A Rock and a Hard Place
By S. Faith, © 2015
Words: 63,290 (in 8 chapters and an epilogue)
Rating: M / R
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes: See Chapter 1.
I'm sorry I'm such a terrible human being ;_;
Chapter 2: The Ghost
Thurs 22 Oct (con't)
Mark hadn't turned around yet. He couldn't bear to. His head sunk down.
Wallaker spoke, saving him. "I have good news," he said.
"Good news? With that tone of voice?" She was trying to effect a light tone herself, but she had grown very concerned. Mark remembered that tone so well.
"Yes," Wallaker said. "There's been a donor match for Mabel."
He put his hands over his face as he heard her suck in a deep breath. "Oh my God," she said, as if struggling for air. "Really? Really?"
"Yes."
"Oh my God, it's a miracle," she said. Footfalls indicated she was running past Mark; he heard the sobs, muffled into Wallaker's shirt. But Wallaker continued to speak.
"That's not the only one," he said, his voice still very sombre. "You'll want to meet the donor match."
"Oh," she said, sniffling. "Is that usual, for the donor to—"
Slowly Mark lowered his hands, his own eyes filled with tears, to see her looking at him; he saw the moment, the actual moment, when recognition flitted across her face, her gaze zipping around to search his face, her skin paling as the realisation sank in.
"It can't…"
She began, her voice but a papery whisper, but trailed off; in horror he watched as her eyes rolled up into her head and she collapsed down. Fortunately, Wallaker was close enough to catch her and keep her from actually hitting the ground. Mark helped Wallaker carry her into the sitting room and set her down onto the sofa, then Wallaker took a seat next to her legs.
"Is she okay?" Mark asked, from his position next to the sofa, hovering over her prone form, touching the backs of his fingers to her forehead as Wallaker patted her cheeks.
"Fainted," Wallaker said. "Not the reaction I'd pictured."
Mark had pictured any one of a number of possible reactions—slapping him on the face, running into his arms and kissing him—and was about to make a gallows-humour joke, but just then she began to come around.
"Oh my God, I thought I saw Mark," she said weakly, her lids fluttering.
"That's because you did," Mark said quietly.
At this her eyes opened and fixed directly on him.
"I had a hell of a time finding a place to put the car—What's going on?"
Magda had always had a fantastic sense of timing; her voice cut off sharply as her shoes clicked on the floor just before the door to the room.
Mark stood up straight, turned to look at her. Magda inhaled sharply.
"Oh my God! Mark?!"
Magda's voice seemed to snap Bridget out of her fugue; with that she pushed herself up from her reclined position, startling Wallaker.
"How is this possible?" she said, her voice still mostly absent, until it wasn't: "You were dead! You were blown up by a land mine! How can you still be alive—where have you been all of this time?" Now she was sobbing, struggling to her feet in front of him. To Mark's utter surprise, she threw her arms around him, crying desperately into his shirt. He brought his arms up and around her to return the embrace.
"It wasn't safe for me to return," he said quietly. It wasn't an untruth. It would have to do for now.
"It's a long story," he heard Wallaker say. Bridget clearly hadn't heard, but Magda had.
"How do you know?" Magda asked, but at that moment, Bridget pulled back, her eyes red with tears, her face streaked with wetness.
"You're really a match?"
Mark nodded. "I am."
She pulled her hands away to cover her mouth. "It is a miracle," she said, before bursting into tears again. In an instant, Magda was at her side, putting her arm around Bridget, giving Mark a strange look. A cautionary look.
"There's a lot more to tell to this story," Mark said, his own voice thick with emotion, "and you've had enough for a day… but I want you to know right now, more than anything else, that I never, ever wanted to be away."
Bridget nodded, looking up to him again.
"I'm sorry," Mark said; the tears ran freely down his face now. "Sorry for the pain I've caused in needing to be gone." He turned to Magda. "As for Scott's knowing… you will want to talk to your husband. Please don't be angry at him."
"Why…" she asked, then blinked rapidly. "Did… did he know?"
Mark nodded. "He was how I knew to come back to see if I could help."
"And he didn't tell me? Any of us?"
"It was a matter of life and death," Mark reminded. "Please remember that."
Bridget stood and spontaneously hugged him again, then, to his surprise, gave him a kiss—it was a brief, fleeting one, but a kiss all the same—before putting her arms around his neck to hold him close again, her fingers in his hair, a familiar comfort, a feeling he had missed desperately. "You've gone so grey," she said, then laughed through her tears. "Then again, I would be too but for the hairdresser…"
"You look terrific," he said, holding her close, fully aware that Wallaker's eyes were on them.
Just then he heard it. They all did.
"Mummy?"
"Oh my God," Bridget said, jumping back like a scalded flea. "Mabel. Oh my God. Your daughter." She took his hand. "Come up. Come and meet her. Billy's still at school…"
Oddly enough, Mark felt more nervous at this prospect than in seeing Bridget again.
…
Scott watched Bridget leading her until-recently-deceased husband up the stairs and sighed. This is for the best, he thought; a little girl gets her dad back, her life back, and Bridget's heart can be fully healed at last from the loss of losing the man she still loved and always would… but the future felt more uncertain than ever.
"Talk about a mixed blessing." This from Magda. He'd forgotten she was standing there, and Scott glanced towards her.
"Yeah," he said. "But Mabel's worth it."
He saw her offer a smile, then a slight nod, before she reached down into her handbag for her mobile. "Now, if you'll pardon me, I have to call my husband. He's got some explaining to do."
