There just isn't enough space to tie up all the loose ends for the characters involved, other than make this into one very long chapter, so I'm spreading into two with the conclusion next week.
Ruth, despite being tired, had been determined to stay awake until Harry had arrived home with Catherine. That was until he'd called and told her that the train had been delayed and she should go to bed, when she'd done just that. Not though before he'd promised her that he'd drive carefully, on what the weather forecaster had announced were going to be icy roads in areas away from the Devon coastline, or that he'd find himself a warm drink while he was waiting. She'd heard him chuckling at the other end, suggesting that he thought she was behaving like a mother hen. Following it up, by telling her that he loved and to sleep well, in a voice that suggested he knew why.
Now waking up the following morning, to find that at some time during the night he'd moved close enough that he was sharing her pillow, his body pressed against her, suggesting that had she been awake at the time they'd have had to settle for a cuddle. Sex being her preferred option and Harry's as well given where his left hand was. The problem being that she hadn't quite reached the stage where she felt able to cope with the knowing looks if Adam or Catherine heard them, not unless Harry could persuade her otherwise.
The chance to change her mind, interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. If it was Adam or Catherine then that was fine. But if it was Wes, upset or sleepwalking, something that she herself had done as a young child, then she knew that needed to get out of bed and investigate. Now rather than in a moment said the voice in her head, when she heard the front door open and then close. Berating herself for feeling reluctant, she disentangled herself from Harry, something that she managed to achieve without waking him up, climbed out of bed and felt her way across the room without turning on the light. Before donning her dressing gown and a pair of heavy socks. The shadowy figure that was climbing over the gate was certainly an adult, but without street lighting, it was impossible to tell which one of them it was.
Up now and awake and with one last glance at the sleeping figure who had rolled over so that he was occupying her side of the bed, she opened the bedroom door where the difference in temperature, told her that either she or Harry, she didn't know which, had succeeded in keeping the stove in overnight. The rest of the heating wasn't due to come on until six and as the radiator on the landing was still stone cold, it had to be earlier than that. Ignoring the temptation to go back to bed, she did what she always did when she woke up before Harry, which was to go downstairs into the kitchen and fill the kettle. Getting her head into gear had always required at least one cup of tea, so she reached for one of the mugs that were hanging on the dresser. One of the few pieces of furniture that they did intend keeping, because not only was it functional, but it looked the part. Before she padded over to the fridge and poured some milk into a jug. Only then remembering that it was Christmas Eve, one of Harrys favourite days of the year.
Armed with her tea and leaving the kitchen door slightly ajar, rather than close it and wake the rest of the household, she found her way along the passage that linked the two rooms which pretty much took up all of the downstairs. A movement in the corner when she opened the door, telling her that Scarlet was also awake.
'Morning old girl,' she said, adopting Harry's greeting to his dog who had climbed out of bed and pottered over to greet her, as she sipped her tea and then added a couple of logs to the fire. Bringing it back to life, sufficient that she could now see that the room was how she'd left it. The tree, such as it was, not as large as Harry would have liked, but beggars couldn't be choosers the man who'd they'd bought if from had said, because it had been a last-minute decision to buy one, still propped against the far wall. The cushions which she had a habit of plumping up before they went to bed, another thing that amused Harry, were just as she'd left them. Both of which told her that Harry and Catherine must have gone straight to bed when they'd arrived.
Reminding herself that she wasn't at work, so had to stop analysing every situation she found herself in, when less than eight hours ago, she'd told Adam to just let things crinkle out, wasn't easy. In fact, it was futile. Because under this roof and against all the odds, she and Harry had the potential to have everything that they had ever wanted in each other and in the short term, surrounded by the people that they loved. More than that, in order for her to stop behaving like a mother hen and keep her hands off Harry for the duration, she needed to find a pair of handcuffs.
'
It was less than twenty minutes later, by which time she'd gone back into the kitchen and was contemplating making herself some toast, when two other sets of footsteps announced the arrival of Catherine and Wes.
'Dad's gone for a run, he's always doing that,' explained the front door opening and closing. Wes then saying, 'I'm hungry,' delaying the getting to know you better conversation, which both she and Catherine knew they had to have.
Refraining from telling Wes that he ought to say please Auntie Ruth, or Ruth which she preferred, she opened the cupboard and listed the options.
Which gave Catherine the advantage, not only of listening, but to cast her eye over a sock clad Ruth who looked as ordinary as she was. As opposed to the type of woman that she'd imagined her father might have chosen to buy a house with.
Giving Ruth, who couldn't have two conversations at the same time, but could, without any effort, multi task, time to measure porridge oats and milk into a saucepan, at the same time as she was laying the table.
Finally breaking the silence by saying, 'Harry's still in bed,' before adding, 'I could do with some help with this, if that's OK?' A remark that was directed at Catherine, in an attempt to stop the smile that Harry's daughter was failing to hide. One that Ruth suspected, was because she'd said bed and Harry in the same sentence.
Which was why when Harry woke up to find an empty bed and headed downstairs with the intension of claiming his good morning kiss, he was temporarily out of luck. Instead, confronted by the sight of his would-be wife coming to terms with a range cooker and with the wonders of a cooked breakfast on offer, his daughter slicing mushrooms and Wes, shovelling porridge into his mouth.
.
