The Best is Yet to Come
Part 4 of 5

By S. Faith, © 2009

Words: 20,448 (Part 4: 4,435)
Rating: T / PG-13
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes: See Part 1.

There were some things that more than a decade and a half had not changed, but to Bridget's (possibly evil) delight, there were some things that had. When Natasha showed up at last—well into the party, but not before birthday cake was served—Bridget could scarcely think of anyone to compare Natasha to but Cruella DeVille. The fast-paced, A-type-personality life had fairly taken its toll. It was clear that she'd had work done to try to maintain an appearance of youth, but the work itself was not particularly good; hence, a face that was, at the height of her thirties, not particularly expressive or emotional to begin with was somehow now, in her late forties, rendered even more neutral and impassive. Her haircut and colour had not changed, but it was clear to Bridget she'd gone far greyer than Mark had, and she was quite overdue for a touch up on her roots.

"Bridget," she said; even with no facial expression it was clear what Natasha's opinion of Bridget's presence was. She looked pointedly at Bridget's pregnant belly, and said coolly, "Ah, the tried and true way of capturing a husband succeeds yet again."

"You'd know a little something about that, wouldn't you?" snapped Mark sharply in return, leaving Bridget reeling at his losing his cool, his harsh tone and what he inferred by the words he said. Bridget had never asked about the details of his marriage to Natasha and the birth of the baby, but when she quickly did the math… with Ella's birthday in July, Natasha must have gotten pregnant some time in November—the very November of the blue soup birthday.

That was a long time ago, she thought, and has no bearing on now. Bridget squeezed his hand reassuringly and managed a smile, determined to take the high road. "Actually, we were already married when we found out," she said smoothly and pleasantly. "Please. Let me bring you outside to where your daughter is." She made to lead Natasha downstairs and through the kitchen, but Natasha brushed her aside.

"I know my way around this house," she said with a glare then preceded Bridget down the stairs.

Bridget recalled Mark's saying she'd left him for another lawyer, and so asked, "Didn't your husband come?"

She stopped midway down, turned and shot daggers at Bridget with her eyes before continuing down. "Very funny," she spat. Bridget didn't know what that was supposed to mean, and hoped Mark might be able to explain.

As soon as Natasha went through the French doors to where the kids—young adults, really—were enjoying food and drink in the sun, she transformed into a freakishly sweet, loving mother-figure, stretching her arms out and saying, "Ella, my love! Mummy's here!"

Ella's head snapped up and though she smiled, she also looked a little embarrassed. She came over to where her mother was and gave her a big hug. "Hi," she said.

Natasha pulled back to look at her daughter. "Oh, you look so grown up… though what happened to your beautiful hair?" Natasha reached up and combed her fingers through the sophisticated cut. "It's been butchered."

"Bridget took me for a haircut."

"I should have guessed," she said, then tried to bury the snotty comment with a half-hearted compliment. "Hm. Well. I suppose it's not so bad… it'll just take getting used to, and I haven't seen you in almost a year."

"I love it," said Ella fiercely.

"Always the little rebel," she said with a feeble attempt at a smile. "So tell me all about school, your friends…" With the spectacle of her entrance concluded, she lowered her voice in conversation with Ella, who did not seem at all comfortable with her mother's arm around her shoulder.

Mark slipped his own arm around her shoulders. "What mess did I step in now?" muttered Bridget.

"What?" asked Mark.

"Natasha's husband."

"Ah. I'm sorry—that's my fault. I told you she left me for another man, but neglected to tell you that he subsequently left her… for another man."

At this she burst out with a laugh; he could not help grinning at her.

"I'm glad I didn't know," said Bridget quietly. "Score one for me."

Once her mother had quieted down, Ella looked entirely more at ease as she introduced Betsy, Thomas, Bill, Susan and the others to her. For her part she seemed pleased to meet them all, looked over them with approval. Ella was, after all, in a very good school, and the parents of all of these children were respectable as well as wealthy. There was no reason at all to disapprove.

"Bridget? Could you come here please?"

It was Elaine, who had just appeared from the kitchen. They had gone upstairs for a lie down after the long drive; secretly Bridget thought that they wished to avoid Natasha, but knew they couldn't remain absent for the entirety of the party. Natasha turned to look at Elaine, who decidedly ignored her. Bridget's affection for Elaine, which knew no bounds to begin with, increased exponentially.

