Since discovering this site a couple of months ago, I have been impressed and inspired by so many talented writers and have loved reading many stories. It's probably 12 or 13 years since I last wrote any fiction (before marriage, children and general life got in the way), but I decided to give it ago and have really enjoyed the process. I have a plot outline for about 12 chapters, if you think it is worth continuing, or it can just stay as a one shot. I have tried to review all the stories that I've enjoyed and your constructive input would be very much appreciated. Thank you!
NB: I have spent more than my fair share of time in antenatal clinics, but I am not a medical professional, so if any details are incorrect or unrealistic, I apologise.
She first noticed him as she stood in the lift. Sybil was carrying a large pile of patient files in her arms and stepped immediately to the side in order to let others enter behind her. Leaning back on the wall, she looked firstly down at her pile of paperwork and then directly ahead. He was standing against the opposite wall. His dark blond hair fell forward on to his forehead as he stared at the floor, but as he lifted his head and pushed the hair back with one hand, she saw the startling blue of his eyes and creases at their outer was older than her, most definitely, but probably no more than thirty, so she briefly considered that he must smile a lot in order to have such lines. It had become an ever increasing habit of hers to sum up attractive looking men in abstract settings; certainly there was a reassuring feeling of safety when observing them anonymously without any intention to take matters further. Since Larry's unfaithfulness, she had shied from any attempt of meeting anyone else and avoided any situation which might lead to direct interaction with interested males. She went out with friends solely to catch up and socialise with them and would find hasty excuses to leave if they were subsequently approached by any potential suitors. Her eyes were still turned by an attractive man, but she preferred the security of watching them when they were not expecting to be observed and to avoid any verbal contact. That way she could use her imagination to mould them into gallant and charming individuals and without conversation, they were unlikely to ever disappoint her.
"Maternity please" he said to the lady on his right who stood by the lift's controls and through her daydream, she picked up an accent of some kind. He was holding a small carton of apple juice in his left hand and rubbed his nose with the other, when his eyes caught hers staring and he smiled. It was a slow confident smile, that of a man who was probably used to women finding him attractive, but friendly and without apparent arrogance. Sybil immediately looked down at her files and pretended to studiously read the name on the top one. The lift stopped at the first floor and a young woman, pushing a child in a buggy, entered and attempted to move to the edge where Sybil was standing. She stepped forward in order to give the child more room and found herself directly in front of the man, who was still smiling at her. She looked away quickly and stole a glance behind her in order to check that the child and its mother had sufficient space. As she twisted her torso to look, her arms moved and the top file slipped, clattering down on the ground beforehand. Several sheets of paper, covered with confidential patient information fell out and Sybil gasped with frustration and irritation. Before she could bend her knees and retrieve them, not an easy task while still trying to balance five other thick files, the man leant down and swiftly gathered the papers, slipping them back into the file. He stood up and placed it back at the top of the pile in her arms, still smiling. "Thank you very much" Sybil responded, chiding herself inwardly for her carelessness and wondering for the umpteenth time why, in an age of ever developing technology, the NHS retained its system of writing letters and printing everything out on paper.
The lift stopped at the third floor, home to the maternity and ante-natal departments and Sybil prepared to step out. She glanced again to her right at the man who had helped her and he winked conspiratorially, leaning forward and whispering "I didn't read a thing, promise". She smiled politely, hoping she looked at least a little grateful and walked out, turning right to the antenatal reception area, where she needed to leave the files. As she turned into the office, she glanced back and watched the man pass behind her, walking towards the patient waiting room. Half of the room was visible from where she was standing and she saw him hold out the juice carton to a pretty blonde woman, who smiled appreciatively at him from her chair. Collecting her thoughts, Sybil concentrated on the receptionist in front of her, who thanked her for the files and told her that she would be working with one of the consultants, Miss Dawson that morning.
This was Sybil's second day in her new and first job as a qualified nurse. Although she'd wanted to study nursing for years, her interest in midwifery had arisen when her mother had fallen unexpectedly pregnant again, while Sybil was studying for her A levels. Her parents had always originally hoped for a fourth child, but almost eighteen years after their third daughter's birth, the possibility had long since left their thoughts. After the initial shock and surprise, the whole family was delighted and prepared excitedly for their new arrival. Her mother had enjoyed three uncomplicated pregnancies previously and there were plenty of forty-something mothers nowadays, so there was no reason to be unduly concerned. However, at 22 weeks gestation, the baby had inexplicably died in the womb and her mother had been forced to undergo a traumatic induced delivery. An autopsy had provided no answers and her brother's death had been recorded as an 'unexplained miscarriage'. At that point, Sybil had decided to train specifically as a midwife and to work with those who specialised in foetal care. She had graduated with a first class degree and after a summer of travelling to interviews around the country, had managed to secure a prestigious position at St Mary's hospital in central London.
Miss Dawson was highly regarded in her field and was one of three full time consultants who worked in maternity and ante-natal care at the hospital. Sybil was sitting in on her morning appointments and joined her shortly before their first patient was called. This was a lady in her mid-thirties, who had experienced four miscarriages previously and who was now 16 weeks pregnant. She was understandably anxious and Sybil admired the way that Miss Dawson confidently reassured her without offering any firm guarantee that this one would be successful. A scan showed a healthy heartbeat and a wriggling foetus and the expectant parents visibly relaxed as they were shown the picture on the screen. After some routine questions from both parties, they left to make a follow up appointment with the receptionist and Miss Dawson prepared Sybil for their second patient.
