He got to the end of the road before the urge to turn back became unbearable. He had seen her, watching as he left, the quilt wrapped around her body like a soft cocoon, the expression of devastation on her face that she had finally succeeded in pushing him away and he could well imagine the tears that glistened in her eyes, threatening to spill over if only her pride would allow it. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much that she refused to share anything with him; a large part of his brain said that Michael had been her past but he could have her future, if only he could stop pushing her to reveal details of things she'd prefer to keep hidden. Surely she was entitled to keep secrets and perhaps she was right when she said that if he truly loved her, her past would be unimportant and it wouldn't matter that she didn't want to share her most intimate secrets with him. But this was about more than simply her choosing not to tell him about her past – it was about the fact that she didn't trust him not to judge her on previous mistakes. Perhaps it was because Michael had taken her trust and abused it, breaking it until something pure and beautiful had become bitter and twisted. Now, it seemed, she no longer had any trust left to give, only bitter suspicions of anyone who tried to care for her. Worse still, she believed that talk of love was merely a tool employed by someone who wanted to take advantage of her and mislead her into trusting him. The first time Ric had mentioned that he loved her, she had bristled, leaping from the bed as if on fire and disappearing for hours. Even when she returned she had barely spoken to him and it had taken almost two weeks to repair the damage that had been done. A part of him was more than a little hurt by her reaction – for the first time in his life he had told a woman that he loved her because it was true, not because it was something that she needed to hear and she had reacted as if he had spoken an obscenity. Eventually she had apologised but he had never dared say those words again without a note of amusement in his voice. If she thought that he was joking, her reaction was considerably less extreme.

Spinning the car in a swift u-turn he began to drive back the way he came, speeding past all to familiar landmarks; the avenue of oak trees that lined her street, the pub on the corner where they spent Sunday lunchtimes when they ventured out of the house and the park where they would take a picnic on days when the whether permitted. It was like a road map of their relationship, showing all their regular haunts, each one loaded with memories, and at the end of it was the place where they spent the most time of all. Her house, the place that felt more like home to him than anywhere he'd ever lived before. It wasn't because it was luxuriously decorated, expensively furnished and had the novelty of working central heating, although all of these things helped. He loved it because it had her.

Alone in her bedroom she felt the tears trickle down her face as he disappeared from view. It no longer mattered if she cried openly – there was no one there to witness her tears which was exactly how she liked it. If there was one thing that she couldn't stand, it was releasing her emotions in front of an audience, even if it was just Ric, all though she had to admit that there was a certain downside. Without an audience there was rarely any comfort to be found when she broke down but then there wasn't always comfort when there was someone with her – on numerous occasions she had shed a quiet tear while Michael hovered beside her, an expression of absolute horror on his face and not the first idea of how to handle the situation and on other occasions, people mistakenly thought that the way to handle her tears was to pretend that she wasn't crying. There was no middle ground – even Ric hadn't yet worked out that when the tears started, what she really wanted was for someone to put their arms around her and tell her that it would be alright. Outside, she heard a bird, singing quietly in the oak tree that stood just beyond her bedroom window. Normally she liked the gentle sounds and smells of nature that travelled into her bedroom from the outside but today they felt intrusive so she reached out and shut the window, not for the first time thankful that Michael had insisted on double-glazing when they moved in.

The next pressing issue to deal with was the fact that she wasn't wearing any clothes. Ric didn't think she'd seen him looking up at her, seeing exactly what he was missing out on by running away and then deciding to leave anyway. Apparently the prospect of great sex didn't balance out the difficulties entailed in having sex with an emotional cripple. Muttering bitterly to herself about the injustices in the world and particularly the uselessness of the male of the species, she rooted through the wardrobe, searching for something suitable to wear. It being a Sunday her usual work attire of smart trousers and fitted tops seemed inappropriate and she didn't really do casual clothes. When she'd been married to Michael he liked her to dress smartly at all times – the first time he'd seen her in jeans he'd behaved like she'd walked out in the emperors new clothes and she'd never worn them again. After they divorced, she hadn't had a lot of call for casual clothes; she spent the entire day at the hospital and when she returned home she would go straight to bed in Michael's old pyjamas. Now with Ric there was even less call for clothes – they would come in on Friday night, strip before going to bed and not get dressed again until Monday morning when they came to go into work. Now though, her nakedness seemed utterly inappropriate, as did Michael's old pyjamas that had been festering in the bottom of the laundry bin since the day five months before when she'd bought Ric home from work with her and never looked back.