…
Mark followed Bridget up the stairs as Mabel called out for her mother again.
"Darling, I'm right here," she said, her voice still shaking. She stopped at the door of what was obviously a gaily decorated pink bedroom, gestured for Mark to stay back; her gaze lingered on him longer than it normally would have, as if he might disappear before her eyes if she looked away. "Do you need some water? A snack?"
"What's going on downstairs?" asked the little-girl voice of his daughter. His heart hammered in his chest.
"We've got some good news," Bridget said. "Remember how we said we had to wait to do the next treatment at the hospital because we needed someone to give us some special cells?"
"Yeah."
"Well, we just found out that we have the special cells for you," Bridget said.
"Can I have them now?"
"Soon," she said. "But the best news of all is who the special cells came from." She glanced over to Mark again.
"Who?" Mabel asked. "Peter Rabbit? De Fuckoons?"
Bridget laughed. "No, darling. Who they're from… well there's some very good news there, and a very big, very happy surprise." She gestured for Mark to come forward, which he did; to see her live and in the flesh brought tears to his eyes, even as pale and gaunt as she was.
"Who's dat?" she asked, her own blue eyes wide.
"This," said Bridget, "is Daddy."
Her brows drew together. "Mummy, dat's thilly," she said in a surprisingly stern tone. "Daddy's in Heaven."
"It turns out we were wrong," said Bridget. Mabel looked less sceptical, but not totally convinced. "Daddy was in very great danger, but he's not anymore." Bridget turned to Mark. "Mark, this is Mabel, whom I believe you last saw at three months of age."
A wave of guilt washed over him again. "Mabel," he said. "It's so good to see you again." Mark went over to sit on the edge of the bed.
"You look like the Daddy in the picture," Mabel said, her eyes narrowed, "but are you really Daddy?"
"I am," he said. "That's why I can give you the special cells."
Mabel regarded him still with curiosity, then glanced to Bridget. "Does that mean I have two daddies now?"
Bridget looked both mortified and gobsmacked, but Mark had known, through Jeremy, what the children called Wallaker. Dah.
"If it makes you happy, Mabel," said Mark, "you can have twenty daddies."
"Hm. Dat sounds good." At last, she smiled. "I'm kinda sick," she said, "but it's okay if you want to give me a hug."
Mark glanced to Bridget—After chemotherapy, was it safe to hug her? Would he put her at risk at all?—and she merely nodded her assent. He shifted forward and held out his arms towards her as she sat up. She seemed like nothing at all in his embrace, and he wished the mere act of touching her could heal her. He ran his hand over her wispy, silky blonde hair; she had apparently not suffered that particular side effect from her treatments.
"My little princess," he murmured, closing his eyes. Better than he had ever imagined.
Bridget quietly spoke. "She's gone to sleep." Without a word, he carefully leant forward, his hand cradling her head, to rest her on the pillow again.
Mark got to his feet, looked at Bridget again, and with that they left her to her rest. Once in the hallway, Bridget spoke again.
"You still wear your ring."
At this non-sequitur, he looked to his hand. He'd been wearing his band for so long he didn't even think about it anymore. "Yes," he said.
Bridget took in a long breath, then tipped her head towards Mabel's bedroom door. "She sleeps a lot."
Mark nodded.
"I really just…" Her voice trembled. "I feel like I'm going to wake up and find this is all a cruel dream."
They stood there in a sort of silence before Mark spoke again.
"We'll have to talk about things, yet," he said. "This is a complicated situation, I realise it. With… Scott and all."
She looked down. "I know," she said dejectedly. "Never stopped loving and missing you, but I…"
"I understand," he said. "I know how difficult this has been for you. I don't begrudge you trying to move on."
She had begun crying again. "It was so hard," she said. "So hard."
"I know," he said quietly.
Another round of noise sounded from downstairs. Bridget's eyes went wide as she heard the sound of three boys talking. "Billy," she said. "Chloe's been doing the school run since Mabel got sick."
"Chloe?"
"The nanny of sorts when the children were small. But she's been helping out since Mabel's been sick."
"So where's Mum?" asked a voice from below. Billy's, Mark imagined.
"I'll be right down," Bridget called down, then said to Mark, "Are you ready for this?"
He nodded. As ready as he would ever been.
She told him to wait at the top of the stairs, then descended. He heard her tell Billy almost the very same story she had told to Mabel: that they'd found someone to donate bone marrow to her so that she could have the treatment she needed.
"Seriously?" came the excited reply. "She's gonna get better?"
"Her chances just shot through the roof, Billy," Bridget said. "But there's another bit that's just as good, but very surprising."
"What?" Billy asked.
"The person who was a match." She looked up, waved to Mark to come down. "This may be a bit of a shock, but I promise it's no trick."
Slowly Mark descended, and saw Billy's feet, then legs, then shirt, then his surprised face. Billy fixed his eyes on Mark right away, confusion by what he was seeing versus what he knew to be true. Mark could hardly believe his eyes; the boy looked so much like himself at that age. So tall, so grown up.
"Mum," Billy asked in a serious voice. "Who is that?"
"It's your dad."
Billy looked angry. "This isn't funny, Mum. Dad's gone."
Mark spoke up. "No, Billy. I'm not. I was in such serious danger that I couldn't so much as call, and I'm sorry—"
"No!" he shouted. "My dad would never have let us think he was dead for so long!" Now he was crying. The other two boys—clearly Wallaker's sons—looked stunned at the scene playing out before them.
"Billy—" Bridget warned, but Billy interrupted.
