by Penny Parkes
‘Shall we take him back with us? You look like you’ve got your hands full,’ Holly said, carefully making sure to keep Ben clamped to her legs.
‘Could you,’ replied Lizzie, ‘and if I haven’t emerged in a day or two, send in some gin. Sod mother’s ruin – at this point it might be the last known means of survival. You did say it had medicinal properties, didn’t you, Holls?’
Taffy chuckled. ‘Splash of tonic and you’ll be sorted on the malaria front anyway . . . Besides, gin’s practically an antibiotic.’
Lizzie just shook her head and went to close the door. ‘Just keep an eye on Eric, won’t you? He appears to be going through . . . well . . . a bit of a phase.’ The door clicked shut and Holly was left none the wiser. Eric just sat there, lead now dropped at Holly’s feet, doing his best love-me-love-me-love-me face.
‘Come on, Tiger,’ Taffy said as he bent down to attach the lead. ‘You can come and help me wear out these little tykes.’
To be fair to Taffy and Eric, it had taken a lot longer to wear out the twins than either of them had foreseen. Even Holly was struggling to keep her eyes open for the end of the movie and Taffy was dozing beside her, with Eric firmly wedged under his feet.
Even as she felt her eyes drifting closed, the sense of utter contentment only increased as she felt the weight of Taffy’s arm settle around her shoulders and pull her in to his side.
‘You snore,’ Taffy murmured drowsily, affection laced throughout his words as he kissed the top of her head.
‘So do you,’ Holly retorted lightly, pulling him in closer and snuggling down. At that moment, she didn’t care that it was late and there were jobs to be done, she just wanted to stay here, in Taffy’s arms feeling loved and appreciated and desirable.
As Taffy’s hand circled on her waist with gentle insistence and his arm tightened around her, she couldn’t help but be amazed by her own physical response and how he made her feel. She almost laughed now to think that all her qualms about what gorgeous, athletic Taffy might make of her stretch-marks and C-section scar had almost sabotaged their relationship before it had even begun.
It was fair to say that she needn’t have been concerned. Over the last year, Holly and Taffy had managed to forge the kind of loving partnership that some couples spent years of marriage trying to create or emulate. But still, Holly was aware that Taffy sometimes struggled with the constant chaos that was part of the package when four-year-old twins were involved (having conveniently forgotten that she, their loving mother, sometimes did too).
Right now though, his mind was clearly focused on something a little less PG. His hand slid up under her t-shirt and she batted away all other thoughts, letting herself just enjoy the moment. He leaned in and kissed his way along her collarbone and, as she realised just exactly how much she wanted this, her breath became fast and shallow.
She stroked Taffy’s head as they kissed, the new soft peach fuzz nestling intimately under her touch.
‘I’ve been wanting to do this all afternoon,’ she whispered, as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt.
He smiled wickedly and was on his feet in moments, scooping her up off the sofa. ‘Allow me?’
The romantic gesture was a little undermined by tripping over Eric, some Fireman Sam paraphernalia and then clipping Holly’s head on the doorframe as they made their way upstairs. By the time they reached the bedroom doorway, all talk of domesticity was forgotten and their kisses had grown increasingly urgent.
Finding two small boys sprawled out on their bed was not really the sight they’d been hoping for. Eric bounding noisily up the stairs behind them with Holly’s bra in his mouth was hardly ideal either. But whatever else they’d had in mind, Holly thought, at least they were able to laugh about it together.
Chapter 2
Holly rolled over in bed and sighed, one eye blearily registering the flashing red digits on the clock beside her. Less than two hours until a waiting room full of patients required her undivided and professional attention.
She yawned and wondered when it had become so much harder to get out of bed. She couldn’t ignore the fact that it might just have coincided with Taffy’s gradual ‘moving in’ programme and that her brand-new king-sized bed was now somewhere that she actually wanted to linger.
The phone trilled loudly beside her and they exchanged glances – phone calls at this hour in the morning rarely boded well with two doctors in the house. Avoiding their regular game of Rock-Paper-Scissors, Holly leaned over and picked up the handset, as the twins and Eric burst through the door.
‘Elsie!’ she exclaimed in delight, as the crackling connection cleared and she could just about make out the distinguished voice at the other end. ‘How’s Borneo? Have you adopted an orang-utan yet?’
