Practically Perfect

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘Don’t worry. If you need me to work, I’ll work.’

  He smiled and shook his head. ‘I don’t. We’ll manage.’

  ‘Even if I’m pregnant?’

  She looked beautiful and impish and sassy, and he wanted her all over again. ‘Even if you’re pregnant,’ he said gruffly, and wondered how much more of the food he was going to have to eat before he could decently carry her back to bed.

  ‘Hi, Andy.’

  Andy Crossley, Connie’s boss, looked up from his notes and stared, then took off his glasses and threw them down, before coming round the desk to hug her.

  ‘Connie, my dear girl, how are you? Sara told me the news. I’m so sorry.’

  She smiled. Funny, she didn’t care any more. ‘Thanks, Andy, but you needn’t be. In fact, you can congratulate me. I’m getting married to my father’s locum, who’s taking over his practice, so I’m going to end up living with him in my childhood home, bringing up his little boy and having lots more little Durrants.’

  Andy peered down at her, blinking to focus at such close range. ‘And is that what you really want?’ he asked carefully. ‘Will it be enough, Connie?’

  She thought of the night she’d just spent with Patrick, and smiled again, more broadly this time. ‘Oh, yes, it’ll be enough,’ she assured Andy. ‘Truly. Anyway, I’m here officially to hand in my notice and resign, although you must have known I was about to.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. I spoke to Sara yesterday. She told me to expect it. I can’t deny I’m sorry, you had the makings of a hell of a surgeon, but you look happier today than you’ve looked for ages. Whoever this guy is, I hope he’s worthy of you.’

  Her chuckle drove the doubt from his eyes. ‘He’s wonderful. Stop worrying about me. Patrick and my father can do that now—you’re off the hook, Andy.’

  ‘Well, I wish you luck. When’s the wedding?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He only asked me last night. We haven’t had time to think about it.’

  ‘Give me an invitation. I’d like to see you settled in your new career. You deserve a break.’

  ‘Andy, you’re a love. Thanks for everything,’ she said, hugging him, and then left him to it because his first patient was outside and he needed to start his clinic.

  She found other members of staff about the place, some in the clinic, some on the ward, and made her farewells with a light heart. There were some sad moments, old friends she’d missed in the past few weeks whom she might never see again, others who themselves were moving on.

  In busy hospitals nothing stood still for long, and the waters would soon close over her head, leaving not a ripple.

  She went back to her flat, rang the agent and was told there was someone desperate who would gladly take over her tenancy. Could she be out by tomorrow? Immediate refund of all overpaid rent including the whole of October, as an incentive, because the rent was going up for the new tenant.

  Considering it was already the last week in October, she thought that was absurdly generous.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ she said, ‘but pay the rent to the Great Ormond Street Hospital for me, could you? For their neonatal research unit.’

  The agent clearly thought she was mad, and so she might be, but it was money she hadn’t expected to have back and it was a sort of pay-off, an offering to the gods for saving her life.

  Off with the old and on with the new, she thought, putting the phone down. Then she looked around, grabbed the phone again and rang Patrick on his mobile.

  ‘Where are you?’ she asked.

  ‘Near Tower Bridge, on my way home. She wasn’t ready, of course, and there’s so much stuff it’s ridiculous. We’ll have to come down and sort it all out and give most of it to charity. I expect Great Ormond Street could use most of the toys and things.’

  She laughed.

  ‘What’s funny?’ he asked, sounding puzzled.

  ‘Nothing. Remind me to tell you about my rent refund. So, if you’re not taking the stuff now, does that mean you’ve got an empty car?’

  ‘More or less,’ he said cautiously. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m coming home,’ she told him. ‘I’ve let my flat, and they want to move in tomorrow. Can you pick me and my junk up?’

  She could hear the smile right down the phone. ‘I’ll be with you in half an hour,’ he vowed, and she cradled the phone, smiled sappily for a second, and then started packing like there was no tomorrow.

  ‘I gather you’re getting married at the end of the year,’ Mrs Pike the younger said.

  He nodded. ‘Yes, to Dr Wright’s daughter Connie.’