"NO!" he screamed.
"William Mark Darcy, keep your voice down!" Bridget hissed. "Your sister—"
"He would never leave us for so long! Never!"
And with that, he ran out of the foyer into the back of the house.
"I'll… I'll talk to him," she said apologetically.
Possibly to fill the silence, Scott began to offer him a drink—scotch, not surprisingly—but he held up his hand to interrupt the offer. "Thank you, no." Mark understood her reaction, but wanted to take this on, himself. "Do you think it would help if I said something?" he asked quietly. "After all, I'm the one he's really angry at."
Bridget's gaze shot to Wallaker, wordlessly asking the man for his opinion; it was a subconscious move, Mark was sure, but it was a reminder of what he'd been missing, and that pained him. "If anyone has a chance to get through that boy's logical brain," said Wallaker, "maybe it's the man he got it from. Or, you know, so you've said."
She looked back to Mark. "He's probably gone to the back garden. He likes to sit under the tree."
He nodded curtly, then went the way that Billy had gone.
…
Scott watched Mark depart the room, then went over to the cabinet where they kept the scotch. "I'll have one of those, myself," he heard Bridget say as he opened the lock.
"I thought you didn't drink scotch," he mused.
"Today, I'll make an exception." She was suddenly by his side. "Where did Magda go?"
"She left as the boys came in. Chloe's gone downstairs to fix them a snack. I… didn't say anything to her yet about…" He trailed off, not quite sure how to finish. The ghost upstairs? Mabel's saviour?
Her hand touched his arm. "This is going to be very strange," Bridget said softly. "Things are going to be far from settled or normal for a long time."
"I know," he said, and logically, he did. But watching her in Mark's embrace, watching her give him a kiss on the lips… it was awkward and difficult for him, much more so than he expected. He poured two shots of scotch, then set them down at the feel of her fingers pulling his elbow to turn him towards her.
As she faced him, she got up on her toes and kissed him, too, briefly on the lips, then stroked his face. "So tell me how this all unfolded," she said. "I have my doubts that Mark turned up at our front door while I just so happened to be out with Jeremy's wife."
"Magda didn't know," Scott said. "And you're right. I learnt when Jeremy called me out to meet him at a coffee shop. He took me to meet Mark. Mark… was very uncertain about contacting us. Well, you and the children. Jeremy had been keeping him apprised of how you were. He was very reluctant to come forward and upset the boat."
She furrowed her brow. "Are you saying he didn't want to come forward?"
"Not at all," Scott said. "I think he wanted to come back to England as soon as it was safe to do so."
"Back to England? Where's he been?"
"I think he should tell you the details," Scott said diplomatically. "I don't know them all. The point, though, is that he knew you were settled and happy here. Secure. Would returning cause more harm than good? And this happens, his hand's forced…"
She was starting to look a bit angry. "So he was never going to come back, otherwise? He was going to let the children keep believing he was dead?"
"I didn't say that," Scott said. "I honestly don't know." Then he sighed—was he subconsciously trying to sabotage a man he'd thought was dead until so very recently? He hated the very thought. "You should really just let him explain."
"Don't worry," she said, her jaw tight. "I'll be sure to ask." But then she relaxed and smiled, looked up at him, then took him in her arms for a hug and another kiss. "I'm so sorry," she said.
"What have you got to apologise for?" Scott asked her, though relished the embrace all the same.
"For what this is doing to you," she said tenderly, squeezing tightly before releasing him. As an afterthought, more to herself than to him, she added, "It's doing enough to me."
…
The back garden was leafier and shadier than the front, and Mark knew instantly under which tree Billy would be: the tallest, broadest oak, one that reminded him all too well of the large oak tree on his parents' estate in Huntingdon. He had often brought Billy as a toddler out to sit and play under the tree, and perhaps on some level Billy had remembered this, though surely he had been to visit the Darcys—
Another painful contact yet to make, he thought, as he got closer to the tree; rounding the broad trunk, he saw Billy sitting there, his back against the bark, his knees tucked up against his chest, his arms wrapped around them.
"Hello there," said Mark.
"Go away," Billy said, in a quiet, heartbreakingly sad voice. He looked over towards the heath; they had a decent view of it over the back garden fence.
"No, Billy," he said, firmly and with authority. "I'm not going to go away. I'm your dad, and I'm back to help Mabel, and, I hope, to be in your life again."
"You haven't been here for a long time," said Billy, still in that same tone. He sniffed, trying (and failing) to rein in his tears. "You haven't been my dad. You left and stayed away. Dah is my dad now."
The comment stung. However, Mark understood. In his way, Billy was expressing feelings of abandonment, and he was defending the one man, Wallaker, who had been the closest thing to a father he'd known. Mark's heart felt heavy. "I never wanted to stay away."
"But you left us in the first place."
"Yes," Mark said after a little consideration. "You're right. I did leave when Mabel was just a little baby, you were just a toddler… and I have regretted that every day since."
Billy brushed his hand over his cheek, wiping away his tears. "You might leave again," he said.
Mark leaned against the tree. He didn't want to come on too strong, get too close, as much as he wanted to hold the boy in his arms, so like himself at that age. "Do you think, Billy," Mark started, "that if I could show you that I wasn't going to go again, that you might change your mind?"
Silence, then a very soft: "Maybe."
"That's a start, I guess," conceded Mark. "I'm not going to make promises I can't keep. But one thing I can promise is that I have no intention of leaving again. I love you and Mabel far too much."
