M. Darcy Takes a Wife

© 2006 S. Faith

Standard disclaimers apply: the whole toy chest belongs to Helen Fielding. I'm just playing with her dolls.


Part 10: London Rain (Nothing Heals Me Like You Do)

Saturday 17 Nov

As marvelous as vacations were (and honeymoons, Bridget supposed, not that she ever intended on taking another unless it was a second), it was always equally nice to get back home. It was unfortunate, however, that they landed in London amidst a frigid rainfall when they had gotten so acclimated to the sunny weather of Portugal. She was ever so glad to see Jeffrey at Heathrow; he tipped his hat and said, "Permit me to offer my congratulations."

"Thank you, Jeffrey."

He escorted them to the Bentley; they were back at Holland Park in very little time at all to find a few congratulatory cards from family (both actual and Urban) and a package on the table in the foyer. Mark gathered them all up and they retired to her office. She noticed there were new answerphone messages but when he handed her the package to open, she all but forgot them. Meanwhile, he thumbed through the cards. Sehana made certain that the suitcases were brought upstairs, then went to fix a quick dinner for the two of them.

She had pulled the wrapping paper off to reveal a lovely set of matching terrycloth robes (from Rebecca, how sweet; they were embroidered with a calligraphic "D") and excitedly looked up to Mark to share the gift, only to see that he had gone pale, staring blankly off into space.

"Mark, are you all right?"

He returned to reality, nodding slightly, holding up a card and envelope.

She tilted her head quizzically and approached him. He handed her the card, which she read, then understood his reaction.

Dear Mark,
Please accept my heartfelt congratulations on your new marriage. As I want only happiness for you, it is my fondest wish she gives you what I was unable to.
Regards,
Tam

She felt a little lightheaded herself. "Is this—?"

He nodded again, looking down. "Wasn't expecting this. Can't imagine how she heard."

She set the robe down over the back of her chair and embraced him. Not knowing what else to say, she offered simply, "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he said softly in her ear.

She pulled away from him, met his eyes, and upon seeing that he had regained his colour and looked more like himself, she smiled. "Are you okay?"

He straightened his posture slightly, peering at a point in the distance beyond her shoulder, his face a study in introspection. "I think so." He brought his gaze back to her, looking somewhat misty-eyed, his voice very quiet. "But why dwell on that, when now…" He cupped her cheek with his hand, then cleared his throat. "So… you were telling me about robes?" He broke away, picking up the robe up from where Bridget had set it down. "Oh, very nice. From Rebecca, you say?"

The abrupt change of subject caught her unawares, and she answered with a stupid-sounding, "Yes…."

"You know, I did think about asking her to come, especially since you've become friendly," Mark said, "but thought it might be too awkward for her."

"Ah. You're probably right."

He set the remaining cards on her desk in the spot where her computer usually resided, sweeping up the second robe. "The rest can wait. Let's go eat then try out these new robes, shall we?"

……………

Upon exiting the shower, pink, warm and ensconced in the new robe, Bridget combed her wet hair as she stood in front of the broad expanse of bathroom mirror. As she did so she found herself thinking briefly about Mark's odd reaction; it was rare indeed to see him look so emotional. But she had little time to ponder this as Mark emerged from the steam shortly thereafter, and she stole a glance as he reached for his plush cotton towel. Rivulets of water made their way from the nape of his neck down over his shoulder, but before they had a chance to go any farther, he patted them away. He looked up, catching her stealthy gaze, and smiled with love and affection like he had so many times before. She could not help but smile in return.

His hair was still dripping as he made to wrap the towel around his waist, but then remembered the robe and reached for it, tying it closed. He turned to examine his jawline and cheek in the mirror, running his fingers over his chin, then said to her, "You know, I was thinking of trimming the length of my sideburns. I seem to recall that being a particular wish of yours." His eyes raised to meet hers in the reflection, a mischievous glint lighting them.

She definitely must have read too much into his reaction downstairs.

Fighting her own grin, she feigned horror. "You'll do no such thing," she said sternly, approaching him as he turned, stepping close to him and raking her fingernails across the short hair on his cheek. In a softer tone, she finished, "I've become quite fond of them, you know. Just as they are." He reached his arms out, took her hands in his to draw her near… and then they heard the distinct trill of his mobile from the pocket of his trousers, which sat perfectly folded on the vanity chair.

Sighing, he said, pressing his lips to her forehead for a quick kiss, "Like it or not, we are back to our mundane lives. That's probably Jeremy, and I should get it."

She nodded as he released her hands and went for the phone; soon he was eyebrow-deep in legal jargon, in his own little world and not at all in a terry robe with his short wavy hair drying in disarray. She was reminded of the answerphone messages on her own phone downstairs, so she descended back to her office to listen to them.

