by Penny Parkes
Holly felt a small growl rise in the back of her throat but took a calming breath, as she made her way across the lounge, swallowing opinions left and right. It was an appalling habit of hers to make snap judgements, but it was one that she was trying hard to break. Ours is not to reason why, she chastised herself. There were clearly years of back-story and history in this room. It was going to take a lot longer than a few days to form a considered opinion.
In the meantime, she had to rely on her gut and her gut was telling her that she needed to be over by the sofas with Dan Carter and the others.
She walked past Julia Channing, who was sitting at the table, tapping away at her iPhone. The speed with which her fingers pecked at the screen was at odds with the casually relaxed air she was cultivating. Well, that and the nervously tapping foot under the table. She glanced up and gave Holly a very intense look, as she noted Holly’s planned trajectory towards Dan. Julia leaned across to Jason the nurse who was sitting beside her and seemed smugly satisfied with whatever snide little titbit she whispered in his ear. Jason looked over at Holly then, a long appraising glance, before huddling back down to their tête-à-tête.
For a moment, Holly was back in the Sixth Form Common room and it did not feel like a happy memory. She glanced back in their direction, unnerved to be their topic of conversation. She was relieved to find that they were now discussing their health shakes, which looked for all the world like silage slurpies, but were obviously doing the pair of them a power of good. Bitter greens, thought Holly – shelving all her good intentions not to judge – figures.
Indeed, whereas everyone who congregated around the sofas with Dan looked pretty normal – for that, read tired, peaky and several seasons out of date on the fashion front – Julia and Jason were positively shining with conceited health. To be fair, Henry Bruce was shining too, but in a slightly more over-polished, oleaginous way.
Holly had only just settled beside Maggie, when Grace came into the lounge and made her way over. ‘Someone really should teach that poor girl to tell the time better,’ said Grace wryly. ‘How’s Jade working out with the patients anyway, Dan? Probably not the best idea to put her on blood pressure duty until we’ve found her a bigger uniform.’
Maggie grinned, seemingly happy to have found someone with a willing ear to mouth off to. ‘But there are some bonuses. Apparently we discovered old Mr Morris didn’t actually need that Viagra he’s been requesting.’
Dan turned to her, eyes wide, ‘No . . .’
Maggie was delighted with his disbelieving response. ‘Oh yes. No problem in the hydraulics department at all, as it turns out. Which is just as well, because with his blood pressure, even one of those little blue pills would probably have finished him off and he was hell-bent on convincing Dr Bruce to prescribe some.’
‘Wouldn’t have taken much to persuade Henry, would it?’ Dan commented bitterly, apparently still furious to discover that Henry’s last golfing jolly had been funded by their local drug rep. The vehemence loaded into his words took Holly by surprise and she looked up, just in time to catch Dan’s look of utter disdain in Henry’s direction.
‘Quite,’ said Maggie with feeling.
It was as though Holly had accidentally stumbled onto the set of some prime-time drama this morning. There seemed to be more sub-plots and historical feuds to untangle than the idyllic setting had actually prepared her for. If anything, thought Holly, the pressure cooker of such a small working community made the tension worse than at the hospital.
‘Anyway,’ Maggie carried on, ‘according to the nurses, it turns out poor Mr Morris just couldn’t get it up for his missus. But then, I’ve met his vile missus and her weepy bunions on many occasions, so you can’t really blame the old fart.’
Dan snorted into his cup of tea, inhaling the hot liquid painfully up his nose. ‘Maggie!’ he protested, shocked into hiccupy laughter. ‘It’s one thing to think disrespectful thoughts about one’s patients, it’s quite another to . . . Oh hell, who am I kidding? If we can’t find a little light relief somewhere . . .’
The tiny bubble of their hilarity was burst the second that George, the Senior Partner, walked into the lounge. Dan’s eyes were still watering with tears of laughter and Maggie was casually dabbing spilt tea from his tie. Jade had been in the process of whispering some tiny pearls of her wisdom into Henry’s willing ear and Jason was trying to convince Julia to sample his ‘health shake’. To judge from the expression on George’s face, he may as well have walked into an orgy.
