Her hand was across her face, fingers outspread like some face hugging creature from Alien. Not quite as he had pictured it.

Harry was awake. He lay on his side and watched Ruth, who was facing him, at least her face would be facing if it weren't for the hand. He wanted to move it so that he could see her but he didn't want to wake her.

And so he waited.

Eventually he became aware of a change in her breathing and knew she was waking up.

He waited.

Her hand twitched and then moved away to reveal the face which he had hung on patiently to see for the last hour and a half. It was a face suddenly and totally filled with horror as her eyes focused on him, she gasped slightly and without hesitation ran to the bathroom taking the top cover of the bedclothes with her.

For a moment that Harry had dreamt about, for something in the region of the last seven years, it was not quite as envisaged. He lay on his back and looked at the ceiling and sighed.

Ruth stood in the bathroom, she was leant against the sink, breathing deeply.

She looked up and watched the tears rolling down her face. She had to go back to him.

The bathroom door opened. Harry didn't move. His forearm was resting across his eyes.

Ruth got into bed, she lay on her back alongside him. She didn't say anything.

"Well, Ruth I know it's been a while but I've never had a woman practically run screaming from me first thing in the morning."

There was no amusement in Harry's voice. He was still thinking about the look on her face when she realised who she was in bed with.

"Harry, you don't understand."

"No, Ruth I don't."

She hesitated, not knowing how to begin this conversation.

"It's….George."

Harry felt it like a stab in the side. And of course it made sense. She had spent her nights with George, the tall, fit, swarthy, young Cypriot, the man who's death she still blamed him for, whether she would admit it or not. That's what she was used to and instead she had woken up with him.

"It's just that I often used to wake up and find his arm, his hand across my face and just now…well it felt the same and then I moved it and I half expected to see him and instead I saw you."

It was just as he thought.

"It's okay, Ruth, you don't have to explain," and he swung his legs around and sat on the edge of the bed about to get up.

"No. No please, Harry, don't go," she had grabbed his arm to stop him. He paused but other than that did not turn towards her. Her hand fell from him.

"Please, Harry, lie down."

He resumed his position lying on his back, his arm now tucked under his head, waiting for the rest of the disappointment she could pile upon him.

But she said nothing.

Finally a hand stretched across his stomach and she felt him tense at her touch.

"You don't have to Ruth, I know there's no comparison."

"To what?"

"To George." His tone was curt, he was hurting and suddenly she realised what must be going through his head.

"Harry, you truly don't understand. Anything."

"Clearly not."

"Listen to me," and she was on her side now, her head propped up on her right arm. She was looking at him but he was looking at the ceiling, anywhere but at her, "When I with George…"

"Yes, I know, when you were with George you were happy, your life was simple and elegant, he was a good, honest man.."

"Harry, shut up."

He did but he scowled at the ceiling.

Patiently she continued, "when I was with George,….when I woke up his arm, his hand was often flailed across me…. I would move them and see his face, but often…..often, I dreamed that it was your face that I would see. Just now I did."

Now his head turned from the ceiling and he looked at her.

"It surprised me, shocked me, took me back to that. Took me back to the guilt I've always felt about it. The guilt that I was being unfair to him, to want you."

Harry's heart lifted. All that he had thought for so long had been turned upon its head.

"But I'm here now, Ruth," he whispered softly, "I always have been. Just waiting."

"And that's the problem." Her tone was a little angrier.

"You. Harry have you been with anyone else? When I was in Cyprus did you meet anyone else?"

"I meet lots of people, Ruth. If you're asking me did I sleep with anyone else, no, I didn't."

"Why?" she demanded insistently.

"I didn't want anyone else. I wanted you."

"And I wanted you and yet I…. bedded down with the first nice man I met."

Harry said nothing.

"And I came back and there you were looking at me with that same soft expression hoping all was as we'd left it on the pier. And it wasn't because I couldn't…I didn't wait like you and for that, because of me, a man died, a man I cared about but who I always wanted to be you."

She stopped and took a deep breath.

"But, Ruth, I was at home, on the grid, surrounded by memories of you. But you, you were living a new life, in a new country. You're young and beautiful, you should have tried to be happy, you were right to try and move on."

"But I failed you."

"You did no such thing."

"Harry don't ever not be there when I wake up."

He smiled at her.

"As long as you promise not to look at me the way you looked at me this morning. I'm not sure I could take that again."

"How do you want me to look at you?" she asked, her face radiant.

"Like you're looking at me now."

She nodded.

He turned to face her. They were still neither of them touching.

'Ruth, close your eyes."

She did as she was told. He said nothing more for a little while.

"You're asleep, you're happy and life is wonderful….and now...now you're waking up."

She opens her eyes and looks at him and smiles warmly, tenderly, lovingly.

"Hello," she says.

"Hello," he says and then he reaches out for her, pulling her close and kissing her like it's the first time.