There's so much of you in everything I do – Newton Faulkner, 'So Much'
His son grips his finger. The sun dances and winks through the slanted blinds. Translucent eyelids flicker with unseen dreams and small lungs exhale in what he hopes is contentment. His foot makes contact with the solid oak floor and he pushes them off firmly, the rocking chair creaking its soundtrack to their Sunday morning. He's not sure how long he's been sat here, long enough for the birds to wake up and fall asleep again anyway.
Ben wriggles slightly and he adjusts his hold, catching himself halfway through the natural instinct and smiling. He rocks gently. And he thinks of the last man to sit in this chair and rock his child.
Would he be proud? The doubts he does his best to push to one side clamour for pole position and he can't be certain. He knows he would have been proud of his grandson, and he knows that he would have loved Lizzie. He would have been proud that his own son had faced up to some brutal home truths and pushed himself to be better. But would his father have been disappointed that he hadn't married Lizzie the minute Ben became a possibility?
William Darcy had been a reasonable man. He would have appreciated the fact that things were much different, that it was no longer 1984. He would have known that his son took his responsibilities seriously, and he would have realised that just because they weren't married yet didn't mean they wouldn't be married one day. He would have probably guessed it was only a matter of time.
And his mother. She would have been delighted. That her acutely shy son who had struggled through just about every social situation possible could have found happiness with such an extroverted, loving woman would have pleased her beyond words. That her son now had a son of his own to share in the same passions and interests that they had once shared would have been a source of endless joy.
He wasn't usually sentimental. Romantic, yes (secretly and with only Lizzie as a witness), eloquent (when under pressure or when not strictly sober), but sentimentality wasn't something he indulged in regularly.
He took the opportunity now. He pretended that today was the day he was introducing Ben to all his grandparents. He pretended that his mother let out that noise that was half sob, half laughter as she scooped Ben out of his arms and held him close to her heart. He pretended that his father, standing behind her, rubbed Ben's cheek with his forefinger before kissing Lizzie's hand gallantly and slapping his son on the back. He pretended that while his mother and Lizzie's mother cooed over Ben and tried to spot family resemblances, his father conjured a bottle of his finest whiskey and poured out three healthy measures for himself, his son and Lizzie's father. He pretended that his father was momentarily lost for words as he proposed a toast to the newest Darcy.
He stopped pretending because suddenly it hurt to breathe.
A squeaking cry alerts him to the fact that Ben was awake and he distracts himself by pretending that Ben can focus on his silly sentimental father. He bends his head to kiss his son delicately.
'What are you boys doing? I thought you were getting Ben up.'
Lizzie appears, dressed and trying her best to look stern. 'If this is your idea of helping me with the baby, I think I'll get him dressed in future.'
'We were considering his options. Which of the many sleep suits that his Granny sent him should he wear today?'
'Uh-huh.'
He raises an eyebrow at her disbelieving tone. She laughs and kisses it before smoothing his hair back and holding her arms out for Ben.
'Go and have a shower. I want you ready in fifteen minutes, Darcy.'
He takes advantage of her full hands by capturing her lips in a lingering kiss.
'When is Gigi coming?' he finally thinks to ask as they take turns to eat their breakfast. He is currently burping Ben while Lizzie eats a slice of toast at high speed.
'Any minute,' was all the reply he got.
Sure enough, by the time they'd loaded the dishwasher Gigi had appeared with a bunch of irises and a bottle of water.
'Ready?'
'Ready,' he nods.
He slips Ben into his carry cot and lifts it slowly, reaching for Gigi's hand. She squeezes tight.
'Come on then,' Lizzie says lightly.
They stand there, in the sunshine, and Ben meets his paternal grandparents. He lifts the baby out of the carry cot and walks to the gravestone. He squats down and supports his weight with one hand on the grass. It's still damp with dew.
Light glints off the writing etched on the stone.
Here rests
William Gregory Darcy
June 1954 – May 2005
and his beloved wife, Anne Margaret Darcy
October 1958 – May 2005
Forever missed, forever cherished, forever loved.
'Mom, Dad, meet William Bennet Darcy. Ben, meet Nan and Grandpa.'
Lizzie rests a hand on his shoulder and Gigi crouches down next to him and stretches a finger out to touch the engraved names. And Ben gurgles and squirms and he doesn't feel like he has to pretend.
It's one thing time will not erase
My life would not have been the same – Newton Faulkner, 'So Much'
Thank you so much to all those who have read, favourited, followed and reviewed this story. I've really appreciated your support :) This story has gone as far as it can, but for those who are interested, I will begin posting a few of Lizzie's songs in the next few days.
Thanks again,
Cuckoo x