Conventional, which is not an adjective that can be applied to Harry and Ruth, means that when the phone rings and it's Angus's dad, Harry suggests that he takes the call on the extension in their bedroom. About what hopes will be both good news about his mum and a lengthy enough conversation, that if he and Ruth don't get it right the first time, or the positive response that they're hoping for from Wes, they'll have time to try again.

Surprised maybe, happy definitely, when after Harry has told him without beating about the bush that he and Ruth are going to get married, Wes says, 'wow that's great.' Before he goes completely off-piste by asking him, 'does that mean I'll have a brother and a sister?'

'Indirectly yes,' Harry tells him. Once he's worked out that he's referring to Catherine and Graham. As opposed to wondering if Wes has overheard them and thinks that the harder you try the more likely you are to have twins.

'What does indirectly mean?' asks Wes, who had meant Harry's current children, but based on Harry saying they'll be his step brother and sister, brings Ruth into the conversation by asking, 'would it be different if you had a baby?'

'Well - yes,' says Harry, because Ruth's expression suggests that he's doing such a great job, that she doesn't need to get involved. Which she confirms by raising an eyebrow and with the hint of a smile, until Wes says, 'that's good because I know how babies are made. We've been doing it with Mrs. Nichols in sex ed classes.'

Save me now thinks Harry, visualising the woman with a baby on her hip who had offered them tea and cake in her sitting room. At the same time deciding that 'doing it' is the new way of saying we've been learning about. In the same way that Ruth is thinking please God don't let Wes say he's got pictures of men's genitalia on his tablet. Something that she can remember they'd had to draw in the days when she'd been a couple of years older than Wes is now. And in a coeducational class to boot. Causing most of the class to dissolve into fits of giggles. At a time when those who unlike her had ignored the warning that sex without protection or sex at all at such a young age shouldn't happen. Or that what her closest friend had described as fumbling, hadn't prevented two members of her year being expelled, for engaging in the practical side of their homework in the cupboard where the gym equipment had been stored.

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The mood changes to one of calm mixed with gratitude, on what is a beautiful sunny morning and when Harry and Ruth are as usual walking on the beach. The day ahead, holding as yet what they don't know, but more than anything, want it to be happy one for Wes. Who after the revelations of the previous evening, had not long after they'd turned in for the night, knocked on their bedroom door and asked if he could come in? With the pretext of wanting to have a proper look at Ruth's ring, he'd said, but as it had turned out had wanted a cuddle of reassurance because he'd thought he'd upset them. A request which had reminded Harry of the days after he'd brought him home from school after Adam had died. Recalling how Wes had clung to him, night after night. At the same time as he'd been having conversations in his head with Ruth. Despite not knowing where she was or maybe because of it, is something he's still working on.

The reality of which isn't lost on him now. As he pauses to pick up a couple of pebbles and by the time he's skimmed them across the top of water, Ruth has walked on ahead of him.

Something which causes an insane impulse from deep within him, to let her go even further. Until she's almost out of sight and therefore out of his reach. So that if he wants to catch her and when he does, throw her down onto the sand and make love to her, he'll have to run. A thought that makes him close his eyes and by the time he opens them again, having counted to the obligatory ten, Ruth has turned around and is facing him. With the backdrop of the sun rising behind her and as far as he can see, with a look of bemusement on her face.

A look which when they finally turn for home and he tells her what he's been thinking, changes. Despite her response of, 'once the weather warms up, and on an evening when we can guarantee that we'll have the beach to ourselves, then maybe,' she tells him. Both of which he knows are to keep him guessing. Despite being an upgrade from the mock indignation she usually displays, when he says something that borders on the fanciful. That and annoyingly, she's managing to keep a straight face, when he isn't.

Upgraded again, when 'we're making breakfast,' says Wes when they walk back into the house where there's a smell of fresh coffee brewing. His continuing desire to help on what is the morning of his birthday, not lost on either of them. Or that the postman who has yet to arrive, with what they hope will be a few more cards than were delivered yesterday is long overdue. While on the other side of the room, Angus is manfully stacking the last of the boxes to make some extra space. That and because Angela's car is parked in its usual spot, means that it won't be long before extra pair of hands arrives. Help from someone who unlike the boys, won't want to sample the food in advance of the party.

A party which after the first hour, Harry decides doesn't matter that he can't remember the name of the pompous man who is boring the socks off Ruth. Describing his import export business, to the extent that he assumes that she'll be interested in how many square metres of office space he owns and the number of staff who do exactly what he tells them to.

