Change of Heart
By S. Faith, © 2011
Words: 59,705 (11 chapters in all) / 4,120 (this chapter)
Rating: M / R
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes, Style Note, etc.: See Chapter 1.
Chapter 2: Aidan Returns
Returning Aidan to school was uneventful, which was exactly how Mark liked things. For the first few days after his departure he saw a marked difference in Bridget's demeanour, which was understandable; he knew she missed their son and was never good about hiding it. Fortunately she seemed her old self by the end of the week; that is to say, disruptive to his working on Friday night by sitting on the floor by the sofa he occupied, and poking at his toes.
"Bridget," he said, tone verging on stern.
"Hmm?"
"Please stop that."
Through the fabric of his sock she began to pull on the tips of his toes. "Stop what?" she asked innocently.
"Stop trying to take off my toes."
She made a dismissive sound. "I'm doing nothing of the sort," she said.
"Bridget," he said again.
"There's no court tomorrow," she said, grabbing the toe of his sock and tugging. "Come on. You don't have to work all the time." Once the sock was off she began to run her fingers on his toe knuckles.
Mark dropped the papers he had been reviewing onto his lap. "What did you have in mind?" he asked suspiciously, knowing full well that Lizzie was at home.
This made her laugh as if she knew what he'd suspected her of suggesting. "I could continue to… admire your nice feet," she said, "or we could play Monopoly with our daughter."
"You two are a menace with Monopoly. Scrabble, maybe."
"No way," she said. "You two gang up on me with your giant vocabularies."
It was his turn to laugh. "You have a very impressive vocabulary," he said, reaching to comb through her hair with his fingers. "Surely larger than an eleven-year-old's."
"I'm not so sure," she said.
"Though it's true that half the words you use can't be found in any dictionary I've ever seen."
"Mum, are you bugging Dad when he's trying to work?"
It was that very same eleven-year-old, standing at the door with her hands on her hips, scowling in a way that reminded Mark of himself. Bridget tried very hard not to laugh, but was not successful, looking from husband to daughter then back again. "Are you sure I gave birth to that girl?" she asked, affecting a serious tone.
"Absolutely," Mark said. He set his papers to the side and patted the sofa cushion gently to invite Lizzie over. When she sat he put his arm around her and pulled her close to peck a kiss into her hair. "You know, I don't really need to work tonight."
"No?" she asked, drawing back to look at him.
He shook his head. "And if your mother kindly returns my sock to me perhaps we can all do something fun together."
"I won't," said Bridget with a wicked smile, "because I can't guarantee once you have it you won't just go back to work. Instead you can play Scrabble with a chilly foot."
Her choosing Scrabble surprised him enough that he did not respond, and his silence was taken as acceptance. Play they did, opting for going fast and loose with the official rules; this of course resulted in Bridget inventing a very amusing imaginary word. "Use 'dororfone' in a sentence," challenged Mark.
"'I did not hear you answer the dororfone,'" Bridget said smugly.
"Fair enough, Dad," said Lizzie with a resignation beyond her years. "She did use it in a sentence."
He could no longer hold back his amusement, and chuckled as he shook his head. "Fair enough. Tally up your score."
It was his turn next; looking at his available letters and the available places on the board, he began to very thoughtfully lay down the tiles.
"'Prilious'—what's that mean?" asked Lizzie.
"It's a rare word," he said with solemnity. "It refers to pretty ladies who cheat at Scrabble."
At this Bridget burst out with a laugh and reached across to playfully punch him in the shoulder. "Fine, fine," she said. "Add it up."
Mark noticed that their daughter was looking a little disturbed. "Lizzie," he said as he calculated his points, "what's the matter?"
"I thought we were just going to be able to use proper names and so on," she said with grave concern. "I wasn't expecting fake words."
"They aren't fake," said Bridget. "They just haven't been invented until now."
Lizzie looked to her father as if she thought her mother might not be a tiny bit mad, and not for the first time.
"Why don't you give it a try?" encouraged Bridget. "Surely there are words that you think should exist but don't."
