Practice Makes Perfect Page 9

  The younger woman wore a neat tailored skirt and a dinky jacket that gave her petite frame structure and poise. It was a far cry from her tomboyish dog-walking attire. All scrubbed up, she was the medical equivalent of Audrey Hepburn, with her gamine crop and wide eyes. Their main problem, Holly considered, might actually be convincing the patients that she was old enough to be a qualified doctor.

  Holly lightly cleared her throat before stepping into the room. ‘Morning, morning. I gather you’ve been sorting out the paperwork tsunami with Grace?’

  Alice nodded. ‘I can’t believe how quickly this has all happened.’

  Holly couldn’t help but agree. For her though, it wasn’t so much the speed with which they had interviewed and hired their new junior doctor, it was the fact that not so very long ago, she’d been sitting down the hall as Dan Carter had given her a similar induction into life at The Practice. How times had changed.

  ‘I know, but it’s a good thing. No time for nerves. We can just crack on. The basic plan is for you to spend a few days shadowing us. Probably half a day each, something like that and then we’ll let you loose on your own. We’d like for you to get a feel for how we do things here – we don’t always choose efficiency over empathy, or indeed cost over care.

  ‘But what we do try to provide is a community health programme – that includes prevention as well as treatment. We don’t consider health to be an absence of illness. We have a slightly more proactive approach here. And I know Dan’s spoken to you about our Health in the Community Scheme and I really want you to play a big role in that. You’re young and eloquent and, dare I say it, a little inspirational – so maybe we can use that when we’re talking to school children and our more youthful intake.’ Holly paused, a little flushed. ‘Sorry – I do tend to get on my soapbox about this. Have you got any questions?’

  Alice smiled. ‘I did just want to clarify – this proactive approach to health – are we talking beardy-weirdy alternative stuff or just the basics?’

  ‘Good question. And, to be honest, without an easy answer. I would have no problem personally suggesting weekly massages for a patient with chronic stress, or indeed kinesiology for suspected food intolerances, but really when we talk about a proactive approach within the confines of The Practice, we’re talking about nutrition, hydration, safe sex, healthy relationships, stress prevention . . .’ Holly was ticking issues off on her fingertips when Alice interrupted.

  ‘Is that what we’re aiming for – prevention being better than cure and all that? Get in ahead of it?’ she asked earnestly.

  ‘In a nutshell, I suppose we are,’ Holly replied, any annoyance at being interrupted overshadowed by her pleasure at Alice’s eagerness. She just hoped that Alice’s enthusiasm for the job would remain so blissfully un-jaded after a few days of verrucas, sore throats and non-specific whining by the General Public at large.

  ‘Most importantly,’ Holly said, flicking a glance at the clock on the wall, ‘remember that there is no such thing as a stupid question. If there’s a gap in your knowledge, we need to fill it, but be tactful. In the next few days, our patients need to have faith that you know what you’re doing, so save the questions for after the consultations today. Jot them down and never be afraid to tell a patient that you’d like to consult with a senior GP. They may not appreciate coming back for another appointment, but it’s definitely better than giving duff advice with potential consequences.’

  ‘Okay then,’ said Alice, sitting forward on her seat, with Coco mirroring her every move. ‘Where do we start?’

  Chapter 9

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t agree to look at Arthur Beckett’s funny-looking mole,’ said Taffy, as he slumped down in the chair beside Dan’s desk. He’d just returned from a quick prawn baguette at The Kingsley Arms and was looking decidedly green around the gills.

  Dan frowned. ‘Nasty one? Should we organise a biopsy?’

  Taffy shook his head. ‘Nope. Just a rather dead one he’d trapped in his garden.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Quite a while ago, it seems. He’s inexplicably proud of it.’

  Dan guffawed at Taffy’s unlikely squeamishness. ‘Yeah, they can get a bit competitive about stuff like that around here. I remember a few summers back, one of the farmers had a party in the woods to celebrate his enormous ant hill.’ Dan paused. ‘It would probably have been better if he hadn’t tried to pose for a photo on top of it, but I suppose you live and learn.’

