Change of Heart
By S. Faith, © 2011
Words: 59,705 (11 chapters in all) / 5,447 (this chapter)
Rating: M / R
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes, Style Note, etc.: See Chapter 1.
Chapter 7: Feels Like Old Times
Although Aidan was like his mother in many ways, he was, if nothing else, usually prompt when they had an appointment to make, and this day was no different. At half-past nine, as Mark descended the staircase to the first floor with Lizzie's gift in hand, he saw that Aidan was sitting on the steps typing furiously with his thumbs into his mobile—texting Marilyn, undoubtedly—before concluding then getting to his feet. "All set?"
"Yup, was just telling Marilyn that we're heading out." Mark smirked; he'd been correct. They went to the car for the short drive over and as Mark engaged the engine, Aidan continued, "She's kind of nervous about meeting you."
"Nervous? Why?"
"She's heard of you," he said. "From some of your bigger cases, I think because of her parents. So it's sort of like she's meeting a celebrity."
He couldn't help laughing a little. "I'm as far from being a celebrity as one can get."
"She was kind of weird about meeting Mum too, but she got over it quickly, so don't worry."
Mark glanced to his son. "I'm not worried," he said.
Aidan smiled. "Good."
When they arrived, Aidan let them in with his key; despite having one of his own 'for emergencies', Mark didn't feel it was right to use it apart from an actual emergency. "Mum!" he shouted up the stairs. "We're here."
"What?" came the cry from upstairs. "Already? Augh! I haven't had a shower or anything—" She appeared at the top of the stairs with what she often referred to as 'mad hair', and still dressed in her pyjamas. His heart leapt to see her, reminding him instantly of happier times; he truly had not stopped loving her, not a bit. "I only just saw off the last of them, the girls I mean," she said sheepishly. "Stayed up a bit too late with them, having a fun time."
Mark couldn't stop the smile from spreading on his face, particularly as she reached her hand up to run her fingers through her hair and seemed shocked to realise she had not mad hair but multiple pony tails; surely this was the result of the girls playing with her hair the previous night. He heard Aidan laugh. "Fetching look for you, Mum."
"Oh, quiet," she said, her face flushing deep red. "You can be nice and make me some more coffee. Need it after feeding those girls breakfast."
"Yes, Mum."
"It's all right; I'll do it," said Mark.
"Thanks, Mark," she said, pulling elastics from her hair. "I'll be down after I run through the shower. Lizzie's just getting ready, too, I think."
"We'll meet you in the kitchen."
Without even being asked, Aidan began clearing up after the breakfast mess while Mark put together her coffee. He didn't say anything; he was too lost in his own reflections, how much he'd missed seeing Bridget dishevelled in the morning, a sight he regarded as among his favourite in the world. He started to think, to actively machinate how he might win Bridget back.
"Looks like an attempt was made at pancakes," said Aidan wryly as he wiped up the counter.
With that the scent of coffee wafted through the kitchen. Mark looked up, saw the drips of batter on the counter and on the floor. He chuckled. "She makes perfectly good pancakes," said Mark. "Oddly shaped and extra brown and crispy on the edges, but they're always delicious."
Aidan paused in what he was doing to look at his father. He grinned. "Yeah, true."
"Dad!"
There was a great thumping of footsteps as Lizzie emerged down the stairs and into the room, her long blonde hair still mostly wet. She was definitely not dressed for her party, but rather in trackie bottoms and a tee. She launched himself into his arms and gave him a hug.
"Happy birthday for real this time, darling," Mark murmured, holding her tightly to him. She was warm and smelled of fresh soap.
"Know I just saw you but… I'm glad to see you," she said.
Mark felt very emotional; it felt almost as normal as things used to be. "Always glad to see you." She drew back, beaming a smile. "Please tell me you're not wearing that for your birthday. Your mother will pitch a fit."
Lizzie erupted in giggles. "No, Dad," she said. "I'm waiting for her to be done so she can help me with my hair."
