Ruth is surprised when her phone's text message tone sounds so soon after she'd sent the text.
Since when did we have a date tonight? It reads. I am certain I would have remembered either a) you asking me out, or b) me asking you out. I am hoping this is not an indication of early onset senility. H
Oh, Christ! How could she not have seen that the name of her new friend, Hannah, was positioned right above Harry's name in her contacts list, and she'd pressed the wrong name. Bugger, bugger, bugger.
Whose senility? She texts.
Mine, of course. H
I'm so sorry, she texts back – to Harry, of course, but I sent that text to you by mistake. R
In less than two minutes, her text message tone sounds. Clearly, Harry is a much faster texter than she.
Now I'm jealous of someone I don't even know. H
Ruth hasn't even time to text back Hannah, telling her she'd love to meet for drinks at Carlo's at 9.
Don't be. I was meaning to contact my friend, Hannah, but I pressed your name instead. If you have early onset senility, then I have early onset blindness. R
Ruth has only poured the rice into the boiling water on the stove when another text message comes through. She hopes the message is from Hannah – giving her an easy out from her messaging conversation with Harry, while a larger part of her hopes Harry has enough time on his hands to text her back.
Then I won't be able to rely upon you to lead me around when I'm senile – in around 2 years, by my estimation. H
Ruth giggles to herself, and then wonders why she and Harry are ending their messages with their initials. After all, their names are clearly displayed at the top of each message.
I could try, of course, but I could lead us both over the edge of a cliff, and then where would we be? R
At the bottom. Unless one of us suddenly develops flying super powers. H
Ruth stirs the rice – slowly. She is not sure where this conversation with Harry is headed. She is not sure if she wants it to head anywhere. She'd turned down his offer of a second dinner date, and then only four nights earlier, she'd walked away from him in the corridor of the Havensworth Hotel. Despite that, she admires Harry. Adores him. Perhaps even loves him.
So what? A relationship with him is just not possible... under any circumstances.
Despite that, Ruth again picks up her phone, and texts Harry back. She knows that drinks at Carlo's is looking less and less likely by the minute.
Flight wouldn't help either of us. If I'm blind, I still can't see where I'm going, and if you're senile, you'll have forgotten where we're headed and why. R
LOL H
Harry, you wrote LOL. Are you 14? R
Just trying to keep up, Ruth. H x
I'm not sure you can accompany me anywhere if you use expressions like LOL. R
As long as you're with me, nothing bad can ever happen to me. I'll take my chances. (I'll also give up using LOL – only ever used it once, and it wasn't well received) H x
Oh …... God. He's upped the ante. The conversation has now definitely crossed the line from a bit of fun into more-than-a-little-bit of flirting. Were they face to face right now, she could never say to him what she is about to write in a text.
Harry, are you flirting with me? R
Yes H x
Just when she is reading his latest text, the rice boils over, so she puts down the phone, and wipes the stove, adding a little more water to the saucepan. She's lost track of how long the rice has been boiling, but it must need at least another five minutes.
Ruth picks up her phone.
I'm not sure it's wise. R x
You're no longer making sense, Ruth. You tell me that it's not wise for me to flirt with you, and then you put a x at the end of the text. Which is it? H x
Both. I'm a girl who wants to have it all. R xx
Now who's flirting? Please explain what you mean by `having it all'? H xx
One glance at the rice tells Ruth that it is probably over-cooked, so she postpones replying to Harry while she thinks about what he has asked, and drains the rice. It's gluggy, but not inedible. She turns off the cooker, and lifts the fillet of fish off the tray, and puts it on her plate next to the gluggy rice, and slice of tired tomato. She squeezes the juice from a lemon on to the fish, and then adds salt to the whole meal …... just in case it tastes as awful as it looks. She then tries the fish – tasty, but dry – and then the rice – gluggy, but passable. There is also no chance she'll be meeting Hannah at Carlo's.
She hurriedly texts Hannah, crying off drinks – stating that she's still at work, and her boss is a slave driver (which is at least partly true.)
Then she replies to Harry.
Right at this moment, `having it all' means being able to converse with you – and have you not take everything the wrong way – as well as being able to cook a meal which tastes better than the sole of my shoe. R
Ruth eats only half the food on her plate, and scrapes the rest into the bin. She is not interested in eating food just because she'd cooked it. Besides, she's no longer hungry. Gluggy rice can be very filling.
