It's glorious to feel that I'm a part of you, sweetheart
To share your happiness
It's marvellous how lovely love can be
– Ella Fitzgerald, 'It's Wonderful'


The trip to Manchester comes at the worst possible time. He's been contemplating some pretty big news that has finally been confirmed, and he'd been looking for an opportunity to enlighten Lizzie. And now he was going to have to wait two weeks before they could sit down together without looking at their watches and thinking about all the chores that need to completed.

Sitting at the bottom of their bed, he enjoys the completely alien experience of watching someone else pack for him. He was a pretty nifty packer already. Fastidious is as fastidious does. He doesn't have the heart to tell her that he really is quite competent. He finds too much to smile about when she shows him the miniature toiletries she'd bought him on her lunch break. He likes seeing how a Bennet packs. A Bennet stuffs socks into shoes to save space. A Bennet makes an elaborate jigsaw out of oddly-sized items. A Darcy spreads clothes out. A Darcy just pays for extra luggage allowance.

She steps back from the suitcase, her hands resting lightly on her hips. Her mouth moves silently through a checklist and finally she looks at him.

She looks chaotic; spirals of hair dart out of her bun, her cheeks are slightly flushed from dashing around as though he were leaving in ten minutes, not ten hours; her nose is wrinkled in a futile effort to disguise a sniff.

He opens his arms and she looks down, looks up and moves jerkily to him, sitting in his lap and letting him cradle her.

'It's just two weeks,' she tells his shoulder. 'We managed when I lived at home, right?'

'Right,' he says as he smoothes her hair back. 'I'll get you lots of presents. A Dairy Milk bar, a picture of me in a phone booth, a five pound note, a stamp...'

He breaks off as she dissolves into giggling sobs and buries her face in his neck.

'Don't dare,' she mumbles. 'That's our to-do list, not yours.'

He chuckles. 'Alright then. I'll avoid anything quintessentially British. I won't even talk to them.'

'Don't blame your terrible social skills on me, Darcy.' A kiss lingers on his skin.

They sit there until his phone chirrups on the dressing table. She slips off his lap and goes back to his suitcase as he answers Gigi's call.

Rather than moving into the lounge as he usually would, he takes a seat in the armchair by the window and watches as Lizzie completes her usual night time rituals. After Gigi's fourth yawn, he wishes her a pleasant sleep and hangs up. Lizzie has already climbed into bed and is just looking at him.

He rushes through the necessary ablutions and is soon sliding under the covers and pulling Lizzie towards him. He breathes in the scent of her hair, she kisses his neck again, his hand rests on her waist, her hand caresses his chest.

'Goodnight,' she whispers.

One last kiss, then darkness ushers sleep in.


He leaves her sleeping. It's better this way. He's not sure who for. It's hard enough to see her arms reach out for him as he eases his way out of bed. He doesn't really want a tearful goodbye.

She texts him just before he boards his flight.

Do you always leave before they wake? xx

He snorts.

Only if I think they'll cause a scene x

She must have been sat with her phone in hand because her reply is almost instantaneous.

I'll give you a scene xx

My flight's boarding. You have approximately thirteen days and nine hours to plot my downfall x

The flight attendant calls out his row and he sends one last text to Gigi before switching his phone to Airplane mode and picking up his hand luggage.


He can't pretend the entire two weeks are entirely awful. He's never been to Manchester before and he's certainly never seen the remains of the industrial revolution on this scale before. Still, every place he visits, he finds another thing to add to the to-do list that he and Lizzie are compiling.

He knows she'd love the outdoor cinema in Spinningfields, and pretty much everything in the Northern Quarter fits Lizzie's idea of a good day out. He discovers gravy, and even manages to stomach a few mouthfuls of the most bizarre concoction of foodstuffs: cheese, chips and gravy. He's not saying it's something he'd do again, though he does think he'd appreciate the expression on Lizzie's face when she tries it.

One weekend, he takes the train to explore the Lake District, and though he knows he's surrounded by breathtaking scenery, his enjoyment is hampered by the fact that Lizzie isn't here too.

His final weekend he stays local. He is invited to the pub with some of the associates from Media City and though infinitely more social than a quiet weekend in a country hotel, it is also infinitely more preferable.

He's sent numerous post cards to both Gigi and Lizzie, and he's constantly firing emails back and forth to make up for those nights when he's just too tired to call. Still, he can't help but feel oddly disconnected. They share parts of their day, and he can picture situations of their little anecdotes with ease, but it doesn't feel the same as when he has shared the bulk of the day with them.

