Mr & Mrs Darcy

By S. Faith, © 2013

Words: 30,042

Rating: M / R

Summary: Mark thinks he's as settled as he's ever going to get. Mark would be wrong.

Disclaimer: Isn't mine. Oh, God, do I wish it were.

Notes: Column universe, based off of the 2005-06 columns. Written prior to The Big Plot Reveal for Mad About the Boy.

I've got Things Goin' Down, so I couldn't promise to get it all posted before I head out east, BUT I wanted it up before the new book comes out. So, you get it all now, lucky you! Any typos or the like are entirely on me. Try not to binge-read!

Chapter 1.

First day of school, early September

It had been a very long time since he'd given that time in his life much conscious thought at all. A cascade of occurrences led him to do so with something of a wistful smile; that cascade began with his only child, his son, aged five, returning home from his first day at school.

"Dad," said the boy earnestly before he'd even had a chance to ask how the day had gone, "I made a friend. He's really nice."

"Is that so, Ben?" He crouched, unzipped Ben's jacket, helped him slip out of it.

Excitedly Ben nodded. "Yeah! He sits in the desk next to me, he's really funny and was nice. When another boy was being mean, he stuck up for me."

Hearing that someone was possibly bullying his son made him stop in his tracks. "What did this other boy do? The one who was being mean?"

Ben shrugged. "He's in Year 2 and was trying to boss me around."

"Oh really?" he said, combing his hair down with his fingers.

"And he made fun of the way I talk."

He sighed; by dint of having lived most of his young life in Manhattan, his child did have a distinct way of speaking. "I'm sorry."

"Brian thinks it's cool, though."

"Brian?"

"My new friend."

"Oh, right," he laughed. "I'm sorry. Brian thinks what's cool?"

Ben pursed his lips in a very adult sort of way. He was definitely his father's son. "The way I talk. He said it's like the pictures, whatever that means."

At this he couldn't help but chuckle, take the boy into his arms for a hug. He had also been affected by American telly. "What they call 'the movies' here. And I suppose it is, isn't it?"

"It was a very exciting first day, Mr Darcy."

He looked up to see the nanny, Lynn, who came in with an almost weary smile. "So it would seem," he said, releasing Ben and standing upright. "New school and a new friend, all on the same day."

"He talked about it the whole drive home," Lynn said. "Really surprised me, to be honest." She slipped out of her own overcoat. "I met the new friend, and he seems a sweet kid, though a bit rambunctious. Spitting image of his mother—well, I say 'mother', but she may have been a nanny too, for all I know." She turned back to her charge. "Why don't you and I go upstairs, Ben, and get you changed into your play clothes? Then you can tell your Dad and Mum all about your day."

"Mum's not home yet," he heard Ben say as they scaled the stairs.

"She'll be home soon," said the nanny. "She'll be so pleased to hear…"

Lynn's voice faded out as they got further away, and he turned to his thoughts. He was really surprised, too, to hear of Ben's effusiveness; normally he was very quiet, inwardly focused, self-entertaining and shy. He was also surprised that Ben had made a friend with such apparent ease. Ben hadn't left many friends behind in New York, and he hadn't made any new ones here in London yet.

The whole situation reminded him of himself at that age, a painful, awkward time when he'd had no confidence in himself, was tongue-tied more often than not, was socially inept and friendless. Even at his own birthday parties he'd tended to recede to the corners and involve himself in a solitary activity.

He went to the sitting room to pour himself a shot of scotch to help calm his nerves after his rough day. As he did, as the warmth of the amber liquid snaked through his system, he smiled to think of his own childhood, which in turn made him think of—

"Mark! Are you home?"

His smile fell; he finished the shot then set down the glass and turned to face the door. "Yes," he said. "I'm in here."

She came in, looked him up and down. "Scotch?" she asked tersely.

She hated when he drank after work, and he replied with a more defensive than intended, "Nice to see you too." Hoping to avoid a row, he added, reverting to the subject that was always their neutral ground, "Ben had a really great day at school. Made a friend."

Her features softened. "Oh, I'm glad to hear that," she said. "Moving back to London has been so rough on him."

Mark nodded. "He'll probably come down soon and tell you all about it," he said, even as he felt a bit peeved that she had not gone straight up after such a landmark day to find Ben the moment she'd come in.

The peevishness faded, though, when she smiled and said, "I can't wait to hear all about it."

The thundering down the stairs, accompanied by the loud shout of "Mum!", told Mark that Ben had realised she'd gotten home. Ben appeared at the door with a big smile, ran up to her just as she crouched to take him into her arms for a brief hug. "Oh, sweetie," she said. "I heard you had a very good day."