Lizzie pursed her lips, but Mark detected after a few minutes one of the corners of her mouth twitch upward. Slowly she lifted her hand and reached for her tiles, slowly laying out a non-existent word.
"'Boolit'?" asked Mark.
Lizzie nodded. "Stupid boys at school who bother me."
"Bother you?" asked Mark, his protective temper surfacing. "Bother you how?"
"You know, bragging and goofing off, and generally being obnoxious."
Bridget stifled a laugh. "She is only eleven, Mark."
"And I was aged eleven once," said Mark.
"Were you a boolit, then?" queried Bridget with a smirk.
"No," he said. "But I knew plenty of them."
Bridget ended up winning the game with a nearly-all-consonant word she explained meant 'lint in your pocket for which no reasonable explanation of its presence exists'; by this point Lizzie was fully enjoying herself and declared that she liked the expanded rules very much indeed.
"I'm glad," said Bridget, reaching and giving her a quick hug around the shoulders. "Now why don't you go into the front room and pick out a film for us to watch together?"
"Okay," she said with a grin.
After she left, as Mark was putting the game board away, Bridget sighed. "Well, I think there is no further doubt," she said.
"About what?"
"That she's my daughter." She grinned. "After all, she independently invented a family-friendly version of 'fuckwit'."
Mark closed the box and smiled to himself. "Genetics will out," he said jokingly, then looked up to his wife, thinking that he could not remember not loving her like he did. "Have any thoughts beyond the film?"
She raised a single brow. "I get the feeling you do."
He smirked a little. "Mm, yes."
"And would it involve the sort of activity that resulted in our progeny?"
"Indeed," he said, "except that I'm too old for additional progeny."
"Not too old for the activity, to be sure."
"Never too old for that," he said, leaning to give her a quick kiss; as he did he heard out Lizzie declare she was putting the disc in for viewing. He chuckled and sat up. "I guess that's our cue," he said, rising to his feet. "Let's go and watch The Wizard of Oz for the hundredth time."
Mark was, of course, dead right about her choice of film. Lizzie loved the idea of a tornado picking her up and transporting her to a magical, colour-saturated land, and had been supremely disappointed to learn that tornados were very uncommon in England.
By the end of the film, as expected, Lizzie was sleepy enough to be herded off to Bedfordshire; afterwards Mark took his wife by the hand and led her to their own room.
"I like when you do that," she said as he peeled her knit shirt off of her.
"Take off your shirt?" he asked, folding it in half then in half again before tossing it into the laundry hamper.
"No," she said with a chuckle. "When you lead me off to bed by the hand. It seems so… gentlemanly."
"I promise," he said, reaching for her trouser clasp, "it will be the last gentlemanly thing I do tonight."
She waggled her brows playfully at him. "Promises, promises," she said in a low voice, then got up onto her toes, slipped her arms around his neck, and kissed him deeply.
…
"Mother. So glad to see you."
Mark took his mother's hands and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Dearest Mark," she said, her fingers pressing into his skin. "I am sorry to be such a burden."
"You a burden? Hardly," he said, helping her to sit on the sofa. "I wish you had told me sooner you were coming."
"I didn't want to trouble you any more than I had to."
"That is just about the silliest thing I ever heard." This was Bridget's voice; she had just come in, too. "We could have come to pick you up in Grafton Underwood instead of you having to take the train in."
"I would have taken a cab from the station, but…." She drifted off. "I was short of cash on hand."
Bridget made a dismissive sound. "You are not a burden in the least, Elaine, and I'm happy to have gone for you," she emphasised. "In fact, I wish you'd just come live with us here and be done with it. Lizzie would love it."
Elaine did not respond, and Mark knew why: she did not want to relinquish the last thing representing her independence and her life with her husband, which was living in the house in Grafton Underwood. Mark went to his wife and with a subtle gesture called her aside, out of hearing range of his mother. "Did you manage to determine why she's in London?"
"Not really. She only mentioned an appointment."
"Is this for the Rotary's charity drive?" he asked quietly. "I could have sworn that was next month in Grafton Underwood."
