Out of Practice (31 page)

Before they’d left Reading and made all sorts of promises to each other about fresh starts, Holly had made it clear how she felt about this kind of manipulation. He didn’t like her
having a social life – not, as he claimed, because he wanted to have time with her – but because he couldn’t bear the idea of Holly having a friendship circle that excluded him.
He had been forever turning up at the hospital to collect her on nights when he knew full well there were birthday drinks planned, or the occasional team curry. The fact that he never thought to
collect her on days when it was pouring it down or snowing, made his excuses seem all the more unlikely.

Holly told herself, and not for the first time, that she was a fool to think he would change his personality along with his postcode. She made herself a mug of tea and curled into the corner of
the sofa, trying to reason with the indignant part of her brain. She could hear the gentle snores from the hallway that meant the twins were still out for the count and the heavy atmosphere in the
house was almost stifling. If she wasn’t so exhausted herself, she’d push the bloody pram all the way back into town – anything for some adult company and distraction.

But Holly knew that constantly distracting herself from the issues at play was just sticking on a Band Aid. It was about time she was brave enough to address what was going on around her.

She started counting on her fingers as she tried to impose order on the nebulous arguments circulating in her fatigued mind.

So, for all her big ideals about moving on and letting go, it turned out she was still furious with Lizzie – and Dan too, for that matter. But Lizzie, her oldest friend, her best friend
allegedly, had flat out lied to her. Not once, but over and over again. And, since there was nobody else to hear, it didn’t matter if Holly confessed that the grain of truth in Lizzie’s
horrible words was scratching much deeper than she’d care to admit.

Holly wasn’t stupid. She knew she wasn’t herself these days, was perfectly aware that she had lost her voice. Even Elsie hadn’t missed that one. So Holly knew she was becoming
a doormat. She just didn’t like hearing it.

It hurt more than she could possibly have imagined, hearing someone you loved and respected outlining all your worst faults and then using them against you, using them to manipulate you. Falling
out with Lizzie felt so much worse than finding out Milo had been suspended for inappropriate conduct.

And Lizzie wasn’t the only guilty party here. Logically, whilst she knew Dan’s intentions might have been better, he had actually misled her too. He could have been upfront with her
about her job. He could actually have been upfront with her about his health issues too . . .

But then, she reasoned, did he really know her well enough to open up to her to that degree? Maybe she should cut him some slack. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have his hands full .
. .

Holly was all for being reasonable. She liked to look at situations from both sides of the argument. But reason could only take her so far on this one, when her emotions were feeling so bruised,
battered and betrayed.

With friends like these, who needed enemies, she thought yet again.

She sipped at her tea and swallowed hard. Elsie’s words from last night had really struck a chord with her and sitting here quietly, she gave herself permission to explore the questions
that Elsie had posed. How could she ask for what she wanted, when she didn’t even know what it was.

She certainly knew what she didn’t want – did that count?

And she must have been kidding herself to think that Milo’s recent efforts would be sustainable. Sooner or later, she had known he would revert to type and there’d be another drama
to contend with. Whether or not one chose to believe Milo’s exculpatory stories about his open friendly manner with his students being misinterpreted, on some level, Holly knew he liked to
play games. Sexy, flirty, power games. After all, didn’t he toy with her sometimes – manipulating her words, twisting her logic until she couldn’t think straight?

She honestly didn’t know what she believed any more. She wasn’t convinced that she actually cared. The one thing she did know, was that she had wanted the twins to have their father
around. But what use was that, when he failed to engage with them on any level? Was it time to admit she was wrong?

The twins had had more attention and fun with Taffy this morning than they’d had from Milo in weeks . . .

Just the thought of Taffy Jones was enough to throw Holly’s thoughts into total disarray all over again. It didn’t take a genius to see that the twins hadn’t been the only ones
to enjoy his attention this morning.

Holly’s mind ran in circles, tempted by the promise of new possibilities. Elsie Townsend certainly had a lot to answer for.

