So this is the last part of this section of 3 chapters. I'm afraid it goes on forever - I get so carried away with them. You'll need half an hour to get through it and a good deal of patience so be prepared! As always, I'd love your comments.

Chapter 26

"Thought we could do somethin' together, since I've given myself the day off."

"Something? We're doing something now aren't we?"

Was it Dempsey's imagination or did she sound irritated? He couldn't keep up with her, running hot and cold like this.

"Somethin' later," he tried again.

"Didn't lunch rather run into later?"

So where had he gone wrong? What had he said to break the spell? They'd had such a great time up until now but it was as though she'd suddenly had enough of him.

"Yeah, you're right. Maybe we should both concentrate on tryin' to sober up."

No response this time.

How was he meant to get past this barrier when he couldn't see what the problem was?

"Have I said somethin' I shouldn't of?" he asked cautiously.

"No." She sounded genuinely puzzled by the question.

So what was it? If he'd been pushing too hard again it was only because he'd thought that was what she'd wanted; he definitely hadn't imagined that body language.

Dempsey put his sunglasses on and sulked quietly behind them for a few moments. He wasn't going to let it get to him though. Maybe it was the combination of too much sun and too much wine, maybe that was all it was.

"I don't think I should've had any of that second bottle," Harry said almost to herself, seemingly reading his thoughts.

"You'll be fine," he assured her. "Did you ever hear how drinking coffee through a straw is supposed to sober you up faster?"

"And how likely is that, do we think?"

"Never said I believed it."

He then went on to tell her of the numerous hangover cures he'd had passed on to him in the six months since taking on the bar and after a while, Harry seemed to come round again. He still hadn't managed to fathom out where he'd gone wrong though.

"Do you remember Angela Carstairs?" she asked suddenly.

"Angela? Of course I do. Angela who we used to go to the nightclubs with, right? Angela who gave you that red dress?"

"You still remember that?"

"Hard to forget."

"We're going out tomorrow night. She's just become a grandmother."

"Angela? You're kiddin' me!"

"Puts things into perspective, doesn't it ... how much time has passed?"

"Guess so." He wondered if that was a throw away comment or a subtle warning off. "So you see much of her?"

"All the time – our families are friends. She was surprised to hear you were back – wanted to know if you've still got all your hair," Harry smiled.

Dempsey laughed loudly. "Yeah, and I still got all my own teeth if she's interested."

Harry updated him on Angela's hectic and often riotously funny life, giving him an insight into her close friendship with the woman he had once liked so well and Dempsey found himself keen to meet up with her again.

"Bring her over sometime; I'd love to see her again."

"Be careful what you wish for, Dempsey, age hasn't slowed her down as I'm sure you've gathered," Harry grinned.

"Perfect!"

They were back at the bar before they knew it.

Harry asked, "Look, there's no way I'm fit to drive; if I ring for a taxi, would it be okay to leave my car here?"

"See, now I'm torn," sighed Dempsey. "If I say yes, I get to see you again tomorrow when you pick the car up but on the other hand," he screwed his face up as he contemplated his choices, "if I say no, it means you have to spend a couple more hours with me, drinking coffee through a straw."

Harry shook her head, laughing ironically at the suggestion. "Ah, no." She wagged her forefinger at him. "If you think I'm going in there again," the forefinger changed direction to wag towards the bar entrance, "with that bloody rude, nursemaiding minder of yours still at large, then you are very much mistaken."

"Julius is a pussy cat!" Dempsey protested.

She held up the string handled paper carrier bag. "No, this is a pussy cat – your friend is an ape!"

"Okay, okay. I got an alternative." He dug into his trouser pocket and came up with a small bunch of keys. "Here." He picked up her free hand, turned it over and dropped the keys into her palm. She stared at them, uncomprehending.

"And what do I do with these?"

"You take them around the back," he pointed in the direction he meant, "up the steps, you tap three-five-seven-one into the key pad and then you unlock the door of the apartment with the bronze coloured key you got there."