Billy sniffed again, then looked up at him at last. "And Mummy?" he asked. "Do you love Mummy still?"
"Yes," he said. "I love Mummy, too. Never stopped for a moment."
"Hmm," said Billy, looking at the heath again, contemplative. "So," he said. "It was really dangerous, when you were gone?"
"Very," he said. "I had to hide and pretend to be dead so they wouldn't try to hurt me again. Or any of you. But the danger's gone now."
Billy nodded, more in understanding than agreement. "Kind of like spy stuff," he said. "Like James Bond."
"Do you watch that sort of thing?" he asked; he thought that was probably too mature for a kid of Billy's age, but he didn't know, not really.
"I've just seen bits on YouTube," he said. "The clever stuff and the action stuff. I like the gadgets."
Mark chuckled. Somehow this didn't surprise him. "Maybe, you know, we should go inside," Mark said; a chill was starting to creep into the autumn air, and the sun was faded in the sky. "I think that Chloe was making something for tea."
"Oh," Billy said from his position folded against the tree, but he made no move to rise.
Mark asked, "Need a hand up?"
"Yeah," he said. "Sure."
It was a tentative baby step, but Mark took it; he offered his hand, and Billy took it. The feel of Billy's small hand within his own washed him over in emotion.
"You think you're going to be okay?" Mark asked as he let the hand go.
"I think so," he said, but he didn't sound like he'd convinced himself.
He followed Billy into the house and directly into the kitchen, where a woman was stirring a cup of tea and lazily scanning a newspaper, and the two young boys Mark suspected were Wallaker's sons. They all looked up at his and Billy's entrance.
"Hello," said the woman cautiously.
"Chloe, that's him, that's Billy's actual dad," said the younger of the two boys.
She looked very confused. "But I thought…"
"Yes," Mark spoke up. "Everyone thought." He held out his hand. "Mark Darcy," he said. It still felt strange to introduce himself with his own name after all this time.
She accepted, though looked a bit pale. "Chloe Jones," she said. "No relation."
Mark couldn't help smiling. "I hear you've been a big help while… during the time I had to be away. I don't think I can ever express how grateful I am for that." Mark turned to the boys as Billy took a seat, tucked into the sandwich she had prepared for him. Chloe spoke up.
"That's Matt," she said, introducing the older boy. "And that's Fred." Both were very obviously Wallaker's boys, with similarly blond hair. Matt had broader shoulders and blue eyes, while Fred was a bit more slender and had dark eyes, possibly like his mother's.
"Pleasure to meet you," he said.
"So you're Billy's dad?" asked Matt.
"Yes," Mark said.
"Wow," said Fred. "I thought people only came back from the dead in the pictures."
Mark smiled a little as his eyes drifted to Billy, who nibbled at the corner of a sandwich half. "I should… I should probably get going," he said suddenly. Billy's eyes darted to him. "I mean, back to my hotel. I've disrupted things enough for one day."
"He's gonna save Mabel," said Billy. "Dad is."
Mark looked to Billy, emotion welling again. Dad.
"I'm going to try, anyway," Mark said, pushing the emotion down. "I'm a match."
"Oh, brilliant," said Chloe with a bright smile; no further explanation was apparently needed. "So brilliant."
"Don't worry, I'll be back," Mark reassured, looking to Billy, meeting his gaze. With that, he exited the kitchen, and made for the sitting room, where he found Bridget and Wallaker standing by the window, his hand consolingly on her shoulder.
"Pardon me."
The sound of Mark's voice clearly took them by surprise, and both he and Bridget turned towards him.
"I'm going to be going now," he said. "Back to the hotel."
"Oh," said Bridget, setting down her glass; had she had scotch? "Already?"
"Now that I'm in town, I have things to… well. My parents."
"Do you want me to help with that?" Bridget asked. "I mean, you show up to their house… they might do more than just faint in shock."
He nodded. "I suppose they might."
"Why don't I call them for you, hm?" she asked. "Oh. I have an idea."
Mark agreed, and she pulled out her phone. "What are you doing?" Mark asked.
"Your mum has an iPhone," she said. "This is FaceTime. They can see for themselves after I tell them."
So she dialled the number—and when the line opened, when his mother's face appeared on the tiny screen, seemingly so much older than when he'd last seen her, he felt his heart catch in his throat. As in reintroducing Mark to his children, she began the call by saying that there was good news, that they had a bone marrow match for Mabel.
"Oh my God. Miracle. It's a miracle."
Her words echoed Wallaker's: "That isn't the only one. Elaine. I've got a bigger surprise, a bigger shock—do you think you could handle it?"
She pursed her lips. "What are you going to tell me," she said, "that Mark's the donor?"
Bridget glanced to him, eyes wide, then said, "Actually…"
And with that, she simply handed the phone to Mark.
"Hello, Mother."
There was seemingly no reaction, and she said, "I knew it. I knew it all along." And then she smiled. "You were in danger, weren't you? You couldn't come back until now."
Mark was the one who was surprised. "Y—yes."
Tears filled Elaine's eyes. "Not that I'm not pleased to be proved right," she said, her voice betraying her emotion at last. "Where are you staying?"
"At a hotel in town," he said. "As soon as I can, I'll come and visit."
"Elaine?" came a voice off camera.
"Malcolm, come here, you'll never guess. Have a look."
Her phone turned and there was Malcolm, whose eyes widened. "Well, look at that," he said. "That's Mark."
"He's back," she said. "He was in hiding. See? I told you."
"You thought he was alive all this time and you didn't say anything?" asked Bridget from Mark's side.