"Yes?" she asked as she got closer.

"Malcolm and I were on our way down when we heard a rap at the front door. There's a boy in the foyer who claims to be a friend of Ella's. I didn't want you to have to come back upstairs. Shall I let him down?"

The group of invited friends was not large but was of a mixed nature; some of Ella's best mates at school were boys, and they had come today. One invited person, however, had not shown up, and though Ella had put on a brave face, she was disappointed that the object of her crush had not turned up that day. Bridget wondered if this could be him now.

"Did he give his name?"

"Liam, I believe."

Bridget couldn't stop her smile. "Yes, please, let him down!"

Bridget went into the kitchen and waited for the legendary Liam to appear. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, she saw that Ella's praise had not been exaggerated. He was indeed a very handsome boy, tall and clearly athletic, dark brown curls tousled by the wind, and light blue eyes fringed with enviably thick dark lashes. He seemed reserved and polite and offered a smile as he walked away from Elaine and towards her. "I'm Ella's stepmother. She's talking with her mother. I understand you're Liam?"

He nodded. "I'm sorry I'm late," he said. "I was… having trouble finding a nice present for Ella. I hope she's not angry."

Bridget was willing to bet that even if she were, she would have forgiven Liam this transgression upon sight. "She's fine. Please, come outside. She'll be pleased to see you came."

At the motion in the periphery of her vision, Ella turned her head and looked up just as Liam came into the sunlight. The look on her face was a mix of shock and happiness as she stood from the table. Natasha, of course, had to look then stand as well.

"Hi," she said as he went nearer.

"I was just apologising to your stepmum—sorry I'm late."

"No, no, that's cool," she said, obviously thrilled by his presence. "Glad you could make it."

"This must be your mother, then?" he asked, looking to Natasha.

She held out her hand. "Yes. And you are?"

"Liam. I'm a classmate of your daughter's."

Bridget could see Natasha mentally appraising him. She of course approved, and smiled. "Very nice to meet you, Liam."

The interaction attracted Mark's attention as well; Ella's obvious swooning over the boy meant he was quickly walking over to join the small group.

"And this is my dad," said Ella, seeing his approach. "Dad, this is Liam, a friend from school."

Mark's appraisal was not as easy to determine. He knew Liam was the boy on whom his daughter had a crush. She half-expected him to turn on the full-blown protective father mode, throw Ella over his shoulder, and run upstairs to lock her in her room until she hit menopause. But instead, after a few moments, he smiled and extended his hand towards the boy. "Pleased to meet you. We've heard nice things about you."

Oh, thought Bridget as she watched Ella flush a deep crimson in her mortification, totally wrong thing to say. She poked Mark from her position at his side then gave him a severe look before adding, "You and all of her friends. It's a pleasure to meet you all at last." Mark seemed to realise his misstep and nodded.

Ella flashed a grateful look in Bridget's direction, one that did not escape Natasha's notice. She looked like steam might come out of her ears at any moment.

"Have you had cake yet?" asked Natasha.

"No." Bridget watched Ella turn her eyes on Liam again, smiling shyly. He smiled in return. If Bridget was not mistaken, he was quite taken with her, too.

"Oh, good," she said. "I'd hate to think I missed out on you blowing out your candles."

"Bridget." It was Mark's mother, who was still ignoring Natasha's existence, and while she must have expected it, it still obviously rankled her. "I believe you said you wanted to do the cake at four? It's four."

"Yes, Elaine, thank you," said Bridget with a beaming smile.

"Let me… let me get my friends," said Ella tentatively. "Liam, go ahead and take a seat."

The table was rather large, accommodating the ten friends, her grandparents, her father, stepmother, and mother, but Liam gravitated to the seat directly beside where the cake was being placed. As Bridget lit the candles—the air was still enough that the breeze was not likely to blow them out—he asked quietly, "Is it all right if I sit here?"

Bridget smiled, turning her eyes to him. He was definitely taken with her, and he doubted the haircut and the new clothes had much to do with it. "It's all yours."

………

As Bridget expected, Natasha did not stay much longer than the serving of cake then the over-the-top presentation of her gift. "It isn't much," she explained with false modesty, "but I hope you like it."

