If Only…
By S. Faith, © 2014
Words: 34,644 in six chapters and an epilogue
Rating: T / PG-13
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes, Art credit: See Chapter 1.
(Epilogue still to come.)
Chapter 6: …To the Future
Early September 2013
They hadn't told the children who was coming for dinner Friday night because they thought if Billy or Mabel told their friends, it might seem strange to the other children (and possibly smack of favouritism to the children's parents). However, with the special dinner and pudding choices, they knew that someone was coming over, and when the front doorbell went off the two of them flew to the foyer ahead of their father.
When Mark swung the door open, the two of them were speechless at the sight of a teacher.
"Hello, Billy, Mabel," Wallaker said, looking to the two of them, then to Mark with a grin, undoubtedly at the reaction the children were having. "Hello, Mark."
"Come in, Scott."
"Daddy!" said Mabel, confused. "Is Mr Wolkda here to take Billy back to school?"
Wallaker laughed, then crouched down to meet her on her level. "I'm not here to take Billy to school."
"Are you takin' me?" she said, aghast.
"No, Mabel, I'm here to have dinner," he said. "Your mother invited me." He then handed her a small bag. "This is for you."
Her blue eyes went as round as saucers. "For me?"
He nodded, then looked to Billy, and held out a second bag. "One for you too. But you must save it for later, both of you."
Billy reached into his bag and pulled out a chocolate bar, huge grin on his face. Billy then asked eagerly, "Do you like butterscotch cake?"
"I happen to love butterscotch cake," Wallaker said, standing upright once again. "Wine for the adults," he said as he handed a larger bag to Mark. "Took a chance, brought a Chianti."
"Thanks," Mark said. "This will be perfect. I think dinner's nearly done, so we can take this down."
Mark was careful to observe Wallaker as they went to the lower level; the children ran down first, holding out their chocolate bars to show their mother. The reaction Mark saw did not surprise him. There was clearly a tenderness on Wallaker's face upon seeing her in her home, in her element. She had only made herself up with simple mascara and a little blusher; she was wearing a simple knee-length dress of cornflower blue; and she'd drawn her hair back into a pony tail when they'd started cooking. She turned away from putting together the finishing touches in order to bend and comment on the chocolate bars, suggesting none-too-subtly that they might want to share with their mother.
"And good evening to you," she said with a warm, sincere smile, meeting Wallaker's gaze as she brought herself to her full height again.
Mark said, "He brought wine for us."
"Oh, thanks."
"My pleasure," Wallaker said, speaking at last, clearing his throat. "Only hope it goes with dinner. I probably should have asked."
"Chianti? I think that'll be fine. What do you think, Mark?" she asked.
"Perfect," Mark repeated.
The children were asked to do their dinnertime tasks—Billy placed the forks to the left of the plates, and Mabel took her plastic tumbler to her place at the table—while Mark opened the bottle of wine and Bridget pulled down three wine glasses.
"Dinner smells wonderful," said Wallaker as Bridget indicated where he should sit.
"It's pink pasta," said Mabel brightly.
"It's a pasta dish with salmon," Bridget explained. "She likes pink. And salmon."
"I got to pick the pudding," said Billy.
"Let me guess," said Wallaker. "Your favourite pudding is butterscotch cake."
Billy's eyes went as wide as his sister's had earlier. "How did you know?" he asked in an awed whisper. Bridget discreetly covered her mouth with her hand to hide the chuckle elicited by this behaviour from her normally sceptical, logical son. Mark smiled too. Wallaker's only answer was to tap his temple and wink knowingly.
Dinner was a smashing success, with many compliments to the chefs and requests for seconds. Mark noticed Wallaker's total engagement with the children during their conversations, how he never talked down to them and always respectfully listened; Mark also noticed that Wallaker's wine intake was at most a glass, and that during lulls in conversation, his gaze went to Bridget.
