The Owl

By S. Faith, © 2014

Words: 24,800 in 4 chapters
Rating: T / PG-13
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 4

Midsummer

After meeting the pissed, face-lifted Sarah, Bridget decided to try Botox, which hadn't gone exactly well; a reaction caused her lips to swell up. In arriving on the school run to pick up Billy, Wallaker had noticed the swelling, had used his authoritative voice and manner to commandeer Billy to his mother. She'd tried to cover it up and say it was a dental issue, but despite telling the children to behave because she was feeling poorly, Wallaker wasn't fooled.

"Mrs Darcy?" he said to her.

"Yes, Mr Wallaker?"

He fixed her with an intense gaze. "I wouldn't do that again if I were you. You looked all right in the first place."

It was the first admission Mark had had ever heard from Wallaker that he found Bridget attractive… just as she was.

…

Oh, Daniel. You old fool.

In his preoccupation with Bridget and the children—which was totally understandable—Mark completely missed what was happening with his old friend. What alerted him was the fact that Daniel hadn't called her back, and he had been pretty reliable since Mark and he had reconciled.

But the signs had all been there, and the fact was he'd drunk the contents of his entire liquor cabinet as well as a bottle of Fairy Liquid, the sum total of which landed him in hospital.

Mark knew that Bridget's appearance would bring out the carefree mask Daniel loved so much to wear, so he went directly there as soon as he knew where Daniel was. It was just as Mark suspected: Daniel, in generic hospital winceyette pyjamas, was unshaven, with wild, unkempt hair in total disarray, and sporting a black eye. Clearly, though, Daniel was unhappy. He sat on his bed in a locked ward of St Catherine's, staring into the distance at nothing at all. He had with him a coat and a bag filled with a few personal things, but that was all.

Suddenly, Daniel stirred, came back to the present. He stood, ran his fingers through his hair, and sauntered away towards the shared toilet facilities.

Within a few minutes, Bridget came into the ward with newspapers and a card in hand. Her gaze connected with the coat and the bag—both of which were familiar with her—but the empty bed caused her to furrow her brow. She set the papers and the card down on the table, and began to tidy the bed sheets, the other items on the night stand.

"Who are you?"

She recognised Daniel, that much was obvious, but his state was clearly upsetting to her. "It's me, Bridget!"

"Jones!" he said brightly, then stumbled to sit on the bed. "You could at least have told me you were coming. Might have cleaned up a bit." Then he lay down, closing his eyes.

"Silly arse."

He reached to clasp her hand, wheezing a bit.

"What happened? Why can't you breathe?"

Daniel explained how he'd drunk the Fairy Liquid, which caused them to both start laughing… and then, bubbles began to form on his mouth.

Oh God, thought Mark, feeling sympathetic, and feeling guilty for being amused at his friend being turned into a bubble machine… because the children would have loved it.

The nurse came over to help Daniel, then, after reading Bridget's card—"Dirty bastard… wherever you go and whatever you do, I'll always love you"—looked like Daniel might tear up, but then he put the card down again.

Mark believed it to be true… and he knew Daniel did, too.

…

As the Summer Concert approached, Bridget was looking especially pensive, the way she often did when school events were on the horizon. He knew her well enough to know she was caught up in thought bogs about him.

Believe me, darling, he thought. I think about you, too.

The night before the Summer Concert on the fourth of July (the mention of it stuck with him because of the American holiday), Billy too seemed to have his father on his mind, wondering to his mother if Mark knew he'd be doing the show, worrying whether he'd do all right. She assured him in all possible ways, then gazed pensively out into the moonlight, undoubtedly imagining what the day would be like if Mark were there. Overly smooth, overly perfect, no doubt. She did tend to romanticise things a little.

The concert was being held a little ways out of London at Wallaker's home, or his family home, anyway; Capthorpe House, which was beautifully situated and picture perfect. They took the wrong junction and ended up arriving a little late, toting half the contents of the kitchen for herself and Billy, something that did not escape Wallaker's notice as they arrived… nor did the transparency of her dress in the sunlight, which he had the good sense to mention only after Billy had gone off with friends.

