Twenty:
A Life Worth Living
Ros's funeral was held on what turned out to be a very warm, sunny morning. It felt wrong, somehow, that someone whose outlook on life was so grim, so steely and determined, would be put to rest on such a lovely day. If she'd have had to pick a day, Ruth would've said Ros would be buried on a miserable Monday morning in January, the air cold and angry as it whipped around the mourners, bitterly cold, and the sky pissing down frozen mist.
But, then again, Ros was with her beloved Andrew again. So maybe the sunshine was apropos.
The last few days had been a shock and adjustment for them all. Jamie wasn't pleased with having to share his room with Emma. Social Services had paid more than one visit to the house and commented on the state of flux in which the house ran, but had agreed that there was adequate care for Emma with them – considering Malcolm and Rose were already trading care of Jamie back and forth, it wasn't a leap to add Emma to it.
For her part, Emma, being all of not quite two years old, just wanted her mummy. She cried a lot, hollering for "Mama" and "BeeBee", and it had taken them a few hours to realize that "BeeBee" was Barbara, her deceased nanny. Ruth had stepped in and gently tried to sway the little girl but it was tough going. Eventually, on the fifth day, Emma had toddled over and reached for her, calling, "Oof." It was close enough, and Ruth pulled her onto her lap and cuddled her, reading one of Jamie's old baby books to her.
Ruth slept on the couch, next to the baby monitor. The couch wasn't exactly comfortable, but it was easier for her to sleep there, with her petite frame, than to try to make Harry do it. Every time Harry touched her, her skin crawled and she felt sick to her stomach. Lucas would haunt her forever, it seemed, and she was on medical leave for at least the next six weeks. She'd overheard Harry and Malcolm talking about sending her to TRING, and that had been the last straw. She had taken her pillows and the big fluffy down duvet and made the overstuffed reading sofa in the sitting room her bed.
She wasn't mad; she was broken and needed time to heal. Harry kept pushing the issue, and she couldn't show him how badly she needed him to stop. She couldn't find the words to tell him that she loved him so much that she couldn't bear him seeing her break down. She and Emma were two peas in a pod, lost in an open sea of confusion and pain, neither really knowing how to go about things now.
Emma squirmed and started crying loudly during the little service for her mum. It was a small service, as Ros had requested. Her parents, the team from Section D, Harry, Malcolm, and Jamie. It was a testament to the woman that had kept them glued together for as long as possible, and poor Emma hated the music. It was to be expected, really, with someone so young.
Ruth took her outside, puttering around the grounds rather than forcing her to sit still with the mourners. They walked around the graveyard, Emma playing hide and seek with the headstones, and stooping to pick a few straggling wildflowers. "Piddy, Oof," she said with a smile, bringing them back to Ruth one at a time until she had a small bouquet.
"They are very pretty," Ruth agreed. She wanted to talk to the little girl, to assure her that she would be taken care of and loved… but the words wouldn't come. It wasn't possible with the life that she and Harry were living to make that kind of a promise; Cotterdam, the uranium, and John Bateman had all seen those words of promise and revealed them to be lies.
"Oof no cwy," Emma ordered, yanking on her hand, pulling her down to the grass. Emma kissed the tears away and smiled. "Aww behher."
She couldn't tell the little girl that it wasn't all better, so Ruth just smiled and nodded, pulling the baby into her arms and holding her close. "I love you very much," Ruth whispered. "Not as much as your mummy would, but I'm going to try so hard to be the mum you deserve, Emma Lawrence. And I know you won't love me as much as your mummy, but I hope you'll call me mum in time and be happy with us."
Emma just looked up at her, her forehead crinkling with the words.
"I'm sorry, love," Ruth murmured, giving her a kiss.
"There you both are," Harry said as he came over the rise. Emma struggled to get out of Ruth's arms and ran over to jump into Harry's. "Hello, Emma – did you have fun with Auntie Ruth?"
