Practice Makes Perfect Read online

  ‘Which one?’ Taffy challenged, squinting at the page.

  ‘Ah, now that would be telling . . .’

  Taffy grinned. ‘If it’s the bra one, we should probably have a little chat . . .’

  ‘Jesus! I might have known I’d find you two arsing about in here!’ Grace’s outburst was uncharacteristically blunt. She walked across the otherwise empty lounge and held up a sheaf of papers. Her eyes flashed with an intensity that wavered part way between anger and panic. ‘So they’ve e-mailed through the agenda for tomorrow’s meeting. Any ideas? Any thoughts?’ She thrust a copy towards each of them and sank down into an armchair opposite.

  Dan pulled his attention away from the glimpse of thigh, as Grace’s skirt rode up when she sat down and quickly skim-read the document. ‘Where are the girls?’ he asked.

  Grace sighed. ‘Julia’s gone AWOL and Holly’s taken the boys with her to pick up Elsie.’ She managed a smile. ‘Apparently Elsie needs their youth to off-set the average age on the geriatric ward. So basically, it’s you and me, boys.’

  Taffy groaned. ‘How the hell can we get all of this prepared in time? All these stupid questions about ratios and costings? Do we actually know any of this?’ He looked almost plaintive.

  Grace shook her head. ‘We do. Well, I do. But that doesn’t change the fact that it is now officially time to sing for our supper.’

  Dan read the section headings again. ‘I bet that walrus Derek Landers is behind all this. He’s deliberately setting us up to fail, you know that? Julia was right. She said they’d be coming in with a list of Asks, but Harry Grant said it was just a preliminary chat! Bastard!’

  Grace frowned at him. ‘Dan! He’s just doing his job.’

  ‘And we’ve been doing ours – being doctors!’ Taffy grumbled.

  ‘We’ve made the wrong decision, haven’t we?’ said Dan quietly. ‘This was never going to be all sunshine and roses and lovely new funding.’

  ‘If that’s what you really thought,’ said Grace firmly, ‘then you’re an idiot.’

  His head shot up at this outburst, surprise etched on his face.

  ‘Well, really,’ she countered. ‘Did you honestly think they were going to give you a blank cheque and ask for nothing in return?’

  ‘But all our data to be publicly published? There’s no way we can get this together in time.’ Taffy interrupted, administration never having been his strong point in the first place.

  ‘Not all of it, no,’ Grace said. ‘But I can deal with patient protocols, all the stats and a decent wedge of the accounting queries – I’ve probably done half of it already, as case studies for my course.’

  Dan looked up, still slightly abashed at being chastised. ‘Did I ever tell you, Gracie, that this course of yours is a wonderful idea?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ she said, softening slightly. ‘Maybe once or twice. But you certainly didn’t mention the pay rise you’ll be allocating to your Practice Manager for all this extra administration.’

  He tried to frown at her, but it came out as a smile. ‘And will this pay rise be detailed in the projected figures for the meeting, by any chance?’

  ‘It might be.’

  Taffy sat on the end of the sofa, never the quickest of readers, as he reached the end of the agenda. ‘Well, this raises the stakes a bit then.’

  Dan picked up the biro from the magazine quiz, embarrassed to see Grace clock exactly how they’d been wasting their time, while she was single-handedly running the show, apparently. ‘Let’s allocate tasks and make a start. If nothing else, we can show willing and arrange a follow-up meeting?’

  Grace paused for a moment. ‘Tell me again what you want out of this nomination?’

  Dan shrugged. ‘Well, since we never actually knew it existed until it was offered . . . I guess, security for The Practice, funding for the extra clinics and Alice – beyond that, I have to confess . . .’

  ‘Humour me then,’ said Grace. ‘If we could use this? I mean, to our advantage? Make sure all our protocols and accounting practices were completely updated and they were funding it?’

  ‘That would be amazing, but it’s not going to happen overnight!’ Taffy interrupted, earning himself a stern glance from this newly forthright and knowledgeable Grace.

  Dan couldn’t help but wonder what they were teaching her on this course. Whatever it was, he had to admit the timing couldn’t be better.