"Not that kind of appointment, Mark," she said. "A doctor's appointment."
Mark felt his face drain of colour and he turned to his mother. "Mother, what's this about a doctor's appointment?"
Elaine looked embarrassed. "It's nothing," she said. "Probably nothing. Just been a little short of breath lately, and the doctor in Kettering recommended I see someone who's a bit of a specialist in this sort of thing. I didn't want you to worry."
Of course he would worry, but saying so would not help matters. He let out a quick breath. "When's the appointment?"
"Tomorrow, early morning."
"I've already offered to take her," said Bridget pre-emptively. "We're not shooting until the afternoon."
"I don't have court," said Mark. "Really, it would not be a problem."
"Mark, it's okay," Elaine said gently with a smile. "I'd really like the company of my daughter-in-law."
He tried not to feel wounded at the rejection; probably she just preferred female companionship at the doctor's, and he was, after all, quite pleased that the love and affection between his mother and his wife was so well reciprocated. He wondered if he was just overreacting, but if he was, he had a good foundation to do so; she had in the past shielded him from bad news. After all, Mark had never known how serious his father's condition was until after he had passed away.
"Besides, you've already committed to picking up Aidan," reminded Bridget.
"I'm really sure it's nothing," said Elaine, smiling.
After visiting the specialist the next day, Bridget phoned to let him know that they had run some tests, but on the whole this specialist felt nothing serious was wrong. "We're going to go shopping, Elaine, Lizzie and me," she said. "I hope you don't mind, but I've asked Elaine to stay the week. Honestly, I think her biggest problem is that she's just too lonely, and since Aidan's coming back for long leave…."
"I don't mind at all." The news actually gave him a measure of relief.
"The test results should be back before she leaves, so she gave the house number for contact."
"That seems a long time."
"They don't think it's a matter of urgency."
He didn't say anything.
"We'll have fun. Don't worry," she added in a lighter tone. "She feels fine, except for fretting over causing you worry."
At this he chuckled. "She's worried about worrying me," he said. "Tell her I'm fine."
"But I know you're not."
"Just tell her I'm fine," he said again.
After a beat, she said, "Okay, I will. Love you."
Mark went back to his paperwork to fill the time before he went to get Aidan from Eton, but in all honesty he could not focus on it. He could only think of his mother and the tests they had felt necessary to run. He wondered if Bridget had more information on what kind of test it was; he did not want to ask his mother, press for more detail and seem too worried, subsequently worrying her more.
His son had a reluctant smile on his face when he answered the door at his father's arrival. "I just got back," he said sheepishly. "I'm ready to go, but give me a minute to make sure I haven't forgotten anything."
"Sure."
He watched his son look around the room and realised that Aidan looked very preoccupied. "Everything all right?"
"Mm, yes," he said, meeting his father's gaze. "Just don't want to forget anything."
Mark suspected that it was more than that, but he didn't want to press the matter. As they walked back to the car with Aidan's things, Mark said, "By the way, your grandmother is coming to stay with us for the week."
"Granny Pam?" Aidan asked in such a way that it made Mark chuckle.
"You don't have to look so horrified," said Mark. "No, my mother. Granny Elaine."
"I wasn't horrified," said Aidan with a smirk. "She's just a bit much to take in large doses."
Mark could not disagree, so he merely started the car for the drive back.
Aidan questioned the quietness of the house upon their return. "They've gone for a girls' day out," said Mark. Aidan nodded in understanding. "I think your mother said something about filming this afternoon too. Probably Lizzie and your grandmother have gone with her."
"Isn't Lizzie in school?"
"Your mother thought it necessary to excuse her for the afternoon, thought the time with her granny was more important," he said with a hint of disdain.
"You didn't agree," said Aidan perceptively.
"I don't disagree. Time with your granny is important," clarified Mark, "but skipping class for it when she'll be with us for a week seems a bit much."
"It's not as if she's truant," said Aidan with a smile. "And obviously it didn't bother you enough to fight over it."
"I didn't want to upset your grandmother," Mark said. "In the end that was what made it not worth quarrelling over."
