~ The Separation ~
Sunday, late morning - Ruth's house:
As they had the previous morning, Ruth and Harry sit at the table in the back garden over coffee, speaking only sporadically. They each know they are fast heading towards a commitment to one another, and neither quite knows how best to address the subject. Should they talk about it, or just let it happen organically, so that one morning they awaken to find they are living together under the same roof, perhaps even planning their wedding? Harry would like that, but he's not sure it's wise of him to hope for marriage with Ruth. Ruth is elusive, mercurial, and independent, while he has been married, and he was terrible at it. It's just that he'd like the chance to prove to himself, and to her, that he is capable of being a loving and loyal husband.
"I think it might rain today," she says, after they'd sat silently for some minutes, sipping their second cup of coffee.
Harry lifts his head to gaze at the sky. He thinks it looks exactly as it had the previous day - fluffy white clouds in an otherwise clear sky. "What makes you say that?"
"It's just a hunch."
Harry finds he is smiling. Of course Ruth has a hunch. Ruth's hunches are legendary ... and usually worthy of his attention. Still, as he looks at the sky in the direction of the horizon they can't see, he is sure the day will be exactly like yesterday.
Just as they had wandered into the garden with their coffee, they amble back inside. They had slept late, and even though it's nearing lunchtime, it is only just over an hour since they'd eaten breakfast.
"I feel like a walk," Harry announces, heading through to the living room to stand at the window, gazing out at the street.
"What if it rains?" Ruth counters.
As he turns towards her, he lifts his eyebrows. "We get wet. It's rain, Ruth. It can't hurt us."
Ruth hadn't any intention of not accompanying Harry on his walk. She's just testing him. Without discussing a destination, they find themselves heading in the direction of the small park where they'd sat while the teenage couple had shared a cigarette.
"I half expected to find Bonnie and Clyde on the bench, sharing their last smoke before they die in a blaze of gunfire," Harry says, as he opens the child-proof gate to allow Ruth into the park ahead of him.
"I expect we scared them off," Ruth replies, making a beeline for the bench the teenagers had occupied on their last visit. "If we sit here we can keep an eye on the gate."
Once a spy, always a spy, Harry thinks, as he sits beside her - close, but not touching.
"I like this place," Ruth announces, after they'd been sitting quietly for some minutes. "It's relaxing and private. I wish it were closer to the house."
"Half the fun is getting here," Harry counters. "Were it just down your street we'd never bother."
"Our street." Her voice is quiet.
"What?"
"You said your street. It's our street Harry, yours and mine. The house is as much yours as it is mine."
When he remains silent, Ruth wonders has she stepped over a line. Surely he must have figured out by now that if they're to ever live together, it would have to be at her house.
"I didn't want to ... presume," he says at last, staring across the duck pond, from where the family of ducks appears to have decamped.
"If we're ever to ... cohabit," Ruth begins carefully, "my house is the obvious choice."
"I know."
"You've thought about it?"
"Of course," he says. "Haven't you?" In his quiet moments, he thinks of little else. He thinks of he and Ruth together, waking up each morning in the same bed .. for the rest of their lives.
"Yes," she says quietly. "I think we should give it a try .. soon."
"In a way we already are."
Their conversation is cut short when a young woman, accompanied by two small boys, opens the child-proof gate so that the boys can tear past her and into the park. The bigger one rushes past the little one, intent on reaching the duck pond first.
"Oscar," the woman calls, "be careful of the water ... and the ducks. Please don't frighten the ducks."
"The ducks are gone," Oscar screeches, testing the limit of his lungs and the eardrums of the three adults.
"Where ducks?" asks the smaller boy, scuttling across the grass, while the woman hurries after them.
"They're dead," Oscar says firmly, looking right at the small boy, who begins to wail loudly.
"Jesus," Harry whispers loudly. "That kid would test the patience of a saint."
"You must know what young children are like," Ruth whispers, leaning close to him. "Clearly you never took yours to the park."