He cleared his throat, averting his gaze endearingly. He could be such an old fuddy-duddy at times, according to Dan, but Holly was convinced there simply wasn’t a bad bone in his body. Always keen to see the best in people, there were those, according to Grace, who took complete advantage of his good nature.
George fidgeted for a moment, polishing his glasses on his shirt tails. Desperate as they were to discover what was so important they were missing their lunch-break, it only took a moment for silence to fall. George blinked at them all myopically. ‘Thank you for, er, taking the time to be here. I know you’ve got to have some time to eat, but, er, I wanted to share a little news with you all.’ He paused awkwardly, waiting for the words to find him. ‘It’s been no secret that I had hoped that my eldest son Peter would come down to Somerset and join The Practice. After all, there’s been a Dr Kingsley in this Practice for three generations and, whilst I’m obviously very proud of the surgery he’s performing up in Edinburgh, there is a great privilege to be had in being part of a community . . .’
Holly tried hard to stay engaged with George’s speech about the honour of contributing to their patients’ lives, but it was unbelievably hot in the lounge, with them all packed in there and it seemed to be the same call to arms he had proclaimed at her interview. She could see the others around her quietly tuning out too and she felt quite sorry for George. Public speaking was obviously not his forte, but she mentally urged him to get to the point before he lost his audience all together.
According to Grace, or The Oracle of Larkford, as Holly was beginning to consider her, Peter was a patronising, arrogant son of a bitch and, if he had in fact agreed to come back to Larkford, then all their working lives would be affected.
‘But sadly,’ George continued, ‘it is not to be and Peter assures me that he will not be changing his plans. With that in mind,’ he paused and looked around the room for dramatic effect, ‘I have decided to take early retirement and intend to do so, two months from today. So then, you shall all have to manage without a Kingsley at the helm. Although, since most of you frequent my Teddy’s pub on occasion, I’m sure we’ll not lose touch.’
The silence in the room became a little strained as George was obviously hoping for a reaction, but it was taking a moment for the penny to drop and for everyone to compute what he was saying.
Holly, for one, frowned in intense concentration, replaying his words over and over in her mind. Was this guy for real? He’d hired her himself – his main pitch to her had been about family and continuity of care and moving into a more stable working environment . . . She had planned her life around this job! She swallowed hard and looked around her. Was she the only one in the dark about this plan?
But no, Dan was looking similarly wrong-footed and the gentle hubbub of conversation was fast rising to a chaotic level of discussion.
Poor George was trying to quieten them down, as questions were bandied back and forth about the future of The Practice and who would be stepping into his shoes.
Holly looked over at Julia Channing and felt instantly unnerved by the calculating and conceited look on her face. Was this already a done deal? Was Julia Channing going to be her new boss? Because if so, Holly decided, then her wonderful new job was on a decidedly shaky footing.
George clapped his hands for silence but then stumbled a little over his words, suddenly in a hurry to be out of the limelight. ‘And of course, we shall have to decide which of our esteemed Partners s
hould become the Senior Partner in my absence. I’m sure several of you would like to throw your hat into the ring and we have two months to decide, so no hurry there.’
The room exhaled as one with a groan, obviously foreseeing two months of pitching and competing and back-stabbing, in all likelihood. Holly watched Dan stare across at Henry Bruce, smooth and unruffled in his pin-striped suit. Julia, on the other hand, kept her eyes firmly on George and remained convincingly (albeit superficially) serene.
Crap, thought Holly, as the tension in the room escalated. This was clearly going to be a three-way race that could get very ugly.
‘Oh and, on an unrelated issue, since we’re all gathered together,’ George called over the bedlam, ‘I’d like you all to join me in congratulating Julia Channing on her new project, Doctor In The House, which I believe starts filming next month and will be aired in the summer. So, to Julia!’
Julia quietly murmured her thanks, as Henry Bruce’s acolytes abandoned him and swarmed around her with congratulations. ‘I’d like to know when she thinks she’s got time to go swanning off being a TV star,’ Grace mumbled, one eye as always on the complicated schedule.
