The benefits of living in what is undeniably a small house, when the builder rings to say he's had a last- minute cancellation so would like to start in morning, is that they're not faced with too many rooms to seal off. Decamping into what is their kitchen diner, complete with a double mattress which they've dragged down the stairs and into the adjoining lounge and Ruth and Harry are pretty much ready to go. With the added advantage that because they've virtually no warning, they haven't had time to panic.

Helped in no small way, because not only has Wes started school, but he's told them that he's happy and has made loads of friends. Most of whom are not only members of the on the water club, but play table tennis and chess. Which in the case of the latter takes place in the evening after prep and means that the deadline which allows pupils in lower school to make phone calls home, other than in an emergency, has reduced his recent calls to no more than a few words. Something which has reassured them that barring emergencies, in which case it will be Mr. Nichols that they'll be hearing from, that until Friday afternoon when one or both of them pick him up, life as it has been since they dropped him off is still pretty much theirs to enjoy.

Whether having the house or at least the upstairs turned into a building site rates as newsworthy, has been tempered by the knowledge that despite living in a road where virtually everyone knows everyone else, this appears to be nowhere near as interesting as the day when he and Wes had turned up and in his case with more expectations than he thought he deserved. To the extent that when Southwold's very own version of Malcolm and Colin, with enough equipment to suggest that the house is in for a complete makeover turn up, it's only their elderly neighbour from next door who peeps through his curtains.

Reminiscent of the day when Angela Wells ordered a spot lockdown. When the couple in question, had failed miserably to keep their valid attempts to emulate the escape from Colditz under wraps. The cutting blade of the guillotine being the only exception, until the grid walls had started to vibrate. Something that neither of them want to happen now or at any time in the future. Which they assume the white haired and very sweet Mr. Willis, who has taken up residence by his window is thinking. Mr Willis waves. Ruth waves back and makes a mental note to invite him for tea once things settle down.

Things take a further upturn, at least in Harry's mind, when Al as he introduces himself, doesn't call him mate or Ruth luv when he shakes his hand and thanks him. Something which also applies to his brother Sam, when he refuses Ruth's offer of a cup of tea, because 'they want to crack on.'

A statement which leaves the couple in question in two minds as to what they should do now. As opposed to the previous two weeks, when the only times they've left the house, have been to go for their early morning walks on the beach or when they've pottered about in the garden. A garden where the early spring bulbs are beginning to add some additional colour. While they themselves have been making up for the time that has been lost to them and because Angela who is working again, at what is the start of another busy financial year for her, has been conspicuous by her absence.

'We'll leave you to it then, you've got my number,' Harry tells Al, who is already covering the stairs with very heavy-duty plastic sheets. Gaining him another tick, on the mental check list that Harry is visualising when it comes to how their property should be treated.

Which in an hour's time and having followed Ruth's directions, gives her the first chance to speak after what has been a quiet journey.

'Angela brought me here, not long after I came home,' she tells him. Which explains why they're parked on the edge of the Wildfowl Trust owned area of the marshes. The sky almost as clear as it had been on that day. A day that in contrast to the way she's feeling now, which is that all is well with the world, had been as desolate as the expanse of land that is stretching out in front of them. Where the thousands of birds, oblivious to their presence, are either ducking and diving or creating what could be misconstrued as the tail end of a vapour trial from an aircraft.

'I agree it's beautiful,' Harry responds, reading her expression as he always has. But on this occasion, in the same way that Ruth no longer has the ache in her heart, Harry has moved on from the self-imposed restraints which had prevented him from telling her what's on his mind. Which is why and after he takes one last look at the view in front of him, he turns towards her and asks her the one question that has been niggling away at him, since the night she'd denied feeling unwell, 'are you pregnant Ruth?'

That Ruth is not only shocked, but can't find the words to answer his question, during what in all honesty is more than a minute of pure emotion, sees her finally arriving at two conclusions. Both based on the expression on Harry's face. Firstly, that if she is, he'll be pleased and secondly and for the first time ever in all the time that she's known him, he's worried that he's overstepped the mark, by suggesting that she hasn't told him something that if it were true, will without doubt change their lives forever.

Thoughts as how to respond to what he's said, briefly interrupted when he asks her again. But this time, so quietly that had they been anywhere other than sitting in a car in the middle of nowhere, she probably wouldn't have heard him. Which she can only presume means that her lack of a reply has led him to believe she is and as a result, sees her telling the man who is sitting alongside her, something that doesn't even to her own ears sound plausible.

'No, I'm not Harry, but if that's what you truly want, then I think we need to talk about it.'

'Over dinner tonight- in a restaurant,' he suggests so quickly that she's taken by surprise. As she is by his expression, which is one of expectation. Which now leads her to believe that this isn't a spur of the moment thought. Which certainly goes some way to explaining the strong bond he's developed with Wes, as opposed to the one he has with his own children.

