A/N: Yankee Countess gave me a prompt after Ireland won the Six Nations and asked whether I would consider writing something about the game with Tom enjoying a very alcoholic celebration. I decided that this would give me an ideal opportunity to fulfil my recent pledge to revisit my 'Perfect Delivery'/'Walls Come Tumbling Down' universe, as a thank you for all the votes they received in the 'Highclere Awards'. And nearly three weeks later, I've finally finished it!

So, our last glimpse into that universe was Gwen and Kieran's wedding. Tom and Sybil had a little girl - Eliza and Sybil believed that she might be pregnant again. This scene takes place eight months later and surprise, surprise she was! Now technically if Tom and Sybil went to see 'Skyfall' on their first date, we should now be in about 2020, so I'll have to ask you to suspend your disbelief in that regard and instead agree that it's 2014. It's the final game of the Six Nations (Sunday 16th March), England have just beaten Italy and therefore Ireland need to beat France, in Paris, in order to win the championship. If they lose, England will be champions. Brian O'Driscoll, the Irish captain, has announced that he will retire after a long and distinguished career. And Sybil is five days away from her due date. I think that's all you need to know – hope you enjoy it!

Gwen and Kieran arrived at Tom and Sybil's house shortly after the England vs Italy game had finished. Bearing in mind the volume of alcohol subsequently consumed, it was later determined that this had been a good thing. At the time however, Kieran had been riled. They had attended a christening – the daughter of Gwen's mentor at work, who Kieran barely knew. They both understood that they had been invited only out of courtesy but Gwen felt it was important to make an appearance.

"Honestly!" Kieran moaned as he hung up his coat in Tom and Sybil's hallway. "Why would anyone schedule a christening on…" He became distracted by watching his niece jump off the third step of the stairs and made an instinctive dive sideways to catch her. "Watch it Eliza, you'll bump yourself darlin'"

"What, schedule a christening on a Sunday?" Tom asked, evidently amused. "Yes, how thoughtless of them."

"No, on the final day of the Six Nations!" his brother replied, gesticulating wildly. "Even the priest mentioned it twice. His name was Father O'Leary so I think it was in his interest to get it all wrapped up quickly."

Tom handed his brother a can of beer from the fridge while Gwen passed Sybil a bottle of champagne. "Either to celebrate or drown their sorrows. Sorry you can't have any." Sybil pulled a face and rubbed her swollen stomach. Her back was aching, she was tired and feared that Tom's contribution to Eliza's well-being for the remainder of the day would be minimal.

"Right!" Tom rubbed his hands together vigorously and sat down with a thud on the sofa. "You're just in time. Anthems in a minute or two, then we're off! The brothers opened their beers in unison, listening to the gentle scrape of metal and soft hiss of expelled air before exchanging contented glances.

"How are you feeling, Syb?" Gwen asked, pushing her friend gently down into a nearby armchair and kneeling on the floor next to her god-daughter. Eliza was holding out a recently purchased Disney figure for inspection – all thrusting boobs and pinched waist, long flowing locks and abnormally huge eyes.

"Gorgeous!" Gwen declared and her fleeting admiration sufficed. Eliza pushed the doll into the driving seat of a nearby toy car and began to push it out of the room. She was not discerning of toys usually marketed at the opposite sex, her love of vehicles and construction matched that of princesses and nurture. When she set up a dolls' hospital – "just like Mummy", she built the beds before the patients were admitted.

Sybil sighed heavily and peered at Gwen beside her on the carpet. She felt as if she was exhaling frequently at the moment. Time had distorted her memories of the final pregnancy weeks and their unending discomfort. Poor sleep patterns and loss of appetite made her constantly exhausted, something which was given scant consideration by a three and a half year old.

"I just want it out" she declared. "I've had enough. I can't sleep properly anyway. I need the loo every hour, my legs itch and twitch, I can't get comfortable. I may as well lose sleep by feeding a baby now."

Gwen contorted her face in sympathy, thinking as she did so that Sybil was not the best advertisement for the condition. She was pleased that she had made the decision to postpone any children for the time being. She looked forward to the end result and was well versed with the beginning, but the process in between held little appeal. "What it is now, officially five more days?"

Sybil nodded and Kieran interjected, his eyes never leaving the TV screen on which the players were now emerging from the dressing rooms.

"They can come any time though can't they? Our sister had hers a month early."

Sybil and Gwen exchanged incredulous looks. "Yes, I was there" Sybil reminded, articulating her words slowly as if speaking to a particularly slow child and Kieran turned his head with a sheepish grin.

"Oh yeah. Sorry, I forgot where I was for a minute." He glanced towards Tom. "Talking of which, did you not invite Aiden over?"

