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.
I'm feeling a little verklempt, posting this final chapter… I dedicate this final chapter to my good friend S., whose daughter just gave birth to a little girl they named… Bridget. (V. excellent choice in name.)
Part 12: Closing Time
Wednesday 26 Dec
"I'm so glad you could make it."
Rebecca stepped through the front door, embraced Mark and pecked his cheek. When Rebecca seemed hesitant to approach Bridget, she strode forward and outright hugged the taller woman.
"Thank you for the invite," Rebecca said to both of them as Bridget stepped back. "I was surprised to be asked."
"Chuh," dismissed Bridget. "Of course we would ask you. You are a friend, after all."
Rebecca smirked lopsidedly. "Thank you."
Bridget saw Mark's attention still fixed on the front door. Using his friendliest tone so not to scare away the woman timidly hesitating on the threshold, Mark said with a smile, "I don't think we've been introduced." The stranger was ivory-complected, thin and petite, with eyes of green and an ultra-straight curtain of brilliant auburn hair trimmed into a perfect, swingy Vidal Sassoon-style chin-length bob, the soft fringe above her brow negating the severity of such a blunt cut. Bridget and Mark shared a fleeting look - they had labeled the invitation 'Rebecca Gillies and Guest' and had planned accordingly, but an actual flesh-and-blood guest was somewhat surprising.
Rebecca smiled almost demurely. "This is Miranda Bennett." Miranda did a shy little wave. Rebecca leaned in and said to the both of them in a more confidential tone, "We've been seeing each other for just over a month." Bridget gave her a covert little thumbs up, and Rebecca actually flushed pink.
They shook hands as Bridget said, "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Miranda." Bridget then gestured they should hand over their coats.
"Thank you," Miranda said, slipping out of hers, obviously feeling more at ease. As Bridget turned to pass the coats to a waiting Mark, Miranda exclaimed, "Oh! What a beautiful comb!"
Bridget's hand raised in reflex to her upswept hair, and she smiled. "Thank you. It was a gift from Mark." At her request, he had done her hair (and had nearly undone it) again. She held the smile longer than strictly necessary before snapping back to reality, adding, "Come, let me introduce you."
Very nearly herding them to the front room, Bridget said, "Everyone, I'd like you to meet Rebecca Gillies and Miranda Bennett." Some of the guests were planted on the sofa with glasses of wine, some were admiring the decor, but all heads turned to the door upon Bridget's announcement. Bridget did not miss the quick look then reserved smiles between Tom, Jude and Shazzer; somewhat understandable, as her friends only knew Rebecca as a possible-other-woman turned crushed-out-on-Bridget, and likely had not yet connected that Miranda was her date. Rebecca looked a little uneasy herself. Remembering her party/mingling etiquette, Bridget added, "Rebecca works with Mark, and Miranda…"
"…works in graphic design and comes from New York," supplied Rebecca as Miranda placed a hand on her date's forearm. The Urban Family exchanged another quick look and a round of smiles, this time less forced, more approving.
Bridget continued, pointing out each person as she said their name. "This is Sharon, works in journalism; Jude, head of Futures at Brightlings; V—er, Richard is Jude's fiancé; that's Tom - he had a big pop single in the early 90s; my brother Jamie— you still do computer-type stuff, right?" Jamie nodded with a smile. "…and of course, Rebecca, you know Jeremy, Nigel and Giles; the redhead is Magda, my good friend, Jeremy's wife and the mother of three very adorable children." She fought back memories of Constance puking and Harry sneezing green goo on her during a trip to the zoo with Magda and her brood. Bridget swore she saw Magda beaming with pride to hear her children spoken so highly of.
"Nice to meet you all," Rebecca said, smiling and nodding to each of them in turn.
Mark stepped up just behind Bridget, having stashed the coats. "Would you ladies care for a drink?"
"Hm, yes, thank you; white wine for me, red for Rebecca, if you have that available," replied Miranda.
Mark nodded. "Be right back." He made for the side table where an array of wine, mixed-drink ingredients, and suitable glasses sat at the ready. Bridget watched him as he poured the drinks; a simple action, to be sure, but she rarely squandered an opportunity to observe him in motion. She glanced back to Rebecca to see a grin upon her face.
Leaning close to Bridget, Rebecca said quietly, "It's always nice to see such displays of love." Bridget felt herself flush.
