It can't possibly be a knock on the door. At 10.22 pm on New Year's Eve?

But it is.

Harry decides to ignore it. It's not as if the chair he's sitting in, or the roof over his head belong to him. He is a long way from London – almost 300 miles. He is also meant to be working, although Ros Myers had suggested that he pretend to be on holiday.

"You know how to pretend, don't you, Harry?" she'd added.

"Isn't that where I put my lips together and blow?"

"You're clearly thinking of something else," she'd said with a smirk.

He's renting a stone cottage in Portreath, Cornwall – small, with just one bedroom and an even smaller bathroom, both tucked under the slate roof. He's relieved to be a long way from London on New Year's Eve. He's relieved to not have to see Ruth each day, her eyes sad and haunted by what cannot be changed.

Next door to his cottage lives Jim Keating, former scientist with the Chemical Defence Establishment at Porton Down. As a very young man, he'd been transferred to Nancekuke, just a mile or so from Portreath, and there his job had been to maintain the chemical weapons production plant, just in case the need arose to renew production. Officially the chemical plant had been demolished in 1979 and 1980, and Jim Keating is retired. Unofficially, MI5 has had word that there is still a substantial reserve of VX agent in an underground bunker at Nancekuke, and that Jim Keating has once more been visiting the abandoned site.

Harry's job is to keep an eye on Jim Keating, and to log the times when he gets into his Peugot estate car and heads along Lighthouse Hill Road towards the old Chemical Defence Establishment, and then to log the time he arrives home. Harry's legend for the week is Harry Craig, a businessman taking a break from his stressful job in London.

"I suspect that Jim Keating's girlfriend will hit on you," Ros has added, "so you'd better pretend to be married. Here's a wedding ring, to add authenticity."

"What if she prefers married men?" he had replied, sliding the ring on his finger, surprised by how well it fits.

"I believe she does, but then you'll have an excuse to fob her off. Say you love your wife too much to be unfaithful to her."

He knew he'd not have to pretend to be in love with his wife who had chosen to stay back in London. While she was not his wife, and possibly never would be, he'd loved Ruth for years now. He had been faithful to her for all the many years he'd loved her, and he knew that made him a fool, but he didn't care.

Harry had walked to the nearest pub for a few drinks. He'd planned to stay until closing time, but Gaynor, the live-in girlfriend of Jim Keating, had made a beeline for him, heading towards him through the noisy and boisterous crowd of locals.

"Why are you so sad?" she'd said, sidling up to him. "Let me buy you a drink."

"Thank you, but no," Harry had said, before he'd downed the dregs of his drink. The very last thing he needed was to arouse suspicion, or to draw attention to his presence next door to where this woman lived. When Gaynor had excused herself and headed off to the Ladies to `touch up my makeup', he had taken advantage of her absence and gone home. He is sure she is the person at the door, and he is not interested in answering, so he remains in his chair.

"I know you're in there," she calls. "I'm going to keep knocking until you answer."

Bloody hell. Harry carefully places his whisky glass on the small table beside his chair, and heads out of the living room and to the front door. Sure enough, Gaynor is standing the other side of the glass door, moving uncomfortably from one foot to the other. As much as he doesn't want to, the gentleman in him asks Gaynor inside. A wind has whipped up, and it has a sharp edge to it.

"I won't come in," Gaynor says, looking up at Harry, and standing in front of him in the small enclosed porch. "Jim expected me home half an hour ago, but I needed to tell you there's a car parked out front, and there's someone sitting in it, watching your house."

"Watching …... my place?" Harry thinks it more likely that it's her house they're watching, but he can't say that. "But no-one knows I'm here."

"Someone does. She's been watching your front door. I don't want to stay long ….. just in case it's your wife. Were you expecting her?"

As she'd been speaking, Harry had begun turning his wedding ring around and around on his finger. She? It wouldn't be Ros, not on New Year's Eve. That left only one possibility. Harry shakes his head. He hadn't been expecting anyone.

"I don't wish to come between a man and his wife, so I'll …... leave you to it."

Harry shows her out, and then stands in the open doorway, gazing across the small front yard beyond which a blue Astra is parked. The night air is sharp, and the wind off the sea is like a knife, but Harry strides across the yard, and opens the gate, at the same time as a brunette of short stature steps out of the Astra.

"Hello, Harry," she says, turning to look at him across the roof of the car. She is dressed in a thick coat, with a fur-lined hood, and her body language tells him she is nervous. He resists the urge to rush to her and scoop her up in his arms.

"Do you need help with anything, Ruth? A case …. or a bag?"

She opens the back door of her car, and leans in to grab something. A holdall. "You were not expecting me?"

"No, but it's a very nice surprise."

"Ros told me she'd texted you."

"My phone ….. er …. I haven't checked it for …. a while." Since breakfast, if the truth be known. He's meant to be on holiday – a pretend holiday, and now with a pretend wife – so he has little need to be checking his phone.

