He snorted and her eyes widened in surprise. ‘I’m direct and forthright,you’rea pushover.’
‘No,’ she said slowly, and he felt her stiffen under his hold, bristling with indignation. ‘I’m just not rude and arrogant and … and chopsie* the whole time.’ He felt a small smile tugging at his lips: she had that angry-kitten look again.
‘Chopsie?’ he asked, although he could take a guess at its meaning.
‘Google it,’ she told him. ‘And while you’re at it, look up radgie, bolshie, tamping*, oh, and of course, twp*, don’t forget twp.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Better that than letting people walk all over me.’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘I do not …’
‘Yes you do,’ he cut her off. ‘This whole community takes advantage of you.’
She was back to looking like a puffed-up kitten again, and Sam realised he hadn’t had this much fun in ages. She yanked her arm away and put her small pert nose in the air before stomping across her room to the bathroom. With her insanely unsexy pyjamas on, her hair sticking up all over the place and her small hands clenched into tiny fists, Sam didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so fucking ridiculous, or so goddamn adorable.
He sat on the edge of the bed to wait for her to emerge from the shower that was now running (no way was he going to miss the opportunity to see her in a towel), and started typing into his phone. Once she did emerge, wearing what would have been the equivalent of a flannel if it was on his body, and no longer looking even faintly ridiculous, he scowled at her.
‘I amnottwp,’ he told her firmly, and she smiled.
*chopsie, radgie, bolshie, tamping –angry, difficult to deal with
*twp –stupid, simple minded
Chapter 20
You’re bringing him back
Sam’s stepmum was a surprise. Katie didn’t know what she had been expecting, but the woman standing nervously in front of her was not at all who she had pictured in her head.
Sam had asked them to meet in the pub in the centre of the village, which was walking distance from Katie’s house. Katie bundled up to brave the crisp November weather and Sam flicked amused glances down at her as they trudged along, making her feel self-conscious about her bright purple coat and matching stripy earmuffs. Smug bastard. Not everyone dressed almost exclusively in black, she thought, eyeing his long, dark, eminently sensible and boring coat.
As they’d set out, he had manoeuvred her onto the other side of the pavement so that he was the one walking closest to the road, and she blinked. It was something her grandfather, even when he had been quite unsteady and using a stick, had always insisted on doing when walking with any lady: a gentlemanly gesture, so old fashioned but so completely fitting, given Sam’s nature. He further surprised her by grabbing her hand, clad in its stripy purple glove, and holding it tightly in his. This inspired a fair few curious glances from passers-by, many of whom Katie knew and called out greetings to, but none of whom had ever seen her walking anywhere hand in hand with a man, least of all a man as amazing-looking as the one striding next to her. As they neared the pub he cast an almost nervous glance at her and cleared his throat. Katie was curious: nervous was not a typical look for Sam.
‘My stepmum, she’s a bit …’ he trailed off, rubbing his chin. ‘She doesn’t get out much and she’s kind of … quiet.’ Oh dear, Katie thought. Am I that much of a big mouth that he thinks I’ll be shocked by someone a little shy?
‘Um … okay.’
‘I mean, she’s really, really quiet,’ he reiterated. ‘And with new people, well … it can get a little painful.’
Katie had thought maybe he was exaggerating a little, but the small woman in front of her, looking a little green and like she was about to throw up any moment, made her reconsider. The fact was that as soon as Katie had walked into what was essentially her local, a cacophony of greetings had been sent her way from practically every person in there – from families sitting down to eat, to a half-drunk Rhodri seated at the bar (well into his seventies and an alcoholic for the last forty years, Rhodri was a permanent, accepted feature of the small pub), and of course the large tattooed form of Emrys behind the bar.
Sam’s mum flinched at each shouted greeting, and Katie gave everyone a wave and a toned-down version of her normal exuberant responses. When she finally made it over to them, Eva stepped forward in her normal confident manner, hugged Katie, and then stepped back with a huge grin on her face.
‘Katie, this is my mum, Rachel. Mum, this is Katie.’ Katie noticed the soft, reassuring way Eva spoke to her mum.
‘Hi, Mum,’ Sam said, kissing her cheek and giving her a brief hug.
‘Hello, Mrs Clifton,’ Katie said, extending her hand towards her. The slim woman was dressed immaculately in grey trousers and a black turtleneck. Her blonde hair, mixed liberally with grey, was cut short and styled beautifully, and her make-up was perfect and elegant.
‘Rachel, please,’ she said.
Katie could barely make out the words and could feel Rachel’s hand trembling slightly in hers when she clasped it. She smiled at her, hoping to make her feel at ease (and failing miserably, judging by the set of the other woman’s shoulders), then led them over to a quieter area of the pub at the back, nearer the fire. Katie’s local pub was one of the places she felt at her most comfortable. Cosy and warm, with lots of dark wood and old fashioned décor, it wasn’t exactly the Ritz, but it was filled with people she knew. Yes, some were patients as well as friends, but people asking her about their gout or fungal toenails over a beer had never really fazed Katie as much as it did other doctors, who preferred to live outside their practice areas. She’d go into town to the sterile, fancy bars that littered the high street when she had to (mostly when dragged by Russell or Sarah), but if she had her way most nights out would consist of just this one place. However, glancing around, she realized that for an elegant woman used to the bright lights of London, it must seem pretty grim.
Katie stood and grabbed some menus from the bar, handing one over to Rachel with another smile. ‘The food’s actually really lush. Bronwen, that’s the cook, she’s awesome; best steak and kidney pie this side of the Severn Bridge.’
Rachel flicked Katie a quick glance and the smallest smile in the history of smiles, and then buried her head in the menu. Okay then – although Katie had to admit that she didn’t exactly look like the pie-eating sort. Sam shifted uncomfortably next to her and Katie reached over to squeeze his thigh reassuringly, smiling up at him, and to her surprise he smiled back and some of his tension drained away. When she looked back at the menu she saw that Rachel was sitting very still and staring at them, her mouth slightly open and her eyes suspiciously wet, before she caught Katie’s gaze and flicked her eyes down to her own menu.
‘See,’ Katie overheard Eva whisper to her mother. ‘I told you.’