"Piddy fowwers," Emma said, pointing at the discarded handful of flowers that lay on Ruth's lap.
"Did you pick some pretty flowers?" Harry asked with a smile. "Give us a kiss, then," he instructed gruffly. Emma obediently leaned in and gave him a sloppy kiss, grinning all the while. "Now, Emma," he said gravely, "you're going to live with Auntie Ruth and Uncle Harry. That means you'll have Jamie to play with, and Kelly and Siobhan sometimes, and Uncle Malcolm. Is that going to be all right?"
"Mama?" Emma said hopefully.
"I'm sorry, love," Harry said gently. "Mama is gone. But Auntie Ruth and Uncle Harry will take very good care of you, and we will love you as if you were our own, Emma. If I ever make a promise I don't keep, it will not be that one. From now on, you are my daughter, my little girl, and I will take care of you."
Emma made a face and clapped her little hands against the sides of his face. "Kay," she finally agreed. "Uvoo, Unca Hawweeee."
"I love you, too, Emma," he murmured, giving her a kiss. He set her back down on the ground and she tore off to jump onto Ruth.
"Oh my goodness," Ruth said softly, getting a sloppy kiss from the baby, as well. "Oh, Emma, I'm so sorry this has happened to you; but Harry and I will take care of you, love. I promise."
Emma nodded and smiled, kissing Ruth again. "Uvoo, Oof," she announced.
"Call me mum," Ruth said very softly. "Please."
Emma cocked her head and tried the word out on her tongue. "Mmmmum."
Ruth nodded and stroked the little girl's straight blonde hair. "I will be your mummy and I won't let anything happen to you," she whispered. "Okay?"
Emma hesitated, then nodded and gave her another kiss. "Kay, mmmmum."
Jamie and Malcolm came into the graveyard and Jamie ran over. "Mummy, Uncle Malcolm says we can stop for chips and steak pies for lunch!" he said excitedly, almost catapulting into his mother's lap.
"Oh he did, did he?" Ruth sighed.
"He said it's your favorite, mummy, and we should make you feel better."
Ruth nodded and hugged both children close. "I'd like that," she murmured.
"I've got to go back to work," Harry said softly. "Will you be all right?"
"Fine," Ruth said automatically. "I'll be fine, Harry." It was a lie; they both knew it. But that didn't make it any more difficult to say; in point of fact, it was maybe even easier to say knowing so surely that it was a falsehood.
"We need to talk," he said.
"All we do is talk, and we say nothing," Ruth murmured. She didn't want to upset the children by going into everything, and he would be cross when she told him what she'd decided to do. She needed time to think it through, to present it to him without all the trappings of grief, of pain, and to make it reasonable for him to understand where she was coming from.
He looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head and sighed. "I'll see you when I get home," Harry said quietly. "Be good for mummy," he told the children. Jamie nodded his assent, and Emma continued sucking on her thumb.
Ruth, however, felt like a piece of her was walking away with Harry. She knew if she didn't fix things soon, he would lose patience with her and walk away entirely. It was a situation where she couldn't just… and she wouldn't just… and it was her feelings holding her back, the shame, the anguish, the shock – it was everything she didn't, wouldn't, couldn't possibly want to feel, all jumbled together.
It would take time to unpick it.
She was patient.
He was not.
She didn't want to lose him, so she pushed him away and held him at arm's length, trying desperately to unknot the wad of pain and suffering. But the look on his face, the naked pain and concern masquerading as his façade… it broke her heart. And she knew she was punishing them both for her failures, but she had no way, no understanding, of the knowledge of what to do next.
