Harry's father clearly loved his garden, but then Ruth already knew that. The garden at the house in London had been planted up and cared for over many years and had become the sanctuary that had brought her and Harry to the point where they were now. Appearances could be deceptive and Ruth's first impression that he'd moved into a small 'roses around the door cottage', was blown away, when having failed to get a response when he'd banged on the door, Harry had opened the side gate that lead them to the back of the house that almost doubled in size. The extensive garden was bordered by dry stone walls containing a multitude of flowers and a large vegetable patch, with a backdrop that stretched to the moorland beyond. A tabby moggie, not unlike her dear long gone Fidget lay contentedly asleep under a tree. It was heaven on earth as far as Ruth was concerned, she was captivated.
Despite the fact that Harry had never mentioned his father or this house until recently he certainly seemed to know his way around, as he fished under a plant pot and produced the key that would let them in. A note on the table said 'gone shopping, make yourselves at home,' and in Ruth's mind she was.
'What?' Harry asked her when he saw her smiling.
'It's just beautiful Harry, I just can't find the right words to explain it,' she answered him, as he started opening and closing cupboard doors in search of some teabags.
James Pearce was fiercely proud of his son he also loved him and always had, so the last thing he wanted was for Harry and this Ruth he was bringing with him to think any the less of him or that he wasn't managing on his own, because in the main he was. He got lonely from time to time, then who didn't, but unlike Harry who he knew hated gardening he loved it and come rain or shine it was where he spent his days. Why waste time doing housework when you had enough put by to let someone else do it for you? Who in his case happened to be Maisie, the wife of his nearest neighbour Reg who popped in once a week 'to give him the once over' his mates at the pub teased him. Feeding himself was a different matter entirely and he cobbled together a repetitive diet that he knew to be unhealthy except of course for the veggies and those came from his garden. Today he'd decided was going to be different, he wanted to impress. He seemed to remember that Harry liked steak so he'd taken himself down to the butchers in the village to collect his order even though he knew that he'd require help to cook it properly. Pottering back up the road, having presumed that it would be at least another couple of hours before his visitors arrived, he was surprised to see that Harry's car was already parked in the space that had once housed his. A broad if somewhat nervous smile crept across his face. If he could spot them before they spotted him then he'd have the element of surprise on his side. Quietly opening the gate, he walked as steadily as his now wobbly old legs would let him, to get his first glimpse of the woman who he guessed had captured his son's heart.
They were both standing in the kitchen and had their backs towards him so he couldn't see her face, but the first thing that stuck him was how tiny she was compared to his son. For some ridiculous reason he'd imagined that she'd have been willowy with blond hair the same as Jane and Catherine and Harry of course, although by the looks of it, his was beginning to turn grey and there was certainly a lot less of it. But Ruth's was dark brown and with the sunlight that was streaming through the window it shone. She was chattering away twenty to the dozen, now that was a pleasant change and when Harry turned to face her, he saw something in his son that he hadn't seen since the day that Catherine had been born, pure adoration. 'Bloody hell son, you have got it bad,' he muttered to himself. Just how long they intended staying with him he had no idea, Harry had never been big on information and certainly not to him, he just hoped it wasn't a flying hello and goodbye visit, because he'd been building himself up for this moment and he wasn't sure that he'd be able to hide his disappointment if Harry announced that they'd be leaving in the morning. 'Brace yourself old man,' he told himself and taking a deep breath he opened his kitchen door.
'Dad,' exclaimed Harry as he and Ruth both jumped as though they hadn't been expecting to see him, as the man shorter and thinner in stature than Harry but so like him facially, bundled into the kitchen and headed towards them.
'You must be Harry's father, I'm Ruth she interjected, walking towards him and relieving him of his shopping, when Harry appeared to have gone into lockdown. 'It's lovely here, I've been admiring your garden.'
She could have said hello, she could have said I'm very pleased to meet you, but in the absence of Harry saying anything other than Dad, she'd said the first thing that had come into her head.
'Bring us both a cuppa would you Harry, you'll find us admiring my garden,' James said to his still silent son, who watched as his father took Ruth by the hand and proceed to walk her back outside. Harry refrained from saying anything, he couldn't, as he watched Ruth's disappearing back, although she did turn round and grin at him just before she disappeared out of sight. Ten seconds it had taken her to charm the pants off his father, which on reflection was about the same length of time it had taken with him, as he put the kettle back on and pondered whether or not he was going to get a word in edgewise for the next seven days.
'I've put you both in Catherine's room,' Harry heard his father telling Ruth as he carried the tray of tea down the garden path, trying to avoid stepping on the riot of colour that filled the borders that Ruth and his father clearly admired. Flowers came from a florists as far as Harry was concerned and arrived in bunches on doorsteps for birthdays and weddings.
'Hey,' Ruth said without consideration as to how it sounded or how she was looking at Harry, when he put the tray down in front of them and moved the milk and sugar around in order to make it easier to pour the tea.
'Later,' she told him, budging up on the bench where she was sitting, when he suggested that he'd leave them to it because he ought to go and unload their luggage, which Ruth recognised as another of delaying the inevitable tactics. Her only problem was that she didn't know was why and at this stage had no idea how to find out?
