The promised offer of help that Harry had given to Ros, was repaid when she agreed that Malcolm could supervise the last of their belongings being loaded. Enabling Harry and Ruth to get a head start and arrive in Suffolk well in advance of the van. But whoever it was that had written that one of the most stressful things in life, apart from getting a divorce or coping with the loss of a close relative, presuming that the latter was someone that you'd actually liked, was to sell up and move to a new home, obviously hadn't read the script. The one that every one that knew them had engraved on their hearts, that this particular couple had suffered enough, and on what should have been one of the most exciting days of their lives, that their van shouldn't be involved in a road accident on the outskirts of London. When at the exact same moment, Harry and Ruth were chatting happily about the days and weeks ahead, as he negotiated the ring road around Colchester.

In the ensuing chaos, as car horns blared and passing pedestrians gathered together to take pictures on their phones, the main priority of the emergency services, was to ensure that the occupants of the vehicles involved, were taken to the hospital as quickly as possible. That and to divert the long build-up of traffic which was bringing this particular part of London to a standstill. Which meant that by the time that they put in a call to Harry, the van had been towed away to the nearest police pound and Harry and Ruth, who'd collected the keys from the estate agent on the outskirts of Ipswich, were within a few miles of their new home in Dunwich.

Pulling into the first lay-by that he came to, with no idea that the person on the end of the line was a member of the Metropolitan Police, Harry was now listening to Ruth's stuttering end of the conversation.

'Is anyone hurt, followed by how much damage is there?' Couldn't be work related, despite the fact that the colour had drained out of her face. Well-founded when she willingly handed over the phone and he was told that there was every chance that the entire contents of the van and what amounted to their total possessions, were likely be declared as a right off.

'Precisely what she meant by total, was how it had been described to her. She hadn't actually seen it,' the sympathetic policewoman at the other end of the phone was telling him.

'The plan?' when he asked in a voice that he tried to moderate to sound reasonable, was that 'their belongings such as they were, would be re packed into another van in the morning and then delivered to their location. Yes, she did mean entire contents,' she assured him, which Harry was visualising and wished he wasn't, 'meant that nothing was going to be thrown away. It was their property and as such it would be treated with respect.'

Harry, who by now was gritting his teeth, refrained from asking her if the police had a furniture packing branch, or how within the confines of outer London, the bloody idiot that had been driving a large van, had succeeded in turning it over. Whilst at the same time reflecting, that whilst this might not be considered to be a disaster, in the same way as those he'd had to deal with in the past, that as a civilian and one whose marriage was in still it's infancy, it was running a close second. Thanking Ellie as she'd called herself and ending the call, he turned his attention back to Ruth. What to say though, when he was struggling to put a positive spin on what he'd just been told. The furniture could be replaced, whereas their personal belongings and the majority of her books, some of which were first editions and others that had a sentimental value that stretched back over years, were irreplaceable. Faced with a period of stress and this was definitely going to be stressful, the shortness of breath, the dizziness and a period of fatigue, all of which had been the symptoms that she'd experienced when they'd been in France, had so far been dismissed without a diagnosis. On a very unsatisfactory morning, in his not so humble opinion, when he'd gone with her to visit her own idiot doctor.

'Take these if it happens again,' he'd said when he'd been scribbling out prescription, before telling her 'not to overdo it.' Which if it hadn't been for Ruth looking at him, with an expression that said 'just leave it Harry'who knows what he might have said or done.

Forcing himself to put to one side, the resurfacing murderous thoughts about Doctor Death, finding somewhere other than their new home to spend the night was now a priority. Easier said than done, because in doing so, as opposed to sleeping under their own roof and surrounded by their own possessions, would only highlight what the next day was likely to bring. But the house was still there, the keys were in his pocket. The sandwiches that she'd made before they'd left, the tea, the coffee and the kettle, were all stowed in the boot. Acknowledging that the two drivers of the van had injuries which would probably see them spending a few weeks off work, wasn't his concern, and in this case the most important thing was that he and Ruth were both safe, he concluded that all was not lost.

Hoping that Ruth wouldn't say she was fine when she clearly wasn't, he pulled her into his arms, relieved when she gave in and rested against him. Kissing her on the forehead and in a voice that he hoped didn't convey that he was clutching at straws, this was after all Ruth who analysed everything and everybody, including him.

'We can do this sweetheart,' he told her, at the same time, praying that she wasn't going to burst into tears. Relieved when she didn't, he determined that wherever they lay their heads tonight, not only would he tread carefully when he chose his words, but he'd be gentle. He could do gentle, of course he could.

Plus, if push came to shove, he knew who he could turn to for help.

.

