Ruth Evershed

She's not quite sure how this came about, but she suddenly finds herself discussing Harry with a woman she only met a few hours ago. She's never normally this open, but there's something about her – maybe her intelligence (quite like her own – not loud and demanding attention), maybe her enthusiasm for her work (her love of archaeology and digging up bones came shining through in the few words they've exchanged on the subject), or perhaps it is her solitude (she'd talked about living out in the middle of nowhere and the beauty of the salt-marsh), or the sense of loss that emanates from her person (her mother it turns out, though of course there's also DCI Nelson). They haven't talked about him yet, but she gets the feeling that Ruth Galloway is still very much in love with her Harry, almost as much as she, herself, is with her own.

"I sense there's a story there, but I don't want to pry," Ruth Galloway says softly and takes another sip of her wine. They're on the second bottle despite the fact that she knows this is probably not the best of ideas given they still haven't found the culprits of the bombing and she'll need to be on the ball tomorrow morning.

She sighs. "It's certainly a very long one," she confesses, then frowns. "Actually, it's probably not. I suspect, I could give you the bare bones of it in under a minute. We went on a date once. It was... the best bloody date I've ever had. He was so different. Gentle, kind, approachable, vulnerable even. Not at all like the man you met today. Not at all like a big boss at MI-5. And despite my desire to pursue it further, I didn't. I ended it because the others found out – I still don't know how – and the gossip was unbearable. That's it. That's the story. See. Under a minute." She nods at the clock and takes a generous gulp of her wine.

"But you still love him," other Ruth says kindly. "And he clearly loves you."

"There is that, but... see, it's the emotional aspect that's complicated. I left a few years ago. Went to Europe, met someone else. He died – suddenly, tragically – and so I'm back. And I feel so... guilty – about his death, about Harry, about everything. I wish I'd never met either of them. I'm like Helen of sodding Troy." She winces. "Sorry. I don't normally swear. It's the wine."

"I approve of wine," Ruth replies and they share a warm smile.

"What about you and DCI Nelson? Is it as tragic as my tale?" she asks.

"I don't know if tragic is the right word," Ruth replies softly. "It was a case that brought him to my office – bones discovered on the salt-marsh, not far from my place actually. There was a missing child. It turned out to be an Iron Age skeleton in the end, but later, we did find her... in the same place. He came to warn me about the press and... he ended up staying over. It was... organic, how it happened. Something we both needed to deal with our grief. And then Kate came along, so..." She shrugs and takes another mouthful of wine. "I don't see him that often through work. Maybe a few times a year. If it hadn't been for Kate, maybe..." She sighs. "He's been married this entire time. And he won't leave her. I've never believed that he would and, to be honest, I'm not sure what I'd do if he did. There's very little we have in common outside work, you know? We'd probably drive each other bonkers living together."

"But it would be nice to have the option," she guess.

"Yes... Michelle, Nelson's wife, is pregnant again so..."

"Blimey!" Her heart goes out to her, and to herself, feeling nothing but compassion for them both – something that's a very nice change of pace from the guilt that is her constant companion. "Hopeless. That's what it is," she adds and drains her wine, leaning forward to pick up the bottle and top up their glasses.

"I don't know," other Ruth murmurs softly. "Thanks," she adds, when she's filled her glass, and leans back into the cushions. "We're still alive. I think things become hopeless only once one of us is dead. I think Michelle was having an affair too. I'm kind of hoping that the baby turns out to be his. And that probably makes me a terrible person, but... there it is."

"Why are they still together then?" she can't help asking.

"Search me. Guilt, I think. Nelson's catholic. He's also loyal. And they have two grown daughters. To be quite honest, I don't often understand what's going on in Nelson's head. Seems like he has a whole other kind of logic."

"Most men do."

"Some more than others," she agrees with a smile. "You and Harry seem to understand each other."

"Not always. Not outside the office. Not really," she confesses with a sigh. "Everything seems to be straightforward to him. There's no nuance, no... hesitation. He'll risk everything on the throw of a die. Me though.. I need all the facts. And a deadline. It makes me good at my job and us a good team at work, but on the personal front, we're stuck."

"You've had relationships before though," other Ruth points out gently. "What's so different about this one?"

"Our history. The fact that we work together. What we do at work. Everything. I can't even begin to unpick it all."

They both fall silent after that, lost in thought as they sip their wine in companionable silence.

"Sometimes I wish there was logic to love. Like you could reason your way into or out of it," Ruth Galloway says after a while. "It seems like such a waste of opportunity, you know?"

"To be with someone else?"

"Yes. Nelson's never going to leave Michelle, though I suppose she might throw him out one day. And there have been others – lovely men in their own way, but..." She sighs. "I envy you, Ruth."

"You do?! Why?"

"Because you're the only one standing in the way of the two of you being together. You could choose to get out of your own way any day, and he'll come running to your side. Hell, he'd probably scoop you up and tell you that he loves you, snog you senseless, and make love to you then and there." Her cheeks colour. "Sorry. It's the wine."

"I approve of wine," she mirrors her own words back at her and they both smile.

"Nelson holds all the cards and I hate that."

"Not all of them," she points out. "You have Kate."

"I do."

They're silent for a few moments until Ruth says, "Want to talk about something else?"

"I'd love to."

"Do you read?"

"All the time! Though mostly it's archaeology stuff, but I love a good novel."

And so it is that they wile away another half hour or so until the wine's finished and they both choose to call it a night and make their way upstairs. Despite the wine and the lateness of the hour, however, sleep proves to be elusive as she lies in bed thinking of Harry, of the missed opportunities and all the tantalising possibilities lying ahead if only she had the courage to take them.

She hadn't been Ruth Evershed when she'd met George. She'd been Anna Ruth Simmons – a very sunny kind of person. And much as she's loath to admit it to herself, she'd enjoyed being Anna Ruth. She'd enjoyed being happy and optimistic. Anna Ruth wouldn't have had any problem being with Harry Pearce. She would have embraced it all – good and bad – and simply made the best of it.

She thinks about the years ahead, stretching out in lonely isolation, and she realises that she no longer wants that for herself. It's been so nice tonight to connect with another person, to talk and just be in the same space, to share a drink, breathe the same air, laugh and smile together. George is gone, Nico lost, and she's punished herself enough for the role she played in bringing it about. After all, it wasn't she who shot him. It wasn't Harry either. Harry did his level best to buy them all time and delay the inevitable. He doesn't deserve to suffer for it, and in keeping her distance, she is making him suffer. She's punishing them both for all their failings, instead of rewarding them for all the good things they've done over the years. If she put it all in a spread sheet, she's sure that the good they've done outweighs the bad, in the end. She's sure that they're both in credit.

She turns over, punching the pillow and releasing a heartfelt sigh. Harry Pearce is responsible for more lost sleep than all the world's terrorists combined.

Sometimes you need to give a man a chance, Ruth, to show you who he really is.

Perhaps she should just give him a chance simply so she can finally get some sleep at night.