Out of Practice (43 page)

Holly shook her head, feeling suddenly disloyal and trying to backtrack. ‘Still, that’s quite a label, isn’t it? But then, she does like a drink these days. But then, lots of
people do, don’t they? It’s one of the more socially acceptable addictions really.’ She lifted her Martini glass, as if to emphasise the point, noticing for the first time that
Julia was sipping an elderflower cordial.

‘Holly,’ said Julia softly, ‘you need to follow your instincts on this. And please don’t worry about me repeating anything you’re saying. Trust me, on this topic,
I’m the soul of discretion. Someone I know well, someone close . . .’ Julia trailed off looking uncomfortable before taking a breath and carrying on, ‘Crap this is hard, how do
girls have these relationships where they tell each other everything? Alright – tell anyone this and I won’t forgive you, but my mum. She drank a lot. She drinks a lot. Still. So if you
want to, I don’t know, talk. This one’s my specialist subject, if you like. And if your friend was drinking enough to make you worried, then to be a real friend, you didn’t have a
choice. Trust me. Friends say something.’

There was a pause while they both regrouped and then Holly spoke up, ‘Do you think we should say something to Elsie then too?’

Julia shook her head. ‘Seems to me that Elsie knows exactly what she’s doing.’

What Elsie appeared to be doing, was trying to teach Taffy the Can-Can. It was only when Taffy appeared at the doorway, begging for respite that the girls relented and followed
him through.

‘Now, I know we’re all having a lovely time, but you’ve probably been wondering why I summoned you all here tonight? Well,’ Elsie paused dramatically, as if waiting for a
drum roll, ‘I wanted to offer to compère your show. It’s probably too late to teach an old dog new tricks, but I could do a little something and I like to think my name adds a
certain glamour and gravitas to the proceedings. Don’t you think?’

‘I do actually,’ said Holly, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it herself. ‘Are you sure it wouldn’t be too much for you?’

‘Pah!’ dismissed Elsie. ‘No problem. And then when you ring around all my friends, you can tell them I’m already in. Might sway one or two. And, if you wanted to make an
old lady very happy, I could do a little scene . . . maybe a duologue with Dan Carter . . . maybe with a kiss?’

Taffy laughed and removed her Martini glass. ‘Alright, Townsend, I’m cutting you off. I think it’s a fabulous idea that you host. But I think Dan should host it with you, like
at the Oscars . . . What do you think?’

The imprint of Elsie’s bright red lipstick on his cheek was as good as a seal of approval. Taffy smiled over at Holly and her stomach swooped once more.

‘Sounds like your plan has legs now, Holls, are you ready for this?’ he asked quietly. Without her asking, he poured her a glass of elderflower and passed it to her, the frisson
between their fingers when they touched nearly spilling it everywhere.

‘Let’s hope it’s enough to save The Practice,’ Holly managed.

‘God, I hope so,’ said Taffy with feeling. ‘How else would I get to see you every day?’

Holly swallowed, regretting that last Martini and wishing she’d kept her wits about her. She couldn’t help the look of panic that spread across her face. She also noticed that Taffy
immediately followed her lead and back-pedalled.

‘Well, who else can I try my awful jokes on, eh?’ he said gently, his eyes suddenly shadowed. He pulled up a stool by the worktop and sighed. ‘My friend drowned in a bowl of
muesli, you know. A strong currant pulled him in . . .’

Holly couldn’t help it. His jokes were just so bloody awful, but they struck a note with her. She snorted with laughter and watched as Taffy’s face transformed, lit up in a way that
needed no translation.

Holly pressed her hand to her chest, partly to quell the nervous laughter and partly to slow her racing heart.

Elsie, quick as a dart, missed nothing. ‘Don’t forget what I said now, Holly,’ she whispered. ‘Life’s too short to live in compromise and you can’t fake
chemistry.’

Taffy stared at Holly, Elsie’s whisper being audible somewhere across the Market Place in all probability.

‘Now,’ said Elsie, clearly delighted to have stirred up a little trouble, ‘pass me that folder, will you? I’ve a list of VIPs who live locally. You can have a little
phone around.’

Holly reached across for a big thick folder secured with a beautiful grosgrain ribbon.

‘Oh no, not that one, dear. That’s my funeral file. I like to keep it up to date. Friends will insist on dying and messing up my guest list!’

Holly flinched a little, the thought of Elsie’s mortality more upsetting than was logical. ‘Oh, Elsie, please don’t spend your time thinking about things like that . . .’
she began.

