The Best is Yet to Come
Part 3 of 5
By S. Faith, © 2009
Words: 20,448 (Part 3: 4,189)
Rating: T / PG-13
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes: See Part 1.
Although Ella was initially excited about news of the pregnancy, it became clear that while her happiness was genuine, she was also a little more distant and not as bubbly as usual. This change in attitude seemed to coincide with any discussion of the baby. Bridget herself had never had to compete with a sibling for her parents' attention, but understood how subconsciously Ella might have felt left out; after so many years of having her father to herself, she now had not only to compete with a wife but a child for her father's notice.
Bridget therefore decided to make Ella very much involved in the whole process. Having put the idea in Ella's head that she and Mark were having a terrible time thinking of names, it got the girl's mind to working on a solution; she liked thinking the idea was her own, and Bridget was all too glad to oblige. They had also planned a shopping excursion of massive proportions that upcoming weekend: maternity wear (as Bridget's 'fat clothes' would not be able to serve the purpose for too much longer), nursery furniture and décor.
Mark had noticed the effort and thanked her for it; not in so many words, but with the way he looked at her like he was concentrating on a very important task before pressing his lips to hers in a tender kiss, the quiet "I couldn't have picked a better stepmother for her" that he whispered in her ear, she hardly needed to hear the actual words 'thank you' themselves.
Ella ended up staying at Betsy's for the evening again, and for that, Bridget was thankful. Mark took her out for a romantic supper, then they returned home and spent the evening in the bedroom; days of youth might have meant a boisterous shagathon, but for the two of them, it meant peace and quiet, undisturbed time alone, reverent caresses (particularly to her abdomen and the wonder of the tiny life inside), and long, sensual kisses evolving into tender lovemaking.
Ella returned just after breakfast looking like she hadn't slept all night—it would have been typical for she and Betsy to have stayed up all night goofing around, watching movies and feeding off one another's silliness. Bridget, on the other hand, felt unbelievably refreshed and well-rested. The playing field was thus levelled for shopping; Bridget would be able to keep up with the usually energetic teenager.
"Did you sleep at all?" Bridget asked. "Be honest."
"Yeah," she said, yawning. "A couple hours."
Bridget fought a laugh. "Do you want to postpone?" she asked.
"No," Ella replied quickly, as Bridget knew she would: being sleepy was no excuse for not shopping, plus she was enough like her father that if she made a promise, by God, she intended on keeping it.
Once they got to the actual shopping, Ella perked up considerably, offering enthusiastic opinions about prams and cribs and mobiles for entertaining the newborn. There was a point, though, during their break in action for lunch, that Ella became quiet again. Bridget wasn't sure about prodding the girl for details, but decided to do so anyway.
"Something troubling you, Ella?"
"Hm," she said noncommittally, swirling her straw through her glass of apple juice and watching the process intently. "Nothing much."
"Ella," Bridget said again with emphasis. "You can tell me."
Ella raised her eyes, smiling reluctantly. "I know. It's just… I don't know. I feel like I ought to know what to do, and I don't."
Bridget tried not to invent catastrophes in her head. "I might. Try me."
"Well." She cleared her throat. "I kind of… well, sort of… know this boy named Liam."
Bridget felt her brows rise of their own accord. "Liam. Nice name."
"Yeah." The apples of her cheeks turned a little pink.
It dawned on Bridget the reason for the blush. Ella had a bona fide crush. "You like this Liam, don't you?"
She shrugged, looked down, but smiled all the same. "I guess."
"You guess." She grinned, fondly recalling her first crush. "So what does he look like? Tell me about him."
Once prompted, Ella couldn't sing the praises of Liam enough: swooningly tall and handsomely fit (he played football), he had dark curly hair and, in Ella's words, the most amazing sapphire eyes. Nobody had a bad word to say about him, she gushed on, and he was kind to everyone.
"He sounds perfectly lovely," said Bridget approvingly. "So what's the problem?"
"Well," she said, crimsoning again. "He has more girls after him than you can believe. He'll never notice me."
Looking at the pretty young brunette before her, tall and thin (and as warm as her mother was not), she scoffed. "I doubt that. Does he actually have a girlfriend?"
