‘I can’t believe you get to be on the radio!’ said Elsie the next morning. ‘Did you not tell your Lizzie that I was available?’
Holly smiled. ‘I imagine she thought Radio Larkford might be a bit of a comedown from what you’re used to.’ She had a point; far from being the hi-tech studio of the local BBC, or indeed Media City where Elsie had last been interviewed, Radio Larkford occupied a nondescript office suite above the fishmonger’s. Quite regularly, the echoing shouts of the boys downstairs for ‘another bag of scallops, Bill’ could be heard in the background, not to mention the pervasive smell that seemed to cloak Lizzie whenever she’d been on air. Holly wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t mentioned this morning’s plans to Taffy earlier – perhaps it was because, secretly, she wondered whether he’d consider being a radio phone-in doctor a bit of a comedown too?
‘Do I look okay?’ asked Holly nervously, doing a twirl for Elsie’s benefit. ‘I don’t want to wear anything too nice or it’ll end up stinking of halibut.’
Elsie snorted. ‘Does my halibut look big in this?’ she laughed. ‘Nah, you look fine – besides, my darling, this is radio, remember? You could turn up in your pyjamas and nobody would notice.’
Holly grinned and rolled her eyes. ‘Well, if you’d told me that an hour ago . . .’ She turned and settled Olivia and Lottie into the pram, holding her breath as the inevitable tantrum failed to materialise. ‘Wow,’ she whispered under her breath, unwilling to jinx whatever magic was making her morning run so smoothly. ‘And are you sure you want to come and watch?’
‘I wouldn’t miss your radio debut for toffee,’ confirmed Elsie. ‘The girls and I will hang out in the Green Room with some refreshments and be your entourage for the day. You should always have an entourage, darling.’
‘I always do,’ said Holly, managing a wry smile; the days when she could scoop up her handbag and keys and follow her feet were long gone.
*
‘And now, we have a very exciting addition to our line-up this morning,’ crooned Lizzie into her microphone an hour later, as Holly fidgeted nervously beside her, sipping water from a plastic cup. ‘Dr Holly Graham is joining the show to offer some words of wisdom on the medical front – so if you call in today, you can have two opinions for the price of one. Good morning, Dr Graham. Thanks for joining us.’
‘It’s lovely to be here,’ Holly said, holding herself stiff and trying not to let her voice wobble. She glanced up to see Elsie watching her through the glazed partition and swallowed her laughter at the hastily handwritten sign she was holding up: Just remember not to bloody well swear, when you’re talking live on the bloody air. She felt her shoulders drop and a smile spread across her face and into her words. ‘I’m delighted to have the opportunity to connect with our Larkford listeners.’
Lizzie nodded her approval and flicked a switch on the complicated-looking control panel in front of her. ‘Well, if you want to talk to Dr Graham or myself – Lizzie, your Agony Aunt – then get dialling and in the meantime, let’s start as we mean to go on. Here’s Robert Palmer with a “Bad Case of Loving You”.’ She faded in the song and sat back in the swivel chair with a grin on her face as Mr Palmer called repeatedly for the doctor. She held up her hands. ‘See? Easy peasy. And if that light’s showing, we’re off air and can talk privately, okay? I’ve got a whole doctor motif running in my play list this morning.’ Her face puckered for a moment and she went a slightly sickly colour.
‘The fish smell getting to you too?’ asked Holly, who had been breathing through her mouth for the last five minutes.
Lizzie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. It’s just something I ate; it’s the last time I’m being adventurous with the curry menu. I was so sick last night and I’ve still got awful tummy ache.’ She winced again, waving away Holly’s concern. ‘Bloody Will and his competitive spiciness.
‘And here’s hoping Mr Palmer makes a speedy recovery,’ Lizzie said, back on air, in her upbeat-radio-DJ voice that made Holly want to giggle despite her concern. ‘Let’s take our first caller, shall we, Dr Graham? Hello, caller, you’re on the air.’
‘Hi,’ said the caller, her voice tentative and quiet. ‘I wanted to ask about restless legs? I’m finding it really hard to sleep at night and I keep kicking my husband.’ She sighed. ‘We’re both exhausted and grumpy and to be honest it’s causing a few marital issues. I wondered what you’d recommend?’
Before Holly could even formulate a response, Lizzie had dived right in. ‘Well, it seems to me, caller, that we might be looking at this from the wrong angle. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? I mean, if there are unresolved tensions in your marriage, might the kicking actually be your subconscious way of expressing your frustrations?’