The front door slammed so hard that every other door in the house opened with a puff of irritation. Holly started, pink with guilt about where her thoughts had been heading.
Within seconds the boys were awake and crying, sprung from a deep sleep and with no idea where they were. Holly watched in amazement as Milo walked straight past his sobbing offspring and into the
sitting room. ‘Where the hell were you?’ he demanded.

‘I might ask you the same question,’ she threw back, as she pushed past him to unclip the boys and reassure them they were at home. Without stopping to wait for an answer, Holly took
them into the kitchen to sort out little bowls and beakers for their snack. It was only when they were busy squishing fat juicy sultanas between their fingers did she look up to find Milo languidly
leaning against the doorframe watching her.

‘I asked you where you were. Could you give the childishness a rest for thirty seconds and answer me.’ His voice was cold and hard, but his body was studiously relaxed. For the first
time, Holly felt a flicker of unease. He’d always been possessive but he’d never actually frightened her with his intense moods.

His mother always claimed he had an artistic temperament, but as far as Holly could tell, it was just an excuse to be a moody selfish bastard – although obviously she didn’t say that
to Jean. Or to Milo for that matter.

‘We were at the Spring Swim with the team from work. You know, the one you didn’t want to come to? And then they had activities for the kids afterwards.’ Holly wasn’t
entirely sure why she was fudging the truth a little. Somehow, the words were out before she could stop them and then confessing to a blissfully relaxing morning at the pub didn’t seem
terribly clever.

He grunted. ‘Well, I gave up on you in the end. Apparently you’re too busy now to bother about family lunches. All that fuss about spending time together and then you’re out
the front door at every opportunity. I had lunch at Mum’s in the end – didn’t seem like you were worth waiting for.’

Holly raised an eyebrow. The double meaning of his last snide comment hung in the air. The inherent truth in his statement was strangely liberating.

‘Probably not,’ she replied, wiping up Ben’s spilled juice, feeling lighter in that moment than she had in days. Making the choice
not
to take the bait,
not
to be coerced into an argument she didn’t want, was a revelation. A small act of defiance on her part felt like the first step in the right direction. Finally.

‘Mum sends her love anyway,’ he carried on, his eyes flashing.

‘How lovely,’ countered Holly, although she doubted very much that was the case.

‘She wondered how you were coping with the house. Said you seemed a bit snowed under last weekend.’ He shrugged now, a little sullen from being deprived of Holly’s usual
reaction. ‘Probably didn’t help that I couldn’t find any clean socks this morning.’ He hitched up a trouser leg. ‘Had to go barefoot. Mum says she’s got a few
tips to help, if you can’t cope with the laundry and the house now you’re working full-time.’

Holly laughed. She couldn’t help herself. It had started as a biting comment, but somehow translated en route from brain to lip.

‘Come with me,’ she said, still smiling, as she opened the door to the utility. ‘As it turns out, I have a few tips too.’

Milo shuffled behind, nonplussed by his wife’s unusual behaviour. They both knew only too well how this conversation would normally have ended and it wasn’t pressed together in the
laundry room.

‘Here, let me introduce you. Milo – this is the washing machine. Washing machine – meet Milo. Be nice to him, it’s his first visit, but he’s going to be coming back
regularly, so it’s best that you get along.’ She gestured towards the machine as though she were perched on the bonnet of a Porsche 911 at the Earls Court Motor Show.

‘Holly, for Christ’s sake, stop being so bloody fatuous! I was just pointing out that I didn’t have any clean socks.’

‘I know you were,’ replied Holly calmly, ‘and this is where all the magic happens. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted, shall I?’ She passed the bottle of Fairy
Non-Bio to her open-mouthed husband and walked out of the room. She couldn’t quite resist the spring in her step or the smile on her face.

In fact, it was only a shame that Elsie couldn’t be here to share it – the long overdue moment when Holly rediscovered her voice.

Holly tried to listen carefully, mindful that her attention was liable to wander this morning. She had too much going on in her head and the pressure that was building behind
her temples was becoming unbearable. She closed one eye and then the other, trying to assess whether the blurring of her vision was due to the headache or simple exhaustion; she was predominantly
powered by jelly babies and caffeine today.

