by Penny Parkes
Coco sat up again and whined, pawing at Alice’s knee. Alice leaned down and dropped a kiss on her head. ‘Thank you, Coco.’ She deftly unzipped the pouch containing her blood sugar monitor and pricked her finger without even flinching. Holly watched as she noted down the reading and calibrated her medication accordingly. The minute the pouch was out and open, Coco calmed down and resettled at Alice’s feet.
‘Amazing,’ said Holly in awe, this being the first time she’d seen a diabetic assistance dog in action. There was no hustle, no drama, just a calm and considered interaction between Alice and Coco that was clearly borne from years of practice.
‘She’s my hero,’ said Alice simply. ‘Catches me early every time.’
Holly nodded, wondering how many unnecessary hypos and hypers had been avoided by Coco’s prompt intervention. No heroics; just amazing.
Making their way into the doctors’ lounge, they found Taffy filling the kettle already. ‘Don’t you ever do any work?’ Holly teased him, Taffy’s almost constant presence in the kitchen area having become somewhat of a standing joke.
He shrugged. ‘I was hungry. Besides I’ve had a difficult morning – a Jaffa, two Tubbies and Percy Lawson.’
Alice looked from Holly to Taffy in confusion. Holly grinned. ‘Don’t get sucked in to his shorthand, Alice. That way madness lies.’
‘Do I even want to know?’ Alice asked, rather tentatively.
Taffy pulled down three mugs from the cupboard and clattered about looking for spoons. He managed to make so much noise just making a cuppa that Alice barely caught his translation. ‘A Jaffa – you know – seedless? So that’s shooting blanks. Tubbies? Well, that’s solving the riddle of who ate all the pies and Percy Lawson . . . Holly, how do I explain Percy Lawson?’
Holly passed him the milk from the fridge in a well coordinated tea-making routine. She turned to Alice. ‘Percy Lawson is our resident adrenalin junkie. He parachutes, he hikes, he surfs . . . Sadly, he’s a bit inept . . .’
‘He’s shit, Holly, stop sugar-coating it. He has all the gear and no idea. He’s been in traction three times in the last ten years and there’s more metal holding him together than a Meccano set – he’s fundamentally a drain on the NHS.’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘And now he’s gone and bought himself a motorbike!’
‘Jesus!’ exclaimed Holly, slopping hot tea over her hand in shock. ‘You have to be kidding me?’
Taffy shook his head. ‘Seriously, Alice, if you see a red BMW motorbike coming towards you at any point, just take to the shrubbery. I suppose the only question is, whether he’ll kill himself or someone else first.’
He took a slurp of the tea and then grinned. ‘Although when he told me what he’d bought, I did make him fill out the Organ Donor forms, so I might have given him pause for thought. Told him it was a statistical likelihood he’d be needing them and he did go awfully quiet.’
Alice was still for a moment and Holly wondered whether Taffy’s cavalier approach to mortality was all a bit much, but it turned out she needn’t have worried.
‘When I did my surgical rotation and we were hoping for a donor, we used to check the weather forecast first. If it was raining, the odds were always in our favour,’ said Alice matter-of-factly.
‘I hate motorbikes,’ said Taffy. ‘Always seems incredibly arrogant to travel at such speed with no real protection. When you read about a father of five dying in a motorcycle crash, my first thought is what a selfish bastard he must have been.’
There was a moment of silence as Holly and Alice took in the flush to his neck and the vehemence of his voice. There was no way that this opinion was based on news headlines alone. Holly laid a hand on his arm and he smiled ruefully, ‘My best mate at school lost his dad that way.’ He visibly pulled himself together and gave a little shrug, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, the way he always did when he felt uncomfortable. ‘We should probably start a little sweepstake. A fiver says he crashes it in the first two days.’
‘I’m in,’ said Alice. ‘Twenty pounds says I give it a week.’
There was a sudden commotion as Dan and Julia and the nurses descended into the lounge at the same time, surging towards the kettle.
‘So,’ interrupted Dan, ‘how’s your first week panning out so far, Alice? Has Holly been setting a fabulous example?’
