Out of Practice (10 page)

Lily pressed into Holly for a proper cuddle, clearly unworried about sullying Holly’s more relaxed style of dressing. With Lizzie, all the kids knew the rules – small sticky hands
did not go well with cashmere and suede. Lizzie’s boys ran past with the twins in hot pursuit, barely stopping to wave and grin at their mother. At least someone was having a good day.

Moments later, the scrabbling of paws on polished oak floorboards announced the arrival of Eric, the Labradoodle. Eric’s unruly blonde curls looked more and more like Lizzie’s every
day, only serving to add to the notion that life in this house ran to a colour scheme; without doubt, a very stylish palette today, in shades of caramel and cream.

Eric nudged at Holly’s hand, pressing himself against her legs until she crouched down to scruff his ears affectionately. ‘Hello my gorgeous boy.’ She released Lily to scoot
off and join the boys and Eric sat beautifully and attentively at Holly’s feet, fixing her with his big chocolatey eyes.

‘Oh Eric! Stop being such a tart,’ said Lizzie, flicking a perfectly ironed tea towel in his direction. She waggled her empty wine glass at Will, who was hurriedly cracking open a
few bags of Kettle Chips. ‘Fill me up, Buttercup, would you? Oh, and get Holly one of those dreadful elderflowery things she likes.’

They moved about the kitchen with the ease of three people who had known each other for years. They might no longer be students together, but the occasional photo of them looking fabulously
knackered and naïve could still be spotted amongst the
Larkford Life
interiors, assuming you knew where to look.

Holly also knew that those same pictures made Milo feel uncomfortable, as though he were still an outsider to their little group. He did try to join in, but often his jokes somehow fell wide of
the mark; his ‘witty’ repartee being that bit too close to the bone and lacking the layer of affection that might soften its impact. Still, Holly appreciated the fact that he
persevered. It gave her hope that this fresh start might yet be successful. And, as long as they both kept trying, they were surely moving in the right direction?

She tried to ignore the little pangs of jealousy, as she watched Will affectionately stroke the small of Lizzie’s back as he walked by. Lizzie and Will seemed to have forged a marriage
that was based upon a mutual respect and a shared sense of humour – both of which felt sadly lacking in her own these days. Sometimes Lizzie’s relationship gave Holly hope for what a
partnership should look and feel like. Other days – today possibly – she just felt a little envious of her friends’ obvious happiness.

Before Lizzie and Will’s wedding, Holly had often felt like she was learning to cook from a recipe book with no pictures. She had simply no idea what she was aiming for. And now, because
of Lizzie and Will, that same cookbook came with full colour photographs and a three-dimensional demonstration of what love should look, taste and sound like. Or rather, what love
could
be
like. Because it was becoming increasingly obvious that, in life, as on
Bake Off
, not everyone following the same recipe would end up with the same result.

‘Supper’s nearly ready,’ said Lizzie moments later, stirring her bubbling concoction, whilst simultaneously clamping down her fringe to prevent steam-frizz.
Mary Berry she was not. ‘Shall we give Milo a ring?’

‘What? To warn him?’ deadpanned Will.

‘To see what time he’ll be here,’ clarified Lizzie, somewhat missing the joke. ‘Or will he be keeping us waiting and making an entrance later as per usual?’ Her
tone was light but there was no missing the judgement in her words. Lizzie made no secret of the fact that she hated Milo’s power games; she hated to see Holly being bossed around and
diminished, even if Holly herself didn’t always appear to notice it was happening.

‘And I’ve told the kids they can stay up and watch a movie, as long as they’re in their PJs, okay?’ said Lizzie. Holly hesitated, quietly thinking that an evening cuddled
up on the sofa munching popcorn was probably exactly what the boys needed. Life hadn’t exactly been a bed of roses for them recently: too many changes all happening at once. But then, she
found herself mentally rehearsing the argument with Milo, who had incredibly strict ideas about bedtime routines for someone who was so rarely around to participate in them. ‘They’ve
had a long day . . .’ she prevaricated, wondering how much energy she had left in the tank and where to focus it.

Lizzie pulled a face, as though she could read Holly’s mind. ‘Come on, Holls, blame me if you must, but let them stay up and watch a movie. It is Friday night.’ She bustled
about the kitchen, throwing a tray of dairy-free snacks together for the children. Holly appreciated little things like that more than Lizzie would ever know.