"Oh yes," he said, and as she released him, Ben then proceeded to repeat to his mother what he had told Mark upon his arrival: that he had a new friend who had the seat assigned next to Ben's; that this friend, Brian, had defended him against a mean kid; that Brian thought he had a 'cool' accent. "And we had our art section, too," Ben went on, addressing the both of them. "I did a drawing of our house and he did one of his cat. It was really good. Mum, can we have a cat?"

"I've told you a hundred times, sweetie, no pets." Sharply she clapped her hands once. "Now come on, it's time for dinner, then you can have a little playtime before you go off to bed. Go on and wash yourself up. Dining room, five minutes."

"Yes, Mum," Ben said obediently, then ran off towards the loo.

"You should do the same, Mark," she said. "Housekeeper gets pretty upset when we're not there to eat the food she times to be eaten precisely at seven."

He thought that it was not really the housekeeper who got upset.

She strode out of the room, leaving him with his thoughts for a brief moment before he went to wash up. He did not have these thoughts often—not as often as he used to, anyway—about how his life might have gone in a different direction, or at least, the journey to where he was now would have been a hell of a lot more fun.

"Yes, Mary," he murmured to no one before he proceeded on with his evening.

…

There were some days that Mark would not forget as long as he lived: the day he thought he was going to be a father; the day he learned he was not, in favour of the one man who could truly be considered his rival, Daniel; the day he offered to adopt said child but was given no answer, which was in itself all the answer she needed to give; and then the day when he rather unexpectedly learned he had, in actual fact, a child on the way. How the last of those events were an indirect result of the previous.

That child, Ben, whom he loved more than he ever thought he could have, was a bright child, though perhaps too isolated from children his own age, and even from his own busy, working parents. Mark had always vowed that when they were back in London, he would change that, but the return to London and a lighter schedule for himself coincided in a most unfortunate way with the start of compulsory education.

The dash those years ago to New York to get away from it all, from the heartbreak of losing the woman he loved to the father of her child, would be what set his life on the path it would ultimately take. It was a chance meeting with an old acquaintance from Cambridge—brunette, hazel-eyed, and attractive in her own way, though by no means stunning—that led to comfort in her arms in an ill-advised one-night stand before his return to London… and led to the call, two months later, that she was expecting his child. "I'm going to keep it," she had informed; he had advised in return that she could count on him to properly support her to the best of his ability. "It's exciting and terrifying," she had admitted. "Doing this all on my own in New York—all of my family's over there."

He'd told her he would consider his next steps.

He had, in all honestly, dragged his feet in this consideration; he offered, instead, to adopt his rival's child, hoping against all hope that he could reconcile with the woman he loved. However, it had been that fateful meeting in April, seeing her seven months into her pregnancy, the reality of the child just a couple of months from being born on top of hearing she was moving in with Daniel, that was what decided things once and for all:

Mark could not stay. It may have been cowardly to leave the city, the country he called home, but he could not be there to see Bridget and Daniel raising a baby together.

Off to New York he went for what he thought might be a one-year stint; they decided that, for the sake of the baby and to protect each other's legal interest in the most expedient way, to marry. Her work then his became too much of an entanglement to leave until the previous summer, just in time for Ben's formal schooling to start.

The five years he and Mary had been married hadn't been bad by any means. He didn't love her, or more precisely, was not in love with her, but he had known that going into the arrangement, and so had she. Her parenting style was a bit more structured and somewhat more emotionally distant than he thought he would ever have been comfortable with, especially since it had so closely resembled his own rearing in many ways, though there were some who might have thought 'emotionally distant' was right up his street. He saw so much in Ben of himself at that same age, though, and he remembered how difficult that age had been for him.

Mark was glad that Ben had found a friend already.

…

Approaching Autumnal Equinox

For the next fortnight, Ben's parents were regaled with tales of school and of Brian, from teaming up with him in physical education and in preliminary French, to trying playfully to outdo one another in the technology lab; the pair were apparently inseparable, which was reinforced by what Lynn saw in retrieving Ben from school. Mark had never quite seen Ben so happy, and it made Mark happy too.

As the calendar approached the end of September, Mark received a call from Lynn mid-morning. "I hope that you don't mind," she said, sounding quite nervous, "but when I dropped Ben off this morning they learned they were closing the school at noon. Totally unexpected. Since his mum seemed in such a panic trying to think of what to do, I offered to take Ben's friend back to the house when I go for him in a bit. The poor woman had no other option with some big meeting she had, and the boys seem to be such good friends…" She sighed. "I know I should have asked first but…"

"Don't give it a second thought," he said. "I'm mostly worried that you will have your hands full with two of them playing off of one another."

