"WHAT HAVE YOU bought for Lana?" Roxanna asked as they packed their suitcases.

John looked blank. "Er... nothing. Do I need to?"

Roxanna looked shocked. "Of course you need to take her something. John, that's awful!"

John looked at Henrik for help. "Did you think of buying presents?"

"Well, yes. The wooden carvings for Oskar, and a book. Also a beaded lizard for June."

June was Henrik's PA. John looked non-comprehending. "Why?"

"She likes lizards. She has one at home, apparently. It sits on her shoulder. Its name is Gerald." Henrik did that head tilt thing he usually did when something faintly amused him.

"Right." John continued packing.

"You need to get something," Roxanna warned. "When we check out, we can stop at the shop. They had some lovely things."

"There were shops at the airport," John muttered.

All too soon, the golf buggy arrived to take their luggage to the small plane. They stopped off at the shop and under Roxanna's guidance, John bought two brightly striped kikoy sarongs and a beaded leopard made by local craftspeople.

"I still don't see why," he grumbled as he fought to zip up his case.

"Because that's what older brothers with younger sisters do. She idolises you. You're part of a family now, John, whether you can accept that or not."

"I do accept it."

"So don't be afraid to love her," Roxanna said gently.

It was with a sense of sadness they said goodbye to the hotel staff. The sky was leaden as they were flown back to the airfield outside Durban, which seemed to make their departure a little easier. The sea didn't look as inviting as it had the day before, yet the air temperature was still brutally hot. No one said much as they drove back to King Shaka International Airport.

John's flight was five hours earlier than theirs, but he was carrying straight on to Lisbon to check on his patients there before returning to Holby. They wouldn't see him until Monday morning. It felt strange leaving him at the airport for the second time, and Roxanna held him tightly, Henrik awkwardly rubbing his back.

"Can we come in with you? Have a coffee or...?" Henrik's voice trailed away.

"I need to go straight through. I'm cutting it fine as it is." John hovered, feeling just as awkward. Public displays of affection with Roxanna had become effortless, but there was a world of difference between that and kissing Henrik in public. In the end he took his hand and kissed it briefly, then pulled him into a hug. He felt Henrik freeze, then relax into it.

"See you on Monday," he said, with a final heartbreaking smile.

And he was gone.

"God, I hate goodbyes," Roxanna groaned. "It feels so odd, us all going our separate ways."

"It will be good for us. A time to reset, think and decide what we want without distractions." Henrik steered her back to the car.

"That's what this holiday was about, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but being at home will feel different. You might find you like having some time to yourself, and I'll be catching up on work before Monday morning, when I'm not sleeping."

"Did we exhaust you?" She smiled up at him. He gave her a terse look as he put his seatbelt on. She laughed aloud. "That's a yes, then."

They made their way to the beach and found a restaurant on the front. The food was unexpectedly good, with fresh line-caught tuna and salad, and a crisp white Pinot to go with it. Roxanna kept an eye on the time, but it was a fitting end to an unforgettable trip. The only element missing was John.

Henrik received a text from him just as he was boarding the plane. A second later, Roxanna received the same text. She smiled at it. "He's added a kiss. He's never done that before."

Henrik glanced down at his phone. "I have three."

"You do not!" She snatched the phone from him. One kiss. "That's very naughty, Henrik. I can see I'm going have to keep you in line."

"You can try." Henrik poured more wine into his glass.

"You've changed." She was looking seriously at him.

"Have I?"

"Yes. You're... I don't know... bolder. You're losing that tentativeness. In fact, I'd say you're changing back into the man I knew ten years ago. All the pain and guilt, the sadness, it's still there but you're regaining your confidence. You're learning to love yourself again. Does that make sense?"

Henrik glanced down at the cutlery on his place setting, and fought the urge to straighten it. What Roxanna said did make sense, but he wasn't sure he was ready to apply that reasoning to himself.

"I've always had depression, Roxanna. And I believe I always will. This is a good phase, but it won't always be that way."

He felt her hand on his.

"I know, and it's all right. I'm not watching your every move and analysing everything you say. It's just an observation, that's all."

He nodded. "Thank you."

They were both ready to head back to the airport once lunch was over. The grey skies had thickened into storm clouds, and thunder rumbled almost continuously.

"The turbulence going to be entertaining," Henrik remarked as they drove into the underground car park.

For the next three hours they went through the rigmarole of checking in and going through security, wandering around the shops, watching the rain beat against the wide, tall windows. Neither of them wanted coffee but in the end they did, reading newspapers and waiting until their flight was called. Lightning flickered outside as they walked to the plane. It was as if South Africa was telling them they needed to go home.

The plane was a massive Airbus A380, more than capable of smoothly negotiating the thunder clouds. Despite the extra coffee and unnecessary chocolate muffins, Roxanna fell asleep as soon as the lights in the cabin were turned down.

Henrik took longer. He lay on the cabin bed at an awkward angle, his long legs bent up so he could fit in. He thought of all the reasons their polyam relationship with John might not work. He thought of the reaction of people he worked with, and the logistics of pleasing everyone at the same time. He thought of the misunderstandings, the bigotry, the obsession people seemed to have over his sexuality. And he worried about how that might overshadow his ability to do his job.

Other people manage it, he told himself. John and Roxanna had found the transition, not effortless but a lot less difficult than him.

Perhaps he should become a monk. It would be a lot easier.

He glanced over at Roxanna, snoozing in the next bed. Yes, but would that be living? And he would miss having John run his hand up his back and whisper lewd promises in his ear.

He felt an inappropriate twitch in his trousers, and smiled wryly to himself. No, being a monk was definitely not an option.