"What are you doing to your hair?"
"Braids, then putting it up," she said.
"Such a little princess," teased Aidan. She laughed, twirled in a circle and did a mock curtsey. "Have a good breakfast?"
"Mm, the best. Chocolate chip pancakes."
"And who was here?" Aidan asked.
"Well, there was Chrissy, Joann… oh, and Annie and—"
It was bittersweet hearing Lizzie's list; Mark couldn't picture in his mind any of the girls she named except for Jude's and Sharon's girls. "And you had a nice time?" Mark asked.
"The best," she said, then yawned.
"Stay up a little late?" teased Mark.
"Just a bit," she said. "But Mum stayed up with us."
"Fully sanctioned," said Aidan.
"Exactly!" said Lizzie.
Mark poured himself a cup of coffee, then took a long sip before helping Aidan with loading the dishwasher and generally tidying the kitchen up for the onslaught of lunch and guests. They had just gotten the kitchen cleaned, Mark had just poured a second cup of coffee for Bridget and fixed it to her liking, when he heard Bridget's voice getting louder upon her approach. She was wearing a pair of smart blue trousers and a white jumper, and held her mobile to her ear. Her hair was still a bit damp but she was otherwise made up. "Yes, just about to get lunch on. Yes, Mother. Yes, I know. No. See you when you get here." She pressed the button to disconnect the call, then met Mark's gaze.
Mark said with a smile, "Some things don't change."
"Never will," she said, smirking a little.
"Mum! What about my hair?" said Lizzie.
"Oh, right. We should do that upstairs and away from the food." She looked to Mark. "Do you mind putting the casseroles in and minding them? Lizzie wanted something Mexican-spiced, so… some kind of enchilada thing I found online. Hope it comes out all right. Had a hell of a time finding maize tortillas."
"I'm sure it'll be fine. Where are they?"
"Fridge," she said. "Pour the bottle of sauce between the two, gas mark four, check it after twenty minutes."
"Right."
"Thanks," she said. "Come on, Lizzie."
"Bridget?"
She turned to look at him again. "Yes?"
He pointed to the coffee cup. "For you."
She smiled. "Thanks." She picked it up, took a sip. "Perfect, as always."
Some things don't change, he echoed in his thoughts as he watched her walk up the stairs. Never will.
Mark fired up the oven, then retrieved the casserole pans from the fridge, pulling back the foil to look at her creation: heaps of shredded, spiced chicken, cheddar cheese, and some beans amidst the tortillas. Also there in the fridge, on the top shelf, was a cake, white with pink writing: Happy Birthday Lizzie!
"Do you know where this sauce is she's talking about, Aidan?"
"Think it might be this."
He turned around and saw Aidan holding up a bottle of viscous dark reddish-brown liquid, Spanish writing on the label. "Yes. That sure does look like it."
Between the two Mark divided the contents of the bottle, popped them in the oven, then set the timer on the oven. "Well, that was easy enough."
He heard Aidan chuckle.
Within short order the smells of the casserole began to fill the kitchen. In the interest of expediting lunch he and Aidan laid out the table, pulled out drinking glasses, forks and serving utensils, set out bowls of crispy tortillas and salsa verde.
"To drink?"
"There's some lemon fizzy stuff in the fridge," he said. "And I think she found some Mexican beer for the adults."
He smiled with fondness.
Just then, Aidan reached into his pocket, looked to his mobile and jumped up from where he was sitting. "She's just about here," he said. "I'm going to meet her at the door." Mark concluded that Aidan had just gotten a text from Marilyn, which was proven correct when Aidan returned a few minutes later with the pretty young lady with whom he'd been that day.
"Dad," said Aidan. "This is Marilyn Smith." She looked up at Mark, smiling shyly; through her specs he could see she had light blue grey-eyes, the one feature at which he had not gotten a good look at the café. Her hair was smooth, combed down, not tousled artfully as he had seen that January morning. Presumably she had done so in an effort to impress him.
