A Sunday Morning in September
Tom flung the duvet covers off his body, accidentally uncovering half of Sybil's body at the same time. The cold September air woke her up and she groaned. She felt around for the covers without opening her eyes and yanked them back over her shoulders, lifting her knees to her chest. "Morning, love," Tom said, realising that his wife was now awake. All he got in reply was an incoherent mumble. Sybil was far from a morning person. Tom decided to leave her in peace and go and make her a cup of tea instead. He wandered slowly downstairs in his white cotton shirt and black pyjama bottoms. He filled the kettle with water and began to heat it up. He prepared the tea in the two teacups while he waited. He began to hum quietly to himself an old Irish song that he'd known for as long as he could remember and looked out of the window. He saw a squirrel scurry up a tree to hide from the hammering rain and he heard a blue tit singing somewhere in their small garden. He was so engrossed in listening to the birds and watching the rain hit the windows that he was taken by surprise when the kettle began to whistle. He poured the tea into the two cups, and followed it up with the milk, before giving both a stir. He made sure that he'd taken the kettle off the heat and then picked the cups up by the handles and slowly carried them upstairs. He and Sybil usually didn't bother with saucers – they didn't add anything other than class (which they weren't worried about) and washing up (which they had little time to do anyway). He hadn't bothered putting the lights on in any of the rooms he'd been in, as the light from the windows was enough for him to see what he was doing and where he was going. Once he got to his bedroom door he turned his back to it so that he could open it as he walked in. He placed both cups of tea on his bedside table and then walked across the room to open the deep red curtains. He slipped into bed next to Sybil and gently nudged her shoulder. "Syb, I've made you a cup of tea," he said, encouraging her to sit up and make some sense of the world. He did so successfully. She sat up slowly and leant against the headboard of the bed. Tom passed her the cup of tea and she sipped it.
"Thank you," she said, sleepily.
She had tossed around the bed all night, completely unable to sleep. Tom leant over to her, kissed her cheek and placed his hand on her knee for comfort.
"Whatever happens you've got to come to church," Tom said. "You know perfectly well that mam'll kill us if we're not there." Sybil nodded, knowing what Tom's mother was like when it came to getting what she wanted.
"What time is it?" Sybil asked, looking at her husband and drinking some more of her tea.
"Just gone eight," Tom answered, as he glanced to the clock standing on his bedside table. Sybil groaned, knowing that it would take her a while to get ready after eating breakfast and that the walk to church took at least half an hour, and probably three quarters. "We need to be out of the house in an hour at the absolute latest. I would have woken you earlier, but I slept in," Tom explained.
"That's a good thing. If you'd waken me up any earlier, I probably would've strangled you."
"Well, we just need to make sure we get dressed quickly enough to be out of the house on time," Tom said.
"That's easier for you than for me," Sybil said, lifting her knees up off the mattress and resting her arms over them. "Would you mind doing my corset up today – I'm really not up to the effort?" Sybil asked kindly.
"Of course I will, darling," Tom said, wrapping his arm around Sybil's shoulder, pulling her nearer to him. Sybil finished her tea and clambered out of bed. She slowly wandered across the room and gathered her clothes. Tom followed her to the opposite side of the room and picked up her corset. He placed it around her body and gently pulled the ribbon tighter. He knew that she never wore it too tight, but he also knew that if it was too loose it was remarkably uncomfortable and would constantly slide around her body, so, with Sybil's guidance, he tightened it to the right degree. He then found his own shirt and trousers and proceeded to put them on, letting Sybil put on the rest of her own clothes. By the time they were both dressed they had quarter of an hour to eat breakfast before they really were going to be late, so Tom sliced four pieces of bread and put them in the toaster two at a time. Sybil's mother had sent them a toaster as a Christmas present the year previously, as she now swore by it almost every morning. When the first lot popped, Tom buttered them and handed both pieces to Sybil on a small plate. She smiled at him lovingly and took a bite. Just as she did so, the second set of toast popped and Tom buttered it and began eating it, himself. Sybil sighed heavily. "What's wrong, love?"
"Tired," Sybil stated bluntly.
"You know you kept kicking me last night?" Tom said with a smirk plastered across his face.
"Sorry," Sybil replied, with a tone of guilt evident in her voice. "I didn't mean to."
"Don't worry about it, darling. If anything, I found it rather sweet."
"You have a strange definition of sweet, then."
"Maybe I do. But maybe I'm just helplessly in love."
"Hmm…" Sybil said, sceptically. "It's a good thing that you know how to get round me, isn't it?" she joked.
"Yes, a very good thing!" Tom laughed. "If I didn't then I'd have been murdered fifty three times over by now!" Sybil laughed along with him.
As soon as they'd both finished eating and had put their plates away, they began to walk to church. Part of the walk was through woods on gravelled paths, but most of it was on the roads. About forty minutes after they'd left the house, they were both sitting on the hard, wooden benches in church. Sybil usually wasn't fussy about where she sat, but she wasn't at all up to talking to Tom's mother if she could possibly help it, so she'd asked Tom if he'd mind sitting next to his mother if she sat on the edge of the row on the other side of him. Sybil sighed lightly, crossed her ankles and put her hands in her lap. Tom put his hand on her knee, as he had done that morning, and gave her a reassuring smile. Sybil quietly sat through the service, leaning slightly on Tom, taking in his scent for comfort.
A/N: I have no reason really to have written this, other than the fact that it's procrastination because I'm supposed to be doing quite a lot of homework at the moment... But leave a review please, if you have the time. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.