Thank you so much for the enthusiasm for chapter one. I hope this doesn't disappoint.
He stopped the car on the outskirts of the city, making sure that they were in a relatively abandoned place, and then he turned to Ruth. Neither of them had spoken, and they'd spent nearly an hour in the car together. Now he looked at her critically. She was pale and looked much older than three years away from home accounted for. Thinner too he thought, though he couldn't see much of her. She looked at him, her blue eyes open and honest, and attempted to smile. It was a very weak effort.
"Why am I here, Ruth?" he asked quietly.
"Thank you," she said. "For coming all the way over here, you didn't have to do that. I know you didn't have to."
"You asked me to come," he said softly. He smiled at her, he couldn't help it. After three years it was so good to see her. The reality of having her here with him after so long felt like a jolt of adrenaline, as if he'd been sleepwalking through the last few years. He looked at her closer, and he saw a bruise on her cheek. Yellowed and fading, but it was there. He didn't comment on it. "What's going on?" he asked quietly.
"You look good Harry," she said. "I wondered sometimes if I'd ever see you again. I wanted to, but I did wonder."
He smiled. "Talk to me. I didn't come all this way for small talk, did I?"
She swallowed, looking at her hands before speaking. "I need to come back to Britain," she said. "I need to come home." Harry said nothing, waiting for more of an explanation. "If I don't leave Iran soon, I'm never going to be able to."
"Why?" She looked at him sharply, with those penetrating blue eyes
"Because my husband's hitting me," she said. He hid his shock quite well, his gaze going to the ring on her finger automatically. Sure enough it was there, and he'd failed to notice that "And he's getting more violent as the days go by. I think he's going to kill me if I stay here long enough."
"You're married?"
"I was frightened," she said, apology in her eyes. "And marriage seemed like my best option at the time. I don't… care for him."
Harry sighed heavily, not understanding. "Why don't you start at the beginning."
She smiled at him. "Yes, that might be best. How are you?"
"Fine," he said shortly. That wasn't what he meant by starting at the beginning. "I don't think how I am is the issue right now." She nodded and then fell apart, her face crumpling.
"Oh God, Harry," she said in a sob. She leaned across the car to him. After a moment he wrapped his arms around her, soothing her. It felt so good to be held by him that for a moment her worries faded away. He ran a hand across her back and then she pulled away from him, her lips twitching. "There's a café around the corner," she said. "Down the street. Shall we talk about it there?"
"Yes," Harry agreed. He thought that was a very good idea indeed.
They were sat in a fairly busy café, loud enough to cover their conversation, had someone come in understanding English. "I got involved in a bit of stealing," she said. "I was desperate. It was wrong, I know that, but I needed money for food. I had enough money to keep a roof over my head, but no more. I needed to eat."
"Okay," he said quietly, watching her intently. "What then?"
"I did it strategically," she said. "But I got caught," she said simply. "I was about to be arrested, and I wanted to avoid that. A woman with no nationality she can claim in an Iranian prison? No. It frightened me. Terrified me." She swallowed and wrapped her hands around her mug of coffee, warming her fingers.
Harry knew she wanted to tell him, and he was finding it very hard not to press her. After three years, hearing the soft tone of her voice was almost hypnotic, in spite of the content of what she was telling him. "What happened next?"
"I'd known Ahmed for a couple of months, and I knew he worked for the police force. I didn't realise how high up or how influential. He said that if I married him, my case file would disappear, and I'd be looked after. I'd never need to worry about the police again." She smiled to herself. "I didn't like him. I wasn't attracted to him, I mean. But after eighteen months on the run, the prospect of being safe and looked after was a very attractive one. I wouldn't go hungry, I wouldn't have to worry about money. Well, it didn't take me long to agree. It was a good option at the time, Harry."
"I can see that," he said slowly. He wanted to take her hand across the table to comfort her, but was very aware that they were in a Muslim country, and that she was a married woman. He didn't know who was watching, or whether she'd welcome his attention in the first place. "Did you convert?" he asked, nodding at her hijab.
"No," she said, smiling. "I felt uncomfortable going outside with my head uncovered. Because women don't do that here. If I wore one, I blended into the crowd. It's easier. After all, wasn't blending in what I was supposed to be doing after all?"
He nodded in understanding. "So… he's been violent towards you?" Harry kept a tight rein on his anger, knowing it wouldn't help her, but the fury was bubbling red hot under the surface.
"Yes," she said. "It's not been bad. Mostly, anyway."
"Don't do that," Harry said. "Don't repackage it until it's acceptable. Don't lie to me."
"Okay," she said. "Yes, he's been violent. I'm only one step up from being his property after all. It… I didn't realise I was swapping one prison for another when I married him."
"How long have you been married to him?" Harry asked.
"About a year and a half."
"Then… what made you write to me?" he asked. "What tipped the scales?"
"It got worse," she said quietly. "He got worse when I was foolish." She looked at him for a moment, biting her lip as if debating what to tell him. She sighed heavily, and then admitted it. "A couple of months ago, I told him I was pregnant." The shock on Harry's face was absolute. "He went crazy, and I've never been in so much pain. I was meant to be his beautiful western wife. I wasn't supposed to get pregnant. It didn't follow his plan."
"The baby…?" he asked quietly.
"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head. "With the beating I took, I miscarried." The way she spoke, so casually and matter of fact terrified him. She wiped the tears from her eyes briefly. She didn't want to be crying, not now. "That was when I knew I needed your help. I can't escape this life. Not on my own. I was in hospital, recovering and that's when I wrote to you. I hate to be all damsel in distress, but I do need your help to get home. To London."
"I'm so sorry, Ruth," he said. "This is all my fault."
She frowned at him, not expecting that. "Why?"
"I should never have let you be found guilty when you weren't. I shouldn't have let you take the fall for me. To protect my career. God, it's all so pointless."
"It's done," she said. "Regret isn't going to change it." He sighed, feeling so ineffectual. "I need to get out Harry," she said. "Can you help me?"
"Of course I can," he said. "Your name's been cleared for a year. I've got your British passport with me." He looked around and put his hand to his pocket.
"No, not yet," she said as he moved to get it. "I have to go back. I… can't leave until I'm really gone." For the first time, she looked completely terrified. "He'll come after me. I can't not go back."
"I can have flights arranged for tomorrow afternoon," he said briefly. "For both of us to go back to London."
"Could you?" she asked, eyes wide with hope and fear.
"Yes," he said. It wouldn't be difficult, and it sounded as if she really wanted to come home. "Can you get to the airport?"
"Not safely," she said. "I can't trust anyone. Only you." He smiled at her briefly.
"I can pick you up tomorrow, where I met you today. Take you straight to the airport."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "Ahmed knows someone's watching him and it's making him nervous. I… don't like it when he gets anxious." Harry caught her meaning and swallowed uncomfortably.
"Where then?"
She gave him an address, which he committed to memory. "Ten a.m.? He'll be at work, and I should be able to get away."
"Okay," he said. "I'll be there, I promise." He drummed his fingers against the top of the table. He didn't feel comfortable letting her out of his sight. As if she could read his mind, she smiled.
"I'll be fine, Harry."
He looked at her sadly, and spoke with a low soft tone that she'd imagined so many times.
"If you really believed you'd be fine, you wouldn't have written to me in the first place."
"No," she said, looking down at the table. "I guess I wouldn't have. I… I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry," he said. "Do you need a lift back?"
"Yes," she said. "Please."
"Okay, lets go."
I hope the explanation isn't too harrowing! Let me know what you think, thanks for reading.