Snowed in at the Practice Page 6

  Grace watched as Dan matched her accelerated breathing to begin with, until they were in rhythm, then slowed gently, bringing her with him, until Vicky’s entire focus was on matching him too, breath for breath.

  ‘I need my inhaler,’ she said, after a while, when even the slower breaths revealed a rattling wheeze.

  ‘Can you even be allergic to cannabis?’ asked Laura, the tears and rivulets of mascara making her eyes seem even larger and more vulnerable.

  ‘More likely mould,’ said Dan. ‘You’re smoking a dried plant, remember. But the panic and the palpitations? That’s no allergy; that’s a powerful drug messing with your body.’

  Grace glanced at the clock on the wall, stunned to see the time nearing ten o’clock. How long had they been here, soothing this troubled girl? More to the point, what would have happened if they hadn’t been here? If they’d slipped out to that early supper and these girls had had nobody to turn to?

  ‘You did good tonight,’ she said gently to Dan as they made cups of tea for everyone. ‘I guess Holly’s not our only local hero this week.’

  Dan smiled. ‘Ah but at least I didn’t do it live on air. Talk about attention-seeking.’ He shrugged. ‘I guess sending out Bertha isn’t entirely without merit.’

  ‘So you weren’t treading water this evening?’ Grace asked, genuinely intrigued.

  ‘No water. Pure adrenalin,’ Dan replied thoughtfully. ‘And frankly just grateful I could help. Kids, eh? Who’d have them?’

  Grace felt his arm tighten imperceptibly around her shoulders. She thought they both knew the answer to that one.

  Chapter 7

  ‘Well, the storm’s blown through in the night and the bonfire’s still standing, so I’m calling this progress,’ said Taffy with a grin, as he pushed back their bedroom curtains that Saturday morning and peered out across the Market Place, the last few branches stripped bare in the night to give them a perfect view of Larkford’s rolling parkland. ‘I don’t think I could have smiled through another debacle like last year.’

  Holly stretched, her eyes still bleary with sleep. ‘I still have nightmares about it,’ she yawned, incredibly touched that he’d thought to bring her a cup of tea in bed, even if he had eaten the accompanying toast on the way back upstairs. Sometimes it was the smallest things, she thought. Of course they were both tired, stretched pretty thin; perhaps it was just too much to expect smooth sailing in a relationship once four children were in the mix? She smiled at him, sipping her tea contentedly, enjoying this brief moment together, before her thoughts, as always, returned to practicalities. ‘Do you think there’s any chance of this performance going smoothly?’ she wondered aloud. ‘I mean, I know the kids are keen and Mr French has got them all wound up about it, but isn’t it far more likely they’ll all end up distracted by the fireworks and hopped up on sugar instead?’

  ‘Just as long as Tarquin bloody Holland is nowhere near a firework,’ growled Taffy with feeling, making her laugh. Oh, how she’d missed just having a silly chat with him – no stresses, no juggling, just the two of them on the same songsheet. And where Tarquin was concerned, they were definitely of one mind: Tarquin’s mother, Cassie, was renowned for her ‘alternative’ parenting style and, as a result, half of the residents of Larkford were ready to string the obstreperous little darling up by his ankles.

  ‘But still, at least this new head teacher seems to have taken a firm hand with all of them,’ she said. Holly swung her legs round and got out of bed before Taffy could see the ridiculous blush that coloured her cheeks at the very thought of Alec French taking a firm hand with anyone.

  She stood in the bathroom, staring at her bleary reflection and wondered when it had come to this: yesterday’s makeup never removed, hair left to dry naturally and run wild, wearing Taffy’s pyjamas and blushing like a teen at the very mention of her sons’ head teacher? Grateful for just a few moments of her husband’s undivided attention. Babies, or no babies, she seriously needed to get a grip.

  ‘Holly?’ came a plaintive call from the bedroom. ‘Where’s my shirt? The nice one with the stripy bit inside the collar?’

  ‘Try the airing cupboard,’ she called back, rubbing at her eyes with the last few drops of make-up remover, too little too late.

  Taffy appeared in the doorway. ‘I can’t find it.’