"No."
"Is he gay?"
Ella burst out laughing. "No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure," she said, grinning; her mood had definitely improved since opening up to Bridget.
"And how do you know he hasn't noticed you?" Bridget asked.
"When he looks my way, he looks down or away really quickly."
Bridget thought that rather sounded like the opposite of not noticing Ella, but decided not to raise hopes unnecessarily. "So you want him to notice you," said Bridget.
"Yeah," she said.
"Hm," said Bridget thoughtfully. "Well. He must be blind not to notice you, but I daresay we can step it up a notch."
Her eyes went a bit round. "Like what?"
"Well," she said. "A new dress maybe, or a skirt, or a few outfits. And you're going to be sixteen."
She nodded vigorously; it amused Bridget how eager the young were to grow up.
Bridget smiled, thinking fondly of her own mother's one-time pestering as she suggested, "Perhaps Colour Me Beautiful?"
It was frankly astounding, the escalation in excitement and energy. She didn't think Miss Two Hours Of Sleep had it in her; it must have been the recharge of food. "You don't think I'm too young?"
"I'm certainly not going to let you walk out of there looking like Barbara Cartland," said Bridget, "but there's no sense in not teaching you good skin care and good makeup habits while your skin is still young."
Ella drew her brows together. "Looking like who?"
"A ridiculously made-up—oh, never mind." She regarded Ella with a playful sidelong glance. "Ever considered a haircut?"
Ella blushed and grinned. "I don't know what my dad would think, though—about any of it."
"Your dad knows you're growing up," she said; her hand covering her slightly but definitely protruding belly, she added, "and soon enough he'll have an actual baby to fuss over. And besides… once it's done, there isn't much he can do, is there?"
Ella looked happy though apprehensive.
"He won't be angry," she assured. "It's just some hair and a dress. And if he is, I'll take the heat."
Ella burst out with a laugh. "Okay then. When do you think we could do it?"
"How about now?"
Ella blinked rapidly in an endearing manner most like her father. "Now?"
"Why not? No reason we can't treat you this afternoon. This baby already has some clothes and something to sleep in; what more is needed? Besides, I really want to show you how much I appreciate your help."
After using her mobile to make an appointment for makeup and hair, lunch was thus hurried along so that they might spend some time looking at clothes beforehand. They did manage to find a lovely dress, a fitted denim jacket, a skirt, a top, and a new pair of jeans before the appointed hour of the haircut.
When the hairdresser saw Ella's thick mane of long, straight brown hair, he whistled. "Your hair's in great shape," he said in a lilting Welsh accent, "but I'm tempted to clear my calendar for the rest of the day to get through it all."
They had a brief discussion about what she might want to do with her hair—nothing too short, she decided, or too radical—and decided something just a little beyond her shoulders with a bit of layering would work best. In the end, after the judicious use of a straight razor, she was left with a long layered cut that had tons of body, was extremely flattering to her face—and brought her suddenly from older child to young woman. The makeup session reaffirmed this perception.
"You look beautiful," said Bridget. Ella blushed. "If Liam doesn't notice you now, he's either blind or really is gay."
Her stepdaughter laughed outright. "This was a fantastic treat. Thanks so much, Bridget." She looked thoughtful as she gathered up as many carrier bags as she could manage. Bridget was about to ask when Ella explained the reason for her introspection. "Does it bother you that I call you by your name, and not, like, 'Mom' or something?"
"Not at all," she said quickly. "You already have a mum. I'm not trying to take her place."
"I know," she said. "Even though you kind of already have." She smiled affectionately.
Upon arriving home, Mark seemed poised to asked who Bridget's friend was and where was his daughter, when it occurred to him that the friend was in fact said daughter. He looked quite surprised but said nothing.
"What do you think?" Ella asked excitedly, turning in a circle to show off her haircut. "We went shopping, too."
"I thought shopping was for the nursery," he asked neutrally. Ella's features conveyed her disappointment.
"We had enough for the baby," Bridget interjected, giving him a hard look. "I thought Ella could use a bit of attention."
"You aren't angry, are you?" asked his daughter.