Or that his decision to bail her out, by suggesting that he needs her for a moment will be rude. Because the other parents are doing what he'd expected them to be doing. Relaxing in the garden and enjoying themselves with a glass of wine and something to eat. A garden which in all honesty needs sharp elbows to negotiate, but nobody seems to mind. Including the boys, who are occupying the only empty space on the grass, plotting what no longer cares. Because all that matters is that Wes who had earlier been surrounded by wrapping paper, is a child transformed. Part of group that little more than five months ago, he hadn't even met.

Turning his attention back to Ruth and in response to the look on his face which says, I'm coming to rescue you, 'you're going to have to excuse me in moment,' Ruth tells her verbal assailant. Who by the time Harry reaches her, is being subjected to the who's who, in the family of a man who via what route he hasn't yet told her, mean he's related to what Harry catches at the last minute and given Ruth's expression, suggests are people who were born with a title that demands a curtsey or a nod, should you be unlucky enough to meet them. In what Harry is imagining to be the local supermarket, if only to enable himself to remain civil.

Only to fine he's prevented from asking or better still leaving, because Mrs Hyphenated who answers to Astrantia is upstairs taking advantage of their facilities. Ones which don't have the gold taps and collection of art works, that grace what Miles is now describing to Ruth as their Country Residence near Sandringham. The sum total of which makes Harry wonder, why the boy whose turn it is to throw the dice, looks as ordinary and relaxed as the rest of Wes's friends, isn't wearing a crown?

Reprieved from Harry's yet to be voiced sarcasm, when towards the end of the afternoon and when Wes asks him if they, as in the boys can go down to the beach and play, by which time the tide has gone out, Miles of the double - barrelled variety, suggests a father and son game of cricket. Because who doesn't drive around with a set of stumps, bats and a bag of balls in the boot of his car? Thinks Harry. That and of course he loves cricket.

A game which only starts after Wes and Michael are voted opposing team captains and Angela and Ruth are roped in to replace the two absentee fathers. A game of ten overs a side which ends up a draw. But only because Harry who had been bowling and by prior agreement with one of other the fathers, having been given the wink, has dished up a ball that a baby could have hit which has been smashed for six into the sea.

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'It's been a wonderful party and thank you so much for inviting us,' says a mum called Sally, when she and Ruth whose hands are stinging having caught somebody out, are walking back to the house. Ruth who is still trying to piece together which child belongs to which of the parents, apart from Haughty junior, as well as bathing in the applause which had followed her catch. Before Sally adds, 'I think it's wonderful what you and Harry are doing,' and when Ruth doesn't answer says, 'adopting Wes.'

'We've known him for a long time, his parents were close friends of ours,' Ruth eventually tells her.

'Yes, I know, he told our David, but then we've all got tales to tell as parents, haven't we,' says Sally.

Not like the one that Harry and I have, thinks Ruth, so says, 'I guess so,' whilst making a mental note to ask Angela what if anything Sally meant by her remark?

But not until the last of the cars have driven away and their tiny piece of heaven has been restored to its former glory, does she do so.

'I don't really know Sally, other than we see each other at parent teacher evenings. But I seem to remember her telling me that David used to get bullied at his previous school. In the same way that I always felt that Michael stood out like a sore thumb because of his background. But enough of that, I've only been away for a week and look what happens to you two. Where is he by the way?' She asks Ruth.

'I'm assuming you're taking about me,' says Harry, whose come in from the back garden where he's been enjoying a cool beer to help him unwind. Vowing never to have another party with so many people and an even quieter wedding than he and Ruth have planned. The three boys now that Michael's back, upstairs doing what he no longer cares as long as they stay there. For a week would be nice. Not without acknowledging that having a game of cricket and Wes getting as many runs as he had, is still making him feel enormously proud. Something which he should, but has never felt about his eldest son. A son who he vows he'll ring in the morning.

'So, when's the happy day?' asks Angela, bringing him back to what in her mind is the most exciting thing that has happened in their road since it was tarmacked.

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'Look I know I come over as being a bit pushy at times but I meant what I said,' she tells them when the three of them are sitting in the garden an hour later, having cleared up. Ruth and Harry having told her that they just want a quiet wedding with no fuss. To which she'd responded by saying that she'd like to organise it for them as a gift for everything that they've done for her and Michael.

'It's your big day and you'll enjoy the run up a lot more. Just tell me when and where,' she tells them again with little hope of a response.

Surprised when, 'June?' suggests Harry with a glance in Ruth's direction.

'In the garden or on the beach?' says Ruth with a smile that lights up her face. Her eyes never leaving his.

Which is why neither of them notice that not only is Angela walking away, but looks happier than they've ever seen her. Finally having something that doesn't come under the heading of mundane to get her teeth into. That and lifting her mood, having recently visited her elderly aunt.