Lizzie waited until Will left the room in search of more wine and then wheeled round to focus on Holly properly, ‘What’s going on? You look shocking.’

Her comment caught Holly on the hop, the warmth of the kitchen having finally allowed her to relax for a moment. ‘What? You don’t like my doctoring outfit?’ She plucked at the
ageing fabric of her best and favourite work dress and struck a pose, not letting on that Lizzie’s comment had stung a little bit on delivery.

‘I didn’t mean the dress – although you’re right, it
is
awful – but I suppose it’ll do for the NHS. I actually meant
you
. . . Have you lost
weight?’ she accused, narrowing her gaze appraisingly. ‘Have you been on a diet without me?’

Holly shrugged. ‘Nah. Panic not.’ She knew how competitive Lizzie could get when it came to diets. ‘It’s probably just my sheepdog bra – optical
illusion.’

Lizzie looked blank. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘You know,’ said Holly, pushing her shoulders back for comic effect, ‘the sheepdog bra – it rounds them up and points them in the right direction!’

Lizzie simply looked bemused, her own perfect A cups always enclosed in wisps of delicate silk and lace. Proper supportive underwear was like drought and famine to Lizzie – it happened to
other people, not her, and she didn’t really like to think about it.

Lizzie’s binocular vision for fashion and interiors often gave the impression that she was as deep as the proverbial puddle, but underneath all that, she could be an amazing ally and
friend. Once you’d got past the obligatory ‘pep talk’ of course. Holly slumped a little, the effort of being peppy suddenly taking its toll. ‘I actually really need to talk
to you about . . .’

‘Here!’ Lizzie interrupted. ‘Let’s get some eye-liner on you and you’ll soon feel brighter.’ She ferreted around in a very smart shopping bag, complete with
interlocking C’s and a black grosgrain ribbon. ‘I’ve tons of freebies, so you can have these.’ She passed Holly a lipstick and mascara that probably cost more than the
entire contents of Holly’s make-up bag.

‘I’m not sure make-up’s the answer this time, actually, Lizzie.’

Lizzie looked shocked; Holly’s comment bordering on the sacrilegious.

Will reappeared in the doorway and shook his head. ‘Leave her alone, Lizzie. Not everyone needs six coats of mascara just to leave the house. Although I do seem to recall a certain student
Holly wearing buckets of the stuff. Looked amazing, as I recall.’

‘Yes, yes, Holly has sickeningly long eyelashes and all the boys in Bristol knew it.’ Lizzie’s voice had a slight edge that made Holly look up in surprise, catching her friend
off-guard. Lizzie coloured slightly and then moved to make amends, ‘Well, maybe you don’t need the mascara, you lucky sod, but a bit of lippy would give you a lift. My gran used to say
that she couldn’t drive without her lippy on.’

‘Hmm,’ said Will, ‘but the jury’s still out on whether she should be driving at all. I’m still convinced Specsavers might be more help than Chanel!’

Holly laughed and gratefully took the proffered lipstick, just happy to have dodged the mascara bullet. After all, how was Lizzie to know the reason that she’d ditched her beloved mascara
obsession.

Holly could never bring herself to confess that Milo joked mascara made her look like Bambi, or sometimes a camel, depending on his mood. Although on his more scathing days, Alice Cooper’s
love child had also been mentioned. Needless to say, her fondness for the mascara wand had rather worn off after that one! She smoothed the lipstick into place with her little finger, the action
coming back to her instantly, except this time it was Chanel Hydrating Crème, not Rimmel’s £2.99 Apricot Blush.

Lizzie smiled contentedly, her work done, seemingly oblivious that Holly’s problems might be more than skin-deep.

‘The thing is . . .’ Holly began, wondering where to start and deciding just to rip off the Band-Aid, ‘there’s a chance I might be out of a job . . .’

Will and Lizzie, to their credit, rallied immediately. Pulling up chairs to the scrubbed pine kitchen table, they demolished two bags of Kettle Chips and another bottle of Pinot before Holly had
even finished filling them in.

‘I mean, I’m trying not to take it personally that within two days of my arrival the Senior Partner who employed me is retiring.’ Holly gave a slightly strangled laugh to make
it clear that she was taking it all in her stride. Or trying to, at least.

