I'm really proud of this and consider it my best story to date, I really hope you enjoy it x
Dublin 1960
It was over all too quickly, the house now silent as the celebrations ended for his 70th birthday. Friends, colleagues and most importantly family had all been there. Sitting close to the fire whilst feeling the warmth of the flames and his granddaughter who stirred next to him.
No man is a failure who has friends: The TV spoke as they watched It's a Wonderful Life together. Isabel now flinging her arms in front of her grandfather's face as she yawned loudly. "Isn't it time you went to bed, little un?" her mother's voice demanded in her thick Irish accent.
Sybil Branson entered the room, she was now a beautiful grown up 40 year old woman. She brushed the hair from her daughter's eyes and began to pick her up ready for bed.
"But I haven't looked at Grandpa's photo book yet…." She whined. The family had put together a book of memories for Tom, everything they could find from 70 years of a fulfilled life. As Isabel pulled the book onto Tom's knees and pushed the tissue paper to one side, she opened the first page.
It was the only photo he had of them together, the photographer at Mary's wedding had insisted on getting as many photos of the day as possible. It was a little more faded than the last time he'd seen it, propped up in an elegant frame in her childhood bedroom the last time they'd arrived there together. They'd been so happy then, so many things left to do….
"Who's this Grandpa?" little Isabel asked, stroking the jagged edges of the old photo.
"That's your Grandma, isn't she pretty?" he replied with a smile, god, he wished they'd met.
"She's like a princess Grandpa! Where is she now?" her small eyes peering up at Tom's.
"She went to live with the angels many years ago…."
He'd been thinking about her a lot recently, he'd known for a while that things were slowing down and that his time on earth was about to end. With his daughter's persistence he'd been to see the doctor who only confirmed what he's suspected, the irony that he was dying of a broken heart.
The strange thing was he felt ready; he'd done everything he wanted in life. Of course he'd had regrets but looking back since his wife's death all those years ago, he felt like he'd made her proud in raising their daughter and moving forward.
They found him the next morning, holding his baby daughter in his arms; tears stained his cheeks, his back against the cold hard wall of the garage. They'd had so many memories here together, so many moments of uncertainty, of angst, but he wished more than anything that she was here with him again.
They'd taken her away the night before and empty footsteps had led him here, clinging to the new life that he held close to his heart. Moments of doubt crept into his head, how could he take care of their baby without her? How could he be enough for her?
He found solace in his heart and in the location of his past. He'd had these doubts before but he'd risen above and succeeded. He'd been enough for his wife, even in her death he knew he'd made her happy.
As he gazed down at the blue eyes which reached out to him, the same ones as her mother held, he whispered to the dark "Oh Sybil…, I miss you darling" At these words, her daughter reached her tiny fingers out to him, circling his thumb. She was still here; his wife lived on in her and always would. That's when he truly fell in love with his daughter Miss Sybil Branson.
Unless you experience it, you can never fully describe the bond between a single father and his daughter. He doted on her from the day she was born, finding every way possible to show her the world and give her the life she deserved. Being a father was the making of Tom Branson, her desire to embrace his responsibly meant he became a better person and a role model to a fast growing young women.
The hardest years for him were at Downton. However when he left in 1922 to return to Ireland he found it more difficult than he'd anticipated. With Ireland becoming a free state, his arrest warrant was annulled and his freedom to return home was granted. Two years of loneliness, only softened by his mother and sisters in law's desire to fulfil their promises to Sybil to take care of them both.
On the last day before they returned, they went to visit Sybil's mother. The words 'saori spioraid' engraved into the stone, always the 'free spirit' she would remain. They returned here together every year on Sybil's birthday, each year talking to the grave, recalling their adventures and the changes in the world she would never see.
One of these visits stayed with Tom the most. It was 1939, Sybil a beautiful 19 year old girl kneeling before her mother's grave confusing her father's vision as he struggled to believe the ghost of his wife was not in front of him. The nurse's uniform had changed a bit since the first war but not the determination that mother and daughter evidently shared. This time Sybil would stay behind in England, devote her life to the cause, make changes in the world and see the struggles of her mother's beloved country cast a shadow over the beauty of its heritage.
