Out of Practice (8 page)

There really was something for everyone in Larkford – the statuesque Georgian townhouses at the far end of the Market Place lent a certain elegance to the town and the soaring simplicity
of the Norman church provided the perfect relief for the otherwise fussier pastel-coloured terraces that lined each side of the square and led off down the rabbit warrens of residential
side-streets that could still get Holly in a muddle.

The acres of wooded parkland, criss-crossed by paths and running trails brought the countryside right into the town. Even the car parks had wrought-iron lamp posts and benches, and a town
ordinance from decades before prevented any local businesses using gaudy signs to promote their location. To the tourists’ eyes it was a picture-postcard scene.

But walking the length of the town on a day like today made it all too obvious which end of Larkford belonged to the Haves and which to the Have-Nots. Even though the Pound Shop had a suitably
tasteful sign, its very presence was an indicator that not everyone in town could afford the decadently fresh sea bass from Larkford’s renowned fishmonger, Waves.

As always, as she made her way through town, it was the bit in the middle that fascinated Holly, not the obvious issues in the outlying council estate or the genteel wealth of those Georgian
town houses. In between lay the residential streets, small shops and offices that spoke of families trying to get by – juggling time and money whilst dealing with the realities of whatever
life may throw at them.

The bit in the middle was where Holly lived and she didn’t really think that the tourists swarming through Larkford every summer would have any interest in that at all. But, as far as she
was concerned, this was where her patients lived and where her children would grow up and, for her, it didn’t get more interesting than that.

Holly made it to work on time with moments to spare. Tom had predictably leapt from the pram with boundless enthusiasm, whilst Ben, unsettled by the tension at home, had thrown
the mother of all tantrums as she dropped them off at nursery. By mid-morning, Holly’s stomach was growling as if it were lunchtime and she was already feeling drained and exhausted. Being a
working mum was all about stamina and the ability to multi-task – Holly was unconvinced she qualified on either front this morning.

She’d already seen a decidedly spritely and well-rested looking chap, who’d come to her desperate for help with his insomnia. Apparently the poor fellow was barely getting seven
hours sleep a night! Seven hours! It had taken a super-human amount of restraint for Holly not to give him a piece of her mind. Instead she’d given him a list of suggestions that might help
– hot milk, more fresh air during the day, stay away from cheese in the evenings, oh and get a freaking clue!

Okay, so that last one hadn’t been said out loud, but the sleep-deprived portion of Holly’s brain had stepped in and she was aware that she was now muttering ‘seven
hours!’ incredulously under her breath at random and inopportune moments.

On the plus side, she felt she’d been sensitive, supportive and skilled in handling several patients with depression, one with horrific acne and had passed no judgement at all on the
70-year-old resident with a raging case of gonorrhoea! She had given him a little pep talk about safe sex, but she feared he’d already nodded off by then.

All in all, it was a slightly different pace to hospital doctoring and Holly was looking forward to finding her feet and getting to know her patients.

She even quite liked the idea of having ‘regulars’ – feeling that she really might be able to make a significant difference to their long-term care. At the hospital, the notion
of ‘regulars’ was restricted to Mad Derek (who turned up drunk and bruised at 1 a.m. every Saturday morning, having consumed his pay-packet over the course of the evening and picked a
fight) and Pervy Brian (who managed to insert something inappropriate into one or other of his orifices on a weekly basis). Holly was therefore understandably excited by the idea of a gentler pace
of medicine.

She also knew that, on some level, her new job wasn’t just about healing her patients. She was secretly rather hoping that Larkford might also be able to heal her spirit, to give her a
much-needed confidence boost that she was a valuable and worthwhile person, whatever her husband may think.

Gradually, the early morning rush had subsided. Grace had forewarned her that there was always a full-on start to the day, as overnight reports of admissions came in to be
read, urgent requests for repeat prescriptions were called in, not to mention the ever-looming spectre of triage.

‘All the doctors are on a triage roster,’ said Grace, ‘so it’s completely fair. But to be honest, the triage shift is rather the short straw, even compared to the Tuesday
morning Boil Clinic. So it’s best to just crack on and get it done. And do try not to swap shifts around.’

