Out of Practice (39 page)

Sitting on the end of the bed, Holly’s brow furrowed. ‘What were you doing again, Elsie?’ There must have been thousands of pounds’ worth of designer clothes flung around
the room. Holly unthinkingly picked up a woven scarf from beside her and smoothed the fabric between her fingers. It felt like gossamer. No wonder Elsie never wanted to part with her clothes if
they all felt like this.

Elsie certainly wouldn’t have approved of Holly’s maternity bonfire when they’d moved house. Seeing all those stained, baggy trousers and tops in a heap had been a liberating
moment for Holly until she dramatically threw on a match and they’d just . . . smouldered. Not a natural fibre in sight.

She looked at the scarf in her hands, at the palette of tasteful shades woven into an undulating wave and sighed.

‘Missoni,’ said Julia knowledgeably from the doorway. ‘You’ve got a good eye there, Holly.’

‘Indeed,’ said Elsie happily. ‘Take it, take it, you must. It’s yours.’

‘Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly . . .’ flustered Holly. ‘I mean that’s very sweet of you, but . . . no . . .’ She reluctantly put the scarf down on the bed and
sank to her knees to gather up coat hangers.

With Julia swinging into action as well, in no time at all, the contents of Elsie’s wardrobe were restored to order and the multitude of Harrods hat boxes were repacked and stacked. The
attic was closed up again and Holly worked on extracting a promise from Elsie that she would never go up there on her own again.

‘I promise I won’t unless I absolutely
need
to,’ Elsie prevaricated and Holly gave up.

She kissed Elsie firmly on both powdered cheeks and looked her in the eye. ‘I’m coming back tomorrow.’

‘I should hope so too,’ said Elsie with a smile. ‘I should like to hear more about your campaign to Save The Practice.’

‘How did you . . . ?’

Elsie tapped her nose. ‘I can’t give away all my secrets, you know. But you might want Bob back.’ She handed over the Bob the Builder notebook that had been tucked in
Holly’s back pocket. ‘It’s good to see you fighting for what you want, Holly. I’m rather thrilled that you’ve found out what that is.

‘Now both of you,’ she turned to include Julia in their conversation, ‘you have to pick your battles, yes? You can’t go wading into every little argument that comes your
way. Pick your battles. Pick your moment. And you won’t go far wrong.’

Holly smiled, enthralled as always by Elsie’s wonderful approach to life. Holly and Julia watched as Elsie weaved her way through the hallway, stopping to pick up a small brass watering
can, before carefully watering her orchid collection. Most days she remembered they were silk and didn’t bother. Today wasn’t one of those days.

The next day, Holly woke early to the sound of birdsong and slipped quietly out of bed. Milo might sleep through Armageddon, but the twins were prone to wake at the slightest
creak of the floorboards. Stealthily placing her feet at the sides of the stairs, she made it downstairs without incident or creaking, Ninja floorboard training as a teenager having come into its
own since she became a mother. Pulling the door of the kitchen closed behind her, she revelled in the silence. Silence was often in very short supply in Holly’s world and each moment had to
be savoured.

Normally she’d be filling the toaster with crumpets and heating up milk for a latte, but after the extreme biscuit consumption earlier in the week, Holly had been determined to stick to a
sensible diet of eating absolutely nothing, until she absolutely had to. It was odd that her entire approach to dieting was based on a line from a movie – ‘when I feel like I’m
about to faint, I eat a cube of cheese’. It also explained why so many New York Subway delays were due to young women blacking out on the platforms!

She settled down with a mug of strong black coffee and a huge sheet of paper. She’d woken up early because her brain was on overdrive. She’d felt motivated and driven to action in a
way that she hadn’t for years. She knew that she was the newcomer to The Practice, but she just couldn’t help thinking that it was her very newness that was her greatest asset: she
could see what was going on with a more objective eye.

Putting aside the fact that she felt closer to some of her new colleagues and patients than she did to her oldest friend at the moment, Holly still had her head screwed on enough to be
analytical, at least when it came to the medical and business decisions that were looming. And, if she were being totally honest, she was really in the mood for a battle. For someone who’d
spent most of her adult life avoiding conflict in any form, it was a rather liberating feeling.