Bridget was only embarrassed by the mention… and did not at all recognise the compliment he'd offered in commenting, "Good effect."

Mark was thankful Bridget did not sit alone, and therefore left to more thought bogs, amongst pairs of parents; she sat with the mum she liked best from school and had a lovely time. When it came time for Billy to play, accompanied by Wallaker on the piano, Bridget sat there with tears welling in her eyes; Mark felt equally proud of his son. And at the conclusion, through the applause, Wallaker leaned to Billy and whispered, "Your mum is so proud of you." Then Wallaker glanced towards Bridget as Billy beamed with pride.

At the end of the concert, Billy made a bee-line running straight over to Bridget, and they shared a great big tight hug before he broke away to go off with his little group of friends. This, just as the parents began to peel away into pairs to take a walk on a night that was becoming dangerously romantic after sunset, as the moon rose. Mark could see Bridget falling into despair, left behind and alone with not even a drink for consolation.

Mark saw Wallaker watching her with concern as she sat alone on her rug, then rose, Diet Coke in hand, to wander off towards the bushes. She had tears in her eyes; Mark suspected she did not want anyone to see her crying. Wallaker was just as observant, but seemed hesitant to follow her.

"Go," said Mark. "Go see to her."

Wallaker took in a breath then wandered after her, and Mark saw what Wallaker saw: Bridget, tears glistening on her face, looking sad and forlorn… even a little scared.

Wallaker spoke. "You can't even get plastered, can you?"

She turned to face him.

"You all right?" he asked.

"Yes!" she blurted, wiping her tears away. "Why do you keep bursting up on me? Why do you keep asking me if I'm all right?"

"I know when a woman is foundering and pretending not to be," Wallaker said, taking a step closer. Bridget drew in a breath. Wallaker touched her hair, made a feeble joke about nits, leaned in, pressed his lips to her cheek…

Perfect, thought Mark. It was all a downhill coast from here.

However, just as she seemed to fall in thrall to the moment, she pulled back… and she looked furious.

"What are you doing? Just because I'm on my own, it doesn't mean I'm… I'm desperate and fair game," she hissed. "You're married! 'Oh, oh, I'm Mr Wallaker. I'm all married and perfect'…" But Bridget, he's not married, thought Mark. Come on, Wallaker, tell her you're free, for God's sake! "…and what do you mean, 'foundering'? And I know I'm a rubbish mother and single but you don't have to rub my nose in it and—"

Her diatribe was interrupted by a child's voice:

"Billy! Your mummy's kissing Mr Wallaker!"

Suddenly they were surrounded by children and Nicolette making demands for Wallaker to make a speech or to do a final little performance; but once he refused, once the dust settled, Bridget was alone with Wallaker again. "Right," he said. "You've made yourself very clear. I apologise." He excused himself to go back to where the concert had been held, then began walking away, turning back only to add, "But just for the record, other people's lives are not always as perfect as they appear, once you crack the shell."

This parting shot left Bridget reeling, or at least, stunned her out of her own grief wallow to gather up Billy and get him safely home. And Wallaker, once the masses had gone and the equipment stored away, seemed to be, to use his own word, foundering.

…

Wallaker took the rejection so hard that he barely spoke to Bridget in the days and weeks to follow, and seeing her on Hampstead Heath with Roxster in mid-July did not help matters; he couldn't have known that the embrace between Bridget and Roxster was a sort of final goodbye, and not the engagement it appeared to be. Mark couldn't have guessed, not until now, that Wallaker was beyond smitten; he was quite possibly in love with her.

Mark was pleased to see, though, that what had happened hadn't really affected Wallaker's relationship with Billy, though Billy did ask some uncomfortable questions of the man. Billy wasn't thick; surely he'd noticed that Wallaker had paid closer attention to his own mum than to the others.

"Mr Wallaker," Billy had asked the Monday after the concert, when they were alone, before Bridget turned up to get him, "how exactly was Mummy hurt?"

Wallaker tried to pretend he hadn't quite understood. "What do you mean?"

"At the concert," Billy went on, "when you were in the bushes with Mummy. How was she hurt? Was it her mouth?"