  Ann Pike smiled. ‘Nice girl. I’m glad she’s come home. We were all ever so upset when her brother died, and she hasn’t been the same since. I saw her in the shop yesterday, and she looked happier than I’ve seen her for such a long time. You’ve done her good.’

  Patrick felt his colour rise a little. ‘Thank you. She’s done me and my son good, too. She’s a darling. I shall take good care of her.’

  Ann laughed. ‘Mind you do. We’ll all be watching you.’

  Patrick glanced up the quiet hall towards the elder Mrs Pike’s room. ‘All quiet on the western front,’ he said softly. ‘Headphones working?’

  There was a throaty chuckle from the woman. ‘Marvellous. I love you for that. Best thing that’s happened to us in ages. There’s something else as well. Come and see her.’

  They went in, and Mrs Pike took off her headphones and put them down, then fiddled with her ear.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Pike,’ Patrick yelled, and the old woman screwed up her face.

  ‘Don’t shout,’ she all but whispered. ‘I’ve got this internal new hearing aid you insisted I should get—you wouldn’t believe how much noise this girl makes, crashing about with the vacuum cleaner in here. I have to turn it down so I don’t go deaf!’

  He stifled a smile. ‘How’s the hip?’ he asked.

  ‘Wonderful. You lied, young man. You told me I’d be crippled for life, and I’m no such thing! Better than I’ve been for years! Look!’

  And she stood up and started marching round the room, showing off her new hip.

  He said nothing. There was no point in arguing—he couldn’t possibly win. She just moved the goalposts.

  ‘That’s marvellous,’ he told her, trying to remember not to shout, and examined her to make sure she was really as well as she said.

  ‘I gather you’re marrying young Connie,’ she said, fixing him with a gimlet eye as he folded his stethoscope. ‘Mind you take care of her. We all love Connie, don’t we, Ann?’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ Ann said patiently. ‘I just told him so.’

  ‘She did, and I promised to look after her,’ he assured her.

  ‘Well, mind you do. We’ll be watching.’

  You and everybody else in Great Ashley, he thought with a chuckle as he left them. You and everybody else.

  The health authority rubber-stamped Patrick as the new holder of the practice, the bank was happy to play ball, and a couple of weeks before Christmas Patrick officially took over and the Wrights moved into their new home.

  Connie helped them, in between planning for their wedding which was to take place between Christmas and New Year.

  ‘We’ll never manage everything at once, it’ll be such a rush!’ Mrs Wright protested. ‘You always were so impulsive. Why couldn’t you wait for a nice summer wedding, so we don’t all have to wear coats and gloves and woolly hats?’

  Connie laughed and unwrapped another glass bowl. ‘Woolly hats are cute,’ she told her mother. ‘And, anyway, we don’t want to wait. It’s better for all of us to do it sooner. Now, are you sure we can manage the reception? I don’t want you taking on too much.’

  ‘Well, it won’t be too much, will it, with Christmas and New Year each side of it so most of our relations can’t come?’

  ‘Mum, we just want a quiet wedding,’ Connie said for the thousandth time. ‘Just a few family and friends to give us a bit of
a send-off. Nothing wild and flashy.’

  ‘But Aunty Rose—’

  ‘Is an interfering busybody, and I’m quite happy to get married without her. We’ll send her a big piece of cake.’

  Her mother tutted. ‘Connie, that’s not nice. You know she can’t eat it without getting indigestion!’

  Connie smiled sweetly. ‘Oh, yes. I’d forgotten.’

  ‘Connie!’

  She relented. ‘Mum, you’ve only just moved. Dad hasn’t been well at all, Patrick’s up to his ears with taking over the practice—we don’t need a lot of fuss. None of us need it. I just want to get married, that’s all. I’d be quite happy with just the five of us there.’

  She unwrapped the last bowl, checked the bottom of the box and took it off the table. ‘Right, that’s everything unpacked now. How about the bed? If we make it up, you can turn in as early as you like. I expect you’re exhausted.’

  Connie’s mother looked round her new kitchen and sighed quietly. ‘It seems so strange. We’ve been in the other house so long now.’