The first message, date-stamped the seventh, was a very intoxicated male voice: "Briii-shet. Heard the news. Congratu-fucking-lations. Hope you and the tosser will be happy." There was bit of a rustling sound, as if he was having trouble hanging up. Then she heard a voice in the background, snooty, female and British. It occurred to her in a blinding flash who it was: Daniel and Natasha, who'd probably learned of the nuptials through Jeremy as no one else had known that soon after the event. She asked him who he was talking to and why was he drinking so early in the day. Listening was like watching a train wreck about to happen, but the call then disconnected. She was glad she had been alone to play it, and without hesitation deleted it.

There was a quick message from her contact at the paper, admitting he'd been in on the secret, congratulating her, telling her he hoped she was having a good time, and to contact him when she got back. Then Shaz, from about four that afternoon: "Welcome home! We're going to Electric later if you want to join us!"

Next was from Jude: "Bridge, call as soon as you can - have fantastic news!"

The final call was Shaz again, from probably within Electric judging by the ambient noise, not more than ten minutes previous. "Briiiiiiidget! You must come to Electric A. S. A. P.!" - each letter meticulously and distinctly emphasised - "We are not kidding!"

She got the hint that the girls wanted her to join them. She left the office, heading back up two steps at a time.

His own call had just ended and he was snapping the phone closed as she re-entered the bedroom. "Ah. I was wondering where you'd run off to."

"Sorry, wanted to check the answerphone. Messages from the girls."

"As expected, that was Jeremy. I've actually got to do a little work for a few hours."

She headed for the bureau to fetch some pants, then slipped out of the robe to put on her smalls. "So, you won't mind if I pop out to Electric for a while then, hm?"

She turned to see that Mark had taken a seat on the sofa, a slightly amused look on his face. He wasn't often to be found in such a state of dishabille - his robe opened to the waist, chest browned from the sun, sun-lightened hair tousled from air-drying - and he looked rakishly handsome. "You still don't need my permission," he said, watching her stand at the bureau with a pair of underpants in her hand, still smiling in a knowing way.

"What are you smirking at?" she asked.

It was a moment before he replied. "Just remembering a time when you would dance under a tented sheet so I wouldn't see your wobbly bits."

She blazed red.

He said in a commanding voice, "Come here." She did, standing at his knees, recognising a look in his eyes she knew all too well; he ran his fingertips along her hip. "How much of a hurry are you in to get to Electric?"

She tipped her head and pretended to think about it. "How anxious are you to get to work?"

He took her hand as he stood, wrapping his arms around her, no sound but the rain pattering on the windowpane.

"Depends on what you mean by 'work'," he remarked at last before kissing her hungrily.

……………

"Bridge! Finally!"

She saw the friends circled round the table and she waved enthusiastically: Shaz, Jude and Tom. They stood and hugged her one at a time, complimenting her on how fabulous she looked and correctly guessing at a post-coital glow even in the typical dim of Electric.

"It's not that late. So what's going on?" she asked, deflecting further comment.

"Jellyfisher Janey is here!" announced Jude.

"She is in a stinging mood!" declared Shaz.

"It is rather the scoop of a lifetime for any gossip addict," said Tom drolly.

"Really…?" Bridget's eyebrow raised.

"Yes," explained Shaz, pushing a drink towards Bridget. "Janey'll be over the moment she catches a whiff you're here, rather like a shark to a drop of blood in the vastness of the ocean." She leaned in and said, "Whatever you do, keep your hands under the table. And follow our lead." Unquestioning, Bridget retreated her hands as told.

No sooner had Shaz spoken, they heard a distinct penetrating wail: "Briiiiiiiidget!"

The Urban Family watched like they had front row seats at a prize fight, when normally they ran screaming upon seeing Janey. In fact, Shaz abandoned her seat next to Bridget so that Janey could get nice and close. Whatever Janey had to say must have been good.

"Oh, Bridge," said Janey, air-kissing over Bridget's cheeks. "I'm so sorry to hear!"

"Hear what?"

Janey looked to each of the friends in turn. "What a brave, brave girl."

Shaz blinked dramatically, mimicking big teary eyes, and looked to Bridget.

"How he could do that to you… I'm crushed. Simply devastated on your behalf!"

Staring at Bridget, Jude said, "Janey, we haven't told her yet." Bridget understood loud and clear. The higher they fly, the farther they fall.

"Oh no. Oh no. Do I really have to be the bearer of such terrible news?" Right on cue: the schadenfreude smile.

"Tell me. I can take it," said Bridget unflinchingly, lifting her chin.

