. . .’
Holly opened the door to usher her out, making Prue promise to drop in a sample anyway and up her water intake, and the two of them were laughing like old friends by the time they got back to
the waiting room.
‘You seem to be finding your feet there. Nice to see a happy customer,’ said Dan Carter, as he came through to call his next patient. It threw Holly for a moment, to think of her
patients as customers, but of course he was right. It was all about customer service these days, wasn’t it?
It was probably a timely reminder, as her next patient appeared to have more piercings than Holly had thought physically possible. But, in a society where the customer was always right, did it
mean that Holly’s job now was to patch up the one through his nose that was clearly infected, or could she give him a stern lecture on the risks of self-mutilation and refer him for
psychiatric evaluation?
She made do with a brisk talk about hygiene and sent him off with lots of antibiotics and sterile cleansing solution, since it turned out that his Prince Albert was also causing him a bit of
grief in the bedroom since he’d had a few issues with ‘snagging.’ Holly had gamely managed to keep a straight face, showing neither the bubbling humour nor burgeoning disgust,
that was threatening her resolve to remain Cool, Calm and Confident.
It was fair to say though, that she was never going to look at a willie in the same way again. And to be absolutely fair, she didn’t feel terribly keen to eat that brownie either.
Chapter 5
Holly pressed rewind on the Bob the Builder DVD, to the twins’ incredulous delight. There was a time to be strict about these things and a time to be practical. At this
anti-socially early hour of the morning, practical beat principles every time.
Although it was only her second day at The Practice, Holly was still determined to get their morning routine running smoothly, even if that meant a few compromises on the television front.
Somehow, tiptoeing round their tiny terraced house while Milo slept on made everything so much harder. Not that he would have been helpful if he’d been awake. It was just that quietly rushing
seemed to be an oxymoron in Holly’s experience, especially when you added a pair of two-year-old boys into the mix. So, as far as Holly was concerned, as long as she could hear Neil
Morrissey’s dulcet tones coming from next door, it meant she had a chance at some breakfast.
Milo’s unprecedented appearance in the kitchen made Holly do a double-take. He lounged back against the kitchen worktop, hair artfully tousled and yawning widely. He stretched his arms
above his head, giving the yawn a deeper resonance and lifting his t-shirt to reveal perfectly honed (and time-consuming) abs. He yawned again, stretching still further and adding in a little
satisfied sigh.
Holly tried to think gracious thoughts as he picked up
her
toast and chomped on it contentedly – she probably wouldn’t have time to make another piece, but it seemed petty
to complain. Milo didn’t like it when she was petty and, to be honest, neither did she.
Pinching the last of her coffee, he dropped a sleepy kiss on her forehead. ‘Morning, Holls. Aren’t you going to be late?’
‘Probably,’ sighed Holly, flicking a glance towards the station clock that took pride of place on her kitchen wall and which dictated her schedule in a more benevolent manner than
her husband or children.
She looked wistfully at the empty coffee machine, forgoing the time to make a fresh cup in favour of shovelling a pile of crockery into the dishwasher, before rushing through to the sitting room
to give the boys their ten-minute warning of imminent departure, as advised by Baby Whisperers everywhere. She wondered if it ever actually made any difference to the mad scramble out of the door,
but nevertheless it had become part of her routine.
Captivated by the sight of the pair of them snuggled up together,
Holly opened the door to usher her out, making Prue promise to drop in a sample anyway and up her water intake, and the two of them were laughing like old friends by the time they got back to
the waiting room.
‘You seem to be finding your feet there. Nice to see a happy customer,’ said Dan Carter, as he came through to call his next patient. It threw Holly for a moment, to think of her
patients as customers, but of course he was right. It was all about customer service these days, wasn’t it?
It was probably a timely reminder, as her next patient appeared to have more piercings than Holly had thought physically possible. But, in a society where the customer was always right, did it
mean that Holly’s job now was to patch up the one through his nose that was clearly infected, or could she give him a stern lecture on the risks of self-mutilation and refer him for
psychiatric evaluation?
She made do with a brisk talk about hygiene and sent him off with lots of antibiotics and sterile cleansing solution, since it turned out that his Prince Albert was also causing him a bit of
grief in the bedroom since he’d had a few issues with ‘snagging.’ Holly had gamely managed to keep a straight face, showing neither the bubbling humour nor burgeoning disgust,
that was threatening her resolve to remain Cool, Calm and Confident.
It was fair to say though, that she was never going to look at a willie in the same way again. And to be absolutely fair, she didn’t feel terribly keen to eat that brownie either.
Chapter 5
Holly pressed rewind on the Bob the Builder DVD, to the twins’ incredulous delight. There was a time to be strict about these things and a time to be practical. At this
anti-socially early hour of the morning, practical beat principles every time.
Although it was only her second day at The Practice, Holly was still determined to get their morning routine running smoothly, even if that meant a few compromises on the television front.
Somehow, tiptoeing round their tiny terraced house while Milo slept on made everything so much harder. Not that he would have been helpful if he’d been awake. It was just that quietly rushing
seemed to be an oxymoron in Holly’s experience, especially when you added a pair of two-year-old boys into the mix. So, as far as Holly was concerned, as long as she could hear Neil
Morrissey’s dulcet tones coming from next door, it meant she had a chance at some breakfast.
Milo’s unprecedented appearance in the kitchen made Holly do a double-take. He lounged back against the kitchen worktop, hair artfully tousled and yawning widely. He stretched his arms
above his head, giving the yawn a deeper resonance and lifting his t-shirt to reveal perfectly honed (and time-consuming) abs. He yawned again, stretching still further and adding in a little
satisfied sigh.
Holly tried to think gracious thoughts as he picked up
her
toast and chomped on it contentedly – she probably wouldn’t have time to make another piece, but it seemed petty
to complain. Milo didn’t like it when she was petty and, to be honest, neither did she.
Pinching the last of her coffee, he dropped a sleepy kiss on her forehead. ‘Morning, Holls. Aren’t you going to be late?’
‘Probably,’ sighed Holly, flicking a glance towards the station clock that took pride of place on her kitchen wall and which dictated her schedule in a more benevolent manner than
her husband or children.
She looked wistfully at the empty coffee machine, forgoing the time to make a fresh cup in favour of shovelling a pile of crockery into the dishwasher, before rushing through to the sitting room
to give the boys their ten-minute warning of imminent departure, as advised by Baby Whisperers everywhere. She wondered if it ever actually made any difference to the mad scramble out of the door,
but nevertheless it had become part of her routine.
Captivated by the sight of the pair of them snuggled up together,
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