He returned within moments and offered each woman her drink. "Please. Make yourself at home," he said.
As the men formed a little discussion circle about football (Tom's primary opinion being about who had the nicest thighs), Shaz sidled up to the most recently-arrived pair. "Sooooo!" she began with the finesse of a sledgehammer. "When did you two meet?"
Bridget hovered just on the edge of the conversation, fully prepared to hook Shazzer out of there if necessary as Tom, having imparted the breadth of his knowledge on football, joined the women.
"In New York, actually," said Rebecca, turning to Bridget. "Shortly after your departure, I left for London as well. I was having a drink in a lounge at JFK pre-flight and she took a barstool beside me. We hit it off immediately."
"Then we had adjoining seats on the flight," added Miranda.
"Thought the universe might be telling me something," Rebecca said, laughing lightly, "but then I lost the card she'd given me."
"And I somehow transposed the numbers in the phone number she gave me." With a sheepish look, she added, "I also managed to forget her last name."
"So while I felt terrible that I couldn't call her, I felt even worse because she didn't call me. Thought I must have read more into the time we spent together than was actually there. But then I was having dinner at Café Rouge last month when I saw her at another table," Rebecca finished with a grin. "It was like a miracle!"
"Turns out I was feeling the same way when she didn't call me," said Miranda.
"And so, well… here we are." She reached to grab Miranda's hand, tugging her close.
"That's terribly sweet!" interjected Jude, who had also joined the group. Miranda and Rebecca shared a private smile.
As the group of them enjoyed their pre-dinner drinks, Bridget felt the chasm closing between her friends and his, Married and Singleton. As she watched Jeremy and Mark talking legalese in the company of a very lost-looking Magda, Bridget reflected on how odd it was indeed that she and Magda should have been friends for so long, all the while Magda married to Mark's law partner, and not once had Bridget crossed paths with Mark before that fateful Turkey Curry Buffet.
Bridget realised she must have fixed her eyes on Magda a little too long, because Magda cut through the crowd with a slightly concerned look on her face. "Bridget, why are you staring at me?" she asked in a hushed, somewhat alarmed voice, looking down at her clothing. "Have I spilled something on my pantsuit?"
Bridget told her what she had just been thinking, and Magda smiled wryly. "Truth be told," she began, "it was Tamiko. Jeremy told me that she did not like me and she did not want Mark spending any time near me because she thought he might, well… you know." She glanced up to Mark. "Which was rich, as she turned out to be the unfaithful one. And utterly ridiculous, because I'd only met him once, and that was in her company at a past Law Council dinner."
"Ah."
Magda placed her hand on Bridget's forearm and said confidentially, "If I'd had any sense at all, I would have found a way to introduce him to you long before he'd actually married that bitch." Her other hand flew to her mouth; clearly she was not used to swearing, and clearly, in this instance, it was warranted. "I never thought Mark would be your type, though."
"Neither did I." She sipped at her wine, a niggling question yapping at her heels. "Did you ever happen to know," asked Bridget finally, almost afraid to hear the answer, "who it was that she had been unfaithful with?"
To Bridget's great relief, Magda shook her head. "I only got the sparest of details from Jeremy about her leaving Mark. I don't think Mark told anyone who it was by name." Suddenly, Magda gasped, looking for all the world that she was on the verge of being let in on a big secret. "Do you know?"
Bridget laughed, short and staccato. "Do I ever." When she leaned in and whispered 'Daniel Cleaver' into Magda's ear, Bridget felt sure Magda went three shades paler, literally stunned speechless.
At long last Magda sputtered, "Your Daniel? I mean, not 'yours', of course, but the very same one…?"
She nodded, suddenly wishing she'd confided more in Magda during her relationship with Daniel and the early months she'd known Mark. As Shaz, Jamie, Miranda and Rebecca came nearer to admire the holiday decorations, she said to Magda as she smiled brightly, "I'll tell you the whole thing over lunch sometime, okay?" Magda nodded conspiratorially.
On approach she heard Shaz say, pointing to the tree, "Isn't that the most fucking beautiful thing ever?" The tree had in fact been thoroughly trimmed with Mark's classic minimalist ornaments, Bridget's slightly more eccentric ones, non-blinking white fairy lights, and a plain gold star as the topper. Even more Christmas card perfect, if possible, than it had been untrimmed.
