Out of Practice (49 page)

Holly took a deep breath and tried to order her thoughts, deliberately pushing away any stray recollections of the Spring Swim and
that
photo. She knew she should be concentrating on
Milo and his heartfelt appeal.
Should.
Easier said than done. Milo’s hurtful barbs barely glanced off her, compared to the pain of losing Taffy. She forced herself to focus. That was
what this night away was all about wasn’t it, focusing on her family and her future with Milo?

Okay, so, she floundered around, looking for the positives: Milo had been trying to do something nice for her, she thought guiltily, possibly even trying to win her back.

But he was doing it with the money she was earning, the little voice in her head whispered. The money they needed to make ends meet. And there certainly wasn’t enough left over for this
kind of decadence.

Would it be different if it was
his
money?

Maybe, she conceded.

But actually, they had two small children and the idea of blowing four figures – she swallowed hard as the bile rose in her throat – on ONE NIGHT AWAY??? It was insane.

‘Listen,’ she said tightly, refusing to be provoked about anything other than the issue at hand, ‘you can be angry that I picked up the tariff sheet when we were checking in,
or you can be relieved that I caught it in time. And to be fair, I think the manager was pretty calm about the whole thing, don’t you? I mean, we’d already lost the deposit and he
didn’t have any other rooms. He could have just sent us home, you know.

‘Personally, Milo, I think it’s pretty cool that he let us keep this one – and for the price of the basic double. So we skip dinner and breakfast? It won’t kill us
– we can have a carpet picnic with this lot – look . . .’ Holly waved her hand at the complimentary goodie basket of fruit and wine and petit fours. ‘You wanted to spend
time together. Well, here we are. We can still have a swim and the massagey things are already paid for . . .’

Holly petered out, exhausted, angry and feeling cheated. A night away. A night in a pub, in a little boutique hotel? Why did everything with Milo have to be such a struggle? He said he was doing
it for her. But no. She couldn’t believe that any more.

Milo just seemed to think that the world owed him the very best.

Even with no income to speak of, he would still wander around the deli in Larkford, spending fifteen quid on smoked cheese, while she was using up coupons to save the odd fifty pence in the
supermarket. Did he think money grew on trees?

Holly was bored to tears with being the bad guy, endlessly talking about cutting their cloth according to their means. She knew that Milo struggled with the concept of sticking to a budget, but
this was the clearest sign yet that he simply didn’t have a clue.

She tried to tune back in as Milo ranted on about how humiliated he felt, but half of Holly’s brain had already logged out. She was using all her restraint not to bite back. How could he
not see that they had actually dodged a bullet? She idly wondered just how much washing up they would make you do in a place like this if you couldn’t pay your bill? Or would they have just
called the police? Ice prickled her skin at the very thought.

‘Milo, stop! Just stop. Stop ranting on as if this whole fiasco is my fault and take a breath.’

To his credit, Milo did just that, but his chin remained firmly jutting out. ‘What do you suggest then, since you clearly know everything?’

Holly sighed, cursing Jean for suggesting the idea of a night away and cursing herself for going along with it. She looked at her watch. The boys would be in their pyjamas by now, freshly warm
and scrumptious from their baths.

She shrugged. ‘Well, I’m going to phone home and say goodnight to the boys. Then I’m going to have that massage, because my neck is killing me. Then I’m coming back here
for a glass of wine.’ She paused for a moment, collecting herself, kneading the tension along the tops of her shoulders. ‘You could join in? This could still be lovely, you know. You
just have to make the decision to enjoy it.’

Holly was trying very hard to take her own advice. After all, hadn’t she made the decision to come, to try and reconnect with Milo? But, try as she might, she couldn’t seem to
engage. She knew that she was probably over-reacting to this suite, knew that she was behaving badly. She just couldn’t seem to control herself.

It seemed as though Elsie’s pep talks had re-ignited the feisty, outspoken side of her brain that was now refusing to go politely back to sleep.

Okay, so the timing was lousy. Her mind was back in Larkford, thinking about the boys, thinking about rehearsals, thinking about Taffy.

But it was just one night. Milo had a point: if she couldn’t even give him one night of her undivided attention . . .