He turns towards her, a frown forming. "Actually, I did. We had a park at the end of our street, and my children loved going there." He watches her for a long moment. "My two were easy .. compared to these two." He turns to watch as the younger boy's eyes scan the duck pond, and then the park around him. The ducks have clearly scarpered.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ..."
"It's an assumption that men never have to look after their children. I didn't do it often, or even regularly, but I did do it." Harry is again watching her closely. "While out of the house, my two were model children. The park near us had swings, and Catherine would instruct me to not let her brother swing too high in case he fell." He turns his head to watch Oscar and his brother, as they stand beside the pond, jockeying to see who can get closest to the edge without falling in. "Catherine was very motherly, while Graham was afraid of everything, so she made it her job to protect him. It was only when he hit adolescence that his alternate personality emerged." Ruth nods, finding it difficult to accommodate this image of Harry as a doting father to his two. "What about you?" he continues.
"As you well know, Harry, I have no children of my own."
The implications of her clear statement of childlessness sits heavily between them, and Harry experiences a brief moment of embarrassment.
"I was talking about Nico, Ruth. Was he an easy child?" Ruth quickly looks away. She hadn't expected him to go there. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have -"
"No, it's alright," she says, turning back towards him, but looking past him to where Oscar and his brother are beginning a pushing game. She considers drowning to be a distinct possibility. "When I first met George, Nico was only eight - almost nine - and he'd spent a lot of time around adults. He was so easy to care for ... other than when he missed his mother, and then he was ... inconsolable."
He reaches out to her then, gently grasping her fingers in his. He is relieved when he feels her fingers return the squeeze. "Ruth ... I'm -"
Harry is interrupted by another loud wail from the smaller of the two boys. Looking up, they see Oliver making a beeline for the large oak tree which occupies one whole corner of the park.
"Alfie, come to Mummy," the woman says from where she sits on the opposite bench, wearily holding out her arms to Alfie, who immediately stops crying before falling against her.
"Best contaceptive ever," Harry whispers, just loud enough for Ruth to hear. "Shall we go?"
Ruth nods. "It's surprising how much space two little boys can occupy."
"And that's just their voices," he replies, standing and offering his hand to Ruth, and they walk across the park, holding hands. As they pass the other bench Harry looks straight ahead, while Ruth offers the young mother a sympathetic smile.
Almost at the very moment Ruth and Harry leave the park, Eden Hutton's parents agree to having their son's life support switched off. All the tests indicate an absence of brain function. They know that without life support it is unlikely he will survive beyond a few hours, so with the heaviest of hearts, they sign the necessary paper work, and accompanied by Eden's younger sister, Camille, they enter his room to spend his final hours by his bedside.
Sunday, Ruth's house - early evening:
While Harry is downstairs preparing dinner, Ruth sneaks into the office to check her email. What she reads has her sitting silently for a long time. Not only was the operation at the Apollo Room not a success, but one of theirs has died. Eden Hutton's life support had been withdrawn just after midday, and a little over four hours later he'd died.
Feeling the need to share the news with Harry, she slowly descends the stairs, her legs and her heart leaden.
Ruth had not expected Harry's response. He lowers himself heavily onto a chair, his dinner preparation forgotten. Ruth watches while he stares at a spot on the table, saying nothing.
"Harry ... you never even met Eden."
He lifts his eyes to her, and she sees pain there."Can't you see, Ruth?" When she shakes her head, he continues, his voice a monotone. "Every major operation in which I'm involved, even indirectly ... someone either gets terribly hurt, or they die."
Ruth can't believe what she's hearing. This is not like Harry. Harry does his job, and keeps a clear head. He is stoic and strong. He is her rock, her reliable and always-there Harry. And he is never ever prone to feeling sorry for himself. He abhors self pity. He grieves alone, and yet he's accepting responsibility for the death of a man he'd never met.
Very carefully, Ruth pulls out a chair to sit opposite Harry. She's at a loss how best to respond to him. His hands are folded on top of the table, while his eyes focus on his fingers.
"You know that's not true," she says carefully. "You and I, we did the best we could in the time given. The rest was down to the team."
