by Penny Parkes
‘But there’s nothing wrong with my hearing though, woman, so perhaps you’d like to pipe down, so we can get this business over and done with?’
It didn’t surprise Dan to see that, beneath all the bossiness and bluff exterior, the Major was actually looking a little bit worried. It was only natural, he supposed, to be concerned that something entirely treatable might have taken on life-altering proportions through simple neglect, much as it apparently had with his co-conspirator.
Taffy grudgingly left them to it, at Dan’s insistence.
The Major leaned in close to Dan as Marion shuffled around to find a place to sit. ‘Just to be clear, Doc, I’m here under sufferance and to get some peace and quiet at home, okay. So no needles, alright?’
Dan smiled and gestured for the Major to take a seat. ‘If necessary, I can get young Jade in here to do the honours – always fairly distracting that – but I would suggest we take your blood pressure first, eh?’
The Major harrumphed happily and began to roll up his sleeve. ‘I imagine you’ll find that I’m fitter than a man half my age,’ he said confidently.
‘Yes, if he’s a smoking, drinking, coal miner with insomnia and a false leg . . .’ cut in Marion. ‘Don’t go easy on him, Dr Carter. He’s no spring chicken, but in his head he’s thirty and invincible.’
Before the two of them could pick up with the bickering, Dan made an executive decision and banished Marion to the waiting room. ‘I’m trying to get his heart rate to go down, Marion, and you do appear to be having the opposite effect!’ She silenced him completely by giving him a knowing wink, which he felt he would have been so much happier without, opening up as it did, a whole new train of thought about the pair of them.
‘Well,’ breathed Dan, as he sat back in his chair and assessed his patient. ‘At least we can talk a little privately now. What can I do you for?’
‘Mine’s a double whisky, if you’ve any lingering in that drawer of yours,’ the Major blustered, obviously uncomfortable.
Dan just shook his head. ‘I’ll buy you one in the pub later. Now, spill the beans. How bad are the chest pains really? Are we talking, I-ate-too-much-roast-beef heartburn, or I-can’t-actually-breathe-and-my-arm-hurts?’ Dan asked gently.
The Major harrumphed again. ‘A little of both to be honest.’
Dan tried not to let his eyebrows shoot entirely into his hairline as the numbers on the Major’s blood pressure reading steadily climbed higher and higher. ‘And how would you say you were feeling right now?’ he asked.
‘Not too pretty,’ the Major said, after much consideration. He leaned forward in his chair. ‘The missus and I had a bit of a to-do about coming here on spec, so it got the old ticker racing a bit. Fabulous filly, my Marion, but, dear God, she’s got a mouth on her!’ He didn’t look at all upset about that, thought Dan, in fact pride was the closest emotion that Dan could identify.
‘Of course,’ said the Major, ‘I did have one or two snifters just to celebrate when I got the letter as well . . .’
Dan guided him across to the examination couch where Grace had been sitting earlier, swinging her legs in the afternoon sunshine. He couldn’t help but think how much she would have enjoyed hearing the affectionate banter back and forth between Marion and the Major. It wasn’t lost on him though, that the only sentiment he attached to Julia in this scenario was whole-hearted relief that she hadn’t been the only one on duty when Peregrine Waverly finally plucked up the courage to march through the door.
‘Any other medical issues you’re aware of?’ asked Dan as he gave him a complete once-over; after all, who knew when he might be tempted back?
‘Nothing dramatic,’ shrugged the Major with a hacking cough. ‘I may have gone a bit deaf in one ear, there’s a chance one of my toes might be broken – Grover’s fault that, tripping me up after the pub the other night – and, now let me see, it hurts like a bastard when I pee and there’s a bit of blood in my you-know-what . . .’
‘Right,’ said Dan faintly, jotting down a few notes beside him. ‘Well, at least it’s nothing dramatic.’
Chapter 10
Holly was already fuming at being summarily summoned to sit on the tiny chairs at Pinetrees Nursery the next day, while she awaited her latest bollocking from Mrs Harlow – the erstwhile Headmistress of Larkford’s only pre-school and surely the inspiration for Roald Dahl’s infamous Miss Trunchbull. She checked her watch yet again, wondering what Alice might make of all this.
