Four months later, standing in what had been described in the details as a newly installed shaker style kitchen, with the sunshine streaming through the window, Ruth nee Evershed now Pearce is waiting for the call from her husband to say that the flight which he is meeting at the airport on the outskirts of Clermont-Ferrand has landed. Four months, the significant days of which she has recorded in a journal of her own, of new beginnings and a single ending, when peacefully in her sleep Malcolm's mum had gone at what her son had described as her time.
Remarkable then that less than a week later he had stood by Harry's side on their wedding day, something he had insisted he still wanted to do and with none of the tell-tale signs to suggest that he was in any way struggling, until a week ago when a call from a concerned Adam telling them that he had told Malcolm to take the compassionate leave to which he was entitled, had seen them offering and him booking his flight the same day.
To say that they themselves are blissfully happy, something which in the early days had simmered rather than boiled, now equates to waking up in a house which they love, walking by the river or up into the hills, shopping in the village where they have made friends and chatting over the garden fence to their neighbours who as they work at the local hospital tends to be as and when, are thoughts which Ruth takes with her out into the garden. A garden which has been transformed to ensure that there will be colour right into the autumn by way of a climbing rose on a the back wall, by what came with a guarantee when they bought them in the market are perennials which will survive what they know will be a cold winter, brightly coloured ceramic pots which the previous owners had left behind now filled with geraniums and trailing lobelia and an assortment of bulbs which they intend to plant in the borders when the time comes. Not of course forgetting the promised clothes line one of those whirly things that folds up when not in use, all of which has been achieved by working together despite Harry's previous reservations when it came to gardening or did it need her persuasion.
Which is why to say that she is biased when it comes to Harry, in the same way that his crowning glory in her eyes is that with a patience worthy of a saint he has mastered the language to the point where he rarely needs to defer to her anymore, she no longer denies. In the same way that she hopes Malcolm who knows them perhaps not entirely as well as they know themselves but close enough, will realise that they genuinely want to help him through what was always going to be a difficult time.
.
'I don't suppose that we could stop for a moment so that I can get the feeling of normality back when we're clear of the airport?' Malcolm asks Harry as they shake hands and head for car. The familiarity of the action not lost on either of them or the change in their circumstances.
'We can do better than that,' Harry tells him opening the boot so that Malcolm can stow his trusty backpack once destined for the Scottish Highlands, before pointing to the basket that Ruth had put together when it was still dark, containing a flask of hot water and all else it takes so that they can make themselves a drink and some biscuits, wedged between some cans of paint, a small step ladder and a tool box. Reminding him that they need to buy a shed, to store what has been a rapidly growing number of things which need to be kept outdoors.
.
That the drive home is a familiar one but this time without holdups, the fact that it is still only ten in the morning which means that Harry has been up for over five hours, requires almost as much concentration as it did when it had been dark. That he had earmarked the picnic area where the Parc de Volcans is clearly visible to stop, is because it is on the list of ideas for a day out along with a trip to the coast, is no longer just for Malcolm's benefit. Because as well as needing a pee and to stretch his legs before having a drink, he has been trying and failing to gauge Malcolm's mood, in the same way that Malcolm must have done with him countless times over the years, although almost certainly without images of Ros implying that soppy, if in fact soppy is what this is, sees him ringing Ruth just to hear her voice.
That she is sitting in the garden having been to the village because today is the day when the fish man will be there and stocked up as they do every week on fresh veg and fruit, is enough to makes him forget why he rang her in the first place such is the picture that it conjures up. But most satisfying is that having heard her voice is that he can feel the tension slipping away, to the point where when he turns off the motorway towards St. Flour he knows he is within touching distance of being at home. Memories of that first morning when he had pulled back the curtains in their hotel room, the feeling of belonging now a reality, so much so that it makes him want to pinch himself every day, is heightened as he drives from the upper town down the winding road on what he had forgotten was market day.
At which point, 'can we stop, I'd like to buy Ruth some flowers, does she still like freesias?' Malcolm asks him, to which he nods but is prevented from asking him how he knows, because a toot from the car behind reminds him that what is called locally as the circuit, having a chat in addition to dropping passengers off, can and has in the past caused chaos.
That the florist's is at the top of the high street is a bonus, but even so it takes three circuits and a good deal of his patience before he spots Malcolm considering the flowers he is now holding. Which is the nudge he needs, reminding him that the last time he had bought Ruth anything remotely romantic had been when they had been shopping in London just before coming back to France. A tiny locket which she had worn on their wedding day. A thought which has him adding must try harder, whilst betting that buying flowers for his mum had been something that Malcolm had done on a weekly basis.
.
That Ruth accepts the flowers as she knew he would by saying, 'they're beautiful Malcolm thank you,' complete with a beaming smile and a hug, sets the tone for what remains of the day. A day which already feels as though it should be bedtime to Harry as he carries Malcolm's backpack up to his room, points him in the direction of the bathroom and then leaves him to unpack. Rooms which are at the opposite end of corridor to theirs which not only has the benefit of an en-suite, but a small balcony which overlooks the garden with a view of the hills in the distance. That what had been described as a child's bedroom, they have earmarked for Wes if Adam succeeds in doing what he himself never did and takes a holiday still contains boxes which they need to unpack. At this moment though he needs a shower and to change and dare he think half an hour of shut eye before Ruth gives them a shout to say lunch is ready.