by Penny Parkes
‘Oh, I’m so jealous of your scruffy jeans and dated bed-linen and pitiful make-up bag. I’m fed up of living in a lifestyle spread and I just need to step off the treadmill for a bit.’
Lizzie took a deep gulping breath and continued, ‘And I’m so sorry, but I did drag you here under false pretences. I wanted you here for me – because I was lonely and depressed and too bloody proud to admit it. And then you got here and you were busy, busy, busy all the time – no time for me. And all I heard from everyone was “Isn’t Holly wonderful? Isn’t she amazing? Such a lovely doctor . . .” All your colleagues seemed to think the sun shone out of your every orifice. And, I’m so sorry, Holls, but it made everything worse and I got very, very jealous.’
Holly blinked hard, as she tried to reconcile what Lizzie was saying with the historical evidence of what she’d seen. Everything slotted together like a perfectly aligned jigsaw. All the anger and hurt seemed to release. Elsie had been right – you think you know what’s going on with other people, behind closed doors, but you only really ever knew what they chose to show you.
Holly held Lizzie’s hand even tighter. ‘You muppet! Why didn’t you say something? I would have understood . . . And if you’d told me why you wanted me here, I would have come anyway – job or no job.’
Lizzie looked about twelve as she released her hand from Holly’s and pushed her hair back behind her ear. ‘What if you’d said no? What if you’d put Milo first?’
‘Ah, well, we don’t need to worry about that any more.’
‘What?’ asked Lizzie sharply.
‘I decided that I’d been muddling up death and divorce for far too long. If Milo wants a relationship with the twins, he can still have one. He’s still technically there for them, isn’t he? I just don’t have to be married to him for that to happen. I get to choose too.’
‘Christ,’ said Lizzie in wonder. She pulled Holly into an enormous rib-crushing hug. ‘This is bloody brilliant news! If I wasn’t stuck on the cranberry juice, I’d pop open the fizz to celebrate.’
Holly laughed. ‘Actually, I’m getting my buzz from all of this. There’s a few big changes ahead, but for the first time in a long time, I actually feel as though I know where I’m starting from. And, much as it kills me to admit it, I owe that to you and your Machiavellian, scheming ways. Moving here was the best decision I’ve made in a long time.’
Lizzie looked over her shoulder and her eyebrows shot into her hairline. Taffy was working his way towards them through the crowd. ‘Are you and Taffy . . . ?’ Lizzie waggled her fingers.
Holly sighed. ‘Sadly no. Not for want of wishing, though.’ She laughed. ‘Timing never really was my thing. It seems that Taffy Jones is about to be a daddy, with a teeny tiny, pre-pubescent, blonde baby momma.’
Lizzie scowled. ‘Really? Taffy? I can’t say that’s his usual type.’ She shrugged. ‘Men really do think with their dicks, don’t they?’
‘Seems like it.’ Holly batted away the idea. ‘I think it’s probably best if I’m on my own for a bit, anyway. Elsie’s blown open this whole can of worms – apparently we need to work out what we actually want from life. Who knew?’
Lizzie gave her arm a squeeze. ‘Well, apparently neither of us, until recently.’
Taffy finally got to Holly’s side and said hi to Lizzie. ‘Are you ready, Holls? Dan wants us to be up next. Some shuffling of the running order to accommodate Elsie doing a duet with Barry O’Connor, I think.’
‘And what are you two singing?’ asked Lizzie, intrigued.
‘Oh, I’m just playing the guitar. I’m leaving the vocals to this little songbird,’ said Taffy with a grin. ‘I’ve a feeling she’s been hiding her light under a bushel, this one.’
Holly looked quickly at Lizzie, checking that this comment wasn’t of the solar orifice variety, but Lizzie just looked chuffed.
‘Oh, Taffy,’ said Lizzie, ‘you haven’t even scratched the surface.’
The mood lighting on the stage meant that Holly could now only really see the front row of the audience without being dazzled. In fact the only place where she could safely look was at Taffy, his fringe falling into his eyes as he scrunched up his face in intense concentration at finding all the correct chords.
