Late March 2010 – The Grid – afternoon:
There are times when all is quiet, when only the hum of lights and hard drives disturbs the silence within the vast open space of the Grid. Ruth finds such sounds comforting, like a mother's heartbeat. She glances around her to find Tariq Masood the only familiar face from the senior team, his dark eyes focused on the twin screens in front of him, while behind him a team of five more technicians is each similarly occupied at their own desks. Ruth spends a moment watching the members of Tariq's team, the reflected light from their monitors casting grey and white shadows across their faces. These are the sights and sounds of her working environment. These are the signs that her world is exactly as it should be.
Glancing towards Harry's office she knows it will be in darkness. In early afternoon he had left in a hurry, not even stopping to let her know where he was headed, and how long he planned to be gone. Not that Harry needs to answer to her, because he doesn't, but she'd like to know all the same. Despite their struggle to reconnect after her return, followed by the death of Ros, and how distressed this had left Harry, even in the shadow of such adversity, their closeness has endured .. almost.
Maybe Tariq has been included in Harry's loop.
"Ruth?" Speak of the devil.
"Tariq," she answers, lifting her face to offer him a wide smile.
Tariq is a man who appears uncomfortable when away from his desk, the proverbial fish out off water. "I found this folder tucked between some paperwork of my own." To illustrate, he lifts a manila folder inside which around thirty loose pages are stuffed. "It's … Ros left it on my desk … ages ago ..."
Ruth understands. Ros has been dead only six weeks, so any open mention of her is still painful for them all. Tariq is clearly uncomfortable with talk of death, but then, who isn't?
"You want me to what … file it away in the basement with the rest of her paperwork?"
Tariq moves self-consciously from one foot to the other, not quite meeting Ruth's gaze. "I thought that seeing Ros and Harry were … close … he might like to have this. It's work related, but it's also .. a bit … personal." He then looks Ruth squarely in the eye. "Not that I've read it all. I just had a quick browse through it."
It's personal? Maybe Ruth needs to check the file for herself.
"And you can't give it to him yourself?" Ruth asks, perhaps a little too sharply. The very last role she needs is that of go-between for Tariq and Harry.
"I thought .. seeing that you and Harry work closely .." Tariq is clearly ill at ease, his eyes not quite meeting hers.
"You thought it might be kinder were I to give this to Harry."
Tariq's shoulders visibly relax, and he carefully places the folder on the very far corner of her desk. "Yeah. That was my thinking. He might want to .. lock it away somewhere once he gets back from North London."
"North London?" Ruth's words come out in a squeak. "What's he doing in North London?"
"Didn't he tell you?" Ruth shakes her head. "The Imam at the Finsbury Park mosque requested a meeting. Something about some dodgy new member wannabes."
Ruth nods, but deep inside herself she is annoyed – very annoyed – that Harry had not thought this visit to North London important enough to share with her, with her being his senior analyst and all.
"Isn't that the place they closed down because the previous Imam supported and encouraged radical activities?"
Tariq nods. "Back in 2003, yeah. But it's been open a few years now, and the new Imam is a moderate. He wanted to discuss something face to face with Harry."
"You seem to know a lot about this mosque, Tariq."
Tariq smiles a twisted half-smile. "Not really. I'm not exactly a practising Muslim, but I go through the motions ... for my family's sake. Harry told me about his meeting with the Imam when he phoned me … just before he left."
"He phoned you?"
"Actually," Tariq says apologetically, "he phoned me about something else, a job he wanted done before I go home, and then, as an aside, he told me that he was going out, and was unlikely to be back until six or so." Ruth checks the clock on her monitor. It is almost five-fifteen. "And I have a dinner thingy with my family tonight, and if I'm late my Nanni - my grandmother - will chew my ear about it." He offers Ruth an uneven smile. "She still thinks I'm a kid," he adds.
