Out of Practice (7 page)

‘Hello,’ she managed, her voice sounding unusually gruff and strangled.

‘Jesus Christ, Holly, if that’s your best doctoring voice, it certainly needs some work,’ said Lizzie with a snigger.

‘Morning, Elizabeth,’ managed Holly. ‘Only you could sound this chipper at stupid o’clock in the morning.’

‘Only because I’ve been up for bloody hours! Anyway, I know you’re dashing but I just wanted to check you survived yesterday afternoon and that you’re still up for supper
tonight? I want all the gory details.’

‘Sounds perfect,’ said Holly, secretly longing to dissect the rest of her first day at work. Milo’s enquiries last night had been brief to the point of disinterest, but then,
she had been fast asleep in front of the television by nine o’clock: hardly scintillating company herself. ‘The boys are looking forward to it already.’

‘Then I shall have something entirely pointless and non-educational lined up for them to do. Speaking of pointless, will your darling husband be joining us?’

‘Lizzie!’ Holly protested, feeling disloyal for the laughter that automatically bubbled up. It was just that Lizzie had this unerring knack of putting into words exactly the feelings
that Holly would never admit to. Lizzie firmly maintained that Milo’s primary role in family life was purely decorative and Holly tried to remind herself daily that he was doing his best and
that not everyone could multi-task or prioritise on the hoof.

True, there were times, like last night, like this morning, when it grew increasingly difficult to ignore the deteriorating state of her marriage, but Holly knew that if she stopped to dwell on
it, even for a second, she would lose the momentum she relied upon to carry her through each and every day. It was all about keeping focus. Much better to focus on the things that made her happy
– her boys, her work, her friends . . .

‘Can I bring anything?’ Holly asked simply.

‘Wine. We’ll definitely be needing wine. Quite a lot of wine probably.’ Lizzie’s laugh was a little strained and Holly wished she had more time to talk, but Lizzie, like
Holly, was banking on momentum and pushed on with her plans. ‘We’ll give the kids a treat and pop on a DVD or something – you never know, we might even finish a
sentence.’

And Lizzie had a point: with everyone’s various offspring around, there wasn’t much scope for adult conversation in Holly’s home life. The snatched exchanges with the other
mothers in the Nursery corridor, or at the various children’s parties that seemed to monopolise many a weekend, often felt unsatisfying and left Holly feeling out of sync with the people
around her.

Lizzie had it right as always. What Holly fancied was a proper gossip with her friend, without the need to censor her words and cram every concept into three sentences or less. Holly had
recently decided that motherhood was a lot like Twitter – you had 140 characters to get your point across, before the next distraction came bowling along and you’d missed your
window.

‘Have you got time for this?’ Milo called through from the kitchen, feet up on the table and sports pages spread open.

‘Is that His Lordship I hear summoning you?’ asked Lizzie drily. ‘He’s doing well to be out of bed this early.’

Whilst absolutely true, Holly once again felt torn: her honour dictated that she should defend her husband, mention that he’d been up writing until the wee small hours, but the exhausted
mother in her welcomed the acknowledgement that help and support from Milo were in short supply. Some days she wondered whether it might actually be easier to be a single parent, before promptly
and repeatedly quashing the notion. She simply couldn’t do that to her boys. So, she did what she always did these days, and dodged the issue. ‘I’d love to chat but I really must
dash, Lizzie, I can’t be late on my second day.’

‘Quite right too – go forth and heal the sick, placate the whiney and be virtuous for the both of us. Just promise me you’re not wearing one of those tired old jersey dresses
again or I shall be forced to intervene.’

‘Good Lord, is that the time?’ deflected Holly as Lizzie hit a sensitive nerve. Holly was actually still mourning the fact that, as a GP, she would no longer get to fall out of bed
and pull on a set of scrubs every day. Okay, so she had secretly rather enjoyed going into Jigsaw with Lizzie at the end of her maternity leave last year, and picking out three stylish outfits, but
a year down the line she was still wearing those self-same outfits day in, day out – and now for work as well as play.

Biting at yet another loose thread, she conceded that a little more effort probably was required on the clothing front, but at 6 a.m. every last moment spent in bed was precious. And if she did
sometimes worry that she might arrive at work looking as though she’d got dressed in the dark, it just didn’t seem terribly professional to let on, that some days she actually had.