‘She has, actually,’ Alice said, quite firmly. ‘I think it’s wonderful that there’s more female doctors here than men.’
‘Are there?’ Taffy asked, looking panicked. ‘How did we let that one slip through the net?’ He grinned at Alice to show that he was kidding. ‘In all seriousness though, isn’t that the way it should be? Surely it’s more uncomfortable for a woman to have a bloke poking about, than the other way round?’
Holly gave him a shove. ‘That’s not very PC.’
Taffy rolled his eyes and tucked his arm around her waist. ‘True, though.’ Alice wandered off to have a rummage through the fridge and Taffy dropped his voice. ‘So is Mrs Harlow on the warpath?’
Holly nodded. ‘And she probably has every right to be.’ She filled him in on the boys’ exploits with the craft scissors and tried her hardest to keep her bubbling frustrations with Mrs Harlow under control.
‘Well, if imitation really is the sincerest form of flattery, then I guess I should be flattered?’ Taffy said uncertainly.
‘Well, you can be flattered by Mrs Harlow’s opinion that the boys are playing up because of the “flexible arrangement” I have at home! She made it sound as though I had a parade of men through my bedroom . . .’ Holly sounded properly pissed off at the notion and refused to react to Taffy’s eloquently raised eyebrow.
She gratefully took the Hobnob he gave her by way of apology. ‘It just seems like everybody wants to have their say, you know?’
‘I do,’ said Taffy, taking a rare moment to be serious. ‘You’re not the only one getting flak for our living arrangements. Honestly, you’d think this was 1965 the way some of the people around here carry on.’ He leaned in and kissed the soft skin just below her ear. ‘But I say, if we’re going to live in sin, there should probably be a lot more sin and a bit less washing up.’
She knew he was teasing; she knew he was trying to make light of her concerns, but she’d used up all of her diplomacy on Mrs Harlow. ‘Why,’ she blurted out, ‘is everybody in such a hurry to get me back into a stupid white dress?’
‘Er? So you’ll match all the other appliances?’ interrupted Dan, casually eavesdropping.
‘So you can annoy that one special person for the rest of your life?’ said Julia with unusual humour on the topic.
‘Ooh, how lovely!’ exclaimed Alice, completely misreading the situation. ‘I didn’t know you were getting married! You’ll have to tell me what you’d like for a gift. Shopping’s kind of, well, my thing.’
Holly sighed. ‘Oh Alice, we’re not. We’re perfectly happy just living together.’ She gave Taffy an odd look when he stayed resolutely silent and let Holly blather her own excuses.
‘Anyone want another cuppa?’ interrupted Dan, who thankfully seemed to realise that they had blundered into a private conversation, as he shepherded Alice towards the secret stash of pink wafers kept only for emergencies.
‘Taff?’ Holly queried. ‘You’re not saying much.’
He shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I knew you didn’t want to get married now, now. I just assumed you might want to at some point. You know, in the future.’
‘Oh,’ said Holly, somewhat deflated. ‘And I suppose it doesn’t help that I just don’t know? I mean, I did all that once – the till death do us part? For better or worse? Forsaking all others in a big stupid meringue of a dress. And where did it get me?’
Taffy frowned. ‘Well, to be fair, Holls, you seemed to do an awful lot more forsaking than Milo did. I suspect it was more that causing the problems than the dress. Although I have seen photos of your wedding dress and you’re quite right, it truly was awful . . .’
She elbowed him. ‘I was young and easily persuadable!’
‘And now you’re a little bit older, a little bit wiser and shouldn’t be letting silly decisions you made when you were young affect the rest of your life.’ There was no fuss, no drama in his words, but for the first time, Holly realised that he really wasn’t joking on this front.
He didn’t need her to be dashing up the aisle right now – he didn’t even need a promise – he just needed hope that it was still a possibility.
Holly kissed him tenderly on the lips. There were no words that she could honestly offer, because her own hope for a happy ever after was apparently still in short supply.
She knew to her own personal cost that the very definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Why should this be any different?