"It's gorgeous," agreed Rebecca.
Their attention was then drawn to the Queen Anne-style table, which had Christmas cards from friends and family on display, and the wall above, even more prominent and impossible to miss, Bridget's favourite photo taken on the balcony in Edinburgh: lit by the soft light of late autumn, it was a picture of a loving embrace framed from the shoulders up. Both sets of eyes were closed, both had the corners of their mouths upturned in utter contentment, their foreheads coming together as best they could given the height difference, with his nose fitting almost puzzle-piece perfect against the bridge of hers. Her hands were grasping his lapels, veil blowing back and away from her face, and though his hands were out of the frame of the picture, it was clear she was within his embrace. The other wedding photos, quite traditionally posed and beautiful, made their families quite happy… but there was something about the magical, honest, unrehearsed quality of this shot, the pure affection and love between them, that had drawn her to choose this photo to represent that day.
"No," said Miranda softly, studying the photo with her designer's eye. "That's the most beautiful thing ever."
Bridget smiled, perhaps a bit too smugly, but she felt she could be forgiven that transgression.
……………
After the turkey, stuffing, roast potatoes, mince pies, flaming Christmas pudding and Christmas crackers, they sat about the dining room table with their paper hats on, feeling full to bursting and happily sipping on after dinner drinks. Sehana had truly outdone herself, and there were many compliments to the chef, which she had the honour of receiving in person when she (accompanied by her three daughters) came in to collect the dinner plates. Shyly she took humble bows, proclaiming that it had been nothing, before retreating to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. Bridget made a mental note to buy a nice round of presents for her daughters.
Mark glanced across the table to his wife, then smiled with a nod.
"So," began Bridget. "We have an announcement."
"Oh my bloody God and fuck, you're pregnant," blurted Shaz.
"No, Shaz," she said a bit wistfully, followed by muted chuckling by the crowd around the table. "Mark's been invited to help run a big time human rights conference in San Francisco in June. We're going there for… well, we leave around the fifteenth of January."
Mouths gaped.
"That's…" began someone unsurely, maybe Magda.
"…great!" someone else finished, less than convincingly.
Tom smiled toothily. "It's fabulous!"
Bridget turned to Tom, surprised. "You seem a little too eager to be rid of me!" she said with a laugh.
"I—" he began. "Well, I'm going back to San Francisco!"
Bridget didn't think mouths could gape any further, but they did.
Tom had, apparently, met a fantastic whippersnapper named Roger during his visit, and after much deliberation, decided to return for an open-ended visit to see if they could make things work out.
"Well, congratulations," said Jeremy. "No one deserves it more."
"Thank you," said Tom, voice laden with emotion.
Jeremy said, looking slightly embarrassed, "I meant Mark." There was laughter all around the table. "Though, well, good for you too."
"We'll miss you," said Shaz, meeting Bridget's eyes with a sad smile.
"All of you," Jude amended, then raised her glass of cognac. "Hurrah!"
"Hurrah!" said the others.
On the other hand Mark looked slightly terrified, as if the thought of Bridget and Tom let loose together in San Francisco might be more than he bargained for.
……………
"Before we go," said Shaz, after Richard and Jamie had gone to fetch their respective vehicles, "we have presents for the two of you."
Bridget looked to Mark. The Urban Family had already insisted that the plane tickets and hotel room for the weekend of the wedding were Christmas gift enough. Presents from the Urban Family, however, were entirely unexpected.
"Shazzie," said Bridget. "You shouldn't have."
"Chuh," she said, digging into her monstrous carrier bag that doubled as a purse and pulling out two suspiciously DVD-box-set-like objects wrapped in gold paper.
Mark insisted Bridget open hers first. The tag read: "We had to, even though you have your own non-fictional one now." It was a bit cryptic until she opened it to find the deluxe edition of the BBC's Pride and Prejudice mini. Her own DVD set had seen better days, especially since she'd managed to seriously scratch one of the discs when she'd pulled that depressed all-nighter the night Mark spent the evening in Grafton Underwood. She laughed aloud and smiled at her wonderful friends, thanking them profusely.