She held out her hand; she had silver rings on just about every finger, some delicate, some with small gems, some chunkier with Celtic knotwork. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."
"Very nice to meet you, Marilyn," he said, taking her hand between both of his. "I've heard a lot of nice things about you."
Marilyn tinted pink. "Thank you, sir. I've heard so much about you too."
He smiled, releasing her hand; he couldn't help wondering if what she'd heard was from Aidan or from her parents talking. "'Sir' is a bit much," he said. "Why don't you just call me 'Mr Darcy'?"
She giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear in a manoeuvre that reminded him of Bridget. "All right. Thanks."
Just then Bridget came rushing in; she looked beautiful, her hair pinned up but in a casual way, tendrils drifting down, not polished and lacquered. "Oh, thank you, thank you so much—you didn't have to do the table and everything but I'm so grateful you did," she said, going straight for Mark and giving him a peck on the cheek and a hug, surprising him completely and utterly. He returned the hug, perhaps lingering closer to her longer than he should have, inhaling the scent of her perfume, closing his eyes briefly and savouring this unexpected gift.
"You're welcome, Bridget," he said at last, as it occurred to him that he ought to acknowledge her thanks, and drew back, noticing for a moment that Aidan was watching them with keen interest, with something very akin to sentimentality. "Your casserole smells delicious."
"We'll see if it is," she said, pulling the corner of her mouth down. She turned and saw Lizzie on the stairs. "There's the birthday girl, all decked out in her braids."
Her hair had been pulled to one side and done in two braids, which were then looped around one another then pinned up. Lizzie looked so much like her mother it took him aback; obviously Bridget had thought it all right to allow her a little mascara and blush for the occasion (he didn't object if she didn't), and with the pretty pale pink dress and shiny white flat shoes she looked simultaneously like his little baby girl and a lovely young woman.
Just then, he heard the bell at the front door; it was only now half-past eleven and the grandparents (and Daniel) were due to arrive soon. "Oh, I'll get it," said Lizzie excitedly. "It could be Sebastian."
Mark felt frozen in place; he worked hard not to let it show. For her part, Bridget looked equally stunned. Lizzie must have seen both of their reactions, because she added, "Sorry. I should have mentioned I asked him."
"It's all right," Mark said, then cleared his throat. "It's your party and you can ask whomever you like."
"Go on, Lizzie," said Bridget then turned apologetic eyes on Mark as Lizzie dashed up the stairs again.
"It's all right," Mark said again to her, his tone softer.
She smiled, then turned away to notice that Marilyn had arrived. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't even see you there!" She went over and gave Marilyn a quick hug.
"It's okay. You've been busy," Marilyn said. "You look really pretty, Bridget."
"Thank you, though I'm just pleased that the dark circles are adequately camouflaged, and I got all of the elastics out," Bridget said with a grin. "Spending the night with seven pre-teen girls is exhausting."
Mark realised at that moment, perhaps with foolish optimism, that she had not been expecting Sebastian at all… that perhaps she had done herself up for his own benefit. Just as quickly he dismissed it. Why would she?
"Bridget, I can't believe how grown-up Lizzie—Oh, hello."
It was Sebastian speaking as he came down the stairs, but breaking off when he saw Mark there. Sebastian bore a wrapped gift, small and of the shape and size of a DVD set, and he set it down on the counter and extended his hand towards Mark in greeting.
"Nice to see you again," Sebastian said, smiling what appeared to Mark to be a genuinely friendly smile.
"And you," said Mark, reminding himself to get one of the man's books from Aidan for reading; as he thought it he realised he was treating the man as he would treat any figure he was researching on for a case.
"Lizzie." Down the stairs came Daniel. "You really ought to be more careful about closing the door, darling."
"Hi, Uncle Daniel!" Lizzie went over and met him at the stairs, giving him a tight hug. "Did you bring me something from Australia?"
