What Holly's Husband Did Page 12

  ‘His shirt, Holly,’ Alex barked. ‘Don’t you recall any of your training?’

  ‘Right, right, shirt, undo shirt,’ I gabbled, swiping a shaky hand across my sweaty brow before concentrating on unbuttoning Jack’s shirt. As the sight of well-defined pecs came into view, along with a delicious smattering of dark chest hair, I couldn’t help gasping aloud.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ snapped Alex.

  ‘Nothing,’ I warbled, trying not to swoon onto Jack’s muscular torso. Alex would go barmy if his dental nurse fainted on top of his unconscious patient. My fingers shook as I undid another two buttons revealing an expanse of golden-brown skin, no doubt tanned from his time in Africa. Stop looking at his chest, Holly. Think about Brexit. The economy. World politics. Whether Donald Trump dyes his hair and, if so, why Saffron Yellow?

  ‘I think that’s enough buttons, Holly. We don’t want the patient coming to and thinking you’re stripping him.’

  ‘Oh!’ I snatched my hands away. ‘What’s the matter with Jack’s face? He’s gone bright red.’

  ‘That’s good. I think we’ll give him a bit of oxygen just to help him come round. Pass me the tank.’

  ‘What tank?’ I looked around wildly.

  ‘Over there. Put the mask over his face and depress the pump switch.’

  I grabbed the tank and looked for the button. ‘It’s not working.’ My hands were shaking badly now. ‘Can you do it, Alex?’

  ‘I’m holding Jack’s head,’ Alex snapped, ‘so his tongue doesn’t slip back down his airway. For heaven’s sake, Holly, ring Reception. Get Jenny in here. And I strongly suggest you do some nursing revision.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I said, lunging for the phone.

  ‘And you might want to take yourself off to the cloakroom and repair your face. I didn’t like to say anything earlier, but your eyebrows have turned into two enormous caterpillars, one of which appears to be crawling off your forehead because you’ve rubbed it.’

  24

  Needless to say Jack did eventually come to, and the rest of the check-up proceeded without further hitch.

  ‘I’m delighted to say,’ said Alex, looking at an X-Ray, ‘that despite your aversion to dentists, your teeth are absolutely perfect.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Jack. ‘And I’m really sorry about the fainting. I feel so stupid.’

  ‘Happens to the best of us,’ said Alex heartily, trying not to look at the clock on the wall. We were now running half an hour late for the first listed patient, who no doubt was sitting in the waiting room impatiently tapping his foot and would complain bitterly once ensconced in the chair. Alex pressed a button, and the dental chair slowly whirred upright. Jack stared in bemusement at his unbuttoned shirt and flapping trouser belt.

  ‘Sorry,’ I apologised, ‘that was my fault.’

  ‘What a shame I wasn’t awake to appreciate it,’ he murmured.

  Was he flirting? I blushed furiously.

  ‘Now look after those teeth,’ said Alex, firmly guiding Jack out of his surgery.

  ‘Do I settle up at Reception?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing to pay on this occasion,’ said Alex. ‘On the house.’

  ‘Well, thanks, buddy. That’s very kind of you. And if you ever need a consultation about your bonce, let me reciprocate.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Alex, opening the door.

  ‘What do you specialise in?’ I asked, causing Jack to pause in the doorway and Alex to fidget from foot to foot.

  ‘Neurosurgery, with specialist clinical interest in skull base surgery for the treatment of acoustic neuromas, pituitary tumours and trigeminal neuralgia.’

  At the mention of the last two words, my ears pricked up.

  ‘How amazing. Alex is on the board of directors of a charity that offers chronic pain support for sufferers of trigeminal neuralgia,’ I said.

  ‘Fabulous stuff,’ said Jack. ‘If anybody wants a micro-vascular decompression in their lunch-break,’ he joked, ‘send them over to me. I won’t hold you up any further, Alex. I know you are a busy man. Thanks again, both of you.’

  And then he was gone, leaving me to soothe a very agitated husband and an irate patient who complained bitterly from start to finish. But, somehow, I was impervious to both and spent the rest of the day feeling strangely elated.