‘Maybe that’s the reason they wanted an extra GP in the first place?’ Will said, trying to be the rational voice of reason.

‘Well, maybe that
is
why they needed me, but the first I heard of it was when he announced it to The Practice as a whole and suddenly there’s factions and cliques and
leadership squabbles. The whole afternoon has been a crap shoot.’ Holly sighed. ‘I can’t help feeling a bit misled really, but then, why
should
they tell me? I’m
new and I’m junior. It’s just made me feel a bit unsettled. After all, I’ve moved house, moved the kids, my whole life really, for a job that seemed steady and safe. What if the
new Senior Partner, whoever it turns out to be, thinks that I’m superfluous to requirements? I don’t even have a proper contract yet.’

Holly shrugged unhappily, as she fought to swallow down the lump in her throat that had been lurking ever since she heard the announcement. ‘I mean, please don’t get me wrong. I love
this town. I adore being nearer you guys and seeing more of you. But I think we all know that Milo’s not going to be a happy bunny if the whole relocation turns out to be for
nothing.’

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment; nobody could disagree with that understatement and yet none of them knew what to say.

Will stood up and stirred at their supper disconsolately. ‘Speaking of which, will His Lordship be much longer? I can pop this on life support, but I don’t know how long it’ll
survive. Professional opinion, Holly? IV fluids? Class A drugs?’ He waggled the Worcestershire Sauce at her questioningly. They all knew full well that Lizzie’s ‘family
recipes’ were probably the reason her whole family were so damn skinny, but nevertheless, they did occasionally allow themselves to hope.

Lizzie sighed. ‘Your husband can be a real pain in the backside, Holly, did you know that?’

‘It hadn’t entirely escaped my notice,’ she said drily, ‘but please be nice. He really is making an effort. And guys? Don’t mention the job thing yet, will you? I
need to get my head around it first, work out what I want to do. I mean, I love Milo, I do, but he’s not really known for keeping his cool in a crisis, is he?’

Will put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. ‘Of course we’ll be nice,
won’t
we, Lizzie? And who knows, maybe he’ll surprise us all and be wonderfully
supportive . . . And we’re here for you, Holly, whatever you decide to do.’ He gave Lizzie a stern look as he stressed the word ‘whatever’ and carried on, ‘Of course,
if we knew what you see in the man, it might make it easier to understand . . .’

Lizzie gave a filthy laugh and hopped up on to the kitchen counter, swinging her legs like a teenager. ‘Oh I think we all know what Holly saw in Professor Dreamy, don’t
we?’

Will looked blank.

Lizzie passed him his wine and waggled her eyebrows. ‘Don’t you remember? Miss Innocent Graham here had quite the thing for older men. There was her epic crush on that gorgeous
ethics lecturer – oh the irony! And then that orthopaedic consultant with the enormous eyebrows . . . Unrequited love, if I recall? And then of course,’ she swooned dramatically,
‘one night in Casualty, just as the clock struck midnight, enter Milo Payne . . .’

Holly blushed furiously. ‘Don’t be daft. It was nothing like that!’ Only it was exactly like that and Holly knew it. She also knew that the adage to marry in haste and repent
at leisure had never had such a resounding endorsement.

She knew, in her heart of hearts, that she would have been well advised to get to know Milo a little better, rather than spending the vast majority of their courtship fooling around in bed. But
it simply hadn’t felt like an option at the time. Sex with Milo had been a complete revelation for Holly. After the student fumblings of her flings at med school, suddenly here was a man who
knew his way around the bedroom and it wasn’t long before Holly had been putty in his hands.

She thought back to her second year of residency and to the night they had met, when Milo had come into Casualty, his finger bleeding from a nasty glass cut. She remembered how he’d
quietly convinced her to go out for a drink with him after her shift, even though she’d been working for eighteen hours straight. The attraction had been instant. He just knew what he wanted
and he made it happen. There was no bluster, no arrogance, just complete self-assurance.

It was the first time she’d properly gone out with someone a few years older than her, rather than simply harbouring an unrequited crush; someone who knew exactly what they wanted out of
life and was prepared to put in the effort to achieve it. It had been quite the aphrodisiac.

Back then, Holly thought she had found that rare and elusive beast – a steady, thoughtful man, who also happened to be a demon in the sack. She remembered thinking, as she walked down the
aisle towards him, that he really was the whole package, almost too good to be true.