I really hope you're still enjoying this.
2015
The look on his face as she fumbled with the keys to the flat was almost bemused.
"What's the matter?" she asked him curiously, glancing around to look at him when she had pushed open the door.
"Nothing," he told her in reply, following her inside, "I'm just not sure I expected you to still live here. I think I saw you finding somewhere else."
"It was tempting at first," she admitted, closing the door behind them both, "But I wanted to stay where I'd been with you. We can look for somewhere else now, if you like, though," she continued, "We've definitely got the money now. They still paid your salary into our account every month, but I didn't touch it."
"I wouldn't have minded," he told her, putting the two pizza boxes down on the table, "It wouldn't have been much use to me."
"Well I did mind," she replied, "It would have felt wrong. Anyway, it's all still there. And we can look for somewhere. If you like."
He sat down, re-opening his pizza.
"I would like that," he told her smiling his gentle smile at her as she sat down beside him, "I think that would be nice."
She pulled her own untouched pizza towards herself. They had driven a little way in near silence when Charles had asked if Joe was hungry, and then they had stopped at a takeout pizza place. Without speaking, Phyllis had left the car and returned with three boxes. Charles had insisted on going out of his way to take them home so she thought it was only fair to buy him a pizza.
The hunger was evident in Joe's eyes as his head turned towards the scent of the food.
"What did you-…?"
"Half the sauce, double the cheese, and ham on one half," Phyllis told him, handing him his box, and then, with a tentative smile, "You absurd man."
He smiled too, opening the box and seeing that what she said was true.
"You remembered," he remarked.
"Of course I remembered," she replied, "No one else eats such nonsense."
She waited a moment, watching him eat, seeing him relax a little.
"Joe," she told him, "I love you."
They sat in their kitchen, eating in silence for a little while. She kept glancing at him, hoping he did not notice. This was the first time she'd seen him in the light. He had lost a lot of weight, and had a thicker growth of stubble than she'd ever seen him with. His face was more lined than it had been. But then, she thought, she didn't know what he made of hers, after nearly a decade. He stood up when he'd finished.
"Can I make you a tea?" he asked her.
"That would be nice," she replied.
She watched him wander over to the cupboards, putting his pizza box in the bin. With his loss of weight, he moved a little more swiftly but asserted his presence in the room less than he had done. He automatically reached for the cupboard where the tea always had been, and still was. Taking it down off the shelf, he scanned the bench.
"Kettle?" he asked.
"Over there," she pointed to it on the other bench, "The other socket fused last week and I haven't got around to fixing it."
"I'll give it a look tomorrow," he told her, "No doubt Charles will still want you in at work."
"Joseph-…" she turned around, wanting to be honest, fully prepared and ready to tell him that she was no longer woking for the government, she was teaching five year olds to spell and count, but when she saw him she also saw the way that he was looking at her. He had the look of a man who had come home after a long time, such a long time, and she was at the centre of that. The way he was looking at her made her feel it. A lump rose in her throat, and she could not speak. She only nodded.
"It would be good if you could," she told him.
The was steadily coming to the boil.
"You're right," he told her, getting two mugs out of the cupboard, "We should look for a new place if the electrics are playing up here. Seems silly too wait."
"Yeah, it does," she agreed, "I'll get on the phone to Daisy on Saturday."
"Are her and William still in property?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, "They're doing very well. Actually, they sold Charles and Elsie their new place."
"Charles is living with Elsie?" he asked.
Of course, she had forgotten he didn't know. She smiled.
"Yes," she replied softly, "They got married last year."
Joe smiled too as the kettle clicked, and he poured out the water into the mugs.
"Well," he remarked, "It was bound to happen eventually."
"And yet we wondered if he'd ever get round to it," she reminded him, "But no, they've been together years now. They got together quite soon after-… you were gone."
She stopped abruptly, tried not to remember, she tried never to think about that time too much. It wasn't good for her to let her mind dwell upon it. It was a long time ago, but she painfully remembered how it had felt, seeing Charles and Elsie quietly, yet so obviously coming together so happily, with Joe gone. And they had tried, she knew, not to make it difficult for her, to stay out of her way. And she knew, even, that she shouldn't have minded at all- she who finally, after years of reading about it, understood what happiness was and what it meant to be lost- she should not have begrudged her friends their own happiness, and yet-…
"Do you have an early start tomorrow?" he asked. He was looking at her with some concern, she saw, and she realised she had let her distress show in her face.
She shrugged.
"I have to be in at nine am at the latest," she replied, truthfully.
"Not too bad," he remarked.
"No," she agreed, "Not too early."
There was silence for a moment.
"What do you want to do?" she asked, "Should I run you a bath before we go to bed?"
"That would be good," he replied, his face lighting up just a little at the thought, "A bath would be really nice."