  He looked up and grinned at Taffy’s queasy grimace. ‘I thought you were a country boy through and through?’

  Taffy shook his head. ‘Easy on the rotting stuff. Could happily go my whole life without insects. You should see me and Holly if there’s a spider in the bath. We’d be screwed without Eric, to be honest,’ he confided sheepishly. Eric’s legendary spider-catching abilities had been one of Lizzie’s only successful training gambits – a fact that she and Holly both hugely appreciated.

  Grace pushed open the door with her hip, balancing a precarious pile of A4 binders in her arms. ‘A little help here, boys?’

  She plonked them down on Dan’s desk with a thud and fixed them both with a steely glare. ‘And this, my erstwhile friends, is what “a little extra paperwork” looks like!’

  Dan could feel himself blushing as Grace quoted his own words of reassurance back at him. Obviously they all knew that the admin team would carry the load of the procedural documents generated by their nomination. Seeing it in the flesh, so to speak, was quite a different reality. Six vast ring binders formed a sloping tower on his desk and he pulled an apologetic face. ‘Do you want me to help hand these round to everyone?’ he offered, as an olive branch.

  Grace shook her head. ‘No need. Besides, these six are just your copies.’

  Taffy let rip a snort of laughter that he quickly swallowed when Grace’s attention swivelled towards him. ‘Oh, no need to feel jealous, Dr Jones, I’ve popped yours on your desk already.’

  ‘But Grace . . .’ he protested pathetically. ‘You know I’m no good at paperwork.’

  ‘Or insects, arachnids or moles, apparently,’ Dan butted in supportively, earning himself a filthy look from his mate.

  Grace, on the other hand, was a gentler soul than was probably sensible in her position. She wiggled her bottom up onto the treatment couch and took pity on them. ‘Look, just skim-read them and stick a Post-it on the pages you disagree with or don’t understand. I’ll have to go through them line by line anyway . . .’

  Taffy scowled at the heap. ‘Are you sure we’ve actually got enough Post-its?’ he queried tiredly, as he stood up to leave.

  Dan quietly watched Grace from behind his leaning tower of filing, as she sat on the couch with the afternoon sunshine streaming through the sash windows onto her face. She turned to look at him and smiled impishly. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take pity on him in a minute. I just have to be able to say that each partner has been given a set of the procedural codes for reference.’

  He grinned. ‘Well, don’t let him off the hook too soon, will you? I think he should probably read the first two at least, don’t you?’

  Grace laughed and leaned back against the wall. ‘You, Dan Carter, are a bad influence! Do you think I could persuade him to get some quotes in for the Health in the Community launch party? Or maybe he might enjoy doing my cost:benefit analysis of additional nursing clinics for my coursework, too?’

  ‘Crikey, that sounds a bit dry. Are you sure this course is worth all the hassle, Grace? You’ve always got a job here, and last time I checked, we weren’t insisting you get this diploma to do it.’ Dan tried to be reassuring but the filthy look Grace gave him obviously meant he’d put his foot in it again.

  ‘I’m not doing it for you,’ she said fiercely, before remembering who she was speaking to and taking a calming breath. ‘I’m doing it for me. Because I can and because sometimes it’s nice to challenge what you’re capable of, don’t you think?’

  ‘I guess,’ Dan said apologetically. ‘I really
didn’t mean to imply—’ He stopped, suddenly realising that he had absolutely no idea what he’d been implying. He’d just been making conversation. He shrugged and leaned forward, suddenly anxious to connect. ‘Have we been there for you, Gracie? Enough, I mean?’

  She smiled, the sun illuminating the smooth lines of her face and the extraordinary length of her lashes. ‘I can’t pretend it hasn’t been utterly vile at times. But you know, it’s getting easier.’