She laughed lightly, obviously relieved. "I'm fine with it, only hoped you might be," she said. "His mum will come for him at about half six, so you'll get to meet her at last."

"Oh, good," he said, reclining back in his chair. "I look forward to making her acquaintance."

Mark decided to leave work a little early in order to properly meet young Brian, and see the two boys interacting together to gauge the new friendship. He arrived home at about quarter to six to find the two of them up in Ben's playroom, playing with the train set; they were so engaged that they did not notice him at the door at first. It gave Mark a chance to observe them quietly.

They were very much a study in opposites. Where his own son's dark, wavy hair and lighter eyes were shades of brown, his skin fair from spending time indoors, Brian had straight, gold-streaked honey-brown hair that, along with his skin, spoke of a love of the outdoors, and when the boy looked up at last Mark saw he had the palest blue eyes he'd ever seen.

"Ben, is that your dad?" Brian asked. Ben turned around. Mark smiled at seeing the grin on Ben's face.

"Care to introduce me?" he asked Ben.

"Yeah." He got to his feet, as Brian did too. "Dad, this is my friend Brian. Brian, this is my dad."

Mark smiled, offering his hand. "It's good to meet you," he said.

Impressed, perhaps, that an adult was treating him more like an adult than a child, Brian gawked a little as he shook Mark's hand. "Nice to meet you too," he said.

"Do you like trains, too?" asked Mark.

"Oh yeah," he said with a big grin, then pointed. "I never had one of these, though. It's pretty cool."

'One of these' was Ben's elaborate train set, one that was set up on a table in the playroom; the table was about half a meter high, just right for the boys' height. It was more than just a track and engines, though; Ben had enjoyed very much choosing the miniature houses, trees, cars and even little people to peppered the landscape.

"It is pretty cool, isn't it," Mark said with a smile. "Well, boys, don't let me disturb your playing."

Ben fired the train back up and they watched it do circuits around the track; Mark became mesmerised by the train as well. It brought back memories of his own childhood, of his own similarly impressive train set, which, in a moment of rebellious foolishness as a young adult, he had discarded. He had always regretted the action, so it pleased him that his own son had taken such an interest in trains. He would always remember the reaction Ben had had at the toy store when Ben had seen the train doing its circuit; the wide eyes, the gasp, breaking free from his dad's hand and running to watch it go around and around—

There was a quiet knock at the door frame, which brought Mark's attention back to the present. He turned to meet Lynn's eyes; Lynn spoke but he didn't hear a thing. He imagined she was introducing him to Brian's mum, but the introduction was not necessary.

"Bridget," he said quietly, feeling slightly discombobulated, even shocked.

She stared up at him as if he had dropped down from outer space and into the room. "Mark?" she asked incredulously.

The moment of silence that passed between two of them seemed to last forever. She looked terrific, not much different than when he'd seen her last. Her hair was longer than when he'd seen her last, long enough to be held back with a barrette as it was at that moment, and she looked thinner than he remembered (though she had been quite pregnant at their last meeting), but her eyes were just as bright and blue as ever.

And then she surprised him. After a blindingly wide smile, she reached out, gave him a hug, and said, "It is very good to see you."

He hugged her in return, momentarily overwhelmed by the long-forgotten sensation of having her in his embrace, the scent of her favourite perfume; a quiet throat-clearing caused his eyes to flit up to meet Lynn's. Lynn looked very confused and asked for an explanation with her expression alone. He mouthed the word, "Later," then drew back and said to Bridget, "This is totally unexpected."

"You're telling me," she said, then turned to the boys and smiled fondly, though much more reserved than the first one.

"I'll… leave you to it, then," said Lynn with an awkwardness she couldn't mask. She took a step back, turned, and then walked away.

"It's funny," said Bridget, who looked up to him again. "The last time I saw you, I was all in a dither about trains."

He searched his memory for the conversation from that day, then chuckled when he recalled the Thomas the Tank Engine trains she had encountered on her way out to Magda's place in the country that April day. "I'd forgotten all about that," he confessed.

She chuckled, looking wistful. "When I first met Ben, I had this uncanny feeling that he looked familiar. Now I know why."

Before he had a chance to say anything, a child's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Mum, do you know Ben's dad?"

Mark realised both boys had stopped playing and were now standing there together, staring up at them.

"Yeah, we…" She trailed off, then said, "Yeah."

"Oh, good," said Brian with a great big grin. "That means we can play together more."

He saw a blush stain her cheeks. "Get your things, buddy," she said, patting his head, glancing up to Mark again, as Brian let out an expected protest. "Come on. We have to go." Brian and Ben dashed off, and in a quieter tone, she said, "Sorry about that."

