Out of Practice by Penny Parkes Read Free Book Online Page A

to get her head around how competitive Lizzie could be. Woe betide anyone who got on the wrong side of her. Holly was even
ashamed to admit that, on occasion, she’d been known to edit her own stories and news, if she felt there was even a chance of provoking Lizzie’s ire.
    Truth be told though, it had been so long since they’d seen each other every day, that Holly had simply assumed it was a trait her friend had grown out of – like leg warmers, dodgy
haircuts and retro music.
    Holly watched her friend drain her jam jar and decided to continue as though Lizzie’s outburst had never happened.
    ‘If we were men, we wouldn’t be worrying about any of this,’ said Holly bluntly. ‘And we wouldn’t have worried about appearances either. We’d be in the pub
now, with a big juicy steak.’
    ‘And you might be forgiven for wearing tragic shoes and we’d be talking about the new motor, the latest rugby results and our friendship would be about as deep as a puddle,’
countered Lizzie with a grin, following her lead. ‘But alas alack, no. We are instead Mothers-with-Jobs, which roughly translates, as you very well know, as the brave (or possibly futile)
attempt to Have It All, by the simple application of Doing It All.’
    ‘Speaking of which,’ said Holly, looking at her watch and ignoring the scene of devastation on her plate, ‘I’m on in five.’
    Lizzie pushed her chair back, batted Holly’s wallet away and threw a twenty-pound note on the table. She leaned in and kissed Holly firmly on both cheeks, gripping her shoulders hard.
‘Don’t let the bastards get you down, okay. And don’t let them walk all over you either. You’re a bloody good doctor and they’re lucky to have you. As am I. Kitchen
supper at mine tomorrow?
    ‘Oh and Holly?’ called Lizzie as they parted. ‘No funny business with anyone at work today, okay?’ She grinned like a loon, waggling her fingers in parting, as her mobile
phone began to ring, her Barry O’Connor ringtone blaring cheesy 70s schmaltz across the Market Place. For a stylish, savvy woman, it had to be said that Lizzie had appalling taste in
music.
    Holly looked around her new consulting room and breathed a sigh of relief. She’d run the gauntlet of the outer office, remembering everyone’s name and at no point
had she crashed into anything, blushed like a teenager or engaged anyone senior in a battle of wills. Cool. Calm. Confident. How hard could that be?
    ‘Come on then, Graham. You can do this,’ she murmured. She made sure all her bits and pieces were unpacked, lingering over a photograph of the twins swinging like monkeys from the
climbing frame, Ben’s little face wrinkled with the sheer effort of keeping up with his brother. It was all the incentive Holly needed; if her boys could make the most of their fresh start,
then so could she.
    She pushed back her chair and walked through to the waiting room. ‘Prue Hartley?’ she called. This may not be A&E, there may not be much call for her excellent wound cleaning and
stitching skills, but she knew her stuff. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing for her to remember that occasionally.
    ‘I need to talk to you about my poo.’ Prue settled herself into the seat opposite Holly and shuffled a little to get her generous bulk comfortable as she cradled a
capacious tangerine leather bag on her lap. ‘I’ve been meaning to come in for ages actually and when my Alan told me that the new lady doctor had started, well, I thought it was about
time.’
    Holly nodded. ‘Okay. What in particular is worrying you?’ She liked to start out with a few open-ended enquiries, get a more accurate picture of the problem, without any leading
questions.
    ‘It’s tricky to describe really. It’s just
not quite right
, you know?’
    ‘I see. In what way do you mean,
not quite right
?’ Holly asked delicately, wondering how to get Prue to open up a little, but her patient seemed more interested in ferreting
around