Fic - Indiana Jones - "The Jones that knew"
Title: The Jones that knew
Fandom: Indiana Jones
Author: radiotardislive
Rating: K+
Pairings: Marion/Indy, blatantly
Words: 5465
Summary: At least one Jones knew about Mutt.... a year after the end of WWII, Marion is busy adjusting to her new life without a husband, and trying to bring up a very noisy eight year old all on her own, when she bumps into a familiar face..
Author's Note: This is the first fic I have ever spent dayyyssss checking properly, and trying to make it as best as it can be, after I have been shamed by the hundreds of writers who work so hard on their fic, and I just write something and post it immediately. Seriously, I wrote this last week, and have been checking it since. I hope that I've got the voices right, but I'm not too sure about Marion, as I don't think she's as volatile as she is in Raiders. Having said that, she's supposed to have matured a little since then, in this fic. I hope you like it!
xx
Marion struggled along the pavement, tugging her chattering son along with her, as she threaded her way through early afternoon crowds of shoppers filling the London streets. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on the back of her neck, and the atmosphere was bright and carefree.
The war was over; the world was getting back on its feet once again, slowly recovering from the devastation World War Two had left in its wake. People smiled at strangers as they walked along, delighting in the fact that they were alive and that the night would not bring bombers in tow.
Marion was especially glad of that - she had spent many long nights in the local train station pressing Mutt close to her chest, comforting his whimpers as planes screeched overhead and reassuring him that the low whistle was not heading directly for them.
“Mum, can I get one? Please Mum, all the other guys have got them. I promise I’ll never break it and I’ll look after this one!”
“No, Mutt, we need to use our money and ration coupons for important things at the moment. Like vegetables,” she said, looking up from the shopping list clenched tightly in her hand, and pointing towards a grocer’s to their left.
Mutt doggedly followed his mother into the shop, begging her all the while. “It’s silver, Mum, and it looks just like a real motorbike. They sell them at the corner shop, I saw them yesterday with Ox, in the window.”
Marion deposited her purchases by the till, and haggled with the grocer, waving her ration book around, and trying to get as much food for as few of the coupons as possible.
Mutt tugged at her skirt. “Mum!” He persisted.
Marion glanced down and hushed him. “I’ve said no, Mutt!”
This would still not silence the little boy, who then turned to emotional blackmail, as they left the dark shop, after Marion took the apple he had picked up out of his hands and placed it back in the basket by the door.
“All the other guys’ dads bought them for ‘em. And I don’t have a Dad.”
Marion shifted the brown paper bags she was struggling to carry, and dumped one into Mutt’s arms, freeing one of her hands to balance the food. “Mutt, don’t try that with me…” Her tone was harsh, but her heart tugged as she heard him, despite herself. He was just as much of a charmer as his father had been, really.
Bargaining seemed to be Mutt’s final option. “I promise I’ll be really, really good, and I’ll do all my homework, and sit up straight at dinner, and, and…” Gulping, he threw his final card onto the table. “I’ll have a bath every night.”
Marion rounded on him, using the name he had been born with and which she now only reserved for moments of admonition. “Henry!”
“Yes?”
Marion looked round in surprise as a deeper, significantly more Scottish voice answered her. Looking up at her was an elderly man, a grey beard covering his chin, a cloth hat pulled low over his forehead. He held a broadsheet newspaper in front of him, as he sat at a table outside a café on the street. He peered up at her through thick glasses, giving him a slightly owlish appearance, not helped by the tweed suit he wore, and the bow tie at his neck.
“Sorry, I was just talking to my…son…” Marion froze even as she spoke and her mouth hung open in shock for a few moments.
She recognised the man in an instant, for she had met him once or twice as a young girl at archaeological conferences, seen pictures of him many a time, and had held countless conversations about her own father and the man himself, with a man she preferred not to think about. But nevertheless there was no denying it; the man was Henry Jones Senior, Indiana’s father, a man she did not know personally that well, but due to the late night discussions about him, someone she still felt that she had grown up with.
“Doctor Jones,” she eventually managed, wincing even as she said it, wondering when was the last time she had said that.
Henry looked quizzical. “I do apologise, do I know you?”
Marion was torn between saying that she had got the wrong person, and revealing who she actually was, before the man took the choice away from her.
“Marion Ravenwood!” He exclaimed, a broad smile stretching across his face as he stood up, setting the paper aside, extending a hand towards her. “Of course I remember you!”
Marion blushed, wondering how she was going to get out of this one. “It’s been a very long time, sir.”
He beamed as he shook her hand warmly. “Yes, you were sixteen when I last saw you, and you were furious at everyone because my son was due to stay with you for the next year or so.”
Marion smiled, remembering it well. Her father had invited his pupil and son of his close friend, Henry, to live with them. Marion had hated Indy before she had even met him, despising the man who her father loved more than his only daughter - and so the epic love/hate relationship between Indy and Marion had started.
Henry directed his attention to the little boy, quietened at last as he stared up at the man with frightened eyes, contemplated the beard, and listened warily to the deep Scottish rumble. “And who is this little chap?”
Marion realised with a start that unknowingly, Mutt was facing his real grandfather for the first time, just as Henry was unaware of how closely he was related to the eight year old boy who stood before him.
Mutt, predictably, shook himself out of his terrified stupor quickly, and, the proud Jones streak in him showing itself, puffed out his chest and declared, “Mutt Williams.”
As Henry looked a little confused, Marion stepped in. “I should have corrected you before, Doctor Jones. I am Marion Williams now.”
“I see,” he nodded, and smiled at the boy. “Mutt. That’s a bit of a peculiar name.”
“No it isn’t.”
Marion looked scandalised at her son’s retort, but the old man merely laughed. “He sounds just like Indiana.”
Marion bit her lip. “Yes, he does.”
Mutt looked up. “Mum, who’s Indiana?”
“Oh, an old friend of mine.” Marion waved the question away, hoping she didn’t look as flustered as she felt. This had the potential to go disastrously wrong. “This is his father.”
“Oh.” Mutt looked back up at him.
“So, what brings you to London, Doctor Jones?” Marion asked him.
“Just taking advantage of the ease of travel once again, really. I also wanted to visit some old school friends I have not seen in many years.” He smiled.
There was an awkward silence, during which Marion’s heart and mind held an argument. Her heart wanted to let grandfather and grandson get to know each other better, whilst her mind told her that this was a very bad idea, and that if Jones Senior caught on, Indy could burst into her life once more, something she had vowed would never happen again.