"Don't apologise," Mark said. "I am very much in favour of more playtime for Ben."

She offered a smile back. "Good," she said. "I would hate to think you were uncomfor—well. We're all adults, right?"

Icy cold threaded down into his stomach at the reminder who Brian's father was… but she was right. They were adults and if necessary, he could limit the time he spent with Daniel. He would never show Daniel any outward hint of animosity in the presence of his son, and he hoped that Daniel would do the same in kind. "Yes," he said at last.

With Ben in tow, he walked Bridget and Brian to the front door. Bridget crouched to get Brian's jacket on and zipped, ensured his bag wasn't missing anything, then turned and asked Ben, "Did you have a nice afternoon?"

Ben nodded. "We had fun with my train."

"I bet you did," Bridget said, then rose to her full height. "Well, I'll see you again tomorrow, I'm sure."

Ben nodded again with a smile on his face. "I hope so," said Ben.

Bridget faced Mark once more. "Thanks for taking him this afternoon on such short notice, Mark. I was in a real pinch."

"It was no trouble at all."

"Well," she said, "we'd best be off. I'm sure we'll be seeing you around." She offered another smile. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Bridget," he said in return, leaning to get the door for them, then closing it after they left.

He had no time at all to let what had just happened sink in, as Lynn returned and told Ben to get upstairs to change out of his school clothes for dinner. "I'll be up to help you in a moment," she said, then, as he disappeared, said in a confidential tone to Mark. "So you know Brian's mum already? How?"

"She's…" he began as a parade of possible descriptors flickered through his mind—my ex; the woman I tried desperately to have a child with; the woman I lost to Daniel Cleaver; the woman I've loved most in my life and would have married if she'd've had me—but settled at last with a bland, neutral, "a childhood friend."

She did not even try to mask the look of utter scepticism from her features; he wondered what Lynn had seen on his features in that moment when his gaze had lit on Bridget. "Shall I keep this quiet with the missus, then?"

"Might be best for me to bring it up at the right time," he said, though could not imagine when that might ever be.

"Right," she said. She looked serious for a moment. "It didn't seem to matter before, but… I should mention that I've met Brian's dad, too. Daniel, I think? He's been by to pick up Brian a few times—once or twice with Bridget." Mark was not sure why she felt she needed to mention this, but then she added, "I suppose you know him as well?"

Mark nodded. Against all odds, it seemed they were still together. "Yes."

"Let me go help Ben, and you can, I don't know, have a glass of wine after your big shock." She winked then went up the staircase.

Mark slipped out of his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and went down to the kitchen for some red wine, not giving a care for what Mary might say if she caught him drinking again before dinner. It was a habit he had fallen out of many years ago, and it amused him to think that the two times he'd done so in recent memory involved Bridget (even if he hadn't realised it the first time).

As he enjoyed that wine, he thought about the day's surprise, which renewed the bloom of pleasure mixed with the twinge of regret that he'd felt at seeing Bridget again. He thought too of how he knew with certainty—how he had always known—that, while it may have been sublimated by his duty to his child and wife, his love for Bridget had never truly gone away. If only they had succeeded in having that child during that dreadful period of trial and failure…

"Mark, how do we expect Ben to tidy up after himself if you don't?"

It was Mary, holding up the suit jacket he had discarded on his way to the kitchen; he hadn't even remembered setting it down.

"Sorry. I was distracted. I'll take it upstairs." He set his wine glass down.

"And wine before dinner? That isn't a good habit to start."

He held up his hand. "Truce," he said wearily. "We had unexpected company this afternoon. Brian."

"Oh, really?"

Mark explained the situation with the school unexpectedly calling a half-day, and Brian having nowhere else to go. "His mother was deeply appreciative. I…" He briefly considered explaining his past relationship with Bridget, perhaps distilled down to the main points, but with dinner on the horizon and Ben due any moment, he decided to table it for the time being, collect his thoughts on the matter. Instead he said, "…got a chance to see them playing together. They have a great dynamic."

"I'm very glad to hear that. He's fortunate, and so are we."

"Mum!" That very boy called down the stairs as he descended. "Brian came to play today!" Ben appeared, his cheeks pink with the exertion of trying to move faster than he was physically able, with a bright smile on his face. "We had such fun and he really thinks my trains are cool."

Mary offered a prim smile; he knew she did not understand the fascination he and their son had with trains. "I'm so pleased, Ben. I really am. Well. Are we ready to eat, then? All washed up?"

Ben nodded, then added, "And Dad got to meet Brian's mum! She gave him a really long hug."

Mary's eyes flashed to Mark. "A hug?" she asked, her brows coming together.

