Practice Makes Perfect

by Penny Parkes

  And then the little voice in Holly’s head spoke up – the little voice that hadn’t been to medical school and was just as frightened as Elsie – what if the consultant was right and her beloved Elsie, with her wonderful pearls of wisdom and the best perspective on life that Holly had ever heard, was heading for a massive stroke? If that was really the case, then the prospect of losing her beautiful melodic voice might be the least of her worries.

  She bent her knees so that they were eye-to-eye. ‘We’re going to make sure that doesn’t happen,’ she promised rashly. ‘There are steps we can take to get you back on fighting form. But you have to help yourself a little too. I’m going to be on your case about your diet and your recovery programme. And I’m going to find you somebody wonderful to move in for a bit and help, okay?’

  They held hands for a moment, digesting the agreement between them. ‘She’ll need to play poker,’ said Elsie. ‘Don’t lumber me with a house guest that can’t.’

  Holly smiled. If Elsie needed to think of her home-help as a house guest, that was fine with her.

  Holly settled the boys for the night, unwilling to leave Elsie alone and more than happy to stay over until they could organise something more official. They were over the moon at the prospect and Holly felt easier just knowing she was on hand. Taffy, it seemed, was pulling an all-nighter with Dan and Grace but had been happy to reassure her that she was in the right place and they could manage without her.

  Holly hung up the phone on the noise and kerfuffle on the other end of the line and sighed, registering for the first time how exhausted she felt and wondering whether a night without Taffy’s incessant snoring might prove to be an added benefit. She loved the man, she truly did, but she still felt the urge to smother him with his pillow at roughly 3 a.m. every night.

  Elsie was still pottering around the dining table when Holly came back downstairs yawning.

  ‘All this scandal isn’t going to organise itself, you know. I’m going to need Post-its, some coloured pens and a large roll of wallpaper. Oh, and a publisher. But let’s start with the stationery. I imagine that might be simpler.’

  Holly allowed herself to get swept along in Elsie’s enthusiasm and it was over an hour later when Holly looked at her watch. They’d decided to sort the photos into chronological order and Holly had been immediately sucked in. Fascinated by the earlier life of this amazing woman, Holly felt as though she were looking at the plot of a daytime movie. This was Brigitte Bardot and Marilyn Monroe, with a hint of Audrey Hepburn for class and good measure. This was properly sensational stuff.

  The photos carried a beautiful antique lustre that only added to their credibility. Movie stars, rock stars, Studio 54 – it was all there. St Tropez before it became a tourist mecca. The Hollywood sign when it was still shiny and new. And so many bloody yachts it actually prompted Holly to exclaim, ‘Who are these people?’

  Elsie just laughed, her redolent laugh so perfectly in keeping with the time they were poring over. She held up a fading snapshot of herself in an impossibly glamorous kaftan, bare painted toes and shapely legs just visible below its hem. ‘I’m guessing these didn’t exactly help,’ she said.

  It took Holly a moment to see the long, fragile cigarette holder in her elegant fingers. It didn’t jar, the way a photograph of a beautiful actress with a fag in her mouth did these days. It was just a part of the image, the time, the zeitgeist. ‘Shouldn’t have been so incredibly vain, should I? Never even liked the taste – gave me a filthy headache every time – but boy, did it keep me slim.’ She tossed another photograph on top, this time of a young Elsie in a Bond-style bikini, her body as beautiful as any supermodel, albeit in scaled down form.

  Holly paused for a moment. She had all the evidence in front of her of a life well lived. Even as a doctor, knowing everything they knew now, was it right to be analysing choices they could do nothing to change? ‘If I had a choice between living well and living long, Elsie, and looking at everything you have done in your life . . . well, I’d be hard pressed to advise you to do anything differently.’

  Elsie tried to smile, but never quite made it. Heads together, as they pored over the pictures and diaries from Elsie’s Hollywood years, the whole tone of the evening changed, Holly soon weeping with laughter over the caustic, dry comments of a youthful Elsie. It was clear that this lady had always known her own worth and didn’t suffer fools gladly. Holly felt almost honoured to be included in this part of her life.

