Spoilers for s9.
Harry's voice mail message from 9.8, reproduced below, belongs to the Spooks writers. It was the inspiration for this story because I loved the poignancy of the scene, and the way Peter Firth played it with his usual subtlety and attention to detail.
Enjoy.
"Hi, Catherine, it's Dad. I, um, I suppose you're at work. Just wanted to say that, um, well I'm just checking in really, and I ... Would be nice to have dinner soon. You and your brother. Unfortunately I don't have a number for him at the moment, but um, you could say hello for me, and … well I ... I know you look out for him. So ah, well I ... I hope to see you soon. Okay. Bye."
Harry had received the text message two days ago. Saturday at six. Barnaby's on Chatham. He'd been surprised, but pleased, when she'd phoned in answer to his message and agreed to have dinner with him. He invited her to choose the time and place, and the text was her response.
On Saturday evening, by the time he pulled the car into a free space at the side of the road, it was already a quarter past six, and he was anxious about how she would react.
Opening the restaurant door, he glanced around, finding her at a table in the corner, cradling a drink and looking mildly annoyed. Harry looked at her apologetically as he made his way over and bent down, kissing her lightly, awkwardly, on the cheek. "I'm sorry I'm late."
"I didn't expect you to be on time, anyway." Catherine said, half in jest, and took a sip from her glass.
Harry sat down opposite her, grimacing. He surreptitiously took note of the restaurant's other occupants, keenly aware of one person who wasn't present.
Catherine smiled warily. "Graham's … he's not coming. Sorry."
"Yes, well, I didn't really expect him to." Harry tried to appear nonchalant, but a flash of something flickered across his face. "It would have been nice though."
"I did ask him."
"It's alright. Doesn't matter." But it did. He tamped down the knot of disappointment that had lodged somewhere in his chest.
They fell silent and Harry reached for the menu. "Have you ordered?"
"No." Catherine shook her head. "I've decided what I'll have though."
"Yes?"
"Crispy duck and prawn salad."
Harry smiled and unconsciously licked his lips, perusing the menu until a waiter materialised at the table.
"Can I get you a drink, sir?"
"Yes, please." Harry glanced at Catherine's now empty glass, then quickly at the drinks menu. "A bottle of the '99 Chardonnay. Thank you." The waiter nodded and disappeared. Catherine raised her eyebrows at her father, silently commenting on his presumptuousness, and choice of bottle over glass. He ignored it.
"Have you been here before?" Harry asked.
"No. Some friends recommended it ages ago, but until now I hadn't found an excuse to come." She paused and smiled cautiously. "You are paying aren't you?"
It was Harry's turn to raise his eyebrows. "If you'll let me." They'd argued in the past about contributing to costs. Catherine always seemed bent on demonstrating her independence in everything, including finances, so her attitude now was surprising to Harry, though not unwelcome.
The waiter arrived with the wine and poured a glass for each of them, before taking their dinner order. After he left, a moment of awkwardness settled over them. It was broken when Harry asked, "How's work?"
"It's fine. Busy of course."
"What are you working on at the moment?"
"There's a multinational conglomerate playing dirty with micro businesses in Africa." Catherine's face lit up with enthusiasm, and Harry listened with what he was surprised to realise was more than a little pride, as she explained the intricacies of financial investments, and political and bureaucratic fraud. "... We're just finishing the last of the background research, before heading to Nairobi next week. We'll base ourselves there and travel further afield for filming, and to talk to the people directly affected."
"It sounds rather dangerous." Catherine gave him a look, and he moved to qualify himself. "But worthy. I hope to see the final product one day."
She let it go without further comment, and Harry managed to extract a promise from her to be careful and look after herself. Then they moved onto less controversial subjects.
Harry hadn't realised how nervous he'd been about this evening. Wanting it to go smoothly and without interruption was one thing, it actually happening was another. Now, as they sat chatting amiably, he found himself relaxing, and the butterflies residing in his stomach evaporated. Time disappeared quickly, and both were surprised by the arrival of their meals.
"One Bœuf Bourguignon and one Crispy Duck and Prawn Salad."
"Thank you," Harry indicated Catherine as the recipient of the salad, and pulled a napkin from the table into his lap in preparation for his own meal.
They tucked straight in, and after a few bites, Catherine broached a new subject. "Dad? … Not that it's not nice to see you and all, but, well, your message the other day was … a bit unexpected."
"Am I not allowed to phone my daughter to say hello?"
