Out of Practice (34 page)

Maggie shrugged. ‘It’s just common sense really. Survival of the fittest, you know. Not that I need to tell you that – excellent skills there, Holly, getting Taffy to help out
with the twins. Water safety ratios and all that.’

Holly could feel her face colouring and was forced to feign a cough.

Maggie’s eyebrows rose, as she clearly didn’t miss a trick. ‘There’s some lovely piccies of the day up on the town website. Quite a good one of you and the boys, I
think.’ said Maggie carefully, clearly fishing.

‘I must have a look at those when I get chance,’ replied Holly, keeping her tone as even as she could. She really didn’t need Maggie to know that that image and the way it made
her feel had already kept her awake all night. Just thinking about lost sleep made Holly yawn widely. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, ‘bit tired.’

‘Me too. In fact, I nearly didn’t come into work this morning,’ Maggie confided to Holly. Lucy swivelled round on her chair, as the ringing phones gradually calmed to a more
manageable level, and Maggie squirted another blob of hand sanitiser into her palm and began to massage it in. ‘I don’t know what possessed me, but I stayed up late and watched that
Contagion
movie on DVD. I kind of over-looked the whole viral-epidemic storyline.’

Lucy shook her head, laughing, ‘Oh Maggie! What were you thinking, you muppet, watching that? You know what you’re like. Grace’ll wet herself when you tell her.’

Maggie pulled a face. ‘But it had Matt Damon
and
Jude Law in it. What was I supposed to do?’

‘Well, when you put it like that, I can see that you had no choice really,’ said Holly.

Lucy wandered over to the printer and collected all the referral letters she’d been typing up between phone calls. ‘Well, if you’re going for immersion therapy, you should
watch
Outbreak
next, Maggie. It hasn’t got Matt Damon, admittedly. But the little monkey is seriously cute.’

‘Would that be the same monkey that spreads the flesh-eating virus then, Lucy?’ Holly laughed, delighted with the change of topic.

‘Well, obviously she’ll have to overlook that bit. Aw, but he’s got little fluffy cheeks, and these tiny little hands and . . .’

‘And a nasty case of Ebola?’ said Maggie drily, causing Holly to accidentally snort instead of laughing and reducing Lucy to a giggling heap.

The bell on the front door jangled and Mr Hampton shuffled over to the reception desk. ‘I’b gob an aboointbent bith Dr Badding,’ he spluttered through his handkerchief.

‘An appointment with Dr Channing you say?’ replied Lucy cheerfully, trying to keep a straight face. She was well versed in translating those patients with a bunged up nose.
‘Take a seat in the waiting room, Mr Hampton. She’ll be right with you.’

Mr Hampton nodded miserably and headed for the doorway. He stopped and took a deep breath, his face contorting as he tried to fight the overwhelming urge.

‘Maggie, look out! We’ve got a sneezer!’ whispered Lucy gleefully, watching the stricken expression on Maggie’s face as she hurried from the room once poor Mr Hampton
began exploding. It was just as well all the staff got their flu jab every year, as it sometimes felt like they were working in a Petri dish of all the regional lurgies.

Holly heard the squirt of the Dettox spray as Maggie once again set to work, trying to keep her world both germ-free and shiny white. Maggie was such a card – who in their right mind would
choose to work in a doctors’ surgery if they were phobic about germs to that degree? Maggie had been put off her food for days when Taffy had introduced her to the concept of his
five-second-rule. It was basically his firm belief that, if you drop your food and it was on the floor for less than five seconds, it’s technically declared safe to eat. Holly noticed that
Maggie hadn’t been very enthusiastic about his regular offers of fancy biscuits ever since, although Holly couldn’t claim any such reservations with eating his orange Clubs whenever
they were offered . . .

Dear God, she thought, I’m eighteen again! Just thinking back to the hormonal tumult of emotions that had characterised almost every year of university – the epic crushes, the
unendurable heartbreak, until the next object of desire hove into view . . . Holly gave herself a little shake. ‘I am a married mother of two. Get with it, Graham. One nice photo does not
fill a photo album,’ she muttered under her breath as she waved goodbye to the fun in the office and went to collect her first patient of the day – nothing like a seeping boil to keep
any sexual urges in check.

Maggie fell into step beside her. ‘It’s so lovely having some fresh life in the place, you know, Holly. We all spend so much time here, we get a bit like family sometimes, you know,
a bit sibling-y and bicker-y.’

