Tabula Rasa
By S. Faith, © 2009
Total words: 128,281.
This part: ~5,197.
Rating: M / R
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes, etc.: Please see the Prologue.
Author's request: Please keep the comments speculation-free. :)
Chapter 13
The best travel time Mark could calculate from London to Bangor was approximately four and three-quarter hours by car, which did not look promising at all. That entire summer with Bridget at first seemed destined to be bathed in the atmosphere of a doomed prisoner. He tried to cheer her, tell her that university would be a wonderful growing experience, but she only gave him a dirty look. "I don't even have a car," she lamented. "How can I even visit you?"
"We'll think of something," he said.
Despite an impending long-term separation, they had some truly wonderful days; in an effort to get her mind off of it, he offered to teach her how to drive.
"What do you mean, you want me to practise with the car off? What good does that do?"
"To get used to the—"
"I'm not going to practise in a car that's not moving. That's silly. I know how to start it, already." She tried to fire it up, but it didn't do anything.
"Um," he said. "The clutch and the brake."
"I knew that," she said huffily, depressing both pedals. The car roared to life. Mark suddenly wished he'd driven out to the country, far, far away from any vehicles, then and only then allowing her behind the wheel.
"It's not like I've haven't done this before. My dad takes me on the weekend sometimes," she confessed.
"Oh, well," he said with a grin, "if your dad's already teaching you, maybe he should—"
"No!" she interrupted, laughing. "I'd much rather be with you."
He smirked. "All right. Release parking brake. First gear."
They crept along at a glacial pace, until they cleared Grafton Underwood proper, at which she decided to floor the gas, startling him. "Bridget, the gear, change the gear, press the—"
The car's sudden stop as it stalled knocked the wind out of him.
"—clutch," he gasped. She smiled, then laughed, and soon he was laughing too.
"Sorry," she said.
"It's all right," he said. "Start 'er up."
Within a few minutes they were rolling on the country road; he told her when to shift and after a few ear-shattering (and wince-inducing) gear-grinds, she got the rhythm of clutch-shift just right. Unfortunately, in the excitement of getting the gears correct, he realised too late that they were going a little too fast. She began to lose control of the wheel for a harrowing few minutes, swerving towards the ditch then in the opposite direction, away to the right of the road in a horrendous overcompensation; he shouted for her to ease up on the accelerator, shouted for her to begin to brake, clutch and downshift. By the time they came to a stop, practically diagonally across the road, they were halfway to Northampton. She was trembling from head to toe, heaving breath in great pants. Abruptly she launched herself out of the car, off the road to sit on the grass with her face in her hands.
"Bridget!" he called after her. He couldn't well leave the car across the road, so he popped behind the wheel to pull it to the meagre shoulder before running to join her, dropping down beside her. "Are you all right?"
She looked to him, almost as if his presence was a surprise. "Yeah," she said, still shaking. "I'm sorry. I'm not a very good driver."
"You were doing fine," he said. "You just went too fast, that's all. I should have said something sooner." He slipped his arm around her, pulled her close to him. "It'll be all right."
He was himself feeling shaken. He had never truly considered a life without her in it, and if at that speed she had but hit a pothole, or a patch of water, or a puddle just the wrong way—
"Mark? Are you all right?"
He was perhaps holding her a little more tightly than he realised, alerted to the fact because her voice was something of a croak as she asked after him.
"Oh, love, I'm sorry," he said, easing up, drawing back to look at her, to take her face in his hands. "If anything ever happened to you, I don't know what I'd do."
"You're being a little dramatic," she said, a hint of teasing in her voice.
"I'm serious."
She drew her lips together, then nodded. "I know."
He gave her a loving kiss, then rose to his feet and pulled her to hers. With his arm linked about her waist they walked back to the car.
"Is it safe to say that you have no interest in driving back?"
"If you would," she said. "I'm still coming down from an adrenaline high."
As they returned to Grafton Underwood, they fell into silence, the radio barely audible. It seemed a little odd, a little uncomfortable, like they both felt they should say something but neither did, at least not until she broke the silence.
