Practice Makes Perfect Read online

  Bobi played interference, offering Holly an apologetic glance for his brother’s gaucheness. ‘Yeah, but then you had knocked her up, so it’s no basis for comparison really.’

  Taffy mouthed ‘Fuck off’ at Aldwyn, nodded his thanks at Bobi and they all carried on eating as though nobody had spoken. Only Taffy’s leg fidgeting beside her showed that the comment had bothered him on any level. Holly looked around the table, a little wrong-footed.

  Aldwyn reached across and soundlessly pinched the last rasher of bacon off Taffy’s plate. Taffy didn’t even miss a beat.

  ‘So then, Squirt,’ Aldwyn pushed, apparently annoyed to be deprived of a reaction, ‘how’s life as a country GP? Snotty noses and bunions keeping you enthralled?’

  ‘It’s good,’ Taffy said simply, piling homemade plum jam out of a Kilner jar on to his toast.

  ‘Surprised you sold out so soon, actually. After all that talk of sports clinics and “making a difference” . . .’ Aldwyn let the jibe dangle, deniable, but nevertheless diminishing.

  ‘This way, I get to do both,’ Taffy said evenly, flashing a glance at Holly to gauge her reaction.

  ‘Hmmm. Still seems like a soft option to me,’ chimed in Dylan with a grin.

  Holly looked around the table, expecting to see disgruntled faces and stopped short as she realised that all the other little conversations carried on around them as though this were nothing. Nothing new, anyway.

  ‘Oh, Taffy,’ cut in his mother, ‘since you’re talking shop, I was going to ask you a favour actually. Can you phone someone at the hospital and ask about my blood pressure tablets. They keep changing the dosage and I’ve got a little bit muddled what I’m supposed to be taking and when?’

  ‘I can take a look,’ said Taffy easily, taking a huge bite from his doorstep slice of toast.

  ‘Oh no, it’s the consultant we need to ask . . .’

  ‘I can check the dosages, Mum, it’s fine. We don’t need to call the consultant.’

  ‘Oh, oh well, if you’re sure? It seems pretty complicated.’ Patty looked flustered at the very thought and Holly found her heart sinking a little. Did they really know so little about Taffy’s competency as a doctor, or his ambitions, or what they were achieving at The Practice? Did he not tell them, she wondered, or did they not hear him?

  As Patty leaned over and refilled Taffy’s glass, automatically moving it away from the edge of the table, she began to get a clearer idea of what he’d been trying to tell her on the beach. When she looked at him, she saw a man, a doctor, a competent and vivacious companion – when his family looked at him, did they ever look past the little boy playing catch-up with his much older siblings?

  The enormous pine dresser caught her eye, laden with baby photographs, proudly framed and displayed. Generations of Joneses in their romper suits, with gappy smiles. ‘If you’re looking for young Merry,’ Mr Jones said quietly, ‘he won’t be up there. We rather dropped the ball on the baby photo front after Dylan was born. There’s a few from when he started playing rugby though, if you want me to dig them out? Otherwise,’ he looked along the table, ‘it’s a bit of a touchy subject, I’m afraid.’

  Holly nodded and immediately looked away, but not before Aldwyn had clocked the direction of her gaze. ‘Oh, you won’t find any photos of Taffy as a baby, Holly. Too ugly, weren’t you, Squirt?’ He grinned. ‘Didn’t want to risk breaking the camera!’

  Taffy, to his credit, laughed along with the rest of the table. Holly, however, found it easier just to fill her mouth with succulent bacon, and hope that the angry flush to her chest could be blamed on the heat from the Aga.

  Bobi reached across her to grab a basket of bread rolls for his girls, who seemed to have the appetites of Olympic rowers. ‘Just ignore Aldwyn. He takes great pleasure in riling people up. Taffy mostly. He can get a bit competitive.’ He flushed. ‘We all can actually – drives Mum crazy. And what with you being a doctor too – ’ He stopped dead. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Holly interrupted, uncomfortably watching him dig himself a deeper hole.

  Bobi leaned back in. ‘If you let it go over your head, after twenty years or so, it stops being quite so annoying and if you can’t out-run him, you learn to outwit him fairly quickly. But you’ll be grand. Although, I will warn you, Mum’s planning a toast over lunch, welcoming you to the family, so if you scare easy, you might want to work on your game face.’

