Out of Practice (32 page)

‘You’re actually the second person this week to tell me that,’ Julia said, slipping her phone into her pocket. ‘Does it work? Do you suddenly feel liberated and
energised?’

Holly considered that for a moment, unwilling to admit that she was swinging erratically between feeling decadent and guilty for making the change. Surely at work she should be keeping up
appearances? She added milk to Julia’s coffee and handed it over, annoyed with herself for how often that poisonous little word kept popping into her head. ‘Actually, to be honest,
I’m finding it much harder than I thought I would. I hadn’t realised how often I was bossing myself around, making myself do things because I ought to, rather than because I wanted to.
It is a bit liberating, but also bloody depressing.’

Holly shrugged and popped out two paracetamol. ‘I mean it’s never as though we use it for ourselves, is it? I should go home and put my feet up – I’m knackered and I have
a splitting headache. But we both know I won’t. But ask me to cover Dr Bruce’s shift this evening and you can bet I will, because that’s what I should do if I want to keep my job,
right?’

Julia sipped at her coffee and perched on the edge of the table. ‘You know, if you give an inch with Dr Bruce, he’ll take a mile. Don’t let him intimidate you, Holly. If
we’re being frank with one another, it’s all too easy to give the male doctors superior status in The Practice, but the only one who has it is George. Henry, Dan and myself are all on
equal footing.’

Holly flushed red, mentally kicking herself for having dropped her guard. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’

‘I know you didn’t,’ Julia cut in. ‘It was a friendly word of advice, that’s all.’ She paused and drank her coffee. ‘I know that friendliness
isn’t my go-to setting, but I’m not all bad, Holly. I have been known to be almost human at times. I just, well, I just like to get on and do my job. As well as I can on any given
day.’

There was a moment of quiet contemplation on both sides, as they drank their coffee in silence. Holly swallowed the compulsion to fill the void with chatter, as she normally would. She’d
always hated the idea of someone finding her so boring that they had literally nothing to say to her. Or of her being so socially inept that she couldn’t even maintain a civilised
conversation. Instead, for once, she just let the moment be.

She felt Julia’s eyes upon her but didn’t look up, savouring instead the peace and quiet.

‘You’re not so bad to chat to, Holly Graham,’ said Julia suddenly. ‘I always pegged you for one of those women who never stop talking, even when they’ve nothing to
say. I even assumed you’d be one of those mothers that whipped out photos of their babies at every conversational lull. But when I’m wrong, I’m wrong.’

Holly grinned suddenly, almost excitably. ‘You know I
was
tempted. Knowing as I do, your fondness for baby pictures,’ she said ironically, ‘but you know, I just
couldn’t be arsed all of a sudden. Maybe you were right, maybe this is going to be enormously liberating.’

Julia’s brow furrowed in confusion. ‘You mean the baby chit-chat is part of your “should”?’

‘I know – who knew?’ smiled Holly. ‘Maybe, I thought that mums who return to work have to prove that they’re missing their children all the time. Otherwise,
we’re just, you know, monsters . . .’

‘I couldn’t do it,’ said Julia matter-of-factly, as she absent-mindedly plaited her long blonde hair over one shoulder. ‘Have kids I mean, not the working mum thing. I
couldn’t even consider it. Babies are just so needy, aren’t they?’

‘Yup. Needy, clingy and demanding. That’s why they have the big eyes, you know, to make us all fall in love with them. Then we don’t mind so much when they pee in your hair at
3 a.m.!’

‘In your hair?’ cried Julia, aghast, clutching at the immaculate plait.

‘And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.’ Holly grinned wickedly. ‘The tales I could tell you would have your tubes tying themselves in knots. There is no group in the
world that pays as much attention to contraception as New Mums. And then, of course, the love thing over-rides all that and all they remember are those big blue eyes.’

Holly stopped suddenly, clapping her hand over her mouth in shock, suddenly aware that she was talking to one of her superiors at work and not Lizzie. ‘That’s to say, what I mean is
. . .’

‘What you
should
have said . . . ?’ interrupted Julia, amusement lurking in her voice. ‘Please don’t apologise on my account. It’s actually rather
refreshing to hear someone straying away from the Official Party Line that parenting is the be all and end all. In my experience, everyone who has ever had a baby in the history of the world, feels
it incumbent upon them to share the glad tidings and rope me in too. I wondered at one point whether they were all on commission – you know, bring another member into the cult? Now, I wonder
if they just want me to feel the same pain . . .’ Julia trailed off for a moment. ‘Oh and to share the joys of motherhood etcetera,’ she finished ironically.

