Chapter 6: Talking

Christmas Eve, 1985

Ben stared at Mark, his eyes narrowed. "You're joking me, right?"

Mark shook his head. "It's all true."

"Why did you tell me?"

"Your mum wanted me to, and I wanted you to know everything."

"But why did you want me to know?" Ben stressed.

Mark took a deep breath in. "Tomorrow, I'm going to ask your mother to marry me. It's the one year anniversary of when we got together. And, well, I wanted your permission before I asked her."

Ben stared at him. "I'm not her father," he said softly, almost deadly.

"No," Mark agreed. "But you're her son. Your opinion matters to her. And I don't want to pressure her to choose between your opinion of me and well...me."

Ben stared at him, scrutinising him with his bright blue eyes. "Mum knows that you were a spook?"

Mark nodded. "I told her in London."

"Then why does she still call you Arthur?"

"Because Mark Evans is dead. I have his back story, but I am not him. As far as the government is concerned, I was a clerk who made one too many errors and they're paying me directly for unemployment."

"And if I said no, what would you do?" Ben challenged.

"I honestly don't know," Mark answered truthfully. "I love your mother, Ben. I want to do all I can to make her happy. And I know that she's not afraid of a second marriage."

Ben leaned back in his chair, staring at the Mark. "You're not going to walk off with some trollop, are you?"

Mark shook his head. "I couldn't do that, no matter how horrid the relationship was."

"What about that woman?" Ben asked, nodding to the painting of Alex Mark had completed a few months earlier.

Mark smiled softly, shaking his head. "We're never going to see each other again, Ben. But even if we did, she wouldn't be as important to me as your mother is. Back when I knew Alex, I thought that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. After I got her to talk to me, to start functioning, I loved her for her personality, the inner core of strength. But as I spent more time with her, I realised that I had mistaken the shock of meeting her and the protectiveness I felt about her for love. When Iggy jumped on me that day in the park, I liked your Mum's personality. I thought she was very pretty. But then as the months went on, I realised that I was fool for thinking that I was in love with Alex, because the way I felt about her doesn't even compare to how I feel about your mother. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever met. I look forward to seeing her, even if it means we're going for a run and not talking. I love just sitting next to her on the sofa."

The room fell silent and Ben stared at Mark for several moments, scrutinising him.

"If you hurt her, you know I will find you and hurt you."

"You're saying yes?"

"Listen, Arthur. When you first appeared on the scene, I hated you. I thought you were just after Mum to shag her. I thought you'd turn out just like dad. That you'd be out of her life within a month. But you wouldn't go away. Every time Mum talked about you, she sounded really happy. She pretty much acted like the sun shone out of your arse. And now you're talking about her the same way. Yes, I give you permission to ask her. But if you hurt her, I swear to God, Mark Evans will be dead for real this time."

Mark swallowed. "Duly noted."

"Also, so you know, I don't hate you anymore. I think you might actually be a good man."

"Is that you speaking or the hope for more Arsenal tickets?"

Ben grinned. "You already got me those for my birthday. What are you going to do, buy out the entire stadium?"

Probably could, Mark thought. No one knew it from his meagre existence, but he was actually extremely rich. He could trace back his family to William the Conqueror, and his great something grandfather had dined with Charles II. Hell, some of the money in his accounts probably existed from the sixteen hundreds. Even if Danny hadn't halved the sums of money Mark had left for Alex and Gene, Mark still could have lived comfortably for most of his life. He had grown up hating money, however, mostly because of the hold that it had over him from the people that owned it. Therefore, he had little to do with it, just getting basics of living and the occasional Arsenal season tickets.

"Well, there's loads of stuff I could get you," Mark said, grinning teasingly. "A bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale, for example."

Ben flushed. "I told Mum I wasn't getting you anything and then you came out with that sob story about your childhood and I felt bad."

"Not a sob story if there was no sobbing," Mark said wryly.