Holly didn’t need to concentrate, she just let herself go, the melodies of the song carrying through. Even as she sang about true love always finding a way, she felt a tingle down her spine as Taffy looked up and caught her gaze.
Her heart flipped wildly as she fumbled slightly for her place, the naked adoration in his eyes throwing her completely.
What on earth had they been thinking when they chose such a romantic song? Okay so the chords were easy, but still . . .
Now, finally able to admit to her feelings and having shed her husband in the process, it still seemed as though he would never be hers.
When the song finished, Holly rushed off stage, unable to cope with the requests for an encore, as the tears were blocking her throat.
She locked herself in the dressing room and struggled to breathe.
A gentle knocking on the door grew ever more persistent.
‘Holly, it’s me! Come out, please . . .’ Taffy’s voice was magnified and echoed around the vaulted corridors. His distress was obvious even to Holly.
‘I can’t,’ she managed. ‘I need some space from all this.’
‘I can give you space, if that’s what you want. But, Holly, you need to tell me what’s wrong. Did I do something?’
A little match flared in Holly, all of Elsie’s gumption burning brightly. She yanked open the door, ‘Did you do something?’ she shouted. ‘Other than coming on to me when you knew I was married? Making me fall in love with you? Having a baby with someone else?’
Taffy stepped forward, eyes bright. ‘You fell in love with me?’
‘That’s hardly the take-away line here, though, is it? Daddy!’
Taffy shook his head. ‘Holly, you’re not making sense. Slow down. Please.’ Concern tightened his face. ‘What are you talking about?’
Holly slumped against the wall. ‘You and the blonde. The pregnant blonde? I know all about it, Taffy.’
Taffy reached forward and took her hand. ‘Well, then I don’t understand why you’re cross with me.’
‘What?’ snapped Holly. ‘If you’re going to be a father, it might have been good to have a heads-up!’
‘I’m not the father, Holly,’ Taffy said slowly. ‘Milo is. That girl, Kimberley? She was Milo’s student back in Reading and she tracked you down to The Practice after the website went live. She wanted to confront you at work, make sure Milo paid his dues.’
‘Kimberley?’ Holly clarified. ‘From Reading? The student Milo got suspended over.’ She breathed out heavily. ‘Well, alrighty then.’
Taffy was looking at her as if she were a primed bundle of semtex. ‘I’ve been trying to work out how to tell you. I didn’t think you’d appreciate hearing it from me, in case it sounded like I was dissing the competition.’ He aimed for a smile.
Holly looked down at her hand, at the empty space where her wedding ring had been until yesterday.
She held up her hand. ‘Not really my business any more.’
There was silence in the dressing room, only broken by the sounds of Maggie’s rendition of My Way on the spoons. She left the stage to huge applause and Barry O’Connor came back on.
‘So, you and Milo?’
‘Not so much,’ said Holly quietly. ‘And you’re not having a baby?’
‘Really not.’
There were mere inches between them but neither seemed able to make the final move.
Barry’s dulcet tones could be heard to rapturous reception, familiar opening bars of music nudging Holly’s memory; apparently love had a habit of bringing people together.
Holly looked up, the humour bubbling to the surface. Maybe their timing wasn’t so bad after all.
‘I do, you know,’ said Taffy, his thumb wiping away the tears that had
spilled on to Holly’s cheek.
‘Me too,’ managed Holly, just before he kissed her.
The lights in the hall dimmed down low and there was a rustle of anticipation among the audience. The cast members who weren’t involved were now sitting in the aisles.
The programme simply stated ‘Finale’, but rumours had been rife about the town since Dan Carter had walked into the sports shop and purchased eight pink leotards – all size XXL.
There was a crackle from the microphone as it was switched on and Elsie Townsend stepped into the spotlight. ‘We hope you’ve enjoyed our evening of entertainment as much as we have enjoyed performing for you. There are so many people to thank, but special gratitude must be given to the wonderfully kind and talented Dr Holly Graham, whose brainchild this evening is. I personally owe her more than she will ever realise.’
