Practice Makes Perfect Page 13

  It really was a proper homecoming and Holly half wondered whether Elsie had in fact timed her arrival deliberately. Sweeping down the slipway towards the boathouse in the hi-spec Mercedes, having Phil – who was decidedly easy on the eye in that uniform – step out and open the door for her . . . It really was perfect.

  The local photographer for the Larkford Gazette snapped away as she made her entrance, despite Elsie ‘pish-tosh’-ing him every step of the way.

  She graciously took the trophy – a large ceramic duck of unspeakably ugly proportions – from Chief Inspector Grant and presented it to Taffy with absolute panache. She willingly succumbed to the kisses and greetings and was almost in danger of being knocked to the ground when Ben and Tom threw their arms around her in welcome.

  ‘Speech!’ called Dan from the crowd. ‘Speech!’

  Taffy cleared his throat and held the duck aloft. ‘Well, obviously this is an enormous honour and I couldn’t possibly have done it without—’

  ‘Not you! Elsie!’ cat-called Dan, bouncing a rubber duck off Taffy’s head with perfect aim.

  Holly, lightning-sharp reactions at the ready, managed to catch hold of the twins’ hands before they could pelt him with more. She was beginning to see that the role-models she’d found for her boys also came with a few bad habits best avoided around impressionable minds.

  ‘Oh well, if I must . . .’ Elsie prevaricated. Chief Inspector Grant handed her the microphone and offered a steadying arm. ‘I’d like to start by saying that there’s no place like home. And although obviously it is rather wonderful to extend one’s horizons, this horizon here –’ she waved her hand at the vista around them, ‘is my favourite of them all.’

  Holly wasn’t quite sure what tipped her off – was it the unusual brevity of Elsie’s speech, the way her hand lay rather limply on the Chief Inspector’s arm, or simply the fact that her words were so very studied and carefully enunciated. She stepped back for a moment and quietly sought out Phil in the crowd, who wasn’t suffering from a shortage of over-zealous female attention and actually looked a little relieved.

  ‘Phil, is it? May I ask you a question?’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied, retrieving his hat from a gangly teenaged girl with serious flirtation on her mind.

  Holly frowned, she didn’t know quite how to put this. ‘When you collected Ms Townsend from the airport, was she fit and well?’

  Phil blushed deeply. ‘I’m not sure I’m supposed to say, ma’am.’

  Holly gave him a look she normally reserved for the twins, ‘Ma’am? Seriously? And of course you can say. I’m her doctor.’

  ‘Oh right, sorry, I didn’t want to put my foot in it.’ He dropped his voice. ‘She didn’t want everybody here to know, but if you’re her doctor, then you’ll need to anyway, won’t you?’

  Holly didn’t like to disillusion him of any of these assumptions, so remained quiet, her suspicions niggling at the back of her mind as she watched Elsie talking to Dan.

  ‘Well, obviously her travel insurance people organised a medical transfer to begin with, since she was being sent home for treatment, but I gather she kicked up quite the fuss. So she had the ambulance take her to the aeroplane from the hospital in Malaysia and then I met her at the gate at Heathrow with a wheelchair.’ He looked worried. ‘She does seem to know her own mind that one, stroke or not, but to be honest, I really think I should be getting her home now.’

  Holly nodded. ‘Do you know, Phil, I rather think we should.’

  Phil walked over to the car and opened the door, as Holly gently inserted herself beside Elsie in the crowd. Close up, she could see that the old lady was only holding it together by a thread.

  ‘Home time for you, I think,’ said Holly quietly. There was little point getting angry or frustrated at Elsie’s stubborn approach to everything, including apparently, her health.

  The fact that Elsie instantly acquiesced frankly worried Holly more than anything else. With Taffy’s help, and with him prepared to scoop up the twins, Holly slipped along the back seat beside her.

  ‘So, a stroke?’ she said gently, making sure that Elsie was strapped in safely as they pulled away up the slope.