And if that's not enough to confirm that she's made the right decision by suggesting that they need to talk about this, then there's the memory of a conversation she'd had with Malcolm to draw on. Which amongst the many things that he told her, when she'd asked him to describe his visit to Paris, which he'd done at great length, had been to suggest that everyone on the grid had seen here as some sort of mother figure. Implying, although she'd dismissed it at the time as being of little relevance now, that there had been something about her which had set her apart from the others and in Harry's case, not just because he was in love with her. Love which he'd described as creeping up on him without any means to stop it.

Well, she knows how that feels doesn't she. Which means that however small the chance might be for her and Harry to have a child of their own, that to refuse to see it in the same way he does, would be unfair. Notwithstanding, the interrupted nights, changing nappies and coping with a baby who will progress to being a toddler. One who if he looks and behaves like Harry, will be hard to keep a rein on. Not that they'll be able to choose whether it's a boy or a girl, but even so, is the reason that she says yes to his suggestion of dinner. That and because the house will already be in mess she tells herself.

.

The Royal Oak. A small pub named after one of the ships that had set sail hundreds of years ago from the very same shoreline, is when compared to the restaurant where Harry had taken her on an evening when everything had seemed possible, only to crumble at the hands of Oliver Mace, intimate and welcoming. Somewhere that couples go rather than families. Which is why Harry has chosen it. Not only because he plans to open his heart to the full without beating about the bush, but he wants it to be somewhere where a delicate conversation such as this will invariably be, will go unheard. Whilst at the same time, accepting that he mustn't assume that he'll get the answer, or in this case answers that he wants. Despite being encouraged because Ruth hadn't shot him down in flames when he'd suggested she was pregnant.

Questions, which during the time they'd been getting ready to go out. When he'd thought she'd looked more beautiful than ever, but had kept to himself, he'd steered towards the renovation and how long they thought it would take for the work to be completed. A conversation that despite the top floor looking like a battlefield, albeit an organised one, had managed to keep the conversation light hearted. Almost to the point where they'd behaved like a couple of teenagers on their first date. Trying but failing to ignore, the multiples that the evening might offer.

Not so now, when they're sitting opposite each other at a table by the window. With an open fire which is burning in the grate, casting shadows on the window panes. Dancing a dance, which had they not been looking at each other with an intensity that is palpable, they'd know was encouraging them to be open and honest.

As is the owner, who having always prided himself as being discreet, is waiting in the wings. Poised to take their order now he's poured them both a glass of white wine. Having been told by the man to give them a few moments. That he'll give him the nod. He knows as he looks across at the couple who are gazing into each other's eyes, that he won't be called any time soon and when the man starts to speak, he turns away and busies himself by rearranging glasses.

'Before you say anything Ruth, you're quite right and we do need to talk about this and I'm sorry I assumed, well you know,' Harry tells her. 'But before we do, I need you to understand how easy it was for me to say yes when Adam asked me if I'd be Wes's guardian, but when it came to coping, I became a fish out of water. We muddled along. Without any structure to our days is the best way to describe how it was. Until the day that we moved in with you, when everything changed and I do mean everything. People when they look at us Ruth see a family and that's because we behave like one. Even Wes's grandparents said as much.'

'I'm not disputing that Harry because I know it's true,' she says. 'But as you rightly say, everything changed and will again if we have a baby. I'm not saying we wouldn't be able to make it work, but we can't dismiss the impact it might have on Wes. Think how much of the time that we spend with him would have to be shared.'

'Putting to one side your concerns about Wes for the moment, which I promise you we'll return to later. That and the fact that I'm really hungry, so I think we ought to order, there's something else that I want to ask you. Ignoring that the fact that there will be times when I don't get it right, not only would I like us to have a child of our own Ruth, but I want to marry you? Not that I'm suggesting that the two are necessarily connected, other than I love you so much that I can't envisage a future that would be less than perfect if you say yes. Or do you have to give me your answers now.'

Babies, getting married, all in the same sentence. Ruth who normally processes at the speed of light, finds herself incapable of finding the words to tell the man who is now holding her hand, that him not always getting things right, is a positive, not a negative. That couples, at least the ones who survive the inevitable downs as well as ups that a long-standing relationship requires, make him perfect in her eyes, both as a husband and a father. That and she loves him, to the point that sometimes even the thought of spending the rest of their lives together makes her want to shout it to the heavens. Not that she's ever done it of course.

Nor is she able to tell him that the way he's looking at her, which suggests he thinks she's going to turn him down, has caused her younger self to return. The person who on her first day at Thames House, had burst into the meeting room spilling files. Before saying bugger the Home Office. Whereas now, on the tip of her tongue and given where they are, is something which will almost certainly get them thrown out is, 'let's just hit that mattress and start making babies.'

Instead when she's managed to compose herself, by which time Harry is sitting on the edge of his seat, she asks ask him, in a voice which she hopes leaves him in no doubt, 'in any particular order?'