Lizzie’s laugh echoed down the phone as Holly hung up and started gathering yet more kit together for the day ahead. She could hear Bob the Builder heading for its exciting denouement and
knew she didn’t have long.

She grabbed the twins’ kit bags from the kitchen table and dashed into the utility room, turning her back on the sorry heap of laundry that lay neglected in the basket. ‘You’ll
still be here when I get back,’ she told it, as she filled the bags with drinks for the twins and shook her head in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe I’m talking to the bloody
laundry now,’ she said to the contents of the fridge, as she rummaged around for a few snack-time treats.

She filled a separate plastic tub with Ben’s special homemade biscuits and unearthed some non-dairy chocolate buttons. It had been a long road to uncover the source of Ben’s allergy,
but the endless exclusion plans had been worth the effort. Of course it meant that most of his food had to be prepared from scratch, just to be sure that no dairy products were creeping into his
diet, but Holly figured that a little extra cooking was a small price to pay. Watching her miserable, screaming, snotty baby transform before her very eyes had been almost miraculous.

If only they could get to the bottom of his other issues so easily. Although it was fair to say that Ben suffered by comparison with his gregarious, over-confident twin, it was equally obvious
that Ben shied away from other people. Given the choice, Ben liked habit, routine and his twin. He was happy enough with Holly, but he only really sparkled for Tom. Anyone else, anything else, was
simply perceived by Ben as an unwelcome interruption.

Holly emerged from the utility, bags fully laden and running through her day’s To Do list in her head. The twins were now running noisy loops around the kitchen table,
Ben lagging behind as always. She’d been meaning to book him in for another development assessment, but somehow, with the move, it had slipped down the list and guilt needled at her
over-burdened conscience.

Holly looked up, distracted, to find Milo still blissfully unperturbed by the chaos now surrounding him. He sensed her gaze, looked up at her and smiled. ‘If you’re up, Holls,
I’d love another cup of coffee.’

‘Yes, yes, very funny,’ Holly replied. ‘Kettle’s on. You’ll have to make your own. I’m late.’

‘I did warn you that you didn’t have time to be nattering on the phone,’ he said, turning the page. ‘I’m not sure that this morning routine of yours is really
working.’

Holly took a deep breath, refusing to rise to the bait. Sometimes she wondered whether Milo just wanted to provoke a reaction, to prove that he could.

To say that Milo was not a morning person would be an understatement of Jurassic proportions, but since she was utterly wiped by supper-time, their window for civil communication was rapidly
shrinking. She constantly reminded herself that his writing was important and that his hours were long and erratic – she wasn’t making excuses for him, whatever Lizzie might say –
she was just stating a fact.

But it didn’t excuse the elephant in the room: Holly’s new policy of keeping her head down and ducking the debate was hardly a long-term strategy for marital bliss.

She checked the clock and pulled her battered make-up bag out of her handbag and quickly smudged some eyeliner into place.

‘You want some help?’

Holly distractedly covered up the stress spot on her chin and didn’t think before answering. ‘You could get the boys into their boots and coats?’ she suggested, ever
hopeful.

Milo leaned forward and plucked the make-up from her hands. ‘I meant with that muck on your face – there’s probably a trowel kicking around here somewhere!’ He laughed at
his own joke and tossed Holly’s make-up bag to one side. ‘I think you might have to admit defeat there, Holly. Only so much you can do with a bit of slap, my love.’

She stared at him, stunned. He may have been laughing, but these recent jokes at her expense simply weren’t that funny. ‘Give it a rest,’ she said, properly needled by his
comments, hitting her on the soft underbelly of her own insecurities as they always did. For Milo, words weren’t just his profession, they were also his weapon of choice and these days his
aim was unerringly accurate.

Later on, when she thought about this conversation, she knew she’d be second-guessing herself. There was a chance, of course, that she was simply over-reacting to Milo’s odd sense of
humour. But then there was also the possibility that Lizzie was right and that he was actually doing his level best to put her down and gradually shred her self-esteem. The problem was that Holly
could no longer tell the difference.

Fresh starts were all well and good, but surely they had to be built on a level foundation? And right now, living with Milo was like walking across a ploughed field in high heels. It was all
about balance.