Janey took Shaz's vacated seat. "It's Mark Darcy." Janey sighed theatrically. "I don't know how to break this to you. But a very dear friend called me earlier tonight to say she had just seen him land at Heathrow." Janey paused once again for dramatic effect. She was going to twist the knife as long as humanly possible. "He was returning from Portugal… with a gorgeous tanned blonde. And they were very lovey-dovey." She clasped her hands over her mouth. "Ohhhhh… poor, poor Bridget!"

Bridget's jaw hung slack. Over Janey's shoulder she could see Shaz fighting back hysterical laughter, biting her lower lip so hard she thought Shaz might actually draw blood.

"Look at her. She can't even speak. Poor lamb." Janey stood and turned to better face her audience; Shaz went solemn in an instant.

"Janey," said Bridget, perfect quaver in her voice, eyes glossing over in the manner of Meryl Streep. "I don't know what to say… except…" She sniffed, then leveled her gaze at Janey, turning serious in a heartbeat. "…Number one: that blonde was me, and number two: we were returning from our honeymoon." It was then she raised her left hand, splaying her fingers, wholly mindful of how marvelously the diamond refracted and reflected what little light was available. Optimal dramatic effect.

It worked. The colour in Janey's face drained so quickly those standing around thought she might actually drop in a dead faint. "Oh… well…! Congratulations…!" She backed away as if being cornered by lions, then fled the club.

In unison the four of them started to howl with laughter almost to the point of not being able to breathe. "Oh. My. God!" screamed Shaz between laughs. "Was that the most fucking glorious thing you've ever seen or what?"

Bridget grabbed her glass of wine. "To the comeuppance of Janey the Jellyfisher!" she said, raising it for a toast. As the glasses met over the center of the table, Bridget noticed Jude's left ring finger was no longer unadorned. She suddenly remembered that Jude had left a message on the answerphone as well, claiming news of her own. Their gazes connected and Jude smiled, lowering her eyes bashfully.

"No."

Jude nodded.

Bridget continued as happy shock washed over her, "Really? Really?"

They were all grinning as Bridget put it all together. "Yes! Something about your getting married, Bridge, put some kind of fever in his blood!" Jude smiled, then added thoughtfully, "Though the counseling probably didn't hurt."

"That's bloody fantastic!" She raised her glass again in a toast.

Sunday 18 Nov

"Not too late, not too drunk." Bridget smiled proudly, crawling into bed beside Mark, who roused when the bed moved. "And I ran through the shower so I don't stink like smoke."

He didn't even open his eyes, simply extended his arm out for her to settle in and mumbled that he thought that was quite excellent of her not to bring an ashtray to bed. She crawled in beside him but was still quite awake, so she propped up on an elbow and watched Mark sleep with fondness as she had many times in the past. It was a little game they shared: she would stare and he would playfully scold her, the whole thing usually ending in a shag. This was something she especially welcomed tonight, as she felt a residual friskiness from their earlier romp as well as pride in her triumph over the world's biggest muckraker.

After several minutes, as expected, he muttered, "Bridget…"

"I can look at you," she said impishly, "or I can find other ways to occupy myself."

His eyes opened ever so slightly, closed once again, and he said in a very rough but patient voice, "Darling, it has been a very long day, I'm utterly done in, and I just want to sleep. So if you would please…"

Stung, she laid down on her pillow, feeling like a child who had been scolded by an adult because it was not time for play. As she squeezed her eyes shut and turned away from him, she was surprised to feel a tear wet her cheek. After a moment, she felt him curl up to spoon with her, sliding an arm about her waist, planting a good-night kiss on the back of her head. If it was meant as an unspoken apology for the brusqueness of his words, she accepted it, pressing herself deeper into his embrace. Within moments she heard him softly snoring, his breathing slow and steady.

When Bridget fell off to sleep many minutes later it was not a restful one; she was haunted by the single, penetrating thought that he had refused her advances. To the best of her recollection that had never occurred.

……………

Upon awakening, Bridget remembered from the night before that Jude had invited her to go look at dresses. Coupled with the thought of a Sunday morning shag to help mend her wounded ego regarding the night before, she turned over to see what Mark's plans were for the day, but he was not in bed beside her. Thinking he might be in the bathroom, she called out his name, but there was no answer. She wiped the sleep from her eyes, slipped into her new robe, and padded downstairs.

She thought surely he was cooking a 'welcome home' breakfast, but upon reaching the kitchen, she found he was not there either. What the hell?

An explanation was soon to be had, for there upon the kitchen counter she found a hastily written note: "Had early morning call from my father, needed advice on a legal matter, asked that I come up to Grafton Underwood. Didn't have the heart to wake you. Will be home before you know it. All my love, always."

He was gone? Left town? Without her?