  This story had everything – multiple marriages, triumph and tragedy, not to mention enough salacious rumours to keep tongues wagging across the Atlantic for the foreseeable future. She was beginning to think that Elsie might be wrong; getting a publisher might actually prove to be easier than schlepping into Bath to buy Post-its.

  Chapter 23

  Holly hung up the phone and ripped her list into shreds. ‘God give me strength,’ she murmured under her breath. It was not the best start to the day. The Happy Helpers Home Help Agency were apparently running short on anyone who might reasonably be described as either happy or helpful – or come to that, available. Knowing that Elsie was home alone made her feel incredibly uncomfortable, but she had no wish to impose anybody on Elsie who would make her feel patronised or demeaned. The one and only great hope of the morning had turned out to be a rather saccharine lady called Marjory, who insisted on referring to her clients as ‘old dears’ – Holly didn’t dare think that the poor woman would escape alive from Elsie’s clutches!

  Alice poked her head around the door. ‘Are you busy? Grace is still stuck in her meeting with the Primary Care Trust, can you believe it? She looked amazing, by the way – all polished and efficient. And they seemed pretty happy that we had organised a Liaison Manager; apparently it’s a sign of our overall efficiency.’ She grinned. ‘Which brings me around to my next question. Lucy’s in a bit of a tizz about the launch tonight and wants to know if we can help?’

  Holly pushed back her chair. ‘Right, well let’s go and see how many other balls we’ve dropped this week. Because unless I can find somebody to look after Elsie at home, it looks like I’m going to be dropping an awful lot more.’

  Alice hastened along beside her, Coco at her heels. ‘Do you need somebody with particular nursing qualifications, or just somebody level-headed and lovely? Only, my aunt’s neighbour is a travel writer who’s looking for some part-time work between projects? She’s mad as a bag of frogs, but I’d trust her with anything and I know she has a first aid qualification. Do you want me to call her?’

  Level-headed and lovely suddenly sounded incredibly appealing to Holly and, as Alice described how Sarah had stepped in to support her Aunt Pru when Alice herself had started working at The Practice, Holly felt a weight lift off her shoulders. Happy Helpers be damned, she thought, with no doubt in her mind that this kind of arrangement might be so much more acceptable to Elsie than Marjory in her pink tabard with her endless supply of custard creams, nostalgia and condescension. Just so long as they didn’t cook up another round-the-world extravaganza together, it seemed like a win:win situation.

  With the question of Elsie’s care no longer taking up space in her brain, Holly took a breath and addressed the next crisis on her radar. They had mere hours until the Health in the Community launch party, where hopefully members of the press and local business owners might be persuaded to help them further their cause, be it with column inches or cash. The only hiccup being that with all the fuss over the Model Surgery Nomination, Holly was concerned that they had rather let things slide on the organisation front.

  Lucy the receptionist swung her legs from side to side on the new ergonomic office chair that she had somehow managed to order without any senior say-so, her blonde ponytail swinging like a metronome. ‘Well, I thought you guys had things under control.’ She said it accusingly. ‘But now Grace is running late and nobody gave me a job list,’ she grumbled, waving a hand at the spiral bound notebook on her desk, its pages stuffed with tasks to be don
e. Holly had even spotted Lucy writing something she had just completed on to that very list, simply to get that hit of satisfaction from immediately crossing it off.

  And therein lay the problem, thought Holly – they may have set down their marker to become the absolute antithesis to the usual NHS bureaucracy, but, as it turned out, if there were too many visionaries and nobody actually setting any deadlines, nothing really got done. She could only be thankful that it was only a social event that had slipped through the cracks, rather than something more medical. She could only be grateful that Grace had gone into her meeting with a clear head and not worrying about balloons, banners and beverages.

  Lucy looked a little petulant. ‘It’s not my fault, you know, I asked Dan only last week whether we were supposed to be doing anything and he said he had it covered.’

  Holly’s heart sank still further into her boots. Did Dan think that just because the four of them had discussed a plan of action in the pub, these things just magically came together?

