"Is that all?" he asks wearily, wondering why it is Jane insists upon informing him of every failing, every transgression of their son's, as if every trip and fall of Graham's is a reflection of his own parenting deficit.
His fathering is not something of which Harry is proud. Of course, in the heat of their couplings, the idea of them having children had sounded like a grand plan, something substantial emerging from those few frantic minutes of writhing together on their bed. The reality of children had had him needing to grow up fast, to accept that the care of another generation was his job, his and Jane's. But then Jane had been so much better at the parenting side of things, and so he had left most of it to her, and in so doing their children had clung to their mother, and drifted from him. In the end, it had been his own fault. Had he the power to turn back time, Harry is not sure he'd want to. Were he to have done it all again, he'd probably have approached his family in much the same distracted and irritated way as he had the first time around.
He is just not cut out for parenting. He had made all the grand gestures, like holidays to the seaside, expensive gifts for Jane and the children, but he couldn't sustain the day to day care. He'd told himself that by throwing himself into his job he was helping to make the nation a safe place for his children to grow up in, but he knew that such a sentiment was little more than an excuse for him to be away from home more than he'd been present in their lives.
"I need to know what your plans are, Harry. I need to know what you plan to do for him."
Harry jolts himself back to the present by lifting himself away from where he's been leaning against his desk, crossing his office floor to perch on the sofa next to Jane. They sit facing one another, a safe distance between them. Truth told, he does not altogether trust Jane, and nor does he trust her motives.
He waits for a long moment, considering his reply. "This has happened before," he says, "and each time I've intervened and got him off. It's just possession, so he'll be fined, and not gaoled."
"He can't afford a fine."
"My opinion, for what it's worth, is that perhaps now he's twenty-six, he needs to be taking responsibility for his actions." Harry sighs. "I'm planning to do nothing at all, and I think you should, too. He'll never grow up if we keep getting him out of his many scrapes."
"Scrapes?" Jane sits forward, her eyes blazing. Harry notes how beautiful those eyes still are, although perhaps not as beautiful as ...
His scrutiny of Jane is interrupted by the sound of his office door sliding back. "Harry?" says a familiar voice, as Ruth steps through the doorway. When she sees the woman sitting beside him, she suddenly becomes flustered. "Sorry. Sorry, I hadn't known you have company."
Ruth turns as if to leave, but Harry is quick off the mark. In one fluid movement he stands and crosses the floor to her side. With his back to her, he doesn't see the lift of one of Jane's eyebrows, as she watches her former husband hurry to the side of this quiet woman, who is already through the door and into the corridor.
"Ruth," he says, just loud enough for her to hear him, "stop." Ruth stops, and turns to face him. He can't determine if she's embarrassed, or angry. "Er ... come and meet my ex-wife."
Ruth glances quickly at the woman sitting on the sofa, and then when she lifts her eyes to his, her expression says clearly, `you've got to be kidding.' "I was just dropping in to tell you that I'm about to go home."
As usual, he and Ruth are the last to leave the Grid for the day. "Just wait a few moments, and I'll drive you home," he says quietly.
"What about ...?" and Ruth's eyes turn to Jane, and then back to him.
"She has her own car," and then he drops his voice so that only Ruth can hear, "and we are not on good enough terms to be travelling together."
As odd as that sounds, even to his own ears, Harry hasn't the energy to qualify his statement by regaling Ruth with stories of how he and Jane had often fought in the car, usually about his driving, which Jane had found to be `erratic' and `hair-raising'. Whenever Jane drove, always at a snail's pace, while she talked non-stop, Harry would sigh heavily, then make comments such as: `In what century are you planning for us to arrive?'
Ruth's eyes are dark, and still troubled. He surmises that he had said the wrong thing, and that Ruth might be wondering whether some time in the future the two of them will no longer be able to tolerate travelling together.
Harry leans just a little closer to her. "Give me another ten minutes. I'll tell her we have an important appointment."