The present was… well, Bridget was not sure what possessed Natasha to think Ella would want or need an ostentatious knee-length fur coat, especially as she must have known Ella's opinion on the cruelty of fur, but to her credit Ella offered a smile and thanked her mother politely.

To Bridget's surprise, Mark leaned in from his seat next to her and whispered almost cattily, "They say it's the thought that counts… but for her, it's what other people thought about what she spent."

She found herself biting back a laugh, instead turning and kissing his cheek.

Next Ella reached for what Bridget knew to be her own present, an advance copy she'd managed to score of a book by Ella's favourite author, via her old contacts at Pemberley Press. She smiled and watched with anticipatory glee for Ella's reaction as she unwrapped it.

She was not disappointed.

"Oh my GOD! How in the world—" she began, then declared, "This is a fake! This has to be a fake!" As she thumbed through its pages, she went on, "This book… Oh my God, it is so not a fake!"

Bridget laughed. "It is not a fake," she confirmed. "I know how you've been looking forward to that book."

"Oh, Bridget, thank you so much! This is an awesome, awesome present, and I am going to be the envy of… everyone!"

The difference in reactions between the two gifts—one from mother, one from stepmother—did not go unnoticed, particularly by Natasha, who snorted huffily, but said nothing except, "A book." Bridget knew that Natasha was dying to make some catty comment about the author, but since the author was such a reputable literary figure, there was hardly a comment Natasha could make that wouldn't reveal herself to be the bitch she truly was.

Next Ella opened gifts from friends: DVDs, some music, a new school diary, and then… she watched Liam look slightly nervous as she picked up a smaller box. Whatever it was, Bridget knew this was from him.

"Oooh, what's this?" She pulled off the card and read it—"Happy Birthday, from Liam", which made her visibly tense—then untied the ribbon, tore off the paper, and opened the box… and was utterly speechless. She looked up at him, her mouth hanging slightly open in an endearing way. "Wow," she said at last.

"What is it?" asked Betsy impatiently, craning her neck to try to see.

Liam explained, "Well, I've seen that necklace you wear all the time and thought it might be nice if you had a matching bracelet."

She held it up. It was a delicate silver bracelet, the style of chain very closely matching the chain her silver heart hung upon. "It's lovely. Wow," she said again quietly, examining it from several different angles. "You shouldn't have."

"I wanted to," he said with a smile.

Bridget was concerned that the boy had spent a lot on the gift, but the box was not in fact from Tiffany's, and surely his parents wouldn't have allowed him to spend too much for a girl he hardly knew. She managed to catch Ella's eye, and mouthed the words "Thank you" to prompt her.

As she thanked him for his gift, Bridget glanced to Mark. He looked stunned. She grinned; his daughter was already garnering presents from male admirers. She suspected she would have to smooth down his feathers later.

After a card with money from Mark's parents—her maternal grandparents had, as anticipated, sent nothing, not even a card—the last gift on the pile was the one from Mark joint with Bridget, who once again bounced in her seat.

It was the newest, latest smart phone, one she'd been dying for since its release months ago; it had all the bells and whistles, played music, took video, the works. Her face lit up, though she hardly seemed surprised to see it—she had, after all, hinted enough that this was the only gift she really wanted.

"Aw, cool!" she said, smiling happily. "Thank you so much, Bridget, Dad." She stood up and went over to where they sat, putting an arm around each of their shoulders, kissing their cheeks in turn.

This was evidently more than Natasha could bear. She rose from the table noisily. "Well, I must be off," she announced. "I'll be in London another couple of days, Ella. Lunch tomorrow?" Ella nodded, though it seemed reluctant, then she went over to kiss her mother goodbye. "I'll see myself out. Nice to meet you all. Happy birthday, my angel," she cooed before sweeping off into the house, managing a poisonous look at Bridget as she did so.

Ella's annoyance with her mother was short-lived, however, because it was her birthday, she was now sixteen, and the boy she liked had just given her a nice present. As the adults cleared off the table, Bridget noticed Liam offering to help Ella with the clasp on the bracelet. Elaine sidled up to Bridget and said quietly, "He seems like a nice young man."

"He does," she said, smiling herself, watching him trying to work the tiny clasp with his fingers, watching it catch at last, seeing him looking up to her with a proud grin… and not pulling his fingers away from her wrist right away.

"And I'm afraid the claws are out," said Elaine. "Natasha does not like the idea of you usurping her place."