And he quickly leaves, having left Ros's folder on her desk. While Ruth is curious about its contents, she also respects the privacy of the folder's creator. Surely the dead deserve the same level of respect as the living. She moves her attention to her monitor, where she has been summarising her findings from a search she'd been doing on Mandarin-speaking academics in the UK. The only surprise for her has been the sheer number of them. Soon she is once more lost inside her task, her irritation with Harry forgotten.
The Grid – later:
While deeply involved in her work, time passes quickly for Ruth. When again she lifts her head to survey the space around her, well over an hour has passed, and Harry's office light is on, although the blinds are closed. Perhaps his meeting with the Imam had not gone well. It is as she watches the closed blinds, willing him to open them, that they snap open. Harry stands to one side, his eyes on her. Ruth holds those eyes with her own, although he is too far away for her to accurately read his mood. While Harry is a man of fluctuating moods, during the last six weeks his mood has regularly swung between morose and unreachable. Ruth is almost sure she's not seen him smile since before Ros had died. And then there had been that other … incident.
Suddenly Harry's office door opens, and he stands there, watching Ruth. Seeing the slight jerk of his head towards the interior of his office, she knows she is being summoned. She has a good mind to ignore him, and his rude summons, but she knows him well enough to recognise that when in distress Harry has few coping mechanisms. Temporarily forgetting the file Tariq had delivered, Ruth pushes back her chair and stands, opting to visit Harry without her usual props of paper and pen.
"Sit down, Ruth," Harry says, barely looking at her, but indicating one of the chairs across his desk from his own. "I have a job for you."
She sits, thinking, as if I don't have enough to do already, but she keeps that thought to herself. "Tariq told me where you've been," she says, just to break the silence, "and who you were meeting."
Once Harry sits, he leans back in his chair, watching her. His attention is disconcerting, but Ruth is determined to not be the first to break eye contact.
For once her bloody-mindedness pays off, as Harry is the first to drop his eyes. "Today I met with Ahmaad Anas Radwan," he says quietly, shuffling through some papers on his desk before he finds a manila envelope, which he then lifts before again placing it on his desk. "Inside this envelope are the names, addresses, and proof of ID of five men who have applied to join the mosque in the past eighteen months. The Imam has asked me to have these men investigated … discreetly."
Of course discreetly. What does he expect? That she'll begin by putting in a call to their mums?
"Why these men?" she asks. "Surely many people are showing an interest in Islam these days, even if only out of natural curiosity."
"The North London Mosque was closed for a time. It re-opened five years ago under the leadership of the current Imam." Harry smiles briefly before rubbing his nose. "Ironically this man bears a remarkable physical resemblance to Osama Bin Laden, but there the resemblance ends. It appears he is a man of peace, and wishes his mosque to remain that way."
"So why does he suspect these five men?" she asks, nodding towards the manila envelope on his desk.
"None of them look right to the Imam. His words to me were that none of them fit the usual profile of people seeking conversion to Islam. He said they appear out of place, but he has no way of knowing whether they knew one another before approaching the mosque, and whether their presence is part of some wider plan."
"And he wishes to avoid trouble."
Harry nods. "Exactly. If anything began within the walls of that mosque, the wider community would call for its permanent closure. People have very long memories."
"So you want me to delve into these men's lives, and see if they are connected in any way."
Harry nods his gratitude. "That would be a good starting point, but you can wait until next week to begin. In the meantime ..." and he lifts the envelope, "I'll lock these in the bottom drawer of my desk. Perhaps you can begin searching on -"
"I won't be free to spend time on it until Tuesday at the earliest," she says quickly. She could probably begin tomorrow – Friday – but for reasons she can't clearly explain, even to herself, she is irritated with Harry. She accepts he is her boss, and so has a right to give her work and accompanying deadlines, but that doesn't excuse his presuming she'll just drop everything when he snaps his fingers.
"That's fine, Ruth," he answers gently, before leaning down to open the locked drawer, and then sliding the envelope inside before re-locking it. "The Imam just wants to avert the possibility of these men seeking conversion for nefarious reasons."
