It had been a slow rebuilding process, but in terms of turning their house into a home, order and a sense of real calm had replaced the chaos. Their material losses, had been overtaken by thoughts of what lay ahead for them. Bookshops that they might discover. New places they could explore. Holidays that would replace the uncertainty and terror, that had haunted their previous lives. With the promise of future visits from the boys, they'd channelled their energy into building a play area in the garden. An idea that they'd pinched from their visit to see Ben. Not without the occasional,'no not that one, the other one,'from him, and from Ruth 'are you sure that goes there darling?' All of which they'd survived and with their marriage intact. On the personal side of things, life was good. More than good in fact. It was close to being perfect. Destined, or perhaps because they were slowly managing to put aside what had gone on in their joint past, to be replaced by what they had now and could look forward to in the years to come. A future that they did have control over.
Except that despite the promises, they hadn't seen the boys again. Or the prodigal Graham, that mercifully only Ruth knew a about up until now. Niggling away at her, because she and Harry had vowed to be honest with each other at all times, but in this case, meant that she was keeping something from him.
The boys had colds. They'd already promised her mother that she could come to them for Christmas. Catherine was rushed off her feet at work. They'd see them soon. All of which had been spread over the weekly phone calls from his daughter.
.
If Harry was having a bad time, then it paled into insignificance compared to what Catherine had been dealing with. Catherine, who had lost it on more than on occasion as Graham had continued to dither, had just put the phone down, after a long conversation with her mother. Jane, still very much on side, who'd suggested that she needed to tackle Graham head on and stop pulling punches. That by now Harry would be worried sick. That he'd think there was something that she wasn't telling him and it was a wonder that he hadn't already arrived on her doorstep demanding an explanation. Understandable and very likely, given Harry's vivid imagination and that it was three months since they'd come home from Suffolk. By which time, Christmas and New Year had come and gone and the East of England had made the headlines. During one of the wettest winters in living memory, when roads had been impassable for weeks on end, until respite arrived in March. When the daffodils and tulips were in full flower. When there were buds on the trees and the lambs at the nearby farm where her father and Ruth lived had been born. Ruth's messages having kept her in the loop, brief though they'd been, but getting increasingly more desperate.
'You love the boys. Dad loves the boys. Common ground Graham. What's the matter with you?'
Was Catherine stupid? Did she really not know why he was so frightened? He was weary with the bombardment and knew that he couldn't stall much longer and in truth didn't want too. Catherine meant well, but even she had her limits when it came to her patience. That if he continued to prevaricate, that there would come a time, when even she would give up on him. Then who would he turn too?
'Dad was wrong,' he told her. 'It wasn't just you that overheard that conversation with Mum.'
'What conversation?'
'The one where he said that I was the one with the brains. As much as I wanted it to be true, it wasn't. All I had, was a bloody great ego and a load of old bullshit in my head and look where it's got me. What I bloody deserve. Stacking shelves for a living and being my sisters part time childminder.' He was on a roll now. 'In those early days, Dad just wasn't around enough to notice, and by the time I was ready to tell him, I'd lost my nerve. Twelve years Catherine. It's twelve years since I've seen him. And before you say anything else. The reason that I don't think I can do this, is that they'll be this look of utter disappointment on his face.'
Was he really so stupid that he believed that she didn't know all this? She'd been the one that had poured him into bed when he'd drunk too much and had cuddled him when he'd cried. Endless things she could say if she had the time, but she didn't. Blackmail was an ugly word, emotional or otherwise. Was she turning into her father? It certainly felt like it. Did it matter, no it bloody well didn't. Because Graham could hardly refuse, could he? Not when the boy's case was already packed and their birthday presents were in the car.
'Well as sad as that might be, you're going to have to try Graham,' she told him, moderating the tone, whilst still sticking to her guns. 'Because if you don't, your nephews are going to have to walk to Suffolk and we both know that that's not going to happen. Your choice. Take it or leave it Graham. Now I'm going to make us both a cup of tea, while you get yourself upstairs and decide what you're going to take with you.'
.
'It'll be lovely, just the boys and us on our own.' Ruth told Harry, watching as the expression on his face changed when he put the phone down. Whether or not it was true, Ruth didn't know at this stage, but Catherine had told Harry that her husband Peter had got some unexpected leave from his work and wanted to take her away for a couple of nights. The one thing she was certain about, was that it wouldn't be Catherine who would be bringing the boys.
'Please Dad,' Catherine had pleaded, buying into the plan that she and Ruth had contrived. Knowing full well that he'd say yes, having just read Ruth's latest message. Before adding, 'that her mother had been more than willing to have them, but that she saw them all the time.' Failing to mention that she'd already packed their toys. And more importantly, that it would be Graham who was bringing them. She just had to work out the logistics and make sure that Graham didn't change his mind by the morning.