"She has never liked that idea," said Bridget, thinking back eons ago to the Kafka's Motorbike book launch. "Was it that obvious?"

Elaine laughed. "Just a little."

"You know I'm not trying to take her mother's place," said Bridget worriedly.

"I know you're not trying," said Elaine approvingly, echoes of something Ella herself had once said, "but you're doing it nonetheless."

………

"So what on earth is she going to do with a fur coat?"

It was twilight, most of the party guests had gone, and Mark was collecting Ella's presents to bring them into the house.

"Return it, I imagine," she replied from her seat at the table. She was exhausted, her feet swollen, and Mark had more than once told her to go upstairs and rest, but she was enjoying the summer evening too much; the fairy lights she'd put up on the patio were on and it was beyond lovely out in the garden.

"Yes," he said. "I don't understand that woman's logic. I never have."

She sat back in the chair, sipped her orange juice, and with her hand protectively on her stomach, she thought back to the comment Natasha had made about the most effective method of snagging a husband. "Mark," she began tentatively. "Did you only marry her because of the baby?"

Judging by the cessation of all sound he had stopped what he was doing, and was quickly at her side again, taking a seat. "I was an idiot," he said.

"I take that to mean yes," she said gently.

"It seemed the right thing to do at the time," he said. "I didn't think it fair to make an innocent child pay for my mistake—"

She reached for his hand, covering it with her own. "You don't need to explain."

He looked inexplicably sad. "I do," he went on quietly. "She didn't find out until we were in New York. Hinted to me that she was going to end the pregnancy if we didn't marry. Said she didn't want to be burdened with the trouble of a baby."

Bridget was shocked, understanding his lowered tone at once; he didn't want Ella to hear that her own mother had used her as a bargaining chip to get Mark to marry her. "Oh my God."

"Please don't say anything to her," Mark said.

"Of course not, Mark," she said, feeling angry tears filling her eyes.

"I might not have ever loved Natasha," he said, "but I loved that child from the moment I knew she existed. I would have done just about anything for her."

At that Bridget actually began to cry. Mark took her into his arms, pulling her onto his lap, holding her close. "I know it's the hormones," she said through her tears, "but I can't imagine threatening my child—our child—to get my way."

"That, my love, is the difference between you two," he said gently, close to her ear.

"Do you think she might have really done it?"

Mark didn't answer immediately, and when he did, his voice was full of pain. "I think she would have."

She reared back and kissed him on the mouth. "But she didn't," said Bridget, "and you have a wonderful daughter."

He gazed into her eyes. "I wish she were our daughter."

Bridget smiled tenderly. "We'll have a child of ours soon enough," she said, striving for a light tone, "and besides, I love Ella as if she were my own."

That seemed to be just the right thing to say, for his face split into a smile and he held her to him again, then kissed her thoroughly, even as tears (this time of happiness) slid down her cheeks.

"Everything all right?" It was Elaine, poking her head out from where she had been washing up wine glasses.

"Everything's fine," said Mark, holding his wife to him. "I'm the luckiest man in the world."

………

Elaine joined Malcolm upstairs, and Mark was attempting to persuade Bridget in kind, but feeling a little pregnantly peckish, she insisted on making herself a snack before making the trip upstairs. He had offered to make something for her, but she wasn't sure what she wanted, so she told him to instead go upstairs and draw a bath for her. He agreed.

She had just decided on and made peanut butter toast when movement in the back garden caught her eye. She thought it was just a bunch of the fairy lights swinging in the wind—she cursed herself for having left them lit—but when she glanced up, she saw it was Ella, and Ella was not alone. She was beside Liam, and she was smiling as she looked up at him.

Bridget hadn't even realised the boy was still here, had thought Ella was up in her own room playing with her new phone; she froze in place though knew from her position in the darkened kitchen that she was not going to be seen. Probably Bridget could have been dancing around with her hair on fire and she wouldn't have been seen, because Ella's attention was thoroughly captured by Liam.

She saw Ella's mouth moving as she spoke; "I'm glad you came" was what she appeared to say. He smiled, gazing down into her eyes, and then slowly moved to—

Oh my God, thought Bridget. He's going to kiss her.

She wasn't sure if she should avert her eyes or watch to make sure he didn't take liberties with her, but in the end, she kept her eyes in their general direction, watching as she closed her eyes, as he bent to place a chaste, tender kiss on her lips.

