It takes a little less than two days for Ruth to arrange an estate agent to handle the sale of her mother's house. She organises for the estate agent to hire cleaners to give the house a once over every week, and a hire firm to put some basic furniture in the house to give it that lived-in look, hopefully making it easier to sell. While speaking to the estate agent, Ruth discovers that there are cleaners who specialise in cleaning properties in which there has been violent deaths and suicides. She is briefly reminded of some of the stories Harry had told her about suspected terrorists being found in their homes, bomb-making equipment in their garages, and how on a few occasions, the perpetrators had chosen death by their own hand, rather than facing the humiliation of incarceration. She had never once considered who cleaned up afterwards. Then there was the time she and Keith Deery …...
She can't be thinking this way. That is history. She must leave it where it lies buried – in the past. If she and Harry are to have any kind of life together, they must first both draw a firm line under that past.
A life with Harry …... is this what she wants? She can't answer that question outright, other than to ask herself the simplest of questions …... Which would she rather – the chance of a life with Harry, or a life spent without him? Put that way, the question requires no consideration at all.
"I thought I'd ring you and let you know how today went," Ruth says, a little nervous about being the one to ring him. It is almost 10 pm, and she is already under the covers in her hotel room.
"I was just about to ring you, but I was …... worried I might interrupt something."
"Harry …... what do you mean by `interrupt something'?"
"You mentioned catching up with your cousin."
"Oh, her. Yes, I tried ringing her earlier. She's in Cornwall with her in-laws."
"That's bad luck."
"No …... its not. The relatives I have are all on my mother's side, and they're …... well, let's just say that seeing them once per decade is sometimes too often."
Harry is silent on the other end, and Ruth worries that her unkind words about Vivien and Geraldine – her mother's nieces – may have put him off. "You haven't met my cousins, Harry, and you wouldn't want to."
"Surely they can't be that bad."
"They are. I care about you too much to ever put you through meeting them."
Again, Harry is silent. Has she said too much?
"I'm babbling, aren't I?"
"No. I like listening to your voice. It soothes me."
"How was your day?"
"I'd rather you tell me about yours, Ruth."
And so their phone conversations – three in all – meander, from the mundane and everyday to the cusp of the personal. They never once step over the line into intimacy. That is not their way. Their feelings have always been held close to their chests, only infrequently bursting out of them in a look, or a gesture of caring, perhaps even love.
Ruth is back in London, in the room of her B&B, when she rings Harry to ask about that evening – what she has begun thinking about as their date. `It's New Years Eve, and I have a date', sounds so much better than, `Tonight is New Years Eve, and I'm helping my former boss babysit his two-year-old granddaughter'.
"I thought I'd check on arrangements for tonight," she says. "What do I need to bring."
"Nothing, Ruth. I'll bring everything."
"Even my pyjamas and toothbrush?"
"Now, well …... you'll need to bring those, and a change of clothes for tomorrow."
Ruth smiles at his discomfort. "Does Catherine know I'm to accompany you?"
"I dropped in yesterday, chiefly to see Ellie, and I asked Catherine was it alright if I brought a …... a friend with me."
"What did she say?"
"She asked was I bringing one of my old army mates. Then I saw that she was joking. She wanted to know everything about you."
"What did you tell her?"
Ruth hears the hesitation in his voice, before he begins to speak. "I'd already told her about you, back when you went into exile in 2006. By the time I'd finished telling her our rather sad story, she was almost in tears, and is ready to accept you into the family as her stepmother."
This time it is Ruth who remains silent.
"I've said too much, haven't I? I should at least have edited that before I spoke."
"No …... it's not that, Harry. I'm just really moved. Catherine hasn't yet met me. She might not take to me. She -"
"Ruth!"
"What?"
"I know that Catherine and you will hit it off. I just know it. And I know that Ellie will find you fascinating."
"How do you know that?"
"Because she's only ever seen me on my own. She's never seen me with …... with a woman, so that alone will fascinate her."
"Maybe this is happening all too soon, Harry."
"And maybe it's happening at just the right pace. How long was it we put off having a relationship?"
"Are we having a relationship? Is that what this is? I've only been back in the UK for four days."
"Four days is the perfect amount of time for us to be taking things to the next level."
"And what is the next level?"
"Why don't we just …. relax, and find out?"
By the time they end their conversation, Harry is very happy, while Ruth is panicking. Talking about being with Harry is rather fun. On the other hand, actually being with him …... that is another thing altogether. She has told him that she will sleep in the same bed as he, but she's not sure she has made it clear that she's not quite ready for sex. Not yet. Maybe she should text him to tell him. How would she word a text like that?
"By the way, Harry, do you remember me saying that I'd sleep with you? Well, I will, but shagging is out of the question."
Or:
"I know that you expect to sleep with me tonight. Just don't expect me to cross from my side of the bed to yours."
Why doesn't she tell him the truth?
"I don't think our first time should be in a bed in your daughter's house, with her little one in the room next to ours."
That is her concern, and perhaps her only concern. She doesn't send it. She is sure the subject will come up later.
