Out of Practice (22 page)

Grace looked flummoxed for a moment, as if she’d spoken out of turn. ‘We-ll, I don’t think I’m breaking any confidences, when I say that Julia came to us from Barnards
teaching hospital. She was on Professor Wyley’s surgical rotation but she left, suddenly, decided surgery wasn’t for her after all.’

‘Wow,’ said Holly quietly, thinking that this little morsel of information might go some way to explaining Julia’s patronising attitude. Even though Julia herself was now a GP,
it was clearly her second choice, so maybe she thought that it was for everyone else too? Holly blushed a little as she realised that, when working at the hospital had clashed so badly with family
life, General Practice had been her own fall-back position as well. It was a weird sensation, finding that she had something in common with Julia Channing. It wasn’t necessarily something she
wanted to advertise though, if she was honest, because the similarities ended right there. Holly was rather proud to become a GP and she firmly believed that George Kingsley was right, being a GP
was
a noble calling – they were, as he often said, the infantrymen fighting on the frontlines of family health. Or something like that. Holly decided that she really ought to listen
to George more, next time he was giving them all one of his pep-talks, rather than tuning out as she often did.

Holly realised with a start that she’d done it again, that Grace had carried on talking and Holly had dropped the thread of the conversation completely.

‘. . . and Dan Carter is exactly what this practice needs. But, you know, George isn’t blind. Hell, even I can see that he’s struggling again and I know Taffy’s doing his
best to get Dan to talk to someone but . . . Well, let’s just hope he can get himself back on track in time. Don’t you think?’

Holly didn’t actually know what to think. How could she have zoned out and missed the most important confidence that Grace had shared with her? She could blame the late night, or the
Bombay Sapphire, but she basically had to admit that her concentration skills needed one hell of a polish. ‘Dan seems so together at work, though,’ she hedged uneasily.

Grace sighed. ‘It’s not an easy thing to recover from though, is it?’

Holly nodded thoughtfully, her mind running on – Heartbreak? Drugs? Alcohol? But luckily Grace was on a roll. ‘And there’s not so many folk in Somerset with PTSD is there? We
can’t just send him along to a meeting now, can we? Hi, my name’s Dan and going to Iraq ruined my life? Poor bloke. And he really is one of the good ones, Holly. We’d be lucky to
have him as our boss, even with the flashbacks.’

Holly was stunned. Speechless. Suddenly, lots of little snippets of conversation all made sense. She tried not to feel hurt that neither Lizzie nor Dan had chosen to confide in her about this.
If he’d been struggling for ages, as he obviously had, maybe she could have done more to help. Grace was chattering on, obviously believing that Holly’s friendship with Lizzie and
history with Dan meant she wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. It was all Holly could do to keep her face from betraying her surprise.

‘Does everyone at The Practice know about Dan then?’ she asked tentatively.

‘Oh no, just one or two of us. Dan’s a very private person, as you know. He’d hate the idea of people talking about him.’ Grace suddenly looked uncomfortable. ‘But
obviously, we need to discuss it a little don’t we, if we’re going to help him. And on that front, where I was heading actually, I wanted to ask you if you could take over a few of
Dan’s more, well, emotional cases for a while. You’ve probably already noticed that your patient list is basically all the ones that nobody else wanted, so I thought it might work for
you and for Dan.’ Grace had the decency to look a bit sheepish at that little admission. ‘Give him some headspace and let him work on the simple stuff and give you a few more
challenging cases in the process. What do you think?’

Holly felt like a ping-pong ball bouncing back and forth. She wasn’t sure her brain could cope with much more information. Her new job – her dream job actually – was turning
out to be made of smoke and mirrors. ‘That sounds like a good idea all round,’ she managed.

Grace swivelled in her chair and took one of Holly’s hands in hers, her kind expression almost bringing Holly to the verge of tears. ‘I know there’s been a lot going on in the
last few days, and that you must be wondering what on earth you’ve got yourself into, but it’s not as bad as you’re imagining, Holly. You’ve already got quite the fan club
round here, I promise you. Stick with us. Rumour has it, you’ve got Elsie Townsend singing your praises and you’ve even had the Major accosting you for a car park consultation already
– so that just proves it – you’re officially accepted. Just beware the grapevine, okay? Otherwise Sunday night drinks with your colleagues could easily be misinterpreted.’
Grace gave her a smile and got up from her desk.