  ‘Just a teensy-weensy one,’ Elsie replied. ‘All such a fuss. It was a moment, that’s all. A funny slurry, dizzy moment. Had no idea Barry was such a worry-wart.’

  Holly nodded, taking it all in and unable to help the automatic appraisal she began making of Elsie’s every movement. It obviously hadn’t been the post-flight champagne that had made her speech a little slurred then.

  Elsie gently took Holly’s hand in her own. ‘Now don’t you start worrying too.’ She hoiked up her trousers to reveal startling white surgical stockings. ‘I’m being very sensible. But to be fair, if I’d known they were going to pump me full of rat-poison to thin my blood, I probably wouldn’t have held out on the bloody Botox for all these years!’

  Chapter 13

  Holly already felt as though the week was running away from her. First there had been the excitement of Elsie’s return, followed quickly by the heart-wrenching moment of panic when she’d decided to sleep off her jet-lag for twenty-four hours straight without letting anyone know, and they’d been forced to break into her house just to check she was still alive.

  Julia’s TV-crew had sunk to a whole new low in Holly’s opinion, when they had cajoled old Gladys Jones into having her ears syringed on camera and then zooming in with horrific magnification on Gladys’ expression when she saw the resulting fallout. It had taken some rather forceful negotiations on Holly’s part to get Quentin to agree to edit out the old lady’s distress.

  She had to confess that haggling with Quentin had not brought out her best self and watching him manipulate Julia had been an eye-opener. And although Julia clearly seemed to rate him as an individual – calling him Quinn and not even missing a beat when he smoothed a stray lock of hair away from her face – Holly found his faux intimacy tiresome in the extreme.

  Thankfully Alice and Coco had slotted into the routine at The Practice as though they had always been there. Alice’s dry and observant sense of humour was exactly what the team needed, Holly thought. She’d had Holly in stitches yesterday going on about her ‘Sherlock Holmes diagnosis’ theory – when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Even Alice had been forced to admit its limitations though, when by that token, Mr King from the greengrocer’s should be hitting menopause any day now.

  It was taking a little restraint on Holly’s part not to interfere and to let the young doctor find her own path, but everything she had seen to date made her think she had made the right call. Plus it was really very sweet having a wagging tail in the doctors’ lounge at break time. Even if the addition of Alice to their team was the only benefit of this Model Surgery nonsense, thought Holly, then it would still count as an unqualified success. Based on the twenty-three-page questionnaire on management practices and seminar proposals waiting on her desk though, Holly was beginning to think that the team would be earning every single penny of their new funding. Very possibly in blood, sweat and tears. Or more realistically, in paracetamol, gin and paper-cuts.

  Alice’s ability to hit the ground running could not have been more welcome. Divvying up their patient lists for the day, Holly had to work hard not to take advantage of Alice’s eagerness to make a good impression. She’d even had a quiet word with Dan and Taffy, once she’d realised they were already offloading their Moaning Myrtles in her direction, citing her boundless compassion and patience. Her total indifference to Quentin was yet another bonus point as far as Holly was concerned.

  If only her judgement was so reliable on the home-front: the twins had been up to their usual devilment at pre-school, hiding individual shoes, so that not one child had the full complement come home time. Seeing their woebegone faces as she’d yet again had to withdraw television and snack privileges though, had begun to make her wonder if she was misreading the situat
ion. There was something about their pranks that spoke of exuberant high-spirits, rather than disruption – was it possible that the boys were actually so relaxed and happy now that the tension had left their home, that they were finally able to let off steam? Rather than constantly having The Talk and then punishing them, might she be better served to find them an outlet for their energy and enthusiasm?

  They’d certainly been unimpressed by a week of puzzles, tests and quizzes at nursery, dismissing the whole thing as ‘boring and stupid’. Holly didn’t hold out high hopes for the results, despite her personal opinion that key-stage testing for pre-schoolers was an unproductive farce. If the two boys could tackle the Sudoku in the back of the local newspaper without breaking a sweat, she didn’t foresee any massive issues with standardised colouring-in.

