Let's go round again?
Chapter seven
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Closing the door of the kitchen firmly behind her she took a moment to compose herself as she fought off the very real urge to bang her head on the table. What in God's name had she been thinking?
Flirting with him like a gauche schoolgirl who had a crush on an older boy. She'd heard herself asking him what kind of fetish he liked in her head and then before she could control it there it was out in the open, hanging between them. Her embarrassment was profound and troubling and once more she questioned herself and her presence here in his house. Ever since she'd answered his call for help she'd been telling herself that there was nothing left between them, that time and distance had eroded anything that might have once been been considered a relationship, but if the last twelve hours had proved anything it had certainly proved that assumption to be a lie. A lie that she had fooled herself with for years. He patently still cared for her; the longing, the need came off him in waves and it would be oh so easy to allow herself to be sucked back into...? And there was the problem. Into what indeed. She closed her eyes before she moved automatically to put the kettle on just needing to do something familiar and comforting as she attempted to ignore what was going on in her head.
Yes, go on ignore it, ignore him she chastised herself;after all you've been doing it for long enough. You should be an expert by now, go on Ruth just keep denying it and it'll all go away. Exhaling she bent to take some vegetables from the fridge for their evening meal. Anything to keep busy so she didn't have to think about the man upstairs.
Harry could feel his heart rate slow as he fought to make his body relax. He'd honestly thought that their playful exchanges would, could lead somewhere, where he wasn't sure, certainly not to where he desperately wanted them to go but maybe, just maybe it could have been the first step on a long and perilous road but he could tell instinctively that she was regretting their playful exchanges the moment she stepped back into the room. As she'd administered to his damaged legs his powers of endurance had been tested to their limits. Indeed it had taken all his powers of self control not to sit up and ask her to stop touching him, to talk to him instead of just cleaning and salving his wounds in total silence, her eyes averted from his face. But of course he'd not done that he'd just lain there on the bed enduring the torture and he was grateful beyond words when she finally straightened up apparently unmoved by her actions. "Your feet seem to be okay Harry" she'd told him as she dried them carefully "No damage to them at all which is lucky, it means it should be easier for you to be up and about"
"Pretty bloody ugly aren't they?" he'd found himself asking her "Soldiers feet, square and solid like the rest of me. I've always looked after my feet, that's one of the first things they teach you in the army. Look after your weapon and look after your feet."
Even as he lay there alone on the bed he found himself closing his eyes in disbelief. He'd had Ruth Evershed here in his home, in his bedroom, tending to his wounds and the best he could come up with was asking her if she thought his feet were ugly? What was wrong with him? How pathetic must he have sounded to her asking her to comment on his bloody feet!
He'd been surprised that he'd not been in the least bit aroused by her tending to him, no instead he'd been moved by the fact that she was even bothering to do it. He'd thought she would simply give him the essentials and let him get on with it. But no;she'd caught him unawares again. And he was also very aware than even after all this time she was still the one who was in charge. Everything revolved around the rules that Ruth had decided upon, rules that he had never understood and still didn't understand.
Rubbing his hand across his forehead in frustration he wondered what his next move should be. Ruth and her rules had been a major part of his life for many years, indeed he'd spent most of the time he's known her trying to figure out what the bloody rules were. The trouble was every time he thought he'd figured them out she moved the ruddy goalposts and he'd been left floundering, defeated and trying desperately to catch up.
She wasn't wearing a ring; that was the first thing he'd noticed as she stood beside his hospital bed, and as far as he could tell there was no tell tale mark indicating that she had worn one in the recent past. Of course that didn't mean she didn't have someone...But she had come to him.
A long time ago he'd promised himself, for his own sanity that he'd if not forget about her, he could never do that but he would at least put the memories of her safely away only to be taken out from time to time when he was feeling strong enough to cope with the pain that such actions always generated. And yet here he was laying on his bed nearly naked and the object of his affections and longings was somewhere in his house and he the infamous Harry Pearce was afraid to go and look for her for fear of driving her from his presence with a wrong word or a wrong gesture.
But in spite of that fear here he was thinking about, no hoping, planning to jump on that same merry go round; willing to once more play a game whose rules continued to totally elude him just on the off chance that she might let him play. What was it Albert Einstein had said about stupidity and it's definition?
How bloody pathetic was he!
Ruth was just starting to think that she'd have to go up and check on Harry, she thought he might have fallen back to sleep which would have been understandable but he really did need to get up and start moving about a bit; the doctor had been clear on that point when the man himself appeared at the kitchen door. He was dressed casually in jogging bottoms, a tee shirt and a zip up cardigan. "Come and sit down Harry" she told him as she pulled out a chair before placing a pad and pen in front of him.
"Do you fancy another coffee or shall we have tea and biscuits?" Tea and biscuits was agreed upon and Harry took the opportunity to watch Ruth as she moved about his kitchen making new memories to put with the precious one he already had.
When they were sat sipping their tea he asked her "What's the pad for Ruth? Am I expected to make some sort of written confession for past wrong doings because if I am this pad is not nearly big enough!"
"We need to make a shopping list Harry" she told him "If I'm to stay here I'll need more than you've got in your cupboards to keep me going. I did a bit of shopping last night but tomorrow we'll need to replenish our supplies. And I need to know what you fancy." suddenly she seemed flustered and looking away she added quickly "In the way of food that is". He longed to tease her, to tell her what, who he fancied was sat in front of him, that he would live on fresh air for the rest of his life if only she'd love him; let him love her but of course he didn't. That was most definitely in the rules!
"I'm easy Ruth" he said and watched as she coloured, the blood rushing to her cheeks as she recognized the double meaning of his words. Pretending not to notice her reaction Harry rushed on "I'll eat anything Ruth, that's what I meant. Can't you tell by the size of me? You put it in front of me and I'll scoff it."
"Well that's nice to know Harry because I'm doing roast chicken for supper and I thought we could have chicken salad for lunch tomorrow but really there is nothing to eat in this house so I do need to go shopping so put your thinking cap on and decide what you want."
They spent the next half hour discussing what they would have for the next few days Harry requesting a stew and dumplings and Ruth saying that she really fancied a fish pie. They discovered that they both loved cauliflower cheese but hated macaroni cheese. It was all very domestic and mundane and Harry could feel himself sinking into the feeling of warmth and belonging that this simple task was gifting him. So much so that when Ruth suggested that he might like to go and take a nap in the next room while she carried on preparing their evening meal he didn't protest at all. After all what was there to protest about? Just at that moment in time he had some of what he'd wanted for as long as he could remember.
As he drifted off to sleep, telling himself that he'd only close his eyes for a few moments he felt himself to be more content than he had for years except of course for that small niggle at the back of his mind that told him as sure as night followed day Ruth would want, demand an explanation of his actions all those long lonely years ago.