I could take you to dinner. There's still time. H x
I'm tired, stressed, and my kitchen needs cleaning. Can we postpone dinner? R x
If you say so. I'm planning to make myself some eggs. I'd invite you over, but being senile, I'd no doubt forget I'd invited you, and eat it all before you arrived. H xx
I'll not bother you while you make your eggs and eat, if you promise to not interrupt me while I'm cleaning my cooker. Industrial strength cleaners required. I may be gone a while. R x
Let me know when you're finished. I'll be waiting by my phone. H xx
If you don't hear from me within 3 hours, call my local fire station. R x
Ruth wonders whether Harry would think her too forward were she to have put two kisses at the end of the text. She decides it is best she err on the side of caution.
Ruth grabs an apron from the back of the kitchen door, and ties it over her work clothes. She then pulls on her marigolds, and gets to work. As she scrubs and wipes, wipes and scrubs, she reminds herself to in the future cook nothing more complicated than eggs and pasta – but not necessarily together. She then begins on the kitchen floor, but once she's cleaned a patch of tiles, the rest of it looks shabby, so she ends up scrubbing the whole floor. When her cleaning is done, she washes and dries the dishes, and stacks them away.
Deciding that she's earned an early night, Ruth opens a bottle of white wine, and takes a glass and the bottle upstairs, and places both beside her bed. She then showers, and dons her favourite pyjamas – floral flannel – and climbs into bed. Only then does she text Harry.
Kitchen clean. Ready to turn in. You? R x
Fifteen minutes later there is still no answer from Harry. She tells herself to not read too much into this. He may have had to go out. He may have had company turn up unexpectedly. He may have become so tired waiting, that he went to bed.
At 10.15?
Still, she feels disappointed, and cross with herself for feeling disappointment. She takes a slug of wine, and then opens the book she'd left beside her bed. Her eyes glance over the words, but she absorbs none of it.
Her phone rings from the bedside table, and in her haste to grab it, she knocks the wine bottle, and it rocks dangerously from side to side before she grasps it, and steadies it.
"Hello?"
"It's me. You really are going blind, aren't you? Otherwise you'd have seen my name on your phone's display."
"I went to grab my phone, and nearly knocked over a bottle of wine on the bedside table, so -"
"You're in bed?"
"Er …... yes. Why?"
"I am too. I thought that it would be easier to get into bed and talk to you, rather than text. My thumbs are all worn out."
"You text using your thumbs?"
"Yes. You do, too. I've watched you."
"I do?"
"Yes, Ruth. You do."
There is nothing more to be said on the subject.
"Do you have a drink beside you?" Ruth asks, although once the words are out, she recognises that texting is a much safer topic.
"Sort of. I'm propped against two pillows with my phone in one hand, and a glass of Scotch in the other."
"Decadent."
"And you're not? How is taking a bottle of wine to bed not decadent?"
"Don't you take wine to bed with you?"
"Ruth, most nights I fall into bed, and am asleep within minutes …... seconds. I take it that your taking wine to bed is something you do on a regular basis."
"I'm not some hopeless alcoholic, Harry. I have wine beside me tonight because it's Friday night, and I don't have to work tomorrow, and …..."
"And what?"
"And I'm talking to you."
"So …... you need the assistance of alcohol to get you through a conversation with me."
"You really are an insufferable man!"
The deep rumble of Harry's laughter sends a shiver through Ruth's body, and she takes another sip of wine to distract herself from just how good her body feels. Although whether her body is feeling good because of the wine, or because Harry's voice has the power to send her to the very edge of cardiac arrest is a question she's not yet ready to answer.
Does she continue to flirt with Harry, leading them to who-knows-where …... or does she end this conversation now, before things get out of hand?
"So," she says, gulping another mouthful of wine, "what were you doing while I was scrubbing my kitchen?"
"It's been a rather boring evening for me …... apart from a peculiar text message conversation with a rather mad employee of mine."
"Mad?"
"Well, maybe not mad. Unique. She's unique …... and rather lovely, as it turns out."
Oh, dear …...
"You still haven't told me what you did for over two hours."
"I spent the time waiting for you to text me, while pretending to watch TV."
For once, Ruth is speechless.
"Ruth? Are you there?"
"Yes. I'm still here."
"Good. I was afraid the call had dropped out, or …..."
"Or what, Harry?"
"Or you'd hung up on me."
"Why would I do that?"