"Edie Branson is 19 weeks." She explained. "She was admitted with a suspected miscarriage at 9 weeks but the baby survived. She has experienced intermittent bleeding subsequently and we are therefore seeing her fortnightly. She has, at times, come in between these routine appointments when there has been another scare, but as far as her notes show, all has been well since we last saw her." Miss Dawson called the patient's name on the loudspeaker system and a couple of minutes later, the door opened. Sybil recognised the blonde woman from the waiting room and behind her followed the man from the lift. He smiled in recognition and said "hello again". Miss Dawson glanced at Sybil questioningly. There were quite strict rules within the department about treating anyone with whom you had a personal relationship and staff were sometimes asked to swap with one another when an acquaintance made an appearance. Sybil swiftly reassured her "we came up in the lift together" and stretched out her hand to Edie in introduction "Sybil Crawley. I'm one of the midwives" she explained. Edie nodded with a friendly smile before taking her indicated seat, while the man proffered his own handshake and stated "Tom Branson" as he also sat down.
Sybil listened and took notes as Miss Dawson talked to Edie and assisted her with taking the routine blood pressure and urine tests. Once again, the scan was positive and Sybil watched as Tom took Edie's hand lovingly while they watched the baby move about on the monitor. Miss Dawson confirmed that there was no current reason for anxiety, but that she would like Edie to return again in a fortnight, unless there was any further bleeding in the meantime. "This baby is a fighter" she said with a smile. "I'm not entirely reassured yet, but we are getting closer to it being viable, so every week is good progress. You should be having your routine 20 week scan downstairs very soon, have you received your appointment for that yet?"
Edie nodded and sighed, "Yes, Tom can't make it unfortunately. He is going to be away, covering the conservative party conference" at that point she looked up at Sybil and said proudly "he's a journalist you see".
"Aye" added Tom "and I have to cover all three of the main ones, so I might not be around for our next appointment here either Miss Dawson, but Edie's friend has agreed to step in and hold her hand in my place".
They all shook hands and the Bransons walked to the door. "Thank you again" called Edie as she left and Tom turned back to smile at them both. Miss Dawson was writing notes and murmured "you're welcome" while to Sybil's surprise, Tom Branson winked at her before disappearing out of the door. Sybil couldn't help but smile, before quickly turning back to Miss Dawson and preparing for their next patient.
Four days later, on her day off, Sybil was browsing in a card shop near her home in Clapham, South London. It was her friend Anna's birthday this coming week and although she was going out for dinner with her the following weekend, she wanted to post a card so that it would arrive before the day itself. As she flicked through a rack of amusing captions, she was startled to hear someone say "Hello Nurse Crawley" behind her. Turning, she saw a smiling Tom Branson, holding a small paper bag. He introduced himself again and added "we met at the hospital on Tuesday".
"Yes I remember" stated Sybil, surprised that he recalled her name. "Um what are you doing here then?"
He grinned and lifted up the paper bag "same as you, I expect"
"Do you live round here?" asked Sybil for want of something to say and he nodded before adding "And work. So, do you live in Clapham too?"
Sybil confirmed that she did and he smiled again, his eyes crinkling in a very attractive manner, "I'm surprised that I haven't seen you around before." He paused before adding "I'm sure that I would have noticed you". Sybil was rather shocked, was he flirting with her? She felt slightly uncomfortable and decided to leave for another card shop, she hadn't found anything suitable here anyway.
"Well, excuse me, I have to go now. I'll probably see you at one of your appointments" she murmured and started to edge towards the exit.
"Yes, or maybe around here again" Tom added with another smile. He tipped his head to one side and asked "So, do you go out round here much? I mean in the evenings, bars and stuff?"
Sybil was feeling quite internally outraged now. He was clearly a womaniser and that poor woman, she seemed so sweet, carrying his baby and having all that added worry about it. Was she aware that her husband was eyeing up every female of a certain age? She pursed her lips in a manner of which her grandmother would have been proud and said stiffly "You are not going to have much opportunity to go out soon". Tom didn't seem to have noticed her disapproval and smiled again "well we've got a while to go yet"
Sybil lifted herself up to maximum height and took a first step towards the door before adding "Your wife will need all your help and support in the run up to the birth, as well as afterwards".
For a moment, Tom Branson's face clouded in confusion, before his eyes widened and a slight flush coloured his cheeks.
"Oh, Miss Dawson didn't explain then" he said quickly.
"Explain what?" Sybil took another step towards the door. Really, she didn't want to speak to this dreadful man any longer. But as she moved away, Tom reached out to halt her progress. He meant to touch her arm, but she turned as she walked and instead his hand landed accidently on her waist. They both looked down briefly at his hand, before he dropped it quickly and as Sybil glanced angrily at his face, he at least had the temerity to look awkward and embarrassed.
"Sorry" he muttered "It's just that Edie isn't my wife. She's my sister".