‘But,’ said Holly, wrong-footed yet again, ‘I was with Lizzie.’

‘I know,’ said Grace gently, ‘but the way I heard it, a certain male doctor couldn’t keep his eyes off you all evening. He’s a very sweet lad, that Taffy Jones, but
he’s never short of a girlfriend, if you know what I mean. Bees round a honey pot springs to mind. But then,’ she finished with a sideways glance, ‘I’m sure I’m not
telling you anything you don’t already know.’

Holly nearly laughed out loud, forcibly struck by the irony of Grace’s parting comment. With every day that passed, the list of Things That Holly Didn’t Know seemed to be growing
exponentially longer.

Holly meandered through the graveyard at the back of the church early the next morning, coffee in hand. She couldn’t quite face the cheery chitchat in Hattie’s Deli
this morning, just needing a few moments peace and quiet, a few moments all to herself.

She breathed out slowly and felt the first tendrils of sunshine brushing her face. She closed her eyes, turning toward the early morning sun. The graveyard was like a quiet oasis, tucked away
beyond the bustle of the Market Place and even the thrum of traffic was swallowed up by the warm stone of the church. An angry little robin with delusions of grandeur startled her by hopping down
suddenly in front of her, scolding her indignantly.

‘Sorry,’ whispered Holly, stepping carefully back on to the path and trying not to laugh as the little bird recovered from its huff and flitted upwards to rest in the branches of the
ancient yew hedge. ‘Have you got a nest up there?’ she asked, intrigued by the feisty little bird’s behaviour. She watched in fascination as it fluttered down, gathered a beakful
of mossy twigs and disappeared into the upper branches of the hedge with a bob of its tail.

She perched on the little wooden bench that was tucked into this remote corner and looked around her. This sure beat the socks off rush hour in Reading. The boys were at Nursery, Milo was
undoubtedly still asleep, but somehow Holly had managed to find a little window before work just to ‘be’.

She noted with lazy interest the seagulls swooping overhead, wondering why she’d never noticed them before. There were red swathes of cloud dusting the tops of the woodland across the
valley and there was a heavy warmth in the air that reminded Holly of childhood holidays in Italy. It may still be early in the year, but a few days of pleasant weather would make a very welcome
change. She sipped slowly at her steaming cup, wondering why she didn’t do this more often. It was one thing to get up early to heat up the GHDs (something she could never quite be arsed to
do); it was quite another proposition to have a little sanity break like this. She sighed contentedly and closed her eyes.

The sudden shifting of the bench beside her and a gentle cough made her start, sloshing hot coffee over her toes. ‘Shit!’ she blurted, caught unawares.

‘Morning, Dr Graham, hope I didn’t disturb you?’ asked the Major with a wry smile. He handed her a beautifully pressed linen handkerchief and indicated with a nod of the head
that she should mop her sodden feet. Holly looked aghast at the very suggestion. The handkerchief was a study in physical perfection, bright white, sharp creases and a monogram, for Christ’s
sake!

‘Oh Major, no it’s fine, really.’ She plucked the ubiquitous packet of baby wipes from her handbag instead.

The Major laughed. ‘No lectures from you about being more environmentally friendly then, Dr Graham?’ He gave the word ‘environmentally’ an additional few syllables that
Holly had previously been unaware of. ‘I knew I liked you. Cassie Holland has got one or two backs up around here. And I don’t know what she’s so het up about – I recycle my
whisky bottles, don’t you know.’ He gave Holly a wink and then waved a hand at her coffee cup. ‘Should we get you a new one of those? It rather looked as if that caffeine may have
been the only thing keeping you awake just now.’

‘Honestly, Major, it’s not a problem.’ She looked around the beautifully tended graveyard, some of the stones so eroded and covered in moss that it was impossible to decipher
the sentiments etched there. ‘It’s just so tranquil here. I was just grabbing a quiet five minutes with my face in the sun.’

‘Well then, enjoy it while you can. Smell that?’ He waved a hand in the air. ‘That’s the calm before the storm that is. Why do you think the seagulls have come this far
in land? See, red sky in the morning?’

‘Shepherd’s warning,’ Holly remembered. ‘Well, at least we’ve had a few minutes sunshine now.’