  * * *

  Once off duty, I tore off to Sophie’s school, immediately spotting Caro and Jeanie gossiping in the car park. This area was meant solely for teachers and visiting members of the public, but was nonetheless where every parent congregated at this time of day, always causing obstructions and pandemonium. Jeanie appeared to be talking earnestly to Caro, who was nodding, a frown upon her pretty face.

  ‘Yoo-hoo!’ I called, and hurried over to greet them. The moment they saw me, they sprang apart like deflecting magnets. ‘Hi, girls,’ I said, puffing slightly. Caro greeted me with a smile, but not before I’d noted the worry etched across her forehead. As Jeanie raised her eyes to me, I could see she’d been crying. ‘Oh! Whatever’s the matter, Jeanie?’

  ‘N-nothing,’ she stuttered, her watering eyes suddenly looking shifty, ‘I’m just… full of cold.’

  I stared at my friend in confusion. Since when had she so obviously lied to me? Caro was clearly privy to whatever was so secret. How strange. And surely rather hurtful?

  ‘Oh look, there’s my two coming out,’ said Caro, ‘I’ll catch you both later.’

  ‘Yes, okay. How about we have–?’

  But Caro had already disappeared into the tidal wave of students pouring out of the school door.

  ‘Looks like somebody is wanting a word with you,’ said Jeanie, nodding her head in the direction behind me.

  ‘What? Where?’

  ‘I must go,’ Jeanie muttered, already distancing herself. ‘I need to see Charlotte’s teacher. She’s on her fourth detention this term. Apparently, it isn’t acceptable.’

  ‘Oh dear. Is that why you’ve been cry–?’

  A hand clamped onto my shoulder, and Jeanie instantly scuttled off, head down, pushing through the heaving throng of teenagers as she hastened towards the school’s main entrance.

  ‘Holly!’ said a familiar voice, that definitely wasn’t on my Christmas card list. I spun round to see Izzy and her yummy-mummy crowd. ‘We’re all so delighted to see you,’ she gushed.

  ‘Hi, Izzy.’ I nodded at the well-turned out mini mob standing with her, identical hair-dos blowing in the late September breeze. They all looked like models in a shampoo commercial.

  ‘Sooo looking forward to the party,’ said another mother, whose name evaded me. Mindy? Minty?

  Enough was enough. ‘Look—’

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ said Sophie, suddenly appearing by my side. Her face looked pinched and anxious. ‘Can we go please? I’ve got a stack of homework and need to make a start.’

  ‘Sure.’ I turned away from the in-crowd. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Tell you in the car,’ said Sophie under her breath.

  The school was well and truly behind us when she finally turned, glancing at me across the hand brake. Her face was abject with misery.

  ‘I don’t know how to tell you this?’ she croaked.

  Oh God. Please don’t tell me my daughter was going to confess to something horrific. A letter had recently gone out to the parents about eating disorders and self-harming, children suffering with body issues and being addicted to scratching their arms with a compass. Not my daughter. Please. I’d rather have her banging the doors at home until they all fell off their hinges, just so long as she was a ‘normal’ stroppy teenager, in the Kevin and Perry mould.

  ‘You can tell me anything,’ I whispered, suddenly not quite trusting my voice. ‘Whatever it is, Sophie, I’m here for you.’

  Pausing at some traffic lights, I took my hand off the steering wheel and gave hers a quick squeeze of reassurance. She took a deep breath.

  ‘My entire form has invited themselves to Dad’s birthday party.’ />
  There was a pause as I digested this, and Sophie stared unhappily ahead.

  ‘Is that all?’ I asked. Relief was washing over me in waves.

  ‘What do you mean is that all?’ she shrieked. ‘That’s at least thirty kids. And let’s not forget their awful parents,’ she raged, her temper suddenly rushing to the fore. I raised my eyebrows at her outburst. This morning Izzy What’s-her-face was super pretty and mega trendy. Now Tabitha’s mother was being lumped into the “awful parents” category. ‘I like being more popular, Mum,’ my daughter continued, ‘but it’s getting out of hand. I feel like my friends are false. And actually,’ she gulped, ‘I reckon that’s why everybody sucks up to Tabitha. The kids don’t necessarily want to know her. They just want to sashay around her house and eat popcorn in her cinema room or run around her massive garden before heading off to the indoor swimming pool. I’m not into fake friends. But neither am I into being Billy No-Mates. Does that make me pathetic for not standing up to them all and saying, “Clear off, you can’t bloody come!”’