The whole of the evening served to remind him of their conversation at the pub, of Wallaker's promise never to act on his attraction, and of how very fortunate Mark was, indeed. Wallaker was a good man, he pondered; the sort of man he might have liked Bridget with had he not returned from Sudan…
He then scolded himself for being a bit too morbid on such a pleasant night.
"Mr Wallaker," Billy asked as he tucked into his butterscotch cake with great enthusiasm, "do you have any kids?"
Through Bridget, from a conversation (rather, argument) she'd once had with Wallaker, Mark knew that he had two sons who attended boarding school; at Billy's question the two shared a look. Wallaker glanced to Billy. "I do, actually," he said. "I'm thinking of bringing them to the school in time for the next term."
"Really?" Billy asked. "Cool. Maybe we could have play dates or something."
"They're a little bit older than you are," he said. "They'd be in the Senior Branch. But I wouldn't object to…" He mockingly pulled a face. "…play dates."
Bridget giggled; Mark knew how much she hated that term. "I wouldn't either, to be honest."
"They play Xbox," Billy stated; he assumed everyone did, and wanted to play with him.
"Naturally," Wallaker said with equal coolness.
"Mr Wolkda," began Mabel, continuing only when his attention was turned to her, "why don't you have a girl for me to play with?"
"Sorry, Mabel, just didn't work out that way," he said. "Though if I did have a little girl, I'd want her to be just like you."
Mark swore he saw Bridget's eyes get a bit misty at that comment.
Billy invited Wallaker to play some after-pudding Xbox, but he declined. "It's probably close to your bedtime," he said, "and I should be off. But I thank you for a most excellent dinner and even better company. All of you."
"It was our pleasure," Bridget said. "But please, Mr Wallaker, you don't have to leave just because they have to go to bed. I insist you stay for some coffee, and this cake isn't going to eat itself."
Mark knew Wallaker wouldn't refuse, and Mark was right. "If you insist, Bridget, then I think I must. I mean… Mrs Darcy."
She waved her hand; of course she was not offended at this slip of his tongue. "Pfft, 'Bridget' is fine. Come on, children, off we go."
Mark half-expected Billy and Mabel to put up a fight knowing Wallaker remained behind, but they were surprisingly compliant. Mabel even insisted on giving Wallaker a hug goodnight, surprising him with a peck on the cheek. "Night, Mr Wolkda."
After the three of them disappeared from view up the stairs, Mark went over to set up the cafetière with decaffeinated coffee. "Sorry about that," Wallaker said. "Didn't mean to be… you know. Familiar."
"If it doesn't bother her, it doesn't bother me," Mark said. "But I would probably feel the same in your place, so I do know why you're apologising. Really, it's fine."
Wallaker still looked a bit sheepish. "Glad to hear."
As the coffee began to burble and percolate, Mark said, "I don't think I can ever thank you enough for your invaluable assistance. I shall be forever grateful."
"It was nothing at all," he said. "I'm just pleased I could be of help. Or rather, that they can be of help."
By the time Mark was pouring a black coffee for Wallaker, Bridget returned. "There, they're all sorted," she said.
"Did they give you any trouble?" Mark said, moving on to her mug with milk and sugar.
"Not a bit," she said. "I think they didn't dare with Mr Wallaker here."
"Please, feel free to call me Scott," Wallaker said as he brought his mug away from his lips.
She looked dubious, but agreed. "It's going to feel a bit weird, to be truthful… Scott."
Talking to each other like adults without references to the children at school was a bit weird, too, but they managed to get over it quickly enough. Mark knew Wallaker didn't like to talk about his time in the service, so instead thought about the summer concert, and asked about music.
"I play guitar, and the piano," he said. "It has been a constant creative outlet and a source of solace my whole life."
"Oooh," Bridget said. "Do you write music, too?"
"Actually," he said with a grin, "I have been known to compose a tune or two."
"How exciting!" she said, cheeks blooming with colour. "Anything I might know?"
"Probably not," he said. "I've done some collaboration with an old pal of mine, Jake Barton. I think they—he and his band—still play them."