‘Well, there are some perks,’ said Holly, trying to recover her equilibrium. ‘The Parent and Child parking spaces are huge. Seriously, even I can reverse into them first
time.’

Julia smiled, one eyebrow raised. ‘So that’s your Golf parked diagonally in the car park, is it? I might have known.’

‘Do you know,’ said Holly slowly, ‘I feel like this is the first proper conversation we’ve had.’

‘It’s certainly the first honest one,’ rejoined Julia. ‘You’re not half as unbearably smug and bouncy as I thought you were!’

Holly’s eyes widened slightly, along with her smile. ‘And when you’re not being intimidating and patronising, you’re actually quite nice to chat to. Even if I do secretly
hate you for your teeny tiny waist and immaculate wardrobe.’

Julia brushed the spotless sleeve of her jacket and grinned. ‘Well, I publicly hate you for constantly eating chocolate biscuits and never getting spots. And because all the men here think
you’re funny and want to take care of you.’

‘Well, I hate the fact that I look like such a victim, that I need taking care of.’

‘Hmm, well I’m a duck. All calm above the surface and legs paddling madly underneath. And I don’t like people very much.’

‘A duck, eh? Well, then, I would have to be a giant squid. Too many hands, all full, flailing out of control . . .’

Julia sniggered at the mental picture and then sighed. ‘Well, for all that, duck or squid, at least we’re both delicious. Or at least, we are to the Chinese.’

‘I love that you hate all that about me,’ said Holly quietly, honesty colouring her cheeks. ‘I can’t remember the last time I actually said what I was thinking without
running it through the filters first. Engage Brain Before Opening Mouth, you know?’

‘If it makes you feel any better, I actually have to check that I’m not being too nice or friendly when I open my mouth, or before you know it, I’m looking at baby photos and
being invited to coffee mornings. It’s quite hard work being aloof, but now you know all the reasons I can’t stand the whole perky ponytail perspective, I can be nice. To you, I mean.
Just occasionally. And don’t read anything into it. We’re too different to be friends, and I might just have to fire you in a few weeks time. But still . . .’

Holly clinked her mug against Julia’s. ‘To fuck-it philosophy and ditching the shoulds. Oh and FYI, those heels you’re wearing? The nurses call you Miss Whiplash when you wear
them. Just saying.’

Julia grinned, the smile transforming the contours of her face until Holly was stunned by her good looks. ‘I may just have to wear them more often then, don’t you think? Right, now,
stop slacking, Graham. Go and do some work. But at least you don’t look like death any more. Bit of colour in your cheeks. Chip chop. I happen to know there’s some infected acne heading
your way. Saw it in the waiting room. Have fun now . . .’

Julia got up and left the doctors’ lounge leaving Holly feeling rather buoyed. Her headache was fading and the caffeine had lifted her out of her slump, but she couldn’t deny that
the smile on her face was all down to Julia. Who knew?

Julia pulled open the fridge in the doctors’ lounge, hoping to squeeze in an early lunchtime. ‘Where the hell is my lunch?’ she burst out, with an
uncharacteristic lack of composure. Her conversation with Holly earlier had left her feeling unbalanced and irritable: annoyed with herself for opening up and unnerved by the feelings that had been
provoked.

She swung around, her high-heeled boots squeaking on the floor and eyed everyone in the room with distrust.

Taffy was tucking into an enormous sausage roll, Grace was nibbling a vast egg salad baguette and Jason appeared to be nibbling Laura’s ear-lobes. Julia cleared her throat and tried to
adopt a breezy tone. ‘I don’t suppose anyone’s taken my lunch by accident? Little Tupperware bowl? Blue lid?’

Taffy waved his sausage roll in answer and Jason didn’t bother to look up. Only Grace looked uncomfortable. ‘Oh Grace, please don’t tell me you’ve eaten my lunch. I have
had a very trying morning and I really just wanted to sit down and eat my macrobiotic salad and take a few minutes without being moaned at.’

Julia felt she was on the verge of tears. It was almost as though every patient she’d seen this morning had been specially selected to wind her up. She could never get past the frustration
with patients who couldn’t do the simplest things to help themselves. Was it really so hard, as a diabetic for example, to stay off the fizzy pop and out of the hospital?