  Holly took a deep breath. ‘Well, have a good look or wear the nice checked one instead?’ she suggested, as her alarm pinged again, her window of opportunity for peeing without an audience of children rapidly shrinking. It was going to be a long day with seven children in tow, five of them in costume. Holly had to grab her moments of peace where she could.

  Pulling on her warm layers, one eye on the clock for the girls’ tandem awakening, Holly jumped as her mobile rang.

  ‘Just wanted to wish you luck,’ said Lizzie, the smile in her voice giving Holly a boost that her friend was firmly on the mend. ‘I’m coming home later today, but my bossy consultant says coming to the show would be too much. Are you sure you’re going to cope?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Holly, wondering if she needed to cross her fingers at this blatant over-estimation. ‘I’ve got this covered. Taffy’s off duty and looking after the four boys; I’ve got my girls and Lily. We have a plan, so you can just relax and get better.’ She paused; even with this plan in place she knew they were outnumbered, and her upbeat reassurance was only able to go so far. ‘You gave us all quite a scare, so please – take the time you need to get well and then we can stop worrying about you.’

  ‘I forgot to say,’ said Taffy poking his head around the door as Holly hung up, ‘Dan and Grace have popped away for a little mini-break. So I said I’d cover his afternoon shift today. That’s okay, right? I’ll probably be there until five or six, but you’ve got this bonfire thing under control?’

  Holly blinked hard, re-running the conversation on this very topic only forty-eight hours ago: Taffy’s reassurances of help, an extra pair of hands, a steadying hand on Lizzie’s excitable boys in the crowds while she focused on the babies. ‘You are kidding?’ she said slowly. ‘We talked about this – remember? Five kids, two babies, one Holly?’

  Taffy guiltily scrunched up his face. ‘Yeah, that does ring a bell actually. But Dan was never going to cope with seeing everyone playing happy families, was he? I think it’s a good thing they’ve gone away.’ He paused, frowning. ‘I thought you’d understand.’

  ‘I do,’ said Holly simply. ‘But I also think that Alice, or Tilly, might have been available to cover – you know, since they have no children and this is actually a school event now?’

  Taffy shook his head, as he began ferreting through the pile of neatly folded laundry, crumpling up every item in his quest to find either of his favourite shirts – one of which Holly had just spotted, dirty and discarded under his side of the bed. ‘They’ve been working really long hours, Holls. They need their weekends too.’

  ‘So do I,’ Holly said, her words falling on deaf ears, as he yanked a jumper over his head and made for the door.

  ‘Have fun today!’ he called from the hallway, waking every sleeping child in the house as the front door slammed behind him.

  ‘Remind me again why I love you,’ Holly muttered angrily in his wake.

  *

  It was amazing to her still, after more than a year of married life, how her affection for her husband could turn on a sixpence. Obviously she loved him, there was no question of that, but with every day that passed, Holly began to wonder whether men and women were actually designed to live together in peace and harmony.

  She wouldn’t necessarily confess it, even if pressed, but she was delighted that Elsie was spending so much time back at Number 42, although she still wasn’t to be drawn on why. It had started with vague grumblings about how her laundry was being handled by the Sarandon Hall housekeeping staff, their disregard for her delicates causing a disproportionate amount of grump. Still, the fact that Elsie’s silk what-nots now adorned the Pulley
maid suspended from the utility-room ceiling at Number 42, at least gave Holly an excuse to see her lovely friend for pep-talks and common-sense advice. Even if she was reluctant to drag her into the niggles and peeves that seemed to be stockpiling by the day as Holly and Taffy navigated the transition to parenthood this time around.

  Holly couldn’t help but smile as she walked into the kitchen, a baby in each arm and saw Elsie squashed into the corner of the sofa by a blissfully contented Nineteen, Eric beside them on the floor looking most put out. It was an incongruous sight at best: Elsie stylishly layered in her designer ‘active wear’ for one of her classes, gently scratching the giant porker’s belly as he snuffled and grunted appreciatively, trotters tucked up like paws.

  ‘When is this pig of yours going to realise that he’s not actually a dog?’ Elsie said affectionately. ‘I only opened the door to give him some breakfast and he was on the sofa before I could blink.’ It was true; for one so cumbersome, Nineteen had a remarkable turn of speed when it suited him. If the sofa was unavailable, he was just as likely to be found lying stretched out beside the Aga, dozing contentedly.