Mark read his gift's tag, looking very confused. Bridget leaned over to see what it said: "Voila! You won't have to wait another eleven years." He tore the tape and pulled away the paper, and when he beheld the present, his eyes lit with unadulterated joy. It was the DVD release of Heng Wai Tsu's long-banned masterpiece The Silent Warrior, a film that he had missed seeing the last theatrical showing of in the UK early on in their relationship due to Bridget's tardiness. Bridget was stunned; she had only mentioned the story about the movie once to Tom. She had never been so thankful that Tom had a talent for remembering entertainment.
"I don't know quite what to say," said Mark, looking surprisingly glossy-eyed. "Thank you."
Jude, Shaz and Tom looked delightfully smug. "You're most welcome," said Shaz.
……………
"I'd say that went extremely well," remarked Bridget as she curled up to Mark on the sofa in front of the tree. All of the guests had departed, the room was dark save for the white fairy lights on the tree, and Bridget had kicked her shoes off.
"Mmm," was his only reply, his eyes fading closed.
"I think this may have well been the best Christmas ever. Well. Except maybe for the year I got the Barbie doll with the extra long hair," she continued. She felt his chest move with laughter.
"It was an extraordinary holiday, indeed."
"Except we missed the Queen's address yesterday."
"I think our time was better spent," he replied drolly.
They sat in silence so long that she thought he might have fallen to sleep, but he then continued, "They seemed to take the San Francisco news quite well."
"I thought Tom was going to burst with glee."
"Despite my horrified reaction, I am rather pleased that you will have a friend there, as I'll be working on the conference a good portion of the time."
"Mmm," was as much as she could think to say, sliding her hand across his dress shirt, then resting her cheek on his shoulder, content to gaze at the tree.
"Shall we to bed?" he asked, startling her from a sleep she didn't realise she'd fallen into, reaching up and pulling the comb out of her hair, setting the blonde tresses to fall around her face.
"Very good idea," she agreed, blinking sleepily. He stood, took her by the hand and helped her to stand, then surprised her by placing his hands on her waist and turning her to him.
"One year ago you changed the very direction of my life," he said quietly, locking his gaze to hers. "I'm so glad you did."
She flushed pink to remember the humiliation she felt and the nervous embarrassment of everyone present at the Darcys' that day after her speech at the Ruby Wedding party, but it had been a small price to pay for what she got in return. "I would never have guessed when I met you that you were so sentimental."
"Darling Bridget, I wasn't," he said, raising one hand to frame her face. "You are the one who made me so, and I am better for it."
This must be what love really was, she thought. A million times he could kiss her, carry her off to bed, make love to her with the wonder of a brand-new lover, caressing her as if she were the most precious treasure on earth, and never did it excite her any less.
That night was no different.
Friday 28 Dec
"Hurrah!"
So very much like old times: Bridget, Jude, Shaz and Tom, seated around a table at 192, each raised a glass of wine in toast.
"We have had each had quite a year," pronounced Jude.
"Absolutely," agreed Bridget, taking a sip. The past twelve months had been quite rocky for each of them: Bridget's stupidly chucking Mark, narrowly escaping disaster with Daniel again, and the whole Thai prison palaver; Jude dealing with the idiot behaviour of Vile Richard; Tom's long dry spell, poor dear; and Shaz's encounter with Fucking Jed not to mention fuckwittage courtesy of Jamie. But it had all turned out for the best for each of them and the toast was long overdue.
"So when's the flight?" Bridget asked excitedly.
"Tomorrow morning. I can't wait!" said Shazzer.
"And I leave for San Francisco on the third," said Tom.
"I'm so happy for you both," she said, smiling broadly, so glad that Jamie had successfully pulled it together and that Tom had found someone he was willing to cross an ocean for.
"Do you know what you're doing for New Year's Eve?" Jude asked.
"Not yet. I have no idea how long we'll be in Grafton Underwood. You are coming to the ceremony, right?" Pamela had directed her daughter to invite some of their friends to the service and reception in recognition of Bridget and Mark's marriage, so they had asked Tom, Jude, Madga, Jeremy, Nigel, Giles and Rebecca had all been asked to come. Whether or not they would all turn up was another story.
"Of course, Bridge." Jude and Tom nodded.
Bridget smiled, then shuddered. "Two nights with my parents. With my mother." She suddenly felt queasy and pushed her wine glass away.
"Oh, Christ alive," said Shaz sympathetically, reaching across to pat Bridget's hand.
"She called me yesterday," divulged Bridget, "to tell me that she'd bought a double bed for my old room just for Mark and me! She wouldn't hear of us staying with the Darcys. So gah, no excuse not to stay there."
