Peter Firth

“I don’t know how you do it, Harry.” “Do what?” “Manage to look so… good! Despite the fact that you’re-” “Don’t say it.” “… Alright.” “I would have thought the answer was obvious, Ruth.” “Is it?” “I’m happy. And I’m happy because of you.”

“That’s exactly what I said, Ruth. Two nights in Paris. With me. What do you say?” “Only if you promise not to wear a tie the entire time we’re there, Harry.” “Deal.”

“What’s this, Ruth?” “Read it and you’ll see.” “…. It’s a poem. I don’t recognise it. Did you write it?” “Yes. I did. Do you like it?” “I do. Very much, Ruth…. This part here… Is it what I think it is?” “After two years together, Harry, I can hardly be expected to read your mind. I would say that depends on what you think it is.” “Is it… Are you asking me…?” “To marry me? Yes. I am.” “And do I have to compose a poem with my answer?” “No. You could just tell me your answer.” “Do you really need to ask, Ruth?” “It is the… polite thing to do.” “Well then. It’s yes. Of course it’s yes. I would have married you five years ago. I’ll marry you tomorrow. I love you.”

“Ruth?” “Yes?” “Can you guess what I want?” “Er… Yes. I think I have a pretty good idea.” “And?” “It’s… tempting.” “That’s good.” “It’s just that dinner’s almost ready and I thought-” “The timer says we have twenty minutes.” “But I have to do the veg.” “I’ll make a salad.” “You don’t like salad.” “But you do, and as you’ve pointed out before, it’s good for me, so…” “Right.” “Ruth?” “What?” “You know what.” *sighs* “Oh, go on then.” “That’s not a very enthusiastic response.” “Well, you’d better make more of an effort then to get me in the mood, hadn’t you?” “Challenge accepted.”

“Come on, Dad. Cheer up. She’s only gone for a couple of weeks.” “I know. You’re right. It’s just… Oh, I don’t know. It’s triggering all these… emotions from before, when she was gone for three years and I never thought I’d see her again.” “I know. That’s why I’m here though. Ruth said I was to take care of you, so come on. I’m taking you down the pub for lunch and then we’re going to see a film at the cinema.”

“Oh dear. What’s happened?” “It’s nothing.” “If you could see your face, Harry, you wouldn’t say it’s nothing. Is it Catherine or Graham this time? Or did someone steal your chocolate buttons, because I swear, this time, it wasn’t me.” “You know me too well, Ruth.” “Maybe. Or maybe I know you and love you just the right amount. Tell me what’s on your mind while I make us a cuppa and get out the chocolate bickies.” “You spoil me.” “Hardly. If I did that, you’d probably be the size of a house by now or dead from a heart attack. I like you alive and virile, thank you very much, and I’m too young to be a widow.”