the upswing [fergie]

ambleside // saturday, 26 june 2004

“How ‘bout here?” Edith slowed the car to a crawl before she bothered to check the rearview window for cars behind them, but they were alone on the street. She let Fergie size up the pub--it was a pub so it was good enough for her--as her gaze drifted to the things hanging from the mirror: a small string of English flag bunting, a rosary (not Catholic), a Shakespeare-shaped air freshener, a tiny disco ball-- it was definitely her mother’s car. Fergie agreed and Edith nodded, careful to not say too much of anything--she was hungry--as she parked the car just a little past the entrance.

Edith stretched--not that they had been in the car very long since the last house--as Fergie let Bonnie out of the backseat. It had been a long day, even though it was just after noon; they had trained up to Lunt last night and driven up to the Lake District first thing that morning. They had already looked at three houses (and hadn’t told the Holthouses that’s what they were doing, but they didn’t ask, either).

She went to the bar and ordered their pints as Fergie and the pup got settled at a table by a window; she smiled as she looked at them, some sort of warm feeling coming over her--enough to distract from her grumbling stomach--that this was a good idea. She had already moved in with him, of course, but moving together, out of London, finding a house they both liked-- it was enough change to cause the most stable person a little bit of panic, so Edith’s anxiety didn’t exactly feel misplaced.

Edith sat Fergie’s pint in front of him and sat across from him, scratching Bonnie behind the ears before she picked up her glass. She didn’t say anything until she had given herself a few minutes to look at the menu, settling on fish and chips (with mushy peas). Deciding that, she picked up her pint again, having a sip as she studied her boyfriend over the rim of her glass.

“I liked the last one,” she said, breaking the silence she was fully aware Fergie would let drag on until Edith ate something. The last one was the little cottage, emphasis on the little. “It was, um, small, though.” She had been thinking the whole drive into the village how to broach the topic of wanting room in the house for… expansion (she couldn’t say nursery out loud). They had briefly discussed it--the future--after Fergie read her book, but they hadn’t progressed much further past wanting a family someday. They were already moving things fairly quickly; she didn’t want to go overboard.

@Fergie Flume

How ‘bout here?

Fergie turned his head from where he’d been gazing out of the window to glance at Edith, then looked back out the window with a bit more focus; there were a few shops and a pub. “Yeah.” Edith had slowed the car and now went about parking it. Fergie watched her out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be looking out the windscreen (he didn’t know why but there was something about Edith driving that was weirdly attractive — and he was pretty keen to learn himself, if she caught him looking).

They got out and Fergie went to the back door, letting Bonnie out and clipping her lead onto her harness; she had been intermittently panting out of the back window and licking his ear through the gap between the headrest and door column.

Edith went to the bar and Fergie took Bonnie to a table after checking the sign outside the door said that the pub was ‘dog friendly’ — that was a plus for the area at least. He sat, and wondered why it felt so good to sit down despite having spent the majority of the morning and yesterday sat down (in a car, on a train, on the tiny Holthouse couch). The dog nudged at his knee and he gave her a double-handed scratch around her face, leaning down to talk to her; “What did you think, eh? Wanna come up here and have your own garden to run about in?”

Edith approached with two beers and Fergie sat upright, Bonnie scuttled over to her adoptive mother and plonked herself between Edith’s feet. Fergie picked up the pint and had a long sip, slid a menu closer to peer at it. He was half-focusing on what he wanted to eat (he was tempted to get an all-day breakfast, despite having had breakfast already), and half thinking about the houses they’d looked at so far. It was difficult to imagine living anywhere other than Hogsmeade or London, and harder still to imagine living somewhere he had no real ties to, but they’d visited the Lake District a few times now for walks, it was close to Edith’s parents without being too close, and he could still easily floo or apparate to work.

Fergie glanced at Edith over the rim of his pint—he’d already drunk a third of the glass, perks of not being able to drive—and blinked. “Yeah,” he said; he’d liked it too. Small, though. Fergie set his glass down and scratched at his elbow. “Yeah,” he said again, quieter. He looked at Bonnie, head poking up from under the table, sniffing. He figured he knew what Edith meant, and figured neither of them were uninterested in having children, but they’d only been going out for six months and he knew he moved fast but not that fast.