Eventually, she could no longer stop herself, and she blurted out, “Would you like to come back to our flat for tea?” Immediately, she cursed herself. It seemed no matter how old she got, her tongue would always run away from her before she could exercise some control over it.
Henry smiled. “It would be a pleasure.” Standing up, he rustled his newspaper as he folded it away, and left it on the table.
Marion led the way, down the high street and right at the crossroads, along by the park, down cramped London avenues that she had never believed she would ever get her head around when she arrived in London eight years previously.
“There it is, Mum.” Mutt followed his mother, walking with Henry, gesticulating at a shop on the corner, before running over to it and pressing his nose to the glass.
Marion rolled her eyes. “Mutt, we’ve already discussed this. No.” She went over to him and tried to pull him from the window. “Perhaps in the future.”
“But I want one now.” He whined, turning on her with large eyes.
“Henry…” She warned him, narrowing her eyes. Obediently, Mutt shrugged his shoulders and followed her down the street, hanging his head.
Henry Jones chuckled. “Marion, why do you call him Henry when his name is Mutt?”
“Because Henry is my stupid proper name.” Mutt said. “It’s so boring. Mutt’s much better. I named myself.”
“My name is Henry,” the older man smiled, looking down at the boy, as they walked. “And so is my son’s. He hated it too, and renamed himself ‘Indiana’, just like you did.” He paused for a moment, considering as he looked at Mutt without really seeing him.
Ahead of them, Marion bit her lip and closed her eyes. However, the crisis passed, as Henry looked up and asked the boy, “What is it you want in that shop then?”
Immediately, Mutt’s face became animated and shone boyishly as he warmly spoke about the toy he desired so much. Henry listened with interest and mild amusement twinkling in his eyes.
Marion heard their somewhat one-sided conversation with a smile on her face, despite herself. It was so good to see them together, even if they didn’t know exactly how closely they were related. She hoped Henry didn’t notice as she did how much like his father Mutt really was. The same gleam was in both of their eyes as they talked about something they were really passionate about, whether it was a lost treasure or a toy motorbike. The same defiance was in both of them, and in Henry Jones Senior too.
For a moment she wondered if it would be so bad if Henry knew the truth, and Indy was told that he had a son. Then she shook her head. He would demand to see the boy no doubt, and of course he would see him. He would sweep back into her life, and Marion knew that she would forgive him in a second and love him as she always did. But just as clearly, she knew that it would not be long before he vanished again, forsook them all, and broke her heart for a third time. She would not have that happen again, especially not to her little boy. It was better if the decision she had made when she gave birth to Mutt was kept; Indiana Jones must never know about Mutt, and she must get on without him, for everyone’s sake.
“Surely your father will get the bike for you?” Marion heard Henry ask.
“My Dad’s dead,” said Mutt, bluntly. “He died in the war.”
“Oh.” Henry was shocked. “I’m so sorry.”
Marion turned to them, and reached for Mutt’s hand instinctively. “Colin was a pilot in the RAF. His plane was shot down over the English Channel a year before the war ended.”
Henry looked at her sadly, and reached out a hand for her shoulder. He squeezed it comfortingly, as Marion directed them down a narrow street. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Marion shook her head. “You weren’t to know. Besides, we’re doing very well without him, aren’t we dear?”
Mutt nodded. “And we’ve got Ox.”
“Ox?” Henry asked. “Not Harold Oxley? Junior’s friend?”
“Yes. He lives with us, and looks after us all. He’s kind of like Mutt’s surrogate father, isn’t he?” She stopped by some steps leading up to a brick house. “Here we are.” Taking her keys from her bag and balancing her bag of groceries on one arm, she opened the door, and let them all in.
“Oh. Um….Excuse the mess, Doctor Jones, but we don’t do much cleaning in this house.” Marion thrust a stack of newspapers onto a stool in the hallway, gesturing for them all to follow her.
“Please Marion, call me Henry. ‘Doctor Jones’ is reserved for the classroom and business only, not for old friends.”
“Alright then. Please, make yourself comfortable in the lounge. Mutt,” she hissed at her son, as she went into the kitchen to put away their purchases, “be polite.”
Mutt made a face as he dumped his bag down on the kitchen surface. He went into the lounge, and Marion heard him ask, “Hey, d’you like cars?” She smiled, he was no doubt showing him his collection, which he would add to whenever he had enough pocket money to buy a new one from the shop, and drive around the lounge floor for hours without getting bored.
“Why yes, of course. Is that one of the new Chrysler Windsor’s?”
Marion clattered about the pokey kitchen, putting together an assortment of tea cups, plates, and biscuits. It was amazing how quickly she had settled into her domestic life in London, with her young son, and Colin, before he’d gone away to fight. Back in the old days, no one who had entered The Raven in Nepal would ever have imagined the brash, volatile owner to be content with a hum drum life looking after a house and a family. All that had changed when Indy and she had decided to marry, which was not a decision they had made in a rush.
After the adventure with the Ark, Marion had lived with Indy and in a flat down the road from him for two years, until they’d eventually decided that they were ready to commit and to marry. At the time, Indy had said that he was prepared and ready, but obviously, he was not, on account of his flight a week before the wedding. Marion had been forced into her new home-bound life because of the child she was carrying, and she couldn’t even live it with the man she wanted to. However, Colin was a nice man and had loved both Marion and Mutt dearly. If he hadn’t been there to look after her when she arrived in London, a complete wreck, she had no idea what would have happened.
And so, Abner Ravenwood’s wild child had been forced to be content with the life of a married woman, and over the years, she had grown used to it, though a part of her still longed for adventure. That same part of her dreamt every night of the future she might have had with Indy, fighting the Nazis across the world, having adventure after adventure, and at the end of it all he came back to her each time, and they returned to their house with their lovely baby boy. Sadly, that was not to be. She had exchanged gin, and guns, and running away from death for teas, bedtime stories and shopping, the moment she had given birth to Mutt.
She eventually came into the lounge, walking slowly as she carried in a tray loaded with shortbread and tea. She stopped as she saw Mutt sitting cross-legged on the floor, showing his prized cars to Henry, who was sat by him, his long legs stretched out on the carpet, his hat and coat on the sofa, his grey hair shining as he peered through his thick glasses at the cars he was being shown, and exchanging confidential remarks about them with the boy.
Marion smiled, as vision of what could have been swept before her eyes. Suddenly, they both turned around as they realised they were being watched.
“Good lord, shortbread! I haven’t seen that for years!” Henry exclaimed, struggling to get to his feet, his back clicking as he did so. Mutt sprung up, his eyes shining as he saw the plate of biscuits.