‘Don’t be so utterly ridiculous, darling, I couldn’t possibly keep an orang-utan in Larkford,’ Elsie replied, taking her question completely seriously. ‘What’s all that noise in the background?’
Holly pushed back the duvet and walked through to the bathroom – often the only quiet place to take a phone call in the whole house – ‘Can you hear me now? It was a bit chaotic in the bedroom . . .’
Elsie chuckled, her sense of the double entendre still rather well-developed despite her advancing years. ‘Well, I won’t keep you long, my darling. I just wanted to tell you I’m heading home.’
‘That’s wonderful news,’ said Holly, who had been missing the indomitable Elsie far more than she’d been letting on. A small smile flitted across her face, thinking how proud Elsie would be to see all the changes she’d wrought in her absence. Of course, they chatted on Skype from time to time, as Elsie’s surprise fling with ’80s crooner Barry O’Connor seemed to go from strength to strength and they took ‘one last turn around the world’ together. Cheesy, yes, but also undeniably romantic – assuming you ignored the vaguely gag-inducing thought of what Lizzie referred to as Saggy Sex. ‘I’m so pleased.’
‘Hmm, well – let’s see if you still feel that way when I’m under your feet every day and being generally geriatric.’
Holly paused at Elsie’s tone, the undercurrent of negativity so wholly and completely out of character as to raise an enormous red flag. ‘Is everything okay?’ she asked.
A humming pause crackled along the airwaves and Holly had no way of knowing whether the connection was to blame. ‘I’m flying back next week and I’ve a lovely little man collecting me at Heathrow. We can have a drink and catch up once I’m home. No point clogging up the airwaves.’ She stopped for a moment and then ventured, ‘I’ve rather missed you, Holly. Do tell that delectable Taffy that he might need to share your attentions for a while, won’t you?’ She gave an echoing laugh and Holly was concerned to note an edge of hysteria quavering at the edges.
‘I certainly will and . . .’
The phone call ended with a decisive click, Elsie’s habit of not bothering to say goodbye on phone calls leaving Holly on the hop as usual. She wandered back into the bedroom to find that Taffy and the boys had dozed off back to sleep again.
As Larkford’s resident celebrity and Holly’s adopted matriarch, Elsie Townsend had a lot to answer for around here. Her tenacious drive to encourage any young woman to live to her best potential had spread ripples throughout their little community. She was a phenomenally influential and incredibly generous soul and Holly had missed her terribly.
Elsie’s Life Lessons had in fact changed Holly’s world beyond measure. She was becoming adept at picking her battles and her moments, and the dreaded should was still banished from her lexicon and now also that of her children. It was also, she’d discovered, so much easier to ask for what she wanted, now that she’d figured out what that actually was.
Speaking of which, she walked over to the bed and kissed Taffy’s newly shorn head gently. ‘Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, we’re running a bit late. And I think Elsie and Barry might have fallen out – she’s coming home.’
Taffy opened one bleary eye. ‘Does that mean you’re going to g
et all feisty again?’ he asked.
Holly grinned. ‘There is every chance.’
He snuggled down into the duvet some more, refusing to admit that it was time to get up, ‘Brilliant,’ he said sleepily. ‘I love feisty Holly.’
The next phase of morning madness swung quickly into action. Having spent ten minutes searching under every bed and cupboard for Ben’s mislaid trainers, they were finally unearthed in the laundry basket. ‘Because they were dirty, Mummy.’ Indisputable logic, to be fair, thought Holly as she reflexively checked her watch.
It was muddly, disordered, wonderful chaos and Holly loved it. Gone were the days of tiptoeing around Milo and his sensitivities. Now there was a genuine feeling of working towards the same goal – even if right now that goal of leaving the house on time with all four of them dressed in an appropriate manner might seem a tad unrealistic.
Tom sat on the bottom stair stubbornly refusing any help as he concentrated incredibly hard on doing up his new ‘big boy’ laces. Ben was determinedly taking everything out of his backpack in the search for his favourite Transformer and Taffy – well, Taffy seemed to be sporting reading glasses, a cravat and very possibly a beauty spot.