HOLBY WELCOMED THEM with bright morning sunshine. The taxi dropped Roxanna off first, waiting whilst Henrik carried her suitcases into the cottage.

"I'll call you later." He kissed her cheek and left her to it.

They had agreed to meet up on Monday, to "regroup" as John called it, but the weekend stretched ahead, long and empty.

"No. Keep busy," she said aloud. "You don't need men to entertain you every second of the day." She went to the kettle and filled it, then put it on the Aga. Her neighbour had been in the day before to turn up the oven and put milk and fruit in her fridge. She had also made a chocolate cake, with a Post-It note on the top of the tin saying, "Welcome Home."

Roxanna smiled at that. She knew the cake was actually for Henrik, as the elderly woman had a soft spot for him. The smell of chocolate wafted towards her as she lifted the lid. An old-fashioned sponge cake with butter icing, absolutely delicious.

She flipped through the post, of which three-quarters was junk mail, and put on a load of laundry, before making the tea, dunking a teabag into a mug and chucking it in the Belfast sink, then cutting a wedge of the cake. Sitting in the sunny window seat, she realised it was good to be home, although their time in South Africa already seemed a distant memory.

Hugging her mug for comfort, she considered her feelings about the place David and her had shared. Maybe it was time to move on. The garden was running away with her and it really was out in the countryside, away from Henrik and John.

Still, moving would mean leaving behind all her reminders of David and the life they had shared together, and she wasn't sure she was ready for that.

The cottage seemed very quiet. Was this what loneliness felt like? She was tempted to call in at the hospital, but really she needed to buy food and freshen the place up, de-holiday her life and prepare for a fresh start on Monday. John was right, and she certainly didn't intend to cave in and call either of them.

On impulse she grabbed her keys and went out to the car. She would go to Waitrose for food and flowers. Plenty of them.

HENRIK DIDN'T PUT the kettle on until his suitcases had been stored away in the spare bedroom and his apartment was orderly again. As he waited for his tea to brew in the pot, he sorted his washing and put one load on, then checked his fridge. Nothing, but he didn't drink milk with his tea so it wasn't a crisis. He checked his watch. The groceries he had ordered on-line would arrived in about an hour.

He poured himself a cup of tea and sat down to drink it. The place seemed too quiet and much darker than he remembered, especially after the vibrant places he had stayed in recently. Why had he chosen navy blue paint for the walls, for God's sake. Who did that?

Someone fighting depression, he thought. Someone afraid to be seen. It was what had drawn him to the place, he remembered. Now it felt like a black hole, sucking him in. This was no place for someone trying to fight their way into the light.

He sipped his tea, thinking.

He looked at the wireless radio, the old-fashioned vinyl deck and chronologically sorted records of classical music, the tall oak cupboards holding old books, the complete lack of clutter on the window sills or any other flat surface for that matter. It was almost as if he had wanted to erase his presence from the place, and just leave evidence that some nondescript person lived there. Someone who didn't hate their reflection in the mirror, who hadn't unwittingly caused so much damage to people he loved and respected, who...

Deep breaths.

He set down his teacup and went round each room, opening the blinds, letting sunlight pour in. As he did so, he began to see how he had been living for the past decade. The heavy dark oak furniture inherited from his father, the black and white photographs on the walls, the sombre wine Paisley print on the chairs in the sitting room. No wonder Roxanna always looked round with a faint sense of pity, and more than once John had asked how he could live in such Stygian gloom.

Dust motes curled in the shafts of sunlight, having been disturbed after two weeks of peace. He fought the urge to clean the place from top to bottom. That was another of his coping mechanisms, but it bordered on obsession.

Deep breaths.

He went into the bedroom and looked at the bed, oversized for the room and Scandinavian in design, low to the wooden floor. The walls were painted white and there was nothing on them. No art or photographs or anything to say what kind of man he was. Just that huge bed, as if he wanted to proudly state he had two and a damned good sex life.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he remembered the last time he had slept there. Roxanna had been with him. If he pressed his face against the pillow, he would be able to smell her perfume.

No, he needed to focus. He took his tea and sat at the large desk, opening his laptop. Predictably, there were a huge number of them. Methodically he began to work his way through them.

ROXANNA PUT AWAY the last of her groceries. She had slotted into the weekend routine effortlessly, grabbing a coffee, wandering round, choosing her flowers, filling the car with petrol. She saw her neighbour and gave her the gift she had carefully chosen for her, thanking her for the cake and taking care of her house. They had another coffee before she went back home.

Normal things. Everyday things.

The first lot of laundry had finished so she hauled it out and dealt with it before the next lot went was the worst part of going away, coming back and tidying everything as if the last two weeks had never happened.

But it had happened, and she felt different. It was difficult to explain why, but she did. It occurred to her she might be pregnant.

The thought made her stop in her tracks. Pregnant? Really? If so, whose baby would it be? And how would she explain that to ante-natal classes?

No, it wasn't possible. She had gone through an early menopause years ago. Hadn't she? She brushed the thought away and turned the dial on the washing machine, setting it going. As she pressed the button, her phone rang.

It was Henrik.

"I can't do this," he said as soon as she answered. "I'm sitting here, hugging a pillow like a damned child, upset because I can no longer smell your perfume on it. That's ridiculous. I ..."

"Come round," she said. "Don't be there on your own. I..."

"No, I need you to come here. There's something I'd appreciate your help with. Please?"

She smiled at the phone. "I'll be there soon."

As she put the phone in her bag, a noise made her turn. A figure stood in the doorway.

"Aaaaahh!" Her heart leapt in her chest as she screamed.

John stood in the doorway, grinning at her.