Chapter 24
Holly poked her head into the waiting room for the start of her afternoon clinic, wondering whether Gladys Jones had actually heard Lucy’s calls that she’d slotted her in for an appointment now, due to yet another no-show. Holly was about to call out herself when she noticed Gladys deep in conversation with the Major and his snooty neighbour Richard le Grange – a more unlikely trio you would be hard-pressed to find in Larkford, their only thing in common undoubtedly their age, but with the advent of Sarandon Hall, it was actually rather cheering to see them gossiping together, a little community contact going a long way towards keeping them engaged and sane, in Holly’s expert opinion. She couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t delighted that the Major had finally made it in, before she’d been forced to make another impromptu house call.
‘I was thinking of playing a little golf later,’ Richard le Grange opined, his social background given away by the very redness of his trousers, and possibly his nose.
‘Bit windy, isn’t it?’ asked the Major.
‘Thursday, I think,’ Gladys chimed in, pleased to be helpful for once.
‘At least my memory’s still up to par, even if my golf game isn’t,’ Richard said, knocking on the wooden arm of his chair.
‘Me too. It’s this weather,’ Gladys nodded.
‘Isn’t anybody going to answer the door,’ interrupted Richard, ‘or are we supposed to do that ourselves now too?’ He looked around and spotted Holly in the doorway. ‘Bloody NHS,’ he muttered.
Holly could barely suppress her laughter long enough to winkle Gladys away from her debonair, if slightly dotty, companions. ‘Come on through, Gladys,’ she said, making sure to enunciate clearly. ‘We’re just through here.’
Gladys sat down with a heavy sigh, fishing out her mobile phone and squinting at the screen. She waved it in Holly’s direction. ‘Is this important? I haven’t got my reading specs on.’
Holly looked at the text:
FWIW – GHA – L8R
Even though she read it three times, she couldn’t make head or tail of it. ‘Erm, is it possible your friend wasn’t wearing her glasses either?’ Holly suggested in the end, as she read the text out loud.
Gladys hooted with laughter. ‘Ooh, just type in ATD for me, would you, Dr Graham, and I’ll talk to her later.’
Holly did as she was told but couldn’t resist asking, ‘Gladys, have you and your friends got your own texting etiquette now? I thought I’d finally caught up with Taffy and his abbreviations . . .’
Gladys grinned, delighted to have one up on the youthful Dr Graham. ‘Well, all that text speak was no good for us, was it? How often are we out dancing and carousing? So this is ours. FWIW – Forgot where I was, obviously. ATD – At the doctor’s. Easy. And a great time-saver.’
Holly nodded, silent laughter making it tricky to speak. ‘And GHA?’ she managed.
Gladys shrugged. ‘Got heartburn again. Or was it haemorrhoids? I’ll find out when I pop round later.’
Holly took a deep breath, relieved that Sarandon Hall hadn’t crushed all of their senior citizens’ social lives. ‘Now, what can I do for you today, Gladys?’
‘You tell me, Dr Graham. You’re the one who invited me in.’
‘You mean, you didn’t want an appointment?’ said Holly in confusion, scrolling through her itemised screen only to find a notation from Lucy: ‘No idea why Gladys Jones is here, but I don’t think her hearing aid is working . . .’
‘I think we were going to take a look at that hearing aid, weren’t we, Gladys?’ said Holly, reaching forward, only to find a Bluetooth earpiece nestled in Gladys’s ear where her hearing aid should have been. She deftly unclipped it and held it up for Gladys to see.
The old lady may have been deaf but she still had most of her marbles, paling as she recognised it immediately. ‘Ooh my Lord,’ she said, ‘my grandson is going to be so cross.’
Holly ushered her back out to the waiting room, only to find that the Major had disappeared. Cursing herself for not calling him in first, she summoned Richard le Grange instead, determined to follow up with panicky Peregrine later.
After a very long day, which at times had tried Holly’s patience to its limits, she was actually relieved to head over to the pub for Dan’s hurriedly organised call to arms that evening. Provoked by Jemima’s efforts and Grace’s feedback from the fundraiser, they had all decided there was little point in holding back. Holly told herself she was just keeping her promise to Harry Grant – keeping it local.
She was quietly thrilled to see such an excellent and, dare she say it, effectual, turnout: Chris Virtue was there, trying to focus on Grace, but with their receptionist, Lucy, seemingly hanging on his every word; Rupert and Kitty – both of Larkford’s vets-in-residence – were there with notepads at the ready; even the Major was now tucked away in the corner with Grover and a pint of Guinness, deliberately avoiding her gaze.
It was Grace who was taking charge of the meeting though; Dan was simply standing beside her, looking proud as punch to have served as her opening act.