Holly raised an eyebrow. ‘Well hello, Handsome, did I miss something?’
Taffy looked bashful for a moment. ‘No. It’s just a silly . . .’
Holly managed to disguise the relieved smile that threatened to erupt. All this good behaviour for Julia’s camera crew had been putting rather a dampener on Dan and Taffy’s natural exuberance.
Taffy folded a handkerchief into his jacket pocket, carefully smoothing the silk into a perfect triangle. ‘Today’s challenge,’ he said, nonchalantly, ‘will be Face Buckaroo.’ He was trying to look casual, but Holly could tell he was secretly loving it. ‘Dan’s idea – you have to keep adding things to your face during a conversation until somebody notices. Or taking them away. It’s scientific research really, on how unobservant we all are.’
‘Brilliant,’ she said with gusto, ‘I do love a bit of science in the morning.’
Taffy leaned in and kissed her firmly, barely even objecting to the fact that one twin was wrapped around his leg and Eric was chewing his shoelaces as he did so. As with everything else, he just took it all in his stride. ‘You can join in if you like – I’ve a fake nose and a wig still up for grabs? Loser cooks supper . . .’
With the twins duly delivered to pre-school, Holly caught her breath as she walked around to The Practice. Even at this hour on a summer’s morning, the little town was bustling with energy and the sunlight danced along the River Lark. She smiled, happy to slow down for a moment and let Eric sniff his way along the verges. The Practice looked so welcoming, with its warm Cotswold stone and little red-brick ‘eyebrows’ over each window and some days, Holly had to pinch herself that she actually got to work there.
‘No dramas last night then,’ said Grace, their resourceful Practice Manager, as she walked into Holly’s consulting room with an armful of paperwork and handed Holly a printed copy of her morning patient list. ‘I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies. Although you won’t be thanking me when you see your ten o’clock.’ She perched on the edge of Holly’s desk, enjoying that rare moment of peace before the phones started ringing off the hook and the front door seemed to be in perpetual motion. A cry from the car park rang out suddenly through the stillness and Grace was on the move before Holly’s brain even caught up.
Cassie Holland stood outside the main entrance, tears streaking her face, clutching her son Tarquin, as he held out his hand in front of him, as though it might detonate at any moment. Holly swallowed hard; the sight of a ten-inch chisel protruding through the poor boy’s hand was enough to turn even the strongest of stomachs. She flicked a glance at Grace, the message clearly communicated without words.
‘Well, that looks incredibly uncomfortable there, Tarquin,’ said Holly calmly, taking care to keep her tone even and upbeat as she ushered them hastily inside. ‘Let’s pop you through to my room while Grace is calling an ambulance for you. I think you might even get to hear the sirens today, if you’re really lucky.’ She looked up at Grace, only to see her shaking her head and mouthing ‘twenty minutes’.
‘And I think we’ll just bandage that poor hand up for you while you wait.’ Holly turned to Cassie. ‘We need to make sure that the chisel stays in place. It’s important, Cassie, because the chisel is actually stemming the worst of the bleeding at the moment.’
Cassie nodded dumbly, sinking down into a chair as they walked through the waiting room, unable to go any further or formulate the slightest reply. Tarquin promptly sat down beside her, white-faced and on the verge of tears. His uncharacteristic quietness actually worried Holly more than anything else. Holly’s attempts to convince him out of the chair seemed to be failing and she was only too grateful when Taffy came through to see what all the fuss was about. He beat an immediate retreat and returned moments later with a complete and sterile First Aid tray from the Nurses’ Station.
‘Crikey, Tarquin,’ he said, ‘you’ve been in the wars this morning and it’s not even nine o’clock.’ Seamlessly, Holly and Taffy worked together to bind the chisel and the wound in a sterile bandage, each of them aware that one false move could trigger more bleeding. They certainly didn’t want him moving around until it was stabilised.
‘He was working on a woodwork project,’ said Cassie abruptly. ‘He’s home schooled.’ She glared at Taffy, even as he diligently taped the dressing in place and Holly held it firm.
‘Don’t judge me!’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘I can see you, you know, judging me as a parent . . .’