"I didn't have any proof," Elaine said from beside Malcolm. "But as his mother… I kept hope alive in my heart."
"Well, m'dear, looks like I owe you a few quid," Malcolm said. "I thought your mother was just gone a bit squirrelly, but she was right, after all. Well done, m'boy. Quite pleased to see you. Quite pleased, indeed."
Mark found he could not speak.
"Mark, you don't need to stay in a hotel," said Elaine, taking the phone back. "We still have the flat near Trafalgar. We'll come up to you, give you the key. We're overdue a visit to your beautiful girl. Malcolm, Mark's a match for Mabel."
"Well done," Malcolm said again.
"So what are the next steps?" asked Elaine, her spirits perked beyond measure.
Mark found his voice at last. "I'll call first thing tomorrow to see what I need to do to donate."
"I'll call," Bridget said. "Set things up. I'll ask about what you need to do too."
"We're coming down," Elaine announced. "Oh! What about Pam? Have you contacted Pam? Una?"
"Not yet," said Bridget.
Mark was already exhausted, and he sighed without thinking.
"But you must be so tired," Elaine said. "We will see you tomorrow, darling. We can't wait."
They said their goodbyes, and disconnected.
"Oh, God," said Mark. "I hope my father's not driving."
Bridget laughed; she surely remembered his concerns years ago. "Mark," she said. "Why don't you stay for dinner? I don't think you should be alone in a hotel room when there's so much time to make up for."
He didn't think she meant anything but the children. His gaze shifted to Wallaker, who, to Mark's surprise, nodded in agreement.
"Thank you," he said, feeling emotional again. "I'd like that."
…
Scott had seen no point in opposing Bridget's suggestion. Not that he objected, not really, aside from wanting peace and quiet. But there was no way he was going to be the bad guy and keep the man away from children he had not seen in seven years.
"Mummy?"
It was Mabel, padding down the stairs in her stocking feet. Bridget went to her just to make sure she didn't lose her balance and fall; they both knew how much she hated to be carried around like an invalid.
"I felt a little better so I wanted to join the party."
"Oh, darling, there's no party," she said.
"Sure there is," she said, then looked directly to Mark. "It's a party for Daddy."
Though perfectly logical, hearing Mabel calling him that… Scott felt irrationally jealous.
Bridget just smiled—she knew as well as he did that it would be impossible to argue with Mabel about this—and said, "Would you like to sit with him while we make dinner?"
Mabel nodded, then looked to Mark. "Maybe we can watch SpongeBob or a picture or you can read me a book."
"Whatever you would like. You're the princess."
Another twang of jealousy. Scott wasn't proud of these thoughts; he knew he would have to get used to the man being here.
"Okay then," said Bridget.
Mabel took his hand, and then led him out of the room, presumably towards the media room, where the telly and the disc player resided.
Again they were in the room alone. Bridget said in a subdued tone, looking chastened, "I'm sorry I didn't ask first. I should have."
"It's all right," he said. He couldn't think of what to say that didn't sound like a rebuke: you're only the family he left behind. They're his kids too. This'll be good for Mabel.
"He shouldn't be alone," Bridget went on, tears in her eyes again. "He's been alone too long."
"Yes," he said. He could hardly argue with that.
Her hand was upon his arm again. "Thank you," she said softly, then pecked his cheek. "Come on, let's see about fixing dinner."
"I could do that," he said, "if you want to sit with them."
"I can do that later," she said—of course she would want to sit with them, and he'd suggested it, so why did hearing that strike him the wrong way?—"Right now, I think it's good for them to get some time together."
Scott followed Bridget to the kitchen; Chloe was still in there nursing a cup of tea, and the boys were there too, just finishing their snack. "Change of plans," said Scott. "Mr Darcy is staying for dinner."
"Oh, is he still here?" asked Chloe. "Do you want a hand with dinner? I don't have to be anywhere until later. Night t'ai chi down in the park."
"That'd be super; thanks," said Bridget. "We'll get it done faster."
"Where's Mabel?" asked Billy. "And, um…" Billy hesitated, glancing to Scott. "Dad."
"They're in the media room. If you boys want to play games on the computer, keep it down."
"Okay," he said, then the three of ran out.
They pulled out ingredients and kitchenware for their meal, nothing complicated, just pasta and a green salad. Scott wondered about tonight, tomorrow, the future in general, but with Chloe there he did not want to start any serious conversations, and Chloe was busy asking Bridget all about the revelations of the day anyway. He chopped herbs and tomatoes in silence, instead, and was just about finished with chopping when Billy came in again, hanging onto the door frame with a sense of urgency.
"Hey, Mum, Dah, Mabel's asking for you."
Bridget glanced up, her concern obvious. "Oh? Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Just come."
Chloe said, coming over to where Scott was prepping the sauce, "Go on. I think I've got this under control."
…
"Do you like SpongeBob?"
After Mabel led Mark to the media room, she directed him to sit and went for the remote for the television and the DVD player. Mark couldn't help noticing how warm, how cosy the room was, how all of these little touches—framed professional artwork as well as framed drawings by the children, wooden creations that had clearly been the product of a senior branch classroom project, a decorative fan on a stand—had the stamp of Bridget's personality all over them. With remotes in hand, Mabel sat next to him and pressed on them until the screen came to life and the disc started to play.
"I'm not sure I've seen it," he said.
Mabel's mouth opened in disbelief; truly, she seemed more surprised by his admission than by the revelation that her daddy was not, in fact, in heaven. "Never saw it?" she asked. "Did you have to live in a dark room by yourself when you were away?"