"He's watching it at Charlie's." Tom explained and arched his eyebrows. "And Charlie's bought him an England shirt."

"What?!" Kieran leant forward to prevent his mouthful of beer from escaping over the sofa, wiping a hand inelegantly under his chin. "That's disgraceful!"

"Aiden is half-English" his wife reminded. "And he was born here."

"Still…" Kieran muttered and the brothers shook their heads with mutual incomprehension. Eliza and her new sibling would be offered no opportunity for similar defection. Sybil didn't care enough about most sports to fight off the inevitable indoctrination. Her father would supply cricket whites in exchange and Tom believed that it was an acceptable compromise.

"No doubt Niall will have his boys decked out in green though!" Kieran appeared to console himself with this thought.

Tom pointed wildly towards the TV. "Niall's there! In Paris."

"Lucky bastard" Kieran murmured before clasping his mouth and looking anxiously around to see if his niece was near enough to hear his curse. "How did he manage that?"

"Got tickets through his rugby club apparently. Mam's helping Fiona with the boys this weekend."

Gwen stood up and ruffled her husband's hair. "Niall's a real rugby fan, Kieran. Not a fair-weather one."

"I'm not fair-weather" he muttered and Tom shook his head in silent support. Sybil managed a guffaw, although the shortage of space for her lungs nowadays meant that it was less hearty than usual.

"You're such fakers!" she said with a grin. Both men chose to ignore her but Gwen was keen to press home the point.

"Kieran Branson, when Ireland were doing badly some years back, you said to me – and I quote!" She raised a finger aloft and switched to a very convincing Dublin accent. 'I can't really be arsed with rugby anyway.'

Kieran sat staring intently at the screen but Sybil spotted the corners of his mouth twitching. "A man's entitled to change his mind, love."

The players were standing in line and Sybil rose from her chair. She couldn't even sit down for more than a few minutes without something aching. There was an elbow digging determinedly at her ribs and no amount of experience in midwifery could prevent it from feeling very peculiar, never mind uncomfortable.

"I'm going to make a cup of tea. They're both going to get emotional about the anthem, I don't think I can take it."

"I'll come with you" declared Gwen before muttering as an aside. "Come on France! Do it for England."

"Traitor" her husband called to her disappearing back.

Sybil filled the kettle as the opening bars of "Amhrán na bhFiann" rang out. She craned her neck back around the door. The brothers were standing with their arms slung around one another's shoulders, expelling tuneful roars. They knew the first four lines, but it would soon peter out, replaced instead by wild gesticulation and numerous ums and las.

Eliza wandered in, having realised that she did not have her father and uncle's attention and clambered up on to Gwen's lap to compensate.

"That's a pretty necklace" she said softly, twisting the pendant around her fingers until Gwen began to theatrically gurgle to make her laugh.

A roar emitted from the room next door. "Come on boys!" they heard Kieran shout, accompanied by a loud clap of this hands and Eliza sat up straight, looking startled.

"Is it the football now?" she asked her mother, eyes opened wide with innocence.

"It's rugby, darling. Different ball. More people playing."

"Bigger thighs" Gwen added.

Another shout was heard from the living room. "O'Driscoll!" Tom exclaimed and Gwen mouthed the words 'the man' before they heard her husband repeat them loudly with undisguised awe.

Sybil made no attempt to conceal a yawn. "If they win, I believe they're beatifying him on the pitch afterwards."

"What's beatifying?" Eliza asked curiously and Gwen laughed.

"You asked for that one, Syb."

They drank tea and quietly made fun of their men, while Eliza built a den under the breakfast bar, dragging in a succession of cushions from the living room and conducting an in-depth conversation about dinosaurs with her doll.

"Do you want to do something on Wednesday while Eliza's at nursery, if the baby's not here by then? It's my day off." Gwen asked and Sybil nodded gratefully.

"Yes please. Just anything to keep me occupied and thinking about something else."

"Are your parents going to come down?"

Sybil nodded. "When it's here and I'm home and settled. Mum wants to stay and help for a few days, but I expect Dad will go up to their flat in town." She rolled her eyes at the thought of her impractical father. "He's not much good with…well 'women's issues' as he likes to call them." It was easier to be tolerant of his antiquated attitudes now that she lived more than two hundred miles away.

Tom wandered in to replenish their drinks. "Are you not going to watch any of it?" he asked, showing disbelief at their lack of interest.

"Towards the end" Sybil replied, sitting up straight and leaning to rub her aching back, knowing that her visible discomfort would curtail an outpouring of Tom's sense of grievance.