"Might have done," he said with a hint of collusion in his voice. "We'll see." Daniel looked around, and Mark saw the faintest raising of a brow as Daniel spied Sebastian. "Well, sir, I don't believe we've met. I'm Daniel Cleaver. Work with Bridge at the station."
Sebastian extended his hand and they shook. "Daniel, pleasure to meet you. I'm Sebastian Chamberlain. Bridget and I met on her show." As he said it, he slipped his arm around Bridget's shoulders. She didn't smile. In fact, she didn't look comfortable at all. Mark's thoughts raced as to the reasons why that might be.
"Yes, I've heard," Daniel said. "That you're one of Aidan's favourite authors, I mean. Used to be in publishing, actually. That's how I met Bridge once upon a time." He smiled. "I was her boss."
Mark hoped that Daniel wasn't going elaborate on their former relationship, and Mark was thankful, perhaps at Mark's stern look, that Daniel did not.
"How interesting," said Sebastian. "For which house?"
With that the two of them began a conversation on the publishing business as Daniel helped himself to a bottle of beer—Dos Equis, Mark noted—and offered one to Sebastian as well. Mark felt a hand on his upper arm, turned and saw it was Bridget. "I'm sorry," she said. "I really didn't know she'd asked him."
"I said it's all right," he reminded.
"I'd wanted to keep it family only."
As Daniel and Marilyn were also present, Mark tried not to read too much into it. "I could kick him out if you like," he joked.
She laughed. "No, it's fine," she said. "As long as you're fine."
He drew his brows together, wondering about this sudden concern. "I already said I am."
"Okay," she said, taking his hand and briefly squeezing it. "I just didn't want you to think I excluded Portia deliberately." As his mind reeled, the bell on the front door went off again. "Let me get that," she said; Lizzie was in deep conversation with Marilyn and hadn't heard. "It's probably my parents, or your mum. Or all three." They had at least remained friendly with one another. He nodded, and she stepped away.
Daniel called Mark over to join them, offering him a beer with a grin. Mark knew any buffering needed between himself and Sebastian was well in hand with Daniel on the case. He took a draw from his beer just as he heard Colin Jones' voice echo down the stairs.
"Where's the birthday girl?"
Lizzie turned and ran to greet her grandfather, giving him a big hug, then turning to Pam Jones and to Mark's own mother as well. Elaine Darcy seemed slightly taken aback at Mark's presence, or perhaps it was at the presence of Bridget's new boyfriend, with whom he must have seemed very chummy to her eyes. He waved hello, and to his relief they all smiled and waved in return.
"Hope you're all hungry," said Bridget, now that everyone expected had arrived. "We have lots of food."
The oven had been set to warm now that the casseroles were fully baked. Mark took her words as a cue to pull them out in a prelude to serving. He asked Aidan to get the sour cream from the fridge, and Aidan in turn advised there appeared to be a second bottle of sauce in the pantry. "I think it's for pouring over top."
"Well then," said Mark. "Get that to the table."
He felt a hand on his arm again, and without looking knew it was Bridget. "Thanks for tending that for me," she said, and when he turned to look at her it felt for a moment like old times, when they'd cook dinner together for the children.
"It was nothing," he said, then reached to switch off the oven. Behind him he could hear Sebastian talking, could hear that Pam and Elaine were obviously charmed by his stories. "This smells fantastic."
"Thanks."
"Hmm," he said. "Shall we do buffet style serving, or should these go to the table?"
"Bring them over to the table, I think," she said. "You can scoop out, if you like."
Whether it was subconscious or not, she was treating him like the head of the household. "I'd love to."
With oven gloves in place, he picked up one of the generous casserole pans and turned toward the table with it. He met Pam's eye first, smiled, then set it down on the hot pads that Bridget set down.
"That looks marvellous, darling; simply marvellous," said Pam.
"I hope it's good," Bridget said, "because I suspect there will be lots of leftovers."
"If it's good," Mark said, "you won't have any."
