by Penny Parkes
‘Do you know, Lizzie,’ Milo said smoothly, as though nothing had happened, ‘I think that this is far and away the best bouillabaisse I have ever eaten outside of France!’
Lizzie frowned, unaccustomed to his lightning changes of mood and unsure what to make of the compliment. ‘Milo, have you ever eaten bouillabaisse outside of France before?’ she asked suspiciously.
He just smiled enigmatically and raised his glass, before leaning back in to the conversation with a joke. Holly and Will, already on a hair trigger for the giggles, were soon caught up in his funny anecdote about the mad librarian in Bath. Resting his arm around Holly’s shoulders, she nestled into him instinctively. Only Lizzie sat back, watching the evening unfold, with a nebulous sense that she was missing something.
Later, as Lizzie attempted to load the dishwasher without Eric trying to climb in and act as Pre-wash, Holly plonked more plates down beside her.
‘Nice to see Milo on form,’ said Lizzie, quietly fishing.
‘It is,’ Holly agreed, pushing aside the spiralling thoughts that tormented her. Would they need to move yet again before she’d even finished unpacking? She was only too aware that redundancy was such a career-killer on a doctor’s CV. And with the boys only just starting to get settled . . . She sighed deeply: soul-searching would have to wait. It was yet another luxury she didn’t have time for.
Lizzie gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Penny for them . . .’
Holly smiled. ‘Where would I be without you?’
‘Mistress to that dodgy ethics professor, with a shaggy perm and questionable taste in clothes? So not that different really . . . but without a timeshare puppy obviously.’
Holly leaned in and kissed Lizzie on the cheek in a spontaneous gesture of gratitude. For all her foibles, Lizzie was the best friend she’d ever had. ‘Then I guess I owe you one.’
Lizzie drained her glass. ‘Oh darling, at this point we really should stop counting!’
A plaintive wail from upstairs got Holly’s instant attention. When Ben kicked off in the night, there was always a small but distinct window of opportunity to get him settled again, or they were in for a long one.
‘I’ll come and help,’ said Lizzie, noting that Will and Milo seemed to be having a pleasant conversation for once and wanting to leave them to it.
With Ben cradled back to sleep in her arms, Holly perched on the end of Lizzie’s bed. She brushed Ben’s fringe from his eyes and savoured the moment of peace.
With him asleep and his little starfish hands relaxed against her, Ben’s fight against the world was on hold. All the tension in his little body was gone and Holly held him to her, murmuring sweet nothings.
‘Holly? You do know you’re going to have to tell Milo about your job?’ said Lizzie, gently but firmly.
‘I know,’ said Holly. ‘I just think I need a bit more information first.’
‘Or you could tell him tonight, while he’s in a good mood? Then you two can make a plan together over the weekend. Either way,’ she persisted.
Holly didn’t reply and Ben snuggled closer into her arms. In that moment, Holly didn’t really trust herself to speak. Everything she was doing, all the choices she was making were about making the best life for her boys that she could possibly manage. And little boys needed their dads. Everybody knew that. Everybody told her that. All the bloody time. She’d tried to tell herself that there were better male role models out there, but Milo was their father and, faced with that incontrovertible truth, her arguments sounded hollow and unconvincing even to herself. It wasn’t particularly helpful either, that despite everything, she did still love him and yearned for their earlier days together, when life had seemed so simple.
A volley of laughter came from downstairs, the sound so unusual that Lizzie and Holly both looked at each other in amazement.
‘Bloody hell, Milo really is pulling out all the stops tonight,’ said Lizzie. ‘How badly is he on the back foot this time? Has he found himself a new little postgrad to play with?’ Her tone was scathing and it instantly made Holly feel all prickly and defensive.
Her silence was loud in the room and Lizzie sighed dramatically. ‘Sorry. Bit tactless. Too soon?’
‘Definitely too soon. And I would have thought you’d be pleased he was making an effort?’ Holly managed tightly.
‘I am, I am,’ said Lizzie apologetically. ‘I just worry about you, Holls. All this talk of him making an effort . . . Should it really require such an effort to be pleasant to your lovely wife? And, be honest, Milo on buoyant form normally means he’s fucked up something. How many compliments has he been throwing your way this evening?’