Elsie’s words, ‘Pick your battles, pick your moments’, were all but engraved on her psyche, she’d revisited them so many times. The banishment of
should
had
obviously just been a place to start.

Right, thought Holly, uncapping Ben’s Big Blue Mega Marker. She began to draw large round ovals on the paper, forming one of her trademark Pebble Plans. The idea was to write inside each
pebble and then shade it in when the task was complete. If your mind didn’t work in a linear way and if lists made you break out in a cold sweat, this was a winning way to go.

Strangely enough, lying in bed, Holly had felt overwhelmed with a multitude of problems. With the pebbles drawn out in front of her, she could quickly see that there were only four:

Ben needed help. She wasn’t sure what, but it was time to start thinking outside the box. It did seem a little bonkers for a GP to eschew the traditional medical path, but it hadn’t
helped him so far, had it? Maybe it was time to go alternative? Sure, some of it was a little beardy-weirdy, but there was no denying that some of it worked. Hell, if she needed to burn sage and
dance naked at the full moon to help him get better, then at this point, she would.

For all that she decried her patients resorting to the internet for answers, she could perfectly understand their temptation this morning. Normally limiting any research she did to the British
Medical Journal website, Holly suddenly wondered if she was the one missing a trick.

Holly could see, with the power of the Mega Marker in her hand, that there was a certain gung-ho attitude creeping into her thinking, but rather than shying away from it like normal, she decided
to face it straight on.

Next: Lizzie. Yes, Lizzie was more of a challenge to diplomacy. Go for the polite, let’s-pretend-nothing’s-wrong approach and swallow all her resentment? Or opt for the more
controversial, but possibly more cathartic, fisticuffs at dawn? Holly drained her coffee cup. Probably better to start with a frank discussion over lunch, she decided. She owed it to Will if
nothing else. Surely it was better to try and mend some fences before it was too late?

Hmm, talking of mending fences, why couldn’t she get more excited about her weekend with Milo? Why indeed, when he’d last been hit by the need for romantic gestures and had scattered
the bed with rose petals, had she immediately thought about who would have to clear them up the next morning? Didn’t he know that he’d have been better off just being sweet to her, or
supportive, or even just helpful around the house?

Well, at least she’d stopped mainlining Hobnobs. And a spa weekend might be lovely. Milo was right – a little quality time would work wonders. And, if she could even drop a few
pounds in advance, then all his little comments about her figure might not dent her ardour quite so much. Although, at a size 12, and having popped out two rather large babies, might one not
reasonably expect a little more latitude on the bikini body?

Thoughts of bikini bodies took her immediately to issue number four. Or at least, via Taffy Jones in his swim trunks, to issue number four: The Practice. More specifically, saving The Practice.
Job or no job, Holly felt driven to Do Something.

She had watched over the last few days as Dan and Julia and Grace had all run around in panic. Even Julia (and her endless and slightly anal lists) seemed to have lost her focus. Dan had spoken
to every MP and every NHS bureaucrat he could think of. Julia had written wonderfully eloquent letters, packed to the gills with salient arguments – but to no avail.

The feedback was always the same. The consultation period is over. You’ve had your chance to comment. Your feedback was positive. The wheels are already in motion.

Hell, Taffy had even been threatened with a slander suit when he’d pointed out that their so-called PCT Representative had fraudulently filed fake responses and was about to net himself a
hefty windfall as a result.

Holly switched to a new sheet of paper and chewed on the end of the Mega Marker. What the others were all too close to see was obvious to Holly. They needed a new approach, she thought, one that
capitalised on Larkford’s greatest treasure – the very people who lived there.

Then she slowly and deliberately crossed out the ‘t’ – the people who live ‘here’ sounded much better to Holly, because it meant that she was one of them.

They needed some cracking PR and they needed it quickly, but it had to be personal.

The story needed to be real. They needed to feature the doctors, the characters in the local community and how they would be affected. After all, reality TV worked for a reason; it allowed
viewers to identify with the people involved.

Holly wanted a story that provoked a response. Less ‘Isn’t that awful, darling, can you pass the Shreddies?’

More, ‘This is the thin end of the wedge, what a lovely community – do you know, it could be our doctors closing next’.

