Out of Practice (42 page)

Holly smoothed down her skirt and perched on the edge of the sofa in Elsie’s drawing room. It was one of those sumptuously decadent sofas that swallowed you up in its down-filled cushions
if you even dared to sit back. The soft moss green of the coverings and the light pink tones in Elsie’s cushions simply made the sofa look even more like an enormous Venus flytrap.

Taffy and Elsie were in the kitchen and gales of laughter were echoing through the house. They’d only gone through for Taffy to fix a dripping tap. Now, God only knew what they were
getting up to in there, but from the snippets that Holly could hear, Martinis were certainly involved.

Holly fumbled through her cavernous handbag, straightening out the crumpled plans she’d made so far for the concert. She’d meant to stop off in her favourite stationers and treat
herself to a new notebook for this very purpose, but there simply weren’t enough hours in the day. She’d already had an awkward, stilted argument with Milo about coming out this evening
and a guilt-inducing phone call from Will, where he asked yet again for her patience and support.

Holly looked and felt exhausted. The shadows under her eyes from a late night plotting and planning were deepening as the day progressed and even slapping on another layer of Julia’s
Touche Éclat had made no difference. Hearing Taffy teasing Elsie in the kitchen about her sodden silk flowers barely raised a smile.

She looked up, aware that Julia was staring at her, and she self-consciously fiddled with her hair. ‘What? Do I have something on my face?’

Julia shrugged. ‘Just the weight of the world on your shoulders . . .’ Sitting on the floor, Julia cuddled her knees to her chest and took a deep breath. ‘Holly? Listen, I hope
you don’t mind me saying – we don’t know each other that well – but when you talk about your husband, it sometimes sounds as though, well, as though you don’t like him
very much. Tell me to sod off, if I’m being too nosey, but why do you stay with him?’

‘Crikey, you don’t mess about with the small talk, do you?’ Holly spluttered. Jesus, if even Julia Channing, known for her emotional reticence, was asking the question –
did that mean the whole Practice was asking it too?

Holly shrugged, unsure how to answer. It would be all too easy to fob Julia off with some anodyne comment, but then, if they were really becoming friends? Might honesty be the best policy?
‘My Dad died when I was young,’ Holly said eventually. ‘I hated growing up without a dad. So, even if we are having a rough patch – and trust me, we really are – then
it’s better to be together. For the boys.’

‘Just the boys?’ Julia asked, clearly intrigued.

‘Well, obviously, once we get back on track, then it’ll be better for me too . . .’ Holly was very aware that her words weren’t even that convincing to herself, so she
blustered on, ‘I just really think that boys need their fathers around, you know?’

Julia nodded. ‘I can see that. Well, it just goes to show – you can get completely the wrong impression of someone. I had him pegged as all self-involved and intellectual. Is he just
amazing with the boys, then?’

Holly couldn’t help but let out a small nervous laugh. ‘Oh Julia, you do have the ability to get straight to the heart of the issue. No. You were right first time . . . He’s
not really what you’d call a hands-on parent. But I have to believe, as the boys get older . . .’

‘What are you two gossiping about?’ interrupted Elsie, wandering through in her voluminous silk kaftan, nibbling at an olive on a cocktail stick. ‘I’ve sent Taffy out to
get ice.’ She plonked herself down on the Venus Flytrap sofa and was immediately absorbed into its depths. ‘We didn’t really need ice,’ she confided with a surprisingly
girlish giggle, ‘but when I heard how this conversation was going, I thought we could use a few minutes . . .’

Holly and Julia exchanged indulgent glances. Elsie’s eccentricities were probably only amusing to them as relative newcomers. She must drive her family crazy, thought Holly with a
smile.

‘So,’ prompted Elsie, ‘you were saying about Milo . . .’

‘It’s just a rough patch,’ mumbled Holly. ‘It’ll pass.’

Elsie patted her on the arm. ‘My darling girl, these rough patches do have a habit of digging in. How long have you two been at odds?’

‘Well,’ said Holly, counting on her fingers, ‘If we were married four years ago and the twins were born two years ago?’ She grimaced, ‘Shit! I’d say about two
and a half years, with the odd week off for good behaviour. But that’s par for the course with young kids, isn’t it? No sleep, work pressures . . .’

‘Affairs with their students . . .’ said Elsie gently. ‘I know, I know, it’s none of my business either, but your boys might just prefer a happy mummy?’

