Tina fled - with a coffee mug and two rolls on a plate - cowardly backing away from him and mumbling. And of course she saw a mocking smirk on his lips, but at this stage he needed to be blind and daft - the jury was out on the latter, as the Americans called it - to think his finger licking trick hadn't worked. So, what? He was hot, and tried to fluster her, and he had. Nine out of fourteen actors playing the Doctor in Doctor Who could do it. Not much of an accomplishment, innit? Tina sighed and settled to write.

Three hours later she was still feeling pretty restless, and she decided there was no use fighting it. Tina knew her writing quirks. She wouldn't be able to focus on the interrogation she was describing unless she did something about the jitters. She needed endorphins. She needed to be physically tired. She needed to skate.

She was changing when she heard the doorbell downstairs. She rushed out of her bedroom - but of course the furry menace was faster.

"John!" a female voice rang, when Tina was turning the corner into her hall.

There was a second there when she thought she'd see Deidre Hooper née Holyoake - but the woman standing a few meters away from Tina's entrance door on the pavement was a petite blonde, dressed better than Kate Middleton attending the Christmas Day service at St Mary Magdalene Church.

"Darling, you look well," the blonde said. "Clearly, you aren't in as much distress as Di painted it."

"Good day to you too, Etty," the bearman answered with a chuckle.

He was once again leaning on a door frame, taking all of the doorway with his massive body. Stop appreciating his wide shoulders, Tina!

"Call me Etty again, and I'll throw something at you. And you know me, dear, I won't miss." The blonde gave out a lilting laugh. "How are you feeling?"

"Fit as a fiddle, darling," he said, his shoulders shaking in a full-body laugh.

Tina wondered if this 'darling' was the same 'darling' who'd rang him up the day before. Did she come to check on him?! And then Tina realised she was as much as stalking, and she edged away from him.

"Ms. Popplewell," the man purred, making her freeze on her spot, like a racoon caught trying to sneak through a cat flap. He threw her a cheeky glance over his shoulder. "Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Georgette Millais-Scott."

Tina stepped forward and stopped near him. Too close! The man is like a furnace! Is he radiating heat?! Also... awkward! How does one talk to a 'friend' of a man one's unwillingly lodging with?!

"Di told me about your predicament, Ms. Popplewell," the blonde said and clicked her tongue. "My condolences."

"'Tina,' please. And it's quite alright," Tina mumbled.

"I doubt it. You're stuck in the same house as with him." The woman pointed at Holyoake with the index finger of her gloved hand. "Don't let him hog the duvet. And a good kick should stop the snoring."

"I don't snore, Etty," Holyoake said lazily.

Tina remembered how Brigit told her he had a strict rule against staying the night, and it seemed even the elegant, confident, fit Etty hadn't been given a chance to find out whether he snored.

"I was simply taking the mickey," the blonde dismissed. "Poor Tina will need as much humour as possible to get through her incarceration."

"How are the little'uns?" Holyoake asked.

"Recovering. The doctors don't predict any complications." The woman's voice grew serious. "We're more concerned for you, to be honest. As annoying as you are," she added with a small smile.

"I'm symptom free, and it seems I haven't been in direct contact with a positive case," Holyoake answered. "And Ms. Popplewell is taking good care of me. She let me use her kitchen."

"I'll give you that, at least you cook," the blonde said and shook her head. "You aren't a complete burden. But make sure he stays out of your biscuit tins," she said to Tina. "Again, a good kick could suffice to shoo him away."

Biscuit tins?! Tina threw Holyoake a shocked look.

"We won't keep you, Etty," he said in a fake menacing tone.

"Have a good day, Tina," the blonde said and then yelled, because the bastard started closing the door, "Stay safe, you supercilious clot!" When there was just a small crack left, Tina heard, "And be nice to Tina! Or I'll come after you with a grapefruit spoon!"

The door shut with a bang.

"Tea?" Holyoake asked and sauntered towards the kitchen.

"That was Georgette Millais-Scott, the famous photographer and travel blogger!" Tina exclaimed and rushed after him.