"I'd be lost without you."
Not taking his eyes from the relatively straight but narrow stretch of road, he reached for her hand, brought the back to his lips and kissed it. "You have me," he replied, "and I have no intention of going anywhere."
When he lowered their joined hands, she raised them to place a kiss on the back of his hand. He glanced over, and met her grin with his own.
………
"I'm curious."
He opened his eyes, looked down to where she was nestled in the crook of his arm. They'd been watching a film on the telly, Breakfast at Tiffany's, but he was tired, and found himself continuing to nod off.
"Hm?" He realised the film was over, and it was dark outside and in, no illumination but the bluish light cast by the screen.
"About you."
He lowered his brows. "What about me?"
"Your first time," she said, turning and resting her head on the arm he had stretched on the back of the sofa. "I know I wasn't your first."
He did not want to have this conversation with her. "Bridget, what does it matter? It was well before you and I."
"I said I'm curious," she said, her eyes luminous in that telly light. "How 'well before' me and you?"
He really did not want to have this conversation with her. Really not.
"She was nothing to me," he said at last. Bridget was aghast at this apparent callousness; he added: "I don't mean I didn't like her or think she was attractive, because she was." He felt that perhaps that was not the right thing to say, either. "Compared to you, though, she was nothing to me."
She smirked. "There was really no right way to answer that, was there? I'm sorry to put you on the spot." She brought her hand up and stroked his arm. "But you seemed so… in control of everything that night, knew what to do, knew what to say to keep me from being a quivering mess… was she older than you were?"
Reluctantly he nodded. "She was the age I am now, also reading law. I was… nervous. Daniel said she fancied me, put the two of us in a room together at a party, gave us some ale… she was a little bossy, told me what I needed to do. God." He felt his skin turn blazing hot. "I'm sure she knew I was… well. Inexperienced. And it showed; oh God did it show. I fumbled my way around as if in the dark. But I was a first-year uni student, a teenaged boy with simmering hormones and inhibitions were down…. Well, the impulse is all too human."
She smiled fondly at him. "It's sweet," she said.
It was the last word he expected to hear. "Sweet?"
"To hear you admit that you weren't absolutely perfect at something."
He chuckled under his breath. "I'm still not perfect."
"Maybe it's my own inexperience talking," she said, "but I think you're pretty darn close."
He bent his arm and brought her close to him, pulled her atop him as he laid back, then gave her a tender kiss.
"Were you a quick learner," she said, teasing him with a series of small kisses to his lower lip, "or did it take multiple lessons?"
"Bridget," he said decisively. "Sometimes you're too curious for your own good."
From the way her brow raised, her lips formed a devilish smile, he regretted saying it almost immediately. "Funny you should say that," she said. "There is something I've been very curious about." He knew better than to encourage her and ask; as expected she proceeded with an exploration that left him feeling quite thankful for her inquisitive nature.
………
As the weekend approached that she was due to leave for her very first term at uni, she could not hide her growing excitement at the new adventure, even as it clearly warred in her head with how far away she would be from him. He was excited about moving to London—and it would be a permanent move, since when all was said and done, he expected to work in London—but was desolate at the thought of further reducing the number of visits he could pay her.
Her parents were taking her early Saturday morning for the long drive. The Friday before her departure, not much was said. After a sedate supper together, they sat on the swing in the Jones' garden. The moon was approaching new, so there wasn't much in the way of moonlight, but the sky was clear and the stars were out and shining brightly. They sat and rocked gently in the warm night air, her head resting on his shoulder.
"I know you have to pack your own things," she said quietly, "but I really wish you could come."
"I wish I could too," he said. He thought of the cottage, the boxes of things he was taking with him to stay in the London flat; his parents had insisted since it otherwise would sit empty. Because his most recent memories of being in the flat was when Bridget was there with him, it would be difficult to return, but having her letters, poems, notebooks of stories she'd given to him, Jim, Jimi and the Lizard King; the adventuress… it would be like having her there, in a way.
"I'll have to go soon."