"I was afraid that perhaps I'd stepped over a line."
"No-o. Not before we've established where that line is. That wouldn't be fair, would it?"
"No, I don't think that would be fair. So …... where is that line, Ruth?"
She sighs into the phone, debating the wisdom of taking another slug of wine. Were she to drink any more, she knows that she'd be teetering on the edge of asking Harry to come over.
She waits, figuring that a little inaction is the wisest strategy.
"Ruth?"
"Harry …... can I ask you something? You don't have to answer it, but …..."
"You'd like it if I did."
"Yes." Well, here goes. "Why are you spending your whole evening talking to me?"
"I thought I'd already made that clear, Ruth."
"I must have missed that part of the conversation."
"I thought you knew how I feel about you. Only a few minutes ago, I said you were unique and ….. lovely. Do I say that about any of my other employees?"
"I don't know. Do you?"
"Well, not Jo -"
"She'd report you for harassment."
"No doubt she would."
"And Adam and Zaf …... they're nice, but -"
"Hardly lovely."
"No. Then there's Malcolm. He's clever and competent, but …..."
"I wouldn't call Malcolm lovely, Ruth."
"There's still Ros. What about her?"
Ruth hears the hesitation in his voice. "She's unique – yes – but lovely?"
"I'm sure her parents see her as lovely, Harry."
"I'm sure they do, but I see her as a fine, loyal and reliable employee. You, on the other hand ….."
They're left with nothing but a gaping silence between them, which neither knows best how to fill, which is when they each say the others name simultaneously.
"Harry/Ruth …... you ….. no, you," followed by embarrassed laughter, and then more silence.
Then they are breathing into the phone, while each listens to the breath of the other.
It seems they have both crossed the line …... together.
The skin of Ruth's face burns, and just this once, she is relieved that Harry can't see her, although she longs to be able to see him.
"Harry …..." Ruth ventures.
"What?"
"I think you're lovely, too."
"You do?"
"Yes."
"And here was I thinking that, being a man would render me ineligible for that particular title."
"I'm not sure that it's exactly a title. It's just …..."
"An adjective."
"Yes. It is …... and as such, it does not discriminate between the sexes."
"Okay, so here are some more adjectives, Ruth …... Wonderful. Delightful. Intriguing. Breath-taking. Surprising. Captivating. Arousing. Unforgettable ... Sexy."
"I trust you're not describing the Home Secretary."
Harry chuckles quietly into the phone. "No, Ruth. All those adjectives – and more – belong to you."
"Oh, Harry. You must have had too much to drink."
"No, Ruth. For once in my life I'm as sober -"
"- as a judge?"
"Yes." Harry's voice is barely more than a whisper.
"Harry …..."
"Yes, Ruth?"
"Will you take me to dinner?"
"I'm not sure I have the time for that. I am a busy man, after all."
"Please?"
"Alright. Since you insist. Tomorrow night?"
Ruth breathes out, and she is sure Harry can hear her. "Yes, Harry. Tomorrow night would be …... lovely."
"I'll pick you up at 7."
"7 sounds perfect …... as a time for picking me up."
"I'm glad …... to have chosen a good time for getting to your place. Perhaps we need to sleep now, if we're to …..."
"... have a big day tomorrow. I'll have to …... wash my hair."
"As will I."
Ruth giggles at the idea of Harry taking time out of his afternoon to wash his sparse locks.
"What's so funny?" he asks, his voice teetering on outrage.
"I'm imagining you with a towel around your head, hair dryer at the ready."
Ruth is sure she can hear him thinking …... planning what to say, then deciding against it.
"We should …..." she begins.
"...get some sleep," he says.
They're finishing one another's sentences.
Again.
"Good night, Harry."
"Goodnight, my lovely Ruth."
Ruth is the first to press end call. She leans back against her pillow, and closes her eyes.
Three miles across town, Harry places his whiskey glass – barely touched – on the bedside table, and switches off the bedside light. He'll need plenty of sleep if, in less than 24 hours, he is to sweep a certain someone off her feet. He too closes his eyes.
On this Friday night two people, several miles apart, fall asleep with smiles on their faces, and hope in their hearts. Perhaps this time their timing is just right.
A/N: And since I've decided to ignore the looming Cotterdam incident, I ask you to do the same.
I have written a follow-up to this, but since the tone of it is more serious, I'm posting it as a separate one-shot.