She returned years later not a girl, but a woman and engaged to be married. His name was John, she'd met him at the hospital where he was a doctor. He was well spoken and born to privilege but he had a fire that Sybil's father recognised in himself. John was never meant to be the city doctor his parents craved, he wanted the country life that Sybil idolised. When she returned to Ireland, her fiancé in tow, her father prepared to fully let her go. Years later he reluctantly admitted to her father in law Lord Grantham that he now understood a little what it was like to lose your daughter's heart to another man.
The bright glare of August sun glistened across her veil as it reflected off the gold of her mother's wedding ring. She looked back at her father who had walked her down the aisle only to give her away moments later. Tom stood proudly as his daughter read the same vows that he still promised to the ghost of her mother and as 'till death do us part' rang through the echo of the chapel he could have sworn a hand grazed his cheek. 'You've raised her well' her shadow whispered as Miss Sybil Branson became a Mrs.
She was 24 years old.
When she came to tell her father of the pregnancy, she knew it would fill him with dread. The last months before the birth had caused tension between them that had never existed before in their lives together. He was suffocating her, constantly making sure she was okay, never leaving her side. Her father had always been honest with how her mother had died but it was only when talking to her Aunt Mary that the true horrors of Eclampsia were revealed. When Sybil realised the fear of repetition her father must have been going through she held him close and prayed he would never experience that moment again.
Baby Isabel was born on a crisp Autumn evening in 1949, safe and sound in her mother's arms, her husband by her side at St James Hospital, Dublin, Ireland. The past would always haunt Tom, blame would always surround his thoughts, what if's would plague his consciousness, but this time everything would be okay.
As he carried his young granddaughter up to bed he indulged in the house that he'd bought for his family. This house had been the confirmation that his business had been a success.
The idea had been born at Downton when several conversations with his brother in Liverpool had resulted in a start in mechanics. His mother in law had been the one to push him, to follow her daughters wishes that he move forward in life. He began working for a car dealership firm, which led to management and with the aid of his father in law's money he was eventually able to set up his own business. It started slowly but just after the despair of World War 2, business picked up. So much so that 'Ready to Travel' would branch out to 3 stores in Tom's lifetime: Dublin, York and Ripon.
Tom Branson had made something of himself.
The only part of Tom that still ached was his heart. He never denied himself affection from the opposite sex and the comfort of being in a woman's arms again, but he never remarried. He loved a women called Sarah once, her raven hair reminiscent of his good friend Gwen but one night as he looked at her in his arms he knew, he could never give her his whole heart.
As he tucked Isabel into her bed and gave her a goodnight kiss he realised that after such tragedy he had been given a chance to make a life for himself and his family and the strength that his wife had given him in death had provided for him for all these years.
"What was she like Grandpa?" Isabel's soft voice inquired.
"Oh, my darling, she was beautiful. She was a gift to this world that I was lucky enough to borrow for a while." The smile on his face lit the room as he backed out towards the door leaving his granddaughter in a gentle sleep.
As his own head hit the pillow that night, his dreams seemed more powerful than before. She came to him, her voice first, and asked if he was ready to join her. "I've been waiting for you" she said as she held out her hand, which formed the rest of her as she finally came into his sight. He ran to her, dissolving into a tight embrace. She looked so young, so youthful, but as he looked down at his hands, he realised they were young too. "Thank you for taking care of her" she whispered into his ear as she kissed his temple then his lips. It still felt the same; no kiss would ever eclipse hers. "Where are we going?" he asked her as she took his hand. "We're going to look at the stars" she replied as she led him to forever.
Yorkshire 2012
Isobel placed her hand over her grandfather's engraved stone 'le chéile ag deireanach' it said: 'Together at last'. Her mother, before her death in 2000 had worried endlessly about where to bury her father. She knew his love for Ireland but his heart was always with Sybil and so she had organised his grave to be next to hers.
Isabel gazed around the village where her grandmother had been raised, her family home was now a tourist attraction saved by The National Trust, stories of servants and Ladies haunting the walls of Downton Abbey
But Sybil didn't haunt those walls anymore, for she was where she belonged and where it all should of began: her husband by her side, her daughter in her arms, forever.
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