"Is she now? All I know she's a nuisance," he said with a chortle and started filling Tina's kettle.

"How do you know her?" Tina couldn't help but ask. "I love her blog! She travelled to Lake Baikal in Russia three years ago, and the photographs are mind-blowing! It's the world's oldest and deepest freshwater lake. It is also among the clearest of all lakes in the world, it's like a blue crystal slab when it's frozen, and it's thought to be twenty-five million years old. They had a vehicle accident on the lake, and she saved the lives of three people! She's so... cool!"

He turned to face Tina and leaned against the counter, crossing his ankles.

"I didn't know that," he said, studying Tina.

Tina scoffed, "You aren't particularly appreciative when it comes to the women in your life, aren't you?" she asked venomously.

He narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing.

Tina shook her head. "I don't want any tea. I'm going out."

"You can't go out, you're isolating," he said.

"I'm allowed to go outside, and it's just down to the lake," she grumbled. "I'll just skate a bit, away from the main rink."

"You can't skate," he once again protested. Ugh, supercilious clot indeed. "You might have a concussion."

"I hit my head on the oven handle. I'll be fine," Tina bit back.

"Your forehead still looks awful!"

He pointed at her head, to which Tina emitted an exasperated groan, turned around, and left the kitchen. There was no need to remind her what a cock-up she was! And of course she had an ugly bruise on her munter face! It was his fault! Prick. She angrily pulled her jacket on and was wrapping her scarf around her neck, when he appeared from upstairs.

"I'm going with you," he said and took his peacoat from the closet. "In case you fall or faint."

"You're the fainting one!" Tina immediately bristled.

"Don't hurt yourself again, and I won't be," he grumbled and started putting on the boots he'd brought, probably, from his suitcase.

Tina internally cursed, but she was feeling a headache coming, and she just needed to get out.

"Would you like me to carry your skates?" he asked.

Tina ignored him and marched towards the back door. He emitted a tortured sigh behind her and followed.

***

The small rink she was heading to had been cleared by the boys to play hockey on, away from the skating crowds.

"Will you be safe? How good are you on ice?" he asked from the snow drift he was standing on.

"Fairly good," she answered grudgingly.

She wasn't just good. She'd graduated the Q.I.D.C. When she moved to Lower Woulds, for the first three weeks every new person she'd meet would tell her that the village was the birthplace of 'that Olympic champion,' and that everyone skated here. Trying to fit in, Tina had dusted off her old pair of skates.

"Do you skate?" Tina asked him, while tightening her skates, and threw him a look.

He had his hands stuffed deeply in his pocket, and was hiding his nose in his colourful striped scarf. He definitely wasn't dressed for the weather, so she hoped he'd give up soon.

"I grew up in the village. Of course I can skate," he said.

Oh, so self-assured! Look at me, I'm John Holyoake. I own three biggest publishing houses in the country. I'm hot as a crepe pan. I have gorgeous buttocks. I skate. I date awesome travel bloggers. I cook pilaf, and I smell like sunlight and sex and cuddles, all wrapped in cinnamon rolls!

Tina pushed from the side of the rink, and then something Tookish woke up inside her - and she performed an impeccable salchow. She cleanly landed on her right, smoothly transitioned into a toeloop, and finished off with a single axel. She considered a double, but decided to play it safe. Landing on her arse and proving him right just wouldn't do.

Ugh. She was so tempted to skate to the edge and to see his face, but then the aforementioned Tookishness went back to sleep... and Tina chickened out. What if he wasn't at all impressed, and was standing there all lush and smirking?

She skated for a half an hour, doing her usual routine, and trying to ignore his dark figure in her peripheral vision. He was once again dressed in his navy head to toe. And damn those dark blue jeans look good!

She skated to the edge and stepped out of the rink. He came up to her and handed her the bag with her boots. She was changing - and it's like he's trying to drill into her skull with these attentive peepers! Blimey!

"Is there something you needed?" she finally snapped after two minutes of him attentively watching her.

"Do you have a twin?" he asked.

A skate fell out of Tina's hand, and she gawked at him.

What?