  Holly laughed, settling the twins into their high chairs. ‘I’ve taken him over to Clive Shaw’s water meadows every day this week, I’ve shown him his new little pig sty and Clive has checked all the boundaries, but still he turns up here every morning.’ She couldn’t be annoyed with him though, her fondness for his tufty face at the window still strong even in the face of Nineteen’s adolescent confusion. ‘I found him on the dog bed with Eric yesterday. I think Eric got the poorer part of the deal, to be honest.’

  Elsie tried to extricate herself and failed. ‘I know how he feels.’

  ‘I think you’ll just have to surrender to his affections. I didn’t even realise you’d slept over again; I’d have brought you a cup of tea in bed,’ Holly said.

  Elsie shook her head. ‘Don’t you worry. Your glorious husband already made me one, actually. He’s really very good about me being underfoot and imposing on your hospitality – didn’t bat an eyelid.’

  It was true – another point in Taffy’s favour was how incredibly accepting he was about the comings and goings here, with Elsie, Alice, Lizzie, not to mention all their various livestock. Holly tried not to frown; as always, she was left feeling like the bad guy after one of their tiffs – maybe he was right and she should just have been more understanding of Dan’s situation? He needed a mate in Taffy, just as much as she did in Elsie . . .

  And then she looked around the kitchen, pulling out every melamine plate they owned to accommodate the extra mouths to feed, deftly slicing up bananas and fingers of toast for seven hungry (and noisy) mouths, and swallowed hard. Was it really too much to ask for her needs to come first occasionally, though, or at the very least, to be considered?

  ‘Since I’m here, why don’t I make myself useful?’ Elsie volunteered, clearly not missing Holly’s reticence to praise Taffy’s tea-making skills, but astute enough not to open that particular can of worms during the proverbial feeding time at the zoo.

  Nineteen grunted unhappily as Elsie made a bid for freedom, Eric leaping up to claim her spot as soon as it was vacated. The labradoodle and the Gloucestershire Old Spot were like siblings at times – they clearly adored and riled each other in equal measure.

  Elsie laid a gentle hand on her shoulder as she passed and Holly felt instantly soothed, her worries fractionally allayed. Such a small gesture of support, but it meant so much. Today was going to be challenging – today on five hours’ sleep was quite the ask – but somehow Holly felt a little more capable simply from knowing Elsie had faith in her.

  ‘Now, I’m off to my Pilates class,’ Elsie said. ‘Do speak up if you want me to stay and help, because I can easily—’

  A volley of vibrating thumps from next door drowned out the last of her words and Lottie promptly burst into tears.

  A number of swear words sprang instantly to Holly’s mind, yet she restrained herself. ‘Seriously? Who on earth are these new people next door? It’s the weekend, for goodness’ sake and they’re still knocking seven bells out of the place.’

  Elsie looked worried for a moment. ‘You’re not going to go round and cause a fuss, are you, darling? Only, I’m not sure you’re in the most, well, tactful of moods . . . And they will be your neighbours soon enough.’

  ‘But still!’ Holly insisted, as she settled Lottie with a beaker of juice and a kiss. ‘All day, every day. Is it any wonder the whole street wants to hammer their door down and tell them where to go? They haven’t even come round to introduce themselves, or apologise.’ She dropped her voice in case the boys overheard her. ‘I reckon it’s just another couple of London wankers, come down here to play at country weekends and marvel at the Georgian wainscoting, assuming there’ll be any original features left by the time they’ve finished mangling the place.’

  Elsie pulled Holly into her arms and gave her an uncharacteristically maternal hug. ‘You can’t blame the new owners for their builders, darling. Maybe they’re on a tight schedule, or a budget? Who knows, maybe they’ll be just wonderful and you’ll end up the best of friends?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Holly, withholding judgement until she’d actually met them, even though Taffy and Lizzie had both said much the same thing. A little fun, fresh blood in the street, might be just the boost she needed.

  Elsie looked over her shoulder in concern as she left, clearly not convinced by Holly’s protestations that she could cope, and clearly not missing the fact that, yet again, her protégée appeared to be slipping down the list of her own priorities. She closed the door with a thoughtful sigh, wondering how best to help without outstaying her welcome.