"Of course," she says, feeling a little bad for her harsh thoughts about Harry. To her eyes he looks tired, and his tie is a little askew. Harry really needs someone in his life, someone to care enough about him to suggest he take a few hours away from work, to straighten his tie, to eat something other than sandwiches from the canteen, to drink something other than coffee and whiskey. She could do that for him, but she hasn't the right. In fact, she'd forfeited that right six weeks ago, on the day of Ros's funeral. She can't be thinking this way. There is no point in her thinking this way. Her contemplating caring for Harry, sending him home for a rest, offering to cook him a meal, rubbing his shoulders when he is stressed, these are thoughts which will only lead them both to experiencing unnecessary pain.
"If that's all ..." Ruth says briskly, "I still have ..." and she quickly stands and hurries to the door, leaving the office without checking with Harry, who remains seated, staring at her back as she bustles across the Grid floor to her desk.
Ruth has only just calmed herself to the point where she is once again able to concentrate on her work when she senses a presence approaching. She looks up to find Harry striding towards her, his jaw set.
"There was something else," he says, as though their conversation from fifteen minutes earlier had occurred only seconds before. Harry stands beside her desk, the fingers of one hand resting on top of the folder left there by Tariq. When she lifts her gaze to his face Ruth is surprised to see a rare openness in his expression. "I've been wanting to talk to you for some time, but the time never seemed quite right." He's certainly right there, she thinks. Harry's timing, in particular, has been deplorable. "I feel that I owe you an apology … for my behaviour six weeks ago. My -"
"It's alright, Harry," she says quickly, "There's no -"
"It's not alright .. not now, and not then. I took you by surprise, and that wasn't fair to you, and it wasn't at all fair to us."
Us? What is he talking about? There's an us? But of course there's an us. There's been an us since we shared that one dinner. Perhaps there will always be an us … were she ever to allow herself to take that giant leap of faith.
"Ruth? Are you alright?"
Ruth glances across her desk to where Harry is about to perch his backside on the the corner of the desk. Ruth has only opened her mouth to warn him about Ros's folder when the folder slides off the desk, spilling its contents across the floor.
"God, sorry," Harry says, bending to grasp the various sheets of loose-leaf paper.
Ruth is momentarily stunned by the sight of Harry gathering the papers before she hurries around her desk to join him. "It's alright," she says, grabbing some of the sheets which have floated as far as the desk adjacent to her own. "It's not my folder anyway."
By this time Ruth is kneeling beside Harry, their shoulders almost touching. When he still hasn't answered her, Ruth turns towards Harry to find him staring at one of the sheets he holds between his fingers. "This is Ros's writing," he says quietly. "She was working on this way back …" Then he turns towards her. "Where did you find this?" he asks. "I thought she must have destroyed it, or perhaps she'd never started it in the first place."
"Tariq brought it to me earlier today. It had got lost among some of his folders, so he thought I could hand it on to you."
Harry is staring at her, his eyes darkly incandescent, his gaze intimate. "Do you know what this is?" he asks, the sheet of paper still between his fingers.
"Without reading it – and I haven't – how could I possibly know?"
Harry ignores her question. As he gets to his feet she hears the clicking of one of his knees. She thinks of offering him a hand up, but keeps that thought to herself. By the time she returns to her own chair Harry has rolled a spare chair from the adjacent desk so that he can sit in comfort, and avoid further disturbing her desktop.
"This document is dated August 2008," he says lifting the one sheet of paper which had been responsible for his change in mood. "These pages," Harry continues, glancing at the folder on the desk beside him, "are evidence of Ros having done a deep search of her own." He swallows before continuing, his eyes on the paper. "She'd said something to me about wanting to search for you, and that it had been unfair to leave you in exile – in limbo – when the reasons for you having to leave no longer existed." He lifts his eyes to her, and she can read the depth of emotion in them. "She only mentioned it the once, and I'd believed she hadn't gone ahead with it. She was under quite a strain at the time, so I just assumed ..."
"But she did," Ruth says flatly, her eyes still holding Harry's. He nods slowly. "But … why? She didn't especially like me, or .. approve of me."