‘Don’t you think, Dr Graham?’ demanded her patient. ‘Dr Graham, are you even listening to me?’ Margot James swelled with righteous indignation. She tapped her
fingers briskly on the desk top and glared at Holly with ill-disguised fury. ‘What’s the point in my coming to see you and answering all of your intrusive questions, if you’re not
even listening to the answers?’

Holly smiled weakly, aiming for reassuring, fearing instead that it made her look slightly wet and ineffectual. ‘Margot, of course I heard what you were saying,’ Holly replied,
guiltily. It was only a white lie, she reasoned. She had, of course, heard the first few stanzas of why-I-find-it-so-stressful-going-to-Tescos and had manfully hung on in for the reprise of
nobody-understands-me-and-my-life’s-so-difficult, but the pain in her head, the rain on the windows and Margot’s spoiled voice droning on . . . well, maybe her attention had lapsed a
little.

But Margot was the embodiment of Taffy’s much-maligned Worried Well. Even though they had been spooked by something they’d read in the newspaper, or more recently an innocent symptom
googled . . . Well, they still needed calm reassurance and sensitive handling, and also a certain wary vigilance. After all, just because a patient had been exaggerating in the past, cried wolf to
get attention, didn’t mean there wasn’t a genuine problem today. It was Holly’s job to look for the wolf.

Although she wasn’t quite sure how, ‘What can I do for you, Margot?’ counted as intrusive questioning, Holly gamely carried on. ‘It’s been a while since we looked
at your blood sugars and I notice you’ve a family history of diabetes, Margot. If you feel that the exhaustion is becoming worse, we should probably book you in for a Glucose Tolerance Test.
You’ll need to see the nurse and fast before the test, so try and do it on a day when you’ve a quiet morning. Then I’ll give you a call with the results, how does that
sound?’

Slightly mollified, Margot collected up her belongings. ‘It would be nice to have some peace of mind, Dr Graham, I don’t mind telling you. I keep reading all these articles that tell
me I should be in my prime.’

Holly stood up to open the door, sensing that Margot was about to launch into another monologue. ‘
Should
is a dangerous word, Margot. Try and think about what you’d
like
to do and prioritise that instead for a bit, if you feel that you’re flagging.’

‘Hmm,’ said Margot, dithering in the doorway, unwilling to relinquish her captive audience. ‘I think it might be time you took your own advice there, Dr Graham. You won’t
mind me saying, I know, but you really do look terrible. And I’d do something about that squint if I were you. Makes it look as though you’re not really listening, you know?’

Holly saw Margot back through to the reception area and checked her watch – ten minutes until her next appointment. Technically she
should
be opening up her post
and dealing with emails, but the insidious pressure from that toxic word again, galvanised the fuck-it attitude that had been lurking all week.

She headed for the doctors’ lounge and the promise of a decent cup of coffee. Financial stringencies at home meant that her beloved tins of Illy had recently been replaced by some granular
filth that tasted of washing-up water and looked startlingly similar.

A quick break for some caffeine and paracetamol, she decided, would actually make her a better doctor. Certainly more so than a ship-shape inbox.

She walked into the room, to find the lounge unusually quiet and the only company in the form of Julia Channing. Holly swallowed hard and plastered on a smile, because she thought she should,
and then promptly let her face relax, as she remembered she wasn’t playing that game any more. ‘Hi, Julia,’ she said instead, rubbing at her temples. ‘I’m making
coffee, do you want one?’

Julia looked up from her iPhone, surprise etched on her face. ‘Um, yes I’d love one actually – I just thought I should deal with these emails first.’

Holly tentatively sniffed the milk from the fridge. ‘I’ve given up on
should
,’ she said candidly. ‘I’m giving myself a bit of a holiday from feeling
stretched in all directions. In fact, this cup of coffee right here is the first step in today’s tiny rebellion.’

Julia gaped a little, wrong-footed by the wind change in Holly’s demeanour. Well accustomed by now to Holly’s annoying chirpiness and upbeat, can-do attitude, she found herself
unwillingly defrosting.