"Is this alright with you?" Ruth stands only a yard or so from him, her holdall in her hand, and a large shoulder bag over her free shoulder.

"Here …. let me," he says, taking the holdall from her fingers, and half-turning towards the cottage. "It's lovely to see you," he continues, turning to smile at her.

"Really?"

"Really. Come inside. It's much warmer in the house."

It's not until they are inside and sitting either side of the gas fire, a pot of tea between them, that Harry realises that Ruth is staying for at least one night, and that there is only one bed in the house. How will he impart that information?

"Ros thought you could do with company," Ruth says quietly, slowly sipping her tea.

"Did she? Or perhaps she is playing cupid. She must know there's only one bedroom in this cottage. After all, she was the one who booked it."

Ruth's eyes open wider, but she says nothing. If she is shocked, she keeps it to herself. It is a full minute before she speaks. "That sofa is too small even for me to sleep on," she says, gazing up at him across her tea. "We're going to have to share a bed, Harry. I hope you don't mind."

"No," he says, "I don't mind. In fact, I look forward to it. I'll have to introduce you to my neighbours as my wife." He watches her as she speaks, and surprisingly, she holds his gaze without flinching. "If not my wife, you'll have to be my mistress. I'm meant to be married, after all."

"I can be your wife, Harry. It might be fun."

He grimaces, pulling his mouth to one side. "I'm not sure my ex-wife would agree."

Ruth turns to look at the fire, something he does himself when a conversation veers too close to the personal.

"I'm sorry, Ruth. I didn't ask if you were you hungry. I can rustle up some eggs for you. I also have biscuits, and a cake I bought from the bakery."

"I'm fine, thank you, Harry, but don't let me stop you if you're hungry."

"I ate at the pub earlier." He glances at his watch. "It's already 11.25. We might need something stronger than tea ….. to see in the New Year."

Ruth looks across at him, and he is relieved that she is smiling. "Something stronger would be lovely, but it will probably send me straight to sleep. It was a long drive from London, and I worked all day, too ….. until 4 o'clock, and then Ros sent me packing."

"The car?"

"It's a hire car. The service are paying."

Ten minutes later, Harry has poured a whisky for Ruth, and a fresh one for himself. He lifts his glass towards her as he toasts. "To the new year, Ruth. May it bring us all that we want."

Ruth hesitates, holding her glass between her fingers, her eyes down. "Shouldn't we be toasting the old year first?"

"I …. hadn't thought you'd want that. Ruth ….. it was a horror year …. for us both."

"You're talking about George, aren't you?"

Harry nods, swallowing. He hadn't wanted to mention the deaths of George and Jo. He hadn't wanted to remind her, to open wounds which just lately have appeared to be healing. He internally kicks himself. "You know how sorry I am for it all, Ruth."

Ruth stands and pulls her chair across the space between them until her chair is beside his, and she is able to reach out to touch his arm …... which she does. "Harry ….. you have no need to apologise. You did what you had to do. It's easy to be wise in hindsight. At the time, I …... hated you, but I think I hated myself more. I no longer feel that way." She looks into his eyes and smiles, and Harry can feel a powerful surge of emotion from deep within him. "I'm here at Ros' suggestion, yes, but I agreed to come here because I want to spend a few days with you ….. away from the Grid …... away from London …. away from prying eyes. And, Harry, I knew before I left London that this cottage only had one bedroom."

Now it is his turn to gaze at her. Is she taunting him? Teasing him? Not from what he can see. With her hand still resting on his arm, she watches him, her gaze open. If he's reading it correctly, she wants to be here …. with him …... and perhaps she is ready for more than friendship and companionship.

But is he? He swallows a knot of emotion which has crawled into the back of his throat. Then he breathes in heavily. And then he sobs. Harry breaks their gaze, as he very carefully places his whisky glass on the small table beside his chair. He quickly gets up, walks past a very surprised Ruth, and heads through the double doors to the kitchen. Not knowing quite why he is doing so, Harry heads to the sink, and leans over it, his elbows resting each side of it, just as a series of hacking sobs escapes from him. Even had he wanted to, he couldn't have held them in. He allows his head to drop so that his chin is almost on his chest, while he cries out his guilt and his self-hatred.

Once he has stopped crying, he is aware that Ruth stands close beside him. He feels her hand on his back, sweeping around in a wide circle – up and around, and then back to his waist, and then around again. "Perhaps you need to visit the bathroom, Harry. To wash your face."

He nods, and then breaks contact with her, and heads upstairs. It is while he is washing and drying his face that he hears the sound of people whistling and cheering from the pub down by the foreshore. When 2009 leaves, and 2010 arrives, he is in the bathroom washing away his tears.

When he again joins Ruth in the living room she is smiling widely. "Happy New Year," she says, and before he has a chance to reply, she steps close to him, slides her arms around his waist, and kisses him on the cheek.

He responds by wrapping both his arms around her, and pulling her against him. He rests his cheek against her hair, as he holds her. "Thank you for being here," he whispers. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Ruth."