A morning when it wasn't raining, after a night when Harry had slept intermittently. Had he known that he'd be reunited with his son in less than five hours, he probably wouldn't have gone to bed at all. As it was, when Ruth woke up at seven, to an empty bed and with the sound of the radio on downstairs, she couldn't help but smile. She re read Catherine's message. All sorted. Boys excited. Graham still a bit fragile. Ring me if you need rescuing. Love C xx
Apart from the postman or the occasional delivery van, only Mo and the vicar had been to visit them. That wasn't to say that they'd kept themselves to themselves. Contrary to Ruth's belief, that they'd struggle to communicate with the neighbours, they'd settled in to village life well. The bad weather had brought the able bodied in the village out in force and that had included them. On one particularly bad morning when the power had gone down, she and Harry had been asked if they'd man the pub and serve coffee, while Mo delivered meals to those who were stuck at home. It had gone on from there. Including a very loud and enjoyable New Year's Eve party. Which meant that when Graham called at the pub to ask the directions to where they lived, he was guaranteed a warm welcome. That his Dad and Ruth were lovely and a real asset to the village, meant that by extension, he had to be as well. As Mo told him enthusiastically, as only Mo could,'that he was the image of his Dad and that he had to make sure that he came to see her again before he went home.' Something that he'd promised he'd do.
The crunch on the gravel when he parked up and the squeals from behind him, gave him no option other than to climb out of the car. He'd been fine until he'd driven into the village, when his nerves had got the better of him and he'd missed the turning.
At least he had some warning, which Harry didn't, which meant that when he watched him reaching into the car, he presumed that it was his son in law who was releasing the boys from their seats. Until in an explosion of excitement, and what looked to be in slow motion, Harry came face to face with his son.
Ruth had been waiting in the wings, trying to stay calm. Which had worked until she heard the car arrive. Please god let it be alright she was thinking as she held back for a moment, before following Harry outside. The realisation that she'd be meeting Graham for the first time, suddenly more daunting than she'd imagined. That and there was a tableau standing in front of her. Harry and Graham wrapped together in a warm embrace, with the boys as they had been the first time that she'd seen, except this time, wrapped around two sets of adult legs. With Tom announcing as though they didn't already know, that he and his brother, were going to be four at the weekend.
Clutching at straws, she resorted to the tried and tested. It was by no means warm and the waves of emotion that were building, as Graham's shoulder's shook uncontrollably, meant that she needed to act.
'Hot chocolate and a biscuit,' she called out to the boys, reluctantly turning her back on Harry and Graham, who still hadn't moved an inch.
Wanting to give them as much time and space as they needed, hadn't been easy, but she'd contrived games that had kept the boys occupied for the best part of the day. An early evening meal had been followed by bath time, an experience in itself. As she'd ensured that at least some of the water stayed in the bath tub, while they played a game that involved sinking a battleship. Then tucking them up in bed and telling them a story. A concept so alien to anything that she'd ever done before, but she'd really enjoyed. By which time she'd been so tired, that having made herself a warm drink and after a quick goodnight to Harry and Graham, she'd taken herself off to bed. What better to do than to read her most precious possession, one of the few things that had survived the move. The house had just felt so full of love that she'd ended up almost crying herself to sleep as the tears had arrived unbidden. What time Harry had come to bed she had no idea. What had happened she hadn't asked him yet. He'd tell her in his own time.
The following morning.
'Five more minutes, they're not even awake yet,' Harry whispered. The clock said half past seven, Ruth was still wrapped around him and he was so comfortable and warm. On any other day, he'd have stayed there, but with Graham sleeping in the spare room at the end of the landing and the twins next door, what he wanted, wasn't going to happen. What replaced it, was a revised version of the red flash that had once alerted them to trouble on far too many occasions. The boys. Their mother wasn't there to say no was she, and grandpa was a pushover. Ruth had been added to the short list of people that they really liked, having helped them build a fort in the sandpit, taken them for a long walk, cooked beans on toast for their tea which was their favourite, and then read them their bedtime story. So why would they think there was a reason that they shouldn't go in and say good morning, or in this case disturb their early morning kiss.
Again, with assassin like precision, they'd also devised a secret plan. One that would involve them searching his and Ruth's bedroom for their birthday presents. Because with the grown-ups still asleep, they'd already searched every other room in the house and found nothing. Not that they were able to reach up very high and knew that they weren't allowed to climb on chairs. Grandpa might be a pushover, one that they loved to bits, but he could be fierce as well. They'd heard him use a naughty word once when he'd stubbed his toe on a door, and they didn't want him to be fierce with them if they jumped on him. A pincer movement from either side of the bed, was what they'd decided on. Only to discover that Ruth knew naughty words as well, when Michael kneed her in the small of her back.
