Goodie sighed and stepped back, frowning down at the small woman in front of her. Between her and her cat they were driving Goodie slowly round the bend. The walk from the surgery to Katie’s house should have been minutes, but of course, as with everything with this woman, it was not that simple. Goodie told Katie she would follow her home but Katie idled along next to her on her ridiculous pink scooter asking endless questions:
‘Do you work for Rob’s company?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Do you go to Somalia?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Do you help with security on the film set?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Were you in the army with Rob and Sam?’
‘Yes and no.’
The fact that Goodie gave mostly one-word answers and the fact that she asked no questions of her own was not enough to put Katie off. Goodie had vaguely mused that in the breaking of terror suspects this tiny woman with her pink scooter, ridiculous fluffy mittens-and-hat combo (Goodie had had to endure a scolding on her lack of such items – she decided not to tell Katie that she was already missing two toes from a stakeout during a particularly bitter Siberian winter, and that this Welsh weather was not enough to faze her) could well be just as effective as a spot of water-boarding.
In fact when Goodie had finished, and after she’d shown Katie how to use the alarm, she was literally forced to sit down and eat the chilli-like substance (and that was being generous, but to Goodie food was food; she had spent enough of her life hungry to not be fussy), with the cat pressed up against her side and Katie’s ongoing gentle interrogation and constant chattering. Salem, the traitor, had even rested his head on Katie’s lap as she played with his ears, despite never having allowed anyone but Goodie and Sam to so much as pat him before. (Salem, like Goodie herself, had not had the best start in life and did not trust humans easily, so this behaviour was unusual to say the least.)
Being in that bright, cosy living room – despite the cat-themed throw cushions, which were bizarre – and feeling the warmth of a purring ginger ball of fur from one side and Katie’s natural warmth from her other, Goodie had an odd aching feeling in her chest and her throat felt tight. When she finally managed to extract herself, Katie surprised her yet again by enveloping her in a hug. Nobody hugged Goodie, not if they wanted to keep their arms. But instead of shaking her off, Goodie just found herself standing there and allowing it. After she pulled away she started blinking when she felt a prickle behind her eyes. Goodie hadn’t cried since childhood.
She cleared her throat, which still felt tight. ‘You will be safe,’ she told Katie. Katie just nodded and smiled.
‘I know, cariad,’ Katie said, and Goodie blinked again. She knew thatcariadwas a Welsh endearment, and nobody used endearments with Goodie. Not ever.
‘This I swear,’ Goodie told her with conviction, and it was Katie’s turn to blink.
‘Okay,’ Katie said slowly, her smile faltering.
Goodie gave a jerky nod and surprised herself again by saying, ‘Thank you,’ before yanking the door open and stalking out, Salem following on her heels.
Chapter 9
Tell me you did not put makeup on my boys
‘Um … K.K., honey – did you actually get any of the cake mix in the tin?’ Russell asked, surveying the kitchen with a look of horror. Every surface, including the toddler clinging onto Katie’s leg and the smaller one in her arms, was covered in sloppy brown splodges.
‘God, you’re so anal,’ Katie said, rolling her eyes as Baby Thomas planted a big chocolate-covered kiss on her cheek. Russell zeroed in on a particularly large splatter and scooped some of it up cautiously with his finger as if it was a radioactive substance.
‘You do know that cake mix is not exactly supposed to look like this?’ he asked as the gloopy, lumpy mixture slid back onto the counter. ‘Did you measure anything?’
‘Measuring? Ugh … measuring’s for losers. I’m more of an expressive, avant-garde baker.’
‘Did you even mix it properly?’
Katie shrugged. ‘It all cooks together, for goodness sake. What’s the difference?’
Russell peered into the oven. ‘Um … looks pretty burnt, K.K.’
‘It can’t be burnt, I only put it in – oh, sh … I mean sugar. The stupid oven has turned itself onto grill.’
‘Not sure an oven can turn itself onto grill, sweets. Ovens are not malicious sentient beings intent on ruining your experimental baking.’
Katie faced away from Finlay and gave Russell a one-finger salute behind Baby Thomas’s back, before flipping the oven to the correct setting. Finlay, never keen on not taking centre stage, squeezed past Katie and was about to latch onto Russell’s leg when Russell yelped and stepped away, holding Finlay back with a hand to the top of his little head. Then, whilst still holding a struggling Finlay, he undid his belt and shimmied out of his trousers one-handed, leaving him in his thankfully extensive boxers.
‘What are you doing, you freak?’ Katie said through her giggles.