Holly sighed, hating herself for being like this. Even here, in this wonderful suite, her mind was elsewhere.

Holly unearthed her phone from her handbag to call home, noticing the battery was running low and reminding herself to charge it and felt the waves of guilt wash over her.

‘For what it’s worth, I am truly sorry that your lovely romantic plan didn’t work out and we could argue all night about why, but it won’t change anything tonight. Come
on, what do you think?’

He looked at her mulishly. ‘Whatever. At least we’re here: I was half expecting you to cancel. After all, you’re the boss,’ he said with feeling.

Holly looked around the stunning suite, at the heavy drapes of brocade curtains, the sumptuous quilts on the enormous bed and the huge sash windows with their priceless view over Bath. If they
couldn’t be happy together here, perhaps they couldn’t be happy together anywhere? She reached out, on autopilot really, stroking Milo’s arm. She was tired, just too damn tired,
to be having this conversation again.

She wanted to tell him to swallow his pride and get a job, any job really, while he was writing his book. She didn’t want him to stop writing – she certainly wasn’t going to be
the one to crush his dream – but they needed two incomes, even supposing she could persuade him to curb his spending.

She looked at his defiant expression as he stared out at the view. So used to being the golden boy, he was rather shattered by the notion that life didn’t arrive on a silver platter, just
because you felt you deserved it.

She took his hand. ‘Come on, Milo,’ she said gently. ‘Let’s go and be pampered for a bit. What kind of massage was it you booked?’

He finally stood up, still exuding negativity. ‘It’s not so much a massage as a detox package. I thought it might do you good. It’s a wrap, I think?’

Holly’s heart sank a little further into her boots. ‘How lovely,’ she managed through clenched teeth, as she tugged her swimsuit out of her overnight bag.

Two hours later and Holly lay sweating on the bed. She felt as if every toxin she’d ingested for the last decade (and let’s face it, there had been a few) was now
attempting to crawl out of her pores. She’d been wrapped in seaweed, wrapped in cling film, left to marinade under a heated blanket and then pummelled with jets of icy water whilst wearing
paper pants. And, to add insult to injury, she’d actually paid someone a small fortune for the privilege! Her stomach cramped yet again.

‘Milo!’ she called. ‘I really do need to use the bathroom. Will you be much longer?’

His voice echoed gruffly from the marble en-suite, ‘Probably a while.’

Holly winced as her stomach spasmed yet again, triggering a fresh deluge of sweats. ‘The thing is . . . well, I
really, really
need the bathroom. Maybe you could pop out for a mo?
We could take it in turns?’

‘Daren’t risk it, Holls. Having a bit of a reaction to that detox thing. They did say I might. Probably best if I stay in here. Just in case.’

Holly tried again. ‘The thing is I had the same wrap and I really, really need five minutes in there. Then it’s all yours again. Just five minutes, Milo.’ Silence.

She hammered on the door, further enraged by her own supplicating tone.

More silence.

Then the sound of Holly’s digestive system spasming in protest. She stood up gingerly and wrapped the belt of her huge towelling robe around her tightly. The logical part of her brain gave
the headlines. Two people, one loo, first come, first served. She mentally ran through the layout of the hotel, trying to track down the nearest ladies. Surely to God the one in reception
couldn’t be the only one?

‘Milo? Can you even hear me? Stop being so bloody selfish!’

By way of response, she heard the energetic drumming of the waterfall power shower come on and that told her everything she needed to know about the state of her marriage. This was no hairline
fracture that would quietly knit back together. This was shattered bones requiring major surgery and months of rehab, with no promise of a full recovery.

She grabbed the room key from the smart Georgian credenza, doubled over once more with the sweating, agonising cramps and made a dash for the ladies’ loos two floors down.

By definition, this was fast becoming the shittiest minibreak she had ever been on.

Dan stepped sharply to one side, as Elsie’s little Fiat zipped past him and screeched to a halt.

‘Evening, Dr Carter.’

‘Elsie, I was just on my way to see you. How are you?’ asked Dan, leaning down to peer through the car window.