  He turned away, as one of his daughters tugged on his sleeve for attention and he found himself refereeing in a heated debate about whose tooth was the wobbliest.

  Holly quietly excused herself from the chaos as the meal drew to a close and slipped along the corridor to the downstairs loo. She leaned her forehead against the coolness of the tile above the sink and slowly breathed out.

  There was a gentle tap at the door and Taffy’s insistent whisper, ‘Are you hiding out in there? And if so, do you need coffee? Shall we make a break for it?’

  She opened the door and pulled him inside. ‘I just needed a minute.’

  He smiled in relief. ‘So the trick is, with Aldwyn, if you just ignore him—’

  ‘For twenty years or so?’ she interrupted.

  ‘Exactly. Besides, I don’t remember him being quite so thrilled about his shotgun wedding as he’s making out . . .’

  ‘You were right, you know,’ Holly interrupted, unable to hold her tongue a minute longer. ‘I really don’t get it. Why do you let them talk to you like that?’ she asked in frustration.

  He shrugged. ‘They’re only mucking around and they’re pretty set in their ways. And it’s not like I take it to heart and sob into my Corn Flakes, now, is it? By the time we get home, it will all be water under the bridge. Besides, have you ever tried to get a word in edgewise with that lot? Not as easy as it seems . . .’

  His nonchalant words were one thing, but the sudden flash of fragility in his eyes made Holly back off immediately. How many times, she wondered, had he tried to speak up and never felt heard? As confusing to her as it was, this weird sibling dynamic had been in place for three decades longer than she’d even known him. And what did she know about families anyway?

  She leaned in and kissed him with an unspoken intensity, offering acceptance and admiration for the man he had grown into. She could see him so clearly; it was just such a shame that she seemed to be in the minority.

  There was no shortage of love in this house. Every single one of them clearly adored him, but it was as though he were some kind of exotic species that had dropped by to visit. In a world of sheep shearing, jam-making and crop rotations, they clearly found his chosen career an uncomfortable subject.

  Whether that was because they didn’t understand it, or didn’t support it, was hard to say. Whether their affection was hampered by expectation, judgement or, possibly in Aldwyn’s case, outright envy, was an even harder call.

  His mum was so proud of her boy; Holly had noticed Patty could barely resist reaching out a hand to touch his arm, his shoulder, his face, every opportunity she got. The love shone out of her eyes with every word he spoke to her, until she had to think of him as anything more than her baby. Watching Taffy explain her medication to her had been a lesson in self-restraint, as Patty simply nodded along. Holly would lay a tenner on the table right now that Patty would be on the phone to that consultant before the week was out.

  What she couldn’t work out though was Taffy’s reaction – or lack of it – to all the joshing and teasing. He simply seemed reconciled to his role, his only concern being what she might make of it. But then, she realised, they weren’t her family. It wasn’t her call.

  Seeing him here confused her.

  Never before had Holly felt so ill-equipped; as an only child, she didn’t have the first clue about family politics. So, she had a choice to make – lean in on faith, or step back and watch.

  Holly was surprised to find that it was actually an easy decision.

  ‘Your mum called me popp
et,’ she said, apropos of nothing, ‘And she baked Ben special cookies. They’re really very sweet, Taffy,’ she said, surprised to find she meant it.

  ‘Except Aldwyn.’

  ‘Obviously except Aldwyn,’ she echoed with a smile. ‘Well, to be honest, I just hadn’t really realised what it would feel like to be sitting around that big table . . .’ She didn’t need to remind Taffy that the latter years of her own childhood had been supper for two on their laps in front of Tomorrow’s World.

  Taffy folded her into a big hug. ‘You daft muppet,’ he said affectionately. ‘I told you it’s not always like the Waltons, though. Like the time Shona pierced Bobi’s daughter’s ears without asking. Or when Aldwyn and Dylan start bickering over crop subsidies. Or when they get on their soapbox about me not living in Wales. Or even,’ he grinned, ‘the time that Dad fell asleep and let the Christmas turkey burn while Mum was at church . . .’