Mark laughed; the manner in which she spoke was so like her mother—spirited, opinionated, and no rein on her tongue—it made him realise how like Bridget she looked, that pale blonde hair, those big blue eyes. "No, sweetheart," he said. "But I was around grownups. No kids."
"Grownups don't watch SpongeBob?" she asked.
Mark chuckled again. "Not the ones I spent time with."
After a minute or two of watching the cartoon, she asked, "So where were you, then? If not in a dark room by yourself?"
"Did you ever hear of Washington, DC?" he asked.
She turned to look up at him, nodding. "That's where the President of the US is."
"That's where I was."
"Did you meet the president?" she asked, excited at the prospect.
"No, love," he said with a smile, then got more serious. "I had to use a different name, wear a different haircut, wear spectacles to disguise myself, but I was helping the Americans try to find the bad guys who were trying to hurt me."
"Really?"
Mark looked up to see Billy in the doorway, with Matt and Fred behind him.
Mark nodded. "Really."
"Did you do spy stuff, like James Bond?" Fred asked eagerly.
"Nothing like that," he said with a smile. "I had to keep a very low profile. Mostly I spend a lot of time talking with agents and listening to and watching surveillance recordings."
"Whoa," said Wallaker's boys reverently.
"It was not very exciting," said Mark. "It was actually kind of boring."
"Sounds cool," said Mabel. "And then you caught them."
"Well, I didn't actually slap handcuffs on anyone," he said. "But I helped identify where they were."
Matt and Fred also stated that they too thought it was cool, then moved past Billy for the computer. Mark saw that they were starting up a game there.
"You gonna play, Billy?" called Matt.
Billy looked between them and Mark. "I'm think I'm gonna watch SpongeBob," he said at last, then took a seat on a chair. It wasn't a seat on the sofa cushion next to him, but Billy had chosen to sit with him in the same part of the room, which was a start.
"This is my favourite episode," said Mabel.
"Yeah," said Billy teasingly. "We've only watched it a zillion times."
"'Best day ever'," sang Mabel. That seemed to be the theme of the episode, Mark realised, that SpongeBob was planning for his best day ever, but everything was going hilariously wrong. Mark found himself chuckling at a mention of Patrick the starfish wanting to go 'jelly fishing' with SpongeBob. He hadn't thought of that phrase in years.
The episode ended. "I want to watch the party," Mabel said suddenly. She turned and said, "Billy, find the party disc?"
"Sure," he said, then got up to search amongst the commercial discs.
"What's the party?" Mark asked, as Billy found the party disc and swapped out the SpongeBob disc for it.
"The best day ever," she said with a wan smile. "My birthday, when I turned seven, before I got sick. If you watch with me, it's like you were there too."
Mark felt tears gathering in his eyes, and he said, "I would love to watch with you."
"Billy, will you please go get Mummy and Dah," Mabel said, "so we can all watch together?" Billy nodded, then dashed out of the room. He returned presently with both of them.
"Are you all right?" Bridget asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine," said Mabel. "I'm gonna play Daddy the party."
"Oh," she said, smiling to her daughter, then glancing to Mark. "I think he'll like that very much."
The sofa on which they sat was enormous—it would have to be if all six of them wanted to watch a film together—so when Bridget and Wallaker returned, she sat beside Mabel, and Wallaker sat beside her. The boys, Matt and Fred, paused their game, and came to watch, too.
"Okay, I'm ready."
Mabel pressed play, and as she'd promised, Mark felt like he was there as the scene panned across friends and family—Bridget, Billy, Matt and Fred (Wallaker was clearly controlling the camera); his parents, Pam Jones, other people he didn't know but whom Matt referred to as 'Uncle Sean and the cousins', a gaggle of children from Mabel's junior branch and friends from the neighbourhood, and even Daniel Cleaver. ("Oh lord," said Bridget as his face popped up on screen; "I should call Daniel.") Blowing out candles, opening presents… watching Mabel there, running around in the bloom of health, brought more tears to his eyes; how he couldn't wait for her to be healthy again.
"That little girl," said Bridget, pointing, "is Mabel's best friend from the old house. She's Oleander, Rebecca's daughter."
"Rebecca?" Mark asked, his mind going immediately to the 'jelly fisher' comment, and to the woman who had tried to split him and Bridget up. She'd had a kid, had named it after a plant? That seemed really unlike the self-centred Rebecca he had known…
Bridget laughed. "Oh, heavens, not that one," she said. "Sorry. This Rebecca was my neighbour in Chalk Farm. Different from the other Rebecca as, er, chalk and cheese."
"Thank goodness," Mark said with a chuckle, looking to her. "I hadn't thought you would have gone that mad."
The video wasn't that long, but by the end of it Mark had felt he'd had the full party experience. Seeing so many people surrounding Mabel with love, so many familiar faces, made Mark very feel emotional. "That was wonderful, Mabel," he said. "Thank you for sharing that."
"You're welcome," she said primly, then grinned. "Come to the next one. Promise?"
"I promise."
Chloe came in just then to let them know that dinner was ready, and that she had to go.
"You're not staying?" asked Bridget.
"I have to go to my t'ai chi," she said. "Besides, I wouldn't want to intrude."
"You wouldn't be intruding, you're always welcome, but I understand," said Bridget; Mark was secretly grateful that there would be one fewer to their party that night.