‘Oh,’ breathed the caller, utterly winded by the suggestion. ‘Well, I didn’t think we were unhappy. We’ve been together so long, you see, and barely a cross word. But we do both love our sleep, so I put the recent problems down to that.’ She sounded really concerned now. ‘Maybe I was just kidding myself?’
Lizzie nodded. ‘It’s always easier to be objective from the outside looking in.’
‘If I could just ask,’ Holly interrupted, unable to sit idly by while this poor woman’s apparently happy marriage was taken apart on live radio, ‘have there been any other changes in your life of late? Moving house, hormonal milestones?’
‘Not really,’ replied the caller. ‘I’m too young to be menopausal, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’ She sounded a little peeved actually and Holly rallied quickly.
‘What about dietary changes?’ she offered.
‘Oh, well, yes. I suppose. I became a vegetarian about six months ago. I couldn’t stomach the idea of food-with-a-face anymore.’
Holly watched the colour leach from Lizzie’s already pale and clammy face with concern. ‘Are you okay?’ she mouthed silently.
Lizzie nodded, waving her hand at Holly’s microphone to continue.
‘The reason I ask, caller,’ said Holly, completely relaxed into her zone now, nerves eclipsed by the distraction of Lizzie looking increasingly awful, ‘is that iron deficiencies can be one of the triggers for restless legs at night and, if you’re not making sure to get enough iron from your new meat-free diet, it may be a contributory factor.’
‘You mean, me giving up steak might have caused this?’ the caller clarified in bewilderment.
‘Well, obviously, it’s hard to say exactly without meeting you, but it would seem like a promising place to start, before you begin looking for problems in your marriage that might not even be there. Have you been feeling guilty about this, by any chance?’
‘Yes!’ exclaimed the caller. ‘So weirdly guilty about all sorts of things actually.’
‘Okay, so when you go to the doctor’s, it might be worth asking them to check your Vitamin B12 levels, as well as your iron. Guilt is a recognised symptom of B12 deficiency and can often go hand in hand with anaemia. In fact, to everyone listening, it’s worth remembering that your body’s engine can only run efficiently if you give it the fuel it needs – a balanced diet, plenty of fruit, veg and protein and don’t forget to drink some water.’
‘Good advice in theory there, Dr Graham,’ said Lizzie. ‘And maybe we should have a call-in one day about how to eat well in practice?’
Holly grinned. ‘Good idea. But my general advice still stands – give yourself a good foundation and then a little of what you fancy does you good.’
‘There you have it, folks, your doctor agrees that a glass of wine and a bar of chocolate may actually be good for you.’
Holly laughed. ‘Well, dark chocolate is an excellent source of iron—’
‘And now it’s time for the news and traffic from our partners at Bath Radio,’ Lizzie said, clearly using up the last of a very deep breath. She flicked the switch and the ‘off air’ light pinged on. ‘We’ve got five minutes now if you need a wee. You’re doing great, by the way.’
‘But you’re not feeling so good, are you?’ Holly said. ‘Come and get a breath of fresh air. I need to look in on the twins anyway.’ She stood up and held out a hand, wondering how anyone could spend hours each day in this sweaty, stinky little cubicle.
To Holly’s absolute amazement, the twins were happily sitting in their pram, legs swinging contentedly and gurgly noises a-go-go. ‘Wow, check you out, Elsie – you must be the baby whisperer.’
‘Oh, I just pop a splash of gin in their bottles; it keeps them ever so good,’ laughed Elsie wickedly, clearly enjoying the flash of alarm on Holly’s face. ‘Oh calm down, it’s just the water from your baby bag. It is very hot up here and I thought they might get dehydrated. But they seem to enjoy hearing your voice on the radio. I have to say, darling, you do seem to be a natural.’
‘You might need to be, today,’ said Lizzie with another grimace, bending forward from the waist and clutching her stomach. ‘I do not feel good. Bloody super fancy phaal curry – I’ll kill Will when I get home. Do I care if it’s all the rage, do I heck?’ She winced again and checked her watch. ‘We should really get back in there. If I keep pressing buttons and doing the links, can you keep talking?’
‘Sure, no problem,’ said Holly, looking to Elsie for support. ‘But if you feel this bad, maybe we should cancel the show?’
Lizzie shook her head and the very action made her sweat. ‘Can’t have dead air, Holls. Not on my watch.’