Holly smiled. ‘I do love it here, Maggie. And it already feels like home. And as for you lot bickering – I don’t buy it. If someone annoys you, don’t you just have a
little grump behind their back and be done with it?’

Maggie looked shocked at the very suggestion. ‘Ooh no, not behind their back. This isn’t a City practice. If someone’s bitching about you here, Holly, they’ll do it to
your face.’

‘I’m not necessarily sure that’s better. Is it?’

Maggie shrugged. ‘At least you know what you’re up against. Well,’ she continued darkly, ‘with most folk. The jury’s still out on Henry and Julia.’

Holly wasn’t entirely sure whether a laugh was expected at this point. Maggie’s words had a ring of truth about them that negated any humour.

But Maggie wasn’t finished yet, delighted to have a willing listener and keen to know everything, she cast another fly across the water. ‘Of course, seeing young Taffy being such a
sweetheart with your beautiful boys at the weekend . . . well, let’s just say he won’t be short of offers now, will he? Always lovely to see a bloke that’s happy to muck in and
help with the kids. I dare say he owes you a thank you. With PR like that, I imagine the Taffy Jones fan club will have gained a few more members . . .’

Holly swallowed hard, completely winded. She reached for a response but nothing was there. Her face drained of colour and a hard tight feeling settled in her chest. Who was she kidding? The very
photo that had haunted her dreams and thrown her emotions into turmoil, would be the photo that secured young, fit and single Dr Jones his next hot date . . . Holly felt the pressure of
Maggie’s hand on her shoulder.

‘Just as I thought,’ said Maggie gently. ‘I’m not trying to interfere, my love. But sometimes forewarned is forearmed, isn’t it? Like I said, if I’ve
something to say, I’ll say it to your face. And a lovely lass like you, with those two lovely boys? Just be careful, won’t you?’ Maggie gave her shoulder another squeeze and
disappeared into her domain of stacked prescriptions and sanitisers.

Holly slid down onto one of the chairs lined up outside.

She felt extremely foolish and suddenly old beyond her years. ‘Grow up, Graham,’ she muttered. ‘What did you think was going to happen, hmm?’

Holly scrubbed her hands rigorously. Despite having worn the requisite latex gloves, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that her hands would never be clean again. It
was ages since she’d seen a good old-fashioned case of pubic lice, which was just as well really because things that scuttled and crawled were Holly’s bête noire. Even as a
doctor, she’d practically thrown up the first time one of the twins had come home from nursery with ‘little visitors’, as the accompanying note had so delicately phrased it.

In fact, Holly only had to think about the little cretins scuttling through her boy’s sandy locks and she wanted to throw up. How she’d endured the last consultation without heaving
was a wonder in itself.

More to the point though, why was she having to lecture an upstanding lady in her fifties about casual sex and multiple partners? Had the world gone bonkers?

She also knew that, according to the latest medical journals, pubic lice were no longer a huge problem among the younger, more sexually active generation, because all the girls had grown up
watching Samantha on
Sex in the City
and had waxed themselves into pre-pubescent smoothness.

Putting aside her concerns about the kind of guys that found it a turn-on to be shagging someone with Barbie’s genitalia, Holly couldn’t help but worry. If Cynthia Jameson was still
putting it about in her fifties, having been unceremoniously dumped by her husband of thirty years, was that what they all had to look forward to? Rather than spending their twilight years in the
bosom of their families, were they all destined to be hitting the Viagra and shagging their way around the Bridge Club?

Holly shuddered. She wasn’t sure what felt worse – the idea of four more decades being patronised by Milo, or the unrecognisable landscape of modern dating.

Lucy poked her head around the door. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Holly, but your next patient’s a no-show and there’s a bloke waiting to see you. Says it’s
“personal” and he’s happy to wait.’ Lucy made air quotes with her fingers around the word personal and waggled her eyebrows. ‘He’s very charming though, and well
fit. Is it your hubby? Are we finally allowed to meet him?’

Holly swallowed the uncharitable response that, if he was charming, it was very unlikely to be Milo. She turned off the tap and dried her hands, the sun streaming in through the frosted glass.
‘I’ll come out,’ she said, following Lucy through to reception. Whilst she hadn’t expected Milo to turn up at work, she would never have predicted that her visitor would be
Will. A tired, grey-faced Will at that, huddled uncomfortably in the corner of the waiting room, looking as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

‘How long have I got free, Luce?’ Holly asked quietly.

‘’Bout twenty-five minutes, if you need to pop out,’ Lucy replied. ‘Not the Magnificent Milo then?’