Bridget considered for a moment that perhaps she was overreacting. He had only gone to see his father for a few hours at the most, and it was true that she had gotten unusually accustomed to spending twenty four hours a day/seven days a week for the last two weeks having his undivided attention. Even still, she decided that she had every right to be peeved. It was Sunday, usually their 'breakfast in bed' day, not to mention the true last day of their honeymoon before diving back into work and real life, and for him to practically sneak off without so much as a 'good morning'…. She reached for her mobile and dialed his, but was immediately routed to voice mail. Thwarted, she left a message advising that she was going out for the day, her tone a mite petulant.

Seeing Jude so happy drove away all residual unpleasantness, and she had a genuinely good time with her friend. Shopping segued into dinner; dinner, into drinks. It wasn't until she was disembarking from the taxi in front of the Holland Park house that she realised Mark had never returned her call, and a fresh round of annoyance washed over her. She checked the display on her phone; not a single missed call or voice mail. Coming through the front door, she called for him again and was met with resounding silence.

Irritation was replaced with icy dread. Thoughts of a mangled BMW chassis raging with petrol-fueled flames on the shoulder of A1 filled her head. She hastily dialed his mobile again.

"Bridget, I'm sorry," he said by way of greeting.

Relief, then near-fury: "Mark! Where in the name of arse—?"

"Things ran much later than I anticipated here," he said, sounding extremely weary. Her anger and worry dissipated; she just wanted him home. "I'm too tired to drive back tonight. I'm staying at my parents'."

What he said was almost as important as what he didn't say: he would likely head straight from Grafton Underwood to the office, as he had many times in the past after staying at Bridget's flat. "Oh," she said, glum at the thought of sleeping alone. "Is everything all right? Something wrong with your father?"

"No, he's fine," Mark said. "My mother's fine too." He paused; she heard a yawn. "I'm going to turn in. Sleep tight, my love, and I'll see you tomorrow." With that he disconnected.

For all the fear, worry, anxiety and annoyance she had experienced, what Bridget felt now was an overwhelming confusion. She was reminded of his odd reaction upon arriving home the night previous, of his not saying that he was all right when his parents were. She wasn't sure quite what to make of it; Bridget had not felt so forlorn since the night they'd split. The uncertainty troubled her deeply, and sleep was even more elusive that night than the previous. She ended up rolling out the telly and watching the entirety of the Pride & Prejudice mini all on her own, wondering intermittently if the reality of marriage had taken the shine off of her, if he was having serious second thoughts now that they had left behind romantic Edinburgh and sexy, sun-soaked Portugal. After all, she told herself, she didn't have a real job, she didn't belong in his social circle, and worst of all, she would always be just a little bit fat.

Monday 19 Nov

How strange to have the tables turned. This time, the waking thought-vibes were trained on Bridget, and she honestly, truly felt them work. With no concept of whether it was morning, noon or night in the shade-drawn room (having drifted off into exhausted sleep as the first morning rays tinged the sky pink), she slowly raised her heavy lids to find Mark's thoughtful gaze upon her. Once again there was an odd, heart-rending softness to his face.

"Bridget," he said quietly, eyes fairly glistening as he stood there.

Enough was enough. An explanation was definitely warranted.

She pushed herself up on an elbow. "Mark?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He was not a good liar: he looked utterly wrecked standing there in his rumpled suit, and it was far beyond fatigue.

Softly, she said, "Bollocks. You look like you're going to bawl. That's twice in three days and I've never even seen you approach crying before! And you've been acting so strangely—"

Quietly he sat beside her. Glancing down as if afraid to meet her gaze, he stretched his arm out, beckoning her to come close to him. Mystified, she slipped an arm around him and rested her cheek against the cotton of his dress shirt.

"Bridget, I love you and trust you with all of my being, and I don't believe you've ever entertained the idea of straying. Still—" He trailed off, sighing deeply.

She was bewildered. Where was he going with this?

"You know how my first marriage ended. You know when it ended, on Christmas Day."

"Yes, I do."

He was silent for so long she thought that might be all he was going to say, but then he continued. "You may not know that we had only been married for two weeks when I found… well. You know."

And then it dawned on her. His anxiety had built and then culminated on two weeks after the wedding. She drew back ever so slightly to caress his face. She immediately regretted every doubting thought she'd had and felt horribly selfish. "Oh, Mark. I'm sorry."

Surprisingly he chuckled, but his voice was still low. "You keep apologising for things that you had nothing to do with."

"You know what I mean."

He sighed, looking terribly vulnerable. "Yes."

She drew him to her chest, stroking his hair.

