Chapter 7
23rd October 2005, 11.25am…
Harry parks the car outside Ruth's house and helps her out. She leans into him as they walk up the path, allowing him to support her and carry her bag. He takes her keys and lets them in, placing the bag down in the hallway. Ruth looks around; it's as if nothing has happened. She turns to Harry, questioningly.
"I got a team in; I hope that's okay. I didn't want you confronted with…"
She puts a hand on his arm. "Thank you Harry. I hadn't even thought about the devastation I'd come back too."
"It was nothing." He notices a far off look in her eye as she surveys the room. "Are you okay?" he asks.
She forces a smile. "I'm fine Harry; the doctors wouldn't have discharged me if they were concerned."
"I'm not talking about physically. You've been through a terrible ordeal and…" Ruth drops her head, knowing that if she looks at him she'll break down. He continues, a comforting hand on her back, "I know you're a strong person Ruth, but you're still human and for someone to go through what you have… I just want to help Ruth."
"Thank you Harry, but I'm fine. Really."
"No you're not," he observes. "But you will be. Especially now you're home, and safe. Although I am thinking of asking Malcolm and Colin to up your security."
"There's really no need," Ruth protests, not wanting anymore fuss. "He wouldn't try and force his way in; he's not that stupid. The only way he could get in was if I let him or he had a key, which he doesn't and…" Ruth trails off, remembering something.
Harry looks at her intently. "What, what is it?"
"There was a spare key, in the top draw of the dresser. I told him where it was." Her voice trembles as she speaks. She moves to the cabinet and opens the top drawer. Moving some of the papers around, she looks for the key. "It's not here," she cries as her search becomes more frantic, pulling papers out haphazardly. "He's taken it!"
Harry steps behind her and places his hands on her upper arms. She calms under his touch and he takes over looking for the aforementioned key. He methodically empties out the drawer, sifting through the paper but not looking in detail at any of them. The key has gone.
"You can't stay here tonight," he tells her gravely.
"No." Her voice is stoic; inside she is worried and afraid but she doesn't want to let Harry see that.
"I have a spare room… if you want," Harry offers.
"I can't impose on you, Harry. I can go to a hotel. I'll just go and pack a bag."
Harry watches Ruth climb the stairs and sighs, wishing she would open up to him and accept his help. He knows he can't force it though so, resignedly, he walks through to the living room to wait for her.
11.50am…
It's been nearly twenty minutes and Ruth still hasn't come down. He knows women can sometimes be a little overzealous in their packing but Ruth isn't your average woman. It shouldn't take this long. He stands at the foot of the stairs, listening intently for any movement. He can't hear anything, so he slowly climbs them. He sees the door to the two bedrooms open and Ruth's overnight bag sitting on her bed. He opens the door to his right and is confronted by all manner of chaos; piles of books, half empty boxes and more. He smiles to himself at he takes in her 'dumping ground' or 'junk room'; all that stuff people hoard and then don't have the time or inclination to sort out so it just gets shoved into a room and has the door closed on it. He has one himself; the attic.
Shutting the door, her moves over to the only other closed one, which he surmises must be the bathroom. Hearing no sound or movement he knocks lightly. "Ruth?" No answer. He raps again, a little harder this time and the door nudges open. Slowly he pushes it all the way and finds Ruth, sat on the tile floor leaning against the bath with her knees pulled up to her chest, hugging them. She's shaking and trying not to cry, and a quick look at the toilet bowl confirms she's been sick.
He approaches her and lowers himself down next to her. Not wanting to startle her, for she doesn't seem to have registered his presence, he gently wraps his arms around her shoulder. "Oh Ruth."
The tenderness in his voice is too much for Ruth to bear and all the tears she has been desperately fighting to conceal explode to the surface and she breaks down, falling into his open arms. She clings to him, needing more and more of him to comfort her. Instinctively he pulls her to him and cradles her, all the time mindful of her injuries. Pain fills his heart at seeing her like this. His presses a kiss to her hair and holds her until she quietens.
"I'm sorry," she whispers as she pulls out of his embrace slightly to look at him.
"Stop apologising."
She sits up but he keeps his arm around her shoulder. "I didn't mean to fall apart like this."
"I think you're perfectly within your rights to. Can I ask what caused it?"
"I was packing so I came into here to get some toiletries together and I saw myself… in the mirror. I didn't realise quite how bad it was."
"It isn't."
"I know you mean well, Harry but don't…"
"Sorry. But they're just cuts and bruises; they'll fade."
"They will but what about everything else? The psychological damage? The memories? The fear? The humiliation?"
"Humiliation? You've no reason to feel humiliated," he tells her earnestly.
"But I do, Harry. I feel so ashamed for letting him do this to me; for giving him the opportunity by taking him back. What must people think of me?"
"Believe it or not you're not the first woman to forgive a man for hitting her, and I very much doubt you'll be the last. As for what people think, well they're shocked yes, I won't deny that, but most of all they're concerned and they feel guilty."
"Guilty? Why?"
"Because they should have seen it. I should have seen it."
"No, Harry. Please don't blame yourself."
"I'd noticed you'd been more withdrawn. At first I thought it was because you were still grieving Danny but when it didn't improve I suspected there was something else. You said you were fine but I could tell you weren't. I should have persisted."
"I probably wouldn't have admitted what was happening; I don't even think I could see what he was doing."
"Well then, you shouldn't feel stupid or ashamed or embarrassed or any of those other words you've used to describe yourself in the last 24 hours. Men like him, they manipulate, coerce and deceive; it's in their nature and they're well practiced at it. It is not your fault. Did the police tell you about his history; his past conviction?" She nods. "See, you're not the only one he's done this to."
Ruth nods slowly, but Harry knows that true acceptance is a long way off. She has been violated and abused by someone she thought loved her; it will take a long time for her to get over that. And he will be there, every step of the way. He pushes himself up of the floor, his knees cracking as he stands. He smiles at Ruth, trying to brush off the pain, but when his back twinges as well he can't help but grimace.
Ruth looks up at him from her position on the floor. "That's what you get for sitting on a hard floor," she tells him. "Well, that and spending half the night in a hospital chair."
He looks embarrassed. "Ah. The nurses told you about that then."
"Yes. There was really no need Harry." She motions to get up too and Harry offers his hand. She takes it and allows him to help her, before perching on the side of the bath.
"Security in that hospital isn't great. I was… concerned he might have come back," Harry admits, letting go of Ruth's hand.
Ruth isn't convinced. "Yet you allowed them to kick you out at half past three?"
"Yes, well that nurse was not one to be argued with." Ruth looks at him sceptically. "Alright, fine; I had an agent in the corridor by the ward entrance."
"Harry!" Ruth begins but he isn't listening. He's taken a face cloth off the side and is running it under warm water. When it is suitably damp he begins to wipe her face. She ducks her head, embarrassed at his actions but he lifts it gently, fingers under her chin and fixes her with a look, imploring her to let him take care of her. She relents, and he continues to clean her up, ridding her face of the traces of tears, vomit and dried blood. 'I could get used to this,' she thinks. 'Being taken care of by Harry.'
All too soon though, he is done and moving away from her. He is rinsing the cloth clean when Ruth smacks her lips together, "I can still taste the vomit," she complains.
"Well, you go and finish packing and I'll make us both a drink, eh? How about that? Sweet tea; that's what you need."
"That sounds lovely," she admits. He smiles and turns to leave but she calls him back before she can change her mind. "Harry... I think I'd like to take you up on your offer of a spare room… if it's still open?"