‘Cynic.’
‘Realist,’ Lizzie countered firmly. ‘I could go on . . .’
‘Please don’t, though,’ said Holly with feeling ‘I know you two butt heads occasionally, but really I just need you to support me on this.’
She normally valued Lizzie’s objective input, even when it came to her marriage, but she couldn’t cope with any Milobashing tonight. He was obviously doing his best and that ought to be enough, even if she sometimes wondered deep down whether it was all an act. He certainly seemed able to switch it on and off like a tap.
Holly was only too aware that she had a blind spot where Milo was concerned: her boys. She did try to trust her instincts, to stay on balance, even when Milo seemed to do his level best to distort her recollection of events. But over-riding everything was the desire to keep her family together, despite the little voice that whispered that things weren’t quite right. The trouble was, she had no idea what to do to make them better.
She felt paralysed by doubt, caught in a vicious circle that made her feel passive and weak. The responsibility of making the wrong decision was utterly overwhelming: at this point, doing nothing actually felt like the proactive choice.
Lizzie sat down beside Holly on the bed and pressed a set of keys into her hand. ‘I’ve been thinking and I want you to have these, Holly. Just in case you need a bolthole any time. Phone – don’t phone – just turn up if you need to . . .’ Her tone brooked no argument, but Holly was still shocked.
‘I’m not a battered wife on the run, Lizzie!’
‘I didn’t say you were. I just gave you a set of keys in case you ever needed them.’ Lizzie squeezed her hand tightly.
Had Lizzie spotted the fear in her eyes and misinterpreted it?
Because Holly was afraid; it terrified her now to realise how completely she had surrendered her independence when she became a mother. Sharing parenthood of their lovely boys was surely a tighter bind than any marriage vows or mortgages.
She’d been completely prepared for the sleepless nights and the stretch marks, not to mention the overwhelming love she would feel for her babies – but somehow, amongst all the hormones and nipple cream, nobody had thought to forewarn her that she was now inextricably linked to Milo for the rest of her life: no matter how much he’d changed and whether she liked it or not.
Lizzie, true friend that she was, sensed Holly’s mood and didn’t push the issue. Having found the opportunity to make her point, she changed tack. ‘Besides – you’ll need those keys when you come to pick up Eric!’
Holly smiled. She couldn’t deny that the prospect of a time-share puppy was extraordinarily appealing, although heaven knows how many arguments that arrangement might provoke at home . . .
Lizzie fidgeted uncomfortably beside her and sighed. ‘Right, enough of all that touchy feely bollocks! We really ought to go back downstairs you know.’ She stood up and pulled distractedly at the crotch of her skin-tight jeans.
Holly realised, and not for the first time, how lucky she was to have a friend who could be supportive in the moment, but never felt the need to dwell on the drama. Right now, Holly was just grateful for the opening to talk about something else, ‘Erm, Lizzie? You’ve gone all squirmy. You okay?’
Lizzie just laughed. ‘It’s alright, Dr Graham, I’m not hitting you up for some Canesten! I just
tried a new minty shower gel – smells gorgeous by the way – but I have to be honest, it’s made my lady bits go all tingly.’
Holly shook her head, well used to these bizarre occurrences. Lizzie was forever experimenting with toiletries, hair dye and make-up. Obviously some with better results than others.
Lizzie squirmed again and gave a little jiggle. Holly just grinned. ‘That tingly, huh? Well, maybe I should get some for myself!’
Lizzie’s filthy laugh lifted Holly’s spirits even more. She laid Ben back into his little camp bed and carefully tucked the house keys into her pocket. She didn’t need them of course. In all likelihood would never need them. But somehow, knowing that Lizzie was worried enough to get them cut, gave her a perverse little boost. At least she wasn’t imagining everything!
At the top of the stairs, Lizzie caught her arm. ‘Don’t wait, Holly. Perseverance isn’t always a good thing. You should just tell him you’re not happy,’ Lizzie insisted, her head tilted to one side in the universal sign of compassion and looking even more like Eric than usual.