  ‘Appoint me,’ Grace suggested. ‘If this is how the whole process is going to be – appoint me as your liaison. You said it just now – your job is with the patients, not with the paperwork. Let me run interference, sort all the protocols and you four can be the public face of the nomination. And also keep your patients happy. What do you think?’

  Dan looked at Taffy, wondering if his instinctive reaction to grab Grace with both hands and say ‘yes please’ was his professional-self talking.

  ‘Sounds bloody brilliant to me,’ said Taffy, his Welshness becoming more evident as always when he was emotional.

  ‘I’d love to do this,’ Grace said. ‘Please think about it. You all get to make a difference every day, but I need a new challenge here –’

  Dan nodded. ‘Let’s work on this tonight and once we’ve got everything together and Holly and Julia on side, you can take the meeting.’ He reached out for a moment but let his hand stop short of taking hers. ‘Are you sure you want this, Grace? It’s going to be a hell of a responsibility, with frankly very little reward. And there’s a certain amount of accountability . . .’

  She smiled her reassurance. ‘I know. But I can do this and I can do it well. It would actually make me happy to prove that to myself. And to you, of course.’

  Dan knew she meant ‘you’ as in the plural. ‘You’ as in the four senior partners. He nodded, unwilling to admit how touched he had been for the split-second before he realised that. ‘Okay then, let’s get ourselves organised and we can throw you to the lions in the morning!’

  They all stood up; magazines, quizzes and speeches abandoned. Taffy had none of Dan’s reservations and gave Grace an enormous hug. ‘So, as our Gladiator, what shall we have as our working supper? Chinese? Pizza? Both?’

  Grace leaned her head affectionately back against his shoulder. ‘An army marches on its stomach, right? Let’s phone The Deli and see if they can drop round a massive lasagne and we can set up camp in here. We can finalise the plans for the launch at the same time – you could even finish that speech you’ve been dodging. Time’s ticking.’

  Dan watched as she corralled them seamlessly into line. No raised voices, just calm and competent reassurance. If Grace was to be representing them, then he for one, could not be happier to place his faith in her.

  Chapter 22

  As Holly packed together Elsie’s meagre belongings from her bedside locker, Elsie suddenly went quiet, reflective, almost to the point of removed.

  ‘Well, isn’t this bundles of fun?’ Elsie managed eventually. ‘But I suppose something has to get all of us in the end. Just seems a shame, that’s all. I’d rather hoped for something a little more dramatic than a nasty little blood clot. Hang-gliding always looked promising . . .’

  Holly had looked up instantly, the waiver of uncertainty in Elsie’s tone shocking her more than anything else. The Elsie she knew was a fighter and in all honesty, Holly had rather been banking on that fact over the last few days.

  Elsie shrugged, as if she too had recognised the change. ‘I know, I know. Nothing’s a certainty. Things turn out the best for the people who make the best of how things turn out. Blah, blah, blah. I should follow my own advice.’

  Holly plonked Elsie’s Mulberry overnight bag on the bed, now fully packed with Chanel and Dior toiletries and pyjamas. She wrapped Elsie’s frail body in her arms and gave her a hug that said more than any number of platitudes ever could. ‘You should write a book,’ she said, teasingly. ‘Elsie Townsend’s Lessons in Living.’ She kissed her powdery cheek and offered a supportive arm.

&nbs
p; ‘Funny you should say that . . .’ mused Elsie under her breath, as Holly busied herself extricating the boys from the mechanical bed, which was now firmly locked in a right-angle. Perhaps it hadn’t been the best idea to bring them with her?

  As Holly pushed the glossy door of Elsie’s Georgian townhouse closed, she realised she’d been holding her breath. The twins needed no instructions, powering away upstairs to ‘their room’ – the guest room they had adopted whenever they stayed over, because they adored the huge four-poster bed and the clouds painted across the high ceilings. ‘Night night!’ they called, pre-empting any suggestion of home-time.

  Holly gave Elsie another enormous hug and resisted the temptation to squeeze her too tightly. ‘I’m so glad you’re home,’ she whispered.

  ‘I could say the same about you, young lady, scooting off to Wales and deserting me the moment I get home – I’m not sure you really missed me at all!’ Elsie replied, attempting to be haughty, but failing miserably because of the enormous smile that threatened to spill over from her dancing eyes.