She paused, giving the Major an opportunity to chip in, as he always seemed to, with whatever was ailing him this week. She genuinely didn’t understand why he never came to The Practice,
but she hoped that, with a little practice and patience of her own, she would learn to handle his random requests with grace.

When he remained silent, Holly looked at him more closely, taking in the wistful gaze, and noticing for the first time the bundle of freshly cut forsythia. He ran the linen handkerchief through
his fingers. It was actually the fact that he wasn’t talking that made Holly suspect that something really was amiss.

‘Major?’ she said gently, resting her hand on his tweed sleeve. ‘You know you can always talk to me. About anything. And you don’t need to come to The
Practice.’

She waited, watching as the feisty little robin began chittering at a stray neighbourhood cat who had dared to amble by.

The Major cleared his throat. ‘It’s just rather embarrassing, at my age, to be talking about personal things with a young lady such as yourself.’

Holly smiled. So that was the problem. Embarrassment. ‘Major, I can promise you that nothing about the human body can shock me any more. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve
seen, the things I’ve extracted . . .’ she gave a little involuntary shiver. ‘I might be able to help, if you talk to me.’

The Major blew his nose heartily into his hanky and placed it in his jacket pocket, looking pointedly in the other direction. ‘I’m a bit lonely,’ he blurted, his voice gruff
with emotion. He pointed to the beautifully carved headstone in front of them and Holly registered the name properly for the first time Lady Verity Waverly.

She left her hand on his sleeve and leaned in a little closer, instinctively wanting to give the old boy comfort, but knowing that a bear hug was out of the question, professionally speaking.
The dates on the headstone showed that it was less than two years since the Major’s wife had passed away. After a lifetime together, how long should it take for the pain to go away? Judging
by the anguish on the Major’s face, two years wasn’t nearly long enough.

‘Oh Major, you poor thing. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose the love of your life.’

The Major harrumphed for a moment; it actually looked as though he was laughing and Holly felt a moment’s confusion. ‘Oh you dear sweet girl, Verity wasn’t the love of my life;
that particular honour is reserved for my spaniels. Verity was a right royal pain in the backside, but she was also a fabulous wife and an excellent sparring partner. Nowadays,’ he sniffed,
‘I have to be so polite to everyone.’

Holly couldn’t say she’d actually noticed the polite part, always thinking that the Major acted rather too entitled and bossy for her taste, but she carried on undeterred.
‘Well, maybe you could get some friends together and have a good old bicker with each other?’

The Major was instantly dismissive. ‘My dear girl, gentlemen don’t bicker. We have discussions and disagreements, but there’s nothing like the intimacy of quarrelling with
someone you love, is there?’

Holly shrugged. ‘You might be getting advice from the wrong person then, Major. I can’t stand arguments – will actively go out of my way to avoid them.’

‘Ah, I see, bit of a doormat, are you? Didn’t take you for a spineless ninny, but then looks can be deceiving, I suppose.’

Holly bristled slightly, trying to keep her composure. ‘Surely there’s lots of lovely ladies in Larkford, who’d be delighted to spend some time with you. Granted, they may not
all be up for a squabble on the first date, but is there no one who’s caught your eye? I’m sure Verity wouldn’t want you to be lonely.’

‘Bah. And that just shows how little you know about my wife. Magnificent she was. Hell of a woman.’ He gave her a sideways glance and a smile tugged at the corners of his moustache.
‘Of course, you’d probably have called her terrifying, but we settled for indomitable. Good woman. Lousy bridge player. Best of friends.’ He dabbed at his face with the
handkerchief again.

‘She sounds a little like Julia Channing,’ Holly quipped, before cursing herself for speaking out of turn. First rule of living in a small community: never bad-mouth anyone.

The Major really did smile then, tucking his hanky away once more and picking up his bundle of forsythia. ‘Now there’s a hell of a woman. I’ve a lot of time for Julia. She may
be a bit brittle sometimes and, true, you never know which way the wind is blowing with her, but . . . Well, let’s just say that she’s saved me more often than I care to think. That
Meningitis outbreak a few years ago, when they were vaccinating the whole town? It was Julia Channing who came and sought me out – knew I wouldn’t go to The Practice, you know? Probably
more than her job was worth to treat someone who wasn’t registered . . . And again when I had those dodgy scallops on my boat, it was Julia who phoned the local doctor in France for me . . .
Wonderful lass.’ He sighed. ‘She was a sweetheart with my Verity at the end too.’