later.

  Elsie’s intent gaze missed nothing, as she appeared to clock Holly’s discomfort and nervous anticipation all with one assessing look. ‘My darling girl, I’m sure you’ll be an asset to our little community whatever your reasons. And here you are on your first day . . . Such bliss to have a new project – all those new people to meet, new adventures to have, the possibility of an affaire du coeur. Oh, I envy you a little, I really do.’ Elsie’s hand fluttered to the diamond pendant at her throat, highlighting the sharp contrast between the perfectly smooth skin of Elsie’s cheek and the crêpe de chine of her neck.

  Holly flushed a little, discomfited by the picture Elsie was painting. Searching for a change of subject, she eyed up Elsie’s perfectly parked vintage Fiat, the early sun glinting off the powder-blue bonnet. ‘I must get you to show me how to do that snazzy parking manoeuvre one day, Elsie. My husband, Milo, has given up trying to teach me. It was going to end in divorce if he didn’t!’ She just about managed a gentle laugh.

  Elsie followed her lead, albeit watching her expression closely. ‘Well, I’ll teach you my little trick, if you like. Steve McQueen taught it to me in 1965 and it’s never let me down yet. Now, what was the name of that movie we did together? Oh, that’s going to annoy me all day now . . .’

  Holly guided Elsie around a puddle in the gravel, trying not to be a little jealous of the old lady’s stylish leather boots, and they walked over towards the main entrance. The Practice building itself was newly renovated and nestled comfortably on the edge of the market town. The older part of the building was warm local stone and the windows were capped by arches of red brick, giving the building the appearance of having eyebrows. A sweeping wisteria climbed the walls and the tiny pendulums of buds promised a stunning display to come.

  The newer section was clearly bolder by design, featuring huge picture windows with frosted glass. Having already been inside for her interview, Holly knew that the light now flooded into the building, relieving the dark, oppressive feeling that haunted so many doctors’ practices. All in all, the building had a pleasant airy feel that was welcoming and spacious.

  She pushed open the doors and breathed in the ubiquitous smells of Deep Heat and antiseptic. It felt like coming home. Whatever her reasons for leaving the hospital behind, Holly knew that the move to The Practice was the right thing for her professionally. All she had to do now was to make sure it worked for her disastrous personal life too. She couldn’t help smiling as she saw her name newly painted on to the list of doctors at The Practice.

  Elsie gave her arm a squeeze, ‘Bonne chance, Dr Graham. It’s been a pleasure.’

  ‘Holly? Holly Graham?’ A petite woman with a harassed expression managed a welcoming smile as she bustled across the office, ‘I’m Grace Allen, the Practice Manager.’

  ‘Grace, hello. So lovely to see you again,’ said Holly sincerely, recognising her from the interview day, and comforted to be met by a familiar and friendly face.

  Grace flushed a little and Holly remembered how thoughtful Grace had been to all the candidates, briefing them beforehand on areas of special interest, making sure they knew about schools and housing in the town.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough for all the information you sent through to me, Grace. It made the move so much smoother and the boys are settling into Pinetrees Nursery already. I won’t say it’s been a painless transition,’ said Holly, with classic understatement, ‘but your tips made all the difference, truly.’

  ‘Well . . .’ parried Grace, obviously delighted by the compliments but embarrassed nevertheless, ‘it’s stressful enough moving house, let alone starting a new job. But I do remember what it’s like juggling work and the little ones, so if you ever need someone to talk to, I’ll be right here.’ Her cheeks flushed a little more, setting off the auburn highlights in her bob, as she leaned in a little. ‘Although, I also seem to remember that some days it was nice to come to work for a rest! Now let’s see what we can do about getting you some coffee and we’ll sort out that bit of porridge on your skirt at the same time.’ Grace gave her a sympathetic smile which made Holly want to hug her, despite having known her for all of five minutes.