It was one thing for Holly to be excited about becoming a mentor for their new GP, it was quite another to give a prime example during her very first week that juggling family and work was no easy feat. Holly tapped out a text to Grace, explaining her delay and stared out of the window, awaiting her fate with resignation. Gales of laughter and chatter billowed around the grassy playground outside, where the children were playing Grandmother’s Footsteps at high volume.
Louise, the sweet girl who helped out with the admin from time to time, noted how long she had been kept waiting and took pity on her, leaning in, her voice low, ‘Apparently the twins have been giving the other kids special haircuts, Dr Graham. Something about wanting to be like Taffy, I gather.’ She was unable to hide the humour in her voice, but Holly was absolutely aghast and plunged straight into Parental Shame.
‘Seriously? But that’s awful! What were they thinking?’ she managed, thrown completely on to the back foot and no longer feeling quite so incensed at the interruption to her working day.
Louise patted her arm. Having been a staunch supporter of The Practice’s fund-raising of late, she knew exactly what the twins had had in mind. ‘I don’t think they got as far as taking everybody’s pocket money for sponsorship, if that’s what you’re worried about, but I gather a few of the girls did lose their ponytails in the process and Mrs Harlow is rather out for blood. I imagine she’s keeping you waiting on purpose. If you’d like me to, I’ll go and get her – I know you must be busy at work.’
Louise herself balanced erratic hours at the nursery with a six-month-old baby and had often told Holly how difficult she found the juggling act – and that was with a hands-on granny in town for cost-free childcare. Lovely Louise had also gone on to point out that ‘cost-free’ did not mean that the help came without a price – she believed you paid for the help one way or another, even if it was just in constantly feeling beholden.
Holly took a deep breath and quietly reminded herself that pride came before a fall and that she was doing the best job she knew how. She’d been so keen to impress Alice and to prove to her that it was possible to manage work and a family, she’d rather ignored the maxim that something, somewhere, would always have to give. Previously it had been her fitness, but these days the twins were older and they had sport-mad Taffy in the house – she hadn’t been in such good shape for years. Obviously, the weak point in the equation now was the twins’ worsening behaviour and their increasing naughtiness. Plus they’d taken to walking everywhere in a pair, like those creepy little girls from The Shining. It was actually a little disturbing, but Holly tried not to show it – if only because she had absolutely no idea what to do about it. What a cliché she was becoming, she thought, being a ditsy, distracted working mum with out-of-control children.
Mrs Harlow’s dramatic entrance was somewhat lost on Holly, so wrapped up was she in her thoughts that she barely registered the woman’s presence until she was practically looming over her.
‘Dr Graham? If you’d like to come on through,’ said Mrs Harlow coldly. She was a funny woman to deal with at the best of times – running a childcare facility but secretly seeming to disapprove of working mothers. The expression on her face was set to judgemental and furious, so Holly sat down with her knees practically wedged under her chin, perching on a teeny-tiny chair to hear all about her shortcomings as a parent. Obviously Mrs Harlow was unhappy and deserved to have her say, but with each minute that ticked past, Holly felt increasingly unprofessional, knowing the chaos that her
absence would be causing to the clinic schedule at work.
Her loyalties torn, she really wanted to address the issue that concerned her the most: why were her boys acting up? What were they hoping to achieve with these increasingly demonstrative displays of rebellion?
She pushed aside the treacherous thought, that if the twins were persona-non-grata for a while, it might at least free up the odd weekend, away from the incessant schedule of play-dates and birthday parties. She tried not to think too hard about the irate parents that would be advancing on her later today, with their shorn-headed children, demanding restitution and possibly blood. And she tried not to rise at Mrs Harlow’s tactless and ill-judged spiel about family values.
Her head physically throbbed with restraint.
Holly took a deep breath. ‘Mrs Harlow, I’m so terribly, terribly sorry. Please let me explain what they were trying to do.’ She tried to explain their desire to be swept up in the zeal for sponsorship along with everybody else in Larkford, but Mrs Harlow was not interested in listening.