Elsie’s smile wavered then as the audience cheered and stamped their feet and she struggled to compose herself. ‘But no evening of the arts would be complete without a little ballet and so, without further ado, I hope you have your cameras at the ready, I give you The Larkford Rugby Club with their own unforgettable rendition of The Nutcracker!’
There was a pause before the ancient sound system whirred into life and the iconic opening bars bounced through the theatre.
The spotlight shivered, before a pointed toe appeared from behind the curtain, followed by one very hairy pair of legs and then seven more. Dan, Taffy, nurse Jason and five other mates from the town rugby club tippy-toed into centre stage, tutus pert with starch.
Holly, from her spot in the aisle, a twin on each knee and Lizzie beside her, clutched hold of her stomach as the waves of laughter enveloped her. She had no idea how they’d managed to keep this a secret but it was the perfect end to a perfect evening.
The dance grew faster, moving from the sublime to the ridiculous and back again. The boys on stage had somehow managed to tick all the boxes for everyone watching. For the children, there was the fantastic sight of their normally serious doctors gadding about on stage, for the blokes there was comedy and farce and for the ladies there were tantalising flashes of toned bronzed thighs.
‘Ruddy good sport,’ cried the Major behind her.
Ben and Tom, and every other child in Larkford, seemed to be fidgeting around, desperate to get a better view, laughing and clapping along with everyone else.
Holly pushed back the hair from her face and leaned her head against Lizzie’s shoulder.
She wanted to remember every detail of this evening. The evening she found her bliss.
She watched Taffy attempt a grand jeté, landing with a thud and a grin in her direction.
‘Clever Taffy,’ said Ben, again with the perfect diction.
‘Very clever Taffy,’ echoed Tom.
Holly couldn’t help but agree.
Chapter 43
It took a while for the audience to calm down after seeing eight grown men prancing about in tutus. Everyone had taken their curtain calls and the Little Theatre was in disarray, but nobody, cast or audience, seemed in a hurry to go home. There were too many acts to gleefully discuss and one or two cast members to tease. The aisles were packed with chattering groups and laughter billowed throughout the theatre like a wave.
Somewhat disconcertingly, the rugby ballerinas seemed to be enjoying their costumes so much that they hadn’t got changed, but rather were milling around on stage, surrounded by little clusters of well-wishers and with their tutus sticking out rigidly, their leotards leaving very little to the imagination.
Marion and the Major had somehow worked their magic on the twins, who were now tucked up in the Beast and fast asleep, dark lashes brushing their little pink cheeks, fringes stuck to their foreheads and thumbs duly inserted in little plump lips. Holly manoeuvred the enormous pram to one side where they wouldn’t be blocking the aisle and crouched down in front of them, just watching for a moment – her little oasis of calm in a sea of chaos.
‘Dr Graham?’ intruded a slightly nasal voice.
Holly looked up to see a small man in a sleeveless pullover and spotty bow-tie. ‘Yes?’
He held out a small, soft hand and helped her to her feet. ‘We haven’t met, I’m Harry Grant, from the PCT.’
‘Holly,’ she replied automatically. ‘Did you enjoy the concert?’
‘I did,’ he smiled, intense blue eyes twinkling behind his heavy glasses. ‘And I’ve also enjoyed talking to some of the residents. It has been, how shall I put this, most illuminating.’
Holly slowly let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, ‘Not quite what you were expecting, perhaps?’
Harry nodded his head repeatedly, as he tried to formulate his response. ‘Speaking off the record, of course, it seems we may have been a little remiss in how the consultation process has been handled.’
Holly swallowed hard, in for a penny, in for a pound. ‘And I gather your main source of information is currently pending arrest for suspected fraud – off the record, of course.’
‘Ye-es, hardly ideal. I had a very interesting conversation with DCI Davis actually. I suspect there may be further investigations required. All very embarrassing for the PCT, as you can imagine.’
‘I imagine it would be,’ Holly replied, rather liking this awkward chap and his genial demeanour.
‘And you’re quite sure about your decision, are you?’ He patted the envelope that Holly had left for him at the Box Office, along with his ticket.
Holly nodded, not really trusting herself to speak. It wasn’t the most considered or well-phrased resignation letter, but it would get the job done.