“Garden was nice but, aye. Should probably... “ he trailed off, bringing his gaze back up to Edith. “Maybe three bedrooms,” he said, setting the starting bid — immediately wishing he’d gone with four, given that two spare rooms could quickly be occupied by his sister and his parents if they were both visiting together. “What—” He reached under the table to scratch Bonnie’s head, his hand brushing against Edith’s as she did the same.

There was one yeah, and then another. It wasn’t much, but he wasn’t disagreeing with her at least. She didn’t know why she was so nervous--who could disagree with a cottage having barely one bathroom being too small?--and there were the more obvious reasons she shouldn’t be worried: she hadn’t scared him off with her book, or with their talk of their someday family. They--Edith and Fergie--might have been very serious, very fast, but goddamn it was going well, wasn’t it?

He agreed a little bit more then. The garden was nice; should probably… he was agreeing with her. Sounded like it, anyway. She met his eye and the corner of her mouth twitched up. Three bedrooms sounded like he knew exactly what she was getting at, too. There was a brief second in which Edith considered handling this discussion maturely, talking about it like adults--

But she chickened out almost as quickly as she had considered it. Maybe she could go order their food now-- Fergie’s hand brushed against hers as they both reached for their dog, and she switched right back to wanting to talk, somehow bolstered by the physical contact. She kept one hand on Bonnie as she picked up her pint with the other, taking a sip as she fished the exact right thing to say.

“More than two, anyway.” That probably wasn’t the right thing, but it was honest. She hadn’t actually thought through it, how many bedrooms, but-- “Don’t think your mum would take it well if she had to sleep on the couch when she visited.” It was easier to think about that--and laugh about that, because Fergie had been made to sleep on the couch when they stayed in Majorca (two bedroom house) the other week--now than think about the other thing.

Edith’s lips tugged up into a small smile and Fergie felt himself do the same — phew.

But she didn’t say anything else, and he wondered if maybe they weren’t on the exact same page. He didn’t want to withdraw his hand now in case she read into it, but he also didn’t see the necessity in Bonnie getting two lots of scratches at once (nevermind the logistics of it, fighting over floppy ears). Instead, he kept his hand hovering under the table in a sort of no man’s land — within three seconds he could feel Bonnie’s warm tongue lapping at his fingers. Compromise.

More than two, anyway. Fergie’s smile came back with more confidence. “Aye,” he agreed quietly. Then laughed. “No, she wouldnae.” He sat up straight, now, and had another sip of his pint. “Might serve her right though, taste of her own medicine,” he joked. He couldn’t believe he was twenty-eight and still being forced to sleep in a separate room to his girlfriend.

But more than two was different to three. It sounded like less, until you realised she hadn’t just settled on three with him, which meant maybe she was too nervous to say four— Fergie’s eyes went a little rounder at the thought. How was she divvying up the sleeping arrangements in her head, exactly? A pub didn’t seem the usual sort of place to have this conversation—if they were going to have it—but it made sense to have it before looking at any more houses.

Fergie chewed on his lip, then met her gaze. “How many do you want?”

Aye, he said, and Edith smiled. More than two-- they were getting somewhere, and maybe they could figure out what they wanted without having to really talk about what they wanted, like adults.

She bought herself some time, anyway, mentioning his mum and her house rules; Edith wasn’t sure what she had been hoping to accomplish with that; it wasn’t like they could get up to anything, considering the room they weren’t allowed to share had bunk beds and was three yards away from Fergie’s parents. She could feel her cheeks warming at the thought, though, so she had another drink and scratched Bonnie’s ears with a little more intent. “Might,” she agreed, setting her glass down with a little grin.

Edith watched his face, wondering what he was thinking, but he saved her the trouble of wondering for too long. He asked her, right out, how many bedrooms she wanted. “Er--” Welp. “Dunno.” That much was true, anyway. “Just like, I don’t want to have to move if we need more space.” She knew that he knew what she was getting at, the theoretical children that would need room. “Don’t want to stick anyone in the attic, either,” she added with a soft smile. Edith grew up in an attic room--her parents hadn’t planned for a family when they bought their one bedroom cottage--and Fergie had told her about his loft in the Honeydukes flat, which hadn’t sounded ideal either.