Taffy and Dan sat in silence for a moment, as Maggie and Lucy pounced on Grace to find out the inside line.
‘So, that’s put the cat amongst the pigeons,’ said Taffy eventually.
‘Yup,’ managed Dan monosyllabically.
‘You know her better than me, mate, but I’m guessing that the fragrant Dr Channing would be a bitch from hell as Senior Partner?’
‘Yup.’
‘And Henry is basically a used-car salesman with a medical degree, who’s rather fond of his prescription pad?’
‘Yup.’
Holly sat quietly taking it all in, feeling as though she was eavesdropping, but gaining valuable insight into the battle ahead. She felt a wave of nausea ripple through her and swallowed hard. Three choices for the job. Two of which would probably make her life hell. Hell, they’d probably just fire her and be done with it! There was only one thing she could do – throw her support behind Dan Carter and make sure he was the outstanding and obvious choice.
‘Taffy? You still got that vodka stashed in the vaccination fridge?’ Dan murmured eventually, as he rose to his feet. ‘Summit meeting in my sodding office then, mate,’ he said despondently. ‘Think we’ll need a liquid lunch, don’t you?’
‘Bloody hell, Dan,’ Holly cursed under her breath as they left. It certainly looked as though Dan Carter had no intention of making that easy for her!
Chapter 7
Holly hunched on Lizzie’s doorstep that evening, a chill wind whipping around her ankles, cursing Lizzie for refusing to have a doorbell ‘for aesthetic reasons’ and feeling decidedly anti-social.
She craved a little head space to corral her thoughts into line before seeing Milo, quietly hoping that this Partnership thing would turn out to be a storm in a teacup, rather than a life-changing tsunami.
Just as Holly was about to completely lose the last remnants of her sense of humour, the heavy wooden door was pulled open by Lizzie’s endlessly patient husband, Will.
‘Come in, come in. Sorry, chicken, you look freezing out there! We really need to get a sodding doorbell – most people just give up and leave!’ Will ushered Holly over the threshold and scooped her into an enormous bear hug, landing kisses of welcome on each of her chilled cheeks.
‘Thank God, you’ve brought more wine. Lizzie’s been, er, cooking with the rest,’ said Will, tossing her coat over the end of the bannisters, with little or no regard to his wife’s perfect interior décor. ‘Come on through, we’ll get one of these bad boys open and sit you on the Aga to defrost for a bit!’ Will flung an arm around Holly’s shoulders as they made their way through Farrow & Ball hued rooms, every wall and surface adorned with framed shots of the family – all three children in fabulous clothes, doing fabulous things, looking fabulously happy. If Holly didn’t love Lizzie and Will quite so very much, it might almost have been a little nauseating.
‘Thanks for picking up the boys. Things got a bit hectic at work,’ she said, leaning into Will’s solid frame, his chunky jumper making him look like a slightly chubby Swiss ski instructor.
‘No problem,’ he said and then lowered his voice conspiratorially, ‘Now it’s only fair to warn you that Lizzie’s insisted on cooking tonight. And I’ve seen what’s for supper so you’ll be wanting to tuck into the crisps.’
Holly could feel the tensions of her afternoon slowly releasing and she even managed a smile. It had always been a standing joke that Lizzie couldn’t cook for toffee. Well, to be more precise, everything she did cook turned to toffee. Or a brown, sticky, often unidentifiable substance anyway. Their student flat share had been one long exercise in compromise. Namely, Holly did the cooking and Lizzie did the washing up. Although, to be fair, she wasn’t actually that great with a Brillo pad either.
Lizzie was leaning against the Aga as they walked into the kitchen and Holly was struck as always, by how closely Lizzie’s life resembled one long lifestyle photo-shoot. A huge saucepan was bubbling behind her, and she cradled a large goblet of wine in one hand and her daughter Lily on her hip with the other. Oblivious to her toddler’s attempts to sneak a slurp of the good stuff, Lizzie leaned forward to kiss Holly on both cheeks enthusiastically. ‘You’re late, so I’ve started without you.’