He heard a low rumble of laughter, looked around; apparently it had been decided between the parents that if Bridget was treating him as kindly as she was, they would too. In very short order he had served a good-sized portion to each of them with a dollop of sour cream on top. The tortillas were passed around the kitchen table—extra leaf clearly in place—as were the bowls of salsa verde, and as everyone got to eating, murmurs of approval went up all around.
Mark lifted his beer bottle, looked up and met Bridget's eye. "My compliments to the chef."
"Hear, hear," said Daniel. "Well done, Bridge."
A silence fell over the ten of them as they ate the enchilada dish; silence was good, thought Mark, as people who were happily eating were not talking. The children in particular were very fond of the crispy tortilla strips, dragging them through the salsa and crunching loudly on them. They drank down so much of the lemon soda he worried that there might not be enough.
A few minutes after everyone finished eating, as they sat back and exhaled in obvious satisfaction, sipping their respective beverages, Daniel piped up and declared it might just be time for presents; Bridget groaned audibly. "In a moment," she said. "Need a bit more time to digest." Nevertheless, they rose and headed en masse for the stairs, picking up the presents that had made it down. Insisting she do it herself, insisting her mother and Mark's spend time with Lizzie, Bridget began to clear the table. Mark immediately pitched in to help.
"You don't need to stay," she said. "I've got it."
"If I don't," said Mark, glancing up to an approaching Sebastian, "you'll likely miss the present-giving."
Sebastian took the casserole pan, one at a time, back to the kitchen counter. "I think there might be enough left for a small midnight snack," said Sebastian. "Well done." He opened a drawer and found a small plastic container in which to put the remaining serving.
"Thanks." Mark glanced over to see her smiling, obviously pleased with herself.
They stacked the dishes by the sink just as they heard Lizzie call down to them: "Mum! Dad! Come on—I have presents!"
Sebastian laughed. "She can be very vocal when there's something she wants, can't she?"
"Yes," said Mark and Bridget in unison, then exchanged a glance and a small laugh.
"She takes after you that way, Bridget," Mark went on.
She grinned. "Come on, let's go before we see how loud she can really get."
As they walked towards the stairs towards the upper floor, Mark watched as Sebastian placed his hand on her shoulder to walk with her to the stairs; it seemed clear to Mark to be something he was doing without conscious thought, but it made him feel a little melancholy.
"All right, all right, we're here now—get to tearing," said Bridget as she took a perch on the arm of the sofa on which Lizzie was sitting. Mark's mobile began to ring at that moment; he palmed it, saw it was Portia's number and quickly silenced the ringer before turning it off altogether. Frankly he was a little surprised she hadn't yet called that day.
"Who's that, Dad?" asked Aidan.
"Nothing. Work related," he said. "Not at all important."
Aidan's brow furrowed for a moment before he offered a smile.
From her maternal grandparents Lizzie had a card with a cheque inside, as well as a pale pink fuzzy muffler, hat and glove set. "I know the winter's almost over, but I couldn't resist when I saw the colour," said Pam Jones, smiling brightly.
"They're great, Gran," said Lizzie. "Thank you."
From Elaine was also a card and cheque, as well as a selection of hair decorations—barrettes, bands, elastics and so on. Lizzie squealed in her delight. "I thought it best to let you pick your own present," said Elaine, "but I couldn't not give you something to open."
"Love them, thank you!"
As she finished with a gift she handed it to her mother, who sat with a pen making notes on the card. He knew she was jotting down what Lizzie had been given by whom, to assist in writing the round of thank-you cards afterwards. It reminded him of when the children were little, when they had scores of presents for which they had to keep track on birthdays and Christmas.
Next was a package that Mark did not recognise—two, actually; one large and one smaller that were apparently taped together—for which she opened the card and beamed a smile at Daniel. "Thanks," she said.
"Open the big one first," he said.
The larger of the two, the size of a throw pillow and about as squishy, turned out to be a stuffed kangaroo. Lizzie let the paper fall to the ground as she held it to herself. "I love it!"
"The card," reminded Bridget.
