The following night – Friday, 11th November
She stares at the spring roll for a moment, thinking of the last time she'd had one with Harry when everything had been so new and wonderful between them, and suddenly she doesn't fancy it any more. Everything seems to remind her of him, the scent of the Imperial Leather soap in the bathroom, the English Breakfast tea bags in the kitchen, every love song on the radio, and even the bloody food. She sighs as she puts the spring roll back and digs into her food, thinking about their conversation earlier, before she'd left the Grid, when he'd seemed so worried about her.
"It's not just about Clive's murder... or about the book," he'd said, his eyes betraying his concern for her safety, and she'd thought, in that moment, that she'd glimpsed a little of that something, that she used to think was love, in his gaze. And that was the first time she'd realised that Harry believes her to be in real danger, and it had shaken her to the core. She'd promised to call him and she had, the moment she'd arrived at the safe-house, but they'd both been painfully reserved and tongue-tied, the ease of their past exchanges gone to be replaced by awkwardness and long moments of uncomfortable silence. The phone call had been brief, but she's been unable to recover from it, a shroud of deep sadness settling over her, making her feel depressed and on the edge of tears all the time.
She wishes she could be alone right now, so that she wouldn't have to hold it together but could have a good cry instead and feel sorry for herself in peace. But perhaps it's better that she can't let herself fall apart because, unless she's prepared to fight for them and put up with an awful lot of unpleasantness at work – something she's still not sure she's brave enough to do – she's going to have to get over him sometime and she might as well start now.
Gary walks into the room just then and takes a seat beside her, interrupting her depressing thoughts. He doesn't say anything and neither does she, simply lifting the take-away container with the spring rolls towards him, silently offering him one. He takes one and they both resume eating while they listen to the TV blaring in the next room. Nobody's actually watching the reality show that's currently on, but it serves its purpose of providing some background noise and conversation, so they don't actually have to speak to each other. They're all getting a bit fed up with each other's company and the atmosphere in the safe-house is tense and irritating, particularly between her and Gary as they're the ones who've had to remain here all night, every night. It makes her wonder how she ever managed to date the man; he really is the most trying and inconsiderate house-mate. She doesn't remember him being this bad when they were together, but he was younger in those days and was probably not as set in his ways as he is now, though now she thinks about it, she does remember him being rather messy and chaotic, though he always made an effort to clean up a little whenever she stayed over at his place which, it must be said, was a very rare occurrence.
They'd never lived together, thank God, or they might have ended up killing each other, she thinks with a grim smile which promptly slips away as she finds herself thinking of Harry again and what their life might be like if they ever shared a home. She'd probably drive him mad with her tendency to leave things lying around because, though not as bad as some, she's nowhere near as tidy as he is; he'd most likely be forever complaining or tidying up after her. That is until she'd distract him with a few kisses and caresses, and then everything would be perfect again as their passion would take over and they'd get lost in it and each other. It's been the most surprising thing about him, discovering how much he loves and craves physical contact. She would never have guessed how affectionate he can be from his demeanour at work, and it's one of the things she's come to love most about him. God, how she misses him!
The sound of a car alarm, makes her lift her head and glance at Zaf, who puts down his paper and moves to the window, pulling the curtain aside a little to peer into the darkness. A second car alarm goes off and suddenly she's terribly afraid. "Get him down. Now!" Zaf commands, knocking over the lamp and swiftly flicking off the light switch so that the room is plunged into darkness. And that's when the shooting starts.
Most of what happens next is a blur, the adrenaline, the limited field training she's had, and her survival instinct all kicking in to somehow get her and Gary out of harms way behind the sofa while Steve and Zaf exchange fire with their assailants. When asked later, during her debriefing, what happened next, all she can recall of those few seconds as she crouched behind the settee with Gary, her heart in her mouth and her body shaking with fear, is a fervent wish that Harry was there with her instead. She would have given anything to have him beside her in that moment, holding her in his arms and kissing away her fear, protecting her as he had done on the yacht just a few weeks ago. And though part of her, the fiercely independent, feminist part, baulks at the idea of needing a man to protect her, another part of her knows that there is something infinitely precious in having someone like that in her life, someone she can trust and rely on completely and with whom, together, they can build a relationship that makes them both stronger, strong enough to face anything.
Her parents had had that, she recalls, and she has one particular, vivid memory of them together when she'd been about nine and had crept back downstairs to get a drink of water long after she should have been asleep. The kitchen door had been slightly ajar and she'd paused there unseen, not wanting to get into trouble for being up so late, and through the gap, she'd seen them standing close together, her father speaking lowly, telling her mum about the patient he'd just lost – a little boy of five, she remembers. They hadn't normally been overly affectionate with each other in her presence, so she'd been struck by the intimacy between them in that moment, how close they'd seemed though they were barely touching and how her mother had been able to lend her father strength at that difficult time. It had also been the first and only time she'd seen her father cry. Her mother had comforted him in the same way she used to comfort her when she'd been hurt, wrapping her arms around him and rocking him gently from side to side as he rested his forehead on her shoulder while she stroked the back of his head and neck with one hand and rubbed his back in soothing circles with the other. She'd stood there watching for what had seemed like hours, mesmerised by it all until her father had finally lifted his head and brushed away his tears. Then he'd smiled into her mother's eyes and thanked her, telling her that he loves her and kissing her lips, gently at first and then more firmly, until they were clinging to each other and snogging with an urgency and passion that had shocked her out of her stupor and had sent her scurrying back to bed.
Needless to say, she didn't share any of these thoughts or recollections during her debriefing.