"Mum was. Later on. Seriously. You should've heard her. 'Oh Ben! That poor man! And you treat him so awful!'"

"She didn't, did she?"

Ben nodded. "God, I was concerned she was going to flood the entire bloody house. She cried for an hour. You'd think it was her dad that had died."

"Sorry about that. I know how it is with crying mothers."

"You ever going to tell yours that you're alive?"

Mark shook his head. "We had a conflict of interest in 1980. I didn't talk to her when I was alive, why the hell would I try if she thinks I'm dead?"

Ben just shrugged. "I know that if I died without patching things up with Mum, she'd probably sob harder than she did the other night. What do you think your Mum did?"

"Dunno. Doubt if she even came to the funeral." Danny hadn't mentioned her. Of course, he had only asked about Alex and Gene.

Ben narrowed his eyes, studying Mark a moment, realisation dawning on his face. "I remember your name. Mark Evans... Yeah. Mum and I were up in London one weekend, and I was reading the obits."

"A nice tragic hobby for a young man such as yourself."

Ben shrugged. "It was for class. I was just doing it when I was out of town. Preceded in death by Stephen Evans. Survived by Charlotte Evans."

"There you go. My parent's names."

"No, you don't understand. I was doing something for my arts class, and so I went to your grave. There was a woman standing there, by the grave."

"I'm still slightly disturbed that you went to my fake grave."

"Believe me, I didn't expect Mark Evans to be popping up in my life ten months later. Anyway, the woman, she laid flowers by your grave. She smiled at me and said she laid flowers there every day as she apologised. She was crying. I asked her how she knew you. She told me she was your mother, and I apologised and then she said that she wished she could have said sorry in real life. Because saying sorry over your grave did nothing."

Mark stared at him, disbelieving. "You're joking me. You're having me on."

Ben shook his head. "No, seriously. Go ask Mum! I had to go to the graveyard to discuss the gravestones and what period of art they were styled after, and I wrote about yours and I think I actually still have the essay. It was after I met the woman that I went to the library and read the obituaries from the time of your death. I'm finding that essay tonight."

"Please don't. It's still creepy."

Ben laughed. "God. How weird is that?"

"Incredibly," Mark said, thinking. "You're really not having me on about my mum?"

Ben shook his head furiously. "I swear to God. That really happened."

"Jesus."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Ben stood, looking at his watch. "It's late. I'm joining you on the Christmas run tomorrow, so I better go."

"Not going to be hung over this year?"

"After puking my brains out all the way home last year? I think not."

Mark smiled, letting Ben out, preparing for the next day. He was nervous, but took deep breaths to calm himself. Tomorrow was a big day. The biggest day.

~(*)~

Mark walked downstairs from his shower, still grinning. Sarah had bought even more flour, icing sugar and bicarb this year, and the mess in the kitchen had been insane. He almost considered wearing Wellies downstairs because he had a feeling the bottom half of his jeans would be covered in white by the time they were done. As he approached the bottom of the stairs, an albino version of Iggy ran past him.

"Screw this," he heard Sarah saying. "I'm getting a damn maid."

"None would come near here," Ben replied. "You willingly throw icing sugar everywhere."

Mark entered, grinning. "Oh look," Ben said. "He's too clean now. I just want to throw it all over him."

"Don't even think about it," Mark warned. "Go take your shower. Besides your black dog is white. Aren't you happy about that?"

Ben grinned and walked upstairs, handing the now white broom to Mark.

"You know, we should put tarp over the floor. And then we could just pick it up and toss it all."

"I knew I was going out with you for a reason," Sarah said, kissing him. "You come up with the best ideas."

"Watch it. I just showered. I don't want to look like you again."

"Oi!" Sarah said laughingly, holding a handful of flour. "I could throw this at you, you know."

"Yes. But that would delay presents and I've got a good one for you, I think."

Sarah looked at him."Oh? What is it?"

Mark smiled. "I can't tell you. It's a surprise."

"Please? Just a hint?"

"Can I have a hint about my present?"

