Out of Practice (54 page)

Now, finally able to admit to her feelings and having shed her husband in the process, it still seemed as though he would never be hers.

When the song finished, Holly rushed off stage, unable to cope with the requests for an encore, as the tears were blocking her throat.

She locked herself in the dressing room and struggled to breathe.

A gentle knocking on the door grew ever more persistent.

‘Holly, it’s me! Come out, please . . .’ Taffy’s voice was magnified and echoed around the vaulted corridors. His distress was obvious even to Holly.

‘I can’t,’ she managed. ‘I need some space from all this.’

‘I can give you space, if that’s what you want. But, Holly, you need to tell me what’s wrong. Did I do something?’

A little match flared in Holly, all of Elsie’s gumption burning brightly. She yanked open the door, ‘Did you
do
something?’ she shouted. ‘Other than coming on to
me when you knew I was married? Making me fall in love with you? Having a baby with someone else?’

Taffy stepped forward, eyes bright. ‘You fell in love with me?’

‘That’s hardly the take-away line here, though, is it? Daddy!’

Taffy shook his head. ‘Holly, you’re not making sense. Slow down. Please.’ Concern tightened his face. ‘What are you talking about?’

Holly slumped against the wall. ‘You and the blonde. The pregnant blonde? I know all about it, Taffy.’

Taffy reached forward and took her hand. ‘Well, then I don’t understand why you’re cross with me.’

‘What?’ snapped Holly. ‘If you’re going to be a father, it might have been good to have a heads-up!’

‘I’m not the father, Holly,’ Taffy said slowly. ‘Milo is. That girl, Kimberley? She was Milo’s student back in Reading and she tracked you down to The Practice
after the website went live. She wanted to confront you at work, make sure Milo paid his dues.’

‘Kimberley?’ Holly clarified. ‘From Reading? The student Milo got suspended over.’ She breathed out heavily. ‘Well, alrighty then.’

Taffy was looking at her as if she were a primed bundle of semtex. ‘I’ve been trying to work out how to tell you. I didn’t think you’d appreciate hearing it from me, in
case it sounded like I was dissing the competition.’ He aimed for a smile.

Holly looked down at her hand, at the empty space where her wedding ring had been until yesterday.

She held up her hand. ‘Not really my business any more.’

There was silence in the dressing room, only broken by the sounds of Maggie’s rendition of
My Way
on the spoons. She left the stage to huge applause and Barry O’Connor came
back on.

‘So, you and Milo?’

‘Not so much,’ said Holly quietly. ‘And you’re not having a baby?’

‘Really not.’

There were mere inches between them but neither seemed able to make the final move.

Barry’s dulcet tones could be heard to rapturous reception, familiar opening bars of music nudging Holly’s memory; apparently love had a habit of bringing people together.

Holly looked up, the humour bubbling to the surface. Maybe their timing wasn’t so bad after all.

‘I do, you know,’ said Taffy, his thumb wiping away the tears that had spilled on to Holly’s cheek.

‘Me too,’ managed Holly, just before he kissed her.

The lights in the hall dimmed down low and there was a rustle of anticipation among the audience. The cast members who weren’t involved were now sitting in the
aisles.

The programme simply stated ‘Finale’, but rumours had been rife about the town since Dan Carter had walked into the sports shop and purchased eight pink leotards – all size
XXL.

There was a crackle from the microphone as it was switched on and Elsie Townsend stepped into the spotlight. ‘We hope you’ve enjoyed our evening of entertainment as much as we have
enjoyed performing for you. There are so many people to thank, but special gratitude must be given to the wonderfully kind and talented Dr Holly Graham, whose brainchild this evening is. I
personally owe her more than she will ever realise.’

Elsie’s smile wavered then as the audience cheered and stamped their feet and she struggled to compose herself. ‘But no evening of the arts would be complete without a little ballet
and so, without further ado, I hope you have your cameras at the ready, I give you The Larkford Rugby Club with their own unforgettable rendition of
The Nutcracker
!’

There was a pause before the ancient sound system whirred into life and the iconic opening bars bounced through the theatre.

The spotlight shivered, before a pointed toe appeared from behind the curtain, followed by one very hairy pair of legs and then seven more. Dan, Taffy, nurse Jason and five other mates from the
town rugby club tippy-toed into centre stage, tutus pert with starch.

