Out of Practice (38 page)

Holly picked up Ben’s favourite book,
Too Hot To Hug
, about a little dragon who needed a cuddle and was soon deeply engrossed in the silly voices and actions that they adored. She
probably only had half an hour before the chaos of the day would begin and she wanted to make the most of it.

Two hours later, the boys were washed, dressed and fed and watching
The Shiny Show
. Holly was jotting down campaign ideas in a Bob the Builder notebook, galvanised into action by the
pile of Reading Rentals particulars she’d found on the coffee table by Milo’s chair. Sure, it was a long shot, that by saving The Practice she might also save her job. But it was a shot
worth taking, with no downside. Even if she personally lost, then at least Larkford might win.

She looked up as Milo appeared in the doorway, designer stubble newly trimmed and a bundle of papers under his arm. ‘Is it a good idea for them to watch so much TV?’ he asked,
completely oblivious to his condescending tone.

Holly didn’t bother to reply. After all, what could she possibly say? Even if she fought her corner about the last two hours of reading and playing and singing and eating and cuddling,
Milo wouldn’t hear her. It was easier to ignore him.

‘Oh, and I’ve been thinking about what we talked about last night. I don’t want you getting all gung-ho about this Save The Practice nonsense, okay? You’ve had your fun
here. Better to leave with a little grace and dignity, I always think.’

Holly nearly choked on her toast. Was he honestly forgetting his own emotional outbursts at the University when the Board had voted to put him ‘on sabbatical’? The wheedling,
cajoling phone calls to the Dean? Or the angry diatribes when the wheedling failed? Talk about rewriting history!

‘So, anyway,’ he carried on, ‘I’ve got Mum to have the boys for the weekend and I’m taking you away for the night. We need some quiet time to talk all of this
through and who knows, a little couple-time might be just what the doctor ordered.’ He really did look terribly pleased with himself. ‘So, it’s all booked and sorted, and you
don’t need to do anything. I’ve found the perfect place – a spa! Just, well, let’s focus on ourselves for a bit, okay?’

With that, he was gone. Holly was speechless. She didn’t want to go away. She didn’t want to be poked and prodded and pummelled by a stranger, or by her husband if she was completely
honest with herself. She wanted to stay here and swim in the river, play with the boys in the woods and have brunch at the deli – to make the most of living in this gorgeous place while she
had the chance. And if she couldn’t do that, well then, she’d still rather march around the Market Place with a placard. Was he totally clueless? Didn’t he know her at all?

Holly swept into action like a well-oiled machine as she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and saw the morning getting away from her. That was when her gaze fell on the photograph beside
it. Milo and Holly on their honeymoon, wrapped in huge terry-towelling robes, blissful smiles from ear to ear . . . at a spa. The spa that
she
had chosen.

‘Bugger!’ she said under her breath. Maybe Milo didn’t know her now, but he’d known her then. He just hadn’t seemed to realise that she’d changed.

‘Mummy said bugger!’ came a little voice beside her. ‘Bugger bugger bugger,’ Tom chanted, delighted with himself and his new word.

She knew it was wrong, she knew she’d pay for it later, but Holly began to laugh. It was the kind of nervous, exhausted laughter that built and built, draining away all the tension of the
last week. She wiped the tears from her eyes and cuddled the boys on to her lap.

‘Bugger!’ said the little voice into her shoulder once more.

By lunchtime, Holly was almost relieved when Grace popped into her room with a request. There was so much anger and bitterness in the air at The Practice this morning, it was
almost toxic. Holly had given up trying to get a straight answer out of anyone, trying to separate fact from rumour, and just got on with her patient list. There would be plenty of time for Twenty
Questions later.

‘I’ve just been chatting with Elsie Townsend on the phone,’ said Grace. ‘She wanted an appointment for this afternoon, but she didn’t sound great to be honest. You
never know whether it’s something or nothing with these old dears, but she wasn’t herself at all. She even said please! Any chance you’d be an angel and call in during your
lunch-break? I’ll pick you up a baguette for when you get back?’

‘No problem,’ said Holly, logging out of her screen and pulling a fiver from her drawer. ‘Can you get me one of those egg mayonnaise ones, with crispy bacon?’ Holly
couldn’t understand it, but the thought of wearing a swimsuit in front of Milo was making her want to stuff her face. Not the logical approach to a romantic weekend away, she had to
admit.

