Thank you again for all the reviews! Sorry for keeping you on tenterhooks; pesky work... Anyway, here you go; hope you enjoy.
'Okay, Mr Major..'
Harry winced.
'The scan's clear and the x rays confirm no broken bones or dislocations, so we just need to get one of the nurses to patch you up.' The F2 nudged his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose and looked up from the screen. 'However, given the loss of consciousness I'd like to keep you in overnight for observation.'
As Harry began to protest he held up his hand. 'I gather, though, that you've been badgering the nurses about getting discharged from the minute you were wheeled in the door.'
'I'm fine. Just a bit bruised and bloodied. Give the bed to someone who needs it.'
The doctor turned to Ruth, who sat, pale and silent, at the far side of Harry's bed.
'Mrs Major, are you happy for your husband to be released into your care?'
She nodded.
'Right, well, I'll give you a leaflet on head injuries, but any vomiting, dizziness, severe headaches, strange behaviour, anything out of the ordinary, bring him right back in. Okay?' He turned to pull back the cubicle curtain. 'Oh, and Mr Major, do try to remember the Green Cross Code next time you visit London, yeah?'
'Cheeky bugger,' muttered Harry, as the curtain was tugged shut once more. He sank back against the pillow, trying to block out the pain in his shoulder and the bears clog dancing inside his skull. Tilting his head, he regarded Ruth. 'John Major? Thanks a bunch, Norma.'
She didn't meet his eye. 'It was the first name that came into my head.'
'You think of me, you think of John Major? Mr Grey Man? Mr Peas?'
'For god's sake, Harry,' she hissed. 'Somebody has just tried to kill you, just as Towers said they would, and all you're bothered about is your bloody legend?' Standing up she grabbed a poly bag from the trolley behind her and dropped it onto his stomach. 'Your things. I'll be back in an hour or so.'
'What? Hang on Ruth, where are you going?'
Her reply was lost in the hubbub as she strode out of A+E. Harry suspected it was probably just as well.
As it turned out, it was more than two hours later when Ruth returned. To her relief the young doctor who had treated Harry was still on duty, and emerging from a cubicle he saw her and came over.
'Mrs Major. Your husband's sleeping just now but he's ready to go home if you'd like to wake him.' He shrugged apologetically. 'I'm afraid we need the bed.'
'It's fine. Thank you for your help.'
'I've given him a supply of painkillers; I'd recommend he get some physio though to ensure that the shoulder mobility isn't compromised long term. It, er, looks like it's suffered quite a lot of trauma already.'
Ruth thought of Tom Quinn. Of Davie King. Of the patchwork of scars revealed to her shocked eyes as the medics had peeled off Harry's shirt. 'Yes,' she said, softly. The doctor touched her arm briefly and moved off.
She walked down the row of cubicles and pulled back the curtain round the one at the end. Harry was propped up on the bed in a blood spattered shirt and muddy trousers, and as she approached he stirred, grimacing as he did so.
'Ruth?'
'Come on, sleepyhead, we've got to go.' She shoved the bag of painkillers and the aftercare leaflet into her handbag and picked up his jacket.
His eyelids fluttered open.
'Can you get your shoes on?'
He groaned. 'Ruth, I've just been hit by the proverbial truck. I can't bloody well sit up let alone bend over to tie my shoe laces.'
She deposited her load on the bed and reached to pick up his shoes. 'Actually, you were the one doing the hitting, and it was mainly my car bonnet.' She gave him a wry smile as she manoeuvred a shoe onto his foot. 'It has a very nice Harry-shaped dent in it now.'
'Good to know you've got your priorities right.' He winced as she lifted his left leg and his hip protested. 'Um, Ruth, I know I've taken up more than enough of your time already today, but do you have a computer I could borrow? Well, just have a look at, really.'
Ruth was standing with her back to him doing up his laces. 'Yes. On one condition.'
'Oh, okay. What's that?'
'That you use it to book a one way ticket to somewhere.'
He didn't respond, and she turned round to see him, brow furrowed, teeth gritted, levering himself upright.
'Oh, Harry...' She moved to help him, but he shook his head.
'I can manage.' Easing his legs over the edge of the bed he tentatively stood and reached for his jacket. 'I'll need help with this, though.' As she fed the sleeve onto his left arm he bent his head to hers. 'I'll explain when we get back to the flat.'
She raised her head, frustrated; what was there to explain? But the proximity of his face to hers startled her and the thread of her thoughts unravelled, leaving her gazing into eyes that she knew all too well were asking her to trust him. She swallowed, and returned her attention to his jacket.
'Have you phoned for a taxi?'
'No, I've got a car.'
'Your car?'
'Malcolm's car.'
'Malcolm's?' Harry blew out his cheeks. 'Looks like I'm not the only one with some explaining to do.'
Harry settled himself at the kitchen table and booted up the Macbook as Ruth scoured the kitchen for anything that could be made into a meal. She eyed the packets and jars piled on the worktop. 'Spag Bol?'