‘If that’s what it takes to keep The Practice open, then it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?’ Her voice cracked at those final words, her throat blocked by incipient tears.
Harry bobbed his head sympathetically. ‘I can’t think of anyone on my team who’d be prepared to take such a step. But if you’re sure, I can get the paperwork in motion and give your colleagues some peace of mind. And, Holly, if I may say? I may not look like a man of influence, but I would be delighted to help you find a new position in the area, if that’s what you’d like? I’ve been, ah, rather impressed by your approach. There may be something at the hospital in Bath that would suit?’
Holly managed a tentative smile. ‘That sounds great, actually. Maybe we can talk next week?’
‘Let the dust settle?’ he suggested, his nasal voice warming with understanding.
‘Something like that,’ she replied.
He shook her hand vigorously, gave her his card and with a little wave, he walked away, taking her letter with him. Holly had to force herself to resist the urge to chase after him and ask for it back.
‘What was all that about?’ asked Lizzie, returning from the bar with two Diet Cokes and interrupting Holly’s train of thought. ‘I hope you don’t mind soft, I had a vision of necking your wine on the way back through, so I thought I shouldn’t really chance it.’
Holly sipped her drink gratefully. ‘Just admin stuff,’ she parried, trying to find her equilibrium – no easy feat when Eric insisted on weaving himself through her legs, desperate for her attention. ‘Anyway, Stranger, how are you doing? Is that Will and the kids at the back?’
Lizzie nodded. ‘They’re just queuing up to get photos and autographs.’
‘They don’t need to queue, I can get Elsie’s for them any time,’ said Holly tiredly, suddenly feeling completely exhausted and a little flat. After such a whirlwind of an evening, it was no wonder that she was feeling a sense of anti-climax, but the hardest part was yet to come. She still needed to come clean about what she’d done. Looking around the Little Theatre, hearing all the buoyant voices, she wondered whether that couldn’t just wait until tomorrow.
Eric, frustrated by her lack of attention, jumped up and nuzzled her face, his soulful ‘wooo-ooooo’ earning him a smattering of applause.
Lizzie laughed, spluttering Diet Coke down the front of her Donna Kar
an caramel dress. ‘Shit! And this is dry clean only.’ She dabbed at it ineffectually and sighed. ‘I can’t wait to start slumming it in jeans and t-shirt.’
Holly wisely kept quiet, knowing all too well that the jeans would be designer and so would the t-shirt.
‘But look, it’s not Elsie’s autograph they’re after, so we may be a while,’ said Lizzie, pointing to the far corner of the stage, where the rugby ballerinas were lined up, feet in first position, taking turns to pose with members of the audience lying across them in their arms. For a small donation, of course.
Cassie Holland, of all people, flushed and giggling was currently taking her moment in the spotlight.
Lizzie was still dabbing at her dress and sighed. ‘Well, snooty Channing was being a bitch about my dress earlier anyway. Maybe it’s time to get rid of it.’
‘Really?’ Holly said distractedly. ‘Are you sure? What did she say?’
‘Oh she was all condescending and sarcastic. She said “nice dress”.’ Lizzie pulled a face.
Holly laughed. ‘Maybe she actually meant, “That’s a nice dress, Lizzie”? She’s really pretty lovely when you get to know her.’
‘Noooo,’ said Lizzie. ‘This is all my fault, I leave you alone for a few weeks and then suddenly this . . . Mind you, she owes me one. The photographer who did her new headshot for the magazine fell in love with her house – made her a whopping great offer this afternoon – just out of the blue. So it turns out she’s moving into the Major’s gatehouse. Talk about falling on your feet – Jammy cow!’
Holly shrugged. ‘I like her. She’s smart and funny, not always intentionally, mind. You’d actually like her too, if you gave her a chance.’
Lizzie looked nonplussed for a moment. ‘So is it lunch for three from now on then?’
‘Why not? Or four even, if we invite Elsie. I’m planning on adopting her, actually.’
‘Did I hear you taking my name in vain there, Holly?’ interrupted Elsie, wafting over to join them, layers of chiffon and silk billowing behind her.