He turned back to Ella. "No," he said quickly. "I'm not angry." He might not have been angry, but he was definitely upset about something. "I'm just a bit taken aback at… how grown-up you look. It's lovely. It really is." He smiled at last, stretching his arms out to embrace her. "Sometimes I forget you're not my little girl anymore," he said soothingly.
"Oh, Dad," she said. "I'll always be your little girl."
At this Mark looked as emotional as she'd ever seen him, but only for a moment before he released her from his arms. "Suppose I'll have to beat the boys back from the front porch with a cricket bat before too long," he said in jest. As he said it, Ella flushed deep crimson.
"I… promised Betsy I'd call her when I got back," she said hurriedly. "I'll just… um, take my things upstairs." With that she grabbed all of her bags and shot up the stairs with nary a backward glance.
Mark's expression verged on whiplashed. "What was that all about?"
"She has a serious crush on a boy named Liam," said Bridget quietly.
Mark made no reply to her statement, just nodded. He spoke a moment after that, but his voice had gone a little cool. "Well. Best get these put away." He then picked up the remaining bags and walked upstairs, intent for the nursery, leaving a stunned wife in his wake.
She of course followed him up. "Mark," she said softly, closing the nursery door behind her. "You're not upset with me for the haircut and all that, are you?"
"No," he said, though he did not stop unloading the contents of the bags onto the bureau.
Coming near to him, she slipped her hand around his waist. "Talk to me."
He stopped at last, dropping his gaze down. "It's selfish of me," he said. "Not that I'm not pleased that she has a woman in her life she can go to for guidance on delicate subjects… God knows her mother has never been available to her for that."
"How is this selfish?" she asked, running her hand over his back comfortingly.
"I just…" He sighed. "I don't know."
"Yes you do," she said sternly.
He looked to his wife at last. "I guess I miss her coming to me with these things."
Bridget did not quite know what to say at this. She had never intended on replacing Ella's mum… but certainly she had no intention of taking his place, either.
"I told you it was selfish," he said, mistaking her silence for agreement.
"Mark, no, it isn't," she said. "Of course you miss it. It's all you've known with her. But Ella wanting to confide girl things to me as she gets older and matures does not diminish your role in her life. As she said, she'll always be your little girl."
He smiled at last, turning to take her in his arms. "I guess I'd be worried if she didn't want to confide in you," he said, holding the back of her head with his hand. "But yes, you're right of course. This is just another adjustment I'll have to make… and I'm glad, deep down, to do so."
She tightened her embrace. She wasn't sure why she was so certain of this conviction, but she knew in time he'd have his role as confidant back… with their son. In the meanwhile, she thought she might remind Ella that her dad was, as he always had been, willing to listen to her.
………
By the time July rolled around, by the time Ella's sweet sixteen party approached, Bridget felt the size of the Goodyear blimp. It had been determined that she had in fact become pregnant some time during the end of January or the start of February, meaning she was now in her sixth month. Mark did not seem to mind, and in fact with each passing day his gazes became even softer and more loving, his caresses and embraces gentler, his lovemaking sweeter.
Plans were made for the milestone birthday bash. So that her friends could attend it more easily, they had the party at the Holland Park house. However, Bridget thought it would be nice to have a smaller family dinner the night before, on Friday, just Ella, Bridget, Mark, and…
It was quite a brilliant idea, actually.
"What are you up to?" asked Mark. He had just returned from dropping Ella at Besty's, early that very same Friday. Ella was spending the day at her friend's before the two were due to return back for that special supper then a birthday sleepover for the two of them.
Bridget replaced the telephone on its cradle, and turned to him with a smile. "Nothing much," she said. "I'm heading over to see Sharon for a while, and I'd love if you joined me."
He rarely went with her to Sharon's—he preferred to leave the long-time friends to their devices on occasion—so her inviting him along clearly puzzled him.
Bridget continued, "I just need to pop to the store on the way and pick up a few things. Eggs, cream, leeks… and some blue twine."
He stared at her as if she'd gone mad until the light dawned, and when it did, he smiled, then laughed. "And orange marmalade?"
"Ohh, yes," she said with a giggle. "Just the thing to complete the evening."