So much for composing his thoughts. He glanced to his happy son, then back to Mary. "She was a childhood friend," he said, reverting to what he'd told Lynn, adding, "Her parents still live in Grafton Underwood."

When she responded, her voice had gone quite cool. "Oh," she said, pulling her mouth into a tight line. "Bridget."

"Yeah!" exclaimed Ben unhelpfully. "That's her name! She's really pretty too, didn't you think?" The final question was directed towards Mark.

"Sure," he said noncommittally. "Come on, Ben, let's have dinner."

Ben raced ahead of them towards the dining room. As they walked, Mary was strangely quiet.

"Mary—" he began, but she held up her hand, and he stopped speaking.

"Not now," she said in a low tone. "Dinner."

From all appearances, their dinner was perfectly normal; Mary was as attentive as she ever was to Ben's tales from the day. It relaxed Mark, and it allowed him to relax about the conversation to come, after Ben's bedtime, after dinner. He knew Mary was under no illusion that he was in love with her, so he reasoned that their discussion would at least not be emotional or overwrought. Still, he was not particularly looking forward to it.

She brought it up as they prepared for bed that night, standing side by side in the en suite, at their respective sinks; she in her nightgown, he in his boxers and vest. "You know what I'm going to say," she said without preamble, patting her face with a cotton towel, then looking up again.

"I have a good idea," he said.

"I have no romantic notion about us, Mark, but I don't want Ben getting—"

"The wrong idea. Yes. I know." He met her reflection's gaze. "I was caught off guard. Sorry. It won't happen again."

She looked down, then reached for her toothbrush. "Apology accepted," she said at last, then, after squeezing a portion of toothpaste out, began to clean her teeth.

It was, apparently, all the conversation they'd have about it, and all that was needed. He did appreciate that she was relatively free of drama, but for the first time in a very long time, he felt far too lonely for a married man.

…

Nearing end of September

It was not long after this initial encounter—just a few days later, on the weekend—that the inevitable was arranged: a play date. Communication went through Lynn, for which Mark was actually grateful; he still felt a bit uncomfortable with the thought of ringing up Bridget, or calling the house phone and getting Daniel. Since the boys were so eager to get together, the play date was set for Saturday; since Brian was eager to show Ben his room, and Bridget wanted to return the favour from earlier in the week, the play date would be at Brian's.

Mary had a prior engagement to get her hair done and Lynn had the weekends off, so Mark would be the one to see the Cleaver household first hand. He was nervous about it, perhaps not surprisingly.

Ben could hardly contain his excitement—it struck Mark again how changed the boy was since finding his new friend—and so the morning was very trying, to the point where Mary left twenty minutes before she needed to. "I'm sorry, Mark," she'd said, "but I can feel a headache oncoming if I don't get away from the racket. I know he's in good hands." With a peck to Mark's cheek and to Ben's, she took off.

Knowing what he did about London traffic, they left with plenty of time to spare to get to the Notting Hill address that Mark had plugged in to the satnav. Ben bounced in his car seat as he sang along the music Mark had put on in the hopes of calming him; Mark smiled a bit, thinking instead that it'd had the opposite effect.

He found the address with little problem, pulled up alongside the kerb, helped Ben undo the safety belt, then walked with him, holding his hand, up the path towards the door. The house appeared to be semi-detached, with two front doors side-by-side on the front porch. He rang the bell on the door bearing the number he'd been given, and promptly heard a scramble then footsteps leading up to the door, which then opened.

Standing there was Brian, who was grinning widely, and behind him, with his hand on Brian's shoulder, was Daniel. Mark braced himself mentally for a rapier-sharp comment from Daniel that would cut him to the core while sailing over the heads of their respective boys, because it was just the sort of thing Daniel would have done… and had done in the past.

"Well," Daniel said, stepping aside to allow them passage in, "hello, Mark. A bit of déjà vu, wouldn't you say? Dulwich Prep strikes again."

Mark tried to parse the question as just such a comment, but the fact was that the genuine smile and gentle tone suggested a surprising sincerity.

"Hello," Mark said warily, expecting the other proverbial shoe to drop. He was surprised when it did not, when instead Brian piped up with a question:

"Mr Darcy, is it really true that you went to Dulwich with my dad like he told me?"

This made Ben gasp a little. "Did you really, Dad? Did you? Did you?"

"It's true, son, yes," said Mark; he couldn't help smiling a little. "We met during Year 1, just like you two."

The boys looked to each other in an almost exaggerated shock, then up to their respective fathers.

"So you're friends?" asked Ben.

Mark cleared his throat, glancing to Daniel. "We… haven't kept in touch, no."

