[11 June 2010]

Today, Ruth expressed an interest in seeing my house, so we decided to spend the next few days and nights there until I go back to work. We gathered all the things Ruth and her cats might need for the next few days and headed over there, stopping on the way to pick up Indian take-out for lunch. When I showed her around, she said she liked the place, "Though it does need a feminine touch, Harry," she added with a mischievous smile as she stood in the doorway to my bedroom.

"Feel free to touch any part of it you want," I'd replied, making her laugh. Then she'd moved over to the bed and sat down, setting her crutches aside and patting the spot next to her in invitation, and as I took a seat beside her, I couldn't help thinking of all the times in the last five years when I'd wished her here. I almost told her that before I remembered that she's meant to have been here many times before. So I kissed her instead and that simple action unleashed a passion inside me that I found impossible to contain, and within minutes, we were both naked and making love.

Afterwards, I held her close, basking in the afterglow and marvelling at the fact that I had finally made love to Ruth in my bed, a bed that I have been saving for this very purpose despite the fact that over the years it has seemed progressively less and less likely that I will ever experience this pleasure. I was just dwelling on how amazing it had felt when she'd taken me in her mouth and contemplating how much better it will be when she's well enough for intercourse, when she murmured quietly, "Harry, did you know that the hormones released during sex help boost the immune system, reduce stress and pain, and increase your life expectancy?" I couldn't help smiling at that, such a Ruth thing to say, as I replied that I didn't. She'd turned to face me then and added with a grin, "Which leads me to the conclusion that the best possible treatment for my injuries is lots of sex. Let's spend the rest of the day in bed, Harry." So we did, sleeping a little, eating our take out from trays that I brought upstairs, and making love two more times before evening when I ventured downstairs to prepare dinner while Ruth kept me company in the kitchen. We ate and moved into the living room and that's when the doorbell rang.

It was Malcolm.

He'd tried to ring me earlier, but I hadn't answered the call, not really knowing what to tell him. I hadn't wanted to lie to him, but telling him the truth had seemed impossible.

"Hello, Harry," he said. "May I come in?"

I hesitated and then shook my head, saying, "Best not. Let's go to the pub. Give me a moment." Then I shut the door in his face.

To be honest, I was a little surprised he was still outside the house when I joined him a few minutes later, having explained to Ruth that I was going to the pub with an old friend and wouldn't be gone long before quickly going upstairs to dress, slipping on my shoes and grabbing my coat. He's a good friend though Malcolm, steadfast and willing to put up with and forgive a lot, and to be fair, I'd do the same for him. We've known each other too long to begin to doubt each other now.

We walked in silence to the pub down the road, and when we got there, Malcolm found us a secluded table while I bought us both drinks. Once we'd sat down, however, I didn't know where to start and an awkward silence descended between us. Eventually, Malcolm broke it by saying, "I called the Grid. Lucas told me that you'd taken time off. When you didn't answer your phone, I was worried."

I sighed and began to speak, beginning with an apology for shutting the door in his face and succinctly explaining the events of the last few weeks, leaving out any mention of the lie I'd told Ruth. I just told him that I'd taken time off to help her settle in and that she was now at my place. I should have known I couldn't fool him, not Malcolm.

"And she's okay with that?" he asked, looking at me shrewdly.

"Yes," I replied, dropping my gaze to my beer and wishing I'd ordered a whisky instead. "She has amnesia."

"How bad?" he asked next.

"Bad," I answered. "She doesn't even remember her name." I looked up at him then, and seeing something akin to horror on his face, I immediately knew what conclusion he'd jumped to. "No, it's not like that, Malcolm," I immediately explained. "I'd never do that to her. You know that. I love her too much. I was going to walk away from her,from us." I paused and took a deep breath before filling him in on all the rest, and when I'd finished speaking, I turned to look at him again.

He was silent for quite a while before he murmured, "I understand your motives, Harry, but I have to say that I think what you're doing is wrong. She said no; whatever the reason and however much it doesn't make sense to you or me, she said no. You're taking advantage of her current state of weakness in a way that doesn't do you any credit, Harry. You need to tell her the truth. Besides, you can't build a relationship, a marriage on a lie."

"But it isn't a lie, Malcolm," I replied and my voice sounded desperate even to my ears. "Our feelings, our love is not a lie and that is what our relationship is built on."

"But don't you see, Harry," he said earnestly, "if you tell her the truth now, before her memory returns, you have a real chance of making it work. If she's with you for all the right reasons, she'll have no trouble understanding why you did what you did because she has no memory of the way she used to think, the reasons why she refused you. If you wait for her to figure it out on her own, she'll find it infinitely harder to forgive you because she'll see it as a lack of respect for her wishes, a breach of trust and an act of the worst kind of manipulation."

And I can't help acknowledging that he's right - I must tell her the truth before it's too late.