Holly paused for a moment, as she considered the possibility, rejecting it almost instantly. The mental picture of the four of them together – her family – foremost in her mind. ‘I am, though,’ she said, a touch defensively, ‘I am happy – most of the time. Between the boys and work and, well, you guys . . . I’d say, eight days out of ten, I’m perfectly fine.’
Lizzie gently elbowed her in the ribs. ‘Listen to yourself. This isn’t a bloody Whiskers advert!’
Holly laughed, but the strain never left her face. ‘I do know I have to talk to him and obviously we need to make some changes. And don’t worry, I will. But in all honesty, I need to wait until I’ve got myself a little more balanced,’ she shrugged and then flashed Lizzie a smile, ‘otherwise I’m not entirely sure I’d have the restraint to stop, once I got started.’
Holly swallowed hard. It was all very well joking about these things, but she knew that the day was coming when she couldn’t put it off any more. She was just hoping to be in a slightly stronger frame of mind by then. And preferably not unemployed.
‘Did you have a nice time tonight, Holls?’ Milo asked as they walked through Larkford on their way home later that night. ‘It was good to see you relax a bit. I do know your job isn’t your average nine ’til five and we all realise how hard you work. You’re quite something to live up to!’ He kissed her gently on the top of her head and, for a moment, it was just like old times. When Milo decided to be charming, there was no one more attentive or sweet.
Holly breathed out slowly, her shoulders dropping back into their rightful place. Her breath clouded in front her, the spring night still chilly, and she nestled into her coat. The twins were happily bundled into the Beast, with layers of blankets keeping them snuggly as they slept. The rest of the evening had passed in a blur of funny stories and casual banter. Holly couldn’t remember the last time the four of them had had such a relaxed and enjoyable evening. Even Lizzie had stopped glaring at Milo after a while, his silly stories winning her around to a casual détente.
Walking along, with the stars scattered across the night sky and the echoes of the evening’s laughter still sounding in her head, it was so easy to remember why she fell in love with him.
‘Aren’t they beautiful when they’re so sleepy and peaceful?’ she murmured, enjoying the warmth of Milo’s hand on her own as she pushed the pram.
He leaned in closer, his breath warm and familiar on her cheek, gazing at their boys with an almost quizzical expression. He gave a little sigh. ‘You know, I think I might prefer them like this . . .’
Holly looked at him sharply, wondering whether he was in fact making a sweet paternal joke about his noisy little boys or whether he truly meant it. She was disconcerted to find that she honestly couldn’t tell.
‘Shall I make us a snack while you put the boys to bed?’ Milo offered. ‘I’m starving.’ He held up a placatory hand. ‘I know, I know, I’m not supposed to speak ill of the best friend, but that fish stew was shocking.’
They shared a knowing smile and Holly gently laughed, trying to relax back into her earlier cosiness. ‘I think we’ve all agreed that cooking is not really Lizzie’s forte!’
‘You will notice that I still ate it, though.’ Milo said, helping Holly lift the Beast around a lamppost. ‘I do get that it’s important to make an effort with your friends. And frankly if eating that stew doesn’t show you that I’m trying, then nothing will!’
It was as close as Milo was ever likely to get to an apology and Holly breathed more easily, just from knowing that the latest storm had passed.
They walked in companionable silence for a while, Holly wondering whether it was worth fracturing their fragile détente by mentioning work. The warm smile he gave her and the languorous feeling in her tired muscles, made her think that that particular conversation could definitely wait.
Bundling through the door, they each took a twin upstairs and Holly began to stealthily sneak them into bed. She sighed, tired but content, and delighted that the evening had gone so well. In a funny way, she was grateful to Lizzie for her pep talk, no matter how bluntly phrased it had been. She could always count on Lizzie to give her the unvarnished truth and something to think about!
Switching on the night-light, she whispered more goodnights to the boys and made her way back down to the kitchen, where Milo had been rummaging in the fridge. The cold, detached tone of his voice stopped her in her tracks.
‘Didn’t you forget something? Go back upstairs, Holly, and wipe that muck off your face!’ he said, his voice dripping with contempt, as he absent-mindedly sliced some Brie onto a cracker.