  As Lucy chivvied arriving patients into the waiting room with less than her usual joie de vivre, bluntly suggesting to old Mr Jacobs that he should ‘sit down before you fall down,’ Holly and Alice couldn’t help but laugh.

  ‘So, the first step in our plan to promote ourselves within the local community, is to make sure that we are far ruder and less sympathetic than normal? Oh, the irony,’ said Holly, struggling to keep a straight face. ‘But seriously, are we ever going to be ready?’

  ‘Of course we are,’ said Lucy with more blind confidence than was probably realistic.

  Alice just shrugged. ‘We can always say that less is more and we didn’t want to fritter away their donations on a fancy party?’

  Holly nodded. ‘And actually, that would make Julia happy too . . .’

  ‘Score one for total inefficiency,’ said Lucy happily.

  ‘I should bloody well hope not,’ said Grace firmly from the doorway, making them all jump. Her ease and artlessness took Holly by surprise for a moment, so pleased to see that there was just a smudge of eyeliner to accentuate her eyes, rather than a faceful of make-up. She hadn’t so much transformed her appearance, as embraced her own authenticity.

  ‘Well, if your spread-sheets didn’t wow them in there, Gracie, then that dress will certainly have done the job!’ said Holly.

  Grace looked cross. ‘Oh, Holly,’ she said. ‘I hardly think that a bunch of suits from the NHS are going to be swayed by what I’m wearing! I’ll let Julia and Alice be the clothes horses around here, thank you very much – although how you manage it, Alice, on what we pay you . . . I’ve never even seen you wear the same thing twice!’ Grace paused and almost visibly pulled herself back on topic. ‘Besides, it’s been all about the numbers this morning.’ She tossed her files on to her desk and Holly noticed for the first time how tired Grace was looking. A few freckles and a suntan could only hide so much after all.

  ‘How did it actually go?’ Holly asked tentatively.

  Grace shook her head. ‘Better than the Spanish Inquisition, worse than I’d imagined. That Derek Landers is a smarmy bugger though, and he seemed positively disappointed that we had handled all the compliance at such short notice. We’re going to have to watch our backs with him around. I think we’ll be okay though, as long as we stay on top of their requests for statistical interpretation and validation.’

  Alice breathed out heavily, her fringe fluttering against her forehead, looking incredibly uncomfortable at this conversational turn. ‘It’s just as well you’re in charge of this, Grace. You lost me at compliance . . .’

  ‘You are a star, Grace,’ Holly agreed. ‘I know you actually wanted to take this on – you nutter – but you have no idea how much it’s helping.’ Her smile and gratitude lightened the atmosphere considerably. ‘We should make you a special badge.’

  Grace blushed. ‘It’s quite sad, isn’t it, but I’d actually quite like that!’

  Lucy whooped in delight and delved straight into the stationery cupboard before Holly set her straight. ‘Launch party first, craft projects later, okay?’

  Grace stretched her arms out in front of her to loosen her shoulders. ‘Quite right, too. Lucy, grab The Big Red Folder.’ You could almost hear the capital letters in how she spoke, but Lucy just looked blank. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ said Grace impatiently. ‘If you want something doing around here, do it yourself.’ She reached across to the shelf and pulled down an enormous lever arch file with Health In The Community Launch Party printed in huge letters on the front. She flipped it open on the desk and Holly could see numerous sections and tabs dividing the paperwork neatly. ‘Right,’ Grace continued, running her finger down the annotated list on the front page, ‘the only thing left is to collect the cheese from The Deli before they close. Drinks, decorations, fliers and nibbles all sorted.’ She yawned. ‘Roll on wine o’clock, I’d say.’

  ‘I’ll get the cheese,’ Holly said, delighted to have her suspicions proven wrong. Under Grace’s auspices the party would no doubt be fabulous. ‘Alice, you cover the afternoon walk-ins. Gracie, put your feet up. We’ve all earned a lovely evening.’ As she walked past Grace, she gently gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘Some of us more than most.’

  Several hours later, with the beautiful Missoni scarf Elsie had once given her wrapped around her to cover Ben’s sticky handprints in the silk of her dress, Holly was feeling a little more prepared. The last-minute hustle had clearly been worth every effort.