Holly wanted the country to sit up and take notice. It was bad enough that they’d lost their voice with the PCT; she didn’t intend to surrender it all together.

It was a wonder that Holly got through morning surgery without leaping about in her chair. She was longing to discuss her ideas with her colleagues, but nobody seemed to be
available until afternoon surgery had finished. Undeterred and with her pebble plan rolled up in her handbag, Holly had placed several calls to recommended alternative therapists. She wasn’t
quite sure how the acupuncturist was intending to get Ben to sit still long enough to become a porcupine, but Willow (hmm, that was her name) seemed confident that she could.

On a roll, and perhaps over-caffeinated, she’d even picked up the phone to call Lizzie. Well, technically, she’d picked up the phone to call Lizzie seven times. The seventh time had
been the charm, as she’d actually finished dialling. Pick your moments, pick your battles, she’d recited to herself as Lizzie’s mobile rang out. Keeping it simple, Holly had opted
for a simple, ‘Why don’t we have lunch?’

Holly walked into the deli and Hattie smiled from behind the counter. She looked tired and the strain was obviously beginning to tell because the normally laden display table
only contained a handful of dishes. ‘How’s my new favourite doctor?’ she said.

Holly grinned and held out her arms in demonstration. ‘Look, no pram. I can actually sit down for once.’

Hattie came round to guide her to the one remaining table, which was happily nestled in a corner by the window. ‘Come on then, before someone else nabs it. Sit down and have a look at the
menu. I’m afraid the selection’s a bit limited at the moment, but I wanted to open up on the days I can . . .’ she trailed off.

Holly put one hand on her arm to stop her. ‘Hey, it all looks delicious as always, Hats. You’re a wonder in the kitchen and to think that you cooked all this with morning sickness. I
can barely rustle up a bacon sandwich with a hangover.’

Hattie shrugged. ‘It’s not so bad any more and to be honest, I mainly feel sick at night. But I think that has more to do with it being quiet and missing Lance and not keeping my
mind occupied.’ She didn’t need to tell Holly that this wasn’t the only week that her lovely husband Lance would be away in hospital. Even in the unlikely best-case scenario, he
would have to endure weeks of treatment.

A flurry of new arrivals, including Lizzie, meant that Hattie delivered two espressos and then left them to it, silence descending over their table for a second.

‘Hattie’s being terribly brave, isn’t she?’ Lizzie said eventually. As an ice-breaker, it was extremely well judged, because Lizzie knew that Holly was always very
protective of her patients.

‘She’s amazing,’ agreed Holly, ‘and so determined to keep everything as normal as possible. She’s getting a little bit fed up of people treating her as if
she’ll break, but then it seems so callous to talk about life’s trivialities when Lance’s life hangs in the balance.’

‘I can probably manage some triviality,’ said Lizzie wryly. ‘Shall we order some food to go with it?’

Credit where credit was due, thought Holly. Lizzie seemed to be taking it slow. Holly had been concerned that Lizzie’s narcissistic streak would mean that she’d bound in like Tigger,
oblivious to the fragility of the situation.

Holly picked up the beautifully handwritten menu, taking in the selection of pasta dishes and salamis. Her stomach growled. It had only been a few days of total abstinence, but Holly liked to
imagine that her trousers were a little looser and that, by the time her weekend away arrived, she would be able to pull off wearing one of her slinkier dresses from days gone by.

She smoothed her hands over her hips and crossed her legs easily – something she’d struggled to do in these tailored trousers only a few days ago. She felt an odd slithering
sensation on her calf and looked down in curiosity, just in time to see her favourite black lace knickers slide out from her trouser leg and on to the floor. She leaned down quickly, her cheeks
flaming with embarrassment, and balled them into her hand, but not before Lizzie could clock what had happened.

Eyes bright with mischief, Lizzie couldn’t resist, ‘Did you seriously just snap your pants elastic?’

‘Worse!’ whispered Holly, aghast. ‘They’re yesterday’s knickers!’ The atmosphere between them thawed a few more degrees.

‘Jesus, Holl – did you get dressed in the dark or something?’ Lizzie grinned broadly, well used to her friend’s occasional bouts of distractedness. Holly’s face was
an instant giveaway and Lizzie knew, without pressing, that she probably had.