Harry looked at him, wide eyed.

"Oh yeah," Dempsey continued, "and you make us both that coffee."

She couldn't help but smile at his audacity. "Three-five-seven-one," she repeated after him. "And where will you be?"

"I'll be wrestlin' with the ape."

........................................................................................................................................................................

Harry was surprised and a little disappointed although she told herself it made no difference either way. The flat above Dempsey's Bar was adequate for his requirements she supposed but a little shabby and impersonal. She walked along the narrow hallway, opening doors as she went. There was a bathroom containing a sink, toilet and shower cubicle, all in utilitarian white with only the basic toiletries on display. The kitchen fared a little better, having fitted oak cupboards and tiled worktops and at least there were no pots in the sink or remains of this mornings breakfast. But the walls were bare, save for one of those joky little plaques informing the reader of the perils of slovenliness.

Harry filled the kettle and switched it on before searching in the cupboards for mugs. There was barely any food to speak of, just cereals and snacks and the fridge contained nothing apart from fresh milk, butter and eggs. It reminded her of the way he had been living when he had first come to England back in the 80's. His flat then had been spartan, as though he was just passing through, living out of a suitcase - until she had put her stamp on it of course. Well, if he'd only been back in London a few months and there was no woman in his life, perhaps this was sufficient for him – but it was rather depressing.

Leaving her handbag and the bag containing the cat doorstop on the small kitchen table, Harry took her coffee into the hallway and tried the next door along. A bedroom. She hesitated but decided she couldn't resist a look. This room told no tales. A pale blue carpet, blond pine furniture, a double divan made up with dark blue bed linen positioned under the sloping ceiling of the eaves and that was about it. Harry crossed to the other side of the room to stand by the wide window. There was a very long balcony outside which must be accessible by the lounge she had yet to see. The view of the town was excellent and she remained at the window for a few minutes, sipping at her coffee. But it wasn't long before she looked back over her shoulder at the bed. Tentatively, she went and perched on the edge, her left hand reaching out to smooth over the quilt.

What are you doing with your life, James?

Was he happy living this way? Did he want more? Why did Harry find herself wanting more for him? She watched her fingertips stroking the quilt cover, felt the slightly stiff texture of the cotton. She leant forward, her palm flat, forearm sweeping over the bed as she bent her head to the fabric, inhaling the scent. But she couldn't detect any trace of him.

If he were here now, if he wanted her now ...

She sat up and clasped the coffee cup in both hands, shocked by that train of thought and by the way her body had responded to it. It was all so wrong. Why couldn't she keep away?

"Hope you didn't start without me."

Harry sprang up off the bed and swung round to find Dempsey standing in the doorway. She hadn't heard the front door opening and his unexpected presence intruding into her wayward thoughts completely threw her.

"No, I was just ... no, sorry. I was just watching the world go by. It's a great view from here."

She was blushing.

"I wasn't snooping ... well, I was in as much as I was looking round the flat."

"It's fine – snoop away." He nodded at the cup in her hands. "You make me one of those?"

"In the kitchen."

He stood back and gestured for Harry to pass before him into the hall. "Shall we? If you've done snooping that is."

She coloured again but only a little this time. "I wasn't snooping, I was looking – there's a difference," she asserted as she brushed past him.

Dempsey held his hands up in surrender. "I ain't got a problem with that – we both used to do it professionally, remember?"

She was about to object again but seeing the open grin on his face, felt the embarrassment melt away and managed to laugh instead.

Back in the kitchen, Harry took the cloth cat out of the carrier bag and sat it on the table. "It's one of those things I would've regretted not buying. I don't do it often but today would definitely have been one of those occasions."

He smiled. "Gotta live for the moment, Harry."

The doorstop seemed to be smiling too.

"I haven't seen your lounge yet," she side-stepped and went off to have a look.

