Chapter Four
Harry was jolted awake by what sounded like a derisive snort. He had a raging headache and a crick in his neck. His throat was dry and sore. If this were still a dream, it wasn't going to be a good one. He rubbed his temples as he took in his surroundings. He was relieved to find himself in his house once again, sitting on his couch. The room was cool and dimly lit. His dog appeared to have scampered off. He reached blindly for his phone, but couldn't find it. The whisky, on the other hand, still sat on the table in front of him. Just as he leaned forward to refill his glass, he heard her voice. "God, Harry, you really are pathetic." He'd recognize that bored, patronising tone anywhere.
He looked up. Ros was leaning against the doorframe. She made it look like she was supporting it, not the other way around. She wore tight blue jeans and a black leather jacket that she'd zipped up to her neck. She was perched on the highest stiletto heels he'd ever seen. Her arms were crossed firmly in front of her; she looked as though she were ready to give him a lecture. Which, knowing Ros, was highly likely. There were very few people Harry feared in this world, but he had to admit that, on occasion, Ros had been one of them.
"Still stuck on the sauce, Harry?"
Christ, still dreaming and speaking to dead officers, too. Harry cleared his throat and swallowed painfully; might as well play along. He managed to croak, "Ros, what are you doing here?"
"Cutbacks, you know. The jolly green giant wasn't available. Jo's gone off to fix her mascara. So," she sighed, "I'm afraid you'll have to make do with me. I'm not sure what you were expecting, Harry, but the angel robes were really, really itchy, and tinsel and sugar plums aren't exactly my style." Harry still felt stupefied by sleep, lost for words. "Ah, yes," he said, a small smile crossing his face. He realised how much he'd missed Ros. She'd been such a presence on the Grid – there really was no one quite like her.
Harry eased his aching body from the couch. "Well, shall we get on with it then?" he asked in a hoarse voice. Ros had always liked to cut to the chase. Harry continued, "Where are you taking me tonight? Shall we fly again? Back to see my old schoolmates, perhaps? Or to revisit an old op?"
Ros looked at him as though he had two heads. No, make that ten. It was the kind of look someone would give to a complete madman. It made Harry wonder if perhaps he was one. "Christ, Harry, how much have you had to drink? I do have many talents but, sadly, flying is no longer one of them. And I'm afraid that my time machine is in the shop for repairs – nasty habit of breaking down in the 16th century. So we'll just have to do this the old fashioned way. You know, drive." She drawled the last word, as if speaking to a child, or a complete idiot, and turned an invisible wheel with her hands. "Where are your keys, Harry?"
Harry felt his pockets. Empty. "I think they're with my coat, in the kitchen." He motioned vaguely towards the back of the house, and then stumbled past Ros and down the hallway. He found his coat and shoes where he'd left them earlier that evening. Good, he'd tucked the keys in his pocket. Ros walked into the kitchen and stood directly before him. He stared at her for a moment. Something about her seemed very real, tangible; more real than the other visitors he'd had that night. Yet surely he must still be dreaming. Although they'd never recovered her body, he knew that Ros had died in a violent explosion. Another one lost too soon. His thoughts drifted to the past, until the sound of Ros's voice brought him sharply back to the present.
"God, Harry, you absolutely stink. You're not fit to drive. Here, give me the keys." She held out an open palm. He handed over the keys with some reluctance. He wondered briefly which was the safer option – a ghost driver or a slightly drunken one.
"Where are we going, Ros?"
"To the Grid, Harry – where else?"
He hurried to keep up as Ros strode purposefully to the front door. He paused to set the security alarm, and then followed her to his Range Rover. They drove to the Grid in relative silence, only a few murmurs about nothing in particular passing between them.
The streets were peacefully deserted. Harry relished the quiet of late nights. It was the time when he caught up with his life and his work. Sleep had always been a stranger to him, but never more so than during these past few weeks. Yet he felt his eyelids droop as he stared out the passenger window, watching the buildings and lights flit past as Ros drove through the darkness. When his eyes opened again, he found that the Range Rover had entered the car park for Thames House.
Everything around him seemed strangely real. Ros stopped the vehicle in Harry's usual spot and they climbed out. Harry followed his customary route through the building, Ros slightly behind him. He walked past a security guard and was just about to greet him when he realized the guard couldn't see them. So, it was still a dream. Well, that saved him the trouble of figuring out how to smuggle Ros in. They continued to wind their way through the building until they stepped through the familiar whooshing of the pods and onto the Grid.