His eyes didn't move from the screen. 'Great.'
The decision made, she started opening packets and pulling out pans. 'Are you going to tell me what you're doing?'
'Come and have a look.'
Peering over his shoulder she was taken aback to see CCTV footage of the room she'd been in that morning.
'That's...is that...?'
'My house. Something Malcolm rigged up after the last time I got burgled. I'm just checking to see if there might be any nasty little surprises waiting for me when I go home.'
Ruth stared dumbfounded at the screen as he rewound to the time they had left that morning, and proceeded to fastforward through interior and exterior footage for the entire day. 'How on earth...?'
Harry smiled. 'You're asking me? Ruth, I have no idea. It took Malcolm all his time just to teach me how to use the damn thing.'
'Oh my god, you have CCTV in your bathroom? Harry, that's paranoid as well as perverted. Do you honestly think someone's going to want to booby trap your rubber ducks?''
'I didn't set it up, Ruth, and I don't make a habit of checking it, even when I have successfully managed to lure some gorgeous woman in off the street with the promise of a Radox bath.'
Despite herself she smiled, and then as the footage cut to the kitchen she was reminded of an evanescent fragment of a thought from that morning. Now she realised what it was that had been amiss.
'Where's Scarlet?'
'With Wes.'
'Yes, but where's her basket and bowls and whatnot? I thought she had duplicates at his.'
'She does,' said Harry, quietly. 'She went to stay with him when the enquiry started, and given that I expected to be carted off and kept on remand after it finished, I thought it best if she stay with him permanently. The old girl's getting on; all the to-ing and fro-ing isn't fair on her.'
He felt her fingertips on his arm. 'Oh Harry. I'm really sorry.'
'So am I. So, are you going to tell me how you've ended up with Malcolm's car?'
Allowing him the conversational shift, Ruth went back over to her pile of ingredients and resumed the prep. 'I got a taxi round to his earlier, and I, um, saw him yesterday as well.'
Harry looked up in alarm. 'Is he alright?'
'He's fine. I got in touch with him after I spoke to Towers.' She sighed. 'Harry, I asked him to create you a couple of new legends.'
He stared at her, incredulous. 'What? You had no right dragging him into this.'
'Towers asked me to get you out of the country. I thought it likely that all the identities you had would be on record somewhere, even if you didn't hand all the passports in, so what was I supposed to do?'
'Trust my judgement? Now there's a radical concept.'
'That's not fair. And Malcolm wanted to help, Harry. I don't know how he did it, nor do I want to know, but...' She went back through to the living room and a moment later reappeared with a thick manilla envelope which she tossed onto the table beside him.
'He assured me that those are good for the blackest of black ops. No traces.'
Harry stared at the package. 'I'm grateful for your help, yours and Malcolm's, but this doesn't change anything.'
Ruth, browning mince on the hob, said nothing, but the wooden spoon prodded at the meat with rather more force than he felt was strictly necessary. Vaguely aware that the evening had taken another turn, and rather at a loss as to how best to proceed, he attempted to make a joke of it. 'And anyway, since when did you do anything Towers told you to, eh?'
The chuckle died in his throat as the spoon stilled and Ruth's head dropped to her chest.
'Harry, today somebody tried to kill you. And even if that CCTV isn't showing anything today, it will tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that.' Her voice wobbled, and she took a deep breath. 'There's been too much death already, Harry. Don't ask me to mourn you too.'
And with that she stabbed the spoon into the mince and turned and fled from the room.
He knocked.
No answer.
'Ruth, dinner's ready. I – er – finished it off. Probably ruined it but...' He tilted his ear towards the door. 'Ruth?' Tentatively he turned the handle and pushed the door open. Edging into the room he saw her sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching a wad of tissues in her lap. Her face was blotchy from crying. His heart lurched.
'Oh god, Ruth, I...'
She looked up at him, the fury in the red-rimmed eyes stopping him in his tracks. He dragged a shaking hand down one side of his face. 'I'm sorry. I'm, I'm just...' He heaved a weary sigh. 'I-I'd better go. But thank you. Thank you for everything.'
A few moments later she heard the front door click shut, and as the tears began to fall anew she let herself fall back onto the bed.
Somehow, she slept.
Some time later, cold and hunger woke her. She lay still for a moment, letting the weight of misery settle, then she got up and went through to the kitchen. However hungry she was, the thought of reheated spaghetti bolognaise turned her stomach, and lifting the pan from the hob she spooned its contents into the bin. Ben and Jerry's was about all she could face. She got a tub of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough out of the fridge freezer and sat down at the table.
The Macbook was still open. Turning it towards her she hit the space bar, waking it from sleep. Immediately an image of a back garden appeared on screen. As she reached for the touchpad to close the application, the view changed to the interior of the house. Her hand hovered above the keyboard.
'Oh god,' she whispered.
The ice cream forgotten, she grabbed her bag and Malcolm's car keys, and ran for the door.