It was a very large room. French doors on one side leading onto the balcony and steps going down, presumably to the bar, on the other which would explain why she hadn't heard him enter the front door. More Ikea style pine furniture and a few big units holding numerous dvd's, cd's and books were ranged about the place. A super-sized plasma television dominated one wall and beneath it, Harry spied Nintendo Wii and Playstation games consoles.

"Well, you're certainly not short of entertainment," Harry said brightly.

This was awful! Like some sort of overgrown teenager's hang-out. She ran a finger along the spines of the dvd cases as she perused the shelves. All the Rocky films, a couple of Robin Williams comedies, Chocolat, Titanic, Perfume, some particularly gory sounding horror films, the whole Batman series, several romcoms, Rear Window and Vertigo from Hitchcock ...

"Quite an eclectic mix you have here."

The cd's and books told the same story; AC/DC alongside Charles Aznavour, O. Henry next to Maeve Binchey. She took down a small hardback copy of Oscar Wilde's 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'.

"I must've read this a hundred times." She held it up for him to see.

"I've read it once. I thought it was kinda gay and creepy."

Feeling nettled, she wandered around some more whilst Dempsey went and unlocked the French doors, opening them wide.

There was a battered old walnut desk by the doors, positioned to take advantage of the light no doubt. The laptop and folders that had been in the bar that morning were lying on top of it along with a stack of thee letter trays, each tray holding only a nominal amount of paperwork. Behind the desk was a unit housing an array of lever arch files all neatly labelled up. This was clearly his 'office' area and Harry was gratified to see Dempsey was at least capable of being sensible when it mattered. But then, if he had this thriving business on Jersey, he had to be doing something right, didn't he? And then she saw the framed photograph, half hidden by the flourishing Boston fern, sitting at one corner of the desk.

It was clearly Dempsey's son, the same thick, unruly hair, the same shape to his jaw but it was the eyes that were so unmistakably Dempsey's, so deep and brown, soulful, yet bright and alive. And so frighteningly familiar. Behind him stood an attractive, dark haired woman, her bare arms wrapped around the boy's shoulders, a happy smile directed at the camera.

"Jack and Juliette?" Harry asked, knowing full well it was.

Dempsey came and stood behind her, looking down at the frame in her hands. "Yeah, that's a couple of years old. Jack looks a lot different now, filled out a lot, gotten taller."

"He's just like you," she observed.

Dempsey grinned. "You think?" He was obviously very proud. "I keep meanin' to replace it. I got some great photos of him at New Year."

She had to comment. "Juliette looks very young ..."

"Let's see," he squeezed his lips together with his hand as he considered his reply. "Jack was thirteen there so I guess that puts her at around thirty-nine ... couple of years ago."

Harry looked up over her shoulder at him. "That's young!"

"Part of why it was never gonna work." He shrugged. "She was too young. Makes me feel guilty when I think of how many years she wasted on me."

Surprised, Harry turned to him. "That's an awful thing to say."

"It's true. Every time we broke up, I'd eventually go crawlin' back because it was convenient for me, not because I wanted her. I should've stayed away, for her sake, let her start over."

He took the photograph from Harry and replaced it on the desk. "Anyway, Jack tells me she's seein' someone – this guy – sounds serious and to tell you the truth, I'm relieved. Hope they live happily ever after."

"I don't imagine that Juliette feels those years were wasted; she got Jack out of it, didn't she?"

Dempsey looked down at the picture again. "That kid's the best thing that ever happened in my life," he said sincerely.

"And hers too – I can guarantee it."

His shoulders rose and fell without humour. "Yeah, no regrets there."

"Exactly."

Then something occurred to Harry that she couldn't help blurting out. "Jack Dempsey! His name's Jack Dempsey."

"You noticed that, huh?" he laughed. "Actually, it's Jack Middleton, not Dempsey – he's got Juliette's surname."

"Oh, I see," she said, surprised.