  She hugged her. ‘Mum, you’ll soon get used to it. Your knees were finding the stairs a bit much, and Dad’s better off here by miles. And, anyway, it’s not like you’ve sold it to strangers! You can come up there any time you like, you know that. You can come and cook with Edward and practise being a grandma.’

  Her mother snorted. ‘I don’t suppose there’s much point. You’ll both be too busy to have children for ages.’

  Connie stifled a smile. ‘We’ve got Edward already, don’t forget. He needs a grandma.’

  Her face softened. ‘So he does. He’s a darling. So’s Patrick. I’m really happy for you, Connie. I just hope it all works out.’

  ‘I’m sure it will,’ Connie said with deep confidence. ‘Now, let’s do this bed so you can fall in it!’

  They decided to celebrate Christmas at the Wrights’ new home. It was a funny mixture of old and new because all the furniture was from the old house, yet arranged in a different way, of course. The Christmas tree was in the corner by the French doors, and there was a lovely view of the garden.

  At least, it would be a lovely view one day. Now it was all turf and bare earth borders, except for the gnarled old apple tree at the end which the builder had left.

  Not that anyone minded that Christmas morning. They were all too busy, looking under the tree for presents. At least, Edward was, and Connie was down there helping him.

  ‘Here, there’s one for you,’ she said, handing a little package to Patrick.

  He opened it and pulled out a lovely soft leather wallet, just like his old one but not falling to pieces.

  ‘Oh, Connie, thank you,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘It’s got the same pockets and things.’

  ‘I noticed. That’s the worst thing about changing them. That’s why I haven’t done it.’

  ‘That’s why I sneaked yours down to the local saddler and got him to make you a replacement,’ she grinned.

  He laughed and hugged her. ‘Crafty minx. I can see I’ll have to watch you.’

  ‘Mmm. Very likely. It’s not your main present. You’ll have to wait for that.’

  ‘I don’t want to wait,’ he complained.

  She smiled and looked over her shoulder. The others were all busy unwrapping Edward’s electric car. ‘Well, you’ll have to. It’s one of these things that can’t be hurried. You’ll have to wait—let’s see—not quite seven months now.’

  He stared at her for an age, and then light dawned in his eyes. ‘Connie?’ he said softly, and she could see the wonder blossoming on his face.

  ‘Yes,’ she said with a contented smile. ‘So I just hope we can manage without my income, because I’m going to be a full-time mother from now on.’

  His eyes misted, and he blinked and tipped his head back and gave a little cough of laughter. ‘You certainly know how to blindside a man,’ he said with a smile when he’d recovered his composure a bit. ‘Do they know?’

  He glanced across at her parents, and she shook her head.

  ‘No. I wanted to tell you first,’ she said, and kissed him. ‘Happy Christmas, darling.’

  ‘I shall enjoy sorting the garden out,’ her father said, standing at the window after lunch. ‘A challenge.’

  ‘You take it easy,’ Connie threatened him. ‘You’ve been warned—just don’t overdo it.’

  He turned and folded her gently against his still-tender chest. ‘I won’t—at least not for a while. Oh, Connie, I can’t believe everything’s working out so well. You marrying Patrick next week, him taking over the practice, knowing you’re going to still be in the house—we’ve got so much to be thankful for.’

  ‘And your health,’ she said, tipping back her head and looking up at him. ‘Don’t forget your health.’

  He smiled gently. ‘I won’t. Right, come on, everyone, it’s time to play a game. What shall we start with?’

  ‘How about Happy Families?’ Connie said with a smile.

  The day of their wedding dawned wet and cold and dismal. Connie opened the curtains of her parents’ spare bedroom and looked out, then groaned.

  Her mother tapped on the door and came in with a cup of tea. ‘Just look at it! I told you you should have had a summer wedding!’ she said, lowering herself to the edge of the bed. ‘I’ve brought you tea.’

  Connie took it, looked at it and put it down on the bedside table. ‘Well, we could have done,’ she said with a smile, ‘but I thought you’d rather be a mother-in-law before you were a grandmother.’

  Her mother’s eyes widened. ‘Connie?’ she said incredulously. ‘You’re not!’

  ‘I am,’ she said, very happily. ‘We’re delighted.’

  ‘Does Patrick know?’