The scene before them was relatively quiet. A couple of junior analysts sat in a corner, whispering and pointing at something on a computer screen. Secret defence plans or the latest entertainment gossip? Harry couldn't tell for sure, but thought the latter more likely. Calum was at his desk, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head, eyes closed. "Hmm," Harry said, pointing at the snoozing figure, "we'll have to do something about that. Then again, at least when he's asleep we're spared his ridiculous commentary." Ros lifted an eyebrow and smiled slightly. "Not getting on well with your staff, Harry?" Harry looked at her and grunted in response. He turned his attention elsewhere.
Dmitri and Erin were engaged in quiet conversation at Dmitri's desk. Harry moved closer so that he could hear them. He felt guilty about eavesdropping, but not enough to stop. After all, he'd spent much of his life surreptitiously listening to other people's conversations. Besides, his officers might be talking about important work matters, like the renegade group they'd been watching. Although, he had to admit, that's not what it looked like.
Ros was the first to speak. "Nauseating, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Love, Harry. Can't you tell that Big Hair and Prince Charming are completely smitten?"
Harry smiled at Ros. "Big Hair's name is Erin. And Dmitri's her counterpart. She's gutsy like you, Ros. No replacement for you, of course, but she's good." Harry returned his focus to the couple in front of him. Erin was talking about her daughter. "I just called Rosie. She's so excited about Father Christmas, I don't know how she'll sleep. I wish I could be there with her. I was hoping to curl up with her tonight, maybe read a Christmas story…." Erin paused and wiped her eyes. "Sorry, D. It's just so hard not to be there for her. It doesn't look like we'll be going home anytime soon, either," she sighed.
Dmitri placed his hand over Erin's. "I think you could use some cheering up." He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small package wrapped in red paper. "Happy Christmas", he said in an almost-whisper. "I wanted to give this to you someplace nicer, but, well, you know how it is…." Erin didn't say anything in response, just wrapped her arms around Dmitri and kissed him once, softly. When she pulled back there were still tears in her eyes. Dmitri grinned. "Go ahead, open it." Erin took the gift and gingerly removed the paper. The box inside contained a delicate gold bracelet. "Would you?" she asked Dmitri, passing it to him. She held out her wrist and he gently wrapped the bracelet around it. He kissed her hand. He continued to hold it as he looked up at her and said, "I just wanted to thank you for the past couple of months." Erin smiled through her tears. "No, D, I should be thanking you." They gazed at each other for a few moments.
Calum's blissful slumber had apparently ended. Harry heard him shout across the room, "That's enough, lovebirds – you do realise you have an audience, don't you?" Dmitri and Erin turned towards Calum and laughed. It was the first time Harry had seen them joking in weeks. Their expressions grew serious once more as Dmitri spoke, "I wonder how Harry is. I'm surprised he's not back by now."
Erin sighed. "Well, barring some major national emergency, I'm not calling him. Let him rest. He needs it. I don't know how he keeps going, after everything with, you know …."
"I keep replaying that day in my head, wondering if there was something I could have done, something that could have changed what happened…." Dmitri's voice drifted away with his thoughts.
Harry turned quickly and started to march towards the pods. He didn't want to hear them speak of Ruth. He hadn't spoken of her since the day she died. He couldn't. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Ros's voice broke into his thoughts. He paused. It was one of those rare moments when she didn't sound sarcastic, just concerned. "Harry, you have to face this sooner or later. Ruth's loss wasn't just your own. They're hurting, too. You've been so wrapped up in yourself that you can't see that."
"I just can't talk about it, Ros. Not with anyone. I'm sorry they're hurting, but there's nothing I can do."
"You can start by not pushing them so hard – by not punishing them like you're punishing yourself."
Harry stood in silence, trying desperately to turn his thoughts from his pain. He glanced back at Erin. Perhaps he'd been wrong about her. He didn't want her pity, but it did seem real, as did her feelings for Dmitri. Perhaps he envied what she and Dmitri shared – they seemed so comfortable with each other, even though they'd only been together a short time. He and Ruth had never been able to achieve that, despite the years they'd known each other.
"I need to leave, Ros. Can I just go home, back to my single malt?"
Ros turned to look at him as she drew his keys from her pocket. "We'll go, Harry, but not home. Not yet. We have another stop to make first." Harry began to ask where they were headed, but Ros had disappeared through the pods. Damn those long legs. He hurried after her as she made her way back to the Range Rover, refusing to stop and answer his questions.
. . .
Ros was silent as she started the vehicle and drove into the night once more. Harry stared out the passenger window, not noticing much of anything. A blanket of sleep soon settled over him. He must have slept for quite some time, for when he next opened his eyes he found that they had left London. Physically, he felt much better. He watched for a road sign, and soon recognized their location. Ah, yes, on the M23, on the way to Brighton.
