Out of Practice (23 page)

Holly wanted to say, Are you sure? Are we talking about the same Julia Channing? The mismatch between the woman she worked with and the woman the Major was describing was just too large. So much
for first impressions, thought Holly; she was suddenly reframing Julia in a whole new light.

‘And last Christmas,’ carried on the Major, ‘she came round for a piece of cake and a cuppa on Christmas Day. Knew I’d be on my own. She’s a good girl, that
one.’

Holly checked her watch and stood up slowly. ‘You know, Major? If it’s strong women you like, why don’t you chat to Marion Gains? If there’s someone for you in Larkford,
Marion will know who it is. She’s practically an Oracle.’

The Major stood up beside her. ‘Perhaps I shall. I shall certainly give the matter some thought. It’s been lovely to chat with you, Dr Graham. I think you’ll fit in here rather
splendidly. I might even take your advice. Perhaps you would do me the honour of taking mine, with regards to Julia Channing. Don’t judge a book by its cover, will you? We all come with
baggage, Holly, if I may call you Holly?’

Before she could reply, he was off, reverently laying down his offering at Verity’s headstone, before marching towards the Market Place without even a backwards glance.

Holly smiled and dropped her coffee cup into the bin. Since when did it become embarrassing to admit to being lonely, she wondered. And if even the confident and gregarious Major was afflicted,
she wondered how many other souls amongst them felt the same way. She waved at the robin stalking her as she left the graveyard, but two thoughts jostled for position in her mind.

Did one necessarily have to be single to be lonely? And was Julia Channing actually much nicer than she let on?

Refreshed and renewed by her mini sanity saver, Holly felt much happier about facing the day ahead of her. It was just as well she’d had a little boost, because the test
results waiting when she got in spelled disaster for one of their patients.

‘Holly, have you got a few minutes?’ asked Dan, poking his head around her door. ‘I could really use a second pair of hands on this one.’ He came into the room and sank
down on the chair opposite Holly. He looked pretty stressed and Holly could see there was a faint tremor in his hand, as he held the buff patient file on his lap.

‘No problem,’ said Holly, clicking save on the referral letter she was typing. It didn’t matter how many times Grace told her she could just dictate them, Holly was still more
comfortable thinking on paper. These letters didn’t need to be eloquently crafted, but having been at the hospital end of this very equation, Holly knew that the right personal information,
phrased in the right way, could often make a significant difference to waiting times.

From that perspective, what was five minutes more of her time, compared to weeks of additional worry for her patients?

‘Still typing your own referrals, I see,’ said Dan.

‘I know you all think I’m mad, but it’s important to me,’ Holly replied. ‘Don’t start telling me all about GP time ratios again.’

‘I wasn’t going to,’ Dan said. ‘In fact, I’m beginning to wonder whether we should all be following your lead. You’re the one with hospital background, after
all. And anyway, it’s actually your fluffy-bunny sensibilities I need this afternoon.’

He opened the buff folder and pulled out a print-out sheet from the MRI scanning department in Bath. He passed it to Holly without comment.

Holly didn’t need any. The tumour was unmistakable, showing white hot against the hazier outlines. ‘Well, that’s not good,’ she said, mentally calculating scale.
‘That has to be an inch across. Any secondaries?’

Dan silently passed her a second page.

Holly took a moment to check she was seeing everything; it was so easy for the eye to be drawn to the bigger growths, but sometimes it was the smaller, more aggressively mutating ones that would
prove more devastating.

‘So,’ she said eventually, ‘are we providing familial support, or Macmillan referrals . . . I presume they’ll get the news from the consultant direct.’

‘Normally, yes,’ said Dan, ‘but we need to be a little bit careful with this one. Kid gloves so to speak, so the consultant has asked if we can break the initial news and then
he’ll see them in the morning. Shirley, our lovely Macmillan nurse was going to come and hold my hand, but Mr Jeffries is on his last legs and she’s needed there really.’

The request was unspoken and Holly felt quite panicked. This bit of her job never got any easier. At least, by leaving the hospital, she never had to break the news of a fatality any more
– that was guaranteed to give her sleepless nights for ages.

‘And the kid gloves?’

Dan shook his head. ‘It’s Lance. From the deli?’

‘Oh no,’ cried Holly, involuntarily. ‘How bloody cruel.’