  ‘Of course. He’s thrilled. He can hardly wait. And I want to see Dad’s face, because it’s his fault, you know. He sent Patrick down to talk to me when I’d seen the consultant, and that’s when it happened, so he needn’t go all disapproving because he won’t get away with it.’

  Her mother laughed. ‘Connie, darling, I don’t think he’s about to go all disapproving, as you put it! You’re nearly thirty, after all. We were beginning to despair of ever being grandparents.’

  She looked at the cup of tea. ‘Um—do you want that?’

  Connie laughed and shook her head. ‘Not really. I’m all right, but I do get a little queasy sometimes. Perhaps some really cold spring water?’

  Her mother stood up and took the cup away. ‘Done. Are you going to get up? You’ve got a lot to do before the wedding.’

  Connie yawned and stretched. ‘I suppose so. I hope my dress still fits. I’m getting a bit busty.’

  ‘Well, at least being a winter dress it’s not low cut, so you won’t fall out of the top right under the vicar’s nose!’

  She slipped out of bed, drank some mineral water, showered and washed and dried her hair, then put on her make-up. It felt strange to wear it, but she’d been practising putting it on with her right hand and her left, and between the two she’d just about got it sorted out. That wasn’t the only thing she’d been practising, but she’d have to wait and see if she’d done enough.

  Her mother appeared in her room, dressed in a royal blue fine wool suit dress. She looked lovely, and Connie told her so.

  ‘Thank you, darling. Right, let’s see if we can still squeeze you in. I see what you mean,’ she added, peering at Connie’s somewhat lusher curves under the lace of her bra. She took the silk taffeta dress off the hanger, shook it out and held it open for Connie to step into it.

  Connie wriggled her arms down the sleeves, lifted the shoulders up over her own and held her breath as her mother slid the zip up.

  ‘You’re in,’ her mother said, and Connie sighed with relief.

  ‘Thank goodness for that. I’ve only got half an hour, so there isn’t time to fiddle. Right, how about my veil? Can you anchor it for me? I still don’t trust these hands to do it properly.’

  Her mo
ther positioned the simple little headdress, pinned it to Connie’s hair and then arranged her veil.

  ‘Give me a twirl,’ she said, and Connie stood up, slipped on her shoes and turned slowly round.

  ‘Oh, darling, you look wonderful!’ her mother said, going misty-eyed. ‘Tom, come and see.’

  Her father came in, dressed in his best dark suit and looking so like Anthony her eyes filled.

  ‘Oh, Connie,’ he said, and then hovered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was going to hug you, but I daren’t rumple everything.’

  Connie gave a strangled laugh and threw herself into her father’s arms. ‘I can be unrumpled,’ she told him.

  ‘Tom, congratulate her—you’re going to be a grandfather,’ his wife told him, picking fluff off his shoulder.

  He released his daughter, look at her for confirmation and then hugged her again. ‘I wondered,’ he said, putting her down at last. ‘You have that bovine look women get.’ He smiled. ‘Can I take the credit for pushing you together?’

  ‘Don’t you mean the blame?’ Connie teased. ‘You realise everybody in the village is going to be watching us and counting months. We’d managed to be circumspect until you sent Patrick down to me.’

  ‘Let them count,’ her father said proudly. ‘You love each other. That’s what matters. Anyway, Anthony was premature, so to speak.’

  Connie chuckled, then her smile faded. ‘I wish he could be here.’

  ‘Don’t we all?’ her mother said softly. ‘He’d be very proud of you, Connie—very proud indeed. And he’d approve of Patrick.’

  Connie nodded, not quite steady enough to speak.

  Tom Wright cleared his throat. ‘Well, I suppose it’s time to get this show on the road.’

  It had seemed silly to book a car to take her such a short distance to the church, but there was someone in the village who did wedding cars, and he’d offered it for nothing. It turned out he was the father of the little girl whose life Connie had saved when she had epiglottitis and was choking, and as they arrived at the church, he pointed out his wife and daughter to her, standing in the churchyard.

  ‘There they are. Looks a bit different now, doesn’t she?’

  ‘She certainly does,’ Connie said, suddenly so glad she’d had the nerve to do the simple and yet terrifying operation.