emergency dental treatment, so if the villagers couldn’t confine their toothache to Monday to Friday, they had to seek relief elsewhere.
‘Got anything nice planned for the weekend?’ Mr Johnson was rinsing his hands with relish. He asked her the same question every Friday. ‘You and Brett doing anything special?’
‘Just the usual.’ Doll whizzed round the surgery, shoving instruments in the steriliser and wiping up any traces of tooth chippings, blood spatters and encrusted amalgam. ‘We’ll be wining and dining with the A list, and thenclubbing all night in London’s latest hot spots.’
Mr Johnson kindly laughed at her oft-repeated response. ‘The celeb lifestyle must get so boring. So, it’s a swift Saturday night pint at The Faery Glen and hours of telly, is it?’
‘Actually, there is a bit of a break in the routine – I’m going to my mum’s for dinner tonight.’ Doll pulled on her coat. ‘She’s cooking.’
‘Bloody hell. Retirement is clearly taking its toll. I’ve always told your mum that half her plaque problems are due to her constant diet of ready-made meals. She reckoned it was better than poisoning herself with her own culinary efforts.’ Mr Johnson flicked off the lights in the surgery. ‘Has she been taking lessons in her spare time?’
Doll shook her head. ‘She found an old family recipe book in the loft – traditional country cooking stuff. She’s wants to try it out on me and Lulu. We’re not overly optimistic.’
They stepped out into the blustery darkness. Doll shivered. Sad to think that an evening of Mitzi’s iffy cooking was preferable to an evening of watching Brett snoring beside the fire.
‘Well, good luck with it.’ Mr Johnson hurried towards his latest retro toy, a British racing green Jensen Interceptor. ‘Rather you than me. And if you’re not in on Monday I’ll know the reason why – oh, and don’t forget, Mr Earnshaw starts on Monday, too. I’ll probably put you in with him, and have young Tammy nursing with me. You know how Tammy tends to scream when things go a tad awry. Best not scare him too much on his first day.’
Doll nodded. The new dentist, Mr Earnshaw, was to replace old Mr Wiseman who had mercifully been retired before his personal fondness for Novocain had led to criminal proceedings. She and Tammy and Viv the receptionist had hoped that the new dentist would be sex on legs. It would, they’d asserted during many a tea break, liven things up a bit.
Sadly, on the day that Joe Earnshaw had been appointed, Viv had been at lunch and Doll had been in Winterbrook at the denture cast manufacturers returning a full set of false teeth allegedly tailored for Miss Fenwick, which had, when inserted, made her look like an extra from Night of the Living Dead.
Tammy, who had been entrusted to report back on Joe Earnshaw’s phwoar rating, had wrinkled her snub nose. ‘Ancient!’ she’d said scathingly. ‘Dead old! Nearly as old as Mr J and Mr W!’
‘He can’t be that old,’ Doll had frowned. ‘He’s fresh out of college.’
‘Yeah, but only after a mid-life career change,’ Tammy had said. ‘He used to be a brickie.’
Mr Johnson leaned from the window of the Jensen. ‘Enjoy your meal, then. And don’t forget to floss afterwards! Toodle-oo!’
Doll watched the Jensen roar away into the darkness of Hazy Hassocks. Mr Johnson updated his classic sports cars on a regular basis. As she wrestled with the door of her elderly Polo she pondered as always on the huge anomaly between the joint incomes of a dentist and a solicitor, as the current Mrs Johnson was, and a dental nurse and a postman.
Not that she was materialistic, she thought, chugging away from the surgery. Oh, she had a few more material needs than Lulu – everyone had more material needs than Lulu – but nothing more than the basics. It would be so lovely to be able to afford a bit more than the basics … a proper holiday … a wedding and a baby.
The bungalow was
‘Got anything nice planned for the weekend?’ Mr Johnson was rinsing his hands with relish. He asked her the same question every Friday. ‘You and Brett doing anything special?’
‘Just the usual.’ Doll whizzed round the surgery, shoving instruments in the steriliser and wiping up any traces of tooth chippings, blood spatters and encrusted amalgam. ‘We’ll be wining and dining with the A list, and thenclubbing all night in London’s latest hot spots.’
Mr Johnson kindly laughed at her oft-repeated response. ‘The celeb lifestyle must get so boring. So, it’s a swift Saturday night pint at The Faery Glen and hours of telly, is it?’
‘Actually, there is a bit of a break in the routine – I’m going to my mum’s for dinner tonight.’ Doll pulled on her coat. ‘She’s cooking.’
‘Bloody hell. Retirement is clearly taking its toll. I’ve always told your mum that half her plaque problems are due to her constant diet of ready-made meals. She reckoned it was better than poisoning herself with her own culinary efforts.’ Mr Johnson flicked off the lights in the surgery. ‘Has she been taking lessons in her spare time?’
Doll shook her head. ‘She found an old family recipe book in the loft – traditional country cooking stuff. She’s wants to try it out on me and Lulu. We’re not overly optimistic.’
They stepped out into the blustery darkness. Doll shivered. Sad to think that an evening of Mitzi’s iffy cooking was preferable to an evening of watching Brett snoring beside the fire.
‘Well, good luck with it.’ Mr Johnson hurried towards his latest retro toy, a British racing green Jensen Interceptor. ‘Rather you than me. And if you’re not in on Monday I’ll know the reason why – oh, and don’t forget, Mr Earnshaw starts on Monday, too. I’ll probably put you in with him, and have young Tammy nursing with me. You know how Tammy tends to scream when things go a tad awry. Best not scare him too much on his first day.’
Doll nodded. The new dentist, Mr Earnshaw, was to replace old Mr Wiseman who had mercifully been retired before his personal fondness for Novocain had led to criminal proceedings. She and Tammy and Viv the receptionist had hoped that the new dentist would be sex on legs. It would, they’d asserted during many a tea break, liven things up a bit.
Sadly, on the day that Joe Earnshaw had been appointed, Viv had been at lunch and Doll had been in Winterbrook at the denture cast manufacturers returning a full set of false teeth allegedly tailored for Miss Fenwick, which had, when inserted, made her look like an extra from Night of the Living Dead.
Tammy, who had been entrusted to report back on Joe Earnshaw’s phwoar rating, had wrinkled her snub nose. ‘Ancient!’ she’d said scathingly. ‘Dead old! Nearly as old as Mr J and Mr W!’
‘He can’t be that old,’ Doll had frowned. ‘He’s fresh out of college.’
‘Yeah, but only after a mid-life career change,’ Tammy had said. ‘He used to be a brickie.’
Mr Johnson leaned from the window of the Jensen. ‘Enjoy your meal, then. And don’t forget to floss afterwards! Toodle-oo!’
Doll watched the Jensen roar away into the darkness of Hazy Hassocks. Mr Johnson updated his classic sports cars on a regular basis. As she wrestled with the door of her elderly Polo she pondered as always on the huge anomaly between the joint incomes of a dentist and a solicitor, as the current Mrs Johnson was, and a dental nurse and a postman.
Not that she was materialistic, she thought, chugging away from the surgery. Oh, she had a few more material needs than Lulu – everyone had more material needs than Lulu – but nothing more than the basics. It would be so lovely to be able to afford a bit more than the basics … a proper holiday … a wedding and a baby.
The bungalow was
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