He continued: "I never once suspected infidelity, and so soon after our wedding… I really thought I'd moved past it, and you are most certainly nothing like Tam… but it's affected me more than I imagined it would." In a very small voice, he added, "My mind's eye had conjured terrible, illogical images of what I might find when I came home, so I simply… didn't… for as long as I could stand it."

She tightened her embrace briefly, knew that reason rarely had anything to do with visceral fears. Reassuringly, as lightly as she could manage, she said as she planted a kiss into his brown curls, "I have no intention of shagging anyone but you."

In almost a whisper, he spoke. "I'm thankful you understand."

"Oh, Mark. How could I not?" she asked gently. As if he hadn't been equally understanding with the whole fictional affair on his birthday.

After a few moments of silence, he said in that same spare tone, "I don't deserve you."

Those were the last four words she ever expected to hear him say, aside from "Bridget, you're too thin", and she could not stop herself asking, "What?"

In a moment of unprecedented unguardedness, he continued. "Here you are - beautiful, funny; a true social butterfly - and then there's me - introverted, average-looking; an overworked nerd in a suit. Sometimes I wonder what on earth you see in me."

Staggering. She had never once guessed that Mark could feel as insecure as she did at times, had ever felt so low. Ordinarily he seemed so confident, so self-assured. "There's plenty to see! And what about all of these… women hurling themselves into your path?" Truth be told, she only personally knew of one (Natasha), but she saw how women looked at Mark - nay, leered at him - when they were together.

"If I wasn't an affluent, high-profile lawyer dressed in very expensive tailored clothing, I'd hardly get a second look. Believe me, it's something I'm acutely aware of."

As she snorted in disbelief, she realised with a measure of sadness that he probably was at least partly right, that his attractiveness likely was enhanced to those women as a result of his money and renown, things that had never figured into her feelings for him. It certainly explained why he had been single for so long; he could've had a dozen trophy girlfriends on his arm but without a genuine interest they were, in his opinion (and rightly so), not worth the effort. "Well, in any case, you are neither average-looking nor nerdy," she declared matter-of-factly. "How you looked with your robe on… anything but." Mmm.

A bit morosely, he stated, "I think you're a bit biased at this point."

"Okay, fine," she began, "I'll admit I did think you were kind of nerdy-looking with that reindeer jumper on." He groaned softly. "The next time I saw you at the book launch, though, I had to admit to myself that first impressions were not to be trusted."

He slowly raised his head and looked to her. "At the book launch, I was about to head over and talk to you when Cleaver whisked you out of the party," he said, speaking the man's name with disdain. "I'd realised the same thing."

More revelations. "I had no idea."

"Well," replied Mark miserably, looking away. "If only I'd gotten to you first."

'If only' indeed, for that was the night Daniel had so egregiously lied to her about who had slept with whom. On any other night it would have sent her to fits of depression and contemplating alternate scenarios (namely, no Daniel fuckwittage and Mark sooner in her life), but right now her focus was pulling Mark out of his funk. Bridget had a feeling they could have continued much in the same vein for hours - his self-flagellation and her nursing of his wounds - so she sensed it was time to set things absolutely straight. She grasped his chin softly and drew it up in order to bring his gaze to hers.

"You want to know what I see in you?" she began. "I'll tell you. Aside from looking absolutely killer just out of the shower, in an expensive suit, or any time, really, you are the kindest man I've ever known, you like me as I am, and you curl my toes like no one else ever has. Your bank balance doesn't figure at all into how I feel about you… and the high-profile thing actually tends to work against you, with your month-long trips and your erratic, sometimes long hours, but—" Almost out of air, she stopped to take in a breath. "—I love you all the same. Unconditionally. Just as you are. Always have, always will. End of story. Full stop."

She smiled tenderly, her gaze unwavering, and in a slow bloom he smiled too.

Bridget added, a smirk playing upon her lips, "So enough with contemplating your navel already."

He leaned forward and kissed her with the fire she had come to know so well, and when he spoke again his tone was somewhat playful, a sign he was returning to better spirits: "Perhaps I shall contemplate yours instead."

In retrospect, Bridget never did determine the time of his return home, nor did she keep track of the length of their subsequent stay in bed. There were, after all, some things one simply didn't need to measure.

Wednesday 21 Nov

It was such a pleasure reviewing photos from their wedding day, virtually reliving the day through the eyes of those around her, seeing what they saw, and seeing that yes, they looked happier than any human being had a right to. Bridget was sorting through the proofs via the internet, intending on making final choices to present to Mark, even though he told her he would be happy with whatever she chose. As she focused her gaze on her absolute favourite shot, the phone trilled, startling her. Calling identification told her who it was, so she offered a casual, smiling, "Hello, Jude."

"So you're coming to Tom's tonight, right?"

"What?"