"I think then that I am obliged to join you."
Later that evening, Mark picking the girls up then driving them to Auntie Shazzie's seriously confused the birthday-girl-to-be; her confusion intensified when they actually sat at the set table to eat, but was alleviated when the first course was served. When she saw the pale blue creamy concoction in the bowl set down before her, she met Bridget's eyes, then laughed uproariously and jumped up to throw her arms about her very pregnant stepmother.
"Since we have plans for tomorrow…" said Bridget into Ella's shoulder.
"Oh my God. Blue soup for my birthday, made just for me by the Blue Soup Chef herself."
Bridget laughed too, amused beyond all sense to learn that Ella had thought of her in such a way.
"Can't tell you how cool this is," she went on, looking a little teary. "Oh! And at the scene of the crime!"
"What are you talking about? Scene of what crime?" asked Betsy from her seat to the right of Shazzer.
"It would take too long to explain," said Ella, "but in a nutshell, it's a favourite story from my childhood, involving my dad and my now-stepmom."
At that Mark coloured, but smiled fondly.
Betsy went on, "Why am I not sitting next to you?"
Ella furrowed her brows, looking from her left to her right: her father, Bridget at the other end, then Betsy, then Sharon.
"Since Tom and Jude couldn't be here…" said Sharon enigmatically.
"This is where you were all sitting!" said Ella, her mouth an O as she put it together. "So who am I?"
Mark looked down sheepishly. "I admit that I was chiefly focusing on Bridget's end of the table that night."
Bridget blushed and looked down then at her husband just as he looked up at her.
Sharon supplied, "Jude."
"So then Betsy's… Tom!"
"I'm a boy?" said Betsy, her eyes widening even as she smiled.
"Mm-hmm. But don't worry—at least you still like boys," said Ella. Bridget looked to Ella just as she looked to her father, then to herself. Mark had taken his wife's hand and grasped it over the corner of the table. "It must have been lovely, that night."
Bridget smiled. "It was." Mark tightened his grasp on her fingers.
Bridget had followed the menu that evening to match the original to the best of her ability, but with slight deviation (and, she hoped, improvement). After the soup, they had a frittata and for dessert, butter shortbread topped with orange marmalade.
"I believe we must recreate at least one more aspect of that evening, at least marginally faithfully," said Mark, holding up his glass of wine. "To my lovely daughter, I wish a very happy birthday. And to Bridget, whom I have always loved—just as she is."
At that, an overload of hormones combined with emotion got the better of her, and she burst into tears, leapt up as best she could being six months with child, and threw her arms around Mark's neck (sloshing his wine a bit, but she did not care) and giving him a tame but loving kiss.
"If only you'd done this that night, Bridge," she heard Sharon say drolly as she pulled back. She felt mixed emotions—she wished she had too, but then what of Ella?
Mark only smiled. If the consequences of the simple direction that night could have taken had also crossed his mind, he did not show it. "I might have to go find Daniel Cleaver next," he joked as she sat in her seat once more, but again did not relinquish her hand, "just to beat him up in the street." She could laugh about it now—and was glad for it.
………
Malcolm and Elaine stayed the birthday weekend in the remaining spare bedroom. It would be, as always, a pleasure to host them, though Bridget's belly had really seemed to pop out in the time since she'd seen his parents last. Elaine's surprise was unable to be contained when she laid her eyes on her daughter-in-law.
"Well, I guess there's absolutely no questioning that baby's existence," she said with a light laugh, taking Bridget in her arms for an adoring hug. "Quite solidly between you and I, isn't he?"
Bridget wasn't sure if there was something in the carriage of her stomach that bespoke the baby's sex to Elaine; they were well into the period of her pregnancy when they could have easily found out but they had agreed that they both wanted to be surprised. "What makes you say 'he'?" she asked, too curious to let it lie.
Elaine laughed again. "I'm not having a premonition or anything," she said. "It's just better than saying 'it', and since you two won't tell me…"
"We don't know either," she said, then added confidentially, "though I do suspect it might be a boy."
"Why don't you just find out?" said Elaine, who had firmly been in the camp of knowing early so she could stock up on what she considered gender appropriate items.