Said Jude, refilling from the bottle, "That's going to be weird, isn't it? Shagging him there in your childhood bedroom with your parents just down the hall?"
Bridget flashed her eyes to Jude in horror. "Well thank you, Jude," she groaned. "I hadn't considered that but now I'll think of nothing else."
They laughed, but Tom actually looked a bit teary. "I will miss you all so much!"
"It's like the end of a fucking era!" wailed Shaz.
"Chuh, I'm not leaving for a few weeks, and I will be back," reminded Bridget. "Plus we have Jude's wedding to look forward to!"
"Yes, yes!" said Jude.
"Have you set a date yet?" wondered Bridget, hating herself for asking such a Married question.
"The thirteenth of November!"
Another cheer went up around the table.
"You will be my bridesmaids, won't you?" Jude beseeched.
"Of course!" said Shaz and Bridget in unison.
"What about you?" Jude asked Tom.
"A bridesmaid? Of course! Wouldn't miss it for the world!"
……………
When Bridget returned home, she found Mark sitting in his office with a slightly stunned look on his face. Her happy spirits came falling back down to earth and she asked, "Mark, is everything all right?"
"I've just had the most perplexing phone call."
Bridget tilted her head, waiting for the explanation.
"I - we - have been invited to Natasha's wedding in July."
"Oh." Sinking feeling. In the frenzy of Christmas and the maybe-pregnancy, she never told him about Daniel's pre-holiday call. "Did Natasha call?"
He nodded. "She said she wanted to mend fences on a personal level, told me she was ashamed of the way she'd treated you in New York - and yes, I told her you were the one she needed to apologise to - and invited us both if we should like to go. It'll be here in London. Then she asked me to hold… and… Cleaver came on the line."
She swallowed quietly, praying that a crack in her voice at the wrong moment wouldn't betray her guilty conscience. "Did you talk to him?"
"Not really." He looked to her. "He did most the talking."
"What did he say?"
"From the get-go he was all apologies, from intentionally pushing my hot buttons, to showing up on your birthday specifically because he'd seen you interviewing me on 'Sit Up Britain'—" Bastard! "—to hurting you."
"He's already apologised to me about that."
He nodded and continued. "Especially he wanted to apologise for… what he had done."
No further explanation was necessary; Bridget could hardly believe her ears. "Do you think it was sincere?"
"I know he is an extremely skilled liar, but even still, it was like… old times in Cambridge, nighttime talks during study breaks." He looked a little nostalgic. "He told me it was you that prompted him to do it."
"Me?" She hoped Mark wouldn't be angry for talking to Daniel.
He nodded.
"And…?"
He stretched his hand out, beckoning her to come close. She sat on his knee and he placed his hand on her waist. "Well, we haven't gone back to being best mates - he's got a lot of work to do in the 'rebuilding trust' department - but we came to an understanding. Opened a dialogue. And I tentatively, very tentatively, accepted his apology."
"Ah." She was triply shocked: that Mark had stayed on the line to actually listen; that Daniel had actually offered an apology; and that Mark considered accepting. "That's good."
She kissed his forehead and slipped an arm around his shoulders, then rested her cheek against his temple. He continued, "I'm glad that at the time you didn't tell me he'd called you. I would have been very cranky indeed." She smiled. He turned his head and looked up to her, his brown eyes serious yet soft. "But I realise that this part of my past has to be allowed to heal. No point in hanging on to it, not when it's the only bit of negativity left." He reached up and kissed her.
"Does this mean we'll be going to the wedding?" She admitted to a certain morbid curiosity, wanting to see it actually happen, wondering if the other signs of the Apocalypse were soon to follow.
"We'll see."
"What's next? Having Tam over for tea?" she murmured jokingly.
A wave of surprise washed over his features, and for a terrible moment she wondered if she'd stepped over the line. But then he smirked and said, "I wouldn't go that far."
Monday 31 Dec
"For the love of all that's holy, Bridget, we must leave now!"
Bridget crimsoned as her husband relinquished his hold of her, removed his lips from the tender skin of her neck. "Sorry," he whispered contritely, pulling the zip of her dress back up.
"I'm on my way down, one minute!" she called back to her mother from the bedroom in Grafton Underwood, deliberately avoiding the obvious alternative phrase that surely would have had her sniggering like a sixteen year old considering she could feel precisely how eager he was to continue.