"What's the band name?" she said. "Come on, do tell."
He said the name, not one Mark had ever heard before, but it sparked instant recognition in her. "Oh my God! Shaz and I… we used to see them play in the clubs around town. That song…" She snapped her fingers, trying to summon the name. "Very big around the time we got married, Mark. What was it called? Something about the moon?"
"'Moonlight in Her Eyes'," supplied Wallaker, almost sheepishly.
"Yes, that's it! So lovely," she said. "And to think, here you are, dinner at our house, teaching my son at school. What a world."
Indeed, thought Mark.
"So did you ever play the club scene with them?" Bridget continued.
He shook his head. "I didn't think of myself as having much of a stage presence," he said.
"Oh, nonsense!" Bridget said. "You were so good up there on stage with the children."
"Children are one thing," Wallaker mused. "Performing in front of drunk adults is something else altogether."
"I don't know," she said with a grin. "I can think of quite a few similarities between small children and pissed nightclub-goers."
At this he too grinned, then began to laugh. "So enough about picturing me performing on a guitar in front of vomiting twenty-somethings. You and a television crew, and Sit Up Britain. How did you get into all of that?"
Bridget then began to detail exactly how. "Well, it all started when I had to leave my previous job because I'd sha—I mean, slept with my boss," she began, revealing perhaps that she'd had a bit too much wine, and revealing an all-too amused reaction from Wallaker. As she continued, Mark sat and observed the two interacting. As they talked and joked a little, Mark got a true picture of the tangible chemistry that the two of them had together. His thoughts returned to his morbid consideration of earlier, how they might have made a good couple if circumstances had been different.
Mark was just as glad circumstances were not different. He smiled, though, because as morbid as they were, they were only thoughts, and he didn't need to dwell on them at all. He had his wife, his children, his life.
"—kind of a surprise, to be honest," Bridget was saying as he shook himself from his reverie. "We'd spent so long trying for Billy and then boom! Along came Mabel, almost out of the blue."
"What about your sons?" Mark asked. "You said they were old enough for the Senior Branch…"
"Yes," he said. "Matthew and Frederick, after my father and Sarah's."
"Oh, that's lovely," Bridget said. "And their ages?"
"Thirteen—that's Matt, and Fred's eleven," he said, smiling a little, revealing his fatherly pride.
"And do you get to see them often?" she asked. "I couldn't bear the thought of Billy going—well, you know what I mean. I swear I'm not trying to put pressure about the school issue."
Wallaker nodded. "I know. And I get to see them quite often. Every school break."
Mark knew Bridget did not consider this 'quite often' by any standard, but she didn't further comment. "Talking of school, what does Sarah think of the idea of them attending the Senior Branch here?"
To Mark's surprise, Wallaker chuckled. "To be quite honest, she doesn't like it, which makes me want to do it more." Bridget must have registered surprise on her face, too, because he added, "I guess I'm not a complete ogre after all, am I?"
Surely this referred to a conversation—argument?—they'd once had, or at least a comment she'd once made, because he saw her face tint pink with her embarrassment. Mark could not help but say, affecting a scolding tone, "Oh, now Bridget… tell me you didn't."
"Mark, honestly," she shot back, which made them both laugh.
Wallaker finished his coffee and set down the mug, which seemed to signal the evening was drawing to a close. "Thank you for an excellent meal," he said, rising to his feet, which Mark and Bridget also did. "I had a very nice time." He offered a smile and it seemed sincere, though maybe a little bit forced.
"It was a pleasure having you here," said Bridget, "and a pleasure getting to know you." Mark opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him. "Not a word. I'm not too proud to admit I was wrong."
The two men shared a chuckle.
Once they had said their goodnights and had seen Wallaker to the door, they went upstairs to turn in for the night. As they prepared for bed—brushing of hair, cleaning of teeth, etc.—Bridget said to Mark, "I'm glad to hear that I might have swayed him to pull his boys out of boarding school."
"Sounds like nothing's definite yet," Mark said, "and how do you know it was your doing?"