  ‘That’s quite a speech, darling,’ I said, as the traffic lights shifted to green. ‘Firstly, don’t say “bloody”. Secondly, I’m proud of you for recognising phoney friends. Thirdly, I understand you don’t want to be left on your Jack Jones if you stop everyone coming along. But we’ll go for a compromise,’ I said. That word again. ‘I’ll ring the golf club and tell them to forget the buffet and cancel the free bar. After all, I’m not forking out for a stack of food and drink on people I don’t know, but equally I’m not brave enough to stand up to that lot either. However, if they want to come along for a free boogie and swell the crowd, that’s up to them.’

  Sophie instantly burst into tears. ‘You always know what to do, Mum. And you’re so wise. I love you.’

  Always knew what to do? Wise? Me? The woman who suspected one of my best friends had sent a string of sexts to Alex? Who also distrusted a flirtatious and very beautiful patient around her husband? Who felt like her marriage was hanging by a thread, but equally was behaving like a teenager around another man? But I loved my daughter for thinking it, and I told her so.

  Parenting was such unchartered territory. One minute you and your child were at each other’s throats. The next the umbilical cord was reeling in a rapidly regressing teen, wanting to pick her up, as if a baby, and fiercely cuddle her. My mind instantly turned to my best friends, Jeanie and Caro. Once home, I’d give them a call. Invite them for coffee tomorrow morning. Have a proper catch-up. And find out exactly why Jeanie had made out she’d had a cold and then rushed off, almost as if she couldn’t bear to be around me.

  25

  ‘Caro?’ I asked, speaking into the handset. Sometimes I never knew if I was talking to my friend or her daughter, Lizzie. Both were sounding increasingly alike on the phone.

  ‘Wrong!’ said Lizzie gleefully. ‘Just a minute, Holly, and I’ll get Mum for you.’

  ‘Thanks, sweetie.’

  I waited a minute or so whilst Lizzie fog-horned and Caro abandoned whatever she was doing to, somewhat breathlessly, take the phone.

  ‘Hi, it’s me,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, Holly, sorry I had to dash off earlier. I saw that awful woman descending, so I turned and fled. I just can’t bear her.’

  ‘You mean Izzy?’

  ‘Yes. She’s a nightmare. She was standing there with her hanger-on girlfriends, loudly telling them about how she and Sebastian, her clever businessman of a husband, recently went to some opening by the Prince of Wales and, honestly, it was Charles this and Camilla that, and how Kate is so nice and normal, and that her baby bump is so tiny and cute. Izzy’s well-toned arms are nothing to do with visits to the gym but everything to do with aggressive social climbing. And then Jeanie clapped eyes on her and wanted to run away too. Is Izzy your new bestie?’ Caro teased.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ I said emphatically. ‘But listen, I didn’t ring you to discuss Izzy. Caro, why was Jeanie crying?’

  There was a moment’s silence, as if my friend was thinking how best to answer this question. ‘She was upset because she’s done something stupid.’

  ‘Surely it’s not worth crying about? Hell, I do daft things all the time,’ I pointed out, my mind turning back to this morning’s fiasco at the surgery. I’d been as much use to Alex as a chocolate teapot.

  ‘Perhaps that’s not quite the way to word it. When I say “stupid”, I really mean…’ Caro broke off and I sensed her raking a hand through her mane, ‘more like, downright idiotic.’

  ‘Like what?’ I asked.

  ‘Look,’ Caro dropped her voice to little more than a murmur, ‘I can’t really speak. Walls have ears, and all that. I also have a very knowing teenager who is a massive blabbermouth, and can’t risk Lizzie overhearing.’

  ‘Is Jeanie in trouble with the law?’ I said, my voice rising in alarm, and then instantly dropping again as I realised my own savvy teenager might be close by. ‘Has she had one of her hormonal moments,’ I whispered into the handset, ‘and dashed out of the supermarket with a trolley-full of shopping and not paid for it? We’ve all done it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

  ‘No, no, it’s nothing like that,’ said Caro. ‘I think Jeanie would actually cope far better with the outcome of some absent-minded pilfering.’ She gave a hollow laugh.