"I wouldn't marry her so she wouldn't give him my name. I kinda pushed for the name Jack and as she'd never heard of Jack Dempsey at that time, I got away with it." He laughed. "She was pissed when she realised but Jack thinks it's cool."

Harry was starting to understand why their relationship had been so shaky.

"Commitment issues, aye Dempsey?" she smiled.

"I knew she was never gonna be the one is all."

"But if you felt that way ..." Harry began.

"Because I also knew that she was the best I could hope for."

The terrible thing was that she could understand his reasons for saying that. She just stared at him, unable to form any sort of vocal response.

"Ah, c'mmon, don't look at me that way," he pleased. "I ain't proud of the way I treated her."

"I know."

She wanted so much to hear him say it, that like her, he had settled for second best.

Dempsey's eyes narrowed. "Yeah?"

She nodded, maintaining the eye contact.

He was the one to break away first. It suddenly all seemed too intense and maybe he was reading more into it than was really there but it felt like there was a deep-rooted empathy running between them.

"So," said Harry, emphatically, going over to the French doors. She stood on the threshold to gaze out across the balcony and beyond to the view of the town. "Where are you planning on hanging this mirror of yours?"

When after several seconds there was still no answer forthcoming, Harry turned to find Dempsey grinning at her.

"What?" she asked.

"You think this is where I live," he accused, roguishly.

Harry frowned, confused. "And don't you?"

"No!"

"Then who does?"

"Nobody does. It's just the apartment that came with the bar. The staff use it during their breaks and it's kind of a dressing room for the acts we get in. The band sometimes uses it for somewhere to crash if rehearsals go on too late or get a little boozy – or both.

"Oh." Harry felt quite dazed. "I see."

"I think I should feel insulted," he jibed.

"Well, you give me a bunch of keys, point me up some steps and tell me to make coffee," she complained. "That did rather give me the impression it was your flat and I don't think it was such a leap to assume that you live 'over the shop' as it were."

Harry felt ludicrously annoyed. The assumptions she had made had been disagreeable and difficult for her to accept and now he was telling her she had been jumping to conclusions. Why had she been so willing to accept the scenario she had fought so vehemently against once upon a time?

"I've got a place just a few miles from here," he smiled, amused by her rancour.

"You might've said," Harry snapped.

"Didn't realise it was important."

"It isn't important!"

"So why're you so mad?"

She glared at him, not knowing how to answer. She was mad, angry with herself more than anything. It had been upsetting to her to think he lived so ... superficially. But she had no right to judge the way he chose to live his life anyway, it was no business of hers.

"You think this place is classy, wait 'til you see where I really live!"

Harry's glare became a scowl. Was it so obvious, what she'd been thinking?

"I got a jukebox in the lounge, a whole collection of those cute picture mirrors in the kitchen, you know the ones," he grinned, getting into his stride, "with the puppy dogs and the waterfalls and the Southern Comfort bottles."

"You're really not funny, James."

But he carried on anyway. "And I play pinball in the bedroom." He was trying not to laugh now. "But that's maybe too much information, huh?" A small burst of laughter erupted and his thumb reflexively brushed the side of his mouth.

Harry was still scowling.

"Sorry," he said, trying to sound sincere and failing.

The same thumb jerked back over his shoulder. "You want a game of Ten Pin Bowling on the Wii? But I have to warn you, I play a mean game."

The tiniest of smiles. "It's only a question of mastering the trajectory."

A look of surprise crossed his face. "You've played?" He hadn't expected that comeback.

"Ed has it and no, I think I'll decline, thanks all the same."

There was a pause and Dempsey regarded her sheepishly. "You know I'm only kiddin' around?" he asked softly. "Guess I can understand why you'd think I live here."

"Why would it matter to me where and how you live?" Harry asked high-handedly as she flounced out onto the balcony.

"Matters to me Harry," he called after her, "always did." He followed her out to stand beside her, leaning over the metal rail and looking down.