Wallaker looked down to Billy, his earnest eyes and expression. He looked around to see if Bridget's vehicle was approaching, then crouched down so that they were face to face. "Can I let you in on a little secret, between we men?"

Billy nodded, clearly pleased to be taken into such a confidence.

"Your mum's hurt was less about an injury to her… mouth," he began, "and more about… hurting inside." Wallaker patted his own chest, just over his heart. "Do you know what I mean?"

Billy furrowed his brow. "Like a stomach ache?"

Wallaker chuckled. "No," he said. "She was sad, because she missed your dad and wished he could be there with you."

Billy nodded. "We talked about him last night."

"So you understand, I think. She didn't want you to see her upset like that and take away from your wonderful performance. So I was just… trying to be a friend. You know how… sometimes you hug your friends."

Billy nodded.

"I'm afraid that your mum might not have wanted that," he said; when he spotted Bridget's vehicle coming down the road, he rose to his full height. "So I don't want to bring it up again, and I would appreciate it you wouldn't either."

Billy looked very serious. "No, sir, I won't. But… Jeremiah said she kissed you."

"Jeremiah was wrong," said Wallaker, which wasn't a lie. Jeremiah was wrong; Wallaker had been the one to initiate the kiss, as chaste as it had been.

…

The term was over, and summer started full bore; while Bridget and the children spent time in Paxos and Devon, arranging play dates with all manner of friends and spending time with her mother after an epiphany and reconciliation of sorts, Wallaker took his own boys on holiday for a bit, a camping trip in the country.

The first day or so of the trip was spent in awkward silence—it became very clear that he did not even know his own children well enough to converse with them. In fact, it apparently was the longest stretch they had spent alone together at one time in years.

"The whistle and the stopwatch," Wallaker said abruptly over the camp stove as he cooked eggs for breakfast, remembering the Father's Day gifts. "I mean, I know I already thanked you, but… I really do like them."

"Oh," said Matt. He smiled. "I'm glad."

Fred smiled too. "It was my idea, after Mum said you were teaching sports. We saved our pocket money."

Wallaker found himself smiling, too. "Well, I've gotten very nice comments on them," he said, undoubtedly thinking of Billy's remarks.

"Do you like… do you like teaching sports?" Matt asked.

"Yes, a lot," he said.

"What about music? Do you get to play?" Fred asked.

"Not very frequently," said Wallaker. Mark thought of the concert. He turned to look at where the boys sat at the table. "And you?" he asked. "Do you ever get to play?"

They looked sheepish. "No," they admitted. "We don't do music lessons at school."

"No?" Wallaker asked, clearly surprised. "Because they don't offer it?"

After another exchanged glance, Matt spoke for the two of them. "Because Mum said it wasn't necessary for us to take music and that we should take other subjects because she didn't want us poor and living on the streets."

"She said it was beneath us," added Fred.

"Oh," Wallaker said. Mark could see the restraint, the tension in his jaw as he didn't say the things he wanted to say about Sarah's opinion. "Well. There's more to life than only learning skills that'll make you money. We'll have to make some adjustments to your term; that is, if you want to do music again."

The boys both smiled very broadly. "Yeah."

The ice thus broken, the boys and their father conversed on many other subjects for the balance of the holiday, though there were unguarded moments when Wallaker seemed contemplative, even sad.

"Dad?"

Wallaker was packing the tents when Matt approached. He looked up, squinting into the sunlight. "Yes, son?"

Matt said nothing, so Wallaker prompted him again as he continued his work.

"Dad, I was just wondering, have you got a girlfriend now?"

He looked up to Matt again from where he was knelt on the grass. "What makes you ask that?"

"Just wondering," said Matt with a little grin.

Wallaker rose, looking with curiosity at his son. "No, Matt," said Wallaker at last. "I haven't a girlfriend."

"Aw," said Matt. "Too bad. I wish you did."

"Get your brother and then get your stuff in the car," said Wallaker. As Matt wandered away, Wallaker muttered under his breath, "Yeah, I wish I did too."

Mark felt Wallaker's frustration and annoyance acutely, and thought, How dare she so stubbornly resist the man I'm pushing at her so insistently! Then again, this was Bridget, whose track record for such clues were not so great; this thought made Mark smile, at least.