He heard her sob a little. "I know."
"You'll do well in uni. People are drawn to you. You're cheery and bright and make friends quickly." He tightened his embrace, kissing her on the temple. "Your whole world's about to open up in front of you, darling. I know you'll love the challenge."
"When do you go?"
"I'll leave on Sunday," he said. "I'll be living at the flat."
"Ahh." She was quiet for a bit, surely thinking of their stay there, too. "Give me the address," she said. "I'll write you the minute I arrive."
"Okay."
She turned suddenly on the bench swing and claimed his mouth with her own, combing her fingernails back through his hair, sending a shiver of delight through him as he avidly returned every kiss, tasting the salt of her tears as he pulled her close.
He was going to miss her more than he could ever express.
………
Though London was a city with an excellent public transport system, Mark would have his car there. In all honesty, though, the car he'd had through university was starting to show the effects of all of the mileage put on it during his years at Cambridge, countless trips between there and Grafton Underwood to see Bridget. He did not know how many trips to Bangor it would survive.
His mother and father would surprise him yet again, before he had a chance to pack a single box or suitcase into the vehicle.
"My boy," said Malcolm, "we have a little something to send you off."
He was perplexed, waiting for one of them to continue.
"We hope you like it."
"Come with us, son."
He walked with them around to the front of the main house. A car he did not recognise was sitting there. It was a new model Mercedes-Benz, silver in colour.
"Congratulations."
Mark did not understand. He stared at the car, then at them. "Did I win this?"
They both laughed. "Dear, you didn't win it. You earned it. Coming in at the top of your graduating class is something deserving of recognition."
He walked up to the vehicle, looked into the window. It was pristine, clearly had only be driven from the lot to the drive, with many options installed, including what appeared to be a CD player.
His father spoke up. "Would have had it sooner, but, you know… customising delays delivery."
He was stunned. This was not an inexpensive car. "I don't know what to say."
"'Thank you' is a good start," teased his mother.
"Of course, of course," he said, walking to his parents, embracing them one in each arm. "Thank you."
"Should make for smooth sailing on the long road to your new port of call," his father said, winking and smiling.
Mark grinned too. "Indeed."
………
When Bridget phoned the flat on Monday night, she gave him her address. He asked after her first day of classes; she could only describe herself as shattered. "Between unpacking, buying books, learning my way around the campus… I'll sleep like the dead tonight. How about you?"
He told her of his first day at City University, meeting fellow barrister hopefuls, and returning to the flat on a more permanent basis. Mention of the flat, of where they'd spent New Year's eve together and slept for the first time together, caused both of them to go momentarily silent.
"Do you suppose," she said tentatively, "you know when you might be able to come up?"
"I don't know," he said with a sigh. "Everything will take adjusting to… it's very different than uni."
In actual fact, it was not terribly different. Time was spent in classrooms bridging the gap between book learning and the actual practise of the law: criminal and civil advocacy, opinion writing, negotiation, professional conduct and ethics, litigation and so on. He had every intention of hopping in his new car after supper on Friday night to surprise her; with any luck he'd be there before ten.
"Oh," she said sadly before sighing miserably.
"Surely you've made some friends," he said, trying to cheer her.
"Yes, oh yes," she said. "My roommate and I are getting along swimmingly, but this is her second year, and she's already got a gaggle of friends. They're talking about going out on Friday, and it sounds like fun, but I don't want to invite myself, and I really don't want to be a tagalong."
"Wish there were something more I could do to help," he said. After a pause, he added, "I love you."
She sighed again. "I love you too, Mark."
"Sleep well."
He waited for her to disconnect. He revised his previous plan, and intended on being there by eight, even if it meant eating crap takeaway whilst driving.
………
Navigating to Bangor was relatively easy, and with cruise control on the car—an automatic transmission rather than a standard was something to get used to—the drive was actually quite pleasant. Indeed, the scenery was breathtaking, particularly as he crossed the border into Wales and reached the north-western coast, the late summer sunlight glinting off the waves of the Atlantic Ocean and into his eyes. He imagined he'd be making this drive a lot, and also imagined it would be very difficult to get tired of it.
