Out of Practice

by Penny Parkes

  Holly settled for a simple, ‘Morning.’

  ‘Holly, hi,’ said Julia, guiltily taking a long final drag on the hidden cigarette before grinding it out in the gravel. ‘Don’t let on you saw me smoking, will you? It’s just, all this business with the PCT, you know? Stressful.’

  Holly nodded, trying to recalibrate. ‘Did you know?’ she asked bluntly.

  Julia shook her head. ‘I knew Henry was up to something, but well – it’s Henry – he always is. I can’t believe George didn’t tell us, though! I mean, he had us jumping through hoops to be the next Senior Partner! Of what?’ She looked furious, gutted and really rather human. Cross, chain-smoking Julia was actually much nicer than aloof, perfect Julia, Holly realised.

  Without really thinking about it, Holly wandered closer. ‘I’m just doing a house call on Elsie Townsend, so I probably should crack on. I’m sorry about the partner thing . . .’ she said awkwardly.

  ‘I’ll come,’ announced Julia suddenly. ‘I mean I know she’s your patient and everything, but if you fancied the company . . .’

  Holly couldn’t pretend that the idea of company wasn’t appealing. It was more a question of it being Julia’s company that was on offer. She was really missing having Lizzie to talk to at the moment. Who else could she moan to about the job and the weekend away, without sounding like a spoiled brat?

  ‘You don’t need to, honestly. I can manage and you must have something better to do than . . .’ Holly lost her momentum as she took in the expression on Julia’s face. The hollow look in Julia’s eyes that suggested she had followed Holly’s train of thought to the letter. That and the red flush creeping across her collarbones.

  Holly suddenly felt mean and small. She could see the effort it had cost Julia just to make the offer. Even the twins would tell her that she was breaking her number one rule – treat other people the way you would like to be treated. ‘Julia, d’you know, actually I would love your company. I mean, I think you’re bonkers for giving up your lunch hour, but I can’t pretend I’m not grateful. Here,’ she tossed across the extra large packet of chocolate Hobnobs she’d been planning to demolish, ‘you can be in charge of rations.’

  Julia caught them deftly, looking slightly wrong-footed. ‘Well, okay then.’

  They arrived at Elsie’s to hear the strains of La Traviata burgeoning from the upstairs windows and the front door ajar. ‘I’m in here,’ called Elsie imperiously from the kitchen. Holly and Julia wandered through, to find Elsie putting on the kettle. She appeared to be wearing a satin tea dress of some kind, with a dressing gown over the top and some extra thick ski socks.

  ‘Oh you darling girls, you didn’t both need to come. As I said to Grace on the phone, I just needed a quiet chat with Dr Carter.’

  Holly settled Elsie in one of the carver kitchen chairs and flicked the kettle to boil. ‘What’s up then, Elsie? I couldn’t resist another visit so I’ve saved you the trip.’ Holly had got the measure of her patient very early on. If you made out like she was doing you a favour, you got much more information.

  ‘Well, it was just a bit of that nasty chest pain I get sometimes, so I came down here to make a coffee . . . and here you are.’ She looked pleased as punch to see them, watching Julia’s reaction as she took in the exquisite kitchen. ‘Why did you bring that one, though?’ she asked Holly in a cringingly loud whisper.

  Holly gave Julia an apologetic smile. ‘Well, Julia didn’t believe me, Elsie, when I said you kept your Oscar in the loo. Anyway, tell me a little bit more about this chest pain. Were you doing anything in particular when it happened?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Elsie shaking her head until her grey curls fluttered. Holly noted the one solitary Velcro roller still nestled in Elsie’s silver hair and wondered how she could extract it without Elsie noticing. ‘I was just coming down from the attic with my summer hats, I’d been trying on my clothes for the Season, and then . . . pouf . . . chest pain.’

  Julia looked at her as though she were mad. ‘Elsie,’ she began in a lecturing voice, but Holly interrupted.

  ‘Putting aside the whole climbing into the attic business,’ she said gently, ‘and the cup of coffee to soothe the chest pains idea – Elsie, we’ve talked about this – how are you feeling now?’ Holly quietly and deftly checked Elsie’s heart rate and blood pressure. All surprisingly good for someone in their eighties.