Holly gave her an odd look. ‘No, just my friend’s husband. I will pop out, though. Won’t be long. And Luce – the Magnificent Milo? Where did that come from?’

Lucy’s face flooded crimson and she looked mortified. ‘Holly, I’m so sorry, it was just a slip of the tongue . . . Some of the doctors, well, I mean, Dr Carter sometimes . . .
Oh shit – can you just be an angel and forget I said anything?’

Holly shook her head and smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell Dan that you dropped him in it.’ She pushed open the door to the waiting room, leaving Lucy mouthing mutely in
the corridor. Try as she might, Holly couldn’t be cross with Lucy or Dan – the Magnificent Milo had an edge of truth to it that made it properly funny. Not that she would admit that of
course. To anyone.

‘Holls.’ Will sprang to his feet as soon as he saw her. ‘I’m so sorry for bothering you at work, I just need five minutes if you’ve got them?’

In no time, they had picked up two coffees from the deli and were meandering their way through the town parkland. ‘Come on then, Willeth, what’s up? The designer
stubble’s looking a little unkempt and you’ve that crazy look about the eyes. You’ve got your Finals Face on, so spill . . .’

Holly watched as Will psyched himself up. ‘I need you to tell me what’s going on with Lizzie?’ he said abruptly. ‘I hardly recognise my own wife at the moment. She says
you two have fallen out, but I won’t believe it until I hear it from you.’

‘Oh,’ said Holly quietly, ‘well, she’s not making that up, if that’s what’s worrying you.’ She felt incredibly awkward. She’d known Will almost as
long as she’d known Lizzie. She counted him as one of her best friends, but suddenly, without Lizzie in the picture, Holly felt uncomfortable telling tales about his wife’s appalling
behaviour. ‘I really think it would be better if you talked to Lizzie about this.’

He turned to look at Holly, slopping hot coffee over his wrist but barely seeming to notice. ‘You don’t think I’ve tried?’ He sighed. ‘Honestly, Holls, I
wouldn’t put you in the middle of this, unless I thought it might make a difference. I’m worried about her, Holly. She’s hardly eating, she’s snapping at the kids, and every
time I see her she has a drink in her hand. I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but Holls, for me, can you make amends?’

Holly shrugged, feeling thoroughly conflicted. Of course there was a certain loyalty to Will, not to mention concern for Lizzie, but the hurt and betrayal of Lizzie’s actions still hurt
like a fresh wound.

‘Look,’ Will tried again. ‘Lizzie’s great at putting on a public face, okay. She’s all calmness and serenity on the surface, whilst it’s a maelstrom
underneath, yes? Well, she’d kill me for saying this, but she’d been miserable for ages. Wouldn’t admit that she was struggling, wouldn’t admit that things weren’t
great . . . And then you moved here, Holly, and my wife was smiling and laughing again – not just for visitors, but, you know, singing in the shower . . .’ He trailed off looking
lost.

Holly took a deep breath and tucked her arm through his, as she quietly recounted the conversation she’d overheard. ‘So the thing is, Will, I want to help. I do. But I have to look
out for myself a bit too. I’m more than just a pawn on Lizzie’s chessboard. She’s messed about with my life, my job, my marriage . . . This move was a Big Deal to me. And
it’s all smoke and mirrors. I can’t work out what’s true and what’s lies and . . . And, oh shit, Will, I feel so manipulated.’ She dashed away a rogue tear that was
blurring her vision. ‘I don’t know how to let this go. It’s just too big, you know?’

Will said nothing. The shock was etched on his face. Holly wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting when he sought her out – did he think they’d fallen out over a
muffin recipe, for Christ’s sake? Surely he’d realised that it would have taken something fairly seismic to shake the foundations of their friendship?

‘Well, I can see why you’re angry,’ he said slowly, scuffing the ground with his feet. ‘In fact, I can’t work out why you’re not screamingly
apoplectic.’ He risked a glance in her direction. ‘I think I would be.’

Will didn’t need to know all the dark thoughts she’d been harbouring over the last few days. Likewise, she didn’t want to admit to herself that the Spring Swim and Taffy and
Milo had conveniently filled her waking thoughts all weekend, until the drama with Lizzie had receded to an uncomfortable flickering in her peripheral vision. It was as though she knew there was
something on her To Do list, but she couldn’t quite remember what it was. After all, what would she have written?
‘One. Find way to forgive oldest friend for manipulating me and not
giving a shit about any personal consequences I might suffer. Two, ignore the fact that she hasn’t apologised. Three
. . .
’