“So I guess, um,” she stopped scratching Bonnie and wrapped both hands around her pint, laughing once. “Am I thinking too far ahead?” She didn’t think she was--they were buying a house together--but Fergie was nice enough to tell her if she was getting ahead of herself.

Even he wasn’t sure himself if he’d been asking about bedrooms or children but he supposed it was essentially the same question right now. Edith didn’t know, and honestly he didn’t either. Whenever he’d thought about the future—with anyone, not Edith specifically, though it had crossed his mind—he’d always pictured the classic wife and two kids: a boy and a girl. Was that because that was the family he’d grown up with? He didn’t think he wanted just one—like Edith—but he also didn’t think they needed to unnecessarily burden themselves with three or more— But if Edith wanted that, then—

He nodded, anyway; he’d moved less than a handful of times in his life, excluding the yearly back-and-forth to Hogwarts—to London, the first time, with Lysander and a couple of others; back to Hogsmeade when he quit the Ministry; in with Ailis—and he hadn’t enjoyed the process on any of those occasions, so he didn’t anticipate he’d want to do it again, after this time. And at the rate they were going, there was the (not unwelcome) thought that they might need more space sooner rather than later.

Fergie let out a light laugh when she mentioned their respective attic rooms. “Aye,” he agreed. In some respects it had been great—his mum and dad had rarely made the effort to climb his ladder, whereas they could easily poke their heads into Honey’s room—but still.

His eyes flicked down to her hands as they wrapped around her beer, then back up to her face. He didn’t smile immediately, but then he did. “No,” he said, his cheeks warming just a little. “I—” He wet his lips, and Honey’s too fast, too soon flashed across the forefront of his thoughts in bright neon— He shook his head once. “I don’t think so.” He glanced back at Edith, scratched his head. “I think this is— It doesn’t hurt to think ahead.” That hadn’t really been what he’d wanted to say — but what he’d wanted to say was a bit strong, probably.

Fergie nodded, so they were getting somewhere. Sort of. She would really love it if she didn’t have to move again anytime soon, considering the house would be her fourth move in a year after moving from London to Lunt, back to London, then to Fergie’s flat. It wasn’t that it was tedious to pack things up--she didn’t have a lot of stuff to begin with--but god, it would be nice to settle. She hadn’t really settled with Elias because technically she had her own room for appearances and he liked things being spotless, but this was different. Good different.

But was Fergie on board with the reason why she thought they should find something with more space? Bonnie didn’t need that many bedrooms. He laughed when she spoke about not wanting to shove anyone in the attic, so he had to know what she was getting at.

Yeah, there was a smile, followed by reassurance that she wasn’t thinking too far into the future-- and there was the unspoken question there, too, the is it okay that I’m thinking about this? that she couldn’t bring herself to ask. But this was good; she was used to being met with a reason why she must not have thought things through properly, how she needed to take a step back and re-evaluate, maybe consider the consequences of what she was saying. It doesn’t hurt to think ahead wasn’t the enthusiastic she had been wanting, but he wasn’t getting up to leave. She’d take it.

“I--” Edith hesitated, on the brink of asking if he knew she was talking about kids--their kids, specifically--but she was still finding it hard to say it out loud. (It was a very good sign that she ought to be thinking about having children, not being able to even say the words.) “I’m gonna order food,” she said instead, waiting for him to catch up and tell her what he wanted before she walked away.

There was a bit of a queue, which gave Edith enough time to figure out that she needed to be more obvious with Fergie. They were going to buy a house together--it had been his idea first, no less--and if that wasn’t reassurance enough-- Edith ordered, paid, and sat back down, having a swallow of her pint before she held up two fingers. “I think two.” She waited a beat before adding: “Not bedrooms.” She waited another beat, her eyes on her boyfriend, as what she had just said really sunk in. “Not now, like. In future.”