Up until this moment, they'd only been to the house twice. The first time when they'd seen it advertised and had driven over the next day to look at the area, when Ruth without any doubt in her mind, had described it as love at first sight. The second visit when they'd measured up for their furniture. Vague plans as far as he could remember which was just as well, apart from a trip into Ipswich, when they'd chosen the curtains and blinds, which were being delivered at some time the following afternoon. Another positive was that the heating would be on, the pubs landlady had agreed to see to that when he'd rung her with their arrival date. Would she have a room where they could stay the night? He certainly hoped so. Because in what was now classed as winter and when his wife was upset, he didn't want to spend his time driving around looking for somewhere to have a meal and to sleep.

Mo Harris, the lady in question, was a mother of three one-time very lively children, now adults who had long since grown up and flown the nest. Since their departure she'd adopted the residents of Dunwich to fill in the gap, and everyone, no matter what age they were got the same treatment. She was the perfect landlady in every sense, who had seen it all over time. Marriages, divorces, babies born, arguments between neighbours and the odd punch up, all of which had come with their problems as well as their joys. True to her word, she'd taken herself down to Glynde Cottage before opening time and done as Harry had asked of her. In fact, she'd secretly decided that Harry was, as they used to say in her youth, 'a bit of alright'. It was a Thursday and the pub would be quiet, so she'd kept a table to one side, just in case they wanted to eat there rather than to cook at home. She'd always prided herself that the 'The Swan and Cygnets' was the ultimate heart of the village, which meant her latest mission, was to make sure the new arrivals were made to feel welcome.

.

Having been shown their room, they were now sitting in the bar beside the fire. Ruth doing what she always did, when she needed to calm down, she was doing her breathing exercises. But as hard as she was trying, she couldn't quite get past the vision of all their things, in a pile only fit for a bonfire. They're only things and things can be replaced, said a voice in her head. But they were their things and contained memories built up over what now felt like centuries. Photographs from the days when people put them in albums and sometimes still did. She knew for certain that Harry had a small collection of photos that Adam had given him when Wes had been growing up. For safe keeping after Fiona had died.

'I know I can trust you to look after these,' he'd told Harry. Photographs of his own children, who despite what other people said, quite cruelly in her opinion and she'd said so, he loved to bits.

All of which, meant that she'd made sure that they'd taken a great care when they'd packed them, during the frantic last few weeks in the run up to this day.

Harry had been so lovely. Ensuring that he took as much of the workload on his shoulder's as was humanly possible. Always putting her first and making sure that she hadn't been overdoing it. During what, had also been a very emotional few months. Leaving behind what had been a lifetime of service for Harry, he'd just sailed through, whereas when it had got to the last few days, especially when they'd said goodbye to Malcolm, it had been her that had struggled. Dear Malcolm, the sweetest man alive she'd told him when she'd hugged him. Making him promise that he'd come to visit them once they were settled in.

But, and there was always a but, or in this case an exception where she was concerned. Apart from Harry, who it went without saying was top of her list, there was something that she valued more than any other. It had been delivered unexpectedly, one month after 'the night on the bus moment' as she liked to remember it. The first time that she and Harry had realised that the feelings they had for one another were reciprocated. Something that they hadn't acknowledged verbally until much later. She'd been reading one of her much- thumbed Jane Austin novels, until Harry had sat down behind her and said 'nice night out.' The strange thing was, that she'd sensed it was him, even before he'd spoken. Still consumed with thoughts of him and how his hand had lingered on hers much longer than was needed, how warm it had been and how much bigger than hers, she hadn't been concentrating when she'd got off the bus. The rain had been pouring down and when she'd been searching for her keys, the book had slipped through her fingers and fallen onto the ground. When she'd tried to dry it, the pages had curled. She'd mentioned it in passing and thought nothing of it, until a few weeks later, when Harry had insisted this time, that he give her a lift home. Producing a small parcel when he was saying goodnight on her doorstep, he'd squeezed her hand. Staying only briefly, rather than what had been so obviously the chance to be honest with each other and to take their relationship a step further. After she'd watched him drive away, she'd gone inside with a heavy heart, until she'd opened up the parcel. Sense and Sensibility, the book that she'd been reading, an original that he'd signed simply Harry and with the date. More precious now than ever, because it was the first present that he had ever given her.

'Here you are,' said a cheerful voice, bringing them both out of the doldrums as a pot of tea for two and some toasted tea cakes arrived in the safe hands of Mo.

.

By the time that they went back down to the bar for dinner, a sense of calm had settled over them. They had a comfortable bed to sleep in, in a warm and cosy room. It might not be in their own home, but it was in the village where they'd chosen to live. Whatever happened tomorrow, it was still a sleep away. What was done was done and there was nothing they could do about it other than to claim on the insurance. In the total scheme of things, it was small fry compared to what they'd been through together up until this moment. Apart from their unspoken thoughts, as to what the other might have lost.