"Are you taking me to Brighton to see my daughter?"
"Well, Harry, as much as I like fun parks, I wasn't planning on taking you to the dodgems on the Pier."
"How do you know where she lives, Ros?"
Ros stared ahead as she spoke. "Well, Harry, my time machine may be broken, but my crystal ball still works. And be warned, if you keep on with these questions, I'm going to get annoyed." Harry had lived long enough to know that an annoyed Ros was not a good thing. He decided to stay quiet and simply watch as she drove along.
. . .
It was quite late when they pulled up outside the building that housed Catherine's flat. Harry worried that Catherine would be sleeping. It took little effort for Ros to prise the locks, and they soon found themselves standing in his daughter's home. Harry frowned. Catherine definitely needed better security.
He'd never been inside Catherine's flat. She'd only moved here recently. She was a traveller like him, wandering the globe in search of interesting stories for those political documentaries she made. Harry hoped that she'd soon develop some roots. He wouldn't wish his transient existence on anyone, especially not his daughter.
He glanced about. The flat had a narrow passageway running its length. The walls featured a number of architectural photographs, presumably taken by Catherine. A flickering of light, likely cast by a television, emanated from one end of the passageway. Harry turned and walked towards it. Ros followed, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. They entered a large, dimly lit room that was graced on its furthest side by floor length, shuttered windows. There was a tiny kitchen to the right. The room was fitted with minimalist furniture that looked as though it could be easily packed and moved again. Candles joined the television in casting an unsteady glow over two figures sitting on a couch. Catherine was one of them; it was difficult to recognize the male who sat next to her, his back to Harry. They were watching an old black and white Christmas film. Harry smiled fondly upon seeing his daughter; he was relieved to find her awake. Yet he suddenly had misgivings. Secretly watching Erin and Dmitri on the Grid was one thing; watching his daughter with a male companion in her home was quite another. "Ros, I really don't feel comfortable here. We should go and leave her be."
He looked at Ros. She gave him one of her signature eye rolls. "I've never known you to be a coward, Harry. There's a reason we're here."
"Then could you please explain what it is?" he asked, impatience evident in his voice.
"Take a closer look at Catherine's friend."
Harry moved further into the room. He stopped as he recognized his son's face.
Harry had lost track of how many years had passed since he'd last seen Graham in person. Stills taken from CCTV just didn't count. Graham's curly hair was now darker and shorter than it had been when he was a child. He was tall and lanky – his legs stretched out awkwardly in front of him, as though the couch sat slightly too close to the floor. He cradled an empty mug in one hand as he stared at the screen, reflections of the film shining on his eyeglasses. Harry suddenly felt saddened – by the fleeting passage of time, by the loss of what could have been.
Harry glanced back at the television. The film was just ending. Neither Graham nor Catherine seemed aware of Harry's presence. Graham laid the mug on a nearby table and stretched his arms over his head. He yawned, and then spoke. "Cath, what time did you say Mum would be here tomorrow? I think I'll have a lie-in."
"She said she'd be here about one. What about Matt?"
"He's stopping at his parents first, so not 'til two or three."
They fell silent for a moment. Catherine began to speak in a cautious tone. "Graham, I know you don't like to talk about him, but …"
Graham suddenly became enraged. "Christ, Cath, is this about Dad again? No, you're right – I don't like to talk about him. I wonder why – could it have something to do with the fact that he walked out on us when we were kids? I can't understand why you still care. You've never given up on your fantasy that we can be one big, happy family, have you?"
The hurt in Catherine's face angered Harry. Graham had every right to despise him, but he had no right speak to Catherine that way. Nonetheless, she didn't relent.
"Graham, I'm worried about him. I know things haven't been the best between us, but we've been in touch a lot more these past few years. Until now, that is. I haven't spoken to him in – I don't know – weeks, maybe months. I've called and left messages, but he hasn't responded. I'm afraid something is terribly wrong."
Graham didn't look too concerned. He almost spit out his next words. "I wouldn't waste too much of your time worrying about him, Cath. I'm sure he didn't spend much time thinking about us when he was traipsing around Europe playing spy games and shagging women."
"You're too hard on him, Graham. He's far from the perfect father, I know, but he's the only one we've got. Sometimes you need to learn how to forgive…"
"Forgive? Forgive the heartless bastard who walked out on us? Who left Mum to take care of us all on her own? Who never bothered with birthdays, holidays, school plays? Besides, do you seriously think he wants anything to do with me? I'm the miscreant who's shamed him."
"Graham, I'm sure he'd never be ashamed of you."
