~ Overcoming Barriers ~
Ruth wakes to a quiet house. Downstairs in the kitchen there is no sign of Harry, and when she looks through the window to the back yard, his car is gone. Maybe he's gone out for milk, but opening the fridge door, she sees two one litre containers of milk. She gazes around the kitchen, but there is no note. On the bench next to the fridge a toaster stands beside an electric kettle, so she turns on the kettle, and then looks through the cupboards for bread, finding nothing but an almost empty bread packet with one stale end of the loaf. She'll have to settle for a coffee for breakfast.
She is about to make her second coffee when in her peripheral vision she sees Harry's car slide through the gate and into the back yard. She watches while he carries four plastic bags of groceries from the car to the back door.
Seeing her standing beside the kettle, he glances towards her apologetically. "I'm sorry there was no bread, or anything much else. I had last night's meal sorted, but I hadn't planned any further than that. I expected you to have had a lie in, and -"
"Lie in? I haven't had a lie in since the last time I was away sick."
"Which was, as I remember, some time in 2005. I have croissants," he says, lifting the smaller of the bags. "I needed to replace my broken phone, so while I was there I visited Greggs, and the supermarket."
They sit at the kitchen table, each with a fresh cup of coffee, and an assortment of croissants on a plate between them.
"I suppose I need to leave the chocolate ones for you," Ruth says quietly, choosing an almond criossant, and placing it delicately on her plate.
"Not at all. Of course, chocolate is my preference, but I'll eat whatever you leave me, Ruth."
Ruth contemplates his answer, thinking it an odd thing for Harry to be saying, when there's a knock on the back door, and a woman's voice calls out, "Yoo-hoo. Harry, are you in there?"
Ruth smiles slowly, watching Harry as he glances across the table to her, lifting one side of his mouth apologetically, before getting to his feet, and to the door.
"Marilyn," he says, opening the door, so that Ruth has a glimpse of dark blond, wavy hair, and a bright red anorak. "Lovely to see you," he says.
"I brought some eggs. My brother brought me three dozen, and I only need two, so I thought you might like the extra dozen." Ruth has taken her eyes from the conversation taking place at the door, when it seems that Marilyn has seen her. "Oh ... you have company. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -"
Harry takes a step back so that the two women can see one another, while not allowing the door to open fully. "Marilyn, this is Ruth. She's staying with me." Ruth nods and smiles, but doesn't speak.
"Oh, how lovely," Marilyn prattles on, "are you two friends?"
"We're just eating breakfast," he says, stepping towards the doorway, effectively blocking Ruth's view of the garrulous Marilyn. Ruth notes that he hadn't answered the question about them being friends .. or something else altogether. Ruth suspects Harry doesn't know how to describe their relationship in one word, and that Marilyn has designs on Harry.
"Then I won't keep you, Harry. Enjoy the eggs," she says, and as quickly as she'd arrived, she disappears down the back yard.
Harry has closed the door, and places the eggs on the sink, before joining Ruth at the table. He gives her eye contact, a little embarrassed. "Marilyn lives next door. She stays there for most of the summer months ... since her husband died. Usually her mother stays with her."
"I thought you were a trifle short with her."
"I don't want to encourage her. I suspect she's the kind of woman who'd have difficulty accepting no for an answer."
"You didn't even thank her for the eggs."
"I know," he says gently. "I feel a bit bad about that, but I was afraid she'd want to come in and talk to you. I'm not planning to share you with anyone." His words have Ruth sitting up straight, and gently putting down the last half of her croissant. "Don't get me wrong, Ruth. I invited you here because I want us to spend some uninterrupted time together, and Marilyn represents an interruption. I invited you here for all the reasons I shared with you last night. I meant it. I can handle Marilyn. I think she's lonely, especially since her husband died, but I'm not about to let her into my life out of kindness. I have my limits."
He certainly does. "Maybe she sees you as being lonely, also," she offers quietly, again picking up her croissant.
"I expect she does, but that's not reason enough for me to allow her to elbow her way into my life. I know she means well, but I find her enthusiasm and overt friendliness rather irritating."