  ‘Oh, I’m right as rain now,’ Elsie replied. ‘But it’s a hell of a mess upstairs where I dropped everything. It’s going to take me ages to get it all sorted.’

  Holly stood up and opened the casket with the camomile tea that she’d spotted last time she was here. ‘First a little something DE-caffeinated and then we’ll see about upstairs.’ She checked her watch. ‘We’re all yours until two o’clock, okay?’

  Hobnobs duly opened and tea-that-tasted-like-wee duly served and Holly could see that both Elsie and Julia were beginning to relax in each other’s company. Julia, because she’d stopped staring around with her mouth open, and Elsie, because she’d clocked that Julia’s ‘classic driving shoe’ was a limited edition from JPTods.

  Julia looked delighted at Elsie’s compliments and Holly was struck once more by how a smile could transform Julia’s features from aesthetically pleasing to downright stunning.

  ‘When I was younger, I read in a magazine about the idea of buying classic things that don’t go out of fashion – you know “Buy well, buy once” – and it kind of stuck,’ Julia was confiding in Elsie.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ responded Elsie with enthusiasm. ‘I have never understood these people who pride themselves on culling their wardrobes,’ she shuddered at the concept. ‘They’re happy to exist with a handful of items they’ve picked up over the last six months. Why on earth would you knowingly, willingly, erase your own history? You wouldn’t dream of throwing away a photo album in favour of this month’s faddy magazine!’ Elsie was becoming so worked up that Holly was about to intervene, when Julia laid a hand on Elsie’s arm soothingly.

  ‘They’re probably the same people who walk into John Lewis or Oka and buy a whole room set – I’ll have page 23 please – no imagination, you see. Isn’t it nicer to surround yourself with milestones, tokens you’ve picked up along the way?’

  ‘Ah the precious little things,’ nodded Elsie, ‘the ones you won’t entrust to the removal men. The ones you swaddle like newborns in your car every time you move. That fleeting pleasure of buying something new is so fast, so unsatisfying anyway, so – so nothing – after the first day, compared to the lasting contentment of having your old favourites around you . . .’ Elsie’s eloquent musings petered out, as she was lost in thought.

  ‘I guess it depends on where you’re buying your clothes,’ Holly said quietly, distractedly thinking of the pile of vile t-shirts she’d been hanging on to until she could afford to replace them.

  Elsie gripped Holly’s hand tightly, making Holly jump a little and slosh wee tea into her saucer. ‘Ask yourself this, Holly Graham – do you want to be a blank canvas, to be painted over again and again, or do you want to be a lush, three-dimensional tapestry of your experiences?’

  Holly looked a little panicked at being any more 3D than she already was, but she could acknowledge that Elsie had a point. Why else was her favourite dress from that boutique in Florence still hanging in her wardrobe, despite the fact that it would never ever fit again?

  ‘Right,’ said Elsie, with a burst of enthusiasm. ‘Upstairs we go then. I can see I shall have my hands full with you two girls.’ Elsie skittered off down the hallway in her ski socks with a swish of silk around her legs.

  Holly and Julia looked at each other, shrugged and then followed. Whatever else this might be, it was a darned sight better than the stressful and miserable atmosphere back at The Practice, with George closeted away in his office, shouting at people on the telephone and refusing to have a straight conversation with anyone.

  ‘Elsie!’ Holly cried, aghast, as she got to the ha
llway. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ replied Elsie with a grin, suspended as she was, halfway up the stairs. ‘I don’t know why everyone doesn’t do it!’ She hoisted herself up another couple of stairs by pulling on the banisters. The Stannah stair-lift buzzed majestically past her, bearing its load of neatly folded dry cleaning and what appeared to be a rather large bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin.

  ‘But . . .’ ventured Holly, trying not to smile at the grim determination etched on Elsie’s face, ‘it’s supposed to be a mobility aid – to give you independence!’

  ‘And isn’t it working well,’ said Elsie gleefully. ‘I’m feeling more independent already!’

