Life can have ways of surprising you. It's not always for the better. Sometimes life can offer you a box of chocolates - and give you a kick in the teeth at the same moment. Things are good with Sam now...well – they're not bad. We are civil and we get on ok most of the time. Maybe living miles apart has worked well for us at this point in our lives.

Grace is growing up quickly and she's happier in New York. Holby holds too many bad memories for her and I can't blame her for that – it holds bad memories for me too. I seldom get a full night's sleep in Holby. Still plagued by nightmares, I often relive the crash at night. That moment I regained consciousness, saw my burning car – and Grace's shoe. In my injured state, I couldn't move quickly enough. I could not reach the car before it exploded. I didn't know that Grace wasn't in it. So it is – every time I dream. I don't know where she is again and I can't get there in time, no matter how hard I try. I wake up as it explodes, feeling less than relieved, for usually, I'm pulled back to sleep and dream this time of the helicopter crash. Sometimes I wonder why I still live in Holby – is my job a good enough reason? – I suppose it's partly out of guilt that I stay. My own brand of self-punishment. I was driving when we crashed and Grace nearly died. No matter how many times I get told that it wasn't my fault – often by Grace and Sam – I'll never stop blaming myself. No mother would.

Anyway, I visit New York to see my daughter as often as I can, and I sleep better when I'm there. Sam is always welcoming nowadays – even turning into a bit of a gent occasionally – holding doors open and that kind of thing. Sam Strachan – a gent! Words I thought I'd never put in the same sentence, but like I said, life can surprise you.

Here we are in Grace's favourite pub-restaurant in New York for a family meal – just the five of us. Sam and I, our 17 year-old daughter, Sam's adult son Kieran, Grace's half-brother...and Audrey Strachan, Sam's formidable mother. Never one to miss an opportunity to throw me a few frosty glares across the table; she just had to tag along. Audrey is not – and has never been my biggest fan, but so far tonight, she has been more or less civil.

Saying that, it is still a welcome relief, when it is my turn to go to the bar and buy a round of drinks. A short-lived relief, for once I've ordered them, a dreadfully familiar voice accosts me from the other end of the bar.

"Well, I never! If it isn't Connie Beauchamp!" he smirks, sauntering up to me with all of his usual swagger. "Or didn't you keep my name?"

At this moment in time, I wish I hadn't kept his name, but I would never change it now because it's part of Grace's name. He knows, of course. He spent half of our marriage looking up old college 'friends', and other people he had crossed paths with, to see who had been successful. He will never have been able to resist the temptation to look up his ex-wife. I expect he knows everything there is to know about me – or he thinks he does.

With this in mind, I choose not to give him the satisfaction of answering his question. "Hello Michael." I say dryly "How nice to see you."

"You always were a bad liar, Connie." He sneers.

"Yes, and you were a good one!" I shoot back "but you still can't recognise sarcasm when it hits you in the face."

He's prevented from answering when Grace suddenly pops up next to me.

"Alright, Mum?"

"I'm fine, darling." I tell her.

"Mum?" Michael starts – as if he didn't already know, but Grace cuts him off.

"Grace Beauchamp-Strachan." She announces, pointedly ignoring his outstretched hand. "I know who you are. I've heard about you."

"She still talks about me then." He smirks again in my direction.

Grace isn't stupid. She had worked out exactly what she was going to say before she got to the bar. She is determined to say it, and he has fallen straight into her trap.

"She only mentioned you once." She smiles sweetly. "She said she had a lucky escape."

Michael glances over in the direction of our table and appears to come to a sudden realisation. He always was a bit slow to catch on.

"Strachan?!" He splutters "Sam Strachan?!"

"Yes, Sam Strachan." I respond icily, relishing the tinge of green that has appeared on his face. Undoubtedly, the thought of Grace having 'his' name hyphenated with Sam's has an added layer of disgust for him. Suddenly I'm really pleased I kept his name after all. This is something to savour.

"Come on, love, let's take the drinks back." I say turning to Grace, away from Michael.

Before we leave, Grace, still determined to say what she came to say, takes a step towards Michael.

"Mum is worth ten of you." She informs him as clearly as possible.

"Is that...?" Sam mutters to me upon our return to the table.

"Yes." I agree "Apparently, he's jealous that I have a daughter with you and not him."

No sooner have we begun to lift our glasses off the table to drink, the annoyingly familiar voice is approaching us again.

"Sam Strachan." He taunts, as I place a hand on Sam's arm to prevent him from reacting. "Well, I never thought I'd see the day..."

"Michael." I say, standing up and offering him one of my best frosty smiles. "Do go away. You've outstayed your welcome."

When he shows no signs of doing as I asked, Grace suddenly springs to her feet and throws her drink over him.

"Leave my family alone." She retorts loudly, breaking through the quiet of the pub she's just shocked into silence...and her grandmother's disgusted stare. It's not the way she thinks Grace should behave.

"If Grace can throw her drink over him, does that mean I can wallop him Dad?" Kieran asks Sam with a grin.

"No, you can not!" Sam responds firmly, earning a satisfied look from his mother. He disciplined one of his children – albeit the grown-up one.

"You daughter is out of control!" Michael snaps, suddenly finding his voice again.

Sam stands up next to me.

"No. Our daughter is loyal." He answers, putting as much emphasis on the word 'Our' as he can. "Now, kindly leave us alone."

Up to now, Grace has remained standing in front of Michael with her hands on her hips.

"I'll...I'll...get you another drink." He stammers, as if he's just noticed her annoyed demeanour.

"I wouldn't drink it if you did." She responds without hesitation.

"Urgh! She's just like you!" Michael snaps at me accusingly.

"And proud of it!" Grace exclaims triumphantly.

With the angry hiss of a vicious snake, he turns and leaves in a manner unbefitting of Michael Beauchamp.