The romantic in her was warring with the parent in her, and she wondered if Mark had ever rolled out the sex speech—then realised, yes, he must have, if she'd known (as Mark had declared) that he'd slept with Bridget that night in October months ago. But it was sweet and, under the fairy lights, probably the most innocent and perfect first (First? she thought, then decided based on his initial reluctance, yes, first.) kiss imaginable.

Liam was smiling at her again, stroking her cheek with his hand, before saying something to her and walking around outside rather than coming in through the house to leave. Ella looked beyond happy; her cheeks were flush and her eyes were glossy, and she was veritably bouncing in place. For her part, Bridget did not stay any longer in the kitchen; she did not want Ella to know she'd seen. She took her toast and headed up the stairs to the main floor, then, as she heard the French doors close and latch below, she continued up to the top floor and into the bedroom she shared with Mark.

"Bridget?"

She wondered about the state of her expression, because Mark was looking at her with some alarm. It was possible the alarm had more to do with her uneaten, cooling toast.

"Hm?" she asked.

"Something wrong?"

She shook her head, smiling wistfully. "Just remembering my first kiss."

He looked puzzled until he suddenly didn't. "Bridget," he began darkly. "Why would you say that?"

"I just inadvertently witnessed your daughter having hers."

For a moment she wished she hadn't said anything, so close to a cartoon-style lava-exploding-mountaintop did Mark's head come to be even before he spoke, but she was quick to soothe him. "It was a light goodbye peck by the very nice and extremely respectful Liam."

"Just a light peck?" he asked, regaining his composure.

Bridget nodded, then went up to him and demonstrated precisely what she'd seen. "Just like that. Then he left, and Ella came inside."

Mark calmed even farther until another thought occurred to him: "How do you know it was the first? Where had they been before that?"

Recalling Liam's hesitancy and obvious nervousness, she smiled. "I could tell it was the first, Mark. He was all shyness and tentativeness. It was really adorable."

"You will try to get details, won't you?" he asked.

"Mark!" she said with a laugh.

"I'm serious," he said. "I've come to terms with being a father again. I have no desire to become a…" He paused. "A grandfather too."

She placed her hands on his arms. "I will talk to her and ask her how her night was. If she confides in me, great. If not, I'll just mention how much we like Liam—" Mark grimaced, because he had liked Liam, at least before Liam became The Boy Who Kissed His Daughter. "—and remind her of the responsibility of being too adult, too soon." She patted her stomach and grinned.

"I'm not sure I feel any better," he said, but his calmer expression, his less ashen countenance said that he did, "but thank you."

She bit into her toast, getting peanut butter on her upper lip. "There was something about a bath?" she asked, smiling, pulling her tongue over her lip.

He bent to help her clean up the rest of the peanut butter. "Indeed," he said. "I think I might need to join you after that little trauma, though."

She chuckled.

A knock on the door prevented further de-peanut buttering. Taking a step back, Mark called out to please come in. It was an over-radiant Ella.

"Hi!" said Bridget with brightness in her voice. "Did you have a good night?"

From the look on his face, he clearly thought she was going to try to grill his daughter right then and there. Bridget knew though that she wouldn't open up about a kiss in front of her dad. "I had a great night. Thanks again for the party. I was just coming to say good night."

Snapping out of his deer-in-the-headlights state, Mark went over to her and gave her a warm hug. "Good night, dearest girl," he said softly. "Seems like only yesterday I was holding you, tiny as could be, in my arms."

She snorted a laugh. "Oh, Dad."

"Scoff if you will," he said, tightening his embrace then kissing her cheek before letting her go. "When you're a mother, a very, very long time from now, you'll understand."

She rolled her eyes then went to Bridget. "I'm glad you had a good day," she said quietly as she hugged her. "You know I'm here if there's anything you want to talk about, right?"

"Yeah," she said after a moment. Bridget pulled back and pecked her cheek, too.

"Sleep well," she said, "and don't stay up all night playing with your new phone."

"Nah," she said with a grin. "I have a lot to write in my diary."

Ella left, and Mark looked just as pale as before. She could hear the jest in his tone, though, as he said, "My God, she's turning into you."

"I suppose I can think of worse things," she replied with a laugh.

With that, he took her in his arms then began to divest her of her clothes. The bath water, after all, wasn't getting any warmer.