Holly, from her spot in the aisle, a twin on each knee and Lizzie beside her, clutched hold of her stomach as the waves of laughter enveloped her. She had no idea how they’d managed to
keep this a secret but it was the perfect end to a perfect evening.

The dance grew faster, moving from the sublime to the ridiculous and back again. The boys on stage had somehow managed to tick all the boxes for everyone watching. For the children, there was
the fantastic sight of their normally serious doctors gadding about on stage, for the blokes there was comedy and farce and for the ladies there were tantalising flashes of toned bronzed
thighs.

‘Ruddy good sport,’ cried the Major behind her.

Ben and Tom, and every other child in Larkford, seemed to be fidgeting around, desperate to get a better view, laughing and clapping along with everyone else.

Holly pushed back the hair from her face and leaned her head against Lizzie’s shoulder.

She wanted to remember every detail of this evening. The evening she found her bliss.

She watched Taffy attempt a grand jeté, landing with a thud and a grin in her direction.

‘Clever Taffy,’ said Ben, again with the perfect diction.

‘Very clever Taffy,’ echoed Tom.

Holly couldn’t help but agree.

It took a while for the audience to calm down after seeing eight grown men prancing about in tutus. Everyone had taken their curtain calls and the Little Theatre was in
disarray, but nobody, cast or audience, seemed in a hurry to go home. There were too many acts to gleefully discuss and one or two cast members to tease. The aisles were packed with chattering
groups and laughter billowed throughout the theatre like a wave.

Somewhat disconcertingly, the rugby ballerinas seemed to be enjoying their costumes so much that they hadn’t got changed, but rather were milling around on stage, surrounded by little
clusters of well-wishers and with their tutus sticking out rigidly, their leotards leaving very little to the imagination.

Marion and the Major had somehow worked their magic on the twins, who were now tucked up in the Beast and fast asleep, dark lashes brushing their little pink cheeks, fringes stuck to their
foreheads and thumbs duly inserted in little plump lips. Holly manoeuvred the enormous pram to one side where they wouldn’t be blocking the aisle and crouched down in front of them, just
watching for a moment – her little oasis of calm in a sea of chaos.

‘Dr Graham?’ intruded a slightly nasal voice.

Holly looked up to see a small man in a sleeveless pullover and spotty bow-tie. ‘Yes?’

He held out a small, soft hand and helped her to her feet. ‘We haven’t met, I’m Harry Grant, from the PCT.’

‘Holly,’ she replied automatically. ‘Did you enjoy the concert?’

‘I did,’ he smiled, intense blue eyes twinkling behind his heavy glasses. ‘And I’ve also enjoyed talking to some of the residents. It has been, how shall I put this, most
illuminating.’

Holly slowly let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, ‘Not quite what you were expecting, perhaps?’

Harry nodded his head repeatedly, as he tried to formulate his response. ‘Speaking off the record, of course, it seems we may have been a little remiss in how the consultation process has
been handled.’

Holly swallowed hard, in for a penny, in for a pound. ‘And I gather your main source of information is currently pending arrest for suspected fraud – off the record, of
course.’

‘Ye-es, hardly ideal. I had a very interesting conversation with DCI Davis actually. I suspect there may be further investigations required. All very embarrassing for the PCT, as you can
imagine.’

‘I imagine it would be,’ Holly replied, rather liking this awkward chap and his genial demeanour.

‘And you’re quite sure about your decision, are you?’ He patted the envelope that Holly had left for him at the Box Office, along with his ticket.

Holly nodded, not really trusting herself to speak. It wasn’t the most considered or well-phrased resignation letter, but it would get the job done.

‘If that’s what it takes to keep The Practice open, then it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?’ Her voice cracked at those final words, her throat blocked by
incipient tears.

Harry bobbed his head sympathetically. ‘I can’t think of anyone on my team who’d be prepared to take such a step. But if you’re sure, I can get the paperwork in motion
and give your colleagues some peace of mind. And, Holly, if I may say? I may not look like a man of influence, but I would be delighted to help you find a new position in the area, if that’s
what you’d like? I’ve been, ah, rather impressed by your approach. There may be something at the hospital in Bath that would suit?’

Holly managed a tentative smile. ‘That sounds great, actually. Maybe we can talk next week?’