She picked up her jacket and made her way through the office, finding Julia Channing loitering in the car park, a guilty expression etched all over her face. Holly hadn’t seen Julia since
the bombshell had fallen, leaving it up to Dan to break the news this morning. The expression on Julia’s face made Holly wonder, for Julia, how much of a surprise all this news actually
was.

Holly settled for a simple, ‘Morning.’

‘Holly, hi,’ said Julia, guiltily taking a long final drag on the hidden cigarette before grinding it out in the gravel. ‘Don’t let on you saw me smoking, will you?
It’s just, all this business with the PCT, you know? Stressful.’

Holly nodded, trying to recalibrate. ‘Did you know?’ she asked bluntly.

Julia shook her head. ‘I knew Henry was up to something, but well – it’s Henry – he always is. I can’t believe George didn’t tell us, though! I mean, he had
us jumping through hoops to be the next Senior Partner! Of what?’ She looked furious, gutted and really rather human. Cross, chain-smoking Julia was actually much nicer than aloof, perfect
Julia, Holly realised.

Without really thinking about it, Holly wandered closer. ‘I’m just doing a house call on Elsie Townsend, so I probably should crack on. I’m sorry about the partner thing . .
.’ she said awkwardly.

‘I’ll come,’ announced Julia suddenly. ‘I mean I know she’s your patient and everything, but if you fancied the company . . .’

Holly couldn’t pretend that the idea of company wasn’t appealing. It was more a question of it being Julia’s company that was on offer. She was really missing having Lizzie to
talk to at the moment. Who else could she moan to about the job and the weekend away, without sounding like a spoiled brat?

‘You don’t need to, honestly. I can manage and you must have something better to do than . . .’ Holly lost her momentum as she took in the expression on Julia’s face. The
hollow look in Julia’s eyes that suggested she had followed Holly’s train of thought to the letter. That and the red flush creeping across her collarbones.

Holly suddenly felt mean and small. She could see the effort it had cost Julia just to make the offer. Even the twins would tell her that she was breaking her number one rule – treat other
people the way you would like to be treated. ‘Julia, d’you know, actually I would love your company. I mean, I think you’re bonkers for giving up your lunch hour, but I
can’t pretend I’m not grateful. Here,’ she tossed across the extra large packet of chocolate Hobnobs she’d been planning to demolish, ‘you can be in charge of
rations.’

Julia caught them deftly, looking slightly wrong-footed. ‘Well, okay then.’

They arrived at Elsie’s to hear the strains of
La Traviata
burgeoning from the upstairs windows and the front door ajar. ‘I’m in here,’ called
Elsie imperiously from the kitchen. Holly and Julia wandered through, to find Elsie putting on the kettle. She appeared to be wearing a satin tea dress of some kind, with a dressing gown over the
top and some extra thick ski socks.

‘Oh you darling girls, you didn’t both need to come. As I said to Grace on the phone, I just needed a quiet chat with Dr Carter.’

Holly settled Elsie in one of the carver kitchen chairs and flicked the kettle to boil. ‘What’s up then, Elsie? I couldn’t resist another visit so I’ve saved you the
trip.’ Holly had got the measure of her patient very early on. If you made out like she was doing you a favour, you got much more information.

‘Well, it was just a bit of that nasty chest pain I get sometimes, so I came down here to make a coffee . . . and here you are.’ She looked pleased as punch to see them, watching
Julia’s reaction as she took in the exquisite kitchen. ‘Why did you bring that one, though?’ she asked Holly in a cringingly loud whisper.

Holly gave Julia an apologetic smile. ‘Well, Julia didn’t believe me, Elsie, when I said you kept your Oscar in the loo. Anyway, tell me a little bit more about this chest pain. Were
you doing anything in particular when it happened?’

‘Not really,’ said Elsie shaking her head until her grey curls fluttered. Holly noted the one solitary Velcro roller still nestled in Elsie’s silver hair and wondered how she
could extract it without Elsie noticing. ‘I was just coming down from the attic with my summer hats, I’d been trying on my clothes for the Season, and then . . . pouf . . . chest
pain.’

Julia looked at her as though she were mad. ‘Elsie,’ she began in a lecturing voice, but Holly interrupted.

‘Putting aside the whole climbing into the attic business,’ she said gently, ‘and the cup of coffee to soothe the chest pains idea – Elsie, we’ve talked about this
– how are you feeling now?’ Holly quietly and deftly checked Elsie’s heart rate and blood pressure. All surprisingly good for someone in their eighties.