He smoothed down her upswept hair, then stepped back to reach for and then help her slip into the cropped vest of lavender faux fur, tying it closed. "You look so lovely," he commented as he ran his fingers along the spray of pearls on the crown of her head.
"I look like a giant lavender poofball," she pouted.
"What have I told you about contradicting your husband?" he asked with a smile, continuing down along her hairline and jaw to the tip of her chin.
She looked him up and down, recalling what she'd said about how well he had worn a suit, this one, charcoal grey with a dark purple tie. "You…"
"Yes?" he asked, quite seriously.
"You give James Bond a run for his money."
He revealed a half-grin, slipping his hand about her waist again, moving to deliver one final parting kiss before the descent into the madness of her parents' renewal of vows.
"Bridget!" her mother called shrilly once again.
He sighed. "Let's go," he said, picking up her little purple handbag and handing it to her.
"You'll notice," said Bridget between clenched teeth as they descended the staircase, "that she only yells my name."
"That's because I walk on water," quipped Mark in return, offering his arm to Bridget as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Mark," said Pamela, turning to face him from inspecting herself in the hallway mirror, "Bridget will ride with me. If you don't mind riding with Colin…?" Initially, her mother tried to insist that her father stay with Geoffrey so that he wouldn't see her before the ceremony, but her father stood his ground, insisting that he had seen her nearly every morning for thirty-plus years and he wasn't going to stop now. The compromise was riding to the church in different cars. However, Bridget was now horrified at the thought of her father's little blue compact, not exactly the picture of elegance next to the rented classic Bentley.
Fortunately, Mark had the same brainwave as she: "Why don't you allow me to drive Mr Jones to the church?" Mark's sleek, silver BMW would do quite nicely indeed beside the Bentley.
Bridget swore her mother looked coquettish. "Oh Mark, thank you. That would be lovely. And my goodness, you're family!" She threw her arms up and embraced him. "He's just as much 'Daddy' to you as he is to Bridget."
Mark turned his head to look at Bridget and raised a singular brow, unseen by Pamela. Mark was hardly the 'Daddy' type. They both smiled knowingly.
Just then her father appeared, and she tried her best not to laugh aloud at the horrid lavender tuxedo. If she'd had any doubt about her father's love for her mother, that ridiculous outfit would have banished it. "Hello, Dad," she said, kissing her father's cheek.
"Hello, my dear," he said, smiling proudly at his wife, his daughter, and his son-in-law. "We'd better get going."
Bridget wondered idly, as they headed for the vehicles, if Mark would so happily wear pale purple for her. She thought he would… not that she would ever subject him to such a humiliation.
……………
The two-car caravan made its way to the country church and the ride was uneventful at best, save for the nervous twittering of Bridget's mother.
"Really, Mum, it's not as if you haven't done this before with Dad," offered Bridget, squeezing her mother's hand in her own, realising with a silent curse that she'd forgotten to slip her rings back on after her shower this morning; Mark's appearance in the bathroom (specifically, joining her under the spray of water) had utterly distracted her. She prayed silently that they hadn't gone down the drain. It would have been a most inauspicious way to start a new year.
"I know," said Bridget's mother.
"Everything will be perfect, I just know it."
Pamela smiled. "I'll be happy if it's half as perfect as your wedding was."
Bridget smiled in return then reached out to hug her mother. The woman did drive her bonkers at times, but her heart was in the right place, and for all of Bridget's complaining, Bridget really did love her. After the hug, her mother's nerves seemed to settle altogether.
……………
Shortly after arriving at the church, Una fluttered up to Mark with a pink rose boutonnière, making to pin it into place on his lapel. "Mark! Bridget!" she said in her usual breathy manner. "You're looking so beautiful, Bridget, so glowing and happy, and Mark… ohhhhhh, I am so very pleased for you both!" It had slipped Bridget's mind that she had not yet seen most of her parents' friends in the nearly two months since they'd been married.
"Why thank you, Una," replied Bridget graciously. Mark merely smiled as Una took it upon herself to flatten Mark's lapel post-floral-pinning.
As Una turned back to Bridget, she realised Una looked quite superior, probably because she credited herself (along with Pamela Jones) with having made the match. "So…" Una continued dangerously, "when do we hear the pit-a-pat of little feet, hmmmmmmm?"