They again both looked shocked, as if they could not imagine themselves in a similar situation, voluntarily not speaking or seeing one another again.

"Did you have a row?" Brian asked.

Understatement, thought Mark, as Daniel said, "A bit." Daniel raised his gaze to meet Mark's. "But that was a long time ago, and it's probably time to put that behind us."

Again Mark strained to make out any hint of sarcasm in his tone or expression, but to his surprise there was none to be found. He began to nod. "I agree."

A quiet throat-clearing caught his attention, and all four of them turned to see Bridget standing out of sight in a doorway just a short way away. "Hi Ben," she said, emerging into the hallway. "Hi Mark. Was just out back in the garden—boys, you can go on back—" As she said it, Brian gestured and the two dashed away together. "—and I thought I heard a car arrive. Didn't have any trouble on your way here, did you?"

"No, no," he said, feeling like he was babbling nonsense as he went on, "Quite easy to find. Easy trip."

"Good," she said. All went silent. Mark felt as nervous as a cat, and at a loss for words to boot. Bridget filled in the silence. "Would you… care to join us out back for a drink? I've got some lemonade."

"No, I must be off," he said quickly. "Shall I come for him before dinner?"

"He can stay, if you don't mind," Bridget said. "Any allergies, or anything?"

Mark shook his head. "I don't mind. Thanks."

With that he went towards the front door, Bridget and Daniel both walking him out. He said a quiet "Goodbye" again before descending and returning to his car. As he engaged the engine, he looked back to the porch to see them standing there, Bridget raising her hand in a small wave; what got Mark's attention, however, was the fact that Daniel had his arm around her waist, his hand on her hip, and had bent as if to say something close into her ear.

Quickly he looked away. He didn't know why exactly he found it so painful; the two of them had had a child together, they were living together… they had been together. Nevertheless, such an overt sign of intimacy between them left him feeling almost…

"Heartbroken," he said in a quiet voice, and was instantly grateful for the fact that he was alone.

His own house seemed huge and empty when he got there, with Mary at her appointment for probably the rest of the afternoon and Ben away with Brian; a sense of melancholy washed over him. He had a good life, a stable life, with a fulfilling career and a son that meant the world to him; even if his wife wasn't his soul mate, she was his partner in their marriage, one for whom he cared and whom he respected, and they had worked very well together in that partnership, raising their son. Yet—

"Snap out of it," he murmured.

Despite this self-chastisement, he found himself in his home office, opening a storage cabinet, reaching into it for the small box he had not touched in some time, one that was amongst his file archives but had nothing to do with his work. He pulled it down, slipped off the lid, the tawny leather soft beneath his fingertips; sitting on the top of the neatly arranged row of chronologically organised photos was one of himself and of Bridget that had somehow come loose.

He picked it up, looked at it more closely. It was from near the end of their relationship; this much he remembered. A summer picnic, and they were both smiling, but they were smiles that had been hard to dredge to the surface. All that trying for the baby, the frustration leading to pointless rows, the pointless rows leading to splitting up; he kicked himself for letting it all go to hell, letting things get so bad, for not fighting harder to keep her… and not fighting harder to win her back after the briefest of reunions.

He flipped towards the back of the row of photos and tucked it into place approximately where it needed to go, then gently perused the stack. There was a Christmas shot during happier times, where she looked glossy-eyed and beaming after opening her gift from him, a pair of Tiffany earrings. There were photos of their minibreak in Paris which had seemed a surprising anchor and oasis of sanity when his life was consumed by the chaos of living and working in Japan; photos of them walking through the streets along the Seine, then of her asleep in the bed after they'd made love, before the fiasco of the burnt fillet steak, curled around the pillow and quietly sleeping, her features as angelic as he'd ever seen them. There was the one he'd taken surreptitiously from his mother from her collection from their Ruby Wedding party held at his old Holland Park house, looking happy though a bit distracted, wearing that gorgeous dress in which he could picture her like it was yesterday. She was holding on to a satay stick in one hand and a glass of wine in the other; in this she was standing beside her father, who'd mustered the world's most unconvincing smile.

If he'd holed up with these pictures in the hopes of cheering himself, the results had been disastrous. Before he could fall further into the depths of nostalgia, however, he heard movement elsewhere in the house. He put the box's lid back on, then hid the box away where he kept it. He didn't think Mary knew of the box, and he didn't want to draw her attention to it.

He emerged from his office in time to come face to face with Mary. Her hair was a bit shorter, but otherwise seemed unchanged. "Oh, there you are. Tell me you're not working."

"I'm not," he said. "Was just looking for… well, found it." He patted his pocket, in which his wallet and mobile resided. "Your hair looks very nice."