Chapter 11
Dan parked his Land Rover and walked along the river bank the next morning, the birdsong building to orchestral levels under the trees. It was a picture-perfect Saturday and for once the weather was being kind for the annual Larkford Duck Race. The sunlight streaked across the water’s surface and the gentle breeze made the long grasses and reeds undulate gently. The whole bucolic scene was like something out of a travel magazine. He sighed a little. When this idyll was your everyday reality, it was easy to take it for granted sometimes and forget his good fortune in living here.
It was so easy to dwell on the things that weren’t going well that the little moments of absolute perfection were disregarded in favour of stewing. And Dan had recently become an expert in stewing, even to the point of having angry one-sided conversations in the car as he drove along the country lanes this morning. It wasn’t the first sign of madness, he knew, it was more like the fourth or the fifth – but then, nobody said that living with Julia would be easy.
He rounded the bend in the river and spotted the huge new banner (sponsored by The Kingsley Arms) announcing the Duck Race, along with the various local food businesses who had decided that today would be an excellent opportunity to ply their wares. As a result, the crowds were forming much earlier than usual and the air was scented with coffee, warm pastries and the occasional waft of bacon that made his mouth water.
Holly caught up with him as they approached the first of the food stands and fell into step beside him. ‘You okay?’ she asked simply.
He pulled a crumpled fiver from his jeans’ pocket and ordered two black coffees. There was no need to double-check Holly’s coffee requirements – she seemed to be powered by caffeine and sheer determination most days. ‘I’m fine. Just, you know,’ Dan said eloquently, for once glad that it was Holly who had asked.
‘Yup,’ she said easily, and with feeling.
He knew she wouldn’t judge or try to provide solutions like most people did. He also knew that Holly and Taffy managed to keep their friends’ secrets without the need to share them over pillow talk. It had taken him a while to have faith in that ability, but he now respected their friendships all the more for them being willing to hold a little something back from one another.
‘Don’t make a thing of it with Taffs, will you?’ Dan said, just to be sure.
Holly gave him a look. ‘Couldn’t if I wanted to. You might need to give me a little more information . . .’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing new; just words at home.’ He paused, wondering if this was the time to discuss with Holly how much the filming was driving a wedge between him and Julia. He’d be the last one to admit it, but having Holly in Taffy’s life had been a blessing and a curse. A curse because he really missed his muck-about mate, whose diary was decidedly less flexible and spontaneous these days. A blessing, because he had gained in Holly that rare and wonderful thing, a female friend. And one who knew when not to push.
‘So what’s the bet today, then?’ Holly asked casually, changing the subject as though reading his mind, as she sipped from her cup, sunglasses propped precariously in her hair. ‘Are you aiming for sabotage, cheating or may-the-best-man-win?’
Dan shrugged. ‘No bet today. Just, you know, helping out with the organising.’ He looked like a forlorn little boy, whose mate had abandoned him for the new kid with the Raleigh Chopper.
Holly leaned in closer. ‘Really? Are you sure? Only I heard . . . Oh well, never mind. Forget I said anything.’ She looked a little shifty, as she plonked her sunglasses down on her nose. ‘Thanks for the coffee, though.’
The smile she threw over her shoulder as she left felt more like a challenge and Dan could feel his spirits lift a fraction.
It was one thing being ultra-professional now they were all partners, it had been quite another trying to be on their best behaviour for Julia’s camera crew all the time. He knew it was a little childish, but his jokes and bets with Taffy Jones had often sustained him through stressful times, giving him breathing room to let off steam. And it wasn’t as though Holly disapproved: she’d mentioned on more than one occasion that she quite missed the silly camaraderie that their jokes brought to The Practice.
And maybe that was part of the problem with their new arrangement, he realised. For their practical jokes to work, there had always been the pretence of playing against management. Whether they liked it or not, in the new Partnership, weren’t they all management these days?
He looked along the grassy bank to where Taffy was trying to get things organised for the race, with Holly’s twins ‘helping’ him. Their excitable smiles were infectious and the beginnings of a plan began to take shape in his mind.
He downed the rest of his coffee, happy with his decision and walked over to Taffy, who was trying to count legions of bobbing yellow plastic ducks, which would insist on moving about.