Lance was all of thirty-two years old and he ran the deli with his gorgeous wife, Hattie. After four rounds of IVF, Hattie was finally, ecstatically pregnant. But Holly had seen her only the
other day for a blood pressure check, so she knew from her file that the IVF had been necessary after years of unexplained miscarriages. The last thing they wanted to do was to trigger another
one.

‘I need a bit of help on this one,’ said Dan apologetically. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but Julia is not known for her sensitivity when it comes to pregnancy. She claims
that pregnancy isn’t an illness and therefore shouldn’t be something we deal with, but I think the whole thing kind of freaks her out. I know it sounds weird for a doctor, but
she’s actually kind of squeamish. That’s why we needed you.’

‘Okay then,’ said Holly, Julia edging ever closer to human on the spectrum in Holly’s mind. ‘I’m not saying I’ll be any good at this one, but at least I know
Hattie. She was one of the first people to welcome us here actually.’ Holly felt herself getting a little choked up. She tried to pull herself together, but when she looked up, Dan’s
eyes were decidedly moist too.

‘Are you sure we’re the best people to be handling this? Surely, the distance and anonymity of an oncologist might make it all feel a bit less real?’ Holly wondered out
loud.

Dan shrugged. ‘We’ve been through hell and back with them here, trying to get Hattie through each pregnancy. Not to mention the fact that Lance and I have known each other for ever.
Let’s just stick to the basics, tell them the news and I’ll go to Bath with them tomorrow. Just in case they have any questions.’

‘Do you normally do that?’ asked Holly, pressing her hand to her chest, beyond impressed.

‘Sometimes. Not all the time obviously, but this isn’t just anyone, is it?’

Holly pushed back her chair, handing Dan the print-outs. ‘So you do the talking, I’ll do the hand-holding?’

‘I suspect that we’ll both be doing a little of each.’ He took Holly’s hand in his, squeezed it and then let go. ‘Thanks for this, Holly.’

Holly was about to say ‘my pleasure’ but the words fell to sawdust in her mouth. ‘No one should do this alone,’ she said instead and she meant it.

Holly pulled open the door to Dan’s room, where Grace had already escorted Hattie and Lance and organised a jug of water.

The news at this point felt like a mere formality. The stricken look on Hattie’s face said it all. They weren’t stupid and the minute glasses of water and two doctors arrived, their
worst fears began to be realised.

Holly felt clumsy and ill-informed as Dan outlined the diagnosis. She held Hattie’s hand in her own, rubbing her thumb in circles, as she might to soothe one of her boys after a nightmare.
But Hattie’s nightmare was only just beginning.

After a few minutes, both Lance and Hattie were beginning to look overwhelmed. ‘There’s just so much to take in,’ said Hattie bewildered.

Lance had yet to say a word, he just listened with an intensity that suggested his life depended on it.

Holly pulled a piece of paper from Dan’s desk and scribbled her phone number on it. ‘I know Dan will answer all your questions and guide you through your options tomorrow, but,
Hattie, please do phone me if there’s anything you want to talk through, anything that’s not making sense.’

Hattie choked up further then. ‘You can’t go round giving out your home number, Holly, you’ll have all the nutters on the phone.’

Holly rubbed her shoulder. ‘Well, you don’t seem that nutty to me. Keep it. If you need me, I’m there.’

Dan hung back, talking quietly with Lance, as Holly made sure that Hattie was feeling alright. ‘Let’s just check your BP to be on the safe side. And if you can get some sleep
tonight, then you and the baby will both be better for it.’

‘I knew, you know, Holly. As soon as we found that lump. I knew it would come to this. I tried keeping busy, sticking my head in the sand, but there was just this feeling that
wouldn’t go away. How could we get so lucky as to have this little bean on the way . . .’

Holly wrote down the BP readings and looked Hattie in the eye. ‘We’ll get you both the best care in the county. You won’t be on your own through this, Hattie. And Shirley will
be around tomorrow, from Macmillan, and she’s wonderful.’

‘You’re not bad yourself, Holly. Thank you for telling us here. I hate those impersonal doctors that make you feel like a number not a person. And you giving me your number . .
.’

‘Use it,’ said Holly. ‘I wasn’t just being polite. I know you don’t know me very well yet, but I very rarely make offers, or threats, that I don’t carry
through on.’