"Of course not...oh."

Mark smiled and nodded. "I win," he laughed. "No! No! Please not the hair!" he yelled as she put the fistfuls of flour into his hair, turning it white.

"God, that doesn't suit you," she said, grinning from ear to ear. "Don't go grey, Arthur."

"I'll try not to."

"What happened down here?" Ben asked.

"I won," Mark said wryly.

"Looks more like you lost, mate."

"No, this is just what your Mum does to winners. Watch out. Your hair is still wet. She'll try and make hair-dough."

"Watch it," she warned.

Mark pretended to zip his lips. Sarah glared playfully at him and walked upstairs to take her shower.

"You got the ring?"

Mark nodded. "I don't think I can do this."

"Nonsense. You'll do it, she'll say yes, and you'll live happily ever after throwing baking products on each other."

"I didn't make her start that as a Christmas tradition you know."

"But what a brilliant one it is. Whoever came up with it must be truly an amazing person."

"He wishes."

They finished piling the flour, bicarb and icing sugar into a pile as Sarah walked downstairs. "We can put it in the rubbish later. It's time for presents."

Just like the year before, Ben laid out the presents in front of them. Mark had two in front of him, Sarah two, and Ben roughly six or seven. Iggy sat on the floor in front of them, his tail wagging excitedly, even though he had the laurel wreath fixed onto his head once more.

Ben was first to open his presents, like the year before. As he reached Mark's envelope, his face was full of excitement. If possible, it increased when he looked at what was inside. "I get to meet the Arsenal players," he said.

Mark just smiled. "I'm wasting all the good presents early. You're going to have nothing come 1987."

Ben just laughed, before turning to his Mum. "I think we should leave yours for last, Mum," Ben said. Sarah frowned, but nodded, turning to Mark to have him open his presents.

"Better wrapping job this year," Mark commented dryly, watching Ben flush. He unwrapped it, and opened the box. Inside was roughly half a dozen books, all on various historical topics he had commented his interest in. On the bottom was a handwritten paper. Mark frowned, picking it up, starting to read it.

I went to a cemetery in London for this project. There were many sculptures there, but what caught my eye was the solitary figure of a lone woman, crying over a grave. I went over to talk to her...

Mark looked up. "You weren't lying then."

Ben shook his head. "You can read it all the way through later."

Mark nodded, setting it aside, wondering if he would ever read it. He wasn't sure that he wanted to face it. He focused his attention on Sarah's present. He unwrapped it, surprised. It was a Rolex Submariner. "Jesus Christ. Did you sell your soul?"

"Just Ben's," Sarah joked as he slipped it on.

"I love it. Thank you." He kissed her, feeling his nerves really start. It was her turn to unwrap her gifts.

The first thing she unwrapped was a yellow spiky object. She looked at it, confused. "What is it?"

"I don't know, but the guy said it was some type of fruit, and you don't have one."

Sarah laughed, setting it aside, unwrapping the next gift. It was a tin of biscuits from Harrods.

"I thought you'd like the tin," Ben said simply.

Sarah assured him that she did, gushing over it. However, as she finished, she looked at Mark. "No present from you?" she asked softly.

Mark smiled gently. "Of course there is. I just didn't want to wrap it." He reached into his pocket, pulling out the box, and getting down on the floor.

"I'm being selfish this year, because if you respond the way I hope you will, you'll be giving me an enormous present." Sarah stared at him, eyes wide, face shocked.

"Sarah Noble, will you..."

At that moment, Iggy jumped on his back, paws on Mark's shoulders, head resting on his. Ben doubled over laughing, but Sarah was too entranced by the box. Mark steadied himself, ignoring the dog.

"Will you marry me?" he asked, opening the box.

"Oh, Arthur," she murmured, staring at the ring. Her face broke into a huge smile. "Of course I will."

He took the ring out with shaking hands and put it on her finger, smiling at her. She pushed the dog off of him and kissed him.

"I love you," he murmured.

"I love you too."