"He's having a Bon Voyage party."

"Bon Voyage? Where's he going?"

"San Francisco. It kind of came up at the last minute… he was asked to perform his big hit with his old bandmates at some sort of gay-themed festival concert and he jumped on it. Well. Not literally."

Although truly she knew better than to think Tom would snub her, she said somewhat peevishly, "First I've heard of it."

"You only just got back. I'm sure he thought he told you."

That sounded like Tom. "Can I bring Mark?"

"Well, durr," Jude said with a light laugh. "We'd think something was wrong if you didn't."

"We will see you tonight then!"

……………

"'Sadie, Sadie, married lady'!" trilled Tom, stretching his arms out to embrace Bridget, hugging her relentlessly.

"Tom!"

"Oh, Bridgeline, it is fabulous to see you. And you brought your lovely man… Mark, always a pleasure," Tom said, looking Mark up and down with a grin, bringing to Bridget's mind how much the opposite of a 'boring arse' Tom seemed to think Mark was now, amusing her greatly.

Mark bore the mischievous lechery with aplomb, handing him the bottle of wine they'd brought. "Tom. Nice to see you again." He had been disinclined to come, but Bridget managed to convince him to accompany her in the interest of getting away from work and socialising with the Urban Family.

"So… San Francisco, hm?" piped up Bridget.

With an aristocratic wave of his hand, he said, "Well, darling, even the Muslims try to make a pilgrimage to Mecca at least once in their lives!"

Tom's flat was packed with people, most of whom were men she did not know. Spotting the familiar faces of Jude and Vile Richard, she took Mark by the hand and migrated to them, introducing the men to each other. They bonded almost immediately - as they were likely the only two straight men in the entire room - and launched into a surprising conversation about the current political situation in Indonesia; in any case, it was surprising to Bridget that Richard was so well-versed in such things.

She and Jude walked to where the drinks were, fetching a glass of wine for herself and one for Mark. "So, how are you?" asked Bridget.

Jude cast a loving look to her fiancé. "Bridget, I can hardly believe he's changed so much." Bridget couldn't believe it, herself. Vile Richard did not in fact seem quite so vile at present. As Bridget glanced to where he stood with her own husband, she smiled to see that the pair of them had noticed that they were attracting admirers from among Tom's friends. "I mean, he's coming home with brochures for honeymoons and asking me if I'd chosen a venue yet!"

"I would highly recommend Edinburgh Castle," said Bridget with a smirk.

Then she realised she had not seen Shaz or Jamie, and she wondered where Shaz was, because surely Shaz was invited, and surely Jamie came with her. It was then that Bridget actually laid eyes on Shaz, and frankly, she looked quite pale, dark smudges beneath her eyes, and the spark that usually lit her face was absent.

"What's up with Shazzer?" Bridget asked of Jude, who glanced from Bridget to Shaz, and back to Bridget again.

"You should probably ask her yourself," Jude whispered ominously as Shaz came near.

"Hey, Bridge," Shaz said in a flat tone.

She scrutinised her friend. "Shaz? What's going on?"

Shaz demurred. "Can we maybe talk out on the balcony?"

"Of course, of course. Let me give Mark his drink."

It was pretty chilly out on the balcony - not really more than a covered terrace, smaller than the one off of the kitchen of her old flat - and a drizzle fell to the streets below, but Shaz didn't seem to notice.

"Come on, Shaz, spill it. What's going on?"

Shaz crossed her arms in front of her chest, her posture almost pure confrontation. "I didn't want to tell you and bring you down with your marital bliss and all."

"Tell me what?"

Shaz stared unblinkingly for a minute or two more before saying, "Your brother has gone completely AWOL."

"What?"

"He hasn't called me nor returned my calls since after your wedding."

For Shaz to break the rules of conduct and do the pursuing… it was unprecedented. This was serious, and Bridget was outraged. "What! I'm going to kick his arse!"

At Bridget's exclamation, Shaz's stance unexpectedly fell apart, her eyes filling with tears. Bridget embraced her distraught friend, who simultaneously began to cry.

"Fuckwittage! Bloody emotional fuckwittage!" Shaz hissed between clenched teeth (and sobs). "I was nothing but a bloody 'just-for-now' girl! He never loved me… oh, Bridget, I know he's your brother, but… fuckwit!" she cried, frustrated.

"I am so sorry, Shaz…" Her poor friend had not had a good year in the romance department: first Fucking Jed in Thailand, and now Jamie.

With Shaz's back to the door, Bridget was in the optimum position to see Mark appear at the threshold with concern on his face; Bridget waved him away. He furrowed his brow, but nodded and stepped back into the party.