“We always save our ration coupons for some things for tea,” Marion admitted, setting the tray down on the table by the window. “It appears Ox isn’t back yet, so we’ve got the house to ourselves for a bit.” She sat down. “Mutt, don’t even think about it. Pass the plate round to our guest before you start tucking in, otherwise there’ll be none left.”
The boy looked guilty as he handed the plate of biscuits over, looking with longing at the shortbread. His mother always saved such treats for very special occasions.
After they’d eaten their tea, Mutt disappeared off to go and find his book of cards showing all the different planes that had fought throughout the war. After his mother glared at him as he attempted to slide off of his chair, he asked if he may be excused, a look of innocence on his face, and then hurried away, the two adults smiling after him.
“He’s a nice boy,” Henry smiled, setting his cup of tea down. “Full of life and interested in everything. I can imagine he’s a bit of a handle.”
Marion nodded. “Oh yes. He’s always getting into scrapes with his schoolmates. Not a week goes past where I don’t have to go into his school for an appointment with the headmaster about something or other.”
Henry chuckled, and Marion laughed a little too, before setting her cup down. She looked up to see that his brown eyes were upon her, clear and steady, and she was filled with the awful suspicion that he knew. She looked down, and opened her mouth to ask him if he would like another cup of tea, before he cut across her.
“Marion my dear, why did you name him Henry?”
Old habits returning to her in a flash, she lied with as much ease as breathing. “Mutt may not like it, but it’s a nice name. Colin’s father was called Henry too, you know.” She stood up, but he reached a hand across to seize her wrist before she could do anything.
“No he wasn’t. That’s not the reason you named him Henry at all.” His voice was quiet, and soft.
With a sigh, Marion sat back down. She looked up at him, and she realised that she couldn’t lie to him. She could lie to the police, to the world, to Jones himself, but she couldn’t lie to this old man, who had bonded so well with her son despite only knowing him for a short time. She had never known Mutt take to a stranger so; when he was a baby, he had been terrified of all men, especially those with beards, and had cried for hours when he had first met Ox.
Taking a breath, she fiddled with the corner of the tray before looking up and meeting his gaze with her own firm one. “You’re the only person in the world I could ever tell. Colin figured it out soon enough, when my stomach decided to swell to the size of a beach ball not long after I arrived in England.”
“He’s Junior’s - Indiana’s - son, isn’t he?” His eyes told her that he knew, as did his level voice.
Marion nodded, and she suddenly felt her throat go dry and her eyes fill with tears. “Henry Jones the third,” she affirmed, biting her lip, and then looking down as a teardrop rolled down her cheek. When she looked back up, she saw that Henry’s eyes were gleaming too. He was still holding onto her forearm with his left hand, and he rubbed his thumb against the inside of her wrist.
“My grandson,” he whispered, and his voice was choked with emotion, just as hers was. “I knew the moment he argued with me about his name.”
They both looked down to compose themselves for a few seconds, and when they looked up again, you would never know how moved they both were, except for the fact that their voices were much tenderer than they usually were.
“You should tell him,” Henry said. “He should know that he has a son.”
Marion shook her head, her eyes wide. “No, I don’t want him to know. I don’t want to see him again, Henry. Twice he’s rolled into my life and left it again in shambles, without a word. I won’t be hurt again, and I will not have him hurting my son.”
Henry nodded. “I can see why you don’t want to get him involved, but still, a man should know that he has a son when he has one.”
“I know. Ox says that. One day, perhaps I will tell him. But not now. Don’t you see, I’ve moved on! I’ve married, I’ve had a good life with my husband, and just because he’s dead doesn’t mean that I should have to go back to Indy for protection and help. I can manage fine on my own. Ox, Mutt and me, we make a great team. We’re doing fine without any help from Jones.”
Henry smiled to himself. “I can see that. He said you were just as stubborn as you always were.”
She stalled for a moment. “He’s talked to you about me? I thought you never spoke to each other now?”
Henry grimaced a little in guilt as he acknowledged the truth of what she said. “We didn’t, but in ’38 I got captured by the Nazis, and Junior had to come and rescue me. We found the Holy Grail.” His eyes shone, as he remembered the culmination of his life’s quest to find the cup of Christ. “It really did bring life. It gave me back my son, as we found each other again, in a manner of speaking. Since then, I’ve been seeing him quite regularly. He’s spoken of you often. He’s always regretted leaving you, Marion. He says that it was the biggest mistake of his life.” He looked at her carefully. “He still loves you.”
For a split second, her heart soared, and then she remembered the despair she had felt after he’d abandoned her a week before their wedding. He’d loved her then, supposedly.
She shook her head, and opened her mouth to speak, but then something clicked in her head, and she narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Wait a minute, what!? The Holy Grail?!”
Henry grinned as he saw how easily she could be sidetracked, just like his son. “We found it, only to lose it once again. Indiana had to get it to save my life.” His heart swelled with pride, even now, as he remembered how his son had fought for him.
Marion smiled, eyes shining as she imagined the adventure there surely was behind the tale. Then, she remembered what they were talking about, and she looked serious once again. “Look, I’ve moved on, Henry. I don’t want him anymore. He’s had his last chance.”
“You still love him, Marion. Anyone can see that.”
“No! I don’t!” She pulled her hand out of his grasp in order to fling her arms dramatically around. “Why is it that all men think that once a woman is in love with a man, she will love him forever, and no matter what he does to her, she will always forgive him, take him back, and love him as much as she ever did?”
“Because in your case, it’s true,” he said in a low voice.
She shook her head vehemently. “No. It’s not. Besides, it would never work. We’re too different, we argue about everything. We tried it before, and look what happened. He ran away from me.” She laughed coldly. “He couldn’t stand me so much that he actually ran away from me.”
“Not from you, Marion.” His voice was as soft as silk, reassuring, and she could see where Jones got his charm from. He leant across the table to take her hand in his once again, in a fatherly gesture of affection. “Never from you. From the idea of settling down, of marriage. You know what he’s like, he’s been used to being on his own and wandering for so long. It’s hard to imagine him tied down to a house, and a family. But now, he’s getting older, and he wishes he could have seized it all when it was within his grasp.”
“Well, he should have thought of that eight years ago.” She retorted, then stopped herself. “I’m sorry, I’m not angry with you. It’s just that I know it would never work. I’m sure he’s moved on, just as much as I have.”
“All the same, he should know he has a child.”
“And one day, he will. Just not for some time.”