"Well, it certainly wasn't that cow of an ex-wife's idea. She would just as soon have them out of sight and out of mind."
"That's not very kind," Mark said.
"I know," Bridget said, pausing long enough to splash her face with water. "But I feel it to be true. I mean, he splits from her for good and shortly after he considers bringing them home. It's got to be connected."
"You're probably right."
"He'd probably have to move to a house, though," she said, patting a soft cotton towel against her dampened skin, then hung the towel back up. "He can't live in that flat with two growing boys. Far too small, no garden…"
Mark furrowed his brows. "How do you…?"
She grinned. "The night I dropped him home, silly, after you two had been sousing it up. There's no way there are three bedrooms in there, judging from the outside."
He did feel silly, and he strode forward to take her in his arms. "Oh."
With a fond tickle on the small of his back, she teased, "You're not jealous, are you?"
"Very funny," he said, taking advantage of their embrace to kiss her, then the paucity of clothing to make her sigh.
"Sometimes it feels like we're twenty years younger," she said later.
"You keep me young," he murmured, then kissed the top of her head as he squeezed her to him.
…
December 2013
Mark had always been prone to caution, though in this case he was at least optimistic. Several weeks had passed since he'd had his final appointment with Dr Spencer, and the difference between the start of his treatment, his therapeutic sessions with her, and now was, to use a cliché, like night and day. The darkness in the recesses of his psyche had cleared away, a darkness he'd not even been aware he'd possessed.
Better still, there had been no more nightmares. No more panic attacks.
Yes, he thought he could declare himself healed.
"Mark?"
He looked up, meeting her gaze. She looked concerned, and realised she had good reason: he had tears on his cheek.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, rising to his feet from where he sat at the breakfast nook, holding out his arms to enfold her, then explained what he'd just been thinking. "These are happy tears," he concluded.
He heard her start to cry a little as her embrace tightened. "I am so happy to hear this," she said, but then drew back suddenly. "You're not just saying this. You really are nightmare-free."
"I really am," he said. It was not as if the doubt was unprecedented. "I'm lighter than I have been in years, in spirit."
She placed her hands on his face, studied his features as if seeing them for the first time in years, then leaned forward and kissed him. "I can see it," she said with a smile, eyes still glistening with her own happy tears. "Best news I've had in a while."
"Why ith everyone cryin'?"
They both turned to see Mabel standing there, Saliva in her arm, worry on her tiny face.
"We're happy that Daddy's all better," said Bridget.
"Oh," she said. After a moment's thought, she decided, "It's thilly to cry if you're happy."
"Happy about what?"
Now it was Billy come down for breakfast on this lazy Saturday morning, his own features screwed up as he tried to figure out what was going on. Funny, thought Mark, that his son seemed to have had a little growth spurt while he wasn't looking. Tall for his age, just like his dad had been.
"That your father's all better, Billy," said Bridget, going over to him, slipping an arm around his shoulders. "No more nightmares."
Billy blinked rapidly, then smiled broadly. "That's awesome."
Mark held out his hand, and Billy went over for a hug. "Thank you," Mark said, then kissed his boy on the top of his head.
"Thank me? What for?"
"Just for being you," he said.
"Aw, Dad," he said, a bit embarrassed as they drew apart. After a moment's thoughtfulness, Billy asked, "It's a sort of special day, isn't it? A celebration?"
"Yes, it really is."
"I have an idea, then," said Billy with a sly smirk.
"Oh?" Mark had a feeling he knew where this was going.
"Yeah," Billy said. "Can we have pizza for dinner?"
Bridget started laughing. "We have created a monster."
"Ohh, can we? Can we?" begged Mabel, tugging on Bridget's dressing gown.
Bridget shot Mark a glance and a grin, raising a brow to wordlessly say she didn't object if he didn't.
"Sure," said Mark; even if he had objected, he would have been overridden.