"What she didn't approve of, Ruth, was my interest in you. In her mind that rendered me vulnerable, and a vulnerable section head is a liability. In a way she was right about that."
"But she searched for me anyway," Ruth breathes, before dropping her gaze.
Harry lifts the paper he holds between his fingers. "This whole thing, this … document, or series of documents .. is written in her own hand, leaving no possibility for evidence to remain on her hard drive. She must have conducted her searches from home."
For a long moment they sit in silence, each contemplating the impossible idea that Ros Myers had spent precious hours of her own time searching for Ruth's whereabouts.
"I missed you so much," Harry says at last, his voice barely more than a whisper. "It was as though, having waited so many years to meet someone I … cared enough about to … and then when you were so cruelly snatched away it almost broke me .. inside. Ros knew that. She might not have approved, but over time I suspect she understood what I'd lost, so she ..."
"- attempted to make amends."
Once more Harry lifts his eyes to hers, and while Ruth hardly feels worthy of this man's devotion, nor is she about to again throw it back in his face. In that moment she knows that she has been waiting all her life for someone like Harry – someone steadfast in their love for her, someone whose head will not be turned by a beautiful face, or a pair of long legs. Harry might look at such women, but he won't touch. He'll have no need to, because she will be beside him. And she will remain by his side, no matter what. She must.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Harry says at last.
This time it is Ruth who swallows, but her gaze doesn't waver. "If you're thinking that we've already wasted so much precious time, when … we could have been together, then yes."
Harry nods slowly before sliding the sheet of paper covered in Ros Myers' untidy scrawl into the folder. "This is going in my safe at home," he says.
"Harry ..." Ruth says, not wanting to be the one to make the first move, but knowing one of them has to, "can we perhaps … do something together .. tonight?" Before one of us changes our mind, is left unspoken.
Harry's face relaxes in a smile. "Like sharing a meal, or something … raunchier?"
"I suspect we're both too tired for … the raunchy thing, but I'm hungry, and I'm sure you must be."
Harry stands, and grasping the folder in his left hand he reaches out to Ruth with his right. "A meal it is then."
Ruth takes his hand, and finding it warm and comforting, she moves to stand beside him, all the while watching his face. When he leans down to place a quick kiss on her lips she doesn't object or pull away. The kiss is brief, but his lips are soft and warm, and very welcome.
"I have one proviso," she says, watching him as he watches her.
"And that is?"
"That you don't ever again ask me to marry you."
His smile is broad, as though he has already shucked off the grief which had plagued him since Ros had died. "Not ever? What is your objection to marriage?"
"I have no objection to it as such. It's just that I don't think I'd be very good at it."
"None of us are terribly good at it," he murmurs, "but better to try than to give up before you've even make an attempt. How about I don't mention it again, but you can bring it up if you wish."
This time it is Ruth who smiles widely. "Deal," she says, and this time it is she who reaches up to place a quick kiss on his lips.
They walk together across the Grid floor to Harry's office. "Do you think she's watching over us?" Ruth asks, once Harry grabs his coat and his phone, then turns off the lights, and locks the door behind them.
"Who? Ros?" he asks, turning to face her. Ruth nods. "I have no doubt. Ros was always one for having the last word."
As they head towards the doors Ruth slides her hand into the crook of Harry's elbow. It is such a natural act, and it feels right to her. They belong together ... like this. How hadn't she seen it earlier? Why had she even contemplated spending her life with George? Because he was safe. And predictable. And he didn't ask questions. Harry, on the other hand, is a challenge. And he's never ever predictable. And he will ask questions of her until she begs him to stop. As she will of him. And that is the way it will be for them.
How had Ros Myers known this about them? What is even more important is how had Ruth not known?
"You alright, Ruth?" Harry murmurs, glancing down at her as they stand together waiting for the lift.
She smiles into his eyes. "I'm more than alright," she answers, along with a squeeze of his arm.
Harry's lips soften in a smile before the lift door opens, and they step together into the empty lift.