Lucy the receptionist had chipped in then, keen to get Holly on side, ‘It really does work better if we work as a team. I’ll warn you, I’m constantly surprised how rude people
can get when they’re asking for help. I know, I know, they’re ill or frightened, but seriously!’

As she spoke, Lucy’s little blonde ponytail bounced up and down. Their petite blonde receptionist may look like the angel that fell off the Christmas tree, but she managed to combine her
sweetness with a core of steel. Holly had quickly realised that nobody got by Lucy’s front desk without her express permission, or possibly a severed limb.

Breaking off from their conversation to tactfully deal with whoever was having a nervous breakdown on the other end of the phone, Lucy gave Holly a grin and Holly couldn’t help but
respond. There was something intrinsically likeable about Lucy. Even as she then turned to deal with the blustering gentleman at reception, Lucy managed to remain respectful and polite, whilst
calmly maintaining the upper hand. Holly was impressed to see this young girl using a firm no-nonsense voice to explain to the patient that turning up at the right time but on the wrong day did not
necessarily mean that the doctor could squeeze him in, no matter how much he paid in income tax!

Holly quietly wondered if Lucy might be up for a spot of babysitting – she clearly had the necessary skills.

A few moments later Grace continued the briefing, every now and then earning a supportive nod from Lucy. ‘Every morning on the dot of eight o’clock the phone will start ringing with
patients requesting an urgent appointment. Now, more or less every single one of them believe their need to be the greatest, their illness to be the most severe and will be utterly convinced of
their right to
instant
medical attention. The poor soul on triage duty needs to evaluate these calls. Obviously, deal with matters on the phone where you can and then fit the others, the
ones that do in fact need urgent attention, into the handful of slots that we hold available. Okay?’ Grace queried before barrelling on, ‘Now, on occasion, you’ll need to make a
judgement call to send someone straight to hospital and Lucy or I will help you with whatever calls and admin that entails to smooth the way.’

Lucy swivelled around on her chair and re-joined their conversation, ‘Yeah and whatever you do, don’t swap shifts with Dr Bruce or Dr Channing. Triage duty is the only thing that
stops those two being unbearably smug. I’d give them extra shifts if I could, but Grace won’t let me.’ She nodded her head across the office and Holly followed her gaze.

This morning, the triage shift had clearly fallen to Dr Henry Bruce and his mood was none the better for it. Striding purposefully into the doctors’ lounge, he was ruffled to the point
that his usually immaculate hair looked dishevelled and the knot in his tie was askew. He looked almost human. ‘Please tell me there’s a decent cup of coffee in this hell-hole this
morning?’ he bellowed as the door to the doctors’ lounge swung shut behind him.

‘See!’ said Lucy with a scowl.

‘I see our Dr Bruce has been working on his interpersonal skills again,’ said Taffy, as he wandered through to the front office with his cup of coffee. ‘Morning Luce, morning
Dr Graham.’

‘It’s Holly, remember.’

‘I know,’ said Taffy with a slow smile. ‘You look like you’ve been up all night, if you don’t mind me saying. Bad night with the kids?’ he said
sympathetically. Whilst he had no desire to populate the world with his own offspring, his sisters’ tribes were cute enough that he could at least claim to understand the basics of
child-rearing. He surrendered his own cup of hot, sweet coffee to her without a thought, clearly delighted to cause the flash of gratitude that lit up Holly’s tired eyes and caused the
faintest of blushes to colour her pale cheeks.

‘Stinker,’ Holly sighed, too tired to be proud, wincing as she attempted to down the steaming coffee in three large gulps. ‘When one of the twins is asleep, the other
one’s awake. I swear the little sod-pots have a rota.’

Holly rummaged in her enormous handbag for something to eat, pushing aside Lego cars, baby wipes and a miniature Buzz Lightyear. Initially discarding the notion of a half-chewed rusk, Holly
hesitated as she realised there was nothing else on offer, bar a slightly mangled pouch of mango puree. She hovered in indecision by the bin, the crumbled rusk in hand and stomach rumbling. It was
only when Taffy quietly plucked the rusk from her fingers and tossed it into the bin that she realised he’d been watching her and a wave of mortification washed over her.

‘I wasn’t going to eat it,’ she said, defensively.