Fergie flicked his eyes up to meet Edith’s from where he’d glanced down at his almost empty beer. She didn’t continue her thought, so naturally he tried to figure out what she might have been about to say — but it was too broad, there were too many options— She was going to order food. “Erm, lasagne,” he said, even though that hadn’t been what he’d wanted a minute ago but— if a pub couldn’t do a decent lasagne he didn’t really want it to be their local anyway.

Whilst she was at the bar Fergie finished the rest of his drink, hoped she would order him a refill, and distractedly scratched at Bonnie’s ears. The puppy looked up at him from under the table, nudging into his knee, and he smiled automatically — his mind went down the tangent of thinking about her being a big sister to a human sibling.

Edith returned with a fresh pint and Fergie waited just long enough to be polite before wrapping his hand around it and pulling it closer. Two. He blinked. Not bedrooms. He blinked again, breathed in deeply. “Two,” he repeated on the exhale — that had been what he’d been thinking, hadn’t it? Another good sign. He smiled, his fingers anxiously tapping on the side of his glass.

Subconsciously he honed in on the beer she was sipping at — not right now, no, but— “Before I go completely grey though, aye,” he said with a soft smirk, trying to lighten the mood — and give her some sort of expectation, though he was beginning to feel like they already had all the same ideas, as things were going so far.

Fergie repeated what she said-two--and then there was a very long second--just long enough for Edith to panic and doubt herself--between that and when he smiled. Edith smiled, relieved, because they really were on the same page. She took another drink, relieved, congratulating herself for having a successful conversation about the future, neglecting to admit it would have been much more successful if she could say the word child. Or children. Kids, offspring, spawn, whatever-- not bedrooms would have to do for now. It was nice to get it more or less out of the way; that was that settled, agreeing to get more bedrooms for whatever reason in the future.

She laughed, grinned, appreciated what he was doing to ease the tension of the mood she had created. “Aye,” she repeated with another little laugh, eyeing the grey hairs he already had. “Better start soon, then.” It was a joke, of course, and she made another pointed look at his hairline to really drive the point home before she met his eye again. God help her, it wouldn’t actually be soon; it had only been six months. But Christ, it felt nice that they were in agreement about something like this, something about the future, their future. Fucking finally.

(Their kids might get all of Edith’s anxiety but at least they had a good chance of inheriting the nice hair genes from Fergie-- but that was definitely too far ahead to be thinking about now.)

Edith exhaled, still relieved, still pleased. But back to the situation at hand: “So what do you think about…” She paused, looked around at the pub as if there would be a large ‘you are here’ sign tacked up on the wall. “Where are we again?”

Edith laughed and Fergie relaxed a little, his chest feeling suddenly warmer — but in a good way, like the warmth of golden sunlight on skin. They were talking (without directly saying it) about their kids — their future, together.

Fergie’s eyes zeroed in on Edith’s and he grinned nervously, his cheeks taking on a pinker shade as he nodded — she was joking, he thought, but that didn’t stop his mind wandering. (And he was grinning, too, because he was a little bit fond of her fondness for his grey streak). There was a brief moment where he thought about suggesting they could at least keep practicing, but wherever that little bit of cockiness had come from it quickly withdrew.

Edith asked what he thought about… wherever they were. He looked around too, as if he might spot something Edith had missed. “Um.” They had left the map in the car, but the name of the place wasn’t really that important — although they had driven past a sign for a place called Cockley Beck, and he’d rather not live anywhere with ‘cock’ in the name or his sister would never let him hear the end of it.

Anyway: “Yeah, I like it,” he said. “I like all the wee towns up here I think.” He was definitely sold on the general area — it had been one of the regions he had suggested to check out purely because of the walks and the general similarity to the Highlands he was fond of. Going back—to Scotland—had crossed his mind too, of course, but it was at least a little bit warmer down here.

“Wouldn’t mind being more on the outskirts,” he continued, gesturing vaguely, “but it’d be nice to be in walking distance to a good pub.” That way neither of them would have to be the designated apparator — he didn’t think ZipZap operated outside of London. Fergie looked around the pub they were in again, trying to assess on looks alone if this was ‘a good pub’.