When Harry came home, everyone had adjourned to their respective spaces. Rose and Daisy were in their rooms; Rose had had a long shift at work and was decompressing by playing video games on her computer, and Daisy was trying to finish painting her latest masterpiece. Malcolm had gone to the attic to add a length of track to his train set – and the sound of the train could be heard through the attic floor, a calm, reassuring counterpoint to the storm of the day's emotions. Emma and Jamie had been bathed and put to bed without much fuss, though Emma didn't like where her bed was – they had brought her things from Ros's flat days before – and kept sneaking into bed with Jamie in the middle of the night. Ruth suspected it had more to do with needing comfort than any actual upset about the bed or its placement. Jamie was a good boy, and he tried to keep the baby calm, but he was beginning to get upset with having to share his space all the time. When he'd asked for a little brother or sister, then, he'd not realized quite what it would mean.
Ruth was in the sitting room, curled up on the sofa that served as her bed, huddled under the duvet aside from her hands, which clutched a copy of Persuasion as if it were a lifeline. She'd been staring at the familiar words for hours, hoping that they would resolve into phrases and paragraphs, but she was still stuck on the same page as when she'd begun. Her mind was a churning sea of memories, fears, wishes, hopes, denials, wants aborted and seeking… and she could not focus.
But when she heard the front door close and the beeping of Harry setting the alarm, she suddenly felt much calmer, much… much more focused. All of her jumbled thoughts had resolved themselves with clarity at once, and wrongs were righted again.
He moved through the hallway, going to the kitchen, rattling around in search of dinner. When he came into the sitting room, he had a leftover treacle tart and an apple in hand, and Ruth wondered how he managed to survive some days, if that was how he ate.
"I had supper with the Prime Minister," Harry said dismissively, as if in response to her unasked thoughts. "He inquired after your health. I told him that you are fine, and that the enforced leave is doing you well."
Ruth licked her lips, nervously. "Harry, I need to – to tell you something."
He held up his hand and said, "I know you've been seeing someone about the stress. I don't care, as long as they're approved by the Service."
"It's not that," she said quickly. "I – I want to leave Five."
That gave him pause. "Ruth?" he finally said.
"I don't – I've – I've given up so much already," she said in a rush. "I don't want to end up like Ros, or Danny or Zoe or Jo or Zaf or anyone else who's given everything to this country. I can't, Harry. I promised Ros that we would take care of Emma, and how can we do that if I'm off risking my life?"
He blinked, slowly. "Are you certain?" he asked, his voice growing chillier. "I can approve your transfer back to GCHQ and –"
"No, Harry, I want out completely," she murmured. "Over and done. It's too much."
He exhaled, his breath ragged. "Are you certain?" Harry repeated. "Because I was just extolling your virtues to take over as Section Head of D to both the PM and the Home Secretary at dinner this evening. They're keen, but if you're not willing… we're back to square one."
She stared at him. "You can't be serious, Harry."
"I am," he said simply.
"You can't be – I've not got the chops for it; you know I've not got the field training or the…"
"You've got the brains and the ability to think outside the box, which is what we need now. Ros played by all the rules. You won't. You will see the patterns with the cunning of an analyst, you will execute operations with a steady hand."
"Harry," she said very quietly, "I am your wife. People will assume that I've shagged my way into the position –"
"No," Harry said firmly. "There was an inquiry into Ros's and my conduct with Albany, and it has been suggested that I gave the file away to save your life. I was forced to prove to the panel by documentation that I saved you not for love, but for the good you've done the Service." He ran his hand over his face and sighed. "It was a sham, of course – a façade. Of course I did it because I love you. I would do anything for you, Ruth. You know that." He fell silent. He took a bite of his tart and chewed thoughtfully. When he spoke again, his voice was very soft, smooth, like velvet or the touch of his hand against hers. "The offer of promotion is based on my extolling your virtues, Ruth. Not because we're shagging; because god knows, we haven't been having any of that."
She snuggled deeper into the blankets and sighed. "I want to leave," she repeated; it had played such a big part of her decision, that simple realization. And now he was offering her more: a reason to stay, a hope that something would be righted that was wronged.
"I know," he said quietly.
She licked her lips and whispered, "I want to leave because we can never be more than we are together; and we've never been further apart, Harry."