…

Help in Mark's endeavours came from an unlikely source: Rebecca, Bridget's bohemian neighbour, who returned from touring with her… husband? Boyfriend? Mark wasn't sure. Rebecca, however, confirmed for Mark what he thought he already knew—military service with the SAS before returning to civilian life as a teacher—and gave Bridget all of the details he'd wished he'd been able to give, like the fact that he was no longer married, and hadn't been for years.

After this, in a case of history repeating itself, Bridget apparently decided she liked Wallaker just as it seemed he had lost interest. Mark, though, knew better. Wallaker himself had been the one to surreptitiously spread the word (through Valerie, the school secretary) that he wasn't married, if for no other reason than to redeem himself for the Summer Concert kiss. Even if it meant he had to put up with an onslaught of advances from the other mums, which he invariably did.

However, Wallaker kept his distance, and now that Bridget realised that his kindness and attentiveness had been genuine, that he hadn't only been kind for the sake of being kind or, worse still, to make her feel like a bad mum, she was in something of a funk herself.

When Billy made the choir, Wallaker offered congratulations to him as he stood there with his mum; it was the most they'd spoken to each other, even indirectly, since the summer concert. It was clear to Mark that he wanted to say a lot more to her. As he turned away, she started to speak, and it was then that Mark could see the annoyance all over his face for not staying to hear what it was she might have said.

…

Bonfire Night would prove to rekindle sparks again, even though it came not in the form of an actual Bonfire Night party, but rather, an ordinary parents' night at the school. Though Wallaker started the evening with a rather cool demeanour towards Bridget, eventually he warmed up to her despite himself, and they ended up bonding a bit over Billy's (understandable) fit of giggles over 'Uranus'.

The most significant aspect of the evening revealed itself after Billy's meeting. Mark wasn't sure Bridget picked up on the real importance of what she overheard Wallaker saying to Nicolette about her son, Atticus, though her expression indicated that she at least realised that his stance had softened since they'd first met. Mark had sure noticed, though.

Wallaker had basically come around to Bridget's way of thinking, and in fact used some of the same words she'd used in the defence of children. Children should be treated like children, not like corporate products; they needed to have fun, needed to learn how to deal with problem resolution, not worry about class rankings or be barraged with a constant stream of praise and ego-stroking.

Mark thought it'd be just a matter of time before he was pulling his boys out of boarding school, all thanks to her.

…

Miranda.

What a comedy of errors.

Mark wished he could tell Bridget that Miranda was a relative, because he knew Bridget well enough to know that she believed that any man would choose a twenty-something stick insect (to use her parlance) instead… which he knew to be foolish. The hairdresser making a joke in front of Wallaker about a no-grey Christmas—the first visit for a roots touch up in weeks—surely did not help matters. For all her youth and attractiveness, Mark thought Miranda did not compare in any significant way to Bridget. Though he probably wasn't the most unbiased man on the subject.

Mark noticed something very subtle, though, when Bridget admitted that she knew he had been an SAS officer. Wallaker was clearly still deeply affected by what he'd seen while serving, and in reflex, it seemed, he had closed ranks in on himself at the mere mention that she was aware of this aspect of his past. More than ever, it seemed that Wallaker needed what Bridget could offer, to help him to heal from his traumatic past, just as much as Bridget needed Wallaker to help her move on.

If there were only something more Mark could do to push the two of them together. It was such an obvious pairing to him, to school mum Farzia, to the school secretary Valerie—why did they not see it themselves?

…

Without a doubt, Bridget had made incredible progress since Mark had been watching over her. She had gone from a mere shadow of a person, existing only to go through the motions for the sake of the children, to a fully engaged mother who was working diligently on a second screenplay—the first of which was being filmed, though without her involvement any longer, but still impressive given it was her first—and who was trying to find someone with whom she could find happiness. Bridget had even, in her usual tender-heartedness, comforted and befriended the A-Type power mum/family CEO, Nicolette, during a moment of crisis.