Henry inclined his head in resignation. Well, he had tried. He wondered what Junior would say if he knew his father had been match making for him?
With a clatter, Mutt burst into the room, clutching his book tightly. “Here it is, Uncle Henry”, he said, bouncing across the room towards the table.
Henry picked him up with a little bit of difficulty and set him on his lap with a groan. “Oof! Not quite as young as I used to be. Come on then, my lad, let’s see this scrapbook of yours.”
Marion cleared the tea things away, smiling at how her son addressed Henry, leaving the two poring over the book, and went out to the kitchen. She washed up the saucers and cups, and when she had put the last one away, she could bear it no longer.
Resting one hand on the cupboard door she had just closed, she hung her head, and wept. How she wished she and Jones could have been like normal lovers, how they could have stayed together, and spoken about their feelings, instead of dancing round discussing their relationship until it was too late.
It wasn’t long before Ox arrived home from the university where he worked, and he greeted his old friend’s father warmly. They spent a good hour discussing the past few years, and Oxley took particular interest in Henry’s story about the quest for the Holy Grail, whilst Mutt listened with interest, his eyes round. At last, Henry saw the colour of the sky outside and looked at his watch quickly.
“I must be going; I fear I have already intruded on you for too long as it is.”
“No, certainly not,” Oxley shook his head, rising to his feet as Henry did so, and shaking his hand, as Mutt left the room to fetch his coat and hat for him. “Um, give Henry my best.”
The old man nodded. Marion had intimated to him before Oxley’s arrival that Ox had not spoken to Henry’s son since he had found out that he had abandoned Marion a week before their wedding. “I am sure that he would say the same, and ask for your forgiveness, if he could.” He looked across the room at Marion. “In fact, my son would have a lot of apologising to do if he ever came here.”
“Henry, I think it would be best if you didn’t tell him you’d seen me. I don’t want him coming after me.” Marion looked sincere as she stood up too.
“If that is what you really want, then of course I will honour your wish. But I do hope that, over time, perhaps you may come to forgive him. He would want to know of your whereabouts and your current position.”
“As you can see, I am perfectly comfortable,” Marion nodded, looking over fondly at Oxley. “Ox is like a brother to me. I don’t need a husband when I have him around.”
Oxley shifted on his feet, embarrassed by Marion’s warm words. “All the same Marion, eventually you should contact Indy.”
She shrugged. “We shall see.”
The conversation ended abruptly when Mutt arrived in the room, carrying Henry’s belongings. “Here you go, Uncle Henry.” He extended a hand, holding his grandfather’s hat out to him.
Henry took it from him with a smile. “Thank you, my boy.” Marion was suddenly struck by the notion that Indy had probably done the same thing once upon a time, or his father for him, this time holding out his fedora for him, and a tear sprung to her eye. God, what was wrong with her today?
They went to the door, and just as Oxley opened it for him, Mutt spoke up. “Uncle Henry, I want you to have this.” He pulled out from his trouser pocket a red toy car, and thrust it towards the old man with a downcast gaze, as the tips of his ears blushed furiously.
He stood on the door step, visibly moved by the offer. Blinking several times quickly in succession, he reached out a hand, took the offered car and Mutt’s small hand and held it tightly for a moment.
“You liked it so much,” Mutt said gruffly, looking thoroughly embarrassed.
“Thank you, Henry,” he said smiling, and Marion saw his eyes fill with tears. Then, all of a sudden, he pulled the boy towards him and hugged him tightly. Oxley looked a little confused, but simply put Henry’s reaction down to an old man remembering what it was like to have a son, and bemoaning the fact the he would never know a grandchild. Little did Oxley know that Henry’s grandchild was standing in front of him, in his arms.
Eventually, Henry released Mutt who retreated back to the safety of his mother.
“If you’re ever in London again, please do come and see us,” Marion said, and she meant it.
Henry bowed his head once, and after shaking Oxley’s hand, he leant over and kissed Marion on the cheek. Then he turned his head and whispered to her so that no one else would hear, “Look after his boy,” and pulled back.
Marion nodded, grasping Mutt’s shoulder tightly. She always would.
“I’ll be off then. It’s been a pleasure to meet you all.” He inclined his head towards them all, and smiled slightly, his lips curving in the grey beard. “Goodbye.” Then he turned, and left, stopping only to give them a wave as he went down the steps and reached the pavement, before setting off down the street.
“Peculiar man,” Oxley said, as he closed the door. “Very kind, clever, and very good, but why was he so moved as he left?”
Marion shook her head. “I can’t imagine,” she said, taking Mutt’s hand in hers, and pushing him gently towards the stairs. “Come on then, you. Bath time.”
“Aw, no, Mum!”
“Excuse me, young man, but what did you promise me earlier? If you have your baths you’ll be much more likely to get that bike before Christmas.”
Grumbling something about how she had ignored what he’d said earlier, Mutt went up the stairs. Marion smiled to herself, before following him.
***
The next day at breakfast, there was a knock on the door. “It’s the postman!” Mutt exclaimed, and once again forgetting to ask for permission, left the table immediately, and went to receive their post. He returned in a moment, carrying a few letters which he thrust onto the table with sticky hands and Marion noticed with despair the jam stains on the top letter. However, he was still carrying a small parcel, a brown box, wrapped up with string.
“It’s addressed to me, Mum,” he said, hardly daring to breathe. He never received parcels.
“Well open it then, Mutt,” she said, smiling at Oxley, who was downing a cup of tea in haste before he left for work.
He didn’t need telling twice. He ripped the paper open quickly, and uncovered a box, which he opened with bated breath. He gasped, and pulled out a small, silver motorbike.
“It’s the bike! It’s the one I wanted!” He exclaimed, looking at the toy with great reverence, almost afraid to touch it. He looked just like his father, after he had just discovered a historical artefact.
“Who’s it from, Mutt?” Marion asked, although she already knew in her heart of hearts.
Mutt pulled out a card hidden at the bottom of the box. “To Mutt,” he read slowly, his eyes narrowed as he made out the spindly writing, “With love from Henry Jones. It’s from Uncle Henry!”
Oxley looked even more confused. “Perhaps he reminds him of Indiana as a boy.” He shook his head. “I’d better be going - see you later.” He ruffled Mutt’s hair on the way out, but he was hardly paying attention as he looked with round eyes at his new toy.
He looked up at Marion. “Will we see Uncle Henry again?”
Marion smiled, waving her hand for Mutt to come and show her the bike. “Perhaps, Mutt. Perhaps one day.” She looked out of the window. Perhaps they could all be happy together, one day.