‘Vibrant, Vivacious and Vaguely Vertical, as always, thank you for asking.’ She smiled at him impishly. ‘I’ve just been practising for the concert, you know. So
exciting!’

‘Great,’ replied Dan warmly. ‘Maybe you could stay in one piece until then. You could probably ease off on the speed a little, you know.’

Elsie laughed and waved a dismissive hand. ‘Oh, Dr Carter, don’t be silly. You know I have to drive quickly, or I forget where I’m going!’ With that, she put her foot
down on the accelerator and without so much as a signal, pulled out and drove away.

Dan shook his head. Elsie Townsend was proving to be a slippery customer. She wasn’t quite all there and he knew it. But she wasn’t doolally either. He rather wondered whether Elsie
at eighty was any different to Elsie at sixty. Either way, he couldn’t help but admire her.

Elsie Townsend was proving to be their secret weapon and for all Henry’s talk of immobilising her, Dan couldn’t quite believe that he would go that far.

Julia, on the other hand, was convinced there was a risk and she wasn’t to be persuaded otherwise. She had half the team organised to take turns popping by, on a variety of pointless
errands, just to check that Elsie was okay.

Julia, in fact, was on magnificent form all round.

After spending the best part of an evening poring over Henry’s financial spreadsheets together, Dan had been knocked sideways by Julia’s eloquent and outspoken defence of The
Practice.

How the worm had turned.

She was driven and determined, like always, but now her efforts weren’t solely motivated by her own professional advancement. She was even using words like ‘team’ and
‘together’.

Dan couldn’t deny it was a winning combination for him. All the positives of this amazing woman, without all the endless bitching and one-upmanship that had led to their split.

At that thought, Dan couldn’t help but smile.

They’d ended up on the treatment table in his office, snogging like randy teenagers and Dan had rarely enjoyed himself more.

All their years of history, all that water under the bridge, coupled with the growing tension about the impending showdown with the PCT, had all lent a certain frisson to their fooling around; a
certain siege mentality to seize the day.

Dan ran a finger under his shirt collar as memories of the night before washed over him. He couldn’t help thinking that things were looking up. He’d slept like a baby last night and
felt calm and refreshed.

Okay, so George Kingsley was still being a wet blanket, noticeably absent from most of their strategy meetings. But now, with Julia and himself finally singing from the same song-sheet? Not to
mention the youth and enthusiasm of Holly and Taffy? Dan rather hoped that Henry Bruce wouldn’t know what hit him.

The smile slipped from his face at the thought of his best mate. Poor Taffy.

Dan knew that Taffy had been pretty frank with Holly about his feelings. It hadn’t got him anywhere though, had it? And then that pregnant girl showing up at The Practice . . . Dan
breathed out sharply. It looked like Taffy had some pretty tough decisions to make and Dan didn’t envy him. To choose between honour and love? There were no easy answers there.

Always supposing Holly gave him the chance, Dan thought. He changed direction and headed to The Kingsley Arms a little earlier than planned, satisfied that Elsie was safe from Henry Bruce for
now, even if her own driving was probably the greater risk factor at this point.

‘Really, Major?’ protested Dan as he came out of the men’s bathroom, with the Major hot on his heels, belt undone. ‘It’s the weekend. Just come
into the surgery like everybody else. I’m not giving you a physical in the pub loos!’

‘But you see, Dr Carter, if you could just take a quick look . . .’ His elderly fingers fumbled with his belt buckle and his voice sounded a little strained. His ancient terrier sat
obediently at his feet, as always, and he seemed to have shrunk at least two inches over the last few years.

‘Come and have a pint with me, Major,’ said Dan, ‘and you can tell me what it is about our practice that stops you coming in to see me, hmm?’

Dan pulled out a bar stool for him and watched Grover, the little wiry terrier, throw himself against the legs until the Major hauled him up on to his lap. ‘I’ll take a Guinness
then, Dr Carter, if you’re buying, but you won’t persuade me, you know.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Dan easily, ordering three pints of the black stuff. ‘Anything for Grover?’ he joked, trying to put the old boy at ease. Everyone knew that the
way to the Major’s heart was through his dog. It was a wonder that the Major hadn’t been into the local vet’s office to get an opinion on his gammy leg.