To maintain the festive mood, they decided to take the children to a local pizzeria rather than get delivery. As they enjoyed their margherita pizza, Billy and Mabel behaved wonderfully. Only at the end of the night did Mabel began to get a little cranky and whiny, which seemed perfectly reasonable to her mother.
"It is a bit past her bedtime," she reminded, scooping Mabel up; Mabel clung like a koala, sniffling from crying.
Mabel and Billy, sated from pizza, fell asleep during the short drive home. Bridget too started to yawn. He would have been surprised had she not.
"A good night," said Mark.
"Yes," she said. "A very good night." She reached over and rested her hand on his. "I'm proud of you."
"If you hadn't pushed me," he began.
"What the threat of divorce will do to a man," she said with a little chuckle. "We can't forget what we owe to Mr Wal—I mean Scott."
"Indeed," Mark said. "If he hadn't happened upon me that day in Regent's Park…"
"Wait, what? You just said you met; I assumed at the pub. What happened?"
So he told her about the events of the afternoon after he'd had that paralysing panic attack, but omitted the frank admission by Wallaker about his attraction to her. "Wow," she said at the end of it.
"I'm sure I would have eventually returned to the office, returned home…" he began. "But I would probably be in a very different place right now." A bachelor's flat, he thought darkly.
She squeezed her and over his. "I owe him more than I thought," she murmured. She took in a deep breath. "Oh, talking of, er, Scott… the Christmas holiday's almost upon us. Wonder what he decided about his boys?"
"I haven't heard," he said.
"I'll have to ask on the school run on Monday." She went quiet. "You know, I hate to think of him all on his own."
"Bridget," Mark cautioned; he knew where her train of thought was heading.
"I think he and Jude would be—"
"No," he said. "You know I am very fond of Jude, but let's be honest… she's a bit of a basket case. Just don't."
"Hmmph," she said, though he guessed that silently, she agreed.
…
"He's not moving."
This grim-sounding non sequitur greeted Mark as he came into the kitchen on Monday evening to help with the end of dinner preparation; some kind of soup, from the look of it. "Pardon?"
"Scott," she said, sprinkling a bright yellow spice into the pot of broth; turmeric, he thought, because nothing else was that luridly yellow. "The boys are coming to Senior Branch, after all. But he's not moving house. The boys share a second room in the flat when they visit him, anyway, so they're sorted. I never would have guessed."
"As long as they're all comfortable and happy," said Mark. "If it was our influence that helped him make that decision, then I'm even more pleased."
"Apparently Sarah threw a mild tantrum at some supposed loss of stature," she said. "But he didn't back down, asked when she started caring when she was planning gallivanting 'round France with her latest boyfriend for the holidays, anyway. That shut her up."
Mark smiled, though felt sorry for Sarah, for everything she was missing with her children. In the long run, though, if her priorities were that skewed, she was probably not the best influence for them to have in their lives. He slipped his hand along Bridget's waist before embracing her, her back against his chest, and nuzzling into her neck.
"Mark," she said, giggling, as he tightened his embrace.
Bridget, on the other hand… the most perfect mother to his children he ever could have wanted. "I love you," he said quietly.
"I love you too," she said, shaking another spice into the bubbling broth, "but if you burn your arm on the soup pot, you'll have no one to blame but yourself."
"A risk I'm willing to take," he said.
…
It didn't seem like a good idea, but Mark could hardly tell her why he felt that way, so he agreed to allow her to invite Wallaker to the modest New Year's Eve party they were throwing at home. "And the boys too, for Billy and Mabel's sake," said Bridget, though he failed to see how Mabel would care either way. "If they're staying with their father for the holiday, that is."
"No objections," said Mark; he actually quite wanted the chance to talk a bit more with the man, let him know how well he'd been doing since the recommended treatment, though he suspected Wallaker would not accept the invitation. He was surprised to hear, then, that Wallaker did in fact accept… for himself and his boys, as well.
"He wavered a bit until I suggested they come for dinner beforehand," she said. "Hope you don't mind. I just thought it would give the children time to play before they all started zonking out."