"We want a little more mystery than that," supplied Mark, climbing up the stairs from the kitchen before striding over to hug his mother.
"You're looking wonderful," said Elaine as she pulled back to take in the couple, just as Malcolm came in the front door with a suitcase. "I swear you two look happier every time I see you."
Bridget could not deny the fact that she was indeed very happy.
"Oh, Dad, I could have brought that in for you," said Mark.
"Nonsense," he said. "I'm as fit as a fiddle. Though if you don't mind going out and getting the other two, I'd be much obliged."
Mark grinned. "Be right back."
"Has the party started?" asked Elaine.
"Not until two," said Bridget. "Though Ella's friend Betsy stayed the night. We had the, um, traditional blue soup dinner last evening."
"Blue soup?" Elaine was clearly puzzled.
Before she had a chance to explain, Ella's voice rang out from the upper floor. "Bridget! Help!!"
Elaine looked alarmed. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine," said Bridget. "Panic stations about looking perfect for the party. I'll be right back."
It took a little longer than it used to for her to scale the stairs with her stomach as it was—secretly she wished for a lift between the three levels—but she figured if she kept it up she'd stay in decent shape. Slightly winded from the climb, she knocked on Ella's door. "Everything okay in there?"
The door flew open. Ella was obviously stricken. She was wearing the outfit specially chosen for this day and she looked as lovely in it as she had trying it on. Bridget wondered what the problem was.
"Yes, I think you should still wear this outfit," she said in anticipation of what she felt was the inevitable question. "Why the drama?"
"My mother," she said seriously. "She's in London. When I mentioned I couldn't spend the day with her because I was having a party… she wants to come by to wish me happy birthday."
Bridget covered her mouth with her hand before she could stop herself.
"I mean, I don't mind seeing her, and I kind of want to on my birthday and all," Ella added, sounded a little wounded, "but I know my dad, Granny and Granddad won't want to."
"Ella, it's your birthday and if you want your mother here, then she can be here," said Bridget with rather more equanimity than she actually felt. She summoned a smile and a wink. "We can be civilised adults. I promise."
Ella looked relieved. "Thanks, Bridget. Um… will you tell my dad?"
She heard his heavy footfalls coming up the stairs, likely with his parents' suitcases. "I think you'd better tell him yourself." She turned her head and confirmed he indeed had a bag in each hand and a smaller one under his arm. "Mark, darling, could you come here a moment when you're through?"
He deposited the bags then came to Ella's door. "What it is?"
Ella looked petrified. Bridget reached forward and took her hand, nodding slightly.
"Dad, um…" She stopped, then sallied forth in a great rush. "Mom's in town. She's coming by to wish me happy birthday."
For his part, Mark was far more composed than she would have expected. "Is she?"
Ella nodded.
"Do you want her here?"
"Yeah, of course I do."
Mark looked thoughtful. "Well. I guess one more setting at the table is in order."
Ella beamed a smile then jumped up and threw her arms around her father's neck (it was less of a reach for Ella than it was for Bridget) for a tight hug. "Thanks, Dad. I love you."
"I love you too," he said, before pulling back and planting a kiss on her forehead. "Now go finish prettying yourself up. Your guests will be arriving soon."
She flashed an excited, toothy smile. "Okay. Betsy!" she called out; her friend replied from the depths of the loo with something indeterminate. "Where's my brown shadow?"
Bridget pulled the door closed and sighed, then reached to now take Mark's hand. "That was the acting job of a lifetime, my love."
At that he actually cracked a smile, then pulled her into a gentle hug. "Just remember," he said, "you have the upper hand in every regard. It's your house, and it's you that I love. The only remaining tie between Natasha and myself is Ella."
Bridget nodded. "I know." However, she knew that, even from their handful of meetings, Natasha had a way of making her feel small, insignificant and unworthy of existence. She took in a deep breath and realised Mark was right. She was the one he'd loved all along; she was his wife; she was carrying their child, one conceived of that love, and not after… well, she didn't like to imagine Mark and Natasha having sex, but she had to think a lot of alcohol was involved. This somehow comforted her, and actually made her chuckle.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," said Bridget. "Everything will be fine."