She smiled. "Thanks. So, Ben's off on his play date?"

Mark nodded; he couldn't help but grin. "He's been invited to stay for dinner."

"Really?" Mary asked. "Well, I suppose it won't hurt to have leftovers from dinner. Speaking of dinner…" She paused, glancing to her watch. "I should get it out of the fridge and into the oven. Always so impressed by the variety she can produce, that Therese." With a half-smile she turned and headed back the way she'd come in order to head to the kitchen.

Dinner was a three-cheese quiche; Therese, their housekeeper and cook, had really outdone herself on this one, managing the perfect flaky crust. As they ate, they talked, and it struck Mark, once he'd consciously decided to be more aware of what they were saying, how much of their conversation focused on Ben: about upcoming school projects, half term, holidays; about how quickly she speculated Ben would need new school clothes given how much he'd grown in the last year; about planning ahead for Christmas gifts and which toys could be slated for charity as being too far below his age.

Mark loved his son, would do anything for his son, but the conversation thoroughly depressed him. Had they really lost so much of their identity as individuals? Was Ben truly the only thing they had in common? He yearned for the days—a yearning undoubtedly spurred by the reintroduction of her into his life—when he would call or see Bridget in the evenings after work, and they would tell each other everything about their respective days. How he had loved every minute of it, even if it had led to sparring, because sparring always meant they'd make up in the end.

They were bringing their plates to the kitchen when his mobile rang. He reached in to his pocket, glanced, as was habit, to the display. Adrenaline rushed as he saw the name there: Bridget. He'd forgotten she was still in his phone contact list, and she evidently still had the same mobile number.

"Mark Darcy speaking," he said in answering it.

There was a pause, then a light laugh. "Wow, it's been a while since I heard that."

He smiled. "Hello. Is Ben ready?"

"Not just yet; we're just finishing up having a little dessert—apple crumble. But I thought you might want to head over here."

He glanced up to Mary, who was watching him. "Yes, certainly. We were just finishing dinner, ourselves."

"Oh," said Bridget. "Why don't you… bring your wife along? I'd like to meet her. Ben's mum."

"Sure, I'm sure she'd love to." He swung the mobile away from his mouth, then said to Mary, "Care to ride with me to pick up Ben? Bridget would like to meet you."

"Certainly," Mary said coolly; "I'd like to meet her, too."

"We'll be there soon," he said. "See you then. Goodbye."

The drive was spent in silence, and was fortunately quick thanks to light traffic. As they parked he watched Mary appraise the neighbourhood with her expression alone (it passed muster), then they climbed the stairs together. The door opened before he had a chance to knock. It was Bridget.

"Hi," she said; she looked a little harried, perhaps not unexpected after a day of watching two five-year-old boys, but no less lovely than she had before. Bridget turned her gaze to Mary. "Hi—please come in. I'm Bridget, Brian's mum. So nice to meet you at last," she said, backing up to allow them in, but extending her hand for a cordial shake.

"Mary. Mary Darcy," she said, accepting the handshake, and offering a cautious smile. The emphasis on her surname was a bit odd to him, until he realised she was being a bit territorial. It shouldn't have been surprising to him; given her initial reaction to Brian's mum being Bridget, Mark was sure that Mary had learned a lot about her (and her past with Mark) from his own mother.

If the emphasis on her married name stood out to Bridget, it didn't show on her face. In fact, it saddened him somewhat that Bridget did not seem in the least bit jealous. "Well," she said brightly, "the boys are just putting the toys away. Would you care for some apple crumble? The recipe makes loads. Or maybe coffee?"

"Ah, I thought I heard you come in. Mark… and you must be the missus. Pleasure to meet you." Daniel came into the room, hand extended. "Daniel Cleaver."

"Mary Darcy." She shook it with a kinder smile than the one she gave to Bridget.

"Well, the boys'll be right down," Daniel said.

"I've said that," said Bridget. She looked from Mary to Mark again. "So… about the coffee?"

"We'll pass, but thank you," said Mary pleasantly, then called out, "Benedict! We're here!"

Mark saw Bridget's brows rise in surprise, more at the name, he thought, then the fact that Mary seemed so impatient to collect Ben and leave. "Name suits him well," she said with a smile. "That's not one I hear every day, though."

"After my father," Mary said. "Benedict Malcolm."

"Ah," said Bridget. "I was wondering how your dad would fit in there, Mark."

"There you are," said Mary as the boys thundered into the room. "Did you have a nice time?"

"Oh, yeah, the best!" Ben enthused. "We played football with Daniel, played with the cat a bit, and Bridget played a board game with us. It was so fun!" Mark looked to Mary's reaction at the informality of referring to them by their given names; Mark was not surprised given what he remembered of her godchild Constance, but Mary clearly seemed taken aback.