He managed to arrive into Bangor proper at about ten past eight, which was not bad at all in his reckoning. He stopped at a campus information map to get his bearings, and with a few turns he found a visitors' car park. He grabbed the small travel bag he'd brought with him and made the trek into the residence hall.
After passing quizzical-looking girls and boys—it amazed him how young they looked—it wasn't long before he was standing in front of her door. He raised his fist and rapped firmly on it.
"I said I don't have a bloody scientif—"
As she swung the door open, as her eyes locked on his chest (at first, more at her own eye level), then on his own eyes, she ceased talking, her mouth gaping open, her eyes unblinking for many moments.
"—ic calculator—Oh my God!"
Leaping up onto her toes, she threw her arms around him and pressed her mouth to his. He responded as if a thirsty man to water, his arms encircling her and holding her close. "Mark!" she exclaimed as she released him at last. "You told me you didn't know when you could come!"
"Here I am," he said. "Seems an eternity since last Friday night."
Wanly she smiled. "It does."
"Shall we—" He looked pointedly into her room, then over his shoulder, then at her again. "I'd rather not garner an audience. Well, more than the two already staring at me from down the hallway."
She giggled, then tugged his hand to pull him forward, reaching around to slam the door shut.
"So," she said. "This is it."
What he saw was not what he had been expecting (something closer to the setup he'd shared with Daniel, a suite with two rooms and a common area). Instead, her room was moderately sized, but was a single room with no walls or divisions. Two single beds, two desks, two chairs, a telly (which was on and apparently airing an old movie). There was no bath or kitchen.
"Bridget," he said. "I, um. You have a roommate."
"I realise that."
"We'll have no privacy."
"She knows all about you," she said. "And she's not gonna be home for hours and hours yet."
All consideration for what the morning would be like—waking up in her bed with a third person present in the room, not to mention middle of the night toilet trips and the fact that he had not brought pyjamas (as he rarely wore them)—went by the wayside in favour of the immediate and urgent need to have her, despite only having seen her (and made love to her) a week ago.
Afterwards, snuggled quite cosily in the narrow bed, he combed his fingers through her hair from temple to end, quite a feat considering how long it was. "Was thinking of getting a cut," she said.
"Don't you dare," he murmured. "It's so beautiful, healthy, shiny."
"Sometimes I think it makes me look too young. I'll be eighteen next month."
To think they had only shared their first intimate kiss fewer than two years ago kind of made his head hurt. He combed through her hair again. "While I'd love you if you were you bald," he said, "I prefer your hair was as long as possible without actually causing you to trip or cause you neck injury."
She giggled. "If I must, then you must leave these lovely sideburns where they are."
"It's a pact."
It occurred to him as he began to kiss her again that the sounds of voices in the hall seemed very close indeed, which made him consider the ease of travel of sound in the reverse direction. He hoped no one had been passing by when they'd been in the heat of passion a short while ago. This was, however, of less and less concern to him as the kiss escalated, as he turned her so she was under him again, as things once again heated up.
Things were about as hot as they could get when, as if a bucket of cold water to the pair of them, he heard an unfamiliar female voice exclaim, "Oh!"
He pushed himself away from Bridget, careful to remain covered with the blanket and not to fall to the floor, just as Bridget shrieked in surprise and pulled a portion of the sheets to her chin. He looked at her, then to the strange girl who had just appeared. She had auburn hair, bright eyes, a somewhat shy smile, and was blushing like mad.
"You must be Mark," said the stranger. "We've all heard a lot about you." She walked forward and held out her hand as if to shake it. Slowly he reached out to accept it. "I'm Magda. Bridget's roommate."
………
After such a less than auspicious meeting, Magda went out (ostensibly for something to eat with a friend, but likely to give them a chance to wrap things up, and for Mark to make himself more presentable). "Bridget," he said once she'd left, "I thought you said she would be out for, and I quote, 'hours and hours'."