Ruth pulls a little away from him, so that she can look into his eyes. "You said something similar when I left to go into exile."

"The sentiment still applies. Without you, I don't function fully."

"And you have nothing about which to feel guilty, Harry."

"I know. I know that now."

They stand there, arms around one another, their eyes watching the other. Harry knows that if he doesn't take advantage of this moment, he will regret it for the rest of his life. Very slowly, he lowers his head, all the time watching Ruth. At the last moment, she lifts her face to him so that their mouths meet in a gentle kiss. At the exact moment their lips meet, they hear the crackling of fireworks from the direction of the beach. Harry has his own fireworks happening right there in the cottage. He feels Ruth's lips part beneath his, and he takes advantage of that also, his tongue darting into her mouth to curl around hers. When the fireworks become louder, he begins smiling, so that he has to pull out of the kiss.

"Did you arrange all this?" Ruth says, her eyes laughing up into his.

"No, I didn't, although I wish I had."

"The timing is perfect."

Harry smiles into her eyes, and reaches down for a quick kiss. Ruth winds her arms around his neck, and pulls him closer. "As much as I'm really enjoying this, I'm rather tired, and I should go to bed."

Harry nods, and then they disengage from one another, their hands still loosely linked, as they smile into the eyes of the other. Harry leads her upstairs, her holdall in his hand. The fireworks can still be heard, hissing and cracking and exploding, the light from them occasionally flashing from behind closed curtains. He shows her to the bathroom, and then the bedroom, where he makes room in his wardrobe for her things.

"On which side of the bed do you like to sleep?" Ruth asks him, looking closely at the double bed, hoping it will be big enough for the two of them without there being any awkward moments.

"Both," he says, smiling down at her. "You pick your favourite side, and I'll sleep on the other. I'm going downstairs to clean up, and …... I'll be back …. in around twenty minutes."

"I'll still be awake," Ruth says. In the doorway he turns to look at her, his stomach flipping over and over, despite knowing all they'll be doing is sleeping together in the same bed.

Half in a daze, Harry wanders through the downstairs as he checks the doors, and turns off the fire and the lights. When he returns upstairs, he visits the bathroom to perform his before-bed ritual. He had deliberately left a pair of warm track pants and a t-shirt on the chair in the bathroom, and he changes into them before he heads down the hall to the bedroom. He closes the door behind him. There is ample light in the room from the bed lamp on the bedside table. Ruth is lying on the far side of the bed, her cheek resting on her hand, her eyes closed. Harry very gently lifts the duvet, and crawls under it, taking a few moments to get comfortable, turning on his side to face her. For a few minutes he indulges in the luxury of watching Ruth sleep. What a way to begin the new year. He can barely believe this is happening. He can feel his heart thumping wildly inside his rib cage.

"I can't sleep when you watch me like that."

Harry moves his eyes from the shape of her body under the duvet to her face, where her eyes are open, and she is watching him, her lips curved in a smile. He can't help himself. He leans across and places a soft kiss on her mouth. "Sorry I woke you," he says.

"You don't sound at all sorry."

His reply is a slow smile.

"I was almost asleep, and it was the toilet flushing which woke me."

"Go back to sleep," he whispers, again placing his lips on hers.

"I will when you stop kissing me."

Harry smiles, and then turns to switch off the bed lamp. "Can I put my arms around you while we sleep?" he asks, feeling as nervous as a teenager.

"I'll be disappointed if you don't."

So he shuffles a little closer, and slides one arm around her shoulders, while the other he wraps around her waist. Ruth places one hand on his waist, and then they both wriggle for far too long, as they adjust their bodies until they fit together comfortably.

"We haven't even talked about the operation I'm meant to be on," he says quietly, once they are still.

"Have you seen Keating head towards the old CDE site?"

"Once, and that was two days ago, and he was back within an hour. I'm not sure that means anything."

"I'm not sure there's even an operation," Ruth says quietly.

"What does that mean?"

Ruth turns her face up to look at him, and again he struggles with his urge to kiss her.

"It means, Harry, that I suspect we've been set up. Here. Together. I'm wondering whether the operation is just an excuse to throw us together. After all, Ros may feel she has to balance the books ….. in our favour ….. after Cotterdam."

"Do you know that for sure?"

"No …. I don't, and she will never admit it, either, despite how suspicious it looks."

Harry places another kiss on Ruth's lips, and this time the kiss is long and slow, as a current of deep passion builds between them. "Goodnight, Ruth," he says, once he again rests his head on his own pillow.

"Goodnight, Harry."

Harry has no idea how he will ever get to sleep, with Ruth lying against him. Thankfully, she is soon breathing deeply and steadily, but as she does, he can feel her right breast pressing against his chest each time she inhales.

I must sleep. I must sleep. I must sleep, he says inside his head, and soon he too is asleep. What neither of them yet know is that this is to be the first of thousands of nights they will spend together. For them, 2010 really is the beginning.