  Holly managed a smile. She could see what he was doing – trying to cheer her up and put things in perspective – but the tableau he painted of the ups and downs of a loving family life were almost making it worse. Family life here, being a little like a marriage – for better or worse – they were a team.

  How many of Taffy’s little foibles, she wondered – the ones she loved and despaired of in equal measure, could all be traced to his place at this kitchen table, or on these hillsides or in this family? It was a sobering thought when the same principles were applied to her own boys.

  It was certainly something to think about, though. Was that what they needed too?

  She was nowhere near ready to make any big decisions yet, she conceded. God knows, she wasn’t even formally divorced! But for the first time, she began to wonder whether maybe, just maybe – one day – she too could sit down with Dylan and debate crop subsidies – just as soon as she found out what they actually were, of course.

  Chapter 17

  Grace sipped at the remarkably strong mojito that Elsie had pressed into her hand the moment she walked through the door. She breathed out a little to let the flames of the rum flicker and cool in her throat. ‘Crikey, Elsie, you don’t mess about with small measures, do you?’

  Elsie shrugged coquettishly. ‘I’m not sure anything in life is better in small measures.’ She looked up at Grace and there was sheer devilry on her face.

  Grace couldn’t help but grin. ‘Well—’ she began, before the reality of her day smothered any chance of cheeky banter. She frowned, cutting Elsie’s double entendre off at the pass. ‘If we’re keeping this entre-nous, maybe Julia Channing? I could definitely cope with smaller measures of Doctor In The House.’

  Elsie topped up her drink, deftly allowing the perfect amount to pour from her silver cocktail shaker, before cutting off the flow with a twist of her wrist. ‘And, tell me, are you the only one who feels that way, or is she making everybody’s life hell?’

  Grace thought for a moment, the rum gradually loosening her tongue and her usual reserve falling away. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I think it might just be me, to be honest. She just manages to put me on a slow simmer with every sideways look.’

  Elsie twiddled a twist of lime onto a cocktail stick and plopped it into the delicate martini glass that Grace was gingerly holding, for fear of snapping its fragile stem. ‘And how much of that has to do with Dan, do you think?’ Elsie asked, her tone casual but her perceptive gaze missing nothing, including the rosy hue that suddenly coloured Grace’s neck.

  ‘I can’t imagine what this has to do with Dan,’ she said, sipping at the potent drink with a slight shudder. ‘I think it’s more likely that Julia just doesn’t like the idea of oversight.’

  Elsie frowned. ‘You mean she’s been making mistakes?’

  ‘No – at least I hope not! Oversight, as in somebody keeping an eye on how things work. It’s been quite illuminating on my course actually; I could become quite the boffin given the time and the opportunity. Obviously, I’m no doctor, but learning how things are supposed to work in theory and then watching how they actually work in practice . . . Well,’ she laughed nervously, ‘there’s quite a gap! And with this wonderful nomination to be a model surgery – it can only really highlight that.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Elsie. ‘But what about you, Gracie? Do you like the idea of being their over-see-er? If that’s even a thing?’

  Grace pushed open the French windows into Elsie’s garden, allowing the slight evening breeze to dilute the heaviness in the air. ‘Can I fob you off with a maybe?’ she asked hopefully. ‘Because, if I throw myself into this Management course completely, I know it’s going to rock the boat at The Practice and that’s the last thing I want to do – except it’s also the very thing I want to do most . . . To create a role for myself that makes a real difference and actually has a little impact. Maybe even make things better, or at least running more smoothly. Does that make any sense at all?’

  She paused as though finding her way through the thoughts before she voiced them. ‘It’s as though I have to make a choice, Elsie. Do I want to be this ultra-efficient, highly-qualified Practice Manager, who doesn’t care about upsetting the status quo and ruffling feathers? Or do I want to be their friend and team-mate? Because by the time I’ve finished telling them all the things that aren’t running to protocol, I’m not sure anybody there is going to like me very much.’

  Elsie tilted her head to one side as though appraising Grace like a challenging piece of modern art. ‘Then from where I’m sitting, you have a decision to make. Do you want your colleagues to like you, or do you want you to like you? After all, that’s why you’re doing this course, isn’t it? To regain a sense of who you are in the grand scheme of things?’