Of course he does. Harry doesn't do enthusiasm, and he definitely doesn't do friendliness. He does caution rather well, and he can be abrupt to the point of rudeness. He could occasionally be described as gung ho, as well as driven, but Ruth could never accuse him of being enthusiastic, or friendly. Harry is melancholic, while being true and loyal to that which he values, which includes the people closest to him. That is enough for her, and if and when it isn't, then it will have to be. Harry is ... Harry, and so far, she quite likes him the way he is.
They finish their breakfast in silence. Harry doesn't wish to dwell on Marilyn's unexpected visit, and Ruth knows it's best she doesn't indulge her own innate curiosity about the woman next door.
"On the way back from the shops I heard today's forecast for the south coast," Harry says, once he has finished eating, and is pressing a finger to the croissant crumbs on his plate. "Rain is forecast from mid afternoon onwards, so I suggest that between now and lunch we take a long walk."
Ruth is only slightly intimidated by his description of a long walk. She could ask him how long is long, but being so much younger than Harry, she should be able to keep up. "I'd like that," she says, and she means it. She and Harry have only ever walked along the Thames Embankment together, or along Millbank, and as enjoyable as that was, it wasn't a beach walk, and they were always having to watch the time. On this day, all they'll have to watch is the sea and the clouds ... and each other.
A light breeze blows off the sea, but unlike the previous days, the air is mild rather than cold. Harry leads Ruth along the walking path which runs between the foreshore and the front fences of the row of beach houses.
"Maybe it won't rain after all," Ruth muses.
"Don't bet on it," Harry replies. He's wearing a different jacket, one which is lightweight, his hands stuffed into the pockets.
Ruth mirrors Harry by stuffing her own hands into the pockets of her anorak. She leaves the hood down, preferring to feel the breeze on her cheeks. "Have you thought much about your life after Mi5?" she asks carefully, after they've been walking in easy silence for some minutes. Harry had taken a few minutes to adjust and adapt his stride to match Ruth's, and they are comfortable enough in one another's company to endure long silences.
"Not really. I thought I might leave that until I'm back in London. Thankfully they didn't strip me of my pension, and I've managed to squirrel away quite a tidy sum in a private pension fund, so I don't need a job. It's just that ..."
".. you're too young to be idle for long."
"I don't know about that, Ruth. I quite like being here with you."
Ruth feels herself smiling. She can't help it. Knowing Harry wants to be with her, and is not panicking about his future makes her happy.
They walk along the path until it reaches a dead end, after which Harry leads her down to the beach, and they continue to walk parallel to the shoreline.
"It's slower going along here," he says, "but being so close to the water is invigorating."
Ruth is prepared to believe him, but only marginally. The beach is hardly beautiful. There are few people out, although there are a number of small boats on the water, some heading out to sea, while others cruise at a distance, parallel to the beach. She glances at Harry to see he still has his hands stuffed into his pockets, and his eyes are trained ahead.
"Are we headed anywhere in particular," she asks, "or is this one of these walks where we just walk until we're tired?"
She looks up at him to see he's looking at her in amusement. "We're headed somewhere. I don't want to tell you about it until we get there. I discovered it by accident."
They trudge along the beach for another twenty minutes or so until, after navigating a headland, ahead of them looms a line of rocks, forming a barrier to their progress.
"I don't think we're meant to go any further, Harry," she says, wondering where this surprise is.
"Follow me," he says, removing his hands from his pockets, and reaching out to take her hand. His hand is warm, and completely engulfs her smaller hand. He leads them to a pile of rocks which form haphazard steps to the top. "You go first," he says, "and if you fall, I can catch you."
Ruth gives him a you've got to be kidding look, but he's not moved. He stands near the first rock, and then tips his head towards the next rock. His unspoken instruction is clear.