‘Tish tosh,’ Elsie interrupted her. ‘You didn’t think I’d let someone else write my eulogy, did you? I’ve never read my own reviews; after all
everyone’s entitled to their opinion. And what else is a eulogy if not your Final Review? Oh no, Holly darling, that one I’m writing myself! I’ve drafted a lovely Obituary for
The Times
too. I like to be prepared.’

Elsie’s words may have been feisty and confident, but Holly noticed a slight tremor in her hands as she spoke. She reached across and squeezed Elsie’s trembling hand.

Elsie gave a gentle squeeze in return and then stood up, seemingly shaking off any concern. She clapped her hands. ‘Enough of all this, Ginger darling, let’s whip up a batch of Mai
Tai’s shall we?’

Elsie’s pronouncement was like an old LP record, scratching to a halt.

There was an awkward pause. ‘Do you mean Taffy?’ Julia asked perplexed.

Elsie started. ‘Of course, I did. Sorry, darlings, just been a long day.’ Elsie looked properly rattled by her mistake though.

‘Who’s Ginger?’ asked Holly softly, intrigued as always by every morsel of Elsie’s life.

‘Ginger was my eldest,’ replied Elsie vaguely, choosing not to elaborate.

‘Oh,’ said Holly. ‘I’m sorry, Elsie, I didn’t even realise you had children.’ There were certainly no photos of any children dotted around the house, but then
maybe Elsie kept them just for herself in her opulent bedroom upstairs.

‘Three actually,’ said Elsie, still distractedly plucking at the bundle of fresh mint she’d been feeding into the blender. ‘One dead, one drunk, one greedy. Parent of the
year, I am not,’ she said.

Holly caught Taffy’s eye but neither of them knew what to say.

Elsie filled the yawning chasm by sighing deeply. ‘Darling Ginger was the best of the bunch really, but he drove his MG into a lake on his twenty-fifth birthday. Polly lives in LA while
she snorts her way through her trust fund and blames me for everything and Otto has already spent all of his. He pops round twice a year to borrow some more and drop heavy hints about avoiding
inheritance tax by giving him the houses now.’ She gave a small unhappy laugh. ‘He’s rather kidding himself if he thinks I’ve got another seven years left in me. He’s
going to be equally disappointed when he discovers I’ve not left him a bean.’

‘Oh, Elsie,’ Holly sympathised, ‘I had no idea.’

‘Yes, well, now you do,’ said Elsie, neatly cutting off the conversation at the knees. ‘And you can forget all of that until I’m dead and then you can all have a good
read through my diaries and write yourselves a bestseller – how’s that?’ She smiled again. ‘But you’ll have to wait a little longer for that and you can only use the
really naughty stuff once I’m six feet under.

‘Anyway,’ said Elsie. ‘Don’t mind me, I’m having a little maudlin day, that’s all. All this community spirit is exhausting, don’t you think? And
we’ve had enough confidences for one evening, so I’ll be off to bed now. But before I do, let’s have a little toast.

‘To new friends and new beginnings,’ Elsie said, raising her glass pointedly at Holly. ‘And to never being afraid of starting over.’

With extravagant hugs and kisses and pages of notes for the concert shuffled into her handbag, Holly leaned in to kiss Elsie goodnight at the door.

Elsie looped the treasured Missoni scarf from Holly’s last visit around her neck. ‘This is yours now. A little bit of Elsie to keep you on the ball.’

‘Oh, Elsie, I couldn’t possibly . . .’

‘I shall be terribly offended if you don’t wear it,’ Elsie said sternly. ‘I can’t always be there to hold your hand and guide you in the right direction. I want you
to learn to trust your instincts, Holly. Just think of this scarf as a little bit of faith to help you on your way, okay?’

‘Okay,’ nodded Holly, touched beyond measure.

Elsie smiled at her and patted her cheek. ‘Now, listen to me, Holly Graham. You don’t get married four times without learning a little something about marriage. And rather a lot
about divorce too, as it happens.’ She sighed deeply, her face flickering with emotions as she tried to piece together what she wanted to share. ‘You know how books and movies always
end when they’ve just got together? Well, there’s a perfectly good reason for that. It’s because a week later he’s picking his nose in front of the TV and they’re
fighting over the washing up. Real life isn’t like a movie, my darling girl – and I should know. But that doesn’t mean you have to settle for second best. At home or at
work.’

Holly kissed Elsie’s powdered cheek affectionately. ‘Shall I add that to my list of Life Lessons?’