Some days, Lizzie sounds low. Countless enquiries about her health, her day, her mood are gently rebuffed with the standard 'It's nothing you can't fix when you're back'. While flattering, it's hardly useful to him.

As his final day approaches, he begins to pack, the Darcy way. He calls the airline, pays for extra luggage allowance and then goes into the city centre to buy a new suitcase and a wild mix of tacky and tasteful gifts.

Wednesday dawns grey, wet and glorious. He checks out with a smile on his face, tips a bemused cabbie who hesitantly explains that the British don't tip that much, and wheels his two suitcases to the check-in desk.

He buys a massive Toblerone in duty free, as per Fitz's instructions, finds his departure lounge, sends his now routine countdown text to Lizzie, disconnects his phone from the network and settles down to wait for his turn to board.


The flight is quicker going back over the Atlantic. Before he knows it, he's watching the same bag rotate on the carousel in Luggage Reclaim and swallowing vague feelings of panic that his cases have gone missing.

Lizzie looks wan when they finally spot one another in Arrivals. He scrutinises her, taking in her paler than normal skin, her jeans that are sporting a new belt and the tiredness that even her smile can't quite cover. She clings to him when he reaches her, and he feels her tremble slightly.

'Lizzie,' he says, half in welcome, half in reassurance. His hand rubs the small of her back gently and she squeezes him tighter.

'Hey,' he murmurs, loosening his hold in the hopes of encouraging her to let him go.

She pulls back just barely, enough for him to press a chaste kiss to her lips. Her eyes are closed for much longer than they usually are.

'Two weeks is a long time, isn't it?' he says as he pulls her into him again.

'You have no idea.' Her voice is shaky.

'Is this the scene you were promising?'

A shocked burst of laughter slips from her. 'Let's just go home before I make good on my threat.'

He keeps finding excuses to touch her as she drives home. Her hand resting on the gearstick gives him a reason to stroke her knuckles, a glance at his face when they stop at the lights allows him to brush the hair off her face, sliding the car into 'park' and unbuckling her seatbelt lets him lean over and kiss her properly.

She sits on the bed this time as he unpacks in the Darcy way. Clothes have been separated into 'suitable for one more wear' and 'laundry'. He lifts out the towel that divides the two sections of his suitcase and meticulously folds and hangs up his clean clothes.

Lizzie can't help but laugh. 'I honestly thought the second suitcase was for laundry.'

'Don't be ridiculous.'

They don't talk much as he unpacks. Once he's stored the suitcases under the stairs with their other luggage, he gathers her back into his arms in a position reminiscent of fourteen days ago, and she leans her head on his shoulder.

'Gigi and Fitz'll be round for dinner tomorrow,' Lizzie tells him as his fingers draw patterns on her upper arm.

'How uncharacteristically considerate of them.'

She chuckles a little uncertainly. 'I told them I wouldn't let them in if they came round tonight.'

He laughs at that and kisses her forehead. 'I'm glad.'

'You tired?'

He shakes his head. 'It's only 9pm in the UK.'

'You want some lunch then?'

They wander into the lounge via the kitchen to pick up some take-out menus.

'I've had such a craving for Thai food,' he tells her as they settle on the settee.

She can't seem to help the disbelieving snort. 'You're on your own there, my friend.' She tosses him the menu.


The afternoon grows quieter and quieter. He isn't really good for much since his body clock is telling him it's now midnight and his wrist watch is telling him it's 4pm. He perseveres, determined to make it to at least 9pm before he calls it a day. Lizzie lies on the settee as close to him as she can get. They've put a film on just for background noise, and though he makes some attempt at following it, she has her back to the screen and is drawing circles around the buttons on his shirt.

After a particularly big sigh, he turns off the TV, lifts her chin with a gentle finger and says, 'Alright. You've had something on your mind since last Tuesday. I'm back now, so let me fix whatever you need fixing.'

She ducks her head but his finger is unrelenting in its strength and she is soon facing his eyes again. She opens her mouth and closes it. She wriggles closer and his arms encircle her.

'I'm pregnant,' she tells the buttons of his shirt.

'I know,' he tells her hair.


It's glorious
It's marvellous
Oh darling it's wonderful
– Ella Fitzgerald, 'It's Wonderful'