"Of course I don't mind," Mark said. "Have you told the children yet?"
"Yes," said Bridget, then laughed. "Billy wants pizza."
This made Mark chuckle. "Of course he does."
Mark had feared that perhaps dinner would be a little awkward, but he was wrong. The atmosphere was festive and conversation was plenty, and he swore he hadn't seen Billy overcome with such raucous fits of laughter in ages.
Mark was pleased that Billy and Wallaker's boys got along extremely well; Matt and Fred did not treat Billy like a baby despite being a bit younger than they were. After dinner, as they turned to Xbox, it became clear that Matt and Fred seemed to be fascinated by Mabel; she was an alien creature to them and they humoured her, and allowed her to play with them.
"They don't know any other little girls," Wallaker said, nursing his beer. This made sense to Mark; all-boys boarding school, no sisters, and evidently no female cousins.
"Then I suppose they'll have no idea that she can be a stubborn little demon compared to other little girls," joked Bridget.
"I would be surprised if she were a meek and mild frail flower of femininity," said Mark, "given who her mother is. Not half the demon you were at that age, if I recall."
"Bah." She reached over and playfully swatted at her husband. "I am glad, though, to see them all getting along," Bridget said.
"Me too," said Wallaker. "Would have made for a strained night, otherwise."
This, Mark noticed, was said with a long look at Bridget.
Other guests began to arrive at about nine in the evening, bearing trays of little finger foods for grazing. One by one they arrived: Jude, Tom, Tom's Hungarian-architect boyfriend Arkis, Talitha, Magda and Jeremy, and Giles.
"Oh, Bridget, you haven't changed a bit," said the latter as he arrived, giving Bridget a friendly hug and peck on the cheek. "Still look as gorgeous as you did when I met you."
"You are too kind, Giles," she said, flushing with her embarrassment.
After Mark introduced Giles to Wallaker—as he did so, he couldn't help thinking that there were never two men more dissimilar than they were—Bridget made the introductions to her friends.
"Mr Wallaker—Scott—is a teacher at Billy's school," explained Bridget. "He was a big, big help to us recently. We owe him a lot."
"Very nice to meet you," said Jude; Mark could not help noticing that the women—Magda included—were giving him very appreciative looks.
To Mark's surprise, rather than get drowsy, the children seemed to be invigorated by the energy of the party. "They napped," said Bridget. "They wanted to be able to stay up until midnight."
Billy and Mabel were happy to see their 'aunts' and 'uncles', to introduce their new friends to them. Everyone seemed comfortable and friendly. It soon became very evident to Mark that Bridget was trying very hard to push Jude and Wallaker together. The two of them did seem to hit it of fairly well, animatedly chatting throughout the evening. Jude was evidently attracted to Wallaker, but while Wallaker was by no means rude, Mark did not see much evidence that the reverse was true.
Mark suspected that Jude noticed too, and this was proved to him when, at the end of the evening, after the chime of midnight and the flow of champagne, Jude came to him with an air of concern.
"Mark," she said, "I don't know how to tell you this, but… I think Scott's got a bit of a crush on Bridget."
Mark nodded. "I know."
"You know?" Jude was astonished.
"He told me," said Mark. He held up his hand. "He told me he would never actually act on it. I believe him. I think he's an honourable man."
Mark could tell that Jude thought so too. "How can Bridget not see it?" she asked.
Mark smiled. "Think about what you're saying."
Jude smiled too, then laughed a little before growing serious once more. "How can he torture himself in this way, though?"
"It's a question," Mark murmured.
One by one the guests started to wander away once they'd sobered up enough to do so. Wallaker and his drowsy boys were among the last. "I'll help you help them out to your car," Mark said.
"Appreciate it," said Wallaker.
Once the boys were safely in the back, all buckled in and dozing off again in record time, Wallaker turned with an expression that Mark found difficult to read. At last he spoke. "It's been a good night—they've had a great time. Thank you."
"Think nothing of it," Mark said.