  ‘It surely can’t be that terrible!’ I reasoned. And then a part of me froze. What if Jeanie had confided in Caro about the very thing I had recently suspected Jeanie of? ‘Anyway,’ I said, trying not to let the hurt creep into my voice, ‘why has she told you and not me?’

  ‘I don’t honestly think she meant to tell me, Holly, so don’t be peeved.’

  ‘I’m not peeved,’ I said, immediately sounding peeved. ‘But we’ve all known each other since exchanging our knee-high socks for stockings. I thought we were close. Why have you been entrusted over me with a secret?’ Ok – maybe this was a bit hypocritical. After all, there were loads of things I hadn’t confided recently.

  ‘She’s ashamed, Holly. And she blurted it out in a tumble of words and tears. I just happened to be there in the moment her guilt came to the surface and divested itself.’

  ‘Guilt?’ I said, feeling another frisson of alarm.

  ‘She’s ashamed. I guess some secrets are so huge, there is an over-whelming desire to relieve yourself by sharing it. But once the words are spoken, they can’t be unsaid, and then there is a risk the person you’ve unburdened to tells someone else.’

  ‘Like me,’ I said, asserting myself somewhat.

  ‘Yes, like you,’ Caro sighed.

  ‘I’m all ears,’ I said pointedly.

  There was another long pause, and I sensed Caro looking around, making sure Lizzie couldn’t hear what she was about to say. ‘If I tell you,’ she whispered, ‘you absolutely have to promise you won’t tell a soul.’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘Nor must you let on to Jeanie that I’ve told you.’

  ‘Surely she’ll tell me herself when we’re next together?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Caro thoughtfully, no doubt chewing her lip as she tried to work out the way our friend’s mind worked. ‘I suspect she is already regretting spilling the beans to me.’

  ‘Just tell me, Caro,’ I said, fighting down a sense of exasperation. ‘Perhaps I’ll be able to help her.’

  ‘You won’t,’ she assured. ‘Neither of us can help her. She’s landed herself into a right old pickle.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘You haven’t yet promised me you won’t let on to Jeanie that I’ve told you.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ I hissed, before raising my eyes heavenwards and silently apologising to God for taking his name in vain. ‘Yes, I promise. Now spit it out, or else I’m going to drive round to your house and stick pins in you!’

  ‘Right,’ said Caro, taking a deep breath, ‘prepare to be rocked. Jeanie has been having an affair with a married man.’

  26

  As I
listened to Caro’s words filtering down the handset, through my ears and into my brain, I felt as though the very foundations of the house were rocking. It was one thing to suspect. Quite another to have it confirmed.

  ‘Jeanie’s having an affair?’ I croaked.

  ‘Apparently so,’ said Caro, sounding very furtive.

  No wonder she didn’t want our children overhearing. All our kids went to the same school. If either Lizzie or Sophie blabbed and word got out to Charlotte and Harry, well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘Who’s she having an affair with?’ I whispered, tightly clutching the phone.

  ‘I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Heck, I don’t know. I was so gobsmacked by what Jeanie was saying, I didn’t push for her to answer the question about who he was. I was reeling. I mean, I know Jeanie has moaned about Ray from time to time, but I never thought she was unhappy enough to stray. After all, we all complain about our husbands.’

  ‘Yes, quite.’ I murmured.

  ‘And how on earth has she even managed to find the opportunity? Both of us know how busy her schedule is.’

  I nodded, even though Caro couldn’t see me. ‘I know what you mean. All those Pilates and Zumba classes, or rushing off to do thirty lengths at the local pool because she reckoned she’d put on a pound just looking at a Mars bar.’ It occurred to me those activities always took place in the evening, but I didn’t voice it allowed to Caro. ‘Jeanie is always on the go, and in between she’s busy looking after Ray and the kids.’

  ‘Except,’ said Caro pensively, ‘perhaps there were no Pilates or Zumba or frantic swimming? After all, we were never there with her. Perhaps it was Jeanie’s escape clause to rush out the front door for a secret assignation?’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘you’re probably right.’ I was mentally trying to work out the frequency of Alex dropping everything some evenings to dash off to an emergency that couldn’t wait. Did it dovetail with Jeanie’s possibly fictitious exercise classes?