*****
It was halfway through the meal that it happened. By that stage Katie had very nearly given up on Rachel saying anything, and, to be honest, between Eva and herself there wasn’t much silence to fill. But it was still getting a bit awkward. All Rachel did was sit, give tiny little smiles when she absolutely had to, nod or shake her head in response to any questions, and give her order of a salad in the quietest voice imaginable. (It was unfortunate that this was not a typical order for that particular establishment: so much so that Bronwen – who had come to take their orders instead of the waitress, probably out of curiosity – had frowned down at Rachel and told her she would bring a side of Welsh Rarebit. When the huge plate of what amounted to cheese on toast and a tiny side salad arrived, Rachel had looked even greener than before.)
So as you can imagine, Katie was not prepared for the loud snort of laughter that escaped from Rachel’s perfectly lined lips whilst they were finishing off their meals. (Rachel had actually made a fair stab at the Rarebit.) It was after Mrs Hughes had come over to their table and tapped Katie on the shoulder (a surprisingly strong tap for a lady of eighty-nine).
‘I’ve talked to Glynis,’ she said in her typical imperious tone. ‘And I’ll be needing a visit next week; just so long as you bring that one along.’ She tipped her head to Sam and sighed.
‘Mrs Hughes,’ she said with infinite patience. ‘We visited Mrs Morgan because she’s housebound since her stroke. I think if you’re able to make it to the pub you might be able to make it into the surgery.’ Mrs Hughes scowled for a moment.
‘Glynis is a big faker,’ she said dismissively, and Katie looked up at the ceiling in frustration. How exactly Mrs Hughes thought Mrs Morgan had ‘faked’ a massive stroke that had taken out a large area of the left side of her brain last year on her CT scan, Katie wasn’t sure. Mrs Hughes huffed. ‘Well, fine. I’ll come to the surgery,’ she told Katie, as if bestowing the highest honour on her and the practice. ‘But I shall be making a complaint.’
‘Okay,’ Katie said, ruthlessly holding back the small smile that was trying to fight its way onto her lips. They had a book of complaints at the surgery from Mrs Hughes about any manner of things, ranging from the comfort of the seats in the waiting room, to the fact that the reception staff were ‘smiling like morons’ at her. They had even received a complaint last year about her plumbing (and not the urological variety either), although Katie suspected that it might have been sent to the wrong address – and in turn felt sorry for the actual plumber. The council had a similar book of complaints from her also; it seemed to be almost a hobby of hers.
‘But I still don’t see why Glynis and Gaynor get preferential treatment and strapping young men round to their houses when they are just putting it on.’
‘Mrs Howell had broken her hip, Mrs Hughes,’ Katie told her patiently, her voice slightly strained with the effort of holding back laughter.
‘Pah!’ Mrs Hughes exclaimed, as if breaking your hip was the equivalent of a small splinter. Then she turned and stomped off in the direction of Emrys, no doubt to complain about the food/service/state of the economy.
‘What’s this about you and the old ladies of Aberllwellyn?’ Eva asked, smiling widely at Sam. Sam grunted and rolled his eyes, leaving Katie to explain their excursions yesterday. She knew Rachel’s eyes were fixed on her as she told them about how Sam had helped Mrs Howell, and noticed her giving him a soft look. Katie then moved onto how Mrs Trilley was supposedly too ill to possibly make the journey to the surgery, but proceeded to charge around making tea and getting out a massive cake she had whipped up that day when they arrived, and finally pressing Sam about coming to talk to the Women’s Institute about being a ‘mercenary’. Katie thought she had heard a small sound from Rachel at that point, but the background noise of the pub was too loud to tell.
By the time she finished relating the whole ride-along debacle with Mrs Llwellyn, Rachel and Eva were staring at her open-mouthed; and then Rachel collapsed into a fit of laughter. She didn’t look like the kind of woman who laughed often, and certainly not the whole-body, out-of-control kind of laughing she was caught up in that moment. By the time she had finished, her eyes were streaming and her guard had lowered to some extent.
‘I love it,’ she wheezed, wiping a stray tear from under her eye. ‘You’vegotto take her, darling.’
Sam rolled his eyes. ‘Mum,’ he said, trying to look annoyed but obviously relieved that she had loosened up. ‘It’s not like I’m cruising the mean streets of New York taking down perps. I work for a security company.’
‘Youruna security company,’ she said, her chest puffing up with pride.
‘Rob runs it, Mum.’
‘Well, you’re his partner in the business,’ Rachel said, her voice growing stronger in her defence of him.
‘I know, Mum, but I’m always away so I’m more of a silent partner.’
‘But that’s going to change now,’ she said, flicking a glance at Katie, who was starting to think that maybe coming out to lunch with his family might not have been the best idea. It seemed to have given the wrong impression to Rachel. Katie didn’t even know herself where she stood with Sam. They’d kissed; they’d spent the night together twice under weird circumstances and with zero sexy time. What did that make them?
‘I … no …’ Sam said, and Katie’s shoulders slumped slightly, before she reminded herself that he hadn’t made any promises to her. They hadn’t even been out on a date together. Why should he be changing his plans for her? ‘I mean, Rob needs help on the set for now; but after filming … I don’t know.’
Katie could literally feel Rachel and Eva’s disappointment hanging in the air; it might have even rivalled her own. So she mentally gave herself a slap and sallied on through the constriction she was feeling in her chest.
‘Rachel,’ she called softly, forcing a smile to her face. ‘Eva tells me that you’re amazing with cakes. I’m hopeless and I’ve been bullied into making some for the day centre. I don’t suppose you have any tips on a good carrot cake do you? (It was sneaky, but Eva had mentioned at Lady’s funeral that her mum’s carrot cake beat every other one ever made hands down – not too diplomatic, as she’d been standing right next to the maker of said carrot cake at the time, but then again Eva had been completely steaming.) Rachel’s disappointment fled and she leaned forward towards Katie with a smile – a real one this time – before digging in her bag and pulling out a pen.
‘Well,’ she said, her face lighting with enthusiasm, ‘not many people know this but it’s all about the lemon juice.’ By the time she’d finished explaining, with Katie asking encouraging soft-spoken questions throughout, Rachel’s guard was down entirely and she was smiling outright.
Even though she knew she’d broken through, Katie was still surprised that, when Sam excused himself and went off to the loo, Rachel reached over and grasped her hand.
‘He’s coming back to us,’ she said, her quiet voice serious but hopeful.
Katie frowned. ‘Uh …’
‘Look, it’s hard to explain,’ Eva said to Katie, gripping her mum’s hand on the table. ‘But it’s like he’s been gone for the last six years. We’ve seen him – rarely, but we have – but he’s just … not there, not the real Sam. You’re bringing him back.’
‘Listen, ladies,’ Katie said gently, ‘we’re not even really … I mean, I don’t exactly know what we are. I don’t even really know him that well, and he’s certainly not been my biggest fan for the past six years. So I’m not sure any change you’re seeing is down to me.’
‘Don’t you give up on him,’ Rachel said, her tone surprisingly fierce. ‘He was such a closed-off child when I met him. His dad, he’s a good man but his work is everything to him and he had no idea how to reach out to a boy he hardly knew. It might have taken Eva to break him out of his shell, and it didn’t happen overnight, but I never gave up on him.’
‘Where’s his dad today?’