“Mum, can I stop having baths every day now?”
Fandom: Indiana Jones
Author: radiotardislive
Rating: K+
Pairings: Marion/Indy, blatantly
Words: 5465
Summary: At least one Jones knew about Mutt.... a year after the end of WWII, Marion is busy adjusting to her new life without a husband, and trying to bring up a very noisy eight year old all on her own, when she bumps into a familiar face..
Author's Note: This is the first fic I have ever spent dayyyssss checking properly, and trying to make it as best as it can be, after I have been shamed by the hundreds of writers who work so hard on their fic, and I just write something and post it immediately. Seriously, I wrote this last week, and have been checking it since. I hope that I've got the voices right, but I'm not too sure about Marion, as I don't think she's as volatile as she is in Raiders. Having said that, she's supposed to have matured a little since then, in this fic. I hope you like it!
xx
Marion struggled along the pavement, tugging her chattering son along with her, as she threaded her way through early afternoon crowds of shoppers filling the London streets. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on the back of her neck, and the atmosphere was bright and carefree.
The war was over; the world was getting back on its feet once again, slowly recovering from the devastation World War Two had left in its wake. People smiled at strangers as they walked along, delighting in the fact that they were alive and that the night would not bring bombers in tow.
Marion was especially glad of that - she had spent many long nights in the local train station pressing Mutt close to her chest, comforting his whimpers as planes screeched overhead and reassuring him that the low whistle was not heading directly for them.
“Mum, can I get one? Please Mum, all the other guys have got them. I promise I’ll never break it and I’ll look after this one!”
“No, Mutt, we need to use our money and ration coupons for important things at the moment. Like vegetables,” she said, looking up from the shopping list clenched tightly in her hand, and pointing towards a grocer’s to their left.
Mutt doggedly followed his mother into the shop, begging her all the while. “It’s silver, Mum, and it looks just like a real motorbike. They sell them at the corner shop, I saw them yesterday with Ox, in the window.”
Marion deposited her purchases by the till, and haggled with the grocer, waving her ration book around, and trying to get as much food for as few of the coupons as possible.
Mutt tugged at her skirt. “Mum!” He persisted.
Marion glanced down and hushed him. “I’ve said no, Mutt!”
This would still not silence the little boy, who then turned to emotional blackmail, as they left the dark shop, after Marion took the apple he had picked up out of his hands and placed it back in the basket by the door.
“All the other guys’ dads bought them for ‘em. And I don’t have a Dad.”
Marion shifted the brown paper bags she was struggling to carry, and dumped one into Mutt’s arms, freeing one of her hands to balance the food. “Mutt, don’t try that with me…” Her tone was harsh, but her heart tugged as she heard him, despite herself. He was just as much of a charmer as his father had been, really.
Bargaining seemed to be Mutt’s final option. “I promise I’ll be really, really good, and I’ll do all my homework, and sit up straight at dinner, and, and…” Gulping, he threw his final card onto the table. “I’ll have a bath every night.”
Marion rounded on him, using the name he had been born with and which she now only reserved for moments of admonition. “Henry!”
“Yes?”
Marion looked round in surprise as a deeper, significantly more Scottish voice answered her. Looking up at her was an elderly man, a grey beard covering his chin, a cloth hat pulled low over his forehead. He held a broadsheet newspaper in front of him, as he sat at a table outside a café on the street. He peered up at her through thick glasses, giving him a slightly owlish appearance, not helped by the tweed suit he wore, and the bow tie at his neck.
“Sorry, I was just talking to my…son…” Marion froze even as she spoke and her mouth hung open in shock for a few moments.
She recognised the man in an instant, for she had met him once or twice as a young girl at archaeological conferences, seen pictures of him many a time, and had held countless conversations about her own father and the man himself, with a man she preferred not to think about. But nevertheless there was no denying it; the man was Henry Jones Senior, Indiana’s father, a man she did not know personally that well, but due to the late night discussions about him, someone she still felt that she had grown up with.
“Doctor Jones,” she eventually managed, wincing even as she said it, wondering when was the last time she had said that.
Henry looked quizzical. “I do apologise, do I know you?”
Marion was torn between saying that she had got the wrong person, and revealing who she actually was, before the man took the choice away from her.
“Marion Ravenwood!” He exclaimed, a broad smile stretching across his face as he stood up, setting the paper aside, extending a hand towards her. “Of course I remember you!”
Marion blushed, wondering how she was going to get out of this one. “It’s been a very long time, sir.”
He beamed as he shook her hand warmly. “Yes, you were sixteen when I last saw you, and you were furious at everyone because my son was due to stay with you for the next year or so.”
Marion smiled, remembering it well. Her father had invited his pupil and son of his close friend, Henry, to live with them. Marion had hated Indy before she had even met him, despising the man who her father loved more than his only daughter - and so the epic love/hate relationship between Indy and Marion had started.
Henry directed his attention to the little boy, quietened at last as he stared up at the man with frightened eyes, contemplated the beard, and listened warily to the deep Scottish rumble. “And who is this little chap?”
Marion realised with a start that unknowingly, Mutt was facing his real grandfather for the first time, just as Henry was unaware of how closely he was related to the eight year old boy who stood before him.
Mutt, predictably, shook himself out of his terrified stupor quickly, and, the proud Jones streak in him showing itself, puffed out his chest and declared, “Mutt Williams.”
As Henry looked a little confused, Marion stepped in. “I should have corrected you before, Doctor Jones. I am Marion Williams now.”
“I see,” he nodded, and smiled at the boy. “Mutt. That’s a bit of a peculiar name.”
“No it isn’t.”
Marion looked scandalised at her son’s retort, but the old man merely laughed. “He sounds just like Indiana.”
Marion bit her lip. “Yes, he does.”
Mutt looked up. “Mum, who’s Indiana?”
“Oh, an old friend of mine.” Marion waved the question away, hoping she didn’t look as flustered as she felt. This had the potential to go disastrously wrong. “This is his father.”
“Oh.” Mutt looked back up at him.
“So, what brings you to London, Doctor Jones?” Marion asked him.
“Just taking advantage of the ease of travel once again, really. I also wanted to visit some old school friends I have not seen in many years.” He smiled.
There was an awkward silence, during which Marion’s heart and mind held an argument. Her heart wanted to let grandfather and grandson get to know each other better, whilst her mind told her that this was a very bad idea, and that if Jones Senior caught on, Indy could burst into her life once more, something she had vowed would never happen again.