"At nine o'clock?"
"The wheels of government never stop turning, Ruth," he says lightly, and he is relieved to see the slightest twitch at the corners of her mouth, as she holds back her smile. She really is the loveliest woman he has ever known .. so gentle, so elusive, so enigmatic.
Then she nods. Had he not been watching her closely, he might have missed the nod. "All right," she says, before she turns to leave the office.
He watches her until she is half way to her desk before he returns to the sofa and to Jane.
"That was touching," Jane says, with that one damned eyebrow raised.
"That was Ruth," he says quietly, "my senior analyst."
"And a whole lot more, I'd say."
"We have to work closely together."
Jane's smile is all-knowing. "Work. That's a new word for it. It was never work when we did it."
Harry sighs. To continue following this line of conversation is to be led into one of Jane's verbal traps. While he is skilled with words, Jane is the verbal equivalent of a Venus Fly Trap, with him being the fly. "Don't, Jane," he says gently.
"Just once more is all I ask," she says, equally as gently, and just for a nanosecond in time, less time than it takes to blink, Harry feels that familiar pull, the same yearning which had always had him following her up the stairs to their bedroom. He knows it's nothing more than a memory, and has nothing to do with now. "Just for old times's sake," she continues quietly. "We need never do it again."
Then when Jane places a gentle hand on his knee, he looks down at the hand, and then glares at her. She quickly removes her hand. "So ... you came here tonight to seduce me, and you used our son as entry to my office?"
"You make it sound like a bad thing, Harry." She looks genuinely shocked, although he also knows how completely she can act the part. "Graham really is in trouble with the police. I just thought it might be nice to round off the evening with ... something celebratory."
"And what, pray tell, would we be celebrating?"
"That we're both still alive and healthy." Again the eyebrow is lifted.
"I promised Ruth I'd take her home." Jane nods then, and leans back. Harry considers that she is giving in rather easily ... too easily, which leads him to believing that she has just been playing with him. She has been after some sport, where she is the rugby half back and he is the ball. "I have to go, Jane."
"Is this ... Ruth ... important to you?"
"Yes. She is."
"Away from work, as well as here .. in this Godforsaken place?" Her eyes take in his whole office.
Harry nods, holding her gaze. Jane is his past, while Ruth is his future. It is that simple. "She's very important .. to me, and I'm asking that you respect that."
They sit together for a long moment, each watching the other. A lifetime of expressions cross Jane's face - from hurt, to irritation, to combativeness, then to resignation. "So," she says at last, "my visit here tonight has been wasted."
"No, Jane. I need to thank you for letting me know about Graham's ... difficulties, although you could have conveyed that by phoning."
"Yes. I suppose I could." Jane suddenly stands, grasping her clutch purse in both hands, holding it front of her body, a body Harry had once known as well as his own. He sees her gesture as one of self-protection, and perhaps even embarrassment. Jane is still a very attractive woman, and she has just struck out with a man who'd once loved her enough to have married her. "I'd best go, then."
Harry follows her to the doorway, and then leans past her to open the door. He is surprised when Jane turns towards him and places a soft kiss on his cheek. "The offer is still open, should ..." and Jane turns towards where Ruth sits at her desk, her head down over some task or other, "your ... analyst turn you down."
Harry thinks there's every chance that should he proposition Ruth tonight she'd turn him down. But he is a patient man, and he is prepared to wait for her, until she is ready, or until one of them dies, whichever comes first.
"Thank you, but no, but I appreciate the offer."
"Goodnight, Harry," and she quickly leaves.
"Goodnight, Jane," he says quietly to her back as she slides through the doors to the Grid, and out of sight.
When Harry turns to Ruth, she is still at her desk, but is watching him, her face open, a soft smile turning her lips. He strides across the Grid floor to her, and stands beside her desk, hands in pockets, gazing down at her. He'd love to reach down, take her hand, and lift her to her feet before kissing her soundly, but since her return from exile, they have still some ground to cover before they even reach the stage of holding hands. "Are you ready?" he asks, and she nods.