He leaned in. ‘Taffy? The Mallard is in play,’ he whispered.
‘What?’ said Taffy, losing count yet again. Then the light slowly dawned in his eyes as he grasped what Dan was saying. ‘Do you mean . . . ?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Dan. ‘Fair means or fowl – do you see what I did there? – may the best duck win . . .’
It was honestly the most fun that Dan had had in ages. By the time he had roped in a few more willing participants, he felt he had upped the traditional ante at The Duck Race sufficiently. The new addition to the Auction of Promises guaranteed to be a crowd-pleaser: the winner offering his services to the highest bidder, to do with as they wished. Even the Major and Jason had jumped on board with alacrity. It seemed they were all in need of letting off a little steam.
An hour later, Dan sat back on the warm grass and wondered why they hadn’t thought of this before. Simple pleasures, really. The bet was mate against mate, duck against duck, and Dan hadn’t felt so contented and relaxed in months. And what more could a professional man really ask for on a sunny morning, than the joy of sabotaging his best friend’s rubber duck?
Alice sat down beside him, with Coco at her heels, both quite clearly convinced that the residents of Larkford were all losing the plot. ‘Is this a regular thing then? Because you might need to clue me in – I’ve just seen Jason lugging a helium canister behind the bushes and I’m not sure he was filling party balloons, if you know what I mean!’
Dan grinned. ‘There are no rules. May the best duck win.’ He paused, kicking himself for not thinking of the helium angle. ‘Sabotage is expected, if not strongly encouraged – but not in the Kids’ Race,’ he clarified, as he clocked the expression on her face.
She shrugged. ‘Okay then. So where do we get our duck? And how do we join the bet?’
Dan stood up and pulled her to her feet. ‘Ducks we can do, but the bet’s a bit more . . .’ He struggled to find the words without sounding like a sexist Luddite.
‘One for the boys?’ she suggested. ‘I suppose it is a slightly different proposition to auction off a girl?’ Her light easy tone implied no judgement, no feminist ire at being excluded and Dan breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Come on, let’s get you and Coco a duck each and then I can introduce you
to some of your patients.’
‘Neighbours,’ she corrected him. ‘It’s Saturday and we’re off-duty, right?’
‘Oh, Alice,’ Dan sighed, clocking the concern on her face, ‘I don’t know how to break this to you, but in Larkford, you are never off duty.’
‘Yes, Boss,’ she said cheekily and Dan knew straight away from the grin on her face that she’d been teasing him.
‘You laugh now, Walker,’ he riposted, ‘but let’s see how you feel in six months’ time . . .’
Before they could start winding each other up further, Holly bounded over, her infectious enthusiasm and obvious delight for the boys’ bonkers bet making her seem a little hyper. ‘Alice! You’re with me, come and grab a duck or two . . .’
Taffy was still wrangling his rubber flock into line and the twins were honestly being more of a hindrance than a help, but Holly had clearly laid down the law: they had a day full of volunteering and good deeds ahead of them, to offset their actions with the craft scissors. Dan watched for a moment, uneasy with the envious thoughts that swept through his mind. Holly and Taffy worked together so seamlessly, apparently anticipating each other’s every need, as they numbered, labelled and sold each rubber duck in a perfectly orchestrated routine. As Taffy leaned in and kissed Holly’s tanned shoulder and she brushed a hand against his Saturday stubble in wordless reply, Dan stepped away. He didn’t fancy Holly; he certainly didn’t fancy Taffy. But there was something about their obvious intimacy and affection that he definitely coveted.
He sighed deeply, wondering when his life might find the balance he was looking for. In one of those serendipitous moments – that it’s all too easy to give too much credence to – just as Dan was raising his eyes to the sky, looking for answers, Grace stepped into his line of vision.
But not the Grace that he knew and recognised from work. This Grace was wearing soft jersey yoga pants and a slender camisole that showed off her lithe figure. This Grace wore her hair in the neatest of bobs, that swung easily along her jawline as she walked towards him and looked so completely at home in her own skin, that for a moment, Dan began to think he had mistaken her for somebody else. Where was organised, methodical Grace that had always been there, working quietly in the background?