  Lucy and Grace had been working tirelessly for hours to make everywhere look celebratory and were still tying up bundles of balloons even as the guests began to arrive. Maggie, their germ-phobic pharmacist, was busy making sure that all refreshments were beautifully and hygienically arranged. Julia was deep in conversation with a bearded chap with an enormous Nikon slung around his neck whom Holly recognised as one of the Larkford Life photographers. Since he was also a stringer for some of the Nationals, Holly could understand why Julia had made a beeline for him, despite his questionable fashion and grooming choices. Socks, sandals and a bright orange windcheater were hardly the Smart/Casual that the invitations had suggested.

  Even that one line had been a compromise, though. Julia had wanted Casual/Sophisticated and nobody else knew what that meant. The boys had wanted no dress code at all, but Holly knew from past experience that all the local farmers would pitch up after work in their smelly boots and overalls, with the expectation of cider on tap. It was a rural stereotype, she knew, but it also happened to be true. The compromise was apparently working though as the reception area began to gradually swell with local residents who had made the effort to come out for an evening of celebrations.

  The whole Health in the Community initiative had started out as Dan’s brainchild years before. He had wanted to introduce responsibility for health into the local schools’ curriculum, rightly supposing that parents who had no knowledge of healthy choices were unable to pass on a wholesome understanding to their children. Indeed, the number of smokers in the Under 25 category in Larkford was at an all-time low, whilst the parents of that same subset were still sneaking the occasional fag and pretending that it didn’t make a difference.

  She wondered if Elsie really did have any regrets now, knowing the consequences of her hedonistic youth. She hoped not. Eighty-four was a cracking innings by anyone’s measure.

  Holly fussed around, making sure that the twins were on their best behaviour with the ‘Children’s Entertainer’ that Lucy had found at short notice when it became apparent that half their guests had no intention of shelling out for a babysitter. A little posse of under-tens were huddled together in delight as Sparky the (slightly dodgy-looking) Clown began to make some alarmingly phallic balloon animals. Holly looked back into the main room, only to see that Dan and Taffy were making preparations for the launch speeches. She dithered for a moment, uncertain about leaving the twins until Lizzie appeared beside her. ‘I’ve bribed Lucy twenty quid to sit in here and keep an eye on Spanky
McClown, so come and get a drink and tell me all your news. You’re so sweet with the supportive texts by the way – but where are you getting them all? The Little Book of Mindful Bollocks?’

  Holly laughed. ‘You’re welcome, by the way.’

  ‘Just as long as you’re sending these to Elsie too – then we can be moral support for one another – to survive all your moral support!’ Lizzie stopped for a moment and her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Although obviously Elsie’s not running short in the peppy department!’

  Holly swivelled around to look over her shoulder and gasped. There in the doorway was Elsie. For sure, she was looking a little fragile, but it was hard to notice that when one’s eye was immediately drawn to the black full-length, full-skirted ball gown, replete with sequinned bodice and long white satin gloves. ‘Bloody hell,’ whispered Holly, in shock. ‘Has she been at the gin?’

  Elsie sauntered over towards them and gave a little twirl – wobbly, yes, but undeniably glamorous. ‘Don’t you look amazing?’ said Holly, with a lump in her throat.

  Elsie gave her a wicked grin. ‘It’s a Balmain, darling. Vintage. Thought it might deserve a little outing.’

  Holly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Elsie’s voice was defiantly, determinedly upbeat. For all her own concerns about whether Elsie was well enough to be there, Holly couldn’t bring herself to rain on her parade. ‘It’s fabulous. You’re fabulous.’

  ‘Tsh, now don’t go getting all soppy on me. I thought I could bring a little glamour to the proceedings: I need vital input, Holly, and I need you to point me in the right direction. I thought I might do a little networking tonight, you see, find some tech-savvy youngster to help me with my blog. I’ve been thinking I could work my way through my wardrobe and make sure all my favourites get an outing before I pop off. I could chart each outfit and its history and when I’m dead, you can auction them all off and use the money for this wonderful project. What do you think?’