He thought for dinner a nice stir fry over long grain rice might be nice, and it was while he was sautéing the thinly cut pork and just about to add bell pepper and carrot slices (rice happily steaming away in the rice cooker) that he heard Lizzie's unmistakable voice and stomping footfalls on the stairs to the lower level where the kitchen was. "Dad, we're home!" she said, just as her trainer-clad feet came into view.
"I could tell," said Mark wryly. He looked up in time to see her confused expression. "What is it?" he asked.
"Where's Aidan?" she asked.
"He's in charge of chopping the vegetables," said Mark. "Took a quick loo break."
"Oh," she said with a smile, then laughed. Mark knew why; Aidan was a menace in the kitchen. It pained him to think it, but it had worried Mark enough just in giving the boy a sharp knife. Fortunately he had not done any damage, but he had the green onions yet to chop.
"Hey."
Lizzie turned away from Mark to see her brother approaching, and Mark could tell just from the line of her cheek that this elicited a broad smile from her.
"Hey yourself," she said. "Long time no see."
Aidan went to the counter, took up his chopping knife again then grabbed the bunch of green onions.
"Wash your hands?" Lizzie and Mark asked in unison.
"Did," he said, then began to chop.
Over the sound of the sizzling vegetables, Mark heard his mother and his wife talking as they came down the stairs. As they reached the bottom, it relieved him greatly to see his mother looking ten times better than she had just the day before; just getting reassurance from the doctor had probably helped her demeanour.
"Oh, Mark, that smells wonderful," said Elaine with a beaming smile.
"Didn't do it on my own," said Mark, pointing with his spatula in Aidan's direction. "He helped."
"Oh!" said Elaine, brightening further, walking to where her grandson was standing. "How wonderful it is to see you!" She held out her arms and gave him a hug. "You've grown so much!" She pulled back, then glanced from Aidan to Bridget and back. "Oh, my. You're taller than your mother!"
He chuckled. "It's true. I am." Spontaneously he embraced her again then chuckled. "It's really good to see you, Gran."
Dinner was full of pleasant conversation and more than once, raucous laughter; over stir-fry Lizzie and Aidan were trading jokes that were escalating in silliness (jokes that remained clean on Aidan's part, much to Mark's relief).
After they'd eaten, Bridget enquired as to whether there was any interest in dessert. Elaine demurred. "It's been a long, tiring day, so I think I'll just go to bed early."
"Of course," Mark said, rising from his seat. "Do you need anything?"
"I'll be fine. I know where everything is," she said with a smile. "Though Bridget mentioned something about putting the clothes I bought through the washer for me…?"
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," Bridget said. He understood: she had not packed enough for a week. "Go on upstairs and get ready for bed."
Shortly after Elaine's departure, Lizzie piped up: "I for one want that dessert." This of course caused another round of giggles.
After dessert, Bridget ensured that Elaine's newly purchased clothing got properly laundered for the week ahead (or at least the next day). They got Lizzie tucked in, said their goodnights to Aidan (at his age he tended towards the nocturnal, and they could trust him not to play loud music or do anything too raucous late at night), then retired with respective books before switching off the lights and cuddling with one another for a sound night's sleep. The thought of his family, his mother, all together under one roof was especially comforting.
…
The scent of breakfast was normally a pleasant way for Mark to wake up, but as he roused he became a little alarmed when he realised that Bridget was still in bed with him, hair tousled and softly snoring. He could not help himself from sitting bolt upright, which naturally startled his wife.
"What?" she asked, opening her eyes and sitting hastily.
He leapt up and put on his robe. "I smell bacon."
She blinked in confusion, then began to laugh. "Mark," she said, "we have our sixteen-year-old son home as well as your mother, though frankly I'd be less worried about Lizzie making bacon."
He laughed, realising that indeed it was probably his mother, which was confirmed when he and Bridget, along with Lizzie and Aidan, approached the kitchen in a half-awake, slightly shocked state to find Elaine busily stirring up a pan of scrambled eggs and cheese, and watching over a second skillet of bacon. Elaine glanced up just as they entered with a great beaming smile.
