So, have you seen that scene in the first Bridget Jones movie in which she attempts to make a gourmet meal for her birthday party? You know, the Orange Marmalade, er, Parfait in Sugar Cages?
Er, this installment is the fanfiction equivalent. I was aiming for sweet and fluffy and, well, I got this instead. Perhaps I used too much orange zest?
Hope you enjoy it! crosses fingers

(Thanks to kanikan, who courageously offered to help salvage the thing.)

III

"You don't have to do this, you know," the woman blurted out as they sat down across from me on the train, "if you're uncomfortable. I can just make up something to tell them. Gods know I've been doing that often enough lately."

"Nonsense. You still haven't told me the plan, granted, but whatever it is, I'm sure it's vastly preferable to all the sneaking around. If you have to keep what you're really doing from your family, the least I could do is help." The man slanted a look at the woman sitting beside him, her shoulder-length ponytail brushing the back of the seat. She was visibly nervous, twisting the hem of her shirt in one hand hard enough to leave wrinkles in the soft fabric. "Besides, I never turn down a home-cooked meal."

She laughed. "Not much chance of that this weekend. I doubt my mother's actually cooked anything in a decade."

"Well, in that case..." He stood, tipping an imaginary hat to her and sketching a quick bow. He moved into the narrow aisle as if to leave and staggered forward a few steps when she launched herself onto his back, her hands clutching the front of his jumper.

"No! You can't leave me!" she squealed, her arms nearly strangling him.

The man looked nervously around the crowded carriage, a pink flush riding high on his cheeks. I pretended to be busy staring out the window just past him until he looked away again. He disentangled her hands from his clothing as he shuffled backward to the seats they'd just abandoned. She fell with a thump as he let go of her hands. He stood over her, hands on his hips.

She peered up at him through her fringe, her brightly-painted mouth twisted in an awkward grin. "Sorry," she said, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

He sighed and sat down in the seat by the window. "You know, you really do remind me a great deal of your cousin."

"Really?" She didn't look thrilled by this comparison. "Which bit? The drunken housebound sad-sack with a serious case of arrested development or the murderous raving escaped convict?"

I reached into my bag and pulled out a pen and the notebook I use for classes. I had a feeling I'd be repeating this scene for all of my friends and family in the next few days and I wanted to remember as many details as possible.

The man looked down at his hands and grimaced. "Actually, I meant the carefree, acts-before-he-thinks friend I knew ... before," he said, so softly I could barely make out the words.

In a flash, her expression went from sulky to chagrined. She reached out and wrapped her hand around his. "I'm sorry," she said, this time sounding like she meant it.

He leaned away from her and pulled his hands out of her grasp. He turned his gaze to the city flashing past the window. She kept staring at the back of his head, even as she drew her hands back into her lap. I had to look away – the naked worry and longing etched into every line of her face was too raw, too intimate. I felt like a voyeur suddenly, even sitting as we were in a very public train carriage. I busied myself with my notebook, writing nonsense while the silence between them grew.

They didn't speak for quite a while. The scenery whizzing past outside gradually shifted from shops and crowded streets to quiet suburban lanes and houses. I snuck glances at the two of them from time to time. He was still facing the window, but his eyes were closed. He looked tired and older than his years, which I would guess numbered somewhere in the mid-thirties. She was fidgeting in her seat again. The wrinkles she was twisting into her shirt had long since become creases. Our eyes met once. She smiled, I blushed, and she winked and looked away.

Finally, the man opened his eyes and turned toward her. He said, in a brisk, business-like tone, "Shall we discuss exactly what we're to tell your parents?"

She nodded. "Well, I've been putting them off about what I'm doing in my free time for a few weeks, but they're starting to demand answers. Dad thinks I'm suffering from some sort of work-related trauma, but Mum is convinced that I'm having some torrid affair with a married man or something." She paused and blushed a deep fiery red as he snorted softly. "What? It could happen!"

"I very much doubt that," he said. She bristled and he rushed to explain himself as she opened her mouth to retort. "I mean that I doubt you would get involved with a married man. I didn't mean to imply that a torrid affair would be out of the question, just that... You are a very attractive young woman... I'll stop now."

She looks amused; he looks awkward. That faint blush has crept back into his face. They make quite a fetching couple with those matching reddened cheeks.

He changes the subject. "So, what's my role to be today? I have met your parents before, remember, so I doubt the former professor angle will work. Perhaps something to do with the investigation into your cousin's whereabouts?"

She hesitated for a few seconds before answering. "Well, actually, I've told my mum in no uncertain terms that I am not having a torrid affair with a married man."

"Okay," he said slowly, looking confused.

She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and glanced at me before continuing. I pretended to be deeply immersed in my notebook and leaned forward ever so slightly, watching them through my eyelashes.

"I told her you're single."

-

The weekend went better than I'd expected. One of my dearest friends was planning her wedding to a man who, quite frankly, made my skin crawl. This trip home was to help her find "the perfect dress", a process which she promised me would only take a few hours and instead stretched into a marathon two-day power-shopping session. Still, it was great fun seeing her again. I'm sure she'll turn into one of those horrendous Brides From Hell in a few weeks' time, but she was relaxed and happy this time - even as the shopgirls hauled out every single dress they had in storage, down to a truly hideous recreation of Princess Di's wedding gown.

I may even have to rethink my stance on her husband-to-be. He really does seem enamoured of her. He'd gotten them a pair of those mobile phones for their anniversary and spent most of the weekend cooing at her through the clunky plastic device. That's rather a large step for such a notorious skinflint. The phones have gotten cheaper this past year, but I hear the cost of each call is still exorbitantly high.

I was jingling the change in my pocket on the platform while I waited for the train back to London when I saw a familiar couple. They were walking up the stairs with an older couple, who bore a striking resemblance to the young woman. The man had his arm draped over her shoulders, a marked contrast to the awkward way he'd stood next to her when last I saw them. She'd really shocked him with that "you're single" line.

The women embraced while the men shook hands. The younger man's voice drifted toward me and I heard him solemnly agree to take good care of "Dora". Looks like their plan worked pretty well.

They stood talking for a few moments more and I lost sight of them when the train pulled up and a few groups of people disembarked. By the time I'd gathered my bags, the platform had cleared. The younger couple were gone and the older man and woman were walking slowly back to the stairs behind me. I lingered over my bags for a moment. I wanted to hear what they were saying.

"Well, Ted, what do you think?" the woman asked, tilting her head to look up at her much taller companion.

A broad grin split his face as he replied. "Didn't believe a word of it, of course! I will say this, though: they may not be dating now, but I'd give it about three months before they are."

"Really, that long? I'd give it three weeks. Maybe a full month. Surely you saw the way he gazed at her when she wasn't looking!"

"You may have a point there, Andie. She did manage to convince him to come up here by train, when we all know there are much faster ways to travel. And, I kept trying to trip him up all weekend, but he seems to know every little thing about her. Even knew she likes to read those trashy romance novels when she's bored."

"Did he?" she murmured. "That's interesting."

He continued, "Still, I don't know. He's always seemed a bit reserved, even when he was barely out of school. Three months. That's my guess."

She took his hand in her much smaller one and twined their fingers together. "Care to put your money where your mouth is?" she asked. "I've a Galleon that says a month, at the outside."

She was going to wager an old ship? I shook my head, certain I'd heard wrong.

The man looked down at her and nodded his head. "I'll take that wager."

Their voices faded as they moved down the steps. I juggled my bags and ran for the train before I missed it entirely.

I also made a mental note to do a little more travelling when my schedule was clear. You really do overhear the strangest things on long train rides.