  On the other hand, their social skills were clearly in need of a little tactful guidance – since they’d also managed to invoke Cassie Holland’s ire, by insisting to Tarquin that he was in fact a lonely child, not an only child, as the poor lad had previously understood it. Cassie on the war-path was yet another issue that Holly could do without.

  She stared at the e-mail update she’d drafted to send to Milo. A photograph of the boys falling about laughing on the river bank at the weekend was open in a different window, having been attached and removed several times already. How many times did she have to go through this stressful charade, she wondered. He never replied. He opened her e-mails, but never replied. So, maybe Taffy had a point – what exactly was she hoping to achieve, and was it really worth the stress? Besides, she could hardly ask for his opinion on this, after the cross words they’d exchanged last time. And since Taffy now insisted on disappearing for a run every time they tried to discuss anything to do with Milo or the divorce, it was only really his lap times that were making progress. At this rate, he’d be marathon fit in no time and they’d be no further forward.

  She deleted the attachment again and sent the e-mail back to her drafts folder, resolving to add it to her List of Things To Think About, along with Elsie’s erratic attitude towards her health, Eric’s hormonal behaviour and of course, in the back of her mind, the impending trip to Wales to meet Taffy’s parents. The timing couldn’t really be worse, but as Taffy had pointed out, they couldn’t really rearrange his parents’ Golden Wedding Anniversary to fit around Larkford’s ever-demanding populace.

  It was actually lucky, thought Holly, that they had been so run off their feet – any time to dwell on the prospect of meeting his parents and his brothers would have sent her thoughts spiralling. Her relationship with Milo’s mother had been a few degrees cooler than liquid nitrogen and she couldn’t bear the thought of going through all that again. Knowing how close Taffy was to his sprawling clan only put more pressure on her to make a good impression. As a mother of boys herself, she didn’t actually know how she would react if one of the twins came home with a divorcee on his arm and a couple of kids to boot.

  Thankfully her morning clinic was chock-a-block and she didn’t have much time left to ruminate. She tried to tell herself that this was a good thing, but somehow, she had just ended up feeling distracted and tetchy.

  ‘I’ve got a spot of gout,’ said the earnest young man in front of her. The fact that he was holding a print-out from the internet in his hand did not bode well for the next seven minutes of Holly’s morning. Just seven minutes was all they had allocated for each patient these days and normally that thought alone would make Holly cross. Looking at the intense expression on this hipster’s face though, for once she felt grateful that their conversation would, by necessity, be finite.

  Gregory Dance – that couldn’t be his real name could it? – was young, slim and clearly athletic, but nevertheless his foot was propped gingerly on the floor and he’d come in with his own (very fine) cane.

  She took a deep breath and reminded herself to be sympathetic – the excruciating agony of a true case of gout was not to be underestimated.

  Careful not to cause any unnecessary vibrations as she pushed her chair back, Holly gestured to the treatment bed. ‘Hop up on there and we’ll have a proper look.’ She slipped on a pair of gloves and gave Gregory time to remove his own sock without rushing him. Privately, she was thinking, that if he had managed to get a sock on, then his internet search may well have led him in the wrong direction. Imagine that, she thought, immediately chastising herself for letting her mood influence her patient care.

  To be fair to him, his big toe was indeed red, swollen and almost visibly throbbing with pain, in a Tom & Jerry style caricature. As much as she hated, properly detested it, when patients came in with their own diagnosis already pre-formed and just with a hand out for a prescription, Holly began to wonder if he might be right.

  His words echoed her own thoughts, as he began to read aloud from his print out, ‘Although once the preserve of over-indulged port-drinking old men, the reoccurrence of gout in recent times has even seen young healthy women affected.’ He paused and tried not to flinch as Holly gently palpated the area, making sure to include his ankle and other joints. ‘Did you know, Dr Graham, that nearly one per cent of the population will suffer from gout at some point in their lives?’

  ‘I did know that, yes,’ said Holly, trying not to shake her head. It was honestly as though her patients never gave any thought to the years of training that their GPs had undergone. ‘But I also know that it’s mostly as a result of lifestyle choices. Let’s talk about yours for a minute and when this toe started flaring up?’

