Done work! Done new chapter! Hope it's up to par?
"Coffee?" asked the waitress glancing first to Ruth.
"Yes, could I have –"
"Would you give us a minute, please?" Harry interrupted.
Ruth turned to him as the waitress smiled and wandered away.
"Sorry," he said, not for the first time that evening, "But would you...would you like to come back to mine for coffee?"
It was with considerably less surety and authority that he asked, than he usually displayed on the grid.
"Just coffee. I do just mean coffee. Nothing else….," he blustered, "well…unless you'd like a biscuit. I think I have some that haven't gone soft."
She glanced at his stomach.
"I'm surprised they ever get the chance to go soft, Harry."
She smiled and he felt the tension that had landed back on his shoulders suddenly dissipate.
"They don't. To be honest I'd forgotten they were there."
They both smiled at each other for a moment more before he felt the need to explain further.
"It's just if I go back alone...tonight…you know. Four walls. Bottle. Dark thoughts."
She knew very well.
She knew the long silent nights at home when the weight of their world began to press down without the the injection of adrenalin that usually kept it at bay.
The early hours when every doubt, every regret, every single moment of guilt would surround you in the dark and make the gloom a suffocating, unbearably lonely place to be.
That was bad enough without being haunted by the death of your only son.
"I'd rather not," she said quickly.
"That's fine," he raised his arm, hiding the disappointment, summoning the waitress who was hovering close by.
"Can we have-"
"The bill please."
"Of course," said the waitress, turning away.
He quizzically glanced at Ruth as she reached for her bag.
"I don't fancy coffee, Harry, so you better have earl grey."
He nodded, "I do."
"Then let's go."
He didn't need a second invitation.
"Not really that soft at all," she announced after the first bite, "though I would never have put you down as a fig roll man."
He smiled as he refilled her teacup.
"And the best china. I am honoured."
He put the teapot down.
"What?" she asked.
"What do you mean, what?"
"That look. I know that look, Harry."
He frowned slightly.
"It's just… all the mugs are in the sink. I haven't really had…"
"You've had more pressing matters?" she said sadly.
"You could say that."
He leaned back on the sofa and sighed.
She gave him a moment.
"Do you have any photos?" she asked gently.
He looked up at her, wondering how she made it so much easier to be in this dark place.
"Only if you want to," she added.
He got up, pulling a slightly dated album from a cupboard nearby and returned to the sofa. As he did, she moved over to sit next to him.
"You're not allowed to laugh at the ones of me on the beach, Ruth."
"I might not be able to help myself."
He gave her a reproachful look and turned the cover.
Ruth smiled softly.
"Mickey, I presume?"
He nodded briefly and she looked away, too moved by the love in his eyes as he gazed at the bright eyed boy riding a donkey on the beach, his right arm wrapped around a yellow toy monkey.
"He buried him in the sand one day. Had the devils own job trying to find the bloody thing. Dug up half the beach."
"He looks like a happy little boy," she said turning the next page.
"He was."
More seaside pictures, more smiles and ruffled hair. Now it was Harry buried up to his neck. Then Catherine, with a satisfied Graham and Harry to one side, shouldering their spades like victorious squaddies.
"If only you could keep them that age," he said quietly.
Her hand moved across to his and she squeezed it tenderly for a moment before again turning the page.
Graham was older. An awkward looking teenager, who hadn't quite grown into his body yet. A school uniform that ill suited him, his earlier tousled unkempt hair plastered down onto his head like he was afraid it would move. On the opposite page Catherine, looking poised and comfortable in her uniform.
"She got wiser and more passionate as she grew up. She wanted to be involved in everything, fight for every lost soul, every lost cause, every cause known to man. I should have paid her more attention. Given her more time. But I gave it to Graham. For all the good it did either of us."
He turned the next page.
Christmas. Paper hats bedraggled in the snow as a snowball flies from Harry's arm towards Graham. His son's face a picture of expectation as it is about to strike. His smile bright, his eyes wide. His blond hair bursting out of the confines of the crown on his head.
She heard a sound beside her and looked up not knowing if it was a laugh or a cry. It was something between the two.
"I'm fine, Ruth."
She kept watching his expression as his head tilted to one side, looking at the photo.
"Really I am." He glanced briefly back at her with teary eyes.
She said nothing. But she too tilted her head until the corner of their foreheads touched in a tender gesture, resting one against the other.
And he knew that all that he needed, all that he wanted was here in this room sitting beside him.
Finally she moved away.
They had reached the final page.
He closed the book and it sat between them. A lifetime of memories.
"It's late…I should…"
"Right. Of course. I'll call you a taxi."
"I'm in the car."
"Oh, yes."
She began to stand.
"Are you sure you're okay, Harry?"
"I'm fine," he nodded, "in fact, I'm going straight to bed."
"No whiskey bottle?" she checked.
"No whiskey bottle."
He opened the front door and she turned back to him.
"Thank you, Ruth. For everything."
"That's what –"
"Friends are for?" he suggested.
She hesitated.
"Bye Harry."
"Bye Ruth."
And the door closed behind her.
He turned back to his empty house wanting more.
She turned to the street. That wasn't what she had intended to say.