Mabel did not have much of an appetite, but she did her best to polish off the kid-sized plate that her mother had made up for her. The food was standard fare but was very good; it could have been just that it had been a long time since he'd had a meal surrounded by anything resembling a family. He gratefully accepted a glass of wine when offered, and that helped him to relax a little more.
"Oh, love, let's get you off to bed," said Bridget suddenly. Mark turned to see that Mabel was nodding off; not wanting to be left out, she had obviously tried very hard to stay awake longer than her stamina would allow. Bridget rose to go to her, but before she could pick up the girl, Mabel spoke up in a sleepy voice, directing those sleepy blue eyes at Mark.
"Will you take me upstairs, please?"
Mark glanced to Bridget and Scott, who nodded.
"I'd be happy to," he said, then stood and bent to take her in his arms. To his surprise, she shifted in his arms and clung to him like a little koala bear; he put his arms around her to hold her tight.
He remembered the way back to her room, but Bridget gestured that he bring her to the bathroom sink to clean her teeth and use the toilet. She then gently brushed Mabel's hair before taking her over to her bed.
"Tuck her in," Bridget said to Mark. "I'll tell the story." She had tears in her eyes. He did, too, though he quickly realised hers were from more than just due to watching him doing this fatherly duty. She started to speak. That's when he knew what had really prompted the tears.
She began reciting the bedtime story he had made up when Mabel was just a baby. "'For the Baby Princess is as sweet as she is fair, and as gentle as she is beautiful, and as kind as she is lovely. And wherever she goes, and whatever she does, Mummy and Daddy will always love her. Just because she's lovely, and because she's Mabel.'" But she hiccoughed and stopped, bringing her fist up to her mouth, so choked up with emotion that she could not go on.
Mark, who'd sat on the bed, swept Mabel's hair from her forehead and picked up without missing a beat, amending it for Mabel alone; as if he could have forgotten the story for a moment:
"'All the thoughts are going away. Just like the little birds in their nests, and the rabbits in their rabbit holes. The thoughts don't need Mabel tonight. The world will turn without them. The moon will shine without them. And all Mabel need to do is rest and sleep. And all Mabel needs to do is sleep and dream…'"
He trailed off. Silence filled the room; Mabel was indeed fast asleep. He smoothed down the duvet as he rose again, meeting Bridget's eyes, realising he was weeping too. They went out into the hallway, closing the door most of the way, before speaking again; they did not want to disturb her rest.
"I'm so glad," she began, but didn't need to continue. She then came over and took him in her arms for a tight hug as she began to cry again.
It struck him only then how badly he had missed being there with them, with her; how much he desperately wanted to kiss her. He had spent so long suppressing thoughts of her that the abrupt return of that desire had caught him off guard. Inconvenient, with Wallaker right there. He would simply put it out of his head once again. He pulled away, kissing her chastely on the cheek.
Mark knew then that it would be a good time to call it a night. It had been a draining day and he was suddenly feeling very exhausted. "I should be going," he said quietly, looking to her, then looking to Wallaker. "Thank you for having me here tonight. I am beyond grateful."
"You're grateful?" Bridget said. "I have never been so grateful in my whole life for today." Her lower lip was trembling again, tears hovered in her eyes, and she reached to take his hand. "I'd still really love to sit and talk…"
"Soon," Mark said; he knew she didn't mean tonight. She let go and nodded. Mark then turned to Wallaker. "Thank you," Mark said, holding out his hand again for another firm shake. "For everything you've done for Bridget and the children… everything you did for me this week to help me to, well, come back to life, as it were."
Bridget looked momentarily confused, but then she heard something from downstairs. "Oh. Billy." She turned and went downstairs, and the two men followed her into the kitchen / dining room area.
The three boys had cleared the table and put all of the extra food away. "Wow, and without even being asked," said Bridget, giving each of the three a hug in turn. "Thank you." She turned and looked at Mark, who took it as his cue to talk.
"I have to be going now, back to my hotel," he said. "It was very nice to meet you Matt, Fred… and Billy, I'm so very pleased to see you again. More than you can know."
Billy offered a small smile. "I'm glad to see you again, too."
Mark did not want to put the boy on the spot by offering a hug he was not comfortable accepting, so instead he held out his hand, which Billy took and shook.
"I'll see you again very soon," Mark said. "Promise."
Billy didn't let go of his hand, and for a moment he thought the boy would hug him anyway, but he didn't, and the handshake was released. "Okay," he said.
"Do you need driving back to your hotel?" Bridget asked.
"I drove," Mark said. "Car's down the street."
"Ah," she said. "Let me walk with you to your car."
What had been a pleasant day, weather-wise, was turning into a cool night, and not five steps out of the front door she was rubbing her arms. Still she continued the walk down with him.
"I'm… not sure I have the words to express how I'm feeling today," she said, carefully watching where was stepping. "I'm happy, I'm grateful, I'm in disbelief, I'm angry… does that make sense?"
"Yes," he said quietly, his hands deep in his pockets. "I'd've done anything I could have to prevent all the pain and hurt my being gone caused. I understand everything you're feeling."
"Do you?" she asked, but it was more rhetorical than anything, or so he thought until she continued with, "So I suppose you have a… someone new back wherever you were?"
"Washington, DC," he said. "And no, I don't." He tried not to feel offended that she thought he had taken up with another woman. He could never have betrayed her.
"Oh," she said in a tone he couldn't quite discern.
They reached his vehicle, and she turned to look up at him. But for the passage of time, it might have been saying goodnight after one of their earliest dates. Her question came out of the blue at him: "When was it you first went to Scott about this?"