Harry pulls up outside Mark's and Catherine's brand new Tudor style house – in a street of other similar homes – and carries his hold-all, and Ruth's hold-all to the front door. It has just gone 7, and as they walk to the door, through a window at the front of the house they see a pink-pyjama-clad toddler jumping up and down on a window seat, clapping her hands. They can just make out her saying `Poppy! Poppy!' over and over.
"You're Poppy?" Ruth asks out the side of her mouth.
"Poppy Pearce. Do you like it?"
"It's sweet."
The door is opened by Harry's daughter, now in her mid-30's, and with shorter hair than the film footage Ruth can only just remember seeing of her from around a decade ago. She is dressed in a knee-length party dress, which shows her baby bump. She has spray glitter in her hair, and more glitter on her eyelids.
"Dad," she says, embracing Harry, "lovely to see you. And you must be Ruth."
Ruth puts out her hand for Catherine to shake, but Harry's daughter ignores it, and pulls her into a quick embrace.
"If my father thinks enough of you to bring you here tonight, then we're already almost related."
Catherine notices the shock on Ruth's face, and pulls away from her, looking quickly at her father. "Have I put my foot in it already?"
"No, Catherine, you haven't," Ruth says quickly. "I'm not used to displays of affection from …... people I've just met. Sorry."
The moment is broken by the same blond-haired toddler from the window seat in the sitting room streaking down the hallway to the door, and throwing herself against Harry's legs. "Poppy!" she screams, "You're here."
"She rather likes him," Catherine explains quietly to Ruth, and Ruth smiles in reply.
"What's not to like?" she says.
"Ellie," Harry says, after the child has kissed him at least a dozen times, and he has picked her up, and is holding her on his hip with one arm around her. "I want you to meet my friend. Ellie, this is Ruth."
Suddenly, Ellie is shy, and she buries her face in Harry's neck, although after around ten seconds, she turns her head to look at Ruth, the top of her head still shoved into Harry's neck.
"Hello, Ellie," Ruth says. "Poppy has told me all about you. He's told me about your favourite things."
Ellie sits up straight in Harry's arms, and stares at Ruth. "Oof?" she says, pointing a finger at Ruth.
"Yes, that's right, my name is Ruth. I'm Poppy's friend."
"Like bubbles?"
"Oh, yes. I love bubbles."
"Make them now?" Ellie suddenly seems to be quite interested in Poppy's friend.
"No, pumpkin," Catherine says. "It's bedtime. I said you could wait up, and now Poppy is here to take you to bed. And sing to you."
Harry mouths the word `sing?' at Catherine, and she smiles at him. "It's all part of a grandfather's duties."
"Ruth? Can you help out an old man?"
"Enough of the old, Harry," Ruth replies, still smiling.
"Oof sing to me."
"I'll ask her," Harry replies, looking at Ruth, his eyes imploring her to help out with the music side of things. "After all, Ruth can sing, and Poppy is a rubbish singer."
So, feeling sorry for Harry, Ruth follows he and Ellie to the child's bedroom. She waits at a respectful distance, while Harry tells the child a story about a little girl who had a pet dragon in her bedroom. Then it is Ruth's turn.
"I don't know what to sing," she says, suddenly nervous, moving to stand close to Harry.
"It doesn't matter what you sing," he whispers in her ear, one hand resting on the small of her back. "She's two. She's hardly a music critic."
So Ruth sits on the bed beside Harry's small granddaughter, and very softly begins singing.
"I sit and wait
Does an angel contemplate my fate
And do they know
The places where we go
When we're grey and old
'cos I have been told
That salvation lets their wings unfold
So when I'm lying in my bed
Thoughts running through my head
And I feel that love is dead
I'm loving angels instead."
By the time she finishes the first chorus, Ellie's eyes are closed, and her breathing is deep and regular. Ruth reaches out, and in an almost unconscious act, she brushes her fingers over the child's forehead. She then stands to find Harry standing close behind her.
"That wasn't Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Ruth. What was it?"
"Robbie Williams. I couldn't think of anything else to sing. My mind was a complete blank."
"Performance anxiety?"
She looks up at him and smiles, nodding her head. Harry can't help himself. With one hand resting on the small of her back, he reaches down and kisses her gently. And then he kisses her again, this time with the barest hint of passion, and Ruth holds his face between her hands.
Catherine had reached the doorway, with the door ajar, just to check on how things are going with the two of them putting Ellie to sleep. She needn't have worried. Things are ticking along very nicely indeed, and she couldn't be happier. Her daughter is asleep, and her dad is snogging Ruth. She quickly turns and heads back to her bedroom to tell Mark. Perhaps if they stay out really late, there might be a chance that the next wedding in the family will be her father's.
Here's hoping.
A/N: Told you it was fluffy ... and there's even more fluff on the horizon.
Acknowledgements: The lyrics to the song, `Angels', were co-written by Ray Heffernan, Robbie Williams, and Guy Chambers. The name `Oof', which Ellie calls Ruth, was inspired by theoofoof's user name.