Ruth sat on the tube. The bus she had decided to stay well away from for the foreseeable future.

She was tired, she was emotional and she wanted to be home.

She had emerged from Harry's office and run the gaunlet of raised eyebrows as she crossed back to her desk where she picked up her coat and bag and promptly left. Her colleagues glanced at each other but decided to say nothing.

All apart from Zaf.

"Guess Harry wasn't too happy about 'last night'."

"Oh, shut up!" said Jo.

Adam threw something at him.

Malcolm silently watched Harry sitting in his office, one hand slowly rubbing his forehead, his jaw locked, his brow furrowed.

The pod doors opened. Ros stepped out onto the grid.

"Could it get any more sombre in here?" she queried as she moved to sift through some files on her desk, "Who died?"

"Harry had it out with Ruth about 'last night'," Jo whispered, nodding in the direction of the office, where Harry was looking more miserable than ever.

"Oh, for god's sake!" Ros slammed down a file, "only Ruth could make this so damned complicated." And in determined fashion she headed towards Harry's office.

"Ruth's night out…" she announced as the door was still sliding open.

"Now now, Ros," snapped Harry.

"Consisted of too much red wine and the back seat –"

"Of a double decker. I know." Harry finally glanced up, "Now, go away."

Ros went away.

But then she came back.

"What do you know, Harry?"

He looked up, a warning in his eyes. But she did not move. The battle of wills continued but it was Ros who won out.

"Everything," he muttered finally.

"The cleaner?" she prompted.

"Yes, I know about the bloody cleaner!" he snapped.

Ros stepped forward and spoke patiently as though to a child.

"The cleaner who woke her up at 6.30 this morning after she'd spent the night in the depot having passed out on the backseat of the number 52 which had been on route between hers and your house?" she said patiently.

Harry, who was about to shout once more, hesitated.

"It's Ruth, Harry. Do you really think she'd spend a wild passionate night and come into work in the same clothes, flaunting it to all and sundry? For god's sake, she's not me, Harry!"

He looked at her, his jaw still slightly disconnected.

"I just accused her of behaving like a slut," he said, very quietly indeed.

Ros raised her eyebrows, shook her head and closed the door behind her.

A slice of toast and a boiled egg. Soldiers. Runny yoke.

The first food of the day. Not for breakfast but for supper.

A peppermint tea.

Jamas on, fluffy socks and bed. Possibly a short burst of radio 4.

The doorbell rang.

She ignored it.

The knocking began.

She ignored that.

It didn't stop.

She put down her mug, heaved herself up and headed for the door.

Harry stood on the other side.

He saw pale blue pyjamas, momentarily glanced pink fluffy socks and without a doubt he spotted the dark, damning expression that Ruth's face changed into upon seeing him.

"I'm sorry," he attempted, as the door slammed resoundingly in his face.