Holly’s face flushed as she thought of their little laughing faces at the Spring Swim with Taffy. Her flush deepened as she remembered the expression on her own face in that photo. She
shrugged. ‘I think we’ve got more pressing things to be worried about at the moment. Like The Practice closing down?’ She picked up the plans and shuffled them officiously.

Elsie plucked them from her fingers and gave her a stern look. ‘And we’ll talk about that in a moment, but we have a small window to be frank, until our ice-bearer returns.

‘Now, what are you doing to get things sorted with this husband of yours? Have you told him how you feel?’ demanded Elsie.

Holly looked a little sheepish. ‘Well, after the latest conversation we had, I’m not sure I’m even speaking to him any more.’

Elsie’s laugh pealed out through the house. ‘Oh my darling girl, you do have a lot to learn. You don’t punish a man by not speaking to him; you punish him by speaking even
more!’ She clapped her hands delightedly. ‘Oh I do so love having you girls here to chat to. It’s nice to see someone using my pearls of wisdom. So, 101 Husbands and How To Choose
Them.’ She waved a hand at Julia to include her in the conversation. ‘First, you must always play Monopoly with a man before you get married. You’ll learn more about his attitude
to credit than any other way. If he’s mortgaged Park Lane and Mayfair before you can say “Pass Go” then you know he’s a profligate spender and a risk taker and he’ll
do the same with your money too. Second, if the sex is no good to begin with, cut your losses: a selfish lover is a selfish man. Sex and money, you see, girls. It’s always at the root of all
evils. That, and greed . . . wanting more sex, wanting more money, wanting more, more, more . . . And never, ever, be with a man who takes longer to get ready than you do.’ She gave a little
shudder. ‘Vain men are always egocentric bastards . . .’

Holly laughed uncomfortably, Elsie’s comments hitting dangerously close to the bone. ‘Oh, Elsie, you do make me laugh.’

‘I’m not trying to make you laugh, Holly,’ replied Elsie, disgruntled at not being taken seriously. She reached out and took hold of Holly’s hand. ‘Your Milo has
given you those wonderful twins. He’s been an excellent starter husband. But now you’re a grown-up and you know exactly what you do and don’t want. A man should be the seasoning
to your meal, to your life, enhancing the flavour of what’s already there. He’s not the meal itself. Seems perfectly reasonable to me, that it might be time to reassess things . .
.’

Thankfully the front door slammed shut, essentially shutting down their conversation. Taffy could be heard singing, ‘Ice, Ice Baby’ in the hallway. ‘Hellooo,’ he said,
poking his head around the doorway. ‘Who wants Martinis?’

‘We all do,’ said Elsie, struggling to get out of the sofa, until Holly and Julia gave her a pull. ‘Nothing wrong with going for an upgrade, Holly,’ whispered Elsie under
her breath, nodding meaningfully towards Taffy as they all walked through to the kitchen.

It was fair to say that Elsie’s little outburst was playing on Holly’s mind for most of the evening. They talked about the concert and who might take part. Taffy
had some ridiculously wonderful suggestions for embarrassing skills they might learn and Julia was surprisingly relaxed and easy company.

Even when Elsie climbed onto her soapbox occasionally, they all listened indulgently. A few of her ideas were solid gold and Holly was excited about calling some of Elsie’s more famous
contacts to pull in a few favours. Certainly, if Elsie were to be believed, half of the BAFTA committee were in some way indebted to her.

As the Martinis flowed and the hours flew by, Holly realised how much she adored having someone older and more experienced in life to chat to. It was all very well talking to your mates, but
weren’t they all essentially winging it too? Elsie came with a veritable cornucopia of life skills – some of them bonkers, some of them dated, but some of them spot on the money.

Right now, Elsie was illuminating them all with theories about drinking. ‘The trick,’ she opined, ‘is to only drink to feel even happier. Don’t drink to feel
happy.’

Holly rather wished that Lizzie was here to hear that one, but then quickly changed her mind, as Elsie continued.

‘If you drink regularly, I mean one, maybe two little cocktails a day, it’s actually healthier, isn’t it? Because then you gradually pickle yourself from the inside, like a
little onion, keeping your face nicely relaxed and everything else beautifully preserved – and you live longer!’

The three doctors in the room all spoke up at the same time, pointing out all the glaring errors in Elsie’s reasoning. ‘Science, schmience . . .’ grinned Elsie. ‘Now
who’s for another, while we plan this fabulous concert of yours?’

