A/N This is a modern story, set years after the story of P&P, and a bit of fun to ease me into writing again after quite a while. Feedback is welcome (and hoped for) but I'm a rookie, so go easy! I have continued the inter-fandom tradition of calling Colonel Fitzwilliam Richard – I know we are not actually given a first name, I am just rather attached to several authors' Richard Fitzwilliams, so I quite like it. If you are not a fan, don't worry, he is only briefly mentioned.
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The knock on the door was not particularly loud. Nevertheless, it's very happening was unexpected, and frankly, unwanted. Elizbeth was standing over an enormous bowl of sage and onion stuffing, which was perched precariously between a tray of nuts and a roasting tin piled high with uncooked potatoes. Wooden spoon in hand, Elizabeth cast her agitated gaze in the direction of the front door, then back down at the stuffing.
"They're not supposed to be here yet," she muttered. "I've barely even got the turkey in."
A figure dashed into the kitchen – stopping only to glance in the mirror on the wall at a dress made of very little opaque material, eyeshadow the shade of a London bus and copious volumes of hair piled improbably on top of her head. As the girl waltzed back out of the room, she called over her shoulder, "Don't worry Mum, I'll get it."
Bending back over the stuffing – ready for some vigorous stirring – Elizabeth heard a suspicious noise. A chuckle. A low, amused, male chuckle. Now, this chuckle had no place in her house. Her son Henry was eight years old, and she knew his high-pitched chortle had not changed – it had accompanied a five-thirty wake up, along with much jumping-on-the-bed, that morning.
Nor was it the laugh of her husband. Not only was Will's laugh more of a guffaw, he was out in the garden – visible through the window – playing with Henry's new remote-controlled car, under the pretence of making sure the batteries worked before being wrapped to be present to Henry after lunch.
Nor did the chuckle belong to the brother-in-law who should not be arriving until lunchtime, but who could have turned up early. No, this was the laugh of a teenage boy.
Sarah waltzed into the kitchen the same way she had waltzed out. Behind her trailed a tall, handsome teenager. His chestnut hair was styled in what might have been the latest fashion, and his collared shirt seem incongruous when paired with low-slung jeans. He had achieved the signature scent of teenage boy: unwashed socks and an aftershave likely called EXCITE, or Swagger, or DANGEROUS.
Elizabeth's expression was the epitome of unimpressed.
"Mum, so, right, Adam's parents are like, in Paris, or Amsterdam."
"Prague," the boy – presumably Adam – interjected.
"And he's like, kinda alone for Christmas," Sarah carried on as though uninterrupted. "I thought he could, you know, come here. Oh, and sorry for not telling you before." At this, Sarah sauntered out of the kitchen without waiting for a reply. Her hand snagged the boy's- Adam's - wrist, gently pulling him out with her. As Elizabeth closed her eyes with a sigh, she heard,
"Yeah, thanks for having me, er, Mrs Darcy?"
After taking a moment to centre herself, Elizabeth reached over the kitchen table to open the window into the garden with a hard shove. "Will! Sort your daughter out, she's brought some boy here for lunch. Go check he doesn't have a criminal record. Or a car, for that matter. She's fifteen." Shutting the window with a yank, she didn't wait for her husband's reply.
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The potatoes were in the oven; the stuffing was cooked and set aside to make more room. Onward and upwards, Elizabeth thought, pigs in blankets and the swede. Then a shout came from the conservatory, where she had parked her middle child, Anna – to finish wrapping the presents that should already be under the tree.
"Mum! Mum! Mum, there's a bear in the garden, and its eating a wolf!"
She's been watching too much David Attenborough again. Elizabeth closed the fridge door, set down the bottle of white wine, and turned in the direction of the shrieking. Passing Sarah in the lounge – perched almost on Adam's lap on the sofa – she entered the conservatory where she found Anna pressed against a window, her terrified eyes glued to the battle raging in the garden.
An enormous, shaggy black creature was grappling with what appeared to be a grey wolf. The trees overhead were filtering the sharp, winter sunlight, so the fight was only clear in small flashes – the wolf batting the bear over the head with his paw; the bear closing his mouth around the wolf's muscular neck. One moment the wolf was all over the bear, then the bear had the wolf pinned to the ground. Elizabeth, captivated, barely felt the kiss on her cheek.
"Hey Lizzy, Sarah let us in. Charlie is just bringing the kids in from the car." It was Elizabeth's sister, Jane. "Oh yes," she continued, seeing the epic battle taking place in the garden, "I let the dogs in the side gate. Sorry I didn't tell you we were bringing them – we only adopted them a fortnight ago."
Anna, stilled pinned to the window, whimpered. Her hands maintained their white-knuckled grip on the potted conservatory plant in front of her. "They're dogs?"
"Of course, dear, Bernie is a Newfoundland, and Rocky is a Northern Inuit. Aren't they such a lovely sight, playfighting like that? Been together since they were pups, but they were put in the rescue when their owner died. Car crash, very sad…" Jane trailed off.