Eventually, she could no longer stop herself, and she blurted out, “Would you like to come back to our flat for tea?” Immediately, she cursed herself. It seemed no matter how old she got, her tongue would always run away from her before she could exercise some control over it.
Henry smiled. “It would be a pleasure.” Standing up, he rustled his newspaper as he folded it away, and left it on the table.
Marion led the way, down the high street and right at the crossroads, along by the park, down cramped London avenues that she had never believed she would ever get her head around when she arrived in London eight years previously.
“There it is, Mum.” Mutt followed his mother, walking with Henry, gesticulating at a shop on the corner, before running over to it and pressing his nose to the glass.
Marion rolled her eyes. “Mutt, we’ve already discussed this. No.” She went over to him and tried to pull him from the window. “Perhaps in the future.”
“But I want one now.” He whined, turning on her with large eyes.
“Henry…” She warned him, narrowing her eyes. Obediently, Mutt shrugged his shoulders and followed her down the street, hanging his head.
Henry Jones chuckled. “Marion, why do you call him Henry when his name is Mutt?”
“Because Henry is my stupid proper name.” Mutt said. “It’s so boring. Mutt’s much better. I named myself.”
“My name is Henry,” the older man smiled, looking down at the boy, as they walked. “And so is my son’s. He hated it too, and renamed himself ‘Indiana’, just like you did.” He paused for a moment, considering as he looked at Mutt without really seeing him.
Ahead of them, Marion bit her lip and closed her eyes. However, the crisis passed, as Henry looked up and asked the boy, “What is it you want in that shop then?”
Immediately, Mutt’s face became animated and shone boyishly as he warmly spoke about the toy he desired so much. Henry listened with interest and mild amusement twinkling in his eyes.
Marion heard their somewhat one-sided conversation with a smile on her face, despite herself. It was so good to see them together, even if they didn’t know exactly how closely they were related. She hoped Henry didn’t notice as she did how much like his father Mutt really was. The same gleam was in both of their eyes as they talked about something they were really passionate about, whether it was a lost treasure or a toy motorbike. The same defiance was in both of them, and in Henry Jones Senior too.
For a moment she wondered if it would be so bad if Henry knew the truth, and Indy was told that he had a son. Then she shook her head. He would demand to see the boy no doubt, and of course he would see him. He would sweep back into her life, and Marion knew that she would forgive him in a second and love him as she always did. But just as clearly, she knew that it would not be long before he vanished again, forsook them all, and broke her heart for a third time. She would not have that happen again, especially not to her little boy. It was better if the decision she had made when she gave birth to Mutt was kept; Indiana Jones must never know about Mutt, and she must get on without him, for everyone’s sake.
“Surely your father will get the bike for you?” Marion heard Henry ask.
“My Dad’s dead,” said Mutt, bluntly. “He died in the war.”
“Oh.” Henry was shocked. “I’m so sorry.”
Marion turned to them, and reached for Mutt’s hand instinctively. “Colin was a pilot in the RAF. His plane was shot down over the English Channel a year before the war ended.”
Henry looked at her sadly, and reached out a hand for her shoulder. He squeezed it comfortingly, as Marion directed them down a narrow street. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Marion shook her head. “You weren’t to know. Besides, we’re doing very well without him, aren’t we dear?”
Mutt nodded. “And we’ve got Ox.”
“Ox?” Henry asked. “Not Harold Oxley? Junior’s friend?”
“Yes. He lives with us, and looks after us all. He’s kind of like Mutt’s surrogate father, isn’t he?” She stopped by some steps leading up to a brick house. “Here we are.” Taking her keys from her bag and balancing her bag of groceries on one arm, she opened the door, and let them all in.
“Oh. Um….Excuse the mess, Doctor Jones, but we don’t do much cleaning in this house.” Marion thrust a stack of newspapers onto a stool in the hallway, gesturing for them all to follow her.
“Please Marion, call me Henry. ‘Doctor Jones’ is reserved for the classroom and business only, not for old friends.”
“Alright then. Please, make yourself comfortable in the lounge. Mutt,” she hissed at her son, as she went into the kitchen to put away their purchases, “be polite.”
Mutt made a face as he dumped his bag down on the kitchen surface. He went into the lounge, and Marion heard him ask, “Hey, d’you like cars?” She smiled, he was no doubt showing him his collection, which he would add to whenever he had enough pocket money to buy a new one from the shop, and drive around the lounge floor for hours without getting bored.
“Why yes, of course. Is that one of the new Chrysler Windsor’s?”
Marion clattered about the pokey kitchen, putting together an assortment of tea cups, plates, and biscuits. It was amazing how quickly she had settled into her domestic life in London, with her young son, and Colin, before he’d gone away to fight. Back in the old days, no one who had entered The Raven in Nepal would ever have imagined the brash, volatile owner to be content with a hum drum life looking after a house and a family. All that had changed when Indy and she had decided to marry, which was not a decision they had made in a rush.
After the adventure with the Ark, Marion had lived with Indy and in a flat down the road from him for two years, until they’d eventually decided that they were ready to commit and to marry. At the time, Indy had said that he was prepared and ready, but obviously, he was not, on account of his flight a week before the wedding. Marion had been forced into her new home-bound life because of the child she was carrying, and she couldn’t even live it with the man she wanted to. However, Colin was a nice man and had loved both Marion and Mutt dearly. If he hadn’t been there to look after her when she arrived in London, a complete wreck, she had no idea what would have happened.
And so, Abner Ravenwood’s wild child had been forced to be content with the life of a married woman, and over the years, she had grown used to it, though a part of her still longed for adventure. That same part of her dreamt every night of the future she might have had with Indy, fighting the Nazis across the world, having adventure after adventure, and at the end of it all he came back to her each time, and they returned to their house with their lovely baby boy. Sadly, that was not to be. She had exchanged gin, and guns, and running away from death for teas, bedtime stories and shopping, the moment she had given birth to Mutt.
She eventually came into the lounge, walking slowly as she carried in a tray loaded with shortbread and tea. She stopped as she saw Mutt sitting cross-legged on the floor, showing his prized cars to Henry, who was sat by him, his long legs stretched out on the carpet, his hat and coat on the sofa, his grey hair shining as he peered through his thick glasses at the cars he was being shown, and exchanging confidential remarks about them with the boy.
Marion smiled, as vision of what could have been swept before her eyes. Suddenly, they both turned around as they realised they were being watched.
“Good lord, shortbread! I haven’t seen that for years!” Henry exclaimed, struggling to get to his feet, his back clicking as he did so. Mutt sprung up, his eyes shining as he saw the plate of biscuits.