Again, she tried not to think about the last time he'd been given the chance to wash properly.
"Alright," she replied, taking her tea and standing up, "I'll go up and do that. Do you want the rest of my pizza?"
"I wouldn't mind," he replied eagerly, sitting back down at the table with his own tea.
"Alright," she told him, touching his shoulder gently, "I'll shout when it's ready."
She felt herself exhale deeply when she left the room. She eased herself gently up the stairs, too caught up in her thoughts to ascend at any great speed. If she was honest with herself, she had expected things to be less-… normal. She had expected distress, she had expected trauma. Neither was immediately manifest. Letting out another sigh, she turned the hot tap on and let the water run into the bath. It was no bad thing, she supposed, and she should be glad about it. But it spooked her nonetheless. It wasn't natural for someone to go through what he had and not-…. but then, she supposed, she did not know exactly what he had been through, he hadn't said anything, she knew little more than her own conjecture.
"It's nearly ready!" she called down the stairs, changing the temperature of the water.
"Alright!" came the reply.
She had to admit, at a first glance, he seemed to be handling it all very well.
A moment later he appeared in the doorway.
"You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to this," he told her, looking at the steam rising from the surface of the bath.
She smiled, dipping her fingers in to test the temperature, turning the tap off. He did not undress as she expected him too though. Instead, after he closed the bathroom door, he stood there hesitantly, just inside the room.
"What's wrong?" she asked him softly.
Steam from the bath was rising around them both, blurring their sight just slightly.
"My body has changed a lot," he told her honestly.
She gave him a brave smile.
"So has mine," she replied softly. She waited a moment, gaging his response; "Do you want me to go?" she asked him.
"No," he replied, "I want you to want to stay."
"Then I'll stay," she told him, her voice soft, trying not to shake, "I always want to be with you."
"Thank you," he told her, sincerely, and she reached out towards him, working her fingers tenderly beneath the grey T-shirt he was wearing, lifting it over his head and off.
He was right, his body had changed, a lot. She tried not to look too surprised. The scars and the bruises were something that she had expected, not the tattoos. Instinctively, curiously, her hand reached out to touch them.
"Can I?" she asked him, her fingers hovering close to his skin.
"Of course," he replied.
She traced the one on his left pectoral slowly with her thumb.
"I don't read Russian," she said softly, "What do they say?"
"The usual macho bullshit," he told her quietly, smiling a little- it did not reach his eyes, "But if you didn't have one you were dead."
She nodded carefully, still touching his skin. He looked at her in concern.
"Are you alright?" he asked her.
"Yes, of course I am," she replied quickly, "You're here."
He smiled at her, taking her hand and squeezing it softly.
"You'd better get in the bath," she told him softly.
He nodded, slipping his trousers off and stepping into the water. She knelt on the floor beside him as he sat in the water. The tips of her fingers dipped gently in the water as she looked carefully at his exposed skin, taking in the new marks more carefully than before, examining them and allowing herself to wonder. His eyes followed her eyes as they combed his body but she was too distracted to notice the frown forming on his face.
"Lissy," he said very softly, calling her the name that she hadn't heard for nine years, because only he would dare to call her that, lifting his hand out of the water to take hers, "I will talk to you about what happened. I want to be able to. But please give me time. I can't yet. I know you're worried, but it's better if you give me time. Is that alright?"
"Of course," she told him, "I want to do what's best for you."
"Thank you," he replied, "I really appreciate that. I know it was hard for you too. It's good of you to put me first."
"It was hard," she admitted, "But it wasn't-…" she glanced at the cuts on his chest, "When you were first gone," she began again, "I felt very guilty. I wished I could have given you more, I thought somehow I could have saved you-…"
"That's crazy," he told her softly, "You weren't even involved in that operation."
"I know I wasn't," she replied, "But that's how I felt. What I'm saying is, let me make it up to you now."
"Darling," he told her gently, "You have nothing to make up for."
"But I want to try," she insisted, squeezing his hand gently, "Please let me try."
He looked at her carefully for a moment.
"Alright," he agreed.
They were both quiet for a few seconds.
"I've been thinking about you for nine years," he told her softly, "Alone, in a cell, for nine years, you were everything good that I thought about. You helped me more than you can know."
She could not help it, kneeling there on the floor beside the bathtub, she broke down, she began to sob, quietly at first but then more, and she clung to the rim of the bath to keep herself upright. She felt like an idiot, if either of them should be crying it was definitely him. But he wasn't, he was watching her with that look of surprised compassion that she so strongly associated with him. And then he was reaching forwards, forgetting that his arms were soaking, wrapping them around her and holding her. She did not mind at all that he was drenching her, the warm, wet heat engulfed her and helped to soothe her sobs.
"It's alright, my darling," he told her gently, "It's going to be alright."
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