It was mid-morning before Catherine got the chance to talk to her dad on his own. She'd watched him during breakfast and again when come downstairs having showered and dressed. Not quite able to believe how relaxed he'd looked on both occasions. Until Ruth had told her what she hadn't known, that he'd spent half of his life believing that he'd made mistakes and the other half regretting them. Both at work and at home and had answered the one question that had been uppermost in her mind without hesitation, when she'd asked her if she loved her dad? A question that she wasn't going to ask her dad, because it was obvious that he adored Ruth. But it was in her nature to know the whole story, which was why, despite the drop in temperature, she'd followed him outside.
'Years,' he told her, turning to face her when she asked him how long he'd known Ruth? Having greeted her with, 'hello love.'
'Three months, give or take,' he told her, when she'd asked him how long they'd been together?
What took you so long? was the obvious question, but for the moment she more interested in hearing why they'd bought a house in Devon?
Ruth having already told her that they were going to buy new furniture, but not whether they were going to use it as a holiday home or move here permanently?
'I have my reasons,' she said, when he asked her, 'what difference did it make?' Rather than telling him not to prevaricate, which was he default setting.
'Then it's the latter, but don't you dare say anything Catherine, not until I've discussed it with Ruth,' he told her, perhaps with more force than he intended and certainly not expecting her reaction, which was to hug him.
Because for the first time in her life, she had the assurance that her dad wasn't going to end up in getting himself killed in the line of duty. That when he did pass, hopefully peacefully and years from now, she wouldn't have to attend a funeral in some god forsaken government chosen location. Along with people who would talk about what he'd done for his country, without any consideration for the people that had known him all their lives and loved him, warts and all. Which now included Ruth, who not only loved him, but would look after him for her. Of that she was absolutely certain.
.
What remained of the day, passed without any further interrogation by Catherine who no longer felt she had to spend every waking moment with her dad. Instead, she rolled up her sleeves and while Ruth and Wes were making a start on decorating the tree, she went back out into the garden and with Adam's help, collected some holly. Holly which when it had been tied into bunches, she hung from the beams in both the kitchen and the hall. Giving the house not only a Christmassy feeling, but added colour where there wasn't any.
The presents were stacked under the tree, including of course Scarlet's new coat and a welcome present from Fidget to Ruth. A reminder that he was safe and well and spending his Christmas with Malcolm.
That done and with Ruth's beloved cushions flung to the far corners of the room to ensure that nobody tripped over them, the moment arrived when Wes was going to put Father Christmas on top of the tree. Angels had gone out of fashion and they'd run out of stars apparently.
Wes who was balancing precariously on a pair of steps with Catherine ready to catch him if he fell, announcing that the red coated figure in his hand, who was just about to have the top of the tree stuck where the sun didn't shine, 'looked like Uncle Harry.'
Ruth who had been letting them get on with it rather than interfere, agreeing because Wes looked so earnest and Catherine because she could remember a Christmas Eve, when Harry had crept into her bedroom wearing a suit that was an exact match. Before she helped Wes down, while Ruth headed into the kitchen to make everyone a drink.
Catherine recognising again, Ruth's ability to read a situation or maybe had eyes in the back of her head, when the front door opened and her father and Adam came in from the garden.
Catherine who had also been trying to imagine what sort of vision her dad and Ruth might have and what the house would look like when it was finished. Wanting to see it develop, not just be here at the finishing line. To have what Adam and Wes had with them. A relationship that would mean they wouldn't say no to some help from time to time. Because unlike her father's house in London, this already felt like a home. Somewhere she could come back to when she needed a cuddle. To be part of this new life they were creating. A question that would keep until after Christmas, when Adam and Wes had gone home.
.
Dinner was eaten around the fire and Wes got his wish to stay up late, by offering to help with the washing up.
But was close to midnight when Adam said, 'I really ought to go to bed.'
Catherine following him a few moments later saying, 'I'm tired, I'll see you both in the morning.'
'Tactical I suspect,' said Harry, nodding in the direction of the clock on the wall. Encouraging Ruth to walk over to the window, where he'd been gazing up at the night sky. Not that she needed any encouraging as it had been hours since they'd had any meaningful contact with each other. The second hand, ticking its way towards midnight and a kiss that said I love you with all my heart, just moments away.
.
Just because Harry had had his morning kiss at midnight and a cuddle that has led to more than was perhaps wise, but to hell with it, he'd said, didn't mean that he was going to miss out on a getting second one. This time in front of his daughter who was reacquainting herself with the routine of Christmas mornings as a child, by sitting on the floor with Wes who had the contents of his Christmas stocking spread around the room. While Ruth who had already put the turkey in the over, was buttering toast. Her fingers sticky and not wanting to smear butter on Harry's jumper, with no option but to raise her arms and kiss him back.
Which just left Adam who hadn't gone for his usual run. Instead, as the water from the shower eased the pain from having drunk too much the previous evening, he told Fiona that it was Christmas morning and Wes was downstairs creating havoc. That he still missed her and he always would. That he'd talked to both Ruth and Harry, who he knew would do anything to make things better and surprisingly before he'd gone to bed, to Catherine. Harry's daughter who he'd met on the landing and had suggested that they share a drink. Just a drink, she's nothing like you he told her. How Catherine had asked him what she was like? How much better that had made him feel, because he'd been able to talk about her as a wife and a mother and tell Catherine how her last words, had been to tell him to look after Wes. Without any mention of his job or discuss how she'd died. Despite Catherine knowing he was a spook. Wes and I are in Devon. Harry and Ruth have bought a house here, but then I've already told you that haven't I? He told her, bringing the conversation to an end as he reached for the towel to dry himself down.
It's Christmas and Wes needs to see you smile, he told himself, as he headed down the stairs with more positivity than perhaps was realistic. Determined to do his best for his son's sake.