"That's what she told me," Bridget said, her skin still bright red with her embarrassment. "I'm never going to live this down. It's bad enough that they all think I've made you up."
He snorted, his own mortification slowly slipping away. "Why on earth would they think you'd do that?"
"I talk about you. A lot," she said sheepishly. "It's probably not normal or something, so I'm sure they think I'm delusional."
He pulled her close with a laugh and a kiss. "I'll introduce myself properly tomorrow as someone who is definitely not a figment of your imagination."
She chuckled, nuzzling into his neck; holding her was everything warm and secure. "I'm sorry she came home early," she said.
"We could pick up…" he began.
"Mmm, I think I'm too traumatised."
"You're not the one whose bottom was in danger of being bared," he reminded.
He was, when all was said and done, able to tease the rest of their unfinished business out of her, and upon regaining their respective breaths, she smiled, closed her eyes and sighed happily as he withdrew from the bed to dress himself in his boxers and tee shirt.
"You know," she said, "I hear there's this signal to let your roomie know you're… busy. Something stuck to the door."
"Sock on the doorknob," he supplied automatically. He looked to her; she looked astounded. "I had a sex-crazed roommate. Well. Suitemate, anyway. But he'd do it anywhere his fancy struck."
She stuck out her tongue in distaste.
"Bridget, need I remind you of the sofa in the flat."
"That was different."
"How?"
Just then Magda returned, knocking loudly on the door before she entered bearing a pizza. "Thought the two of you might be a little hungry," she said with a smirk.
"Thanks, Magda," said Bridget.
The two of them began to eat the pizza. It was quite delicious, and Mark found he had acquired quite an appetite, after all.
Magda got to her feet, pulled her handbag up onto her shoulder again. "Looks like you were counting on me to be out for the night, and I'm sorry. All my previous plans fell through—but I can go stay at Jeff's."
"Oh, Magda," said Bridget.
"No, no, it's all right," she said, meeting Mark's eyes again. "Your boyfriend came a long way to see you and my being here… well. Awkward." She was smiling though, definitely more comfortable in his presence now that he wasn't naked and on top of her roommate.
"We much appreciate it," Mark said.
"See you tomorrow," said Bridget. "Not too early."
"Of course not," she said with a wink before leaving.
Once the door shut and the lock turned, Mark sighed and buried his face in his hands. He felt her hand stroke along his back. "It'll be all right," she said. "Magda's really great."
"Bridget, tomorrow first thing, I'm phoning for a hotel room."
She was silent. He turned to look at her; she looked forlorn.
"For us," he added.
That cheered her considerably.
………
It appeared that what Bridget had told him was true: the other girls on the floor did seem incredulous that Mark did in fact exist. He was not offended. He thought it was sweet that she spoke so highly and so frequently of him, though he wondered that maybe she idolised his good points too much and ignored his faults.
She had already showed him to the men's bathroom, and after the conference introducing him to all of her new friends, he gathered up his things, a clean towel, and walked down to take a shower. When he returned, he found she was still in the ladies, and so stood outside her door awaiting her return. After several students passing through gave odd looks to the strange man with wet hair, he began to regret not asking her for the key. She did eventually reappear in her robe, her hair wet and combed out and her face shining bright with a smile. "Feel better?"
He nodded. "I'll feel better still once I have a room for us."
Once dressed, they went down intent on visiting a local restaurant, but Bridget stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the car he approached with key at the ready. "Mark, where did this come from?"
He had forgotten that he hadn't told her about the car, and teased, "It fell out of the sky one morning." After she pursed her lips and told him to be serious, he gave her the story of how he had come to own a brand new Mercedes.
She smiled. "Very nice."
"And no gears to worry about grinding," he said with a wink.
They found a local restaurant at which to have breakfast; right next door was a small hotel, which indicated a vacancy. After securing a room, he turned to her and asked, "All caught up with schoolwork?"
"Yes."
She was probably stretching the truth a little, but he went on to further ask, "Why don't we do a little exploring? This seems a lovely town."