He just laughed. Not a mean, teasing laugh that made her feel useless and pathetic, but a warm, compassionate laugh that made her feel as though she was a part of the joke and that she was
actually funny.

He hopped off the corner of the desk and made the decision for her. ‘Here. Sit down and play with your Lego for a bit,’ he said kindly, pulling out a chair. ‘I’ll bring
you a fresh cuppa and a Mars bar in a minute. But I should warn you that I’ll be expecting a turn with your Buzz Lightyear in return.’

Holly’s look of total bafflement only went to show how very rarely she was on the receiving end of such a thoughtful gesture. This time it was Taffy who blushed and he waved away her
thanks. ‘It’s my random act of kindness for the day. Look, all done before elevenses. Some days it takes me ’til bedtime.

‘Now while you’re here, let’s talk about getting you up to speed on the office acronyms,’ said Taffy with a devilish grin.

Grace just sighed and pushed back her hair. ‘Holly, you listen to this one at your own risk, okay?’

‘Aw Gracie, you love my notes really don’t you? It’s just so convenient. Here’s a few of my favourites to get you started, okay . . .’

Holly grinned. ‘You may have a bit of competition on that front, Dr Jones. We weren’t short of the odd acronym at the hospital either.’

‘It’s Taffy.’

‘I know,’ said Holly.

‘Challenge accepted then – FFFF?’

Holly thought for a moment, unwilling to show her hand too soon. ‘Female, Fat, Fifty and Flatulent?’

‘Well, I would have said forty, but I guess fifty’s the new forty these days.’

‘Erm, isn’t that completely sexist?’ interjected Lucy indignantly.

‘It is a bit,’ admitted Holly reluctantly, ‘the problem is though, that it’s quite often true . . . What about FTW?’

‘Easy. Fucking Train Wreck! CTD?’

Holly was stumped. ‘I don’t know that one.’

‘There’s a clue here for Lucy if she’s still playing and it doesn’t offend her delicate sensitivities . . . Mr Carlisle . . .’

‘Ooh, ooh I do know that one – it’s Circling The Drain isn’t it? I mean, that guy’s been at death’s door since I started here and that’s three years
ago!’

‘And the lady with the fetching ponytail has it! Bad luck there, Dr Graham!’

‘It’s Holly,’ she said automatically.

‘I know,’ he replied, before sliding off the desk and heading back to work, leaving Holly feeling as though something important had just happened.

The tension was palpable in the doctors’ lounge that Friday lunchtime. Not only was everyone forgoing a much-needed break, but there were mutterings and speculations as
to why the meeting had even been called at such short notice. There was a spate of impatient texting, as anyone with a social life scrambled to rearrange their lunch plans.

Holly looked around the room and realised that she still had so much to learn.

She was very much the outsider when it came to understanding the undercurrents and the dynamics in the room. It didn’t take a genius to see that there was tension between Julia and Dan;
indeed there was an almost elegant rhythm to the way they managed never to physically cross paths. They seemed to be instinctively aware of one another’s location at all times and when their
eyes did occasionally meet, Holly felt as though she was intruding simply by noticing.

The rest of the staff seemed to naturally fall into small cliques and huddles that crossed all the traditional, departmental boundaries and so left Holly feeling very unsure of where she should
be.

For example, Lucy the receptionist was perched on the back of the sofa with Dan, Taffy and Maggie the germ-phobic pharmacist. Holly noticed that Maggie had now brought in bottled water to drink,
rather than risk the tap water, and that she was deeply engrossed in conversation with both the male doctors in hushed, urgent tones. They were shooting glances around the room that suggested to
Holly that it was their own colleagues that were falling under scrutiny.

Henry Bruce seemed to have gained a small female entourage, led by the sartorially challenged young nurse that Holly had met yesterday. The snotty, rude one who’d looked down her nose at
Holly – Jade, was it? Holly didn’t recognise the other two girls, although Grace had mentioned something about a senior nurse and a midwife, hadn’t she? The Henry Bruce
Appreciation Society seemed to be in full swing and he was clearly delighted to have three such attractive young ladies hanging on his every word.

Smarmy bugger, thought Holly with an involuntary shudder, as she watched him smoothing down his tie and leaning in close to hear Jade’s breathy comments.