Her hand fluttered to her lips, to the make-up she’d completely forgotten, and in a heartbeat, Holly felt like Alice down the rabbit-hole all over again.
For all that Holly was determined to give her boys a stable and loving family life, was it really worth the price that living with Milo would surely cost?
Chapter 9
Dan Carter pulled off his tie as he walked into the heaving bar of The Kingsley Arms, nodding hello to various patients as he passed. The warm fug of beer and bodies lent the pub a comforting aroma that immediately made Dan feel more relaxed. Taffy forged ahead, determined to get a few rounds in, after the interminable bickering that had broken out following George’s announcement.
Teddy Kingsley spotted them from the other end of the polished oak bar and waved them over. ‘You both look wrecked,’ he commented, lifting down pint glasses from the shelf behind his head.
‘Strategy meeting,’ grumbled Taffy, pulling up a stool and pushing a second one over to Dan with his foot. ‘Went on a bit.’
Teddy grinned and tossed him a packet of pork scratchings. ‘I guess Dad dropped his little bombshell then? As if you haven’t all been waiting for the day . . .’ As the black sheep of the family, who had dared to choose fine cuisine over first aid, Teddy had been amused to watch his father dither over the timing of his retirement for the last few years.
‘Did he say who’s going to step into his shoes, since obviously the Prodigal Son has chosen not to return? Although the Publican Son does do a nice fatted calf!’ He waved his hand at the specials board, all lovingly crafted by Teddy every day. ‘The kitchen’s technically closed, but if you guys are hungry, I can knock something up for you?’
‘Nah,’ said Taffy, his mouth full of pork scratchings, ‘I’m good. Just a few pints of cider, please, Ted. Line ’em up.’
Teddy carefully manoeuvred four pints of cider onto the bar. ‘That should keep you two going. It’s last orders in a bit.’
‘Cider?’ Dan queried. ‘Haven’t you got the early shift?’
Taffy shrugged, his first pint already half gone. ‘Hence the cider. It’s basically apple juice.’
Dan laughed and took a sip, the tart bite of the apples making him shudder. ‘You know, Taffy, for a GP, your take on nutrition is a little sketchy at times.’
�
��Ah yes, but everything’s in full working order and I don’t want to rock the boat. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’ He jokingly flexed his considerable muscles and grinned. Despite being fair-haired, the hours Taffy spent outdoors each week, training for the local rugby team, meant that his face and arms were lightly tanned all year round. He was a picture of health and vitality and, with his upbeat, sociable personality, it was little wonder he was such a hit with the ladies.
Dan watched his friend drain the first glass and push it aside. There was no doubting Taffy’s claim, as his work-hard, play-hard lifestyle seemed to be suiting him. Lots of rugby, lots of girls, lots of fun. And it was clear that Taffy wasn’t the one having trouble sleeping.
Dan checked his watch and felt the familiar cramp of panic at the thought of yet another sleepless night ahead. He’d become used to taunting himself through the small hours of each night, ‘If I get to sleep now, I can have five hours’ sleep. That’s enough. That’s fine. I can cope with five hours . . . If I get to sleep now, I can have four hours . . . If I get to sleep right now, I could still have three hours . . .’
It had become such an ingrained habit, that even here in the pub, Dan was mentally tallying up how much sleep he could fit in before the next shift.
For all Dan’s bravado, Taffy wasn’t stupid. He could see that Dan was struggling again and he was torn between respecting Dan’s wishes not to discuss it and stepping in to help his mate. Technically, technically, he should really mention this to George. There was an unwritten Practice rule that if one of the team was in trouble, George wanted to know about it. ‘If I don’t know, I can’t help,’ he would say. But with the debate for Senior Partner thrown wide open, Taffy could see that this may not be the best time to play by the rules.
Since Teddy was distracted at the other end of the bar, he decided to take a more oblique approach. ‘Haven’t seen you too much this week. What’s new?’
Dan slid his sleeve down to cover his watch face and shrugged. ‘Same old, same old. Too much work, not enough time. Was actually planning on taking a little break, to be honest, just to get away and do something physical. Burn off some tension, you know. But now George’s thrown down the gauntlet, I think it’s probably better to stick around, don’t you?’