  Elsie had certainly not exaggerated the mess upstairs. It looked as though Vivienne Westwood and Karl Lagerfeld had decided to play dress up. Julia was silent in the face of the chaos, or possibly the labels, Holly wasn’t sure. She settled Elsie onto the chaise-longue and swallowed any comments about Barbara Cartland.

  Sitting on the end of the bed, Holly’s brow furrowed. ‘What were you doing again, Elsie?’ There must have been thousands of pounds’ worth of designer clothes flung around the room. Holly unthinkingly picked up a woven scarf from beside her and smoothed the fabric between her fingers. It felt like gossamer. No wonder Elsie never wanted to part with her clothes if they all felt like this.

  Elsie certainly wouldn’t have approved of Holly’s maternity bonfire when they’d moved house. Seeing all those stained, baggy trousers and tops in a heap had been a liberating moment for Holly until she dramatically threw on a match and they’d just . . . smouldered. Not a natural fibre in sight.

  She looked at the scarf in her hands, at the palette of tasteful shades woven into an undulating wave and sighed.

  ‘Missoni,’ said Julia knowledgeably from the doorway. ‘You’ve got a good eye there, Holly.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Elsie happily. ‘Take it, take it, you must. It’s yours.’

  ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly . . .’ flustered Holly. ‘I mean that’s very sweet of you, but . . . no . . .’ She reluctantly put the scarf down on the bed and sank to her knees to gather up coat hangers.

  With Julia swinging into action as well, in no time at all, the contents of Elsie’s wardrobe were restored to order and the multitude of Harrods hat boxes were repacked and stacked. The attic was closed up again and Holly worked on extracting a promise from Elsie that she would never go up there on her own again.

  ‘I promise I won’t unless I absolutely need to,’ Elsie prevaricated and Holly gave up.

  She kissed Elsie firmly on both powdered cheeks and looked her in the eye. ‘I’m coming back tomorrow.’

  ‘I should hope so too,’ said Elsie with a smile. ‘I should like to hear more about your campaign to Save The Practice.’

  ‘How did you . . . ?’

  Elsie tapped her nose. ‘I can’t give away all my secrets, you know. But you might want Bob back.’ She handed over the Bob the Builder notebook that had been tucked in Holly’s back pocket. ‘It’s good to see you fighting for what you want, Holly. I’m rather thrilled that you’ve found out what that is.

  ‘Now both of you,’ she turned to include Julia in their conversation, ‘you have to pick your battles, yes? You can’t go wading into every little argument that comes your way. Pick your battles. Pick your moment. And you won’t go far wrong.’

  Holly smiled, enthralled as always by Elsie’s wonderful approach to life. Holly and Julia watched as Elsie weaved her way through the hallway, stopping to pick up a small brass watering can, before carefully watering her orchid collection. Most days she remembered they were silk and didn’t bother. Today wasn’t one of those days.

  Chapter 31

  The next day, Holly woke early to the sound of birdsong and slipped quietly out of bed. Milo might sleep through Armageddon, but the twins were prone to wake at the slightest creak of the floorboards. Stealthily placing her feet at the sides of the stairs, she made it downstairs without incident or creaking, Ninja floorboard training as a teenager having come into its own since she became a mother. Pulling the door of the kitchen closed behind her, she revelled in the silence. Silence was often in very short supply in Holly’s world and each moment had to be savoured.

  Normally she’d be filling the toaster with crumpets and heating up milk for a latte, but after the extreme biscuit consumption earlier in the week, Holly had been determined to stick to a sensible diet of eating absolutely nothing, until she absolutely had to. It was odd that her entire approach to dieting was based on a line from a movie – ‘when I feel like I’m about to faint, I eat a cube of cheese’. It also explained why so many New York Subway delays were due to young women blacking out on the platforms!

  She settled down with a mug of strong black coffee and a huge sheet of paper. She’d woken up early because her brain was on overdrive. She’d felt motivated and driven to action in a way that she hadn’t for years. She knew that she was the newcomer to The Practice, but she just couldn’t help thinking that it was her very newness that was her greatest asset: she could see what was going on with a more objective eye.