‘Well, you’ve all been absolutely wonderful in rallying such support so quickly. I’m sure we all know one or two people already who are being affected by these cuts and, I’m sorry to say, all the car boot sales and coffee mornings in the world are not going to be enough this time to stem the tide of closures.’
She glanced over to Chris Virtue as though to double-check she had his permission to share what they had gleaned at the party. He nodded, his gaze flickering back and forth between Dan and Grace at the front of the room. Whether he looked quite so piqued because of the news they were sharing, or the obvious chemistry between the two speakers, was hard to say.
‘It seems as though we aren’t just fighting for funds any more – it’s politics behind the scenes – and the figures involved are simply eye-watering. I firmly believe now that we need to fight in the court of public opinion. Let’s stand up and make sure that our voices are heard: let’s find a way to show them that government needs to be by the people and for the people.’
Grace sat down, flushed, to a round of applause and some whoops of encouragement from the triathlon squad arriving at the last minute, upping the body count by at least fifty per cent.
‘So,’ Dan said, stepping forward, ‘if anyone has any ideas, suggestions or indeed contacts, we’re all ears.’
There was a wave of muttering and scuffling in the pub, a few volleys of laughter at obviously inappropriate suggestions, and then silence.
Elsie stood up and fixed them all with her querulous gaze. ‘I think we need to make a statement. We can raise some money, of course – we’ve done that before – but I feel like creating a few waves, don’t you?’
‘More like a tsunami to fix this bloody mess,’ grumbled Geoffrey Larch wheezily.
Elsie rounded on him instantly. ‘Listen, Geoff,’ she said forcefully, ‘the way you’re going through those secret cigarettes and inhalers, you’ll be grateful we made an effort in a few years’ time!’
He shrank back away from her gaze, not the only person in the room to be shocked by her intensity.
‘Look,’ Elsie continued, ‘it’s easy to be laid-back about all of this when life is good and your health is great, but as we saw at the Show, it only takes a moment for all that to change. So, are you going to sit on your backsides, or are you going to help me organise a star-studded auction – antiques, celebrity contributions, bequests from our local community? Come on, you lot – don’t you ever watch Cash in the Attic?’ She flashed them with her mesmerising smile. ‘Now, who’s with me to make some serious noise?’
Elsie sat down to a round of tumultuous applause that knocked Grace’s restrained contribution into a cocked hat. Elsie looked quietly triumphant and Holly couldn’t help but wonder whether it was Hurricane Harriet’s visit that had provoked this demonstrative response. It was typical of Elsie to want to up the stakes and, naturally, to make any event an excuse to gather the area’s A-listers together on her watch.
Grace rose to her feet again. ‘Well then, unless anyone else has a better suggestion, I say we jump on board. Let’s stand out, shall we? Let’s be remarkable. Financially, our goal is to cover the repairs to the second Air Ambulance and one midwife for our local area, working independently of the regional maternity unit. From a PR perspective, let’s make some serious noise. A little politics isn’t beyond us.’
‘Is this just something we do now?’ called Mary Darnley from her habitual corner booth of the pub. ‘Isn’t it time for someone else to stand up and take some responsibility around here?’
Grace nodded. ‘Wouldn’t that be lovely! But would you rather wait around and hope, or would you rather be proactive?’ She shrugged. ‘I haven’t noticed any of the other medical centres locally doing more than complaining, have you?’
‘Bloody Framley,’ cursed Teddy Kingsley behind the bar. ‘Every time there’s a problem, they’re nowhere to be seen, but when there’s benefit to be had—’
A groundswell of murmurs rumbled around the pub, the animosity between Larkford and Framley well established over the years. They’d even had to put a halt to their intramural rugby games when the injury count became too high. Calling it a grudge match didn’t come close.
Holly settled back in her chair, the weight of responsibility easing slightly on her shoulders. She knew only too well that it would normally be her up there, waving her notebook around and making impassioned pleas for support. But the honest truth right now was that her support had to be in name only. She just didn’t have any reserves left to give. It was enough, surely, that she’d offered to be the main point of contact for Mims and the rest of the self-named Preggie Protesters. She’d even managed to wangle Mims a highly coveted slot on a local phone-in radio show. And Molly Giles had been over the moon at the very suggestion of some solidarity. But right now, that was about all she could muster. She needed and wanted to focus on having a healthy, happy pregnancy. Unless . . .
She leaned forward in her seat, her pregnancy hormones for once proving useful and clearly leading the charge. ‘Chris,’ she hissed. ‘Chris.’
He looked round, confused. ‘You okay there, Dr Graham?’
‘How do you feel about taking your shirt off for a good cause?’ she asked him bluntly.
‘Oh dear God,’ managed Mims faintly, sitting beside her and clearly similarly afflicted.
Chris just shrugged with a grin. ‘I’m game if you are.’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ said Holly dismissively, sounding an awful lot like Elsie. ‘And what about the rest of your team? Are they quite easy on the eye as well?’