  It would never make it as far as her lips, because Elsie’s face was still not completely under her control.

  She noticed Holly looking, now highlighted by the crystal chandelier that refracted light back and forth, illuminating the hallway. She shrugged. ‘And to think that all these years, I could have been having nice little facelifts and holding on to my youthful beauty,’ she said with annoyance. ‘Instead, it now appears that we’re simply trying to preserve me.’

  Holly guided her through to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge, filled with tasty morsels only that morning in an attempt to persuade Elsie to eat when she came home. She might have gone a little overboard, Holly realised, as she surveyed a month’s worth of groceries.

  Elsie looked over her shoulder. ‘How very optimistic of you, darling. I’ve obviously got a few weeks left,’ she said drily, batting away Holly’s remonstrations. ‘Does that hideous hospital smell ever go away?’

  She picked up a vast bottle of Chanel No5 and spritzed herself liberally.

  Holly plopped some ice cubes into a glass and added some bottled water. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘point me in the direction of this caviar you’re craving, you weirdo.’ Holly gave a theatrical shudder at the very thought of a mouthful of salty fish eggs.

  Elsie waved at the larder rather unhelpfully, as Holly attempted to make everything to her exacting requirements and put together a tray of child-friendly snacks for the twins. ‘You’ll feel so much better for some proper food and a night in your own bed,’ she said.

  Elsie gave her a stern look. ‘Stop blowing smoke up my arse and talking to me like one of your bloody patients. I want all the details of your trip to meet les parents . . .’

  ‘Elsie!’ said Holly, shocked as always by the way the profanities tripped off Elsie’s tongue as if butter wouldn’t melt. ‘You’re very feisty this evening. And I can do one better than telling you . . .’ She pulled Taffy’s iPad out of her handbag with a flourish. ‘I have photos . . .’

  Elsie frowned. ‘If you start telling me that A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words guff, I shall have to request that you make me a Bloody Mary. No one should have to see holiday photos without an alcoholic beverage to hand.’

  Holly frowned at her, trying to get the measure of Elsie’s mood this evening and unable to tell if she was still teasing. Maybe coming home hadn’t been the best idea, until they’d got the full measure of any lasting effects. Holly tried not to dwell on the notion of ‘personality changes’ too much, but couldn’t pretend that sometimes, they were actually the most distressing legacy of a stroke to deal with. ‘You can’t have any alcohol, anyway,’ she said gently. ‘Doctor’s orders, remember?’

  Elsie gave a dismissive flick of her wrist that was so flawlessly executed that Holly suspected she’d been working on it for a decade or five. ‘Am I right in thinking that the hospital use alcohol as antiseptic? Hmmm? Slightly hypocritical, no? Come on, Holly, don’t be a prude and make me a drinkie, darling. Just a little one?’

  Holly shook her head and put the iPad aside. She’d only brought it as a prop in case there was an awkward gap in conversation to fill in the hospital. She was quietly dreading the moment when Elsie asked her the one question she really didn’t want to answer – her prognosis.

  Luckily for Holly, the prospect of flicking through 323 snapshots of the twins and Taffy seemed to have popped a lid on the quest for intimate details about their trip too. She was therefore a little bit blind-sided when Elsie pulled herself to her feet and gestured Holly to follow.

  ‘Don’t take offence, my darling, but life’s too short to spend hours telling you that the twins are cute and Taffy’s a wonderful man, because you know that already. And don’t think you can use me as an excuse not to deal with your commitment issues, either. I’m old, not stupid and I can see you are wobbling.’

  ‘But I—’ started Holly, unsure of where her sentence was heading even as she started it. She quailed under Elsie’s stare. ‘Okay, so I’m wobbling. But wobbling is better than running a mile. I shall have you know, Mrs Bossy Pants, that wobbling is actually progress.’ Holly filled Elsie in on their trip to Wales and the completely unexpected reaction she’d had to the mad family gathering.