‘Let the dust settle?’ he suggested, his nasal voice warming with understanding.

‘Something like that,’ she replied.

He shook her hand vigorously, gave her his card and with a little wave, he walked away, taking her letter with him. Holly had to force herself to resist the urge to chase after him and ask for
it back.

‘What was all that about?’ asked Lizzie, returning from the bar with two Diet Cokes and interrupting Holly’s train of thought. ‘I hope you don’t mind soft, I had a
vision of necking your wine on the way back through, so I thought I shouldn’t really chance it.’

Holly sipped her drink gratefully. ‘Just admin stuff,’ she parried, trying to find her equilibrium – no easy feat when Eric insisted on weaving himself through her legs,
desperate for her attention. ‘Anyway, Stranger, how are you doing? Is that Will and the kids at the back?’

Lizzie nodded. ‘They’re just queuing up to get photos and autographs.’

‘They don’t need to queue, I can get Elsie’s for them any time,’ said Holly tiredly, suddenly feeling completely exhausted and a little flat. After such a whirlwind of an
evening, it was no wonder that she was feeling a sense of anti-climax, but the hardest part was yet to come. She still needed to come clean about what she’d done. Looking around the Little
Theatre, hearing all the buoyant voices, she wondered whether that couldn’t just wait until tomorrow.

Eric, frustrated by her lack of attention, jumped up and nuzzled her face, his soulful ‘wooo-ooooo’ earning him a smattering of applause.

Lizzie laughed, spluttering Diet Coke down the front of her Donna Karan caramel dress. ‘Shit! And this is dry clean only.’ She dabbed at it ineffectually and sighed. ‘I
can’t wait to start slumming it in jeans and t-shirt.’

Holly wisely kept quiet, knowing all too well that the jeans would be designer and so would the t-shirt.

‘But look, it’s not Elsie’s autograph they’re after, so we may be a while,’ said Lizzie, pointing to the far corner of the stage, where the rugby ballerinas were
lined up, feet in first position, taking turns to pose with members of the audience lying across them in their arms. For a small donation, of course.

Cassie Holland, of all people, flushed and giggling was currently taking her moment in the spotlight.

Lizzie was still dabbing at her dress and sighed. ‘Well, snooty Channing was being a bitch about my dress earlier anyway. Maybe it’s time to get rid of it.’

‘Really?’ Holly said distractedly. ‘Are you sure? What did she say?’

‘Oh she was all condescending and sarcastic. She said “nice dress”.’ Lizzie pulled a face.

Holly laughed. ‘Maybe she actually meant, “That’s a nice dress, Lizzie”? She’s really pretty lovely when you get to know her.’

‘Noooo,’ said Lizzie. ‘This is all my fault, I leave you alone for a few weeks and then suddenly this . . . Mind you, she owes me one. The photographer who did her new headshot
for the magazine fell in love with her house – made her a whopping great offer this afternoon – just out of the blue. So it turns out she’s moving into the Major’s
gatehouse. Talk about falling on your feet – Jammy cow!’

Holly shrugged. ‘I like her. She’s smart and funny, not always intentionally, mind. You’d actually like her too, if you gave her a chance.’

Lizzie looked nonplussed for a moment. ‘So is it lunch for three from now on then?’

‘Why not? Or four even, if we invite Elsie. I’m planning on adopting her, actually.’

‘Did I hear you taking my name in vain there, Holly?’ interrupted Elsie, wafting over to join them, layers of chiffon and silk billowing behind her.

Holly gave her a hug, holding on for just that extra second. ‘I was just singing your praises.’

‘Excellent!’ said Elsie gleefully. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’

Holly laughed. ‘See Lizzie – she’s trouble, this one.’

Lizzie shook her head, a little bemused. Holly could see that she was finding it hard to recalibrate: wasn’t Holly the one normally in need of support and introductions at social
functions? They’d only been out of each other’s lives for a few short weeks, but so much had happened, so much had changed.

Mostly though, Holly had changed.

No more blushing violet, censoring her own opinions to try and fit in. The status quo had shifted and Holly felt buoyed by the idea of a wider circle of friendship. With friends who knew her
true self, insecurities, warts and all. Those weeks without Lizzie had given her a timely reminder that having all your eggs in one basket was a risky business.