As ever, it took an age to wrestle Tom and Ben into their gloves, hats and coats, muddling up their identical pairs of shoes, and by the time they were ready to leave the
house, Holly felt as though she’d run a mile.

She manhandled their enormous double-pram, dubbed the Beast, out of the hallway and into their quiet little road. Holly had actually been looking forward to walking to work whenever the weather
allowed. If nothing else, the opportunities for denting expensive Mercedes when she was merely wielding the Beast were marginally lower.

This morning, though, her thoughts refused to be quieted by the beautiful scenery around her. The boys were gabbling away in the pram; their own little language indecipherable even to Holly.

She leaned in to the pram as the road sloped upwards and wondered where it had all gone wrong.

Milo’s comments about her appearance used to build her up, not pull her down. Lizzie had been extremely vocal on the subject whenever his jibes had been overheard, leaping to her defence
unreservedly, so at least she knew she wasn’t imagining it.

Holly sighed. It wasn’t just the comments about how she looked; it was everything she did these days. Milo somehow managed to know exactly how to play her, yet always pulling back just
before he crossed that line, leaving her uncertain and confused.

The travel mug of coffee that he had lovingly pressed into her hand with a gentle kiss as she’d left just now was a case in point.

He was an expert at sowing just enough seeds of doubt, just enough to unsettle her, before abruptly changing tack – sometimes she honestly thought she might be going mad.

If it weren’t for the boys . . . Holly shook the disloyal thought away. She’d made the decision to try again and she was damned if she was going to give up without giving this her
very best shot. She wasn’t going to let her own insecurities ruin her family. So she might need to make a few compromises; it had to be worth it for her boys to grow up in a secure family
unit. Didn’t it?

‘Hello there, Dr Graham!’ called out Marion Gains from across the narrow street, bustling towards them with unstoppable purpose and jerking Holly from her reflections. ‘How are
you settling in?’

Holly smiled despite herself. She couldn’t help liking Marion and her kindly interest in every living soul in the town, which spoke more for her maternal nurturing side than for any
malicious gossip. As the manager of the little supermarket in town, Marion was basically Larkford’s all-seeing-eye. She knew about pregnancies, diets, minor ailments and visiting relatives
before anyone else, simply based on her skilled evaluation of your shopping basket. Who needed market research when you had a Marion?

Marion gave the twins an adoring smile and couldn’t resist ruffling Tom’s hair – she already knew better than to try that with Ben. A few moments of small talk and Marion was
off again, heading down the road with the energy and intensity of a woman on a mission.

Larkford was a funny little town in many ways, but Holly had no regrets in moving here, even taking into account the proximity of her formidable mother-in-law. And if ever Jean’s
ever-looming presence became too much, Holly had only to walk through the streets of the town to know she’d made the right decision.

Every time she came out of her narrow residential road, whether on foot or by car, Holly would pause for a moment. From this mini vantage point, the hills outlined her view in every direction
and the woodland seemed to creep down into the edges of the meadows that surrounded the town like a moat.

Holly took a deep breath, slowly drawing in the crisp morning air, and allowed herself just a moment to indulge. Here, Holly had always felt that her little family would be safe, cocooned from
the realities of the outside world. Her own childhood had been rather different and she certainly tried to be selective with her memories, for the most part.

The happier years, before her father, a policeman, had been promoted to the Public Protection Unit, she allowed through. Everything after his death in the line of duty was sharply, brutally,
edited, leaving her only with the disturbing echoes, whenever she was confronted with a decision of her own.

It had been an easy choice in the end, between the practice in central Bristol, or moving to a nice quiet backwater like Larkford.

She turned into the Market Place just as the sun burst through the heavy blanket of cloud, unwittingly mirroring Holly’s state of mind. Just as she never allowed herself to think about her
father’s passing, Holly mentally filed all thoughts of Milo’s thoughtless comments, and how rubbish he’d managed to make her feel, into the Pandora’s Box in her mind. In
Holly’s world, it seemed, nobody had the capacity to hurt her more than the ones she loved the most. She rubbed at her face, her skin taut and irritable, and gave herself permission to draw
comfort from her new hometown laid out before her.