"Yes, yes!" said Lizzie, handing her the card then setting down her new kangaroo and tearing into the other package. "Oh!" she said. It was a smallish box, and inside the box was two carved bone amulets, each hanging on a fine leather strap. "What are these?"
"Got them for you in New Zealand. Maori symbols. Read the paper in the box."
It turned out that the round one was called the Koru, a stylisation of a silver fern into a circular shape, which symbolised the beginning of life. "'And growth and harmony'," she added, reading from the slip.
"Well, you're growing," said Daniel, "and who doesn't need harmony?"
The other, a more human-like shape, was Hei Tiki, a figure with a grinning expression who was said to be a good luck charm.
"It says that these should only be worn by, and I quote, 'clear-thinking, perceptive, loyal and knowledgeable' people."
"I rest my case," said Daniel with a grin.
"I like them, but why two as well as the kangaroo?" asked Lizzie.
"Because you deserve both of them," he said. After a moment, he grinned. "Oh, all right. I couldn't decide."
This caused all and sundry to chuckle.
Next was what Mark recognised to be the gift Sebastian had come in with, and as she tore the paper away Mark could not help but chuckle. It was the deluxe edition of a recently done production of Pride & Prejudice, one which had captured the imagination of young ladies all over England—Lizzie's included—in much the same way that another similar production had done for her mother.
"Oh, thank you Sebastian," she said, clutching it to her chest; it amused Mark that she was walking that fine line between her childhood (the plush kangaroo) and oncoming teenage-hood (a celebrity crush in a film). Oddly enough, it brought to Mark's mind the ridiculous doll that Portia had given to her, completely inappropriate and embarrassing to his daughter. Sebastian, however… he had apparently gotten her exactly what she wanted. Lizzie really seemed to like him. Aidan did too.
Mark felt his earlier optimism deflate.
"Bah," said Bridget, prompting Mark to look to her. "That Mr Darcy can't compare. He's rubbish." She winked at Mark; she must have known he'd be thinking of that other production.
"You're mad, Mum," said Lizzie, not relinquishing the box set. "Utterly!"
The others could not help chuckling.
"We'll just have to watch and compare, that's all," Bridget said. "Thank you Sebastian, for fostering such a good mother/daughter bond." Sebastian smiled, nodding, acknowledging he'd scored a hit.
Chosen next was a small box from Marilyn. As Lizzie tore away the paper, she opened the box and shrieked with delight. "It's just like yours!" she said, slipping the silver braided ring out and onto her middle finger. "Thank you! I love it!"
Marilyn grinned, but blushed all the same. "Happy birthday, Lizzer."
There were three gifts left. Lizzie reached for one but Bridget said, "No, leave that until last. Open your father's gift first."
Lizzie did as told and as expected she bounced in her seat when she saw that the box contained the newest model of e-reader available. "Colour screen and everything! I can't wait to get it all loaded up with books! Oh, thank you, Dad! This is such a great birthday!"
Mark was unable to keep the smile from his face. "You're welcome, my darling girl," he said, surprised at the emotion in his voice.
Lizzie looked at it longingly a moment more, then set it aside. "Now can I open this one?"
He saw Aidan and Bridget exchange a curious look, then Bridget grinned and nodded. "Go ahead."
In opening the penultimate present, Lizzie became visibly confused. "What is this?" She pulled the paper away fully, and even Mark could see it was an accessory set of some kind, a case, ear buds, and other small miscellany. "Aidan, this is for a phone I don't have."
Aidan said nothing, only smiled.
Lizzie, being the clever girl she is, shot a look at her mother, and said, "No. You didn't!"
Bridget didn't say anything, but she also couldn't keep from grinning.
"Oh my God!" Lizzie pounced upon the one remaining present and squealed as the pictures on the box were revealed to her. Mark saw that it was a smartphone, not the highest end he'd ever seen, but one he knew Lizzie had wanted, and one which he thought was too much for a young girl.