Obviously her telephone had been running white-hot with furious parents and whilst Holly did genuinely feel that Mrs Harlow should be able to pass on some measure of her anger to the culprits’ parent, after a third particularly derisive swipe at working mothers, she was struggling to hold her tongue. Mrs Harlow’s flushed and jowly face glared down at her and a vein pulsated in her forehead. Her little piggy eyes bored into Holly.
Apologising had not been enough. Offering to personally write letters to the parents involved had not been enough. It took a moment for Holly to realise that nothing she could say or do would be enough, because Mrs Harlow was actually enjoying taking her down a peg or two.
Holly had never been more grateful for Elsie’s voice in her ear, whispering that it was time to stand up for herself. Bullies are cowards deep down, Elsie used to tell her. And whatever the boys had done, this aggressive response really was a step too far.
Holly tried not to think about the monopoly that Pinetrees Nursery enjoyed in Larkford and she could feel her stomach churning at the very thought of the logistics involved in finding somewhere new.
Mrs Harlow, however, decided to make that decision easy for Holly by continuing her spiteful monologue. ‘Of course, Dr Graham, you have to understand that children of this age are very easily influenced. And I’m sure the – er – flexible arrangement you have at home isn’t exactly the example one might wish for.’ She sniffed lightly. ‘I gather that their father is no longer in the picture, so perhaps you’ll be formalising things with your new beau soon? For the sake of the children if nothing else.’
Holly was about to correct her when she realised she had no need to. This wasn’t pastoral care; this was a witch-hunt that she had no desire to sanction.
Whatever her sons had done, they still deserved unconditional support from their mother. She could, and would, admonish them later, but with balance and an appropriate punishment, rather than disdain and disrespect.
Children would insist on behaving like children at times, after all. And if their idea of an inspirational role model was Taffy Jones, then Holly knew that she must be doing something right, whatever the consequences.
She stood up abruptly, a deliberately calm expression on her face. ‘Just one question, Mrs Harlow, before I really do need to get back to my patients. I can understand how one little trim might have escaped your staff’s eagle-eyed attention, but the issue that’s bothering me is this – nine haircuts, nine children queuing up and two very unsubtle little boys wielding a pair of scissors . . . I can’t deny their culpability, they were after all, holding the scissors – but I can’t help wondering where your staff were, when all of this was going on?’
Holly managed a hint of a polite smile. ‘Just something to think about . . . And, if you’d like one of the working mothers to come and give your staff some tips on multi-tasking, I know we’d be only too pleased to help. In the meantime, rest assured, I shall be dealing with the twins. Appropriately.’
Returning to The Practice, Holly felt utterly winded. Finding her brave had taken far more effort than she’d realised. Finding that Mrs Harlow had inadvertently identified her Achilles heel was an unwelcome revelation that required more thought than Holly had to spare.
She took a deep breath and walked into the office, an apology ripe on her lips and expecting chaos. The calm productivity that confronted her made her pause. ‘What have you done with all the patients, Grace?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice light.
‘All sorted,’ replied Grace, swivelling her chair away from the two vast monitors that took up most of her desk. Grace’s IT skills were now scarily polished and her insistence at digitising everything was proving to be a Godsend, now they had so many statistics to compile; Holly had lost count of how many times Grace had saved their proverbial arses of late. She stood up and held out a list to Holly. ‘Dan and Taffy shared out the tricky ones and we let Alice loose on a couple of easy ones. She’s been properly impressive actually.’ Grace dropped her voice, ‘Even Julia was impressed at how she handled Kieran Friar’s acne. She didn’t bat an eye and that’s no mean feat.’
Holly nodded, rather impressed herself, if young Alice had been confronted by Kieran’s reliably gruesome back-ne and not even flinched.
‘And Coco?’ Holly asked, mentally crossing her fingers for a positive response.
‘Good as gold,’ replied Grace, her own smile complicit in their shared affection for the little dog. ‘I have to tell you, I think all the patients are a little bit in love with her.’
Holly grinned. ‘Alice or Coco?’ It was frankly quite easy to see the attraction to either.