"That's not what I meant. I just … you sounded a bit, well, a bit off."
"Off?"
"Yeah. Like something was wrong."
"It was nothing."
"Nothing?"
"There was nothing wrong."
"Dad, you phoned out of the blue and asked me, and Graham, to have dinner with you. I don't think it was nothing."
"Catherine -"
"No, Dad. Please, what happened?"
Harry sighed heavily. He didn't have the energy to keep brushing her off, not when they were actually talking properly for once. "Alright." He raised his hand, acknowledging defeat. "Yes, something happened, but it's over now. It doesn't matter."
"What was it? It must have been important. I mean, like I said, your call was kind of unexpected."
Harry wondered what, if anything, he should say, how much he should tell her. She wasn't a child any more, and didn't appreciate being fobbed off. He considered skirting around the reality of the situation, only speaking in vague terms, and eventually settled on keeping it simple. He wouldn't be breaking the Official Secrets Act.
"It was a difficult day and I had to make some decisions I wish I'd never had to make. I found myself in a situation where I … well, I thought I'd reached the end of the line. I was walking into something where there was a fair chance I wouldn't make it out again." He found he couldn't look his daughter in the eye. "I didn't expect to be having dinner with you."
"Dad?"
"That's all you're going to get, Catherine."
"You're telling me you phoned because you thought you were going to die?" Her shock was rapidly turning to anger.
"I wanted to hear your voice, and tell you … I love you. And Graham. When you didn't answer, I couldn't bring myself to leave a message that was so ... final."
"What's so final about saying that? And anyway, you can't just do that. You can't profess to love us, and yet recklessly put yourself in danger. It's not fair, Dad."
"Catherine, I've been doing it for most of my life, and for all of yours."
"I know that. I'm not stupid. I know your job is a bloody nightmare, and I'm sure you've been in dangerous situations goodness knows how many times. But you've never made a call like that before."
Neither said anything for a while, just nibbled at their meals which had been neglected while they argued. Catherine ruminated over the fact her father was lucky to be alive. Harry was still reeling from Catherine's response.
"I'm sorry if it upsets you, but I couldn't ignore it. If the worst happened, I didn't want you think ..." His eyes appealed for understanding.
She gave him a wobbly smile and a tentative nod. "Was that all though? I mean, I know you can't tell me details, but … did something else happen?"
"Leave it, Catherine."
"No. Come on, Dad. I'm not going to let this go. This was serious. Really serious. You've never been like that before. There must be something else."
"Catherine." There was a warning in his voice, but also resignation. After a moment he took a deep breath. "I did something for someone, someone I care about, and put my career in jeopardy."
Catherine wasn't wholly shocked, and her voice became gentler. "She must be pretty special."
Harry looked her in the eye, realising just how perceptive she was. "She is."
"So why aren't you doing something about it? I'm right aren't I, you haven't done anything about it? What happened?"
"I did something that I shouldn't have, at least as far as everyone else is concerned. She didn't appreciate it, and I tried to explain, but …" Harry shrugged and looked away. "That's all there is to it."
"It doesn't sound like you've tried very hard."
"Of course I tried, but she threw it back in my face."
"Since when has that stopped you?"
Harry shook his head. "I've had enough chasing. I'm done."
"So what are you going to do now?"
"Do? There's nothing I can do. There's going be a full enquiry and there's a very good chance I'll lose my job. I think it might be time to retire."
"You're actually thinking about retirement?" Catherine was taken aback.
"It does happen. Most normal people do it."
"I know, it's just … you've always been so wrapped up in your work. I never imagined you ever stopping."
Harry's mouth twitched with regret as he thought about lost time. He played with his half-empty glass where it sat on the table, staring at it and slowly twirling it round and round.
Watching her father, Catherine felt an unexpected wave of sadness hit her. He looked lost, and she was incredibly aware he wasn't a young man any more. She was conscious of how far they'd come in the past few years, slowly rebuilding some semblance of a relationship, one that still demanded attention. She wanted to comfort him, but didn't know how. "You know, this is the most we've talked in … well, probably ever."
Harry looked up at Catherine, feeling a growing sense of optimism. "I know. We should talk more often."
Catherine responded with a smile. "I'd like that."
A moment more, and they looked away, the new honesty not enough to overcome the embarrassment of raw emotion visible in each other.
I'd love to see s10 show the consequences of Harry's message to Catherine in some way, and think he might just be feeling vulnerable enough to be this candid with her.
Thanks for reading.
