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Bridget’s look was questioning now, and Liam didn’t know how to respond to it. He didn’t know a damn thing about Ambrose’s mother, but the tension in his voice when he’d spoken to her hadn’t sounded good.
“Everything okay?” Bridget asked finally, her tone light.
“Yep,” Ambrose said, and seemed to shake himself awake. “It’s all good.” He twisted around in his seat. “How’s your thrush?”
Bridget blinked and laughed. “You’re lucky I didn’t tell you the full story.”
“The full story?” Ambrose asked, his eyes widening in anticipation.
“So, Mum thought she was going to get a pregnancy announcement, right?” Bridget asked. “What she doesn’t know is that we are trying for another one. And we went at it hard, didn’t we, Orhan? That’s how things got so aggravated down there in the first place.”
“I almost put my back out,” Orhan said, “but you don’t see me telling the whole world.”
“‘Almost’ isn’t a sex injury, Orhan. You can’t brag about an ‘almost’.”
“This family is crazy, Ambrose,” Orhan said. “You’re lucky you got one of the rare ones with a filter.”
“It’s a good thing he has one, because I sure as hell don’t,” Ambrose said with a laugh.
“But in answer to your question,” Bridget said brightly, “my thrush is all cleared up, and things are just fantastic downstairs right now. There’s a party in my pants and my handsome husband’s invited.”
“They are fantastic,” Orhan agreed. “And spending a weekend at the winery is the best kind of dirty weekend, because not only is it beautiful there, but Fi takes the baby and leaves us alone, because she says couples need private time.”
Liam rolled his eyes and reached over to pat Balian gently on the hand. “I’ll pay for your future therapy, mate.”
Balian blew a spit bubble, and Liam eased his phone out of his pocket and texted Ambrose.
I bet nobody’s ever said this before, but I think you might need to be a bigger dick.
Ambrose glanced at his phone with a frown when it pinged, but then his lips quirked up in a smile, and he typed rapid-fire. Liam’s screen lit up.
You’re right. Nobody’s ever said that.
It was followed by a string of eggplant emojis.
The rain hit about twenty minutes outside of Cowan. It was heavy enough that the day felt more like night, and Orhan had to turn on the headlights and turn the wipers up to full speed.
“Can we stop somewhere soon?” Ambrose asked, peering through the windscreen at the deluge. “I need to take a leak.”
Liam checked his phone. They’d been in the car for less than an hour.
“Oh, sure,” Orhan said. “We’ll stop at the next servo.”
“Servo,” Ambrose said. “You speak really good English. Not just English, but Aussie, you know? Like you were born here.”
Orhan’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “That’s because I was. I’m from Newcastle.”
“Oh, cool,” Ambrose said breezily. “But where are you really from? Because you’re not from Ireland, not with that complexion.”
Liam cringed. Beside him, Bridget sat up straighter, her face as stormy as the weather.
“My parents emigrated from Turkey,” Orhan said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, cool!” Ambrose said again. “You guys have great bread. The delight, though? Not a fan. It’s just wet jelly that tastes the way old ladies smell. It should be called Turkish Disappointment. Sorry to sling off at your culture, mate. It probably tastes okay if you grew up not knowing anything else. And the bread’s great, so it’s nice that your country has made at least one contribution to world cuisine, you know?”
A vein pulsed in Orhan’s temple, and Liam could have sworn he heard the grinding of teeth. He wanted to shrink back into his seat and disappear. Ambrose was being awful, but Liam had asked him to be. And nothing was going to make Orhan, and Bridget, hate him faster than this demonstration of casual racism. Liam hated it.
“Oh, look!” Ambrose said, pointing. “A servo!”