‘Indeed,’ replied Grace, swinging a large straw basket over her shoulder. Holly noticed that, once again, Grace had eschewed her usual office attire of fitted skirt and blouse in favour of a daffodil-yellow sundress that was like a ray of warmth into the office.
‘You’re looking very summery and gorgeous,’ Holly commented. ‘Are you off somewhere nice?’
Grace smiled at the compliment. ‘Just thought I’d grab a quick swim over lunch. There was even talk of Pimm’s at the River Club if you fancy joining us?’
‘Liquid lunch, Grace Allen? Sexy sundresses? Whatever next?’ Holly was so thrilled to see her friend so much happier. So much free-er, it seemed.
Grace leaned in confidentially. ‘If there’s time, I’m sneaking off for a haircut later.’ The way she said it, almost brimming with exhilaration, made it perfectly clear this was no work-a-day trim.
Holly held her hand at shoulder height, ‘A haircut?’
Grace shook her head and lifted Holly’s hand to jawline. ‘A haircut.’ She could barely contain her excitement and the effect was contagious.
‘Wow!’ said Holly, knowing this was no small decision. Roy had always made such a thing about Grace’s hair. ‘That’ll make life simpler. I can’t wait to see it.’
Grace beamed. ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you? I want it to be a surprise.’
‘I shall forget we ever spoke,’ promised Holly. ‘And, Grace, thank you for covering for me this morning.’
‘My absolute pleasure,’ said Grace as she left the room with a spring in her step and a twinkle in her eye.
‘Blimey,’ muttered Holly to herself. ‘Maybe we should all be doing a bit of yoga?’ She checked the print-out Grace had given her and made her way over to her office, feeling a little discombobulated and like a guest at her own ‘party’.
She knocked briefly on the door and went in to find Alice holding her own with Cathy Davis, as she sobbed her way through a box of Kleenex and begged for something to help her sleep. Holly quietly sat down in the corner, noting that although Coco’s eyes had flickered in her direction, she hadn’t moved a muscle.
‘Please don’t think me indelicate, after all, I haven’t had children, I’m not married and having your mother-in-law move in for a month does sound horrifically stressful,’ continued Alice calmly, leaning fo
rward in her chair and taking Cathy’s hands, ‘but I don’t think filling you up with sleeping tablets is the answer. If we can get you just a few nights of uninterrupted sleep, refill the tanks, I think you won’t even recognise yourself. Of course, we can talk about sleeping tablets if we really need to, but the other things we discussed – the exercise and diet and mindfulness – I really believe we should focus on that first. Not to mention keeping family visits short in future. Will you think about it?’
Cathy nodded, her eyes red and sore. ‘I will, Dr Walker. And thank you. For really listening to me.’
‘My pleasure,’ said Alice, ushering her towards the door.
As the door swung shut behind Cathy, Alice turned to Holly and pulled a face. ‘How did I do? I live in fear of putting my foot in it when it’s sensitive family stuff.’
‘You did great,’ Holly said. ‘And as long as we follow up and make sure this really is just a lack of sleep and not a symptom of a bigger depressive interlude then we’re on top of things.’
‘Dare I ask how your morning went? From a purely selfish point of view, it was really great to do my own clinic on my first week,’ Alice said.
Holly smiled. ‘I shall pass your thanks along to the twins. In the meantime though, shall we see the rest of the patients?’
‘All done,’ said Alice, patting a pile of paperwork beside her. ‘And I’ve sorted out an emergency referral to the Cardiology clinic for Mrs Owen because her pacemaker’s being a little erratic, she says. That was probably the highlight of the morning’s events.’ Alice stretched her arms out in front of her to release the tension in her shoulders, her expensively tailored jacket falling instantly back into place. It was almost unfair, thought Holly, for someone so young to have mastered the art of the capsule-working-wardrobe so quickly.
‘Is it always like this?’ Alice asked. ‘There seem to be a lot of people coming in for relatively minor ailments.’
Holly shrugged. ‘Be careful what you wish for. Last week we had an anaphylactic shock, a heart attack and an early labour all in one day. You’ll learn to love the mundane – trust me.’