  It was just under a year since Grace’s husband Roy had taken one too many chances with drink-driving and hit an articulated lorry on the M5. Thankfully nobody else had been injured, but it was an ignominious end for Roy. Grace had simply withdrawn into herself for a few months, before quietly and steadily piecing her life back together. Dan would never say it out loud, but he couldn’t help thinking that, without the influence of their lay-about father, her two boys were actually starting to show some resourcefulness and drive. Having abandoned signing on in favour of signing up, Freddie was now doing basic training at the Army College in Harrogate and Luke was doing a college-based apprenticeship in carpentry. It had been a difficult year all round, but the signs that Grace was recovering had been there to see for a while – Dan just couldn’t quite believe he hadn’t noticed them before.

  Where the knee-length skirts and sensible flat shoes used to be, were now gentle sundresses and wedge-heeled sandals. Her yoga mat had taken up permanent residence in the corner of her office and he was quite sure he’d spotted her and some friends only last night, bending themselves around like pretzels on the river bank.

  ‘And this course?’ Dan prompted, amused to see her blush rather sweetly.

  ‘Well, that’s just a little something I promised myself. I know it’s probably too late to go and get a degree, but it’s a place to start. Once I get the diploma for Medical Administration, it opens up a whole raft of options.’

  ‘As long as you don’t get any ideas about leaving us, Gracie,’ Dan said firmly. ‘You know we’d be lost without you.’

  She slid down off the couch abruptly. ‘Don’t say that,’ she said sharply. The atmosphere in the room had shifted slightly and Dan was at a loss to know what he’d said wrong. But Grace wasn’t Julia; she wasn’t about to flounce out of the room in a cloud of uncertainty and ill-feeling.

  She pulled up a chair to Dan’s desk and tried to explain her reaction. ‘It’s a bit embarrassing actually. But, you know how if you hear something often enough, it becomes familiar – even if it’s not true? If somebody tells you over and over – whether it’s with their words or their actions – that what you need isn’t important. Well, you start to believe it. Even if you get praise and support elsewhere – it just doesn’t ring true because the old dialogue is still playing in the back of your mind?

  ‘Well, it was like that for me with Roy. I wasn’t happy. He knew that I wanted more for myself – but he was convinced that if I went out and found it, it wouldn’t necessarily include him. So it was easier for him just to keep me doubting.

  ‘Honestly, Dan, grieving someone after they’ve died is hard – and don’t let anybody tell you otherwise – but in some ways it’s actually easier than grieving the person you might have been. Every single day.’

  Dan reached out and took her hand. ‘I was only joking, Grace. I was trying – obviously in a very ham-fisted way – to let you know how much we appreciate you here. Diploma or no diploma.’

  She squeezed his hand and then let go. ‘I just wonder sometimes what would have happened if I hadn’t got pregnant when I did. I look at you and Holly and it makes me wonder . . . And I guess the whole turning forty thing, it does rather focus the mind on the road less travelled, don’t you think?’ She stood up and smoothed down her skirt, gathering her papers and her composure.

  Dan tried and failed to hide the shocked expression on his face. His own upcoming fortieth had certainly prompted a few gags from his mates, but somehow he’d automatically assumed Grace to be that bit older.

  There were no flies on her though, and she shook her head, teasing him, ‘I knew it – I knew you’d all got me marked as a fuddy-duddy. Just because I had my boys a bit younger than most . . .’

  She shrugged off his protestations. ‘I’m the same age as you, you wally. How did you not know that? Just because you had a somewhat closer relationship with contraception at Med School than I did, doesn’t make us all that different, you know.’

  She left with a smile, but Dan couldn’t help but disagree. Becoming a parent so young had clearly changed the course of Grace’s life, whereas Dan was still essentially living like a carefree bachelor. And though she’d often mentioned in the past her desire to work in medicine, he had always assumed – sexist plonker that he apparently was – that she meant in a supporting role. The fact that Grace had once had her sights set on becoming a doctor herself had rather blown Dan’s mind. The way the tiny strap of her sundress had slipped off her tanned shoulder as she left was frankly just adding to the confusing array of emotions he couldn’t begin to process.

  Luckily for Dan’s sanity, there was never much time for navel-gazing and reflection at The Practice and he’d clearly used up today’s share chatting to Grace. He was just getting to grips with dictating some consultant referrals when Lucy launched herself through his doorway like a human tornado. ‘He’s here! He’s actually here!’ she cried. Her voice was like a clarion call throughout the building and all the doors along the corridor flew open.