‘Oooh,’ said Mims. ‘I like where you’re going with this.’
‘Where are you going with this?’ asked Taffy, completely discomfited by the turn in conversation.
Holly paused for a moment. ‘Any sexy midwives in the area, do we know?’
Teddy’s Vulcan hearing was highly tuned to anything involving the word ‘sexy’, apparently, and he was keen to join their discussion. Grace’s end of the room were deeply involved in allocating tasks for the auction and discussing which local celebrities might yet be persuaded to part with their valuables.
‘There’s that gorgeous Kiwi girl who delivered Hattie’s kids. Is she still around, because she’s just lovely,’ he volunteered, batting away the slightly strange looks that the women in the vicinity gave him. ‘What, so Lucy’s allowed to go ga-ga at the merest sight of a pilot, but I’m not allowed a few thoughts about naughty nurses? That’s a double standard,’ he complained, aggrieved by the injustice of it.
Lucy coloured instantly, glaring at Teddy even as she attempted to laugh off the accusation. It wasn’t until she dared look over at Chris that she realised he actually looked rather taken by the idea. He leaned in towards her, his voice low and intimate: ‘So, any pilots, or just the ones who flew Chinook rescue missions for the RAF?’ He grinned, blushing at his own audacity and clearly unused to blowing his own trumpet. ‘Sometimes you have to be your own wingman,’ he clarified.
‘So that’s official then,’ Holly said thoughtfully. ‘We can have a lovely photo shoot to send out with our press releases. A calendar, maybe? Chris’s abs alone ought to provoke a few column inches.’
Mims tittered slightly at the double entendre, even before anyone else caught on or Holly realised what she’d said. ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she said categorically when Taffy gave her a dirty look.
Chris just blushed a vivid shade of fuchsia pink. ‘You only said it would be topless!’
‘Hey!’ called Grace from the front of the room. ‘Any chance you want to be involved with this auction, or have we lost you to the sleazy side of tabloid journalism? Not that I’m complaining, it’s just that we’ve got a few more things to organise before we start objectifying our workforce. I need a volunteer to be our public spokesman, or woman. And it needs to be someone independent.’
She looked hopefully around the room, carefully allowing her gaze to skim past Cassie Holland, who looked a trifle too keen for a moment in the limelight to be effectual.
‘I’ll do it,’ Dan said, as if it were no big deal.
‘I hardly think that’s appropriate,’ said Malcolm Bodley pompously, their much maligned and wholly ineffective local councillor, who had been sitting silently at the bar throughout, nursing the same warm bottle of Stella. ‘I don’t think you, or any of the staff from The Practice, can be seen to be objective at this point.’ His voice was a monotone and as charismatic as wilting lettuce.
‘Then I’ll do it,’ said Chris, clearly loving the feeling of being part of something bigger than himself. It was an addictive feeling, no doubt, and his military background probably meant that he, like Dan, would always be willing to step up.
Malcolm shook his head. ‘Of course, if you need me to pick up the baton, to speak for all of you when I say that—’
‘I’ll do it,’ said a voice from the back of the room and everyone turned in their seats. ‘Call me invested in how this all plays out.’
‘Harry!’ cried Holly, leaping to her feet with as much elegance as a baby elephant.
‘Holly! My favourite troublemaker at it again,’ Harry laughed in response. He grinned and pulled her into an avuncular hug.
‘I’m so thrilled you’re here,’ Holly said when she’d come up for air. ‘We just decided to get on with it and seize the day. We hadn’t heard from you, so we’re keeping it local, like you said.’
Harry shrugged guiltily. ‘Well, to be honest, I had fully intended to get on a plane and lick my wounds on a sunny beach somewhere. But it turns out that I hold a grudge. Who knew? So, I don’t think I can truly enjoy my pina coladas until we’ve brought Derek Landers down a peg or two and righted a few wrongs in the process.’ He beamed. ‘It’s somewhat liberating actually, being on the side of the Rebellion. I’ve always been rather Establishment up until now.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Taffy happily, shaking him by the hand. ‘Harry Grant’s gone rogue.’
‘Can we have call signs and everything?’ Harry asked, clearly swept up in the excitement.
‘Like in Star Wars?’ Holly asked drily, the first to catch on to his train of thought.
‘Ooh yes,’ said Harry. ‘And if I’m the spokesman for the Rebellion, can I be Rogue Leader?’
‘No problem,’ said Grace with an expansive smile; this was obviously better than she’d even hoped for. A proper inside man. ‘But the budget won’t stretch to a Millennium Falcon, okay?’
Harry tried not to look utterly affronted. ‘I think you mean X-Wing Fighter,’ he muttered under his breath so that only Holly could hear, as he sat down beside her and raised a glass to their joint endeavour.
‘So, tell me, what have you got planned?’