"No? Well I'm sure he would be if he knew the truth. What man like that, Mr. Military, Mr. Dedicate his Life to Queen and Country, wants to find out that his son, the recovering junkie, is gay? He'd be thrilled. Over the moon. It's best to leave things as they are. I'm certainly not telling him. He can pretend that I'm dead, like he does now. I'm certain he'd prefer that to the truth." Graham folded his arms and stared at the floor, jaw clenched in anger.
Harry was shocked, but not because of Graham's declaration that he was gay. No, the real pain lay in hearing how his son truly viewed him, as so heartless and close-minded that he couldn't accept him as he was. He spoke to Ros in a shaking voice, "I shouldn't have let you bring me here, Ros. I know I deserve it, but I don't want to hear how much he hates me. I want to go home – now," he growled. Harry took a panicked breath. "I've completely screwed up, Ros. I've only ever wanted them to be safe and happy. And what have I done…" He shut his eyes in despair and covered his face with his hands.
Ros spoke quietly into Harry's ear. "Children always need their parents, Harry. Look at me and my scoundrel of a father. I was a grown woman who shed tears for him when he went to prison, even though I knew he deserved every minute of that sentence. You need to reach out to them, Harry. It's not too late. You can fix this."
Harry shook his head at her familiar words. He heard Catherine sigh. He looked and saw that there were tears on her face. He wanted desperately to walk over and wrap his arms around her. Instead, he could only stand and watch as she wiped the tears away. That's what he'd always been, he realised, just a distant spectator in his children's lives.
Catherine sniffed and spoke again. "Graham, don't be so angry. It's Christmas. We're here in my new flat. Why don't we talk about something else? I've … I've got some news. I haven't told anyone yet. I wanted to wait 'til Mum arrived, but perhaps I'll tell you now." She took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."
Graham's mood changed immediately. He jumped up from the couch, a huge grin replacing the anger in his face. Words tumbled from his mouth. "God, Cath, that's fantastic. I mean, are you happy? When's it due? Why didn't you tell me earlier? I wouldn't have kept you up so late. Who's the father? Oh God, I'm so sorry for upsetting you. Let me get you some tea. Put your feet up."
Catherine laughed quietly. "Slow down, Graham. I'm not an invalid – not yet, anyway," she said, brushing away his gesture of help. Her face grew serious. "I'm happy, but scared, too. The father, well, he isn't in the picture. I must pick them like Mum does," she sighed. "So, it looks as though I'm going to be on my own with this."
Graham sat down and hugged her. "Cath, you've always got me and Mum. I'd do anything to help you – God knows you've done enough for me."
Harry heard Ros speak softly. "Sounds like you're going to be a grandfather, Harry. Congratulations." Like Graham, Harry quickly forgot his anger. A look of stunned joy spread over his face. He glanced towards Ros and saw that she was smiling at him; a tender, genuine smile. It was a rarity for her, but all the more beautiful because of that. Ros seemed different tonight; she still had her endless determination and biting wit, but the harshness was gone. He dearly wished she could have had a happier life in this world. He smiled back at her, a genuine smile as well, and also a rarity. "Thank you, Ros. You're so right. I do need to fix this. I will," he said with conviction, nodding towards his children. He paused for a moment and then mumbled, as a sinister-sounding afterthought, "I'm also going to find out who the father is…." He turned to listen to Catherine and Graham again, but their conversation had become distant, muffled. The room seemed to darken, the shadows lengthen. Harry felt Ros grab his arm and lead him away.
. . .
Harry couldn't remember leaving Catherine's flat. Nor could he remember the drive back to London. Yet somehow he found himself once more outside his home, sitting in the Range Rover, Ros occupying the driver's seat. She looked at him and smiled, then handed him his keys. She opened the door and got out, turning to him to say in her most nonchalant voice, "Goodbye, Harry. Good luck with it." She shut the door and began to walk away. Harry got out and watched for a moment, then called, "Ros! You can come in. Why don't you stop for a bit?" He gestured weakly towards his house, but knew she wasn't listening. She didn't look back.
Harry watched as she reached the end of the street, rounded the corner, and vanished into the night. He was saddened by the fact that Ros had gone, even if she had been just a figment of his imagination. He sighed. Alone again, he thought. Disappointment flooded in as he suddenly became aware that he was dreaming; that it was all just a dream. Well, everything except Graham's hatred of him; he was certain that was real enough. He turned and walked dejectedly to the front door, unlocked it and disabled the alarm. He almost crawled towards the couch, too tired to climb the steps to his bedroom. He lay down. He was aching and ill again. He closed his eyes and felt his dog jump up and settle next to him. A final thought crossed his mind – he must call Catherine tomorrow. Then, silence.