"You okay?" he asked and leant forward to give her shoulders a sympathetic stroke. She reached up and fleetingly held his hand. He had been very considerate of her vociferous complaints during the past few weeks, he deserved an afternoon off from unremitting attentiveness.

"Yes, Gwen's looking after me. You are free to go, don't worry."

"It's very close" he declared and they nodded sagely.

The first half passed with Sybil and Gwen listening to a succession of whoops, groans and an assortment of arbitrary comments.

"Chase him down, get him, get him…!"

"Pass it for Christ's sake!"

"Come on, that's it, yeeesssssss!"

Then tragedy was narrowly averted. "Oh Christ, O'Driscoll's down. Will you look at the man? I'm telling you if he goes off injured, there is no God!" Sybil placed her hands carefully over her daughter's ears at that point. Eliza believed that her father's word was sacrosanct and Sybil didn't want the finale of a rugby captain to be the defining moment of religious disbelief.

Kieran appeared for drinks at half time, his eyes sparkling with a combination of exhilaration and mild intoxication. He shook his head as he peered inside the fridge. "It's so tight, I'm telling you. 13-12, it could go either way."

Gwen studied him with mock gravity. "You mean, they could win or they could lose?"

"Don't take the piss Gwen…"

"And how's the man?"

"He's back on. As if you care!"

They moved into the living room for the second half, certain that they would not be forgiven if they missed a famous victory. Sybil tried hard to concentrate and remember exactly how many points were awarded for which endeavour, but the scoring system still eluded her and she remained perplexed and silent.

Bored and unused to such disinterest from her father and uncle, Eliza conjured up efforts to perform. Her doll and teddies were pirouetted across the room, a car driven along the back of the sofa and down between the two men. Finally she attempted a forward roll on the carpet before them and became momentarily stuck with her head between her legs, bottom in the air.

"Daddy…" she said, her voice muffled through woollen tights.

Her voice registered in Tom's brain but his concentration remained firmly fixed on the screen. His hand reached out to help her proceed, but distracted by the excitement of a potential try, it made contact more vigorously than intended. Eliza somersaulted with some force, leaving her lying spread-eagled and stunned on the carpet, her lower lip wobbling in shock.

"Sorry!" Tom realised his error, sweeping his daughter into his arms, any distress soon swept away by a multitude of tickles and kisses.

Sybil pushed herself up to her feet, wincing at the nagging ache at the base of her spine and held a hand out towards Eliza. "Come on, let's go and read some stories" she suggested, knowing that the little girl was bored. She didn't want her to inadvertently experience her father's wrath if she decided to stand in front of the screen at an inopportune moment.

She took paracetemol, the only possible concession to pain relief while pregnant and was grateful for the mild reprieve it offered while she sat on her daughter's bed and made her way through a succession of Mr Men books.

Their return downstairs was met by a veil of tension. Tom appeared visibly grey as he sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees, cupping his chin. France looked certain of victory and Sybil hesitated at the doorway, deliberating whether to remove Eliza from witnessing her father's devastation. Even Gwen seemed to have been swallowed up into the excitement – sitting in a nearby armchair with her knees drawn up, a fingernail clamped between her teeth. Eliza darted forward, the French try was disallowed, a penalty missed. Sybil shrugged her shoulders and resigned herself to sitting down for the conclusion. A roar erupted almost immediately and she suddenly found herself swept into an embrace, her stomach pressed against Tom's ribs, then Kieran's waist. Eliza appeared to rise through the middle, squealing with unconcealed delight as she was held aloft, her legs flexing with joyful abandon.

Sybil felt her lungs constrict and a tiny foot pressed against her bladder in protest. "The baby…" she muttered, backing cautiously away but the surrounding unbridled joy was irresistible and she laughed out loud.

"Hurray!" she shouted, untroubled by England's resultant loss and reached to take Tom's hand. He looked momentarily ill at ease, giving her bump a tender caress, but she smiled to indicate that there had been no harm done and he leant forward to wrap his arms around her shoulders. Kieran leapt into the air with a triumphant fist pump which came close to skimming the ceiling and Eliza shrieked with pleasure, so he did it again.

They fetched the champagne and even Sybil had a celebratory sip. Her first taste of alcohol since Gwen and Kieran's wedding left her feeling unexpectedly emotional. It gave a hint of the normality which would soon return once the baby had been born, but also brought rise to instinctive fears. A second child would bring new challenges, a return to half-forgotten rituals and it would be some time before they comfortably evolved into their new family unit.

Gwen looked across with concern as Sybil waved an arm erratically in front of her face. "If he brings his little girl on the pitch again, I'm going to cry" she muttered and fled to the kitchen where she pressed a tea towel against her eyes and reflected on the irrationality of pregnancy hormones.