'Are we having a party? Can you make us a cake? Will it be a chocolate one? Were questions that were being delivered to Ruth during breakfast. Ruth their new best friend, who was still trying to recover from the effects of the previous day, was aware that her ability to make a cake, rather depended on her finding a recipe, or better still would involve a quick dash to Marks and Spencer's. Who at Christmas, had sold a Harry the Hedgehog chocolate cake, amongst its other named products. Which of course the Harry she was married to, had eaten with gusto. In the bath together. Combined with several glasses of white wine and several toppings up of the hot water, as the evening had progressed into a sex fest. An occasion that was seared into both their minds, never to be forgotten. The fact that the same Harry was mouthing 'yes please' with a smouldering look from across the table, was playing hell with her ability to breathe, or answer any of the twin's questions.
Something that had the same effect on Harry, was a call later in the day from Catherine, to apologise to her Dad for the deception and to tell him, that if the boys were pestering him and Ruth about presents, then a trip out somewhere would be lovely. At which point Harry realised that he had been well and truly played, not only by his daughter, but by his wife. That the two women in his life, had far more control over him than he had over them and the promise of a shower together later by Ruth, had been her way of saying sorry, and not to save water as she'd suggested. He of course would have preferred a re-run of the bath night, but then he couldn't have everything could he? Not at the moment anyway.
.
Any thought that Graham might have had, that it would be a long drawn out struggle to overcome the fears that he'd carried for so long, had started to be dispelled the previous evening. That much he did remember. He'd drunk far too much he knew that, but he had no recollection of what he'd actually said. That and having no idea as to how he'd got to bed. Which meant that when he woke to see the light streaming through the window, he had no idea what the time was. In addition to a marching band that was practising inside his head, he could see his Dad sitting on the chair in his room watching him. Until now, neither of them had been very forthright or tactile and certainly not with each other. That though was about to change, when his Dad stood up and placed a cup of coffee bedside his bed. Then through the blur, he heard his Dad tell him that he loved him, before he kissed him on the forehead.
When he woke up again, he still felt like something the dog had dragged in. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, confirmed that he also looked like it. After a shower and a shave, he came downstairs to find Ruth alone in kitchen. Outside the window, he could hear as well as see his Dad and the boys in the garden, down near his workshop. Everything looked and felt so welcoming. A scene that was filled with love and had a sense of normality about it. Something he'd craved for as long as her could remember.
Toast?' Ruth offered, breaking into his train of thought, as he stood back uncertain as to what to do next. Speaking in a voice that suggested that she was used to him being there and that she'd known him for years. Nodding to him to sit down as she switched on the kettle. The mental isolation that he'd subjected himself too, lifting even further, when she turned to look at him. The depth of her smile, enveloping him like a warm blanket. Questions, there were so many questions that he wanted to ask her, but not yet.
Catherine had woken up in an empty house. As always with Peter's messages, the sorry had been prefixed by - it's not possible, there's an emergency. She'd got used to the isolation, but it was the physical contact that she still struggled to cope with. The boys had in their small way helped, but it had been the reconciliation with her Dad that had saved her. There was no point in her calling him, because he'd say yes, whatever was happening around him. It was Ruth that she needed to speak to.
'Could she make a chocolate cake?' Ruth asked her.
'No she couldn't. But she could certainly buy one on the way.' It was one day and counting.
.
The Heritage Railway at Wells next the Sea was doing very good business. As was the café, which was teeming with children of all ages and several sets of overwrought parents. The over spill, or in this case by choice, Harry, Ruth and the family were enjoying fish and chips at one of the tables outside. An inspired choice that they should come here, had been because Harry and Graham had gone to the pub one evening and had picked up a leaflet designed for tourists. The train that had carried them from one end of the line to the other, wasn't Thomas or Henry or James, but that hadn't stopped the boys imagining that it was. They'd settled on Henry, because it was green. From where Harry was sitting, it was the sheer joy on the boys faces that was overwhelming him. That and because Graham had asked Ruth rather than him, if they'd mind him staying on for a while, after Catherine and the boys had gone home. That he didn't want to be a burden on Catherine any longer, and if he was going to find work, then he had a better chance of doing so in Suffolk. That Mo had offered him a room at the pub, in exchange for full time help and that she'd pay him enough to keep him going.
On the other side of the table, Ruth as she always did, had just caught his eye. Two minds with but a single thought. As it had always been, they knew what the other was thinking. Frozen in one of their special moments, as hazel locked with blue, they were breathing as one. Except that this time, it wasn't passing unnoticed. They had an audience. Harry's two children. That their Dad was happy. Happier than he'd ever been, was something they'd discussed. That it was almost entirely down to Ruth and how much she and he loved and looked after each other, was a given.
That Ruth and their Dad had and told them both, that they completed the circle was a bonus.