“We always save our ration coupons for some things for tea,” Marion admitted, setting the tray down on the table by the window. “It appears Ox isn’t back yet, so we’ve got the house to ourselves for a bit.” She sat down. “Mutt, don’t even think about it. Pass the plate round to our guest before you start tucking in, otherwise there’ll be none left.”
The boy looked guilty as he handed the plate of biscuits over, looking with longing at the shortbread. His mother always saved such treats for very special occasions.
After they’d eaten their tea, Mutt disappeared off to go and find his book of cards showing all the different planes that had fought throughout the war. After his mother glared at him as he attempted to slide off of his chair, he asked if he may be excused, a look of innocence on his face, and then hurried away, the two adults smiling after him.
“He’s a nice boy,” Henry smiled, setting his cup of tea down. “Full of life and interested in everything. I can imagine he’s a bit of a handle.”
Marion nodded. “Oh yes. He’s always getting into scrapes with his schoolmates. Not a week goes past where I don’t have to go into his school for an appointment with the headmaster about something or other.”
Henry chuckled, and Marion laughed a little too, before setting her cup down. She looked up to see that his brown eyes were upon her, clear and steady, and she was filled with the awful suspicion that he knew. She looked down, and opened her mouth to ask him if he would like another cup of tea, before he cut across her.
“Marion my dear, why did you name him Henry?”
Old habits returning to her in a flash, she lied with as much ease as breathing. “Mutt may not like it, but it’s a nice name. Colin’s father was called Henry too, you know.” She stood up, but he reached a hand across to seize her wrist before she could do anything.
“No he wasn’t. That’s not the reason you named him Henry at all.” His voice was quiet, and soft.
With a sigh, Marion sat back down. She looked up at him, and she realised that she couldn’t lie to him. She could lie to the police, to the world, to Jones himself, but she couldn’t lie to this old man, who had bonded so well with her son despite only knowing him for a short time. She had never known Mutt take to a stranger so; when he was a baby, he had been terrified of all men, especially those with beards, and had cried for hours when he had first met Ox.
Taking a breath, she fiddled with the corner of the tray before looking up and meeting his gaze with her own firm one. “You’re the only person in the world I could ever tell. Colin figured it out soon enough, when my stomach decided to swell to the size of a beach ball not long after I arrived in England.”
“He’s Junior’s - Indiana’s - son, isn’t he?” His eyes told her that he knew, as did his level voice.
Marion nodded, and she suddenly felt her throat go dry and her eyes fill with tears. “Henry Jones the third,” she affirmed, biting her lip, and then looking down as a teardrop rolled down her cheek. When she looked back up, she saw that Henry’s eyes were gleaming too. He was still holding onto her forearm with his left hand, and he rubbed his thumb against the inside of her wrist.
“My grandson,” he whispered, and his voice was choked with emotion, just as hers was. “I knew the moment he argued with me about his name.”
They both looked down to compose themselves for a few seconds, and when they looked up again, you would never know how moved they both were, except for the fact that their voices were much tenderer than they usually were.
“You should tell him,” Henry said. “He should know that he has a son.”
Marion shook her head, her eyes wide. “No, I don’t want him to know. I don’t want to see him again, Henry. Twice he’s rolled into my life and left it again in shambles, without a word. I won’t be hurt again, and I will not have him hurting my son.”
Henry nodded. “I can see why you don’t want to get him involved, but still, a man should know that he has a son when he has one.”
“I know. Ox says that. One day, perhaps I will tell him. But not now. Don’t you see, I’ve moved on! I’ve married, I’ve had a good life with my husband, and just because he’s dead doesn’t mean that I should have to go back to Indy for protection and help. I can manage fine on my own. Ox, Mutt and me, we make a great team. We’re doing fine without any help from Jones.”
Henry smiled to himself. “I can see that. He said you were just as stubborn as you always were.”
She stalled for a moment. “He’s talked to you about me? I thought you never spoke to each other now?”
Henry grimaced a little in guilt as he acknowledged the truth of what she said. “We didn’t, but in ’38 I got captured by the Nazis, and Junior had to come and rescue me. We found the Holy Grail.” His eyes shone, as he remembered the culmination of his life’s quest to find the cup of Christ. “It really did bring life. It gave me back my son, as we found each other again, in a manner of speaking. Since then, I’ve been seeing him quite regularly. He’s spoken of you often. He’s always regretted leaving you, Marion. He says that it was the biggest mistake of his life.” He looked at her carefully. “He still loves you.”
For a split second, her heart soared, and then she remembered the despair she had felt after he’d abandoned her a week before their wedding. He’d loved her then, supposedly.
She shook her head, and opened her mouth to speak, but then something clicked in her head, and she narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Wait a minute, what!? The Holy Grail?!”
Henry grinned as he saw how easily she could be sidetracked, just like his son. “We found it, only to lose it once again. Indiana had to get it to save my life.” His heart swelled with pride, even now, as he remembered how his son had fought for him.
Marion smiled, eyes shining as she imagined the adventure there surely was behind the tale. Then, she remembered what they were talking about, and she looked serious once again. “Look, I’ve moved on, Henry. I don’t want him anymore. He’s had his last chance.”
“You still love him, Marion. Anyone can see that.”
“No! I don’t!” She pulled her hand out of his grasp in order to fling her arms dramatically around. “Why is it that all men think that once a woman is in love with a man, she will love him forever, and no matter what he does to her, she will always forgive him, take him back, and love him as much as she ever did?”
“Because in your case, it’s true,” he said in a low voice.
She shook her head vehemently. “No. It’s not. Besides, it would never work. We’re too different, we argue about everything. We tried it before, and look what happened. He ran away from me.” She laughed coldly. “He couldn’t stand me so much that he actually ran away from me.”
“Not from you, Marion.” His voice was as soft as silk, reassuring, and she could see where Jones got his charm from. He leant across the table to take her hand in his once again, in a fatherly gesture of affection. “Never from you. From the idea of settling down, of marriage. You know what he’s like, he’s been used to being on his own and wandering for so long. It’s hard to imagine him tied down to a house, and a family. But now, he’s getting older, and he wishes he could have seized it all when it was within his grasp.”
“Well, he should have thought of that eight years ago.” She retorted, then stopped herself. “I’m sorry, I’m not angry with you. It’s just that I know it would never work. I’m sure he’s moved on, just as much as I have.”
“All the same, he should know he has a child.”
“And one day, he will. Just not for some time.”
Henry inclined his head in resignation. Well, he had tried. He wondered what Junior would say if he knew his father had been match making for him?