"So now you're passing the buck," he says, again lifting his eyes, dark and accusing, to hers.
"I'm telling it as I see it. No one person can carry the responsibility for Eden's death. What about the two men in the room with him? It's not yet clear what role they played."
Harry again watches his hands, and then without warning, he gets to his feet and crosses to the cooker, turning on the burner beneath the frypan. "It's time we ate," he says, effectively dismissing the conversation.
Ruth remains sitting, her back to him. She is angry and confused. Nothing Harry has said makes sense. She cannot understand his reaction, and the answers he'd given had further confused her. "Do you need a hand?" she asks, in an effort to bridge the gap between them.
"Thanks, but no. I'm fine."
He's clearly anything but fine.
They eat in near silence, the only words spoken being about the meal, and whether the fish could do with more salt.
"I never know what level of salt you prefer, Ruth," he says, "so perhaps it's best you add your own salt."
And so it continues in a similar vein throughout the meal. Whenever Ruth tries to change the subject to Harry's response to the death of Eden Hutton, he either glares at her, or ignores her. In the end, she decides to leave well alone. Whatever he is going through, he'll eventually have to share it with her. If they are to make it through this, he cannot continue to remain in his own private bubble.
When they are both finished eating, Harry stands and gathers their plates, scraping the scraps into the bin, and rinsing the plates and cutlery under the running tap.
"Leave it," Ruth says. "I'll clean up. You go into the living room, and I'll -"
"I've decided I'd like to head home tonight," he says, his back to her, while he gazes through the window to the back garden. Ruth follows his gaze to see a bank of dark clouds building. Perhaps it will rain, after all.
She considers challenging him, but in his present frame of mind, arguing with him would be useless. "Whatever you think best," she says, all the fight having left her, "but if you're upset, Harry, you need to talk about it."
That is when he turns, leaning his hands on the edge of the sink. "I know I do. Eden's ... death has brought up a lot for me which is ... confusing, and I need to be alone for a while ... maybe a few days." Ruth opens her mouth to speak, but he lifts his hand. "Please don't try to talk me out of this. I'm sorry I won't be here to help you with the work, but ... I just need to think, and I do that best when I'm alone."
Ruth believes he needs to do less thinking, and more talking. She steps away from him, already resigned to his leaving. She knows this is not the end for them. Harry loves her, and she loves him. This is just a hiccup. At least, that is what she is telling herself.
"You know I love you," he says quietly. There it is again. Even in a crisis, Harry knows what she's thinking.
Wondering had she really heard him say those words, Ruth stops still. "What did you say?" she asks, her back still to him.
"You heard me. I told you I love you ... just in case you were wondering. This ... my need to be alone right now ... is something I need. It's not about you, and it's not about us." Ruth turns then, and sees him standing upright, his hands by his sides. To her practised eye, Harry appears nervous and ill at ease. She wants to say that his need for solitude when she is there to listen to him is about them, but he appears to be not in a frame of mind to listen. So she'll watch him leave, and patiently wait for him to contact her.
Less than twenty minutes later, Ruth accompanies Harry to her front door. He has no hand luggage, since most of his clothes are still at his own house, and he has personal toiletry items at both houses. He opens the door before turning towards her.
"I'll call you before I come back," he says quietly, his face grim. "I'm sorry if this hurts you, but ..."
"I know," she says quickly. If he's going now, she wishes he'd just leave, and not drag it out, making it difficult for them both.
Ruth is surprised when he leans towards her, so she lifts her face to his, and he kisses her. It's a soft kiss, a kiss filled with sadness and regret, perhaps even an apology, and just for a moment, Ruth places her hands on his cheeks, framing his face between her fingers. She doesn't want him to go, and she suspects nor does he want to be leaving her. She also has a feeling that Harry is attempting to protect her ... perhaps from his darker, intensely private self.
When he turns again and steps off the porch, Ruth notices that it's just beginning to rain. Harry jogs across the road to his car, just as the heavens open, and the rain begins in earnest. She watches as he gets into his car, quickly closing the door behind him. Then he starts the car, turning once more to look her way, before driving away.