*
By the time they’d taken several more calls, Holly was beginning to wonder whether all was entirely well with Lizzie’s marriage. So far she had managed to persuade an older gentleman that his wife’s sudden interest in tennis meant she was having an affair, a teenager just starting at university that long-distance relationships were doomed to failure – she crossed her fingers that Alice wasn’t listening – and even a nervous young bride that she could relax, safe in the reassurance of knowing that a first marriage was just a good place to learn the ropes.
‘Hey, Lizzie,’ Holly said as they switched through to the travel update again, ‘what’s with you this morning? Are you and Will having a fight?’
Lizzie swallowed another wave of nausea, pressing her hand to her side. ‘He’s just being a stubborn old goat, that’s all. He reckons I’m spending too much time with Connor.’
Holly sighed; she could actually understand Will’s perspective on this one. Connor Danes, although recently widowed, still carried the panache and good looks of the world-class rock star that he was. Despite being old friends with Will, it was Lizzie he had been turning to over the last year as he attempted to rebuild his life, Lizzie he spent hours talking to over a bottle of wine in the afternoon, Lizzie who had become his confidante. Now, he was on a mission to move to Larkford permanently and Lizzie was skittering around the countryside looking at fancy houses with him. It was all totally innocent. Apparently. But still . . .
‘Can you believe he was furious that I went house-hunting with Connor? Just because the newspaper caught a picture and ran some dodgy headline about Connor’s “mystery blonde” doesn’t mean Will has anything to worry about, does it?’ Lizzie said angrily, her face increasingly bearing a sheen of perspiration from each wave of pain. Pain that, to Holly’s eye, seemed to be growing in intensity.
Lizzie shook her head and flicked the switch. ‘And now we’re back with Dr Holly Graham to answer your questions, but first, a little Aqua with “Doctor Jones”.’
The moment Lizzie hit play, her face crumpled. ‘Jesus, Holly, this isn’t right. It hurts like hell.’ Within moments she had comprehensively hurled into the waste bin, as she clutched her abdomen.
Holly yanked off her headphones and was around the desk in moments, laying Lizzie down on its surface and gently palpating her stomach. ‘On a scale of one to ten, how bad are we talking here?’
‘Ten!’ screamed Lizzie, as Holly evidently zeroed in on the problem. ‘It’s been so much worse since I had those antacids,’ she groaned. ‘Even the hot-water bottle didn’t help.’
Holly looked up as Elsie banged on the window, some kind of Morse code that completely eluded her. Well, Elsie was a parent herself, albeit long out of practice; she could certainly deal with the twins for a moment while Holly got Lizzie the help she needed.
‘Okay, Lizzie. So I’m going to call you an ambulance. I think you have acute appendicitis, actually. And there’s a chance that those antacids may have tipped inflammation over into a possible rupture. So keep still, keep breathing and we’ll get you to the hospital.’
She rested a hand on Lizzie’s forehead and was shocked to feel the burning temperature of her skin, even as she dialled 999 and conveyed the necessary information.
‘You’re going to be fine,’ she reassured her friend, as the next song looped on to play in the studio. ‘A little op and a few weeks taking it easy.’
‘Last time I eat spicy curry,’ Lizzie groaned.
Holly managed a smile. ‘It won’t be the curry. It’s more likely all those apple cores you insist on eating.’
‘Waste not, want not,’ breathed Lizzie, aiming for humour but sounding a little delirious.
Holly checked her watch; the ambulance should be due any moment. Elsie hammered on the window again and Holly pulled open the studio door. ‘I’m going to have to get Lizzie to hospital. I think her appendix may have burst.’
‘I know,’ said Elsie, ‘and so does the whole of Larkford!’ She pointed towards the ‘on air’ light; the music may have been playing, but their mics had been live the whole time. ‘The switchboard’s lit up like Christmas. What do you want me to do?’
A banging door downstairs followed by running feet preceded the arrival of the paramedics.
‘No dead air,’ called Lizzie from her supine position on the desk. ‘Not on my watch.’
‘Right,’ said Holly. ‘Elsie, you’re up. Can you handle the show for the last hour?’
‘Handle it?’ said Elsie with aplomb. ‘I have every intention of rocking the airwaves.’
It was some testament to how bad Lizzie was feeling that she didn’t even blink at the suggestion, or attempt to flirt with the dishy paramedics. Even as she was bundled into the ambulance, with Holly wielding the twins in their pram and promising to meet her at the hospital, all Lizzie could keep muttering about was finding the perfect house for Connor. It gave Holly a small insight into Lizzie’s subconscious and, for the first time, she conceded that Will might have every good reason to be worried.