Overall, Mark was pleased. The only thing that left him unsatisfied was that despite these successes, Bridget still missed Mark desperately, and still felt lonely.

…

Without the benefit of the foreknowledge Mark seemed to possess of the situation—from where he got this foresight that no adult or child was in danger that day, he did not know—Bridget must have felt helpless watching the moron in the BMW back his vehicle into the pole at East Finchley, then terrified when she couldn't find Billy. The pole was the first domino to fall, taking the fence with it, landing with a crash as the car continued to move backwards into the sunken sports pit.

Mark tried to soothe Billy and his friends as Wallaker then Bridget herself bravely descended into the pit. From all appearances the car was about to fall onto them, but Mark was not worried; he liked to think that even if he'd been a mortal man without that special foresight, he wouldn't have panicked, because Wallaker took charge of the situation as if it were a military drill. He even held up the teetering end of the car while barking up to the teachers and parents to sit on the bonnet and directing the boys to ease away from the car then get out from behind the fence.

The sight of Bridget pulling Billy out, then of the firemen pulling them out in turn, made Mark so proud; Bridget was the only one of the mums who had gone into the pit. And Billy, in turn, was so proud of having saved his sister (even though Mabel had not been near the pit, and had never been in any danger, as she was with Nicolette the entire time). He proclaimed himself a superhero.

Bridget was as strong as steel while the children went to get checked out at hospital, and it was only afterwards, back at the house, with the children engrossed in the telly and everything back to normality, that she finally broke into tears. Mark was very grateful that Wallaker was still there—after driving her, Billy, and Mabel home—to console her as Mark wished he could. Enfolding her in his arms, whispering words of comfort, and words of reassurance to bolster her confidence as a single parent, words that echoed what Mark himself was thinking.

After the event they seemed to have reached a détente—at least, they were more openly friendly towards one another. Mark could tell each wanted more, but were under the misapprehension that the other was involved with someone else.

…

Christmas was a magical time of year, but also deeply emotional, to the point of traumatic, for a woman who had lost her husband under terrible circumstances, and her father so soon before that. Mark was not at all surprised, then, when, in the church at Billy's Christmas carol concert, tears filled her eyes and flooded down her cheeks during the singing. He knew exactly why she was sad; he knew she was thinking of all of the Christmases Past, ones that made her heart ache. Mabel took her hand, said, "Don't cry, Mummy, pleathe don't cry." Bridget wiped her cheeks off lest Billy see her sobbing, and then she raised her voice along with the rest of the congregation.

Wallaker was no longer singing, but looking straight at her, though she didn't notice at first. Wallaker watched her in that moment as it represented her life to him—setting aside pain and heartache to be strong for her children—and when she did finally meet his gaze, she stopped singing, too: the smile he offered to her was understanding and kind, communicating so much in such a simple expression, in so little a span of time.

This is it, thought Mark. He did not have any particular special foresight as he had with the incident with Billy in the schoolyard, but he intuited that this look across the church signalled a change in the direction of their relationship. The right direction.

After the concert, the snow fell in beautiful, fluffy flakes. There was a fire in the brazier in the courtyard, and mulled wine, hot cocoa and roasted chestnuts for the offer. Wallaker brought over refreshments for Bridget, Mabel, Billy (who had not yet even appeared to join them), and himself.

"May I pour some more of this down your coat?" Wallaker joked, referring to the hot cocoa that Mabel had accidentally spilt down Bridget's new white coat earlier that evening, which Bridget, in her usual nonchalance about accidents, had dismissed as not worth getting upset about. Bridget hadn't responded; Wallaker took her silence as accepting of the drinks, and set the tray down in order to offer a cocoa to Mabel. "This is for you, Mabel."

She shook her head, even though she clearly wanted the drink. "I spilt it before, on Mummy's coat, you see."

"Now Mabel," he said with solemnity, "if she had a white coat on, without chocolate, would she really be Mummy?"

Mabel's eyes were huge as she shook her head again, accepting the drink… before surprising Mark (and, clearly, Bridget as well): she set the drink down then threw her arms around him for a big hug, giving him a kiss, getting chocolate on Wallaker's shirt.