He helps her on with her coat, his hands resting for a long moment on her shoulders. When she turns to face him, they are standing very close, her eyes lifted to his. It would be so easy to reach forward and place a soft kiss on her lips. Should he? Is he prepared to take that step? Is she? He is just about to act when Ruth drops her eyes. "Home, James," she says.
"The name's Harry."
"I know," she says, lifting her face to smile at him as they cross the Grid floor together.
They are almost to her street when Ruth mentions Jane.
"The two of you looked quite ... close," she says carefully.
"We're not close, Ruth," he says, wishing that they could talk about something other than his ex-wife, "but we remain civil for the sake of our children."
"That's ... sad."
"I suppose it is," he says quietly, turning into Ruth's street, "but people change. Eventually, we all move on." He draws the car into a parking space outside Ruth's building, and turns off the motor. He turns towards Ruth to see her watching him, her face in half light from the glow of a streetlight.
"I think it's sad when people have been intimate, and .. they've had children together, that they can't still remain close friends."
"Some people manage that, but most don't."
Ruth waits a long moment before speaking, her eyes flitting between his face, and the street ahead of them. "I'd been thinking, while you were in your office with your wife -"
"Ex-wife, Ruth."
"Yes. I was thinking that it would be terribly sad if one day you and I couldn't sit and talk like we are now. I would be sad if our ... past history were to prevent us from talking to one another ... like this."
Harry is not sure what she's really saying, but he's reluctant to interrupt the flow of her thoughts. "As would I be, Ruth."
"I'd like to think that we could always be kind to one another, remaining close."
Harry is barely breathing. Ruth is reaching out to him, and if this is an olive branch, then he needs to grasp it. "Any future we have begins now, Ruth," he says, turning to gather his thoughts by staring through the windscreen at the dark street which glistens from an earlier shower of rain.
"I've been thinking that we need to .." and she doesn't finish her sentence. When Harry feels her hand on his cheek, he slowly turns to find her leaning towards him. Is this Ruth ... his terribly private, shut-down Ruth?
Harry swallows, his eyes on hers. Then, when his eyes drop to her full lips, she leans closer, placing her lips lightly on his, and he closes his eyes. It is barely a kiss, and within seconds she pulls away. He is bereft. This time, he is the one who reaches out with one hand, his fingers on her cheek, his thumb caressing the soft skin of her neck. When she smiles into his eyes, he reaches down to kiss her. This time the kiss is longer, but he is still careful, favouring tenderness over passion. When he feels her mouth opening beneath his he ends the kiss, not wanting to take them too far too soon.
Harry's hand drops from her face, and they watch one another. "Was that for old time's sake, Harry?"
He is shocked that her words parallel those spoken by Jane, but he shakes his head. "No, Ruth. That kiss is for now, and all our tomorrows."
"Will there be tomorrows for us?"
"I'd like to think so." He wants to suggest they have dinner together, and soon, but he is prepared to take things slowly. All things considered, they have made progress, and he should accept that.
"Would you like to come inside," she says, "for coffee?"
They both smile, knowing that she is probably offering more than coffee. "It's late," he says, leaning in to kiss her again, a quick goodnight kiss. "We have plenty of time." He begins to unbuckle his seat belt. "I'll see you to your door."
She shakes her head. "I can see myself to my own door," she says, quickly getting out of the car. "Goodnight, Harry," she says, before closing the passenger side door, and hurrying to her front door. Harry watches her, waiting until she reaches the door, where she turns and waves to him, before entering her flat. Only then does he drive off.
It has been a remarkable evening. In the space of an hour he had been propositioned by his ex-wife, and the woman he has loved for so long had initiated a kiss. Notwithstanding the threat of Nightingale, Harry's life is suddenly looking up. As he drives to the end of Ruth's street he whistles tunelessly, and to his own ears he has just composed the most beautiful love song ever written.