  Gregory furrowed his brow. ‘Well, me and the boys had quite a Big One a couple of nights ago – a real all-nighter, old school – and then, when I woke up the next morning, there he was. All big and shiny and red and hurting like hell. So my housemate suggested a hair of the dog, but I knew you see, Dr Graham, about the uric acid building up in my joints, so I drank lots of water and went for the most excruciating jog and, to be honest, it seems to have got much worse.’

  Holly took off her gloves and tried not to judge. ‘Gregory,’ she said tiredly, ‘on this big night out of yours, were there any incidents? Falling over, football with a brick?’

  ‘What?’ asked Gregory bluntly. ‘I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Dr Graham, but I don’t think falling over is going to trigger a gout attack.’

  ‘No,’ she replied patiently, ‘but falling over drunk, or kicking something hard, can very easily trigger a broken toe attack.’ She gestured at his toe. ‘I can check your bloods if it would make you happier, but in my opinion, what you have there is a toe that is broken in at least two places and which, after the jogging-it-off solution, may well require a small surgery to realign the bones. I’m afraid I need to refer you to the RUH in Bath.’

  She sat on the bed beside him. It was clear to her that this boy had thought that having ‘a spot of gout’ was almost an endorsement of his coolness and party lifestyle. ‘Next time you’re in agony, Gregory, please don’t rely on the internet. This was probably a really clean break before, but it’s a right mess now. Let me see if I can get someone to transfer you to Bath – I don’t think driving yourself is the best idea.’

  ‘But I was so sure I’d got gout,’ he said plaintively. ‘My mate had gout last year and it looked just like this.’ He looked at her, as if she might be persuaded to change her mind. He stood up and hobbled towards the waiting room so Holly could make a few calls. ‘You’re the doctor, I suppose,’ he said resignedly as he left.

  Holly hung up the phone from sorting out a referral for Gregory Dance – seriously? – and finally exhaled. There was a small chance she might actually finish on time. She had no desire to inflict on Taffy the singular joy of being stuck in a car on the M4 in rush hour with two excitable passengers in the back.

  Taffy had so far proven himself adept at getting things organised for their Welsh excursion and to be fair, he had thought of almost everything – kids, dog, food, cover at work – with one exception, Elsie.

  Elsie, who was so far refus
ing a referral to the stroke unit in Bath. Elsie, who seemed to be more interested in catching up on gossip and scandal than taking care of her health. To give her credit, Holly had been giving her a check-up every morning before work and she was showing no lasting effects from the TIA she had suffered in Borneo. If indeed that’s what it had been.

  Feeling guilty but justified, Holly had put through the referral anyway. By the time the appointment came around, who knew how Elsie might be feeling.

  She looked up as Grace popped her head around the door. ‘I’ve squeezed in a few walk-ins on the end of your clinic. Hope that’s okay?’

  Holly nodded. ‘Just give me a minute, I want to log in with Elsie again.’ She picked up her mobile and pressed ’Favourites’. Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to pop in every day and keep an eye on her niggled at Holly’s conscience – after everything that Elsie had done for her, Holly thought of her as family. Not the obligated kind, but the kind that made you feel supported by their unconditional love.

  Grace, as always, was one step ahead of her. ‘Listen, I don’t know if it helps, but when I knew that Elsie was coming back and that Taffy had booked the time off for you both, I made sure my diary was free and clear. I can visit her just as much as you do and, to be honest, I’d rather enjoy it. I’ve been longing to do a bit of travelling and if I have to live vicariously through Elsie’s photographs, then that’s fine by me.’

  ‘Would you really?’ Holly said, touched beyond measure.

  Grace leaned in then, merriment dancing in her eyes. ‘Of course! I actually quite fancy having an evening with Elsie. I’m sure that she has a few tales to tell . . .’

  ‘Oh, she does,’ Holly laughed. ‘Just make sure she doesn’t lead you astray. She’ll take one look at that new haircut and start playing dress-up with you if you’re not careful.’