  Putting aside the fact that she felt closer to some of her new colleagues and patients than she did to her oldest friend at the moment, Holly still had her head screwed on enough to be analytical, at least when it came to the medical and business decisions that were looming. And, if she were being totally honest, she was really in the mood for a battle. For someone who’d spent most of her adult life avoiding conflict in any form, it was a rather liberating feeling.

  Elsie’s words, ‘Pick your battles, pick your moments’, were all but engraved on her psyche, she’d revisited them so many times. The banishment of should had obviously just been a place to start.

  Right, thought Holly, uncapping Ben’s Big Blue Mega Marker. She began to draw large round ovals on the paper, forming one of her trademark Pebble Plans. The idea was to write inside each pebble and then shade it in when the task was complete. If your mind didn’t work in a linear way and if lists made you break out in a cold sweat, this was a winning way to go.

  Strangely enough, lying in bed, Holly had felt overwhelmed with a multitude of problems. With the pebbles drawn out in front of her, she could quickly see that there were only four:

  Ben needed help. She wasn’t sure what, but it was time to start thinking outside the box. It did seem a little bonkers for a GP to eschew the traditional medical path, but it hadn’t helped him so far, had it? Maybe it was time to go alternative? Sure, some of it was a little beardy-weirdy, but there was no denying that some of it worked. Hell, if she needed to burn sage and dance naked at the full moon to help him get better, then at this point, she would.

  For all that she decried her patients resorting to the internet for answers, she could perfectly understand their temptation this morning. Normally limiting any research she did to the British Medical Journal website, Holly suddenly wondered if she was the one missing a trick.

  Holly could see, with the power of the Mega Marker in her hand, that there was a certain gung-ho attitude creeping into her thinking, but rather than shying away from it like normal, she decided to face it straight on.

  Next: Lizzie. Yes, Lizzie was more of a challenge to diplomacy. Go for the polite, let’s-pretend-nothing’s-wrong approach and swallow all her resentment? Or opt for the more controversial, but possibly more cathartic, fisticuffs at dawn? Holly drained her coffee cup. Probably better to start with a frank discussion over lunch, she decided. She owed it to Will if nothing else. Surely it was better to try and mend some fences before it was too late?

  Hmm, talking of mending fences, why couldn’t she get more excited about her weekend with Milo? Why indeed, when he’d last been hit by the need for romantic gestures and had scattered the bed with rose petals, had she immediately thought about who would have to clear them up the next morning? Didn’t he know that he’d have been better off just being sweet to her, or support
ive, or even just helpful around the house?

  Well, at least she’d stopped mainlining Hobnobs. And a spa weekend might be lovely. Milo was right – a little quality time would work wonders. And, if she could even drop a few pounds in advance, then all his little comments about her figure might not dent her ardour quite so much. Although, at a size 12, and having popped out two rather large babies, might one not reasonably expect a little more latitude on the bikini body?

  Thoughts of bikini bodies took her immediately to issue number four. Or at least, via Taffy Jones in his swim trunks, to issue number four: The Practice. More specifically, saving The Practice. Job or no job, Holly felt driven to Do Something.

  She had watched over the last few days as Dan and Julia and Grace had all run around in panic. Even Julia (and her endless and slightly anal lists) seemed to have lost her focus. Dan had spoken to every MP and every NHS bureaucrat he could think of. Julia had written wonderfully eloquent letters, packed to the gills with salient arguments – but to no avail.

  The feedback was always the same. The consultation period is over. You’ve had your chance to comment. Your feedback was positive. The wheels are already in motion.

  Hell, Taffy had even been threatened with a slander suit when he’d pointed out that their so-called PCT Representative had fraudulently filed fake responses and was about to net himself a hefty windfall as a result.

  Holly switched to a new sheet of paper and chewed on the end of the Mega Marker. What the others were all too close to see was obvious to Holly. They needed a new approach, she thought, one that capitalised on Larkford’s greatest treasure – the very people who lived there.

  Then she slowly and deliberately crossed out the ‘t’ – the people who live ‘here’ sounded much better to Holly, because it meant that she was one of them.

  They needed some cracking PR and they needed it quickly, but it had to be personal.