"Good morning my dears," she said. "Up with the sun, couldn't sleep, and I have so missed cooking for a crowd. Coffee's brewing, should be done very soon."
Lizzie ran up to her and gave her a hug. "Gran, you rock."
Mark went directly to the coffeepot while Bridget fetched two mugs. Mark poured then handed one to her. As she stirred in her sweetener, she asked in a confidential tone, "Breakfast waiting for us when we wake? Are you sure she won't come live with us?"
He smiled. "I'll ask her again, though I'm sure I'll get the same answer."
"Eventually perhaps we'll wear down her resistance."
At this he chuckled and leaned to kiss her on the cheek. "Come, before she takes us by the ear to get us to the table for our breakfast."
"It isn't quite done yet," piped up Elaine.
"Well," said Mark, turning to the table. "Nothing wrong with your hearing." This caused the children to laugh.
They had a most enjoyable breakfast together. Elaine had certainly not lost any of her touch when it came to cooking. The children were so pleased with the whole situation that they cleared the table and did the washing up without even being asked.
The week with Aidan and his mother in the house at the same time was a very good week, though not without its imperfect moments. Mark did notice that Aidan seemed a little more distant and glum than usual in unguarded moments, though whenever he was asked about it he brightened and denying anything was wrong at all. He also came home late and past his curfew twice without much explanation other than he'd lost track of time, smelling alarmingly like smoke, though he claimed he did not himself do so.
"Mark, you're overreacting," said Bridget in the privacy of their bedroom. "He's sixteen."
"Sixteen and with a curfew," he said.
"You should have seen me at his age," she said with a smile.
He pursed his lips; he could only imagine what she was like at sixteen given that she still stayed out too late with her friends on occasion smelling of smoke and still half-pissed. "How can we be sure he isn't actually smoking?"
"I have never once found any evidence in his things," she said. "And I've asked, too. He tells me he isn't."
He felt more assured knowing that he had confided such to Bridget, but he also felt irritated because he hadn't trusted that his own son was telling him the truth.
"I still feel he's holding back on something," said Mark quietly as he sat on the edge of their bed. "I wish he'd just say what."
"I'll see what I can get out of him," said Bridget, sitting beside him. "I know sometimes he finds it easier to talk to me, for whatever reason."
With a sense of resignation Mark realised she had a better chance than anyone else of getting to the heart of the matter. "Okay."
As the week came to an end, Bridget revealed that Aidan insisted nothing was the matter, though she was not convinced this was true. "He became irritable when I asked," she said. Mark had noticed. "I only hope it's something that will pass."
…
"Dad."
Mark glanced briefly to his son as they drove on Sunday back to Eton. "What is it?"
"I… have a question for you."
"I'm all ears."
Aidan pulled his lower lip between his teeth. "I know you're pretty big in your field," he said at last. "Human rights."
He thought back to Aidan's rather excellent paper on women's rights, wondered if this was to do with some future school assignment, an end of term paper. "Ask away."
"Is there ever a time," Aidan went on unsurely, "when it is acceptable to ignore injustice against those who can't speak out for themselves?"
Mark immediately conjured up images of a sea of anguished faces whose expressions spoke of their despair and hopelessness; a scene he had himself seen on more than one occasion, in more than one locale, and it never failed to spark his righteous fury. "No," he said definitively. "The right thing is not usually the easy thing. One must fight for what is right."
Aidan said nothing, and once more Mark glanced to his son. He was staring at his hands then looked up and out the front window. "I thought you might say that," he said at last. "Thanks. It helps a lot."
Mark felt a moment of pride, that he had been able to help his son in this small way. "Do you have any other questions?" Mark asked, primed and ready to answer whatever Aidan had to ask.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Aidan shake his head, belatedly adding, "No, but thanks." He saw Aidan look towards him, so he glanced once more, saw his son smiling.
"Anytime."
He saw his son off with a fatherly hug, still within the car, before he went off towards his building, turning with a smile to wave to his father before going inside.
The next time he would see his son there would be no smiles.