So much time seemed to have passed since Jeremy had made his first contact with Wallaker, he had to think for a moment before answering. "It was Monday," he answered. "I saw the doctor to be tested on Tuesday morning, and had the answer back today."
She didn't say anything for a bit, just took her lower lip between her teeth in her thoughtfulness. "Ah," she said at last, but then smiled, trying to brighten the mood, but there was a forced quality to it. "Not that I'd've had you stay away from us for anything in the world, but this… does rather complicate everything."
"I know," he said. "And I don't expect…" He trailed off, completing the sentence in his thoughts only: I don't expect you to leave what you've built and come running back to me.
"I appreciate that you're not issuing ultimatums," she said with more of an honest smile. "Considering we're still technically married…" She sighed, running her fingers back through her hair. "I had to stop wearing my ring; the memories were too much. I couldn't move on." She laughed mirthlessly. "I could barely get through the day, some days."
"I understand," Mark said.
"Yet…" She then pulled a chain out from inside her shirt to reveal the ring hanging on a chain. "I still needed to keep it close."
"I'm sorry again."
He made no move to enter the vehicle, nor did she back away to leave; now that they were alone together, without the protective buffer of children and her new partner, it seemed clearer than ever that their attraction for one another had not died one whit. Her gaze was fixed to his. He barely breathed. Her eyes went glossy and she wetted her lips with her tongue. The silence around them was deafening.
It was he who decided to turn away first, breaking the spell, looking down to draw out his mobile from his pocket. He said, "Let me have your mobile number."
She seemed to snap out of it, too, and managed to give it to him. "I'll let you know what Mabel's doctor says as soon as I knows."
"Great," he said. "Well. Good night, Bridget."
"Drive safely," she said, her lower lip trembling again; indeed, it would not do to wreck the car when he'd only just come back. "Good night, Mark."
He stepped forward for a quick hug, pecking her cheek, before pulling away and stepping around to sit behind the wheel.
One of the toughest things he'd done in some time was watching her in the rear view mirror, growing smaller with each passing second.
…
Scott did not follow her outside, did not go to the window to watch them say their goodbyes, despite the temptation to do so. Billy was a bit wound up, understandably so, so Scott told him to go into the media room and find something to put on. Usually it was too late to begin a film but it was Friday night, and he doubted Billy would be going to sleep anytime soon. Scott took it upon himself to wash the pot in which the pasta was cooked as he waited for Bridget to return. He knew they would have to talk, probably that night. He wasn't sure how much he was looking forward to it.
"Dad?"
The sound of Matt's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Hey," he said, setting the pot down to dry. "What's up?"
"Well, it's about… tonight," he said. "It's a bit weird, isn't it? Coming back from the dead, and all."
"That's an understatement," Scott said.
"I'm just… well, does this mean things are going to change for us?" he asked. "Will we still be a family?"
Scott honestly did not quite know how to answer. Bridget had been more of a mother to his boys than his ex-wife had been, and Matt's concern that she would be going away was a valid one. "Obviously, some things are going to have a change," he said. "To what extent, I don't know right now."
"No matter what happens, Matt, we'll still be a family."
Bridget had come into the room without his hearing. Clearly she'd heard Matt's question. Matt smiled and took the hug she offered, but Scott wasn't sure how reassuring he found her answer, despite knowing that change was bound to happen. She and Mark hadn't split willingly. Scott had known from the start that she still loved Mark; seeing Mark, it was obvious to Scott that Mark still loved her, too.
"Matt!" yelled Fred from the other room. "We're starting Iron Man! Come on!"
"Go on," said Bridget. "And don't worry, okay?" She gave Matt a quick hug—he reacted by pulling a jokey face; he was fifteen, after all—before he dashed off. There were a few more minutes of silence before she spoke again.
"Scott," she said softly, "I don't have to tell you that everything's very confused right now, for me."
"I understand." He braced himself, irrationally as it seemed, for the 'but': but I'm leaving.
"And you'll understand," she said, "that I'm a bit hurt that you first met with Mark on Monday."
Scott did not need her to elaborate. "I'm sorry," he said at last. "I couldn't tell you. I'd promised."
She shook her head. "No, that I understand. It's that you knew he was alive and you slept with me anyway."
He'd had guilty thoughts even as he'd succumbed to her gentle kisses and caresses, but the guilt had centred more around not telling her what he knew than anything else. He wasn't going to feel guilty for sleeping with her; she, who was practically his wife. "Wait, you would have rather I pushed you aside without explanation?" he said. "I didn't stop loving you the moment I saw he was alive."
She sighed, putting her hands over her face. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's all so jumbled." She brought her hands down, and the tears in her eyes broke his heart. "I love him, but I love you too."
She wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know, but the pain she was experiencing was tangible. He reached forward and enfolded her into his arms, which she accepted. He didn't have any answers for her, no advice to offer that wasn't totally self-serving, but he knew she appreciated the consolation.
She made a sound that was very like a strangled laugh; when she spoke he wasn't sure if she was joking or serious. "Can't we just, I don't know, live together as one big family? Like a large extended Turkish family or similar?"
He had no answer for her, so instead, he stroked her hair. "Come on," he said. "I know we've seen it a million times, it feels like, but let's go spend some quality time with the boys and Tony Stark."
"Okay," she said with a weary smile. "But let me get the baby monitor, in case Mabel needs anything. And…" She sighed deeply. "I should probably ring up my mum."
Scott placed his hand on her shoulder, and said softly, "It'll keep until after the film."