He exhaled and finished his tart before he said anything. "You've been very clear with your feelings, Ruth. I've merely been following your wishes by leaving you alone."
"I was wrong," she said very quietly. "I need you and all I've done is push you away because I don't want you to see how much I'm hurting. It's been a week, Harry, and I'm foundering without you." She took a deep breath and exhaled through her nose. "I need you." The words were simple, but the sentiment behind them was more complicated than could be fathomed.
The tension in his shoulders was visible from where she was lying. He looked at the apple, then her, then muttered, "Sod it." He chucked the apple across the room and they both watched it rolling toward the empty fireplace. "I would never hurt you, Ruth. You know that."
"Yes," she murmured, "but I'm very adept at hurting myself."
He looked down at his hands and sighed. She looked away and closed her eyes. She opened them again when the felt the end of the sofa cushion dip under his weight, near her feet. "I know this is difficult," he said softly, "all of it. But pushing me away –"
"I'm not pushing you away any longer," Ruth said firmly. She sat up, the duvet falling away from her, revealing her nightshirt and bare legs to him. "I'm not," she repeated, reaching out to stroke his cheek. The day's stubble was there, rough beneath her touch, and she'd never been so overwhelmed by the feeling of love as in that moment, contemplating losing him completely. "And I will – I will think about your offer, Mr. Director General."
He exhaled and nodded, leaning into her touch. "All right," he agreed. "Meanwhile, Erin's in charge, and she's having a bit of a meltdown."
Ruth hid a tiny smile from him. "I'm sure she is," she said softly.
He took her hand from his cheek and turned it over in his own, using his left hand as a support as he wrote 'I love you' on the palm of her upturned hand using his right index finger. It was the single most romantic thing he'd ever done. And when he added a raised eyebrow and a scribble of, 'Come to bed?', she began to cry.
He took that as a bad sign and squeezed her hand, leaning in to kiss her cheek before he released her and left. She covered her face with her hands and wept with the abandon of someone whose life had changed irrevocably. The shock was beginning to wear off, finally, and she was left flayed, raw, bleeding her soul for anyone who would take the time to see it.
It was nearly eleven when she stopped crying. It was too late; he would be asleep already. So she stayed where she was, shaking and exhausted from the effort of attempting to hold herself together.
Five minutes till twelve, she got up to use the loo. The house was silent, but for the sound of Scarlett's toenails on the tiles as she followed her mistress into the downstairs bathroom. The little dog looked up at Ruth and wuffled, so Ruth reached down and scratched behind her ears. Still sleepy and a bit disorientated, Ruth flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and found herself in the master bedroom instead of back on the sofa in the sitting room.
Harry startled awake from the sudden noise. "Jamie, go back to bed," he grunted. "It was just a bad dream. There's no such things as monsters, I promise you."
Ruth hesitated for a long moment, then murmured, "But there are, Harry."
He flipped over immediately and turned on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with dim light. "Ruth?"
"And it wasn't a bad dream; god, I wish it were," she added. She felt so vulnerable, exposed, standing there like a small child in the night.
He seemed to make a decision then, and rose from bed. She wanted to step away, to put space between them even as he came closer, but she couldn't move if she tried. He wrapped her up in his arms and held her so close; her heart beat erratically at the contact, her mind spiraling out of control as images and memories and flashes of guilt assailed her, but in the end… it would be his gentle touch that would redeem her, that would save her.
He kissed her gently and whispered, "I love you, Ruth. For better or worse, remember?"
She paused, hesitated, nodded. "I remember," she whispered.
"Come to bed," he whispered, his gentle voice writing an invitation that her heart longed to fulfill. "Please, my love."
She nodded and let him lead her to their bed, where he covered her with the blankets and held her so very close, not allowing her space for her treacherous thoughts and belief in her failings and shortcomings.
It was the first time in a week that she actually slept.
END PART TWENTY