"I will not let him get away with this," Bridget vowed, pulling back, taking Shaz's face in her hands, and meeting her eyes. "I promise you."

Shaz sniffed pathetically.

Sternly, Bridget said, "I told you if he hurt you I wouldn't care if he was my brother or not. And if you'd kept this from me much longer I'd've hurt you too."

Shaz managed a laugh. "Thank you," she said, wiping her face dry.

"Like I could stand by and not do anything. Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

"I was going to say something when you came back from your honeymoon… and then I convinced myself that he would call anytime." Shaz swallowed, looking sheepish. "Plus I was afraid… God, I'm embarrassed to admit, I thought you might think this beneath you now that you're…" She trailed off.

Bridget laughed. "What? A leper? An outcast?" She playfully threw an arm around her friend's shoulders. "Come on. We've brought some very good wine and I would be crushed if you didn't get at least one glass."

……………

"I hope you had a good time," Bridget said to Mark as they emerged hand in hand onto the street and headed for Mark's car.

"I did. Though it was… unusual to be overtly ogled in such a manner by a roomful of men."

She laughed. "I told you you were good-looking."

He merely smirked.

Midway through the drive back to the house, Mark asked, "What was happening out there on the terrace?"

She explained the situation.

"I guess marriage doesn't end one's tenure with the Dating War Command," he observed dryly.

"Mark," she said sourly.

"Forgive me," he said contritely; they both knew she wasn't sincerely cross. He indicated and made the turn onto their street. "He'd been in, what was it, Rome with someone for several years?"

"About three years."

Mark nodded thoughtfully. "How did that end?"

"Well—" She thought back to the Alconbury's garden party. "—I got the impression that it wasn't something that took him by surprise. But I don't actually know the details."

Mark parked the car and switched off the ignition. "I hope that for my sake, as another male of the species, that you will wait for his side of the story before passing judgment."

"Of course I will, Mark," she said, not daring to reveal that she had been prepared to soundly throttle Jamie upon sight. But he was right: it was only fair. "I'll call him first thing in the morning."

Thursday 22 Nov

Unfortunately, Jamie was doing a spectacular job of avoiding everyone, and he did not pick up the phone for his sister, either. She decided out of sheer curiosity (and stubbornness) to go directly to the flat.

Bridget had not been to the flat since August, and she was surprised at how much it had not changed. The only changes she could really see were the addition of some art prints to the walls and some new throw pillows for the chairs and sofa. Jamie was nowhere to be found, not terribly unusual for early afternoon. She did however discover a printout of an itinerary by his computer, which explained why he had not been answering his phone or returning any of the messages. It showed he had departed on the eighth of November and the return ticket was open-ended.

Whatever relief she felt at finding the itinerary disappeared when she saw the destination: Rome.

What was it with the Jones children haring off without telling anyone?

……………

Bridget hardly believed she was doing this, but…

"Hello, Jones residence, Pamela speaking," sing-songed her mother.

"Hello, Mother, it's me," she said resignedly.

Her mother launched into profuse salutations and wondering how Portugal had been and how was Mark - generally, as she always did, taking the reins of the conversation.

"Mother," she interrupted. "I have a very important question for you. Where is Jamie?"

"Jamie? Well, in he's in London, durr."

"Actually, it appears as if he's left town, didn't tell anyone he was leaving. So I guess you don't know either."

"Where did he go?"

"Um…" Bridget considered for a moment the consequences of telling the truth, and opted against it. "I'm not sure. I'll let you know if I find out." She heard Mark's heavy footsteps in the hallway and used it as an excuse to disconnect. "Ooh! I hear Mark calling for me, Mum. Gotta go."

"Send him my love," said Pamela happily. "I hope you'll both consider coming up for Christm—"

"Love you, bye!" With that she hung up, ending one of the shortest telephone conversations she'd ever had with her mother in her life.

Mark knocked lightly then entered her office, a casual "I thought I'd find you here" escaping his lips before he saw Bridget's troubled face and became instantly concerned. "Everything all right?"

"No. Jamie's left town. It would appear he's gone to… Rome."

"I see. Hm." He began to pace with his hands folded behind his back, looking down, deep in thought. He'd probably looked much the same when he'd learned she was in prison. "No way to get in touch with him?"

"No."

"Don't have her name?"

She shook her head. "All I can remember is that her first name started with a 'C'."

"No old correspondence from him when he lived there?"

"Sadly, no. He wasn't much of a pen-pal." She sighed. "The suspense is killing me. He's a bit of a flake at times - not a word," she pointed at him and interrupted herself preemptively as he looked to her, his face the smirking picture of innocence, "but I've never known him to be overtly cruel."

The office telephone began to ring. Automatically she reached for it. "Hello?"

"Hey."