Taffy sat back on his heels and calmly held her gaze. ‘Cassie,’ he said gently, ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
Her face flooded with colour, her own conscience clearly reminding her that she herself had not been so magnanimous. She abruptly turned her attention to Holly. ‘Thank you, Dr Graham.’
‘It’s my pleasure,’ Holly said, as she rose to her feet and signalled through to Grace for an update on the ambulance. Dan ambled in from the car park, ear-buds in place and demolishing his morning croissant. He frowned at the sight that greeted him.
‘You’ve been busy,’ he said, ever the master of understatement, taking in the signs of disarray in the waiting room and Grace fidgeting on hold.
‘Ten minutes,’ she said to nobody in particular. ‘They’re asking for a sit rep?’
Holly nodded. ‘We’re looking good. But don’t let them de-prioritise this, okay?’ She turned to Dan. ‘Morning. You’ve missed all the fun,’ she said quietly, pinching a bit of his croissant. ‘It was looking a little hairy there for a moment.’
It was the hot metallic smell suddenly flooding her senses that made Holly look down and in that moment, time seemed to expand and contract around her. She took in the aghast expression on Tarquin’s face and the chisel that he had clearly seen fit to pull out of his hand.
So much blood . . .
Holly ran from the room, as Cassie gaped after her, mouthing mutely in disbelief at her abandonment. But only seconds later Holly was back, deftly inserting a cannula into Tarquin’s other arm for a saline drip, even as Taffy and Dan worked quickly together to pack the wound and apply a basic tourniquet. The whole time they were working, Dan was murmuring a small, soothing running commentary to Tarquin and Cassie. He seemed to slip so easily back into his army training and it was apparent that his field skills were still second to none: Holly had never felt more reassured by his presence.
She began feeding figures back to Grace on the telephone – in such a small child, a relatively small blood loss could trigger a hypovolemic shock and Holly was monitoring his pulse and blood pressure as though his life depended on it; she tried not to think about the fact that it probably did. She knew perfectly well that, by the time she registered a drop in BP, it would be a horribly ominous sign.
She barely batted an eyelid as Cassie swayed away from them, th
e sight of blood from her own child too much for her subconscious to take, as she slid down in the chair. Taffy hollered for support from the gaggle of nurses arriving to start their routine shift and stunned into silence by the scene in front of them.
Jade and Jason quickly swept Cassie into the recovery position and checked her vitals.
‘I’m getting rapid breathing here,’ called Holly. Taffy knelt back down beside her, oblivious to the blood seeping into his trousers.
‘Pale, sweaty, cold hands . . . How long, Grace?’ he called.
Even calm, unflappable Grace was on the verge of tears now. ‘Eight minutes,’ she managed.
There was a blast of cool air on Holly’s back as the door opened and closed behind her. She felt, rather than saw, Julia appear at her side.
‘Lucy,’ Julia said calmly. ‘Could you draw the blinds and ask the patients to wait in the foyer?’ The morning was proceeding without them, as the four doctors used everything in their arsenal to stabilise this little boy. In that moment, it didn’t matter that he was a rude and disrespectful little tyke; it didn’t matter that he’d actually pulled the chisel out himself – it was their job, their calling, just to keep him alive. Taffy rigged up another drip – it was time for emergency measures, but the plasma they needed was still speeding towards them down the A36.
‘Is the mum a type-match?’ asked Julia. ‘Does anybody know?’ Her efficiency to even consider a real-time donation was true to form. ‘Jade? Find out,’ she said abruptly. ‘It doesn’t take two of you to handle a fainter.’
Holly watched as Julia deftly supported Dan in applying pressure to the double-sided wound. She noticed that they didn’t even speak, as they manoeuvred around each other in close proximity, and Julia placed minuscule stitches around the sterile wadding to hold Tarquin steady for transport.
‘Three minutes!’ called Grace, and Taffy instantly began to assemble the team for maximum accessibility. Jason shepherded a blinking Cassie to the side and the double access doors were thrown open. Taffy gently took the receiver from Grace’s shaking hand. ‘Dr Taffy Jones here, can you patch me through?’ He spoke clearly and firmly to the paramedics, even as the echoing sirens could be heard from the Market Place. ‘Holly, it’s a Blood on Board rig – they’ve got O-neg. Can you get him prepped?’