Wallaker was not unaffected by the surprise embrace and show of affection, but worked hard to try not to show it. "There you go," Wallaker said with due seriousness, then added jokingly, "Why don't you tip a little bit more on Mummy's coat, just for Christmas?"

"Mummy! Mummy! Did you see me?" This came from an exuberant Billy, racing up with pink cheeks and a broad smile.

Mabel sang at his appearance: "'Tis de season to hate Billy!"

"Mabel," said Wallaker, "stop it." Amazingly, she did. Wallaker continued, "Of course she saw you, Billy; she was waving at you, as she was specifically instructed not to." He handed Billy his chocolate, told him he'd done great, putting his hand reassuringly on Billy's shoulder.

Billy was on cloud nine, with as broad a grin as Mark had ever seen, his eyes shining with pride; Wallaker and Bridget shared a glance, undoubtedly thinking of the incident at East Finchley before Billy interrupted by asking (in a disapproving tone) about the state of the coat. Then, at seeing his friend, he asked for his bag, and Mabel did too.

At Wallaker's confused expression, it turned out that the children were going to sleepovers with friends. "Well, that sounds like fun," he said, then glanced to Bridget. "And is Mummy having a sleepover, too?"

Mabel told him no. "She'th all on her own."

Billy added, rather unkindly, "As usual."

"Interesting," murmured Wallaker.

Spoiling the moment was the school secretary, who to find Wallaker about a bassoon, which turned out to be Billy's.

"I'll go and get it," said Bridget.

"I'll get it," countered Wallaker kindly. "Back in a mo."

"No!" said Bridget. "It's okay! I'll—"

She stopped talking when Wallaker placed his hand on her arm. "I'll get it."

With that, he went off for the bassoon, and Bridget took the children and their knapsacks to their respective friends' parents for the sleepovers, then waited for Wallaker. She looked increasingly despondent, or doubtful that he planned to return, pacing back and forth as she sipped her mulled wine, finally finishing it and tossing the cup away, spraying her coat with the dregs of the red wine as she did. With this final indignity delivered upon her, she apparently made up her mind that Wallaker wasn't coming back, turned on her heel, and headed in the same direction the remaining attendees had gone.

Mark was disappointed that Wallaker had apparently stood her up, and frustrated that there was nothing he could do. He was just about to go looking to satisfy his own curiosity when—

"Hang on!"

Everyone in the vicinity turned to look. With the bassoon in tow, Wallaker came striding up, explaining that he was taking her carol singing, satisfying the outsiders' curiosity. To her, he said quietly, "Shall we hit the pub?"

Mark could sense a change almost immediately; not specifically by what they said, but the body language spoke volumes. And finally, it was Wallaker who broached the subject of what he thought was Bridget's much younger fiancé (who wasn't), and Bridget countered regarding Wallaker's much younger girlfriend (who wasn't)… and they hashed out all of the misunderstandings, which made Mark proud of her. In the past, she might have never spoke up at all.

Mark knew all would be well when Wallaker leaned in and said, "…you can't go out with someone else, can you? When you're in lo—"

It didn't take a genius to realise what he had been about to say when he was interrupted by another school mum, and Bridget obviously understood. To reiterate his feelings, though, Wallaker asked, "If I take you home will you dance to 'Killer Queen'?"

As they departed the pub together, Mark distinctly heard the school secretary say with a twinkle in her eye, "Have a good night, you two." Mark also noticed that Bridget had forgotten about the bassoon once again. He had faith, somehow, that it would be fetched. He couldn't imagine Wallaker letting the detail about one of her children slip his mind, despite the promise of the evening ahead.

To Mark's surprise it was Bridget who remembered, and after Wallaker returned with it… well, after the mistletoe, after caressing her cheek, after taking her in his arms and kissing her, Mark saw little point in remaining.

She did not return to the house for the whole of the night. The house was very empty and far too quiet, though Mark expected it might not be that way for long.

…

"Billy?"

"Yeah?" They were both set on the ground; Mabel had Saliva, her dolly, and nearby, Billy was playing his video games on a hand-held console.

"I wonder if dis is what it's like havin' a daddy all the time."