'What are you thinking?' a voice behind her made her jump and she wheeled around, pulling the duvet around her to cover her body as he surveyed her shock with amusement.

'What am I thinking? What are you thinking? You broke in' she hyperventilated quietly, the shock immediately replacing her tears with white rage.

'You gave me a key' he reminded her gently 'so I could come and go as I please during the weekend' he added, placing a gentle grip on her shoulders and steering her to the bed where he sat her, putting his arms around her, shocked to realise that she was trembling.

'You terrified me' she emitted a choked sob and buried her head against him 'you were so angry with me, it never occurred to me that you'd come back. Why couldn't you just ring the bell like a normal person?'

'I did' his brow furrowed slightly 'you wouldn't have heard me over your music' he added, reaching out and switching off the stereo turned up ridiculously loudly in a vain attempt to stop her feeling so alone in the vast house on her own.

'Why did you come back?' she asked eventually, pulling from him and gazing up into his face, a look of puzzlement playing across her features as she looked into his eyes 'I thought you'd finally seen sense and realised that you were wasting your time with me'

'I admit that you're more work than I anticipated' he admitted cautiously, reaching out to grip her wrist as she recoiled with hurt and anger 'but I think you're worth the effort'

'I'm flattered' she retorted bitterly, pulling away from him with an angry glare and finally selecting a t-shirt that she would normally wear for work and the long discarded jeans and pulling them on.

'But I'd like to know why you feel the need to be so defensive' he pressed gently, watching as her expression froze over with anger and her brow furrowed into deep trenches.

'This again?' there was a note of boredom and bitterness in her voice as she pushed past him, charging down the stairs and into the kitchen where she began to bang around, pulling out the wherewithal to make a salad for lunch 'It's getting really old, Ric'

'So talk to me' he pushed but he knew that it was useless. Once again, the legendary defences had gone up and, like with a physical barrier, he could no longer see the woman he loved. All he could see was the brittle and bitter woman who once intimidated him but he knew that beneath her harsh exterior there was another woman who just wanted to be loved.

'Talk about what?' she asked with a heavy sigh as she slammed two plates of mixed leaves, tomato and mozzarella on the table in front of them and immediately proceeded to pick at her food listlessly.

'Whatever you want?'

'Last nights TV' there was a note of irony in her voice – she knew that she was pushing him but now that her security was returning, she once again felt able to do so.

'You didn't watch any' he retorted with a smile as he called her bluff and her mouth fell open for a moment with surprise 'Tell me… tell me about your parents'

'Oh God, don't go all Freudian on me' she groaned dramatically and rolled her eyes as a single cherry tomato finally travelled between her lips and she chewed it thoughtfully, waiting for him to try again.

'I don't want to analyse how your parents fucked you up Connie' he sighed tiredly 'at this point I'd settle for knowing their names'

'Robert and Helen' she shrugged and he glanced up at her in shock – normally even asking her parents names would have resulted in a torrent of abuse and several weeks of no speakers. He certainly didn't expect her to tell him so easily.

'And where were you bought up?' he tried again, frowning slightly as she paused for a moment before replying;

'Small village in Essex' she told him wearily, suddenly seeming utterly defeated 'my mum died when I was seven and my dad remarried before my eighth birthday. Leah, my stepmother, was vicious and didn't like children. She especially didn't like snotty nosed eight year olds who were still getting over their mother's suicide…'

'Suicide?' he cut in, surprise evident in his voice 'I had no idea…'

'No, not many people do. Have you heard enough or do you want me to go on?' she enquired bitterly, clearly resenting every word that she spoke in a desperate attempt to pacify him and keep him beside her.

'Its up to you' he told her gently, taking her hand and running his finger across its palm affectionately 'I'm not going to push you…'

'Good' she snapped, her tones clipped as she began to nibble on a single leaf of spinach balanced on the end of her fork, desperately trying to disguise the flush that crept up her face. Here he was, so delighted that finally she had been enticed to confide something in him and yet he hadn't gained the small victory that he believed was his. If anything they were worse off – he had just forced her to tell him a lie.