  Grace fidgeted slightly, uncomfortable under the intensity of Elsie’s gaze. ‘Shall I make us something to eat? These mojitos are really quite strong.’ Without waiting for an answer, she began rootling around for provisions, amused as always to find that Elsie’s idea of a well-stocked fridge focused mainly on mixers, make-up and melon balls.

  Elsie materialised silently at her shoulder and quietly pushed the fridge door closed. ‘It’s okay to feel a bit guilty, Grace. Selfishness takes a bit of getting used to, but it also has the potential to be incredibly rewarding,’ she said gently.

  ‘I’m not selfish!’ Grace blurted out, her expression mirroring how shocked she was by this accusation. ‘How could you say that? I’ve spent years looking after Roy, looking after the boys, looking after everyone at The Practice. How can that be selfish?’ She pressed her hand to her throat as though the very idea of such a notion was choking her.

  Elsie leaned in and gave her a papery kiss on the cheek, a cloud of Chanel No5 around her as always. ‘And now it’s your turn. So yes, my darling, your Roy is gone and your boys are all grown. You get to choose to be selfish. And I, for one, don’t think that’s always such a bad thing. You’re not being mean or insensitive or cruel – you’re just taking a little time to pursue your own ambitions.’

  Grace shook her head. ‘But I’m not ambitious, Elsie. Julia Channing – that’s what ambition looks like.’

  ‘Utter bollocks,’ said Elsie bluntly. ‘That’s what a woman in pain and searching for validation looks like. Ambition isn’t a dirty word either – what are they teaching you girls these days? You’ve been a mother and a wife and you put your dreams on hold to do that – but who else do you need to please now, except yourself? Go do this, Grace – go and get this amazing qualification and watch how the world opens up for you. Stay here, leave here. Be bold and opinionated, because I know you, Grace, and there’s no way you would ever steamroller anyone with your opinions; I can’t actually think of a more tactful person in the whole of Larkford. So use your God-given brains and make the most of this time in your life.’

  ‘But—’ began Grace quietly.

  ‘No! No buts. No guilt. It’s the guilt that’s holding you back and it’s misplaced. If you asked Holly or Dan or Taffy if they want The Practice to b
e the best it can be, what do you think they’d say? Hmm?’

  ‘Yes?’ ventured Grace.

  ‘Of course, they’d say yes!’ exploded Elsie, infuriated. ‘You’re all singing from the same song-sheet. Will they like it when you point out their flaws? Of course not. But are they astute enough to realise that sometimes a little objectivity goes a very long way? Well, one would certainly hope so.’

  Grace nodded, brow furrowed, as she attempted to digest Elsie’s impassioned pronouncements.

  ‘It’s like my second – no wait, third – husband used to say: the truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.’ Elsie said firmly, as though drawing a line under the conversation, leaving Grace unsure at that point whether Elsie meant Grace herself, or the partners at The Practice.

  Either. Both. Or maybe all of us, Grace wondered.

  ‘Come on, Delilah, stop dithering around looking for sustenance. You’ll find nothing in there. Let’s pop out and get supplies.’ Elsie attempted to wrangle the sleeves of her linen jacket into submission, looking strangely uncoordinated. ‘I want to pretend I’m in Capri so we’ll need some Prosecco and a Caprese – do you think Marion will stretch to some buffalo mozzarella at this time of night?’

  Grace found herself compelled to go out on a provisions mission, mooching through the twilight streets of Larkford, with Elsie’s arm tucked companionably into her own. By the time they’d crossed the Market Place, Grace had a better idea of what the Fabulous Fifties had entailed for Elsie – if her stories about having a blast on a Riva off the island of Capri were anything to go by. Elsie clearly was deriving a certain pleasure from seeing the shocked expression on Grace’s face, but in the end she relented. ‘Look, Grace – the thing you’re missing is this: we were young, we had money and we were alive. It seemed almost indecent not to squeeze the fun out of every moment we had. Not to mention the fact that I had a rather classy chassis back then – would have been rude not to take it for a spin occasionally.’ She gave an irreverent wiggle of her bottom to make it clear she was not talking about cars and laughed in delight as Grace just shook her head in amazement. No wonder a simple tomato and mozzarella salad had the power to bring back such happy memories.