"Are you ready to go?" Mary asked sharply. "You don't even have your shoes on."

"Sorry, Mum." He and Brian dashed out again.

"It sounds like they had a nice time, indeed," Mark said in an effort to fill the silence until Ben returned.

"I think they did," Bridget said. "A rather exhausting day. I suspect they'll sleep well tonight, as will I."

Mark chuckled. "Which game?"

"Snakes and Ladders, Dad," said Ben as he returned to the room, fully shod and with his jacket on. "It's like the one we had in New York, sorta. But snakes instead of chutes."

Mark chuckled.

"He didn't bring anything with him, did he, Mark?" asked Mary.

"No, just what he has on."

Mary turned to Bridget and Daniel. "Thanks again for having him here," she said, smiling, tapping into a reserve of goodwill Mark didn't realise she still had. "Brian is all he talks about. I'm glad they've made friends."

"I'm glad too," said Daniel. "He needs Ben's calming influence on his life." With this he shot Mark a glance.

"We'll see you again soon, I'm sure," said Mark. "Come on, Ben."

"Bye, Brian," Ben said, taking his father's hand.

"Bye, Ben," said Brian with a grin; in that moment Mark really saw both of his parents in Brian's features.

During the drive home, Ben fell to sleep, which didn't surprise Mark one bit, given the excitement of the day.

"They seem happy," said Mary. At first he thought she meant the boys, but then she added, "A happy couple, Daniel and Bridget."

"Mm," said Mark, taking a corner. He had to admit they did, though it aggravated him to think of it.

"I thought she was nice," Mary added. He caught the connotation: almost too nice.

"That's just the way she is," he said curtly, ending the conversation.

When they arrived home, Mark finished tidying up the dishes from dinner while Mary put Ben to bed; he finished, went upstairs, and found Mary in the sitting room scowling at a newspaper. Concerned that something in the paper had upset her, he asked if everything was okay.

She set the paper down, and focused her glare at him. "I'm getting a little tired of being blindsided, Mark," she said, with a quiet anger he had never heard from her before. "First Brian's mother turns out to be an ex-girlfriend whose praises your mother still sings… and now Ben tells me Daniel went to Dulwich with you. That you were friends. Anything more I should know?"

Mark sat beside her. "It's true, Daniel and I were friends at Dulwich prep. We met again at Cambridge, became mates." He paused. "You know the story of how my first marriage ended."

He did not need to spell it out for her; she had heard the story before, just not who had played the major role in it ending. "Oh my God. Daniel was…?"

The sentence did not need completion. He nodded.

"And did he come between Bridget and you, too?" she asked; he could not tell if she was interrogating him or merely being sympathetic. "Steal her away?"

He shook his head. "They were together first. Then we went out, split up for… totally unrelated reasons." He remembered that one last night they had together, three months after the split, still regretting his inaction afterwards. "Then… they got back together when she found out she was pregnant with his baby. With Brian."

"You seemed very friendly with him tonight," she said. He looked up to meet her gaze. He now leaned towards sympathy.

"It was the first time I'd seen him in some time," Mark said. "I thought seeing him would make those old hurts flare up, but to my surprise, they didn't. Maybe it's because the boys reminded me of myself and Daniel at that age. So we came to an understanding when I dropped Ben off. There was no point in hanging on to old animosity, not when it could disrupt the boys' friendship. What's past is in the past." He yawned. "Sorry."

"Seems like it's been a long day for you too." She patted his shoulder. "If you like I can draw you a bath. Sit, relax, then you can have a good, long night's sleep. Does that sound all right?"

He nodded. It sounded quite all right, indeed.

The spruce-scented bathwater hit his senses as soon as he opened the bathroom door; it must have some new concoction she'd recently purchased, maybe even that day whilst out getting her hair done. She had laid out a towel for him, had even lit a candle and switched off the light, which, all things considered, was very solicitous of her.

Mark climbed in, surrounded by that pleasant though pungent fragrance, once which inevitably made him think of Christmas, and, in particular, of a certain enormous Christmas tree that he had helped to trim down in a topiary manner so many years ago with Bridget. There was no way Mary could have known the association, an association that made him smile as he felt the tension leech out of his body. In fact, he very nearly drifted off to sleep; the cooling water was the only thing that kept him from doing so. When he emerged and dried off with the soft cotton towel, he felt much less wound up overall about the day, about the new reality of his son's best friend's parents. When he returned to the bedroom prepared to thank her again for the bath, he found Mary already had gone to sleep. Gently he slipped in beside her in the king-sized bed, reached up and switched off the bedside light.