She sighed, any hope of a quiet lunch now gone. Anxiety always exacerbated her issues with food and it was only the thought of her perfectly prepared, calorie-counted, gluten-free salad that had
offered her comfort. Without that, Julia felt hungry and panicked. It was much the same feeling that would overcome her if she tried to do a supermarket shop on an empty stomach – as though
she wanted to sit in the middle aisle and weep, completely unable to make a decision about what she could eat.

Grace swallowed her mouthful of baguette, bought from the bakery over the road and rolling in mayonnaise. It was clearly delicious and decadent and seemed to require her undivided attention.
‘Erm . . . Your salad? Was it in a square tub with a blue lid?’

‘Ye–es,’ replied Julia, forcing herself to be patient. ‘Like I said.’

‘It’s just that I was cleaning the fridge out, like I do every morning. And there was a square pot, but it was just full of fungus stuff and a few soggy beansprouts. It must have
been there for ages, because it smelt awful. I’m afraid I threw it out.’

Julia ground her foot into the floor, not really caring in that moment that she was behaving like a spoiled teenager. ‘That was a soy, miso dressing and that was a very expensive
macrobiotic selection of fresh shoots. I put it there this morning!’

‘I’m so sorry, Julia. My mistake. You can share my sandwich, if you like?’ Grace reluctantly held up the creamy egg baguette and Julia’s eyes bulged.

‘I do not eat mayonnaise!’ she cried and barged out of the room, muttering under her breath. She picked up her bag and had slammed her way out of the building before the shame kicked
in and she realised she had nowhere to go.

Julia glanced around the deserted Market Place and made a snap decision, stepping quickly inside the offices of Squire & Bates. She still felt shaken, but she’d
walked three loops of the Market Place and at last, her thoughts settled. It wasn’t that her visit to the local estate agent was a secret, she justified to herself, it was simply that she
didn’t want anyone to know what she was doing. And certainly not before she did.

Piers Bates was on his feet within moments, holding out a manicured hand. ‘Dr Channing, hello. How are you? Please, please take a seat.’

She perched on the edge of the uncomfortably modern chrome and leather chair and wondered when estate agency had become such a trend-driven business. When she’d bought her little house in
Larkford five years ago, these offices had been furnished with squishy sofas and upholstered chairs that made you feel completely at ease. Although obviously the circumstances had been rather
different too, as back then she’d been caught up in the heady excitement of buying her first property. But here she was today, looking to sell, feeling uncomfortable and with no better
options on the horizon.

‘Rachel? Could you get Dr Channing a coffee? Coffee, Dr Channing, or would you prefer tea?’ Piers’ politeness bordered on the obsequious and Julia wasn’t really in the
mood to play along.

‘Coffee’s fine. I just need to have a quiet word about the possibility of selling my house. And by quiet, obviously I mean confidential.’

‘Of course, of course,’ said Piers as he clicked away at the computer and pulled up her file.

Rachel, his assistant, appeared with two cups of Nescafé’s finest and placed them down on the desk. ‘You’re not selling that lovely house of yours, Dr Channing? I hope
you’re not leaving us? I couldn’t possibly go to one of the men for my check-ups, not when they’re all so dishy, well, not Dr Kingsley obviously, although for an older chap,
he’s not bad looking is he? But I suppose I meant Dr Carter and Dr Jones really. I mean, what if it’s your lady’s appointment?’ She mouthed the last two words in a comedy
whisper, before grinning conspiratorially. ‘I don’t know how you lot get any work done over there, with those two . . .’

‘Thank you, Rachel,’ Piers cut in tersely, ‘and perhaps this is a good moment to remind you of Dr Channing’s request for confidentiality?’

Rachel blushed furiously. ‘Of course.’ She made her way back to her desk, duly chastised and Julia felt sorry for her. Okay, so she was a chatterbox, but it didn’t immediately
make her a gossip too, at least Julia fervently hoped not. Perhaps spontaneously dropping in wasn’t exactly the best way of keeping things confidential.

‘So,’ Julia continued, ‘I wanted to get some idea of value and to find out whether you had anyone on your books already who was looking for something similar. If I decide to go
ahead, I’d be looking at a quick sale, no chain. Can you help?’