  *

  It was times like this, when Holly felt overwhelmed by the task ahead of her, that Larkford came into its own, Holly decided later that day. Her pride almost definitely about to come before a fall, she was already kicking herself for turning Elsie’s offer of help away. She needn’t have worried though – it wasn’t as though her shattered appearance was a cry for help, more a warning flag to the women around her that all was not quite going to plan.

  By the time she had handled the drama of persuading five recalcitrant children into their costumes, coats and mittens, Holly was ready to wage war on ‘stupid Mr French’ for planning this fiesta, Dan for his over-sensitivity to all things ‘children’ and her very own beloved for always, always wanting to do the right thing – even though that increasingly meant doing the wrong thing by his own nearest and dearest. Indeed, by half past four, standing at the edge of the Market Place, Holly was as close to a man-hating, militant feminist as she was ever going to get.

  Only the clear skies, a light spackling of stars already peeking out around a gibbous moon, and the exuberant excitement of every child around her stopped Holly’s mood from descending further. Watching Gerald, the resident Larkford goose, honking indignantly at the PTA mothers as they attempted to string bunting around their cake stall, gave rise to a tiny smile. Watching snooty Cressida Bourne being chased towards the river, as Gerald took umbrage at her flapping at him with her weighty peacock scarf, actually elicited a bubble of laughter.

  Sometimes, it was all about perspective, she thought. The Major and his terrier Grover were sharing some candyfloss, Pru Hartley was looking down her nose at the PTA brownies and slagging them off, causing floods of tears from ten-year-old Persephone Monk, who’d spent the entire morning baking them. Tact was never a strong point in the Larkford ensemble, but somehow, thought Holly, weren’t they all the closer for it?

  It pleased her no end to see most of the nurses from The Practice all huddled together, gossiping about their Big Night Out the night before, munching on toffee apples – living together, working together, having fun together.

  Holly breathed out slowly, trying to take in the moment, reassured, as the nurses laughed and bickered. It seemed as though Holly was the only person who expected this level of intimacy to happen without a few road-bum
ps along the way. Certainly poor Jason was being lambasted for his choice of daffodil-yellow Doc Martens and he didn’t appear to be taking offence.

  ‘Holly!’ said Alice, ambling over towards her, with Coco, Noodle and Doodle trotting obediently beside her on a clever three-way lead, and a latte in the other hand. ‘Are you okay? I thought I had my hands full with three dogs and the fireworks this weekend, but just exactly how many children are you attempting to wrangle there, anyway?’

  Holly smiled, surprised to find that her bad mood had ebbed away, and her smile was actually genuine. ‘Panic not – it’s only temporary. Three of them are Lizzie’s on short-term loan.’

  Alice nodded. ‘Phew! I did wonder whether I’d blinked and missed a batch for a minute. And where’s that daft husband of yours anyway? He’s normally fairly handy on the wrangling front.’ She gently pushed her wayward bobble hat back from her face, sun-kissed strands of hair falling forward artfully. The very picture of relaxed après-ski. There was no guile in her question; she clearly had no idea that Taffy was working so she wouldn’t have to.

  ‘Well, he’s being handy at work instead, covering for Dan.’ Holly tried to keep the judgement out of her voice, she truly did, but a smidgen crept in, making her feel small and petty.

  Alice frowned. ‘But why?’

  Holly shrugged, at a loss for an answer momentarily. ‘Because that’s who he is,’ she said in the end. And – the little voice in her head reminded her – one of the very reasons she fell in love with him in the first place.

  How ironic.

  Chapter 8

  As the hand on the clock tower moved slowly towards five o’clock and the crowd assembled around the crackling bonfire began to look about in expectation, Cassie Holland arrived, huffing and puffing under a sequined, quilted poncho that surely was no match for the increasingly chilly evening, regardless of its eco-friendly ethnic credentials. She barged her way through Holly and Alice’s conversation and shoved a reluctant Tarquin forward into the group of children, all of whom seemed to be intent on picking the little buckles off their costumes and getting their white stockings as muddy as possible before show-time. Alice stepped back, bemused, automatically sheltering Coco from Tarquin’s unpredictable reach.