‘That’s why your boys are so good,’ said Hattie, hiccupping through her tears. ‘They know their boundaries.’

‘Doesn’t work so well on husbands, though,’ said Holly with a wry smile, as she gave Hattie a gentle hug.

Why did it always work like this, thought Holly, and not for the first time. Bad things did happen to good people and yet some of the worst old reprobates she knew were still in the running for
a telegram from the Queen. It was almost enough to make her question her every belief.

‘Dan? Have you got a minute?’ Jason appeared in the doorway the next morning, in his off-duty ensemble of tracksuit and trainers. His face was flushed and he was
walking rather strangely. The front door had barely been unlocked ten minutes, but already the waiting room was filling up and the phones were ringing off the hook. There seemed to be a couple of
viruses doing the rounds and the patients would insist on coming in and sharing their lurgies around, rather than simply taking it easy at home for twenty-four hours.

Taffy was perched on the end of Dan’s desk, making short work of a bacon sandwich.

‘Literally a minute though, and then you can both sod off. I’ve got a roomful of malingerers awaiting my undivided attention in ooh, about 15 minutes. I didn’t think you were
in this morning, Jason.’

‘Not ’til later, really, but I’ve got myself in a bit of trouble and I need your help.’ Jason sat down gingerly. ‘You guys have to promise not to tell anyone though
– it’s kind of embarrassing.’

Taffy grinned, wondering what (or possibly who), Jason had been up to. ‘My lips are sealed, but I could do with a laugh. Come on – out with it. What have you done?’

Jason gingerly rolled down his tracksuit trousers, wincing as the fabric caught on the strips of wax covering one leg to the thigh. He shrugged, embarrassed. ‘I’ve got a big
triathlon at the weekend and I read somewhere that professional cyclists always have smooth legs – you know, less drag. So I was thinking that if I used one of those leg waxing kits . .
.’

Taffy gave the reddened skin a gleeful poke. ‘And how many did you manage to get off before you panicked and came in here?’

‘One,’ admitted Jason rather pathetically. ‘It
really
hurt!’

Dan took in the sorry sight and squashed the urge to slip out his camera, delighted to have a reprieve from his morning of pointing out that 90 per cent of sore throats go away on their own
without antibiotics.

‘Are you supposed to put them all on in one go?’ he asked, intrigued.

‘Dunno,’ Jason shrugged sulkily. ‘It was a spur of the moment kind of thing.’

Dan grabbed one corner of a wax strip and pulled. The strip snagged slightly, so Dan pulled harder, making Jason’s eyes bulge. It clearly wasn’t the right technique.

‘Against the grain,’ Jason groaned, ‘I think you’re supposed to pull against the grain.’

‘Come on, let me have a go. It’s not rocket science,’ Taffy interrupted. He grabbed the other end of the strip, changing direction and pulled even harder. The wax strip came
away, along with a forest of leg hair and what remained of Jason’s dignity as he yowled like a little girl.

‘Can’t I have an injection or something? There’s eight more to go! You could give me some lidocaine or something? Surely?’

‘Nah – don’t be a baby. The girls do this all the time. How bad can it be?’ Taffy laughed.

‘Yeah,’ said Jason grumpily, rubbing the scarlet patch on his leg, ‘but they also manage to have babies, which I gather is like pushing a watermelon through your nostril. They
have to be wired differently, mate.’

Dan stepped in with the element of surprise as he ripped off the second strip and Jason swore loudly.

Moments later, a gentle knock at the door and Holly’s voice from the hallway, ‘Erm . . . Morning. Is everything okay in there?’

Jason looked at Dan and Taffy beseechingly, ‘Don’t let her in . . .’

Dan patted his leg. ‘I think it’s time we called in the experts now, Jase. And Holly’s a good sort – she won’t tell.’ He got up and let Holly in with the
warning, ‘Not a word to anyone, okay?’

Holly shook her head and clapped her hand over her mouth, as she took in the view. Jason’s leg was now erupting into angry weals where the two strips of wax had been removed and two very
hairy caterpillars of wax were lying discarded on the treatment bed.

‘Honestly, guys! How long have these strips been on?’

Jason checked his watch. ‘About two hours now.’ His voice got a little higher. ‘The little fuckers just won’t come off!’

Holly bent double at this, clutching at her sides as she tried and failed to stop laughing. ‘But why?’