Champagne was replaced by more beer, while Sybil drank green tea and basked in the universal euphoria. Tom found an Irish themed playlist on his phone and danced with his daughter, swinging her around until her feet lifted from the ground and Dolores O'Riordan's voice was drowned out by breathless squawks of elation.

"This is a momentous day! We'll tell our grandkids about this!" Kieran announced, looking momentarily solemn until his mind revisited the concluding moments of the match and released a broad grin. He placed his hands around Gwen's cheeks and pulled her tightly to him, kissing her passionately until initial protests were replaced by her arms curling around his waist and guttural sounds from the back of her throat.

"Oh get a room!" Tom said without malice and Sybil diverted Eliza's attention into the kitchen for a snack.

Kieran released his wife with a final smack to her lips and grinned. "Technically, I think we're still newlyweds, so it's allowed."

Gwen followed Sybil and sat facing her god-daughter at the breakfast bar. "I'll put her to bed if you like? You can have a rest, you look knackered."

Sybil felt abruptly overwhelmed with gratitude. "Would you? Oh thank you! I'm so tired and I'd really like to have a bath."

Gwen reached over to pinch a raisin off Eliza's plate, pulling a face at her expression of implied outrage. "I can't see me getting Kieran home for a while yet and I'm driving so I can't join in. Is that okay Eliza? Shall we do your bath quickly and then let Mummy go in after while I read you stories?"

Delighted by the novelty, Eliza offered no protest at retiring for the night, kissing Tom and Kieran good night and giggling at their exuberant hugs and tickles. Twenty minutes later, Sybil lowered herself appreciatively into a warm bath and lay content, feeling a slow reprieve from her backache and a release of pressure around the baby. She watched the skin ripple across her abdomen – a protruding heel, the light brush of fingers against the inside of her womb. The baby was quieter today and she had felt some pressure between her legs. It was preparing to emerge from its cocoon, although she knew that days could yet pass before anything significant took place.

By the time she arrived back downstairs almost an hour later, comfortably dressed in her pyjamas and dressing gown, the celebrations had evolved. Tom and Kieran were seated side by side on the sofa. Each clasped a can of beer between their hands, their heads had dropped backwards, eyes glazed towards the ceiling. They were tunelessly singing 'Danny Boy' and Gwen rolled her eyes from an adjacent chair, playing an imaginary violin.

"Sybil!" Tom slurred his greeting and held out a hand. She waddled cautiously over and sat on the arm of the sofa.

"I love you" he declared dotingly, turning his face towards her and blinking rapidly. "You're the mother of my child and you're going to be another one…" He shook his head and corrected himself. "You're going to have another one. Both my babies, ishh wonderful…"

Sybil couldn't help but smile, although she was overcome once again with exhaustion and keen for the celebrations to end. "Thank you. I love you too, you drunkard" she replied amiably and leant down to bestow a brief kiss, trying not to flinch at the stench of beer emitting from his every pore.

"I love you" he repeated and she stood up.

"Yes you said, darling. Now do you think…"

Kieran lifted his head and interrupted. "I love you as well. Both of you."

"That's nice, I love you too Kieran. In a different way." Sybil politely batted back his platitude.

"No, I mean Gwen. Both Gwens." He squinted across the room. "Why are there two of you?"

Gwen slapped her hands vigorously down on both arms of the chair. "Right, that's it! Time to go home! Come on!"

Kieran rose unsteadily to his feet and was guided to the front door, his verbal devotion to both his wife and the Irish rugby team unremitting. Gwen exchanged wry glances with Sybil as she dealt with his praise.

"Brian O'Driscoll's a legend, an absolute legend. I'm telling you Gwen…"

"You are indeed telling me, Kieran yes now sit on the bottom stair and pull your shoes on."

"I love you Gwen, I'm so happy I married you."

"I'm sure I will be tomorrow, but right at this moment, I'm thinking my life would be easier if you hadn't. Put your arm round my shoulder, will you and we'll go to the car."

"You're so beautiful…"

"Is that both of me or do you prefer one over the other? Ugh, get your tongue out of my ear and concentrate on walking, will you?"

When Sybil returned to the living room, Tom was stretched out on the sofa, his eyes shut.

"Are you going to be sick?" she asked cautiously. "Do I need to fetch a bucket?"

"No!" he sounded indignant. "The room's just spinning a bit, that's all. I'm okay."

She watched him with a smile, shifting her weight from one foot to another. "Do you mind if I go up to bed? I'm shattered."

"Oh Syb…" he stretched