Ruth has never been a climber. It's not heights she's afraid of, but her own innate clumsiness. She doesn't mean to be clumsy, but she has little faith in her own athleticism. Her mind, her intellect, on the other hand, makes up for any physical deficiencies she imagines she may have. She reaches towards the second rock with her hands, while behind her, Harry is giving her quiet encouragement. "I'm in my late fifties, Ruth, and if I can climb these rocks, then so can you."
With those words, she turns around and glares at him. Then she decides to forget about Harry, and just climb. Once she decides that she wants to see what is the other side of the rocks, the decision is easy, so she climbs, stepping easily from one rock to the next, while Harry follows close behind.
"Oh, Harry," she says, once she reaches the top. She turns to speak to him, but he passes her, moving over the top of the rocks to a flat rock just on the other side.
"This is where I usually sit," he says, turning to offer Ruth his hand.
But she decides to perch on the rock immediately behind him, so that she can see over either of his shoulders. She can even touch him, should she want to.
Below them is is very small bay. The tide is on the way in, and the water gathers at each end of the bay, flowing towards the rock wall on the landward side. There, the confluence of the water from both sides of the bay surges and splashes against the rocks, sending water into the air. Over time, the tide had worn a ledge into the base of the naturally formed rock wall. Once the water flows into this ledge, the ledge appears to spit it out, upset by the sea's saltiness.
Ruth watches the water as it flows into the small bay, whirling around, and then splashing against the rock wall. The regular motion is hypnotic, like a visual heartbeat. "It's beautiful," she breathes, leaning forward so that Harry can hear her voice above the sighing of the water.
He nods, and then he leans back slightly so that his back rests against her knees. "I find that this is a good spot for when I need to think," he says, half turning his head towards her.
"What do you think about?" she asks, and she wonders would he mind if she placed her hand on his shoulder. She doesn't, but she'd like to.
"Everything. I wonder how I'll fill my days for the rest of my life. I wonder what my daughter will think of her father being sacked. And I think about us." Harry turns back to watching the ebb and flow of the sea.
"Us?"
Harry takes some time to answer her, and she knows he's weighing his words, deciding how to say what it is he wants to say. "When my sentence was ... announced, I sat there .. rather stunned, partly because I hadn't expected that. I'd expected a custodial sentence. Then ... what began to occupy my mind was that you'd want nothing more to do with me, so when I turned to see you sitting there, I ..." Harry still hasn't turned around, so Ruth places one hand on his shoulder, and very slowly, he lifts his hand to grasp her fingers. "Despite everything," he continues, "seeing you sitting there in such distress ... I knew all was not lost .. for us."
Ruth waits for a long moment, internally debating the wisdom of what she longs to do. Life is short. They have already been parted twice, and at this very moment, Harry could have been languishing in prison for a very long time, perhaps for the rest of his life. She leans forward, sliding both hands over his shoulders until they lightly rest on his chest. She slides one hand through the opening of his jacket, placing her palm flat, so that through his shirt she can feel his heartbeat, regular and strong and steady. Her face is so close to his head that she presses her lips against his hair. Then she moves her head so that her cheek rests against his cheek.
They sit like that for a long time. Harry lifts one of his hands to grasp her hand, running his thumb back and forth along her knuckles.
Feeling Harry attempting to turn in her arms, she loosens her grasp. She knows what he wants. His eyes meet hers, and for a long moment they watch one another. He doesn't speak, and she finds the intensity of his gaze confronting. His eyes are so close to hers, his mouth only inches from her own mouth. He reaches towards her so that his soft lips touch hers. It is not so much a kiss as a glance, a taste test. She'd like him to do that again, but he's already turned back to watching the sea surging and splashing, turning under itself, before flowing back out to sea.
"This bay is an anomaly, Ruth," he says. "It's like us. It shouldn't exist. It shouldn't even be possible, but here it is - something special, remarkable even, where you'd least expect to find it."
Ruth's arms grasp him closer, and she presses her lips against his neck, just below his ear. She is suddenly very glad that she'd accepted Harry's offer to spend this time with him away from London.
A/N: While Hastings and environs exists (almost) as I've described it, the small bay doesn't, although it would be nice if it did.