"I'd… wanted to talk to you about something," he said unexpectedly, "but it's far too late. We'll chat another day."
"Oh," said Mark, for a lack of anything more to say. "All right. Drive safely."
With that, he got into his car and drove off.
"I am shattered," said Bridget wearily as he came in, holding out her arms for a reassuring cuddle. "The kids are in bed and we're next, I think."
"Yes," he said; he decided not to bring up the strange parting comment of Wallaker's at that moment. "Happy New Year."
…
1 Jan 2014
It was dark and the space felt close, but it took Mark a moment to realise that he was in the armoured vehicle again, because everything about the scene was so similar yet very different. There was no sense of danger at all, only peace and calm, like he was only watching a film that he knew ended well.
He glanced over and saw that his driver was Wallaker; he was focused on the road ahead, jaw taut with concentration. He would ask Wallaker where they were going but he had the feeling Wallaker would not answer, or if he did, would just say to pay attention. That the signs were all there, telling of their destination.
Looking out of the windows offered no clues; everything was shrouded in the mists of a thick fog. Mark decided to just be patient. All would be revealed in due time.
The vehicle came to a stop—not that he felt it stop, but rather, he realised suddenly that they were no longer moving—and his door popped open. "Goodbye," said Wallaker in a quiet voice, almost emotional-sounding, though the man rarely sounded emotional in his presence. He did not look at Mark as he departed the vehicle.
It was then that Mark saw where he was: in front of his own house. He turned to ask for an explanation but the vehicle's door slammed shut, and Wallaker sped away.
Mark's eyes opened, not in a panicked instant, but in wonder. It was still dark in the room around him, only the hint of a sunrise to come, and he blinked a few times, drew a few breaths before closing his eyes again to ponder the meaning of this particular dream.
Later, over breakfast, he relayed the dream to Bridget, though left off the end where Wallaker seemed to be leaving for the last time. "Well, it's obvious what this means," she said, sipping her coffee.
He thought so too, but was interested in her opinion so he asked, "Oh? How so?"
"Well, it was Wallaker's recommendation that got you cured of your nightmares."
"PTSD," he corrected.
"You know what I mean," she said. "Symbolic of taking you safely home."
"It's a surprise that Mabel wasn't in there somewhere," he said, though wondered if the end was equally relevant to the tale, a signal of the end of his presence in their lives. His feelings on this were conflicting: he liked the man just as his whole family did, but he also knew the feelings he had for Bridget must have made a friendship with them difficult.
…
Mid-January 2014
It was about a fortnight after the party when Mark remembered that Wallaker had wanted to talk to him in private, so he offered on the Friday of that week to do the school run. "Oh," said Bridget. "Okay. Thanks, love."
She probably thought he was just being helpful; she did not ask if there was an ulterior motive. That was just fine by him. He was not sure he would have answered entirely truthfully. He got the sense Wallaker did not want her to know about his chat request.
"Hello," said Mark, as Billy came out of the school accompanied by Wallaker, the latter of whom seemed surprised to see him.
"Hey, Dad," said Billy.
"Billy, can you keep an eye on your sister for a moment?" he asked. Mabel, all done up in her coat, hat, scarf and mittens, could hardly move nimbly enough to get into real trouble.
"Sure."
As soon as Billy went to his sister to take on the very serious task of watching her, Mark said, "I thought I might come by, catch up with you. You'd said you'd had something to talk to me about."
"Ah. Yes." He thrust his hands in his jacket pockets, looking down. "I've decided to accept an offer working with my brother. Consulting. My last day as a teacher here is just before the spring holiday."
Just shy of three months away. Mark was a bit surprised, and said so.
"I've enjoyed the teaching, but it was never meant to be a permanent career."
"In the middle of a school term, though? Why?"
"Mark," he said, raising his gaze, "I think you know why."
Mark did. "I'm sorry," he said at last.
"You hardly have anything to be sorry for," he said. "I've enjoyed our friendship, but it's difficult to have constant contact with…" He trailed off. The words did not need to be said: a woman I can never have.