  There was no need to scroll through his mental Rolodex of local celebrities, even though the area seemed to have become the newest place to be, for an off-duty celeb these days.

  Dan knew differently. There was only one local resident who could elicit such excitement by showing his face at The Practice.

  ‘He doesn’t have an appointment,’ said Lucy breathlessly, her words running over each other, ‘but I think you should just come out and get him before he changes his mind and leaves.’

  But Dan was already on his feet, rushing towards Reception with alacrity, gathering followers in his wake as the whispers around them grew to heated debate and his entourage swept through the waiting room.

  ‘Major!’ said Dan in delight, hand outstretched to shake. His relief at finding the old boy here under his own steam and seemingly in reasonable health was not to be underestimated. ‘Do I take it then, that Andy McLeod has finally succumbed?’

  The Major gave him a wicked smile. ‘You can indeed. All bets are off. Bronchitis, they reckon, maybe a touch of pneumonia since he left it so long to see anyone.’

  ‘There but for the grace of God, Dr Carter . . .’ chimed in Marion, not wishing to be excluded from the festivities.

  ‘Indeed,’ Dan replied. He knew only too well about the Major’s bonkers bet with his oldest friend – it had been the source of much speculation and debate over the years. Many people could not understand why the Major would commit to a lifetime without any medical care whatsoever, on the strength of winning a bet. A bottle of the legendary Scotch, Black Bowmore, was at stake, but Dan firmly believed it was the pride and stubbornness of the two men that had forced the bet into its fortieth year. Indeed, without the local vets and some off-book treatment by Julia from time to time, Dan was rightfully relieved that the outcome had not been more disastrous.

  ‘Where shall we start then?’ Taffy interrupted, his excitement getting the better of him. ‘Quick MOT and a cholesterol test?’

  ‘Don’t spook him,’ hissed Dan, trying to keep his demeanour upbeat and non-threatening. ‘At least let the poor old bugger get through the door before you start threatening him with needles!’

  Thankfully their exchange went unheard as Holly was so busy congratulating Marion for having kept her new husband in such fine fettle and getting him here.

  Richard Le Grange, the Major’s snooty neighbour poked his head through from the waiting room. ‘I’m assuming it won’t take all three of you to look after that old buffoon. Only, I’ve been waiting half an hour
already and I’m ten years older than him!’

  Their entourage reluctantly departed, despite Taffy’s best attempts at getting Dan to ‘toss for it’.

  Marion bustled along beside her husband looking pleased as punch at all the attention. ‘Thank God, Andrew went down when he did, Dr Carter. This one’s been clutching at his chest with heartburn for weeks.’

  ‘Well, maybe if you weren’t such a nag, I wouldn’t be so stressed?’ the Major countered, as he did indeed begin to paw at his barrel chest with discomfort. Marion, a force to be reckoned with at the best of times and well accustomed to this state of affairs, simply reached into her voluminous handbag and pulled out a tube of antacids.

  As the two of them bickered and bantered away, every word laced with cheerful affection, Dan began to wonder if he would ever get a word in edgewise and Taffy seemed unable to stem the laughter bubbling up, still trailing after them by default, caught up in the excitement.

  ‘Ooh, Peregrine – you’re getting a BOGOF,’ said Marion happily.

  ‘There’s no need for that kind of talk, I’m here, aren’t I?’ protested the Major breathlessly, as he obligingly chomped on his tablets.

  Dan and Taffy struggled not to catch each other’s gaze to avoid complete impropriety as they struggled to come to terms with the Major as Peregrine.

  ‘Well then, Peregrine,’ said Dan in the end, ‘let us at least Carpe Diem and give you a once-over. Or possibly an ECG,’ he added, noting that his patient had gone a rather alarming colour. ‘Maybe we should be talking about these antacids you seem to be mainlining?’

  ‘He does make a terrible fuss about his heartburn though, Doctor,’ began Marion.