  She looked down at the small white handprint on her skirt and shook her head in dismay, frustrated with herself for fulfilling the ditsy working-mother-stereotype right off the bat. She really needed to get her act together. She always aimed to be professional, calm and compassionate at work. This morning, it was fair to say, she was falling well wide of her target. She scooped a wet wipe from her handbag and rubbed at the stain ineffectually. ‘I don’t know how they manage it. I walked all round Tesco with yoghurt down my back when the twins were tiny and nobody said a word.’

  Grace laughed and patted Holly’s shoulder. ‘We’ll watch your back for you now you’re here.’ Her expression darkened as a tall, blonde woman swept through the office without even acknowledging their presence, merely dropping a stack of paperwork on Grace’s desk and leaving. ‘Well, most of us will, anyway. But we can save that one for later.’

  Holly craned her neck, wondering who this woman was, to provoke such a reaction in seemingly mild-mannered Grace. Other than being slightly in awe of the endless legs, the perfect make-up and the expensively tailored dress, Holly struggled to form an opinion on the basis of one fleeting moment. The stethoscope looped around her neck marked her out as one of the doctors and the jigsaw pieces clicked into place: Julia Channing. No wonder everyone seemed so delighted to have a new female GP starting, if this über-perfect ice maiden had been their previous option. Holly could easily believe that such perfection would hardly be conducive to baring one’s intimate issues.

  A few minutes later, coffee in hand, Holly was taking notes as Grace whistled through the daily schedule at The Practice with a ruthless efficiency directly at odds with her genteel appearance.

  ‘I’ve popped you in for your own afternoon surgery later, but I thought we’d spend the morning just showing you the ropes, the systems and making sure you feel at home,’ said Grace. ‘Dan has requested that you sit in with him for one or two patients and you can meet the rest of the team for elevenses. Now, how does that sound?’

  ‘Sounds perfect, Grace,’ Holly smiled, all her worries about finding her feet unfounded, and relieved to have such a welcoming and well-organised Practice Manager. She knew that, in reality, it was probably Grace that held the whole show together. ‘I can’t wait to meet everyone.’

  A little white lie on that front couldn’t hurt, justified Ho
lly to herself. After all, Grace didn’t need to know that she was quietly terrified at the prospect of meeting the rest of the team. Not Dan, obviously, but she’d have to meet Julia Channing properly at some point and there was still Henry Bruce to win over. Holly couldn’t see any hope of a lasting friendship with the terrifyingly young and overly confident nurse they had passed in the corridor either.

  She was suddenly pathetically, ridiculously glad to have Dan here. There were some days, Holly decided, when it took more than a medical degree and a pair of lucky pants to keep one’s confidence up.

  Grace took her cup and ushered her down the hall towards a door marked Dr D. Carter. ‘Well, you’ve already met Larkford’s most glamorous resident, so I’m afraid it’ll all be downhill from here.’

  Holly crinkled her brow. ‘Do you mean Elsie Townsend? Isn’t she wonderful?’ she said with genuine warmth, quietly thinking that if she were able to choose her own old age, eccentricity was looking pretty appealing.

  ‘Oh she’s a card alright. Fabulous fun, but a terrible influence. Whatever you do, never let her mix you a Martini – you’ll be dancing on tables before you know it. Trust me. But if you’re ever bored, buy her a drink and she’ll tell you about her cat fight with Marilyn Monroe and her steamy affair with Steve McQueen.’

  Holly laughed, before coming back down to earth with a jolt as she remembered their earlier conversation about Steve McQueen. ‘Actually,’ Holly dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘I do need to find Dr Bruce at some point. I . . . well, I . . . I kind of need to speak to him about his car.’ Holly’s throat flushed red and Grace didn’t miss a trick.

  She looked left and right and pulled Holly sharply into the ladies’ loos. ‘You know, Holly, after you’ve been here a little while, you’ll find that all the doctors have their weaknesses,’ she said, with a studied intensity. ‘George Kingsley for example, is a sucker for a decent steak and kidney pie. Dan Carter gets his shorts in a twist about discovering a new running trail. And what you need to know about Dr Bruce, is that when it comes to his car, he can sometimes be a little, well, obsessive. So all I’m really saying here is that, unless his bumper is half way across the car park or you’re a secret petrol-head, I would aim for a nice positive introduction. Yes?’