Elsie and Taffy disappeared again with the Martini jug and Holly and Julia flopped back into their chairs. Elsie on high-octane Martinis was a little exhausting.

Julia was still fiddling with the Lego figures and Playdoh that had fallen out of Holly’s bag earlier. Her fingers worked the orange dough expertly. ‘Here,’ she said, passing
Holly a beautiful Dali-esque teardrop, ‘this is how I see you.’

Holly took the little sculpture in her hand and marvelled at the delicate curves that Julia had created.

‘I sculpt things,’ Julia said unnecessarily. ‘Anything actually. My mind works better in 3D.’

‘And this is me?’ Holly said, nestling her thumb in the perfect petal-shaped dent in the teardrop.

Julia leaned forward. ‘Here, in the middle is your heart – see – and this is you being stretched too thin in all these directions . . .’

‘I love it,’ said Holly simply, overwhelmed by the emotions that holding this little sculpture evoked. It just . . . fit somehow. ‘Thank you,’ she managed as she took
another sip of her second Martini to steady herself. She knew she was approaching her lightweight limit, but they were just so damn tasty that she hadn’t been able to refuse a refill. And now
she was an emotional wreck.

‘You’re not so bad at this, you know,’ said Holly suddenly, realising that for the first time in a long time, she was having a conversation with a female friend without bracing
herself for a put-down. ‘The friendship thing – I know you said you couldn’t do it – but you’re not so bad.’

Julia smiled weakly, still working the remains of the orange Playdoh between her perfectly manicured fingertips. ‘Ah, Holly, you are sweet, but you’ll see . . . I have no filter.
Even now, while you’re saying lovely things to me, I’m desperately resisting the urge to correct your grammar.’

Holly laughed. ‘Well, me grammar never were me strong point,’ she said in a silly voice, breaking the intensity that had been building in the room.

Julia couldn’t resist joining in the laughter, catching Holly’s glass mid-air as she sent it flying with her elbow. ‘Dear God, you’re clumsy! Thank God you’re not a
surgeon.’

Holly blinked hard, in for a penny. ‘Why aren’t you?’ she asked bluntly. ‘Only Grace mentioned . . .’

Julia flinched, caught off guard. ‘Honestly? Too much guts on the patients’ part, not enough on mine.’

‘Oh,’ said Holly quietly. ‘It’s just that you seem so . . .’

‘Emotionally ill-equipped to be a GP?’ interrupted Julia. ‘I am a bit. On paper, I’m the perfect surgeon – bright, dexterous and arrogant enough to play God. But
you know, real surgery is nothing like the cadavers at med school. For one thing, your patient’s alive and you want to keep them that way. And that first cut,’ she shuddered, ‘the
sensation of the scalpel, the gush, that metallic smell that just fills your nostrils and makes you want to . . .’ She put a hand over her mouth, even the memory was enough to make her
nauseous.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Holly, entranced. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘It’s fine,’ said Julia dismissively. ‘I probably should talk about it more, but it’s embarrassing, you know. Failed surgeon. Stand-offish GP. Rubbish
friend.’

‘I think you should cut yourself some slack,’ Holly said. ‘You’re doing okay. And everyone has flaws – honestly – I know I’m way too
judgemental.’

Julia raised an eyebrow in disbelief and, for some reason, Holly felt compelled to elaborate. ‘Look, would it make you feel better to know that I’ve just essentially lost my oldest
friend by being judgemental rather than supportive?’

‘You mean Lizzie?’

Holly remembered suddenly that, when you live in a small town, everyone knows everyone.

Julia shrugged, looking uncomfortable. ‘Would it sound a bit stalkery to say that I’ve seen you two together. Actually, in the spirit of honesty, I’ve been jealous of you two
together. What happened?’

Holly sighed, in for a penny, in for a pound . . . ‘She hasn’t been the best friend to me lately. I won’t bore you with the details, but I was furious with her. And now
I’m more furious, because she won’t take it seriously that I’m still really hurt. But just because I’m angry with her doesn’t mean I’m not worried about her. She
obviously had a reason for doing what she did . . . But at the moment, it seems she’s just happier to keep on drinking her troubles away . . .’

‘There doesn’t need to be a reason. Alcoholics don’t need a reason,’ said Julia in an oddly detached tone.

‘Oh, I’m not sure she’d qualify as an alcoholic, she just . . .’

‘Likes to drink. A lot. All the time?’ Julia said quietly.