Elizabeth could feel a fountain of emotion building up inside her; bubbling and frothing, it gurgled and rose like magma. It was either red hot or burnt, angry orange, but it was held back by iron will and clenched teeth. I love my sister very much, and it is not her fault she is just adding to the great heap of nonsense and unplanned interruption that are on the way to driving my up the wall. "I need to finish the food," she growled, before stalking out of the room.
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Will emerged from his study, which was where he had retreated after wrapping Henry's new toy car and introducing himself to Katherine's… friend. "I just spoke to Richard," he began, wrapping his arms around his wife from behind. "He says he's not back to work until the day after boxing day*, but he says he can check the system then. But he says Adam Crowther is not a name he recognises, although he does admit a lot of paperwork with even more names crosses his desk on a daily basis, so he's not certain."
"Will…" The fond exasperation in Elizabeth's voice was familiar and warm, as she turned in his arms until she was facing him. "When I said 'check he doesn't have a criminal record', I didn't mean call your Superintendent+ cousin, on one of his precious days off, when he is already having to put up with your Aunt Cathy on Christmas day." Elizabeth dipped her finger into the open jar of cranberry sauce, wiped a red streak of it down her husband's nose, then leaned forward and rose onto her toes to kiss it off.
"Regardless, Richard said he would check he boy out, but in the meantime, he says he doesn't have a car, because he says he is sixteen – which as far as I'm concerned is still too old for our daughter – and apparently, they don't go to the same school, but met on the bus home."
"So you really went for the interrogation, didn't you? You adorable man, you just can't stand the idea that your precious baby daughter could grow up." Will's expression grew sullen and sulky as his wife laughed at him.
"You don't like him being here either" he replied.
"No, I don't mind him being here – it seems his parents have gone on holiday by themselves and left him behind, I'm not about to let him spend Christmas alone – I just wish I'd had warning. The kids know that if it is not on the calendar, it doesn't happen. Sarah didn't tell me she was planning to invite him, so I couldn't put it on the calendar, now, could I?" Elizabeth placed another soft kiss to Will's nose, then dropped one on his mouth. "Could you please make sure Henry puts on more clothing than just his underwear – I'm not sure he was even wearing that last time I saw him. And last time I looked, Anna seemed to be creating some sort of den for those monstrous dogs in the conservatory – could you attempt to dissuade her from using the white bedsheets I think I saw her carry past a couple of minutes ago?"
Will face adopted a pained expression, and he groaned, burying his head into her shoulder – quite a feat, considering how far he had to stoop to do so. "Why don't I stay here and peel the parsnips while your deal with the little nightmares?"
"Oh no, my dear man, do remember a conversation we had about, hmm, sixteen years ago? You said, and I quote 'don't worry Lizzie, if we have children and they are anything like you say you were as a child, consider me duly warned, and I will take full responsibility for keeping them out of trouble.' Go keep them out of trouble." With a final parting kiss, she reached up to turn him by the shoulders, patted his bottom fondly, and pushed him out of the door. "Your sister will be here soon."
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The table had been extended, and was a glorious sight – piled high with mountains of crispy, golden potatoes, sausages wrapped in bacon and steaming bowls of vegetables. The turkey had the pride of place, surrounded on all sides on the platter with thick wedges of stuffing. The aroma of gravy wafted around the room, mixing with the Christmas scent of spices and pine. The festive atmosphere was momentarily interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
"That should be your sister," Elizabeth called to her husband from the kitchen. "I'll get everyone seated, can you let her in?"
After setting the drinks in front of the right people, and placing an extra napkin down for Jane's youngest, Elizabeth went to take her place at the table, when Will came back into the dining room, followed by his sister… and another man.
"Hello Georgie," Elizabeth ground out between gritted teeth, "who, exactly, is that?"
"This is Steve, my next-door-neighbour-but-one," Georgie introduced. Leaning closer and whispering, she explained "His wife left him last week, she took the kids as well. They were married fifteen years – he's in a fragile state, I could not leave him alone on Christmas day. Anyway, I know what a welcoming person you are, and you always put on a good spread. I'm sure here will be plenty of food for everyone."
Elizabeth cast her eyes down the length of the table. Her husband was pulling a cracker with is nephew, her eldest daughter was cuddled up to Adam, Henry had the head of the bearlike dog in his lap. The air smelled of happiness and perfectly roasted poultry. The sunlight through the windows was sharp and clear; the sound of the children's laughter was warm and weightless.
Elizabeth sighed, and pulled a smile from in her pocket, where it had been buried underneath teenage aftershave, barking, and a house full of relatives she had decided might very well not be invited back. She gestured to an extra chair, tucked under a desk in the corner.
"Pull up a chair, Steve. You're not a vegetarian, are you?"
*Boxing Day is the day after Christmas in the UK. The earliest entry in the Oxford English dictionary was in the 1830s, defining it as "the first week-day after Christmas-day, observed as a holiday on which post-men, errand-boys, and servants of various kinds expect to receive a Christmas-box". However, there are references to service people and tradesmen being gifted 'Christmas boxes' on the next weekday after Christmas by their employers much further back – including in Samuel Pepys' diary entry for 19 December 1663.
+Superintendent is a fairly high rank in the British police force, above Chief Inspector and below Chief Superintendent.