‘It wouldn’t be the worst idea,’ Elsie said, as she quietly closed the door.

Dan slammed the phone down on his cousin in disgust. Okay, so Lizzie was still angry with him for taking Holly’s side, but enough was enough. Why couldn’t Lizzie
’fess up that she’d got this one wrong and apologise. Yeah, he thought to himself, and hell might freeze over. But, even if she couldn’t bring herself to apologise, was it really
too much to expect his own cousin to be a little bit helpful and supportive with the campaign to Save The Practice?

Putting aside family loyalties for a moment, as Lizzie obviously believed he’d already abandoned his – could she not see that, as a resident herself, the health of her children could
be directly compromised? It was sheer, stubborn pride that was stopping Lizzie from stepping up.

He toyed with the idea of going over her head – she may be the Editor of
Larkford Life
, but he was pretty sure her publisher wouldn’t be too impressed at this missed
opportunity to support the community and sell some extra copies in the process.

Shit.

When did life get so complicated?

Dan rubbed his fingers methodically over the smooth pebble he used for his mindfulness exercises, trying to stay in the moment. He’d been feeling so much better, so much more like himself,
since he’d been to Hereford. Chris’ advice had been spot on. Dan had somehow forgotten that PTSD never really went away; one just had to manage the symptoms.

Well, he hadn’t been managing himself very well, had he? Too many late nights, too much stress and no time at all for himself. More importantly, Dan had been gradually cutting back on his
mindfulness programme to the point where the skills hadn’t been there, at his fingertips, when he needed them.

Now, back on Chris’ programme, and even with the chaos around him, the flashbacks were fewer and more fleeting and he’d actually been getting some sleep.

Obviously not last night though, since his 3 a.m. emergency call out had been a complete waste of time. He’d been met by a houseful of sheepish, slightly tipsy students. Clearly one clever
dick had thought it tremendously funny to serve his housemates a high-end cat food as pâté. His idea of a practical joke had all the girls spewing copiously, but there was no evidence
of food poisoning as the phone call had suggested. Dan had diagnosed psychosomatic hysterical vomiting and given them all a bit of a lecture. To be fair, the ingredients in the swanky brand
he’d used, were probably better quality than the horse-burgers sold in the local discount store, but still . . . 3 a.m.?

Quietly driving home through the darkness of the valley, Dan had half wondered whether Taffy might fall for the same trick. He was well overdue on the retaliation front. He’d ditched the
idea fairly quickly – he’d seen Taffy willingly eat far worse things than cat food over the years.

Seeing the town laid out before him and thinking about his best friend made Dan all the more determined to step up the campaign. He’d made a mental list as he drove along of phone calls to
make and favours to call in. Truth be told, he was a little aggrieved that it was Holly who had come up with the PR angle. He’d been stuck in a bureaucratic loop of red tape himself and had
been close to admitting defeat.

But he hated doctors like Henry Bruce – the smarmy bastard – and his world of cronies and freebies and pharmaceutical incentive schemes. It would be a very happy by-product if he
could ruin Henry Bruce into the bargain.

Now, though, he needed to focus. It hadn’t occurred to him for a moment that Lizzie wouldn’t leap into the fray. He’d been hoping to get her on board with a special edition of
Larkford Life
– a short notice print run to rally support. He really couldn’t comprehend that, in reality, she’d just given him gip and then offered precisely
nothing.

There was a knock at the door, breaking in to his reverie, and Taffy poked his head into the consulting room. ‘Mate? Have you got a mo?’

‘Sure,’ said Dan, pushing back his chair and stretching out the stiffness in his back. Joining the Larkford Harriers had probably been a big mistake, but Chris had pushed for him to
do more regular exercise and there was always the chance he’d get to bump into Lindy again and she might be persuaded to change her mind. Either way, he was stiff as a board this morning and
any Taffy-style distraction was extremely welcome.

‘Firstly,’ said Taffy, plonking a large glass vase on Dan’s desk, ‘I offer you a challenge – I’m calling it First To Frog. So, here’s your frog spawn, I
have mine – we just need to decide on a wager.’

Dan shook his head. ‘You really do have too much time on your hands, Taff.’

Taffy shrugged. ‘Couldn’t sleep, so I went for a jog along the river and there it was, calling to me. We can’t all be Harriers, honey. Anyway, I’m in need of distraction,
so what do you say? Any methods acceptable. No replacement spawn. First to a proper Kermit wins . . . ?’