Bridget turned her eyes to Mark, fighting to suppress a laugh, remembering yet again Mark's prediction from October. "Not quite yet, Una, but thanks for asking," stepped in Mark.
……………
"That was quite nice," said Mark thoughtfully as he escorted Bridget down the aisle at the conclusion of the ceremony.
She looked around herself at the church she'd gone to throughout childhood and adolescence, and suddenly felt a momentary melancholy. It wasn't a large church, not especially ornate, nothing remotely extraordinary about it… but it was everything cosy and familiar, with flowers, smiling faces, and an aura of love and happiness filling the air. She sighed. "It was."
He looked to her. "Something wrong?"
"No."
"Bridget."
She looked up to him as they left the church. He really could read her like a book. "I don't want to sound like I'm unhappy with the wedding we had, because my God, it was beautiful and perfect and a dream come true! But…" She didn't know how to word it so that she wouldn't sound like a complete ingrate; she took a deep breath and told herself to trust him to know what she meant. "I guess I always imagined my wedding would be here."
Fortunately he did know, patting the hand she'd threaded through the crook of his elbow, looking quite pensive. "Maybe someday we can renew our vows here too."
She smiled broadly, turning her attention back to the stairs.
Noticing her mother blowing kisses at the assembled, Bridget realised her parents were about to depart in the Bentley for the reception planned by Una at the Alconbury's, before they left that evening for their second honeymoon; her parents had liked Edinburgh so much they were spending a week there. It did, however, mean there would be no traditional New Year's Day Turkey Curry Buffet for the first time in Bridget's memory, which, as Mark reminded her, she didn't care much for to begin with, except for that one unexpected bonus almost exactly two years ago.
"Besides," he had said, "it gives us a chance to start our own tradition."
And then Pamela's bouquet was flying through the air, aimed squarely (it seemed) at Bridget, which she reached to catch out of habit ('For Shaz!' she thought briefly)… but forgot momentarily about the slippery ground.
Down she went amidst the gasps of those present, landing squarely on her bottom. But she had that bouquet, and she held it up triumphantly.
Mark helped her to her feet, trying to reign in a smirk. Mark leaned in to kiss her; she brought the bouquet up as a feeble shield from prying eyes; the family and friends gave up a little cheer and suddenly she was infinitely thankful for the private ceremony they'd had. He whispered something into her ear about tending to her injury later. She giggled.
The snow-covered grounds were breathtakingly beautiful - the evergreens, the old stone buildings and walls, even the gravestones in the churchyard were a sight to behold - and the stillness of the air meant it didn't feel nearly as cold as it actually was. "Come, let's take a walk," she suggested.
She didn't think it possible for her spontaneity to still surprise him, but the look on his face told her otherwise as he asked, "In those shoes?"
It sounded like a criticism Tom might have offered about her choice of ensemble on a Friday night, which caused her to laugh again. "The snow on the trees and the stones… it's just so lovely out here," she said, looking from the church to the foliage. "And quiet; I've missed quiet and am in no hurry to get to Una's. I just want some private time with you in this gorgeous place. Plus, if I slip again, I have you to catch me."
"Yes," he agreed as they turned back into the churchyard for their stroll. As they walked, he dipped his hand into his pocket, and within a moment he paused to present her with her own rings, rescued from a watery fate in the bathroom. "That you do."
She smiled as he slipped them back onto her ring finger.
If it was a dream, she decided, it was one from which she never wished to wake.
The end.
Notes / Reference / Links:
"Closing Time" by Semisonic. I'm sure you catch the dual meaning.
The DVD that the Urban Family gift Mark with for Christmas (not a real movie, BTW) is in reference to a delightful little deleted scene from the EOR DVD. SPOILER for deleted scene! Bridget shows up late to the theatre and Mark laments that they've missed the last showing "in this country" of this previously-banned masterpiece, but, there was still time for pizza, and perhaps some sex, "if that's of any interest." Bridget then advises that they might as well just skip the pizza because it's a "horrid, fattening food". :)
If you watch the final scene of EOR closely, you can clearly see Rebecca, Giles, Tom, Jude and Magda exiting the church service at the end of the movie.
There's a great photo online (also appearing on the back of the US-released DVD), which is what I based their wedding portrait on. It's beautiful and romantic and I could hurt someone for cutting this scene from the movie.