  Elsie took her hand. ‘I know Milo did a real number on you, darling, but don’t let him dictate your future too, will you. I thoroughly enjoyed my second marriage – although not as much as my third, to be fair . . . Just promise me you won’t rule anything out.’ She frowned. ‘Now, I’m too curmudgeonly to goo over your glossy youthful frolics any more – I’m sure you understand. But, if it’s photos you’re after, then come and see my new project. I started it while you were away. Before the whole hospital debacle. I rather think you’ll approve.’

  Elsie pushed open the double doors into the dining room with a flourish. Holly had never set foot inside before, but it was every bit as grand as she had always expected. The high Georgian ceilings and sash windows gave the room a light, airy feel, while the brocade curtains and warm Wedgwood blue on the walls provided the perfect backdrop to the mahogany and crystal that furnished the room.

  The table itself was at least twenty feet long, but right now, Holly could barely see a square inch of its surface, covered as it was with photographs and albums and letters and news clippings.

  ‘If we’re going to look at photos,’ said Elsie, clearly chuffed to bits at the amazement on Holly’s face, ‘let’s make them scandalous photos, at the very least.’

  Even from just a brief scan of the dining table, Holly had spotted more famous faces than an average Oscar ceremony – quite a few were partying hard, others in bikinis on yachts, or swanning around in kaftans. There were several which could only be described as boudoir shots and Holly had to stifle a gasp when she realised who they were.

  ‘Elsie,’ she managed, ‘where on earth did you find all these? They’re fantastic!’ She gave a little squeak of recognition before trying to remember to look cool and unfazed.

  Elsie gave an innocent shrug. ‘They’re just my little mementos, darling. It’s entirely Grace’s fault actually. We got to talking a while back and then, while you were off swanning around the countryside with your beau, I made a decision.’ She paused for effect, savouring having Holly’s undivided attention. ‘Sod waiting until I’m dead – I won’t be around to see everyone’s reactions then, will I?’

  ‘Er, no?’ Holly managed, when it became clear that a response was expected from her.

  ‘Quite. So I’m going to go ahead and compile my memoirs now, while I’ve still got all my faculties and can get some enjoyment out of it. Plus, I can make sure that all the juicy bits stay and they get the context right.’ She waved a hand around the room imperiously. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking leaving it this long. Some random journo wouldn’t know where to start with this lot.’

  Elsie was on a roll now and she walked around the table, her hand trailing from chair to chair – partl
y for effect and partly for support. Holly watched her carefully, noting that there was a certain level of hysteria to Elsie’s voice, as though she had to get all her words out now for fear of forgetting them.

  Holly was only partly right.

  Elsie ground to a halt at the far end of the table and she looked down the massive expanse of memorabilia towards Holly. ‘And it’s even more important that I do this now, Holly, don’t you see? While I still have my voice.’

  For a moment, Holly thought that she was speaking metaphorically, worried about being dismissed as old and elastic with the truth.

  The fear in Elsie’s eyes was suddenly visible even from a distance and Holly realised that she already knew. It wasn’t so much the prospect of dying ahead of schedule that was frightening Elsie Townsend; it was the prospect of quite literally losing her voice.

  In ten strides Holly was at her side, drawing the fragile, resisting body into her arms. ‘Just because you’ve had these two funny turns, does not categorically mean you’re going to have a huge stroke, Elsie. The scans were good. The odds are most definitely in your favour.’

  She could feel Elsie shaking her head against her. ‘The consultant was very clear,’ she said, mumbling against the wool of Holly’s jumper. ‘I’m a high risk, he said. And I’m already slurring a bit – I can hear myself. And sometimes it’s just so hard to find the word I’m reaching for and I come out with utter nonsense.’ Holly could feel Elsie’s smile against her. ‘Don’t you dare say it!’

  ‘That you’ve been talking nonsense for as long as I’ve known you? I wouldn’t be brave enough!’

  They stood together for a while, Holly gently stroking Elsie’s hair, just as she did for the twins when they were upset. All the while, her mind was running on.

  She knew, of course, that it was quite common for patients to filter what they’re being told, sometimes fixating on the very worst case scenario, sometimes deep in denial and focusing on the one-in-a-hundred chance. It made no difference how educated or intelligent you were, the very word ‘Stroke’ sent the human brain into a spasm of survival mode. Whatever Elsie believed right now, it was her truth, and there was very little point trying to reason with her, without at least some concrete facts to support her position.