As much as he didn't want to, he had to break the physical connection with Ruth. Her hand was resting on the middle of his back, over his spine, and her forearm rested on his elbow. When he looked into her eyes, he could hardly think, much less speak, so he leaned against the back of the chair, and she quickly removed her hand from his back, and folded her hands together in her lap. He almost cried at the loss of her touch.

He couldn't help but think how different this moment would have been had Ruth agreed to marry him. She would have accompanied him to the hospital, and he would have introduced her to the staff, and perhaps even his ex-wife. She would have sat with him, held his hand, worried with him – for him, for Graham – because she loved him. Now? There would be nothing between them, nothing personal or intimate. They were close colleagues – nothing more. Harry looked into Ruth's eyes, and seeing the concern there, he wondered whether she felt something more for him …... something similar to what it was he felt for her.

"Harry? What is it? What are you thinking? It's about us, isn't it?"

He nodded, unable to speak.

"I know you're here because I'm the closest friend you have, Harry. We still care about each other ….. for each other …... despite …... what happened. I'm here to listen to you …... if you want to tell me about it."

Harry took a deep breath, and forced himself to confide in this woman whom he loved, and who was unable to love him as he loved her.

"I didn't get to see Graham," he said, taking his eyes from Ruth's, in case he broke down again. "He'd been unconscious since soon after he took the …... the heroin, and he's not used heroin for over five years, so he had almost no resistance to it. His ….. mate …... rang his mother, and then called an ambulance."

"Why didn't you get to see him?"

"Oh, I saw him while he was unconscious. Jane – his mother – wanted me there to see what my absence as a father had done to him. He looked terrible …... pale and thin and corpse-like. But once he woke up, she talked him into not seeing me. I sat in the waiting room for three hours, and when I asked again to see him, the nursing staff just shook their heads, so I drove straight here. I …..."

"Harry, that's terrible. It's cruel and spiteful."

"Jane told me that Graham didn't wish to see me, but I suspect it was she who made the decision on his behalf. She has always blamed me for his drug use."

"How old is he?"

"He's almost twenty-seven."

"Harry, he's a man, and if this is the decision he has made, then he has to live with it, and take responsibility for it. He's no longer a child, nor is he an adolescent. It's not your fault."

He smiled at her then, because she'd said those words to him before. It's not your fault. It seemed to him that she was saying them to him often. Why was there so much wrong in the world, and why did it all seem to be his fault? Without thinking, he reached out his hand towards her, and she – almost unconsciously, it seemed – met his hand with hers. He drew her hand to rest on his thigh, where he felt himself brushing her knuckles with his thumb. Touching her like that was comforting, and no longer distracting. He grasped her hand tightly in his, to ensure she wouldn't pull it away. He needed her near him. He couldn't bear it were she to run away from him.

"There's more to this story. According to Graham's mate, the one who found him, my son had been distressed about the breakup of a relationship with a girl. He'd tried to ring me, but my phone had been turned off. I asked the friend what day this was, and it was the day of Ros's funeral. I'd turned off my phone for the funeral, and with everything that happened …... afterwards …... I forgot to turn it back on until the next morning."

"And he took heroin because of that?"

"No …. but that's when he began to unravel. He visited Jane at home, and she told him that I'd never be available for him to talk to, and that he should just forget that he ever had a father. They had a massive row, and Graham stormed out, and went on a ten-day bender of alcohol and anything else he could get his hands on. The heroin was not his usual drug of choice, but by that time he was past making reasonable decisions. My suspicion is that he hadn't expected to wake up after taking it."

"You think it was a suicide attempt?"

"I suspect so."

"Oh, Harry, no wonder you're so distressed. This young man is your only son, and he's just tried to kill himself. I can't imagine how that must feel – for him, as well as for you."

Ruth's empathic response had Harry blinking again to hold back the tears. He could no longer bear to look into her eyes, so he cast his own eyes downwards. Ruth, seeing him struggling with his emotions, pulled his hand to her lips, and kissed his fingers, and then twisted their hands until their fingers were entwined. She then rested their hands on her own thigh. Harry could barely breathe. That was about the most intimate thing they'd ever done together, and he was close to unravelling with grief and pain ….. and gratitude.

"There's more," he said, once he knew he'd once more be able to speak with a steady voice. "Graham is in a private hospital in Buckinghamshire – just the other side of Uxbridge – and he has a consulting psychiatrist who has been working with him over the past few years, during his recovery. He rang me while I was at the hospital this afternoon, wanting to speak with me about Graham."

"You've not spoken to this man before?"

"No. He's spent considerable time with Graham, and has even spoken to Jane, but never to me."

"Problems with one member of a family are usually about the whole family, Harry, not just the fault of one person alone. I think I might have read that in a women's magazine." She smiled at him in a way that had his heart beating rapidly, too rapidly for comfort.

"Dr Graham – yes, that's his name – wants to speak with me tomorrow at one o'clock."

"But tomorrow's Sunday. It's your day off."

"Jane once told me there are no days off for parents. Ruth …..." Harry lifted his eyes to hers. "Would you come with me when I see him? I know it's a big ask, but I need your calm presence, and -"

"Of course I'll come with you. I'm not sure that I should be seeing the psychiatrist. I'm not family."

"Thank you, Ruth. That means a lot to me." He kept his eyes on hers, amazed that she had agreed to accompany him to Buckinghamshire the following day. He knew it wasn't a date, but it was something – time spent together, and away from work. He wanted to add, `You're my family', but didn't want to push them beyond where they were at that moment …... which was closer than they'd been in the seven years they'd known one another. "I'd better go home now," he said, realising that he was very tired, and would need at least ten hours sleep.

"You're welcome to sleep here if you want," Ruth said – completely unexpectedly. "You can sleep on the sofa. You're so tired, Harry. I'm not sure it's safe for you to be driving home."

"As inviting as a night on your sofa is, I'd prefer my own bed." He smiled at her, and lifted her hand to his lips. The best thing about kissing her hand was that she didn't pull away.

Ruth walked him to the door, and reached up to kiss his cheek. "Ring me when you get home, Harry. I'll worry about you until I know you're safely home."

And so he did, and after a brief conversation, they said goodnight, and Harry wearily climbed the stairs to his own bed.