"The children will be sad." Mark was thinking 'devastated' but saw no point in saying so. "Billy in particular. But I suppose it's not like you'll be leaving town."
"Actually…" he began. "I am. It—he—is in Scotland."
"What about the boys?" Mark asked, under the impression that they had started in the Senior Branch, though had not actually seen them.
"I decided to keep the boys at their current school through the end of the term. Didn't want to uproot them twice in one school year."
Mark understood.
Wallaker continued: "I can't… move on without distance." He drew in a rapid, deep breath. "Plus I'll enjoy working with my brother."
"What kind of work?" asked Mark, grateful for the change in subject.
"Construction," he said. "Civil engineering is what I trained for in uni. Useful in Afghanistan. Would like to put my knowledge to civilian use."
"Daddy!" Billy's voice shattered their conversation. "Mabel's gonna eat the snow!"
Mark glanced away. "I should probably take them home." Wallaker nodded. "Should I break the news to Bridget?"
Wallaker nodded once more. "Yes, I think she should hear it from you. But the children… not yet. It's not public knowledge yet. I don't want them to tell other children."
"Understood."
"Daddy!" Billy shrieked.
Mark smiled. "Well. Best be off."
"Cheers, Mark."
Mark went over to collect his children, determining that Mabel had not in fact eaten the snow. When he turned back, Wallaker had already disappeared back into the school.
Arriving home, he tried his best to not look dejected and to hide his anxiety, knowing he'd have to give her the unhappy news, but there was no fooling Bridget. Once the children were safely occupied—Mabel with her Sylvanians, and Billy getting a head start on his homework—she took him aside. "What's wrong?" she asked darkly.
There was no avoiding answering. "Scott's leaving teaching to go work with his brother."
"What?!"
He explained some of what Wallaker had told him; that he wouldn't be returning after the spring break and that they were not to say a word to the children.
"But why?" she asked, pouting a little. "I though he liked his job."
Mark could only say, "He wants to get back to doing what he's been trained to do."
"What, night raids in Afghanistan?"
"No, Bridget," he said sternly. "Civil engineering."
She pursed her lips. "Sorry," she said. "Didn't mean to sound flippant. I just think Billy will be very disappointed, though the boys will still…" She trailed off when he shook his head. "What? They're leaving the school?"
"They never started, as it turns out," Mark said, then explained what Wallaker had told him about their current school.
She sighed. "I'm glad for him, but… I just… I felt like we were just getting to know him, and now he's going far away."
Mark considered that this was probably the point, but of course did not say so. In a sense, the dream had come true, after all. Wallaker had delivered him safely home, and now he would be speeding off.
…
And Mark was truly home.
As the weeks went by, this fact became ever more apparent, though his desire to cut back his working hours even more to ensure that every evening and weekend was free made Bridget wonder and worry a bit.
"You love your work, though," she said.
"But I love you all more," he explained. "If I have the luxury available to me to be more involved in our family, in raising the children, then I should take advantage of that."
She smirked, but he could tell she was touched very deeply.
Billy took the news of Wallaker's departure from his school, from London to Scotland, with more courage—or at least, a bigger show of courage—than Mark expected. "We can still keep in touch, though, right?" Billy asked, a small blossom of hope.
"Sure!" Bridget said brightly. "We can… send a little going-away present to him and his boys up in the north. And then stay in touch."
Mark was not as optimistic, and unfortunately turned out to be right. After the spring holiday, though, the new sport teacher took over the class, and Billy could do nothing but talk of the man for a fortnight afterward. Bridget and Mabel also seemed caught up in the excitement of the new teacher, and if they ever compared him to the old teacher, they never said so out loud.
It seemed the adage was true; people sometimes came into one's life sometimes for a singular purpose, and just as quickly went out again. Mark would occasionally think fondly of Wallaker, would be forever grateful for his help, but understood the distance he had to keep.
It was a distance with which he had once been familiar.