Billy put the game down and looked at his sister. Billy, who seemed in so many ways to Mark as so much more a young man than the little boy of seven that he was, had obviously enjoyed having Wallaker at dinner with them that evening. "Yeah, probably."

"I like it," Mabel declared, then screwed up her face. "He's not really Daddy but it's okay if he is sorta like a daddy, isn't it?"

Billy didn't say anything, his expression difficult to read; Mark knew why this was. Loyalty to a father he could probably now only barely remember.

Just then there was a light rap on the frame of the open bedroom door. It was Wallaker; he had overheard this little conversation between them, and it had affected him, judging by the soft, almost emotional expression playing on his features. Both children turned to face him. "Hi Mr Wolkda," said Mabel brightly.

"Just wanted to come and say goodnight before your mummy comes in to put you to bed."

"Goodnight," said Mabel.

Billy studied Wallaker. "Don't you mean goodbye?"

Billy was perceptive. Mark knew it, and so did Wallaker.

"Well…" said Wallaker. "I was hoping to talk to you about that. Both of you." He sat down on the floor between the two of them. "You know I like you both a lot, and I like your mummy a lot, too."

With huge, luminous eyes, Mabel nodded. "We like you too."

Hesitantly, Billy nodded as well.

"I'm happy to hear that, Mabel," he said with a smile. "I heard a little of what you said… and I just wanted you both to know that I would like to be there for you, help you, support you like a daddy would, but I would never want to take the place of your daddy. I would never ask you to forget him, and you never should." He paused, meeting Billy's gaze. "I know that you might be feeling bad about liking me, because maybe you feel like that means you love your daddy less, but… you know, me liking the two of you doesn't mean I love my own boys any less. Does that make sense?"

Mabel's mouth formed a big O. "You're a daddy?"

Billy allowed a little smile; he had already seen the father's day gifts. He already knew.

"Yes, Mabel, I am," Wallaker said gently.

"Where do you keep the kidth?"

Wallaker grinned, though looked a bit chagrined. "They're at school."

She looked horrified. "Do they thleep in your clathroom?"

He tried not to laugh. "A different school, the sort of school that kids sleep at."

"Oh, I don't like that at all," Mabel said sourly.

"I am starting to agree," said Wallaker. "So. I hope you understand there isn't any reason to feel bad about liking me. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," said Billy. "I think so."

"Good," said Wallaker, shifting in order to get to his feet again. "Right. Well. I'd better—"

He stopped when Mabel leapt to her feet to put her arms around his neck again, and smacked a loud kiss on his cheek. "Night night, Mr Wolkda," she said.

He gave her a hug in return, smiling. "We're gonna have to work on that," he said quietly. "Night night, Mabel."

"Night night, Mr Wallaker." This was from Billy, who stood there with his hands out, offering a hug, too. Wallaker accepted it gladly.

With that Wallaker left the room; Billy and Mabel looked to each other, and both smiled. "He's cool," said Billy.

"Yeah," she said, beaming a smile.

With that, Bridget appeared; if she wondered why they were so compliant in getting into their pyjamas, she didn't say a word. She tucked Billy into bed first.

Mabel said, "De moon is thtill followin' us."

At the sound of her words was when Mark felt a tug as if to the centre of his very being. Mabel was at the window, looking at the moon; one moment Mark was beside her looking out, and the next, he was gazing down upon her from the outside, looking in on them under the guise of the owl.

Bridget's future looked happy and bright, and Mark was secure that his memory would live on in her heart, and in his children's. Mark knew, however, it was time to move on. He could feel the pull get even stronger. Even though he knew they would see each other again, he resisted as long as he could, clinging to the owl with all his strength, not wanting to break the connection with Bridget's gaze. He knew, though, that it was only a matter of minutes, perhaps seconds, before his grip on the mortal world would break.

The owl's wings spread wide, though he was not sure he had done it or the owl had. All Mark could see was Bridget, her curious face filled with a sort of recognition, like a shining beacon in the moonlight. The owl raised up, wings pulsing in the cold December air, moving farther and farther away; he focused on her face even when the owl had quickly been left far below, until he could no longer see her at all.

It was time for a new beginning.

The end.