Holly caught hold of Lily as she lunged in for a cuddle, beautiful chestnut hair cut into a severe but wonderfully stylish bob and pink cheeks proclaiming her health and vitality. Next to her Holly felt like a used teabag.
Lily pressed into Holly for a proper cuddle, clearly unworried about sullying Holly’s more relaxed style of dressing. With Lizzie, all the kids knew the rules – small sticky hands did not go well with cashmere and suede. Lizzie’s boys ran past with the twins in hot pursuit, barely stopping to wave and grin at their mother. At least someone was having a good day.
Moments later, the scrabbling of paws on polished oak floorboards announced the arrival of Eric, the Labradoodle. Eric’s unruly blonde curls looked more and more like Lizzie’s every day, only serving to add to the notion that life in this house ran to a colour scheme; without doubt, a very stylish palette today, in shades of caramel and cream.
Eric nudged at Holly’s hand, pressing himself against her legs until she crouched down to scruff his ears affectionately. ‘Hello my gorgeous boy.’ She released Lily to scoot off and join the boys and Eric sat beautifully and attentively at Holly’s feet, fixing her with his big chocolatey eyes.
‘Oh Eric! Stop being such a tart,’ said Lizzie, flicking a perfectly ironed tea towel in his direction. She waggled her empty wine glass at Will, who was hurriedly cracking open a few bags of Kettle Chips. ‘Fill me up, Buttercup, would you? Oh, and get Holly one of those dreadful elderflowery things she likes.’
They moved about the kitchen with the ease of three people who had known each other for years. They might no longer be students together, but the occasional photo of them looking fabulously knackered and naïve could still be spotted amongst the Larkford Life interiors, assuming you knew where to look.
Holly also knew that those same pictures made Milo feel uncomfortable, as though he were still an outsider to their little group. He did try to join in, but often his jokes somehow fell wide of the mark; his ‘witty’ repartee being that bit too close to the bone and lacking the layer of affection that might soften its impact. Still, Holly appreciated the fact that he persevered. It gave her hope that this fresh start might yet be successful. And, as long as they both kept trying, they were surely moving in the right direction?
She tried to ignore the little pangs of jealousy, as she watched Will affectionately stroke the small of Lizzie’s back as he walked by. Lizzie and Will seemed to have forged a marriage that was based upon a mutual respect and a shared sense of humour – both of which felt sadly lacking in her own these days. Sometimes Lizzie’s relationship gave Holly hope for what a partne
rship should look and feel like. Other days – today possibly – she just felt a little envious of her friends’ obvious happiness.
Before Lizzie and Will’s wedding, Holly had often felt like she was learning to cook from a recipe book with no pictures. She had simply no idea what she was aiming for. And now, because of Lizzie and Will, that same cookbook came with full colour photographs and a three-dimensional demonstration of what love should look, taste and sound like. Or rather, what love could be like. Because it was becoming increasingly obvious that, in life, as on Bake Off, not everyone following the same recipe would end up with the same result.
‘Supper’s nearly ready,’ said Lizzie moments later, stirring her bubbling concoction, whilst simultaneously clamping down her fringe to prevent steam-frizz. Mary Berry she was not. ‘Shall we give Milo a ring?’
‘What? To warn him?’ deadpanned Will.
‘To see what time he’ll be here,’ clarified Lizzie, somewhat missing the joke. ‘Or will he be keeping us waiting and making an entrance later as per usual?’ Her tone was light but there was no missing the judgement in her words. Lizzie made no secret of the fact that she hated Milo’s power games; she hated to see Holly being bossed around and diminished, even if Holly herself didn’t always appear to notice it was happening.
‘And I’ve told the kids they can stay up and watch a movie, as long as they’re in their PJs, okay?’ said Lizzie. Holly hesitated, quietly thinking that an evening cuddled up on the sofa munching popcorn was probably exactly what the boys needed. Life hadn’t exactly been a bed of roses for them recently: too many changes all happening at once. But then, she found herself mentally rehearsing the argument with Milo, who had incredibly strict ideas about bedtime routines for someone who was so rarely around to participate in them. ‘They’ve had a long day . . .’ she prevaricated, wondering how much energy she had left in the tank and where to focus it.