With a clatter, Mutt burst into the room, clutching his book tightly. “Here it is, Uncle Henry”, he said, bouncing across the room towards the table.
Henry picked him up with a little bit of difficulty and set him on his lap with a groan. “Oof! Not quite as young as I used to be. Come on then, my lad, let’s see this scrapbook of yours.”
Marion cleared the tea things away, smiling at how her son addressed Henry, leaving the two poring over the book, and went out to the kitchen. She washed up the saucers and cups, and when she had put the last one away, she could bear it no longer.
Resting one hand on the cupboard door she had just closed, she hung her head, and wept. How she wished she and Jones could have been like normal lovers, how they could have stayed together, and spoken about their feelings, instead of dancing round discussing their relationship until it was too late.
It wasn’t long before Ox arrived home from the university where he worked, and he greeted his old friend’s father warmly. They spent a good hour discussing the past few years, and Oxley took particular interest in Henry’s story about the quest for the Holy Grail, whilst Mutt listened with interest, his eyes round. At last, Henry saw the colour of the sky outside and looked at his watch quickly.
“I must be going; I fear I have already intruded on you for too long as it is.”
“No, certainly not,” Oxley shook his head, rising to his feet as Henry did so, and shaking his hand, as Mutt left the room to fetch his coat and hat for him. “Um, give Henry my best.”
The old man nodded. Marion had intimated to him before Oxley’s arrival that Ox had not spoken to Henry’s son since he had found out that he had abandoned Marion a week before their wedding. “I am sure that he would say the same, and ask for your forgiveness, if he could.” He looked across the room at Marion. “In fact, my son would have a lot of apologising to do if he ever came here.”
“Henry, I think it would be best if you didn’t tell him you’d seen me. I don’t want him coming after me.” Marion looked sincere as she stood up too.
“If that is what you really want, then of course I will honour your wish. But I do hope that, over time, perhaps you may come to forgive him. He would want to know of your whereabouts and your current position.”
“As you can see, I am perfectly comfortable,” Marion nodded, looking over fondly at Oxley. “Ox is like a brother to me. I don’t need a husband when I have him around.”
Oxley shifted on his feet, embarrassed by Marion’s warm words. “All the same Marion, eventually you should contact Indy.”
She shrugged. “We shall see.”
The conversation ended abruptly when Mutt arrived in the room, carrying Henry’s belongings. “Here you go, Uncle Henry.” He extended a hand, holding his grandfather’s hat out to him.
Henry took it from him with a smile. “Thank you, my boy.” Marion was suddenly struck by the notion that Indy had probably done the same thing once upon a time, or his father for him, this time holding out his fedora for him, and a tear sprung to her eye. God, what was wrong with her today?
They went to the door, and just as Oxley opened it for him, Mutt spoke up. “Uncle Henry, I want you to have this.” He pulled out from his trouser pocket a red toy car, and thrust it towards the old man with a downcast gaze, as the tips of his ears blushed furiously.
He stood on the door step, visibly moved by the offer. Blinking several times quickly in succession, he reached out a hand, took the offered car and Mutt’s small hand and held it tightly for a moment.
“You liked it so much,” Mutt said gruffly, looking thoroughly embarrassed.
“Thank you, Henry,” he said smiling, and Marion saw his eyes fill with tears. Then, all of a sudden, he pulled the boy towards him and hugged him tightly. Oxley looked a little confused, but simply put Henry’s reaction down to an old man remembering what it was like to have a son, and bemoaning the fact the he would never know a grandchild. Little did Oxley know that Henry’s grandchild was standing in front of him, in his arms.
Eventually, Henry released Mutt who retreated back to the safety of his mother.
“If you’re ever in London again, please do come and see us,” Marion said, and she meant it.
Henry bowed his head once, and after shaking Oxley’s hand, he leant over and kissed Marion on the cheek. Then he turned his head and whispered to her so that no one else would hear, “Look after his boy,” and pulled back.
Marion nodded, grasping Mutt’s shoulder tightly. She always would.
“I’ll be off then. It’s been a pleasure to meet you all.” He inclined his head towards them all, and smiled slightly, his lips curving in the grey beard. “Goodbye.” Then he turned, and left, stopping only to give them a wave as he went down the steps and reached the pavement, before setting off down the street.
“Peculiar man,” Oxley said, as he closed the door. “Very kind, clever, and very good, but why was he so moved as he left?”
Marion shook her head. “I can’t imagine,” she said, taking Mutt’s hand in hers, and pushing him gently towards the stairs. “Come on then, you. Bath time.”
“Aw, no, Mum!”
“Excuse me, young man, but what did you promise me earlier? If you have your baths you’ll be much more likely to get that bike before Christmas.”
Grumbling something about how she had ignored what he’d said earlier, Mutt went up the stairs. Marion smiled to herself, before following him.
***
The next day at breakfast, there was a knock on the door. “It’s the postman!” Mutt exclaimed, and once again forgetting to ask for permission, left the table immediately, and went to receive their post. He returned in a moment, carrying a few letters which he thrust onto the table with sticky hands and Marion noticed with despair the jam stains on the top letter. However, he was still carrying a small parcel, a brown box, wrapped up with string.
“It’s addressed to me, Mum,” he said, hardly daring to breathe. He never received parcels.
“Well open it then, Mutt,” she said, smiling at Oxley, who was downing a cup of tea in haste before he left for work.
He didn’t need telling twice. He ripped the paper open quickly, and uncovered a box, which he opened with bated breath. He gasped, and pulled out a small, silver motorbike.
“It’s the bike! It’s the one I wanted!” He exclaimed, looking at the toy with great reverence, almost afraid to touch it. He looked just like his father, after he had just discovered a historical artefact.
“Who’s it from, Mutt?” Marion asked, although she already knew in her heart of hearts.
Mutt pulled out a card hidden at the bottom of the box. “To Mutt,” he read slowly, his eyes narrowed as he made out the spindly writing, “With love from Henry Jones. It’s from Uncle Henry!”
Oxley looked even more confused. “Perhaps he reminds him of Indiana as a boy.” He shook his head. “I’d better be going - see you later.” He ruffled Mutt’s hair on the way out, but he was hardly paying attention as he looked with round eyes at his new toy.
He looked up at Marion. “Will we see Uncle Henry again?”
Marion smiled, waving her hand for Mutt to come and show her the bike. “Perhaps, Mutt. Perhaps one day.” She looked out of the window. Perhaps they could all be happy together, one day.
“Mum, can I stop having baths every day now?”