‘Oh, I’m right as rain now,’ Elsie replied. ‘But it’s a hell of a mess upstairs where I dropped everything. It’s going to take me ages to get it all
sorted.’

Holly stood up and opened the casket with the camomile tea that she’d spotted last time she was here. ‘First a little something DE-caffeinated and then we’ll see about
upstairs.’ She checked her watch. ‘We’re all yours until two o’clock, okay?’

Hobnobs duly opened and tea-that-tasted-like-wee duly served and Holly could see that both Elsie and Julia were beginning to relax in each other’s company. Julia, because she’d
stopped staring around with her mouth open, and Elsie, because she’d clocked that Julia’s ‘classic driving shoe’ was a limited edition from JPTods.

Julia looked delighted at Elsie’s compliments and Holly was struck once more by how a smile could transform Julia’s features from aesthetically pleasing to downright stunning.

‘When I was younger, I read in a magazine about the idea of buying classic things that don’t go out of fashion – you know “Buy well, buy once” – and it kind
of stuck,’ Julia was confiding in Elsie.

‘I know what you mean,’ responded Elsie with enthusiasm. ‘I have never understood these people who pride themselves on culling their wardrobes,’ she shuddered at the
concept. ‘They’re happy to exist with a handful of items they’ve picked up over the last six months. Why on earth would you knowingly, willingly, erase your own history? You
wouldn’t dream of throwing away a photo album in favour of this month’s faddy magazine!’ Elsie was becoming so worked up that Holly was about to intervene, when Julia laid a hand
on Elsie’s arm soothingly.

‘They’re probably the same people who walk into John Lewis or Oka and buy a whole room set – I’ll have page 23 please – no imagination, you see. Isn’t it
nicer to surround yourself with milestones, tokens you’ve picked up along the way?’

‘Ah the precious little things,’ nodded Elsie, ‘the ones you won’t entrust to the removal men. The ones you swaddle like newborns in your car every time you move. That
fleeting pleasure of buying something new is so fast, so unsatisfying anyway, so – so nothing – after the first day, compared to the lasting contentment of having your old favourites
around you . . .’ Elsie’s eloquent musings petered out, as she was lost in thought.

‘I guess it depends on where you’re buying your clothes,’ Holly said quietly, distractedly thinking of the pile of vile t-shirts she’d been hanging on to until she could
afford to replace them.

Elsie gripped Holly’s hand tightly, making Holly jump a little and slosh wee tea into her saucer. ‘Ask yourself this, Holly Graham – do you want to be a blank canvas, to be
painted over again and again, or do you want to be a lush, three-dimensional tapestry of your experiences?’

Holly looked a little panicked at being any more 3D than she already was, but she could acknowledge that Elsie had a point. Why else was her favourite dress from that boutique in Florence still
hanging in her wardrobe, despite the fact that it would never ever fit again?

‘Right,’ said Elsie, with a burst of enthusiasm. ‘Upstairs we go then. I can see I shall have my hands full with you two girls.’ Elsie skittered off
down the hallway in her ski socks with a swish of silk around her legs.

Holly and Julia looked at each other, shrugged and then followed. Whatever else this might be, it was a darned sight better than the stressful and miserable atmosphere back at The Practice, with
George closeted away in his office, shouting at people on the telephone and refusing to have a straight conversation with anyone.

‘Elsie!’ Holly cried, aghast, as she got to the hallway. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ replied Elsie with a grin, suspended as she was, halfway up the stairs. ‘I don’t know why everyone doesn’t do it!’ She hoisted
herself up another couple of stairs by pulling on the banisters. The Stannah stair-lift buzzed majestically past her, bearing its load of neatly folded dry cleaning and what appeared to be a rather
large bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin.

‘But . . .’ ventured Holly, trying not to smile at the grim determination etched on Elsie’s face, ‘it’s supposed to be a
mobility aid
– to give you
independence!’

‘And isn’t it working well,’ said Elsie gleefully. ‘I’m feeling more independent already!’

Elsie had certainly not exaggerated the mess upstairs. It looked as though Vivienne Westwood and Karl Lagerfeld had decided to play dress up. Julia was silent in the face of
the chaos, or possibly the labels, Holly wasn’t sure. She settled Elsie onto the chaise-longue and swallowed any comments about Barbara Cartland.