She of course agreed with an enthusiastic nod; after a return to her room for his things and some of hers, they went for a drive to explore the grounds of nearby Penrhyn Castle, then went on a tour of the grand castle itself.
"Could you even imagine living in such a place?" she asked, looking at the art, the furniture, the architecture, all correct and in context for its time.
"No," he replied as they strolled hand in hand. He then amended, "Well, possibly. I mean, living at my parents' house has a similar feel at times."
She laughed. "I love your parents' house. So big and beautiful."
"True," he said, "but sometimes I find myself preferring your parents' house. It's smaller, but every square inch is homey and comfortable."
The day passed quickly into night, and after supper they retired to the hotel for the evening. The place was cosy enough to feel like a home and not a rented room at all, with a small gas fireplace and a kitchenette. "I like it here," he said. "I like the privacy most of all."
With Bridget, it was much more than just having her alone for a shag; he liked to just spend time in her company as he had for many a year, often talking, sometimes not, but never awkward. They prepared for bed and crawled in, but simply laid there for a long time, content to have her warm body against his, the scent of her hair in filling his senses, soft skin under his fingers.
"I'm so glad you came up," she said after many moments in this peaceable silence. "I think I'm adjusting well enough, but it's so good to have you here, a respite from new, new, new all the time."
He laughed low in his throat. "I feel the same way," he said.
They talked for a little about classes—his practical legal training, her working out the Welsh she saw everywhere—before falling quiet again.
The next thing he knew the rays of morning light were peeking through the blinds. He chuckled a little to himself; he must have been tired from the poor night sleep in her dormitory room and their touristy activities out and about in Bangor. He knew better than to try to wake her at such an early hour on a Sunday, so he rose and called down to the concierge for some coffee and pastry.
After its arrival, Mark brought breakfast to the bedside, then sat on the bed. At the motion, Bridget stirred, then opened her eyes, blinking sleepily.
"Morning, love," he said.
She seemed perplexed. "What—what time is it?"
"Seven-thirty."
"In the morning?"
He laughed. "Of course, darling, considering—"
"No! It can't be morning!" She seemed utterly distressed, sitting up suddenly, her hair falling wild and unkempt around her shoulders. "No!"
"It's morning, love." He realised how much this was affecting her when he saw she had tears in her eyes. "What is it?"
Her lower lip was trembling. "It's just that… we're turning into an old couple. And I'm not even eighteen."
"What in the world would make you say that?"
She stared at him like he'd gone absolutely mental. "Shag me."
He blinked in surprise. "What?"
"Now. Shag me now."
"Bridget, watch your language," he said sternly. "Plus there's breakfast."
"So?"
"It'll get cold."
Her mouth hung open ever so slightly. "Don't you want me?" she asked morosely.
"I think given that I'm willing to sleep in a too-narrow, too-firm dormitory bed, risking discovery—and actually being discovered—you'd know that to be patently untrue."
"Then I insist you shag me this very moment."
"I said watch your language," he told her. "And I want to know what this is really about."
"If I have to tell you…" she said, tears welling again.
"I'm afraid you do," he said, "because I have no idea what you mean."
"Mark." She stared at him as if willing him to understand.
"Bridget," he retorted.
She fell back onto the pillow, her face in her hands. "I can't believe it," she wailed to herself. "It's over."
"Will you stop being a drama queen?" he said, his voice rising along with his temper. "Tell me."
She drew her hands away, her blue eyes meeting his. "We both fell asleep, before…" she trailed off.
It suddenly all came together. She thought they were getting too complacent, or maybe that he was growing bored with her, that the novelty had worn off… that something had occurred that meant he was no longer interested….
He chuckled, then reached for her hand, urging her to sit up again, then pulled her into his embrace. "Bridget, we fell asleep because we were tired. Don't read anything into it that isn't there. Doesn't mean I didn't want to, I know it doesn't mean you didn't want to—and I love you regardless." He nuzzled close to her ear. "Besides, checkout isn't until ten," he murmured, then teased, "Have some coffee, your pastry, and—"
"Shut up and shag me," she said throatily, then turned her head to kiss him.