Speak of the devil.

"Jamie, where in the name of arse have you been?" Bridget asked piercingly.

Silence.

"I just got in. I really need to talk to you."

The lifeless tone of his voice took the energy right out of her indignation. "Okay…"

"Can you come over?"

She glanced to Mark for a split second. "Of course I can. Give me five minutes." Bridget replaced the phone in the receiver, then told Mark, "I need to go over to see Jamie."

"Would you like a lift?"

She pondered the rain tapping down on the skylight. "That'd be great."

……………

Jamie met her at the door, beer in hand. His eyes were reddened and he looked haggard and drawn, an unusual sight to be sure. He took a seat on the sofa; she sat beside him.

"I'm glad you rang me up to talk, but you know I'm not the one who needs to hear from you the most," began Bridget softly.

"Don't think I don't know that," he said, staring down the neck of his beer bottle as if he was focused on some universal truth located within. "But you were always good at listening, and if anyone can help me plead my case for forgiveness with Sharon, it's you."

"So tell me what happened."

Jamie launched into his story, his eyes not leaving the bottle. "Your wedding, Mum and Dad's upcoming renewal of vows… it got me to thinking. Catina and I were so close to marrying… what if I had made a huge mistake, leaving her? Much as I hated to think of it, what if I only ended up with Sharon on the rebound? So I decided spur of the moment to get on a flight to Rome. I had to know."

"Did you find out?"

"Sharon's wonderful. I hate that I hurt her."

"You didn't answer my question."

He was quiet for many moments before admitting, "I did find out." Jamie looked to his sister. "Leaving wasn't a mistake. Oh, when she thought I was crawling back to her to beg her for forgiveness and to take me back, she was all sweetness and light… but as I wasn't… oh, I remembered all too quickly why I'd gone. Emotional vampire of the highest calibre. It didn't take five minutes to realise I was completely over her, that I was one hundred percent sure I'd made the right choice in leaving."

Bridget was sorry for him, but was also sorry for Shaz.

"Why were you away so long then?"

"I was stupid enough to leave like I did, so I was in no hurry to come back. I did a little backpacking, a little hitchhiking, until I realised I needed to face up to my idiocy. That and I had only provisionally taken two weeks off, and I didn't want to get fired."

"So where does this leave Shaz?"

"She may very well be someone I picked up on the rebound, but I really care about her and I'd like to see where things go. But… ah, she's going to have my head on a platter."

"And I wouldn't blame her."

"I wouldn't either." Jamie sounded miserable. "God, I've really cocked this up. I am so ashamed." His eyes were shining with tears. Jamie could be a little reckless and impulsive - far more than she ever had been - but deep down he was a good-hearted person. If there'd been any doubt before, she knew for certain now that he never meant to hurt Shazzer.

"Jamie," Bridget said quietly, placing her hand over his, "I will talk to Shaz if you like."

For the first time that night, he looked hopeful.

……………

The rain had stopped, so she didn't call Mark for a lift home, instead taking an opportunity to walk the few blocks in the cool evening and punching Shaz's number into the mobile.

"Bridget?" came Shaz's crackly voice.

"Yep. Just been to see Jamie."

She imagined Shaz's reaction as she said icily, "Oh."

Bridget explained what Jamie had told her in full, pulling no punches.

Shaz said "Oh" again, this time with a little more emotion and warmth in her voice.

"Shaz, he knows he's fucked up and he's sorry. He knows now he's truly over his ex and is looking to move forward. Go and see him."

"Do you think I should?"

Bridget snorted. "Of course I think you should. I wouldn't recommend you go back to a fuckwit."

Shaz actually laughed.

……………

Bridget slipped into the house silently, hanging her coat on the coat rack, stepping out of her shoes, sighing deeply. What a night.

"Hello?" queried Mark's voice from below decks.

"It's me. It's Bridget," she added stupidly, as if it was likely to be anyone else.

In short order, she heard his footsteps ascending from the kitchen, then he appeared, looking very perplexed. "I was expecting your call."

"I decided to walk."

"So do we have… a happy ending?" asked Mark haltingly.

"We just might."

He slid his fingers around her waist and pulled her close. "You are quite the miracle worker this week," he murmured into her hair.

She rested her cheek against his chest. "Being a miracle worker is exhausting."

He laughed lightly, kissed her, then said, "Come. I've got dinner."

She envisioned another of his broiler pans filled with roasted chicken, carrots, potatoes… "Mmm. My hero."

He walked her to the stairs, gesturing she go first before admitting sheepishly, "Well, I only picked up a pizza."

She chuckled as they descended.


Notes / Reference / Links:

Section title: "London Rain (Nothing Heals Me Like You)" by Heather Nova.