'I was just telling your father how nice it is to be out of London and enjoy the peace and quiet and how much we've been looking forward to this break,' she told him, giving him one of her best 'come on Harry we've discussed this,' looks across the table, before announcing that she needed to use the bathroom and not to worry she'd find it, before leaving father and son alone.
Ruth really did need to use the bathroom but she was also determined to take her time. It wasn't her job to feed Harry his lines as to how best to break the ice, which she knew in Harry's mind had built up to astronomical levels. James as he insisted she call him had no such problem and against all the odds had told her that he'd always known what Harry did for a living. Catherine, Ruth quite rightly assumed had been his 'private little spy' he'd told her with such a twinkle in his eye and he'd filled in the rest of the gaps in Harry's life, by reading the newspapers and keeping an eye on the news. If she hadn't already guessed, Ruth would have realised that it was going to be an interesting few days.
On a split landing that went left and right at the top of the stairs she finally found the bathroom, having opened and closed several bedroom doors one of which she presumed had been set up for them. The beams in the sloping ceiling under the eaves had been skilfully adapted to contain a bath, a shower and the obvious loo and sink. For a house where an elderly gentleman who professed to live in his garden, lived alone, it was remarkably tidy and clean. Two extra sets of towels had been laid out on the bottom of their bed, indicating that James had a woman in his life, maybe a housekeeper or someone that came in once a week or on special occasions and Ruth felt pretty sure that James had been considering their visit very special. From the window at the back there was a view over the garden and before she left, Ruth couldn't help taking a peep. Whatever James had just said and she presumed it was James, it had to be, Harry was making an effort to smile.
Having closed the kitchen door behind her, she stood still for a moment and glanced down the garden. Symptomatic of someone who lived alone and rarely had anyone to talk to, James was continuing to regale Harry with stories about the village, his few friends with the emphasis on few, and how he spent his days.
He had his back to Ruth whereas Harry was facing her, and as he continued to listen to his father, Harry's eyes averted to the woman he loved.
He had never seen her in a setting such as this and everything about her mesmerised him to the point where the earth seemed to have stopped turning on its axis. As she walked back down the path to join them, he swore that if he hadn't already known that he loved her with everything he had, it would have been in those few short moments, and that if he ever stopped loving her, it would be because he'd departed this mortal coil or been blinded. Why did people think that they needed to dress to impress, it was ridiculous, Ruth never did? She was herself to the core, complicated certainly, but she was his complicated as he was hers, learnt from shared whispers and dreams over a glorious few weeks, smiling a smile that was all for him. Free from the grid, free from everything that had restrained them, in a garden full of flowers under a startling blue sky, Harry had joined Ruth in heaven.
'I was just telling Harry that it's my birthday next week and if he didn't say something soon, I might not reach it,' James told her breaking the spell, as Ruth sat down next to Harry who had discovered a way to breath again and was pouring her a cup of tea.
Harry didn't care that there were two of them teasing him and organising his life, for a brief moment he didn't even care that he was fifty four years old. As long as he had Ruth by his side he could survive anything, perhaps even the re building of a relationship with his father.
In the week that followed, both Harry and his father survived recriminations, shared memories and the odd spat as they squared up against each other. Through it all though and to an untrained eye they'd remained steadfastly father and son, resolutely side by side. But Ruth wasn't an untrained eye and there was still something that she couldn't quite define, something that worried her and required answers, especially as on the afternoon before they originally planned to leave, the answer to the when and where do we go from here question, hit her with blinding clarity. They were down on the coast at Runswick Bay eating ice creams that James had insisted he buy them, walking across the beach, with James's hand linked into Harry's arm. Their roots, Harry's and hers if either of them had even had any, didn't exist anymore, so why not plant them here? The moors had houses in abundance that she and she knew Harry would be happy to live in, even if it meant that they had to wait to find the right one. There was fresh air and a never ending coastline to explore and if what James had been telling them was true, then it was where Catherine had run to for years. Harry able to continue to rebuild his relationship with his daughter as well as his father, it was almost too good to be true.
She knew that Harry would give her anything that she asked of him, the earth if he could, but she needed him to want this as much as she did. She loved Harry with a completeness that even she couldn't explain and to offer him the chance to spend the rest of their lives together in a place where he'd finally get the peace that he deserved, why not? Would he look at her as though she reverted to being his bonkers, stubborn mule? Maybe he would, but she had this incredible urge to ask him, whatever his answer.
The remainder of the day went very slowly, torturously so for Ruth who was on pins, but eventually the clock in the hall struck six and she was ready to make her move. Suggesting to Harry that she was more than happy to prepare dinner on her own and that they had plenty of time to pack later, she persuaded him wander out into the garden with a couple of beers and join his father, who'd told them he needed a breath of fresh air. Waiting until he was far enough away to be out of earshot, she took a deep breath, picked up Harry's phone and pressed dial.
Ten minutes later with the information that she needed, she promised Malcolm that they were fine and that she'd ring him over the weekend.
'It's for a little arm twisting if I need it,' she told him.