Harry stared at her coffee cup balanced on the rail between her hands. "Don't," she said tightly. "Just ... don't. It was too long ago, James."

So why did the memory still hurt so much?

"Most of it was in my head. I know that now. Maybe if I'd known it then ..." Dempsey let the sentence go unfinished.

"I really don't want to talk about this," she ground. "There's absolutely no point."

"But I want us to be friends and I don't know if we can do that until we've cleared the air."

The very idea was abhorrent to her; to dredge through what had gone wrong between them, to sift through the bitter recriminations, to walk amongst those ghostly words that had once been so real and whole and dreadful.

She couldn't answer for a moment and stood staring at the view, her lips pursed, her whole demeanour making her unapproachable.

"Very melodramatic," she said at last.

"I just need to know that we're okay, that you can forgive and forget."

"Forgive you?" Harry asked. "You still want to go apportioning blame after all this time? Does it even matter any more?"

Dempsey turned his head, hearing her answer her own question in that shrill response. It mattered very much.

"Okay," he said slowly, "you don't wanna talk? That's fine." He watched her thumbnail clicking against the handle of her mug. "And you're probably right, what difference would talking make?"

He was losing her again, just like after he'd bought the mirror earlier. She let herself get close to him and then something seemed to hold her back and draw her away. There was still that old spark between them though, he was sure she felt it but was just unwilling to accept it.

"You've caught the sun," he commented, noticing the pink glow to her arms.

Her hand brushed over her left upper arm in response. "I've been out in it too long today."

"You wanna go indoors for a while?"

Harry shook her head. "I can't bear to miss the sunshine – we see so little of it." Quickly, she drained her cup. "Anyway, I think I should be going."

She made to walk to the French doors but Dempsey put a hand up as he said, "Maybe give it another half hour? I know I don't feel capable of driving so I doubt very much you are."

He took the empty coffee cup off her. "Why don't I make us a nice cold drink, we'll sit out here a while longer and then I promise I'll let you go."

"Fine," she sighed, resignedly.

He could tell she'd been about to argue and was obviously frustrated by the fact that he was right.

So she went and sat at the large green rectangular plastic table and chairs while Dempsey organised a jug of iced Grenadine.

The balcony was more like a terrace, running almost the entire length of the bar below them. Large terracotta pots that had once contained flowers of some kind or another now stood empty save for the dry, eroded soil. She surreptitiously watched Dempsey walking towards her carrying the jug and glasses on a tray, smiling cheerfully. Everything about him was so startlingly familiar; the way he walked, the angle at which he held his head, the softness in his eyes.

Harry wanted to get up and walk away and never, ever see him again – she had to do the right thing.

The ensuing conversation was embarrassingly stilted by Harry's vague yes and no replies and when communication eventually petered out altogether, she quickly took the opportunity to make her excuses and go.

"You sure you're gonna be okay?" Dempsey asked as he walked her down to the car.

"Yes."

"So when are we going out to dinner?" he asked tentatively, anxious now to hold on to some thread of contact.

Car keys in hand, she checked her watch in agitation. "I don't know," she said tensely, "I'll give you a ring or something."

"You promise?"

"Maybe next week." She had the door open now and was sliding into the seat.

"Maybe?" he asked.

She slammed the door shut and for a second, Dempsey thought she was going to just drive away. But the engine started and the window lowered. "Thanks for this afternoon." She leaned her arm along the sill, looking up at him. "Bye, James."

As she retreated back inside the car, releasing the handbrake as she prepared to leave, Dempsey dropped his hand to the roof and bent down to her.

"Am I getting' the brush-off here, Harry?"

"I've just said I'll call you, haven't I?" she said tersely before repeating pointedly, "Goodbye, James."

For years, Dempsey had lived with the fact that he'd lost Harry Makepeace and now he was seriously wondering if he would ever see Harry Cavanagh again.