He shot a look to Bridget, his irritation undoubtedly evident on his face. Bridget in turn mouthed the word "sorry" then pointed to the hallway. "I'm glad you like it, sweetie," Bridget said, rising from where she'd sat, pecking a kiss on her head as she did. "Be right back."
Mark stood too and went with her.
"Please don't be angry," she said quietly. "She's twelve, she's smart, and I didn't think there was any good reason to not let her have a smartphone."
"Bridget," he said, feeling exasperated. "Yes, I do think she's too young for this particular phone, but that's not why I'm angry." He sighed. "I'm not even angry, really. I only wish that you'd talked with me about a purchase of this magnitude first."
"Sorry," she said. "It was just a really great deal and… sorry."
He looked down. "It's all right," he said at last; he felt as if he was saying it too much lately, or was it that he just didn't say it enough before? "I'm sure she will be very responsible with it."
"I really think she will," she said. "After all, she's so like you."
He looked to her, gave her a smile, wishing for all the world that circumstances had changed enough that he might take her in his arms, but her words only underscored for him his biggest failure regarding responsibility. "Thank you—"
"Mum, Dad, Lizzie's trying to get into the phone right now."
Mark turned as Bridget did, to see Aidan standing there looking concerned. "Well, I guess she wasn't told she couldn't," said Bridget. "Distract her with mention of cake, and I'll be right there." As Aidan left, she then turned to Mark. "If you wouldn't mind getting the cake out…"
"I can talk to her about the phone," he said.
"That mess is my doing," she said, "and I'll clean it up myself." The tone of her voice was the faintest bit defensive before she exhaled. "Sorry."
He shook his head. "It's all right. I'll be downstairs."
The table needed to be washed and after he did that he got the cake out. As he searched in the drawer for some matches, he heard voices descending the stairs. He realised it was Marilyn and Aidan.
"—as a woman I can sense these things, Aidan," she said, eliciting a chuckle from him. In return Mark heard the sound of a playful smack. "Don't laugh at me. I know I'm right."
"You usually are," he said. There was a bit of silence as the footfalls on the stairs silenced; he suspected Aidan was giving his girlfriend a stolen kiss, and he didn't want to embarrass his son, so Mark stayed perfectly still. "My dad really likes you."
"You're just saying that," she said in a half-whisper.
"I'm not," he said. After another pause, he said, "You're sure?"
"Totally," she said.
"And you think we should—"
Mark wished to afford his son privacy when needed, but he also did not want to overhear this particular conversation. He shut the drawer with more force than strictly necessary, which caused Aidan to stop talking at once. "Dammit," said Mark. "I know she has matches here somewhere."
"Dad?" said Aidan.
"Aidan, is that you?" he asked, feigning innocence. "Will you help me find the matches?"
Within a few minutes they located a click-wand candle lighter that Bridget had purchased for the occasion, apparently still sitting in the bag in which it had come home along with the birthday candles. No sooner had Aidan placed twelve candles around the periphery, had Mark retrieved a stack of dessert plates and forks, than the others began filing down to the kitchen with a murmur of amazed conversation.
"So that thing can do videos and emails, everything?" This from Pam Jones, holding it and looking at the screen in amazement. "You should be very careful, darling; very careful indeed."
"Don't worry, I will," said Lizzie in a sort of resigned voice that sounded so much like her mother Mark couldn't help smiling.
"And a book the size of a notepaper tablet, imagine!" she went on. Pam then met Mark's eye. "Mark," she said with pleasant civility. "You're looking well."
"Thank you," he said. "You are too."
"Time for cake," said Bridget. "Lizzie, take your seat, we'll come 'round you."
Bridget lit the candles then took a place behind her daughter as they switched off the lights and everyone sang to her. Lit from below with the glowing candlelight, Mark couldn't take his eyes off of the two of them, particularly couldn't take them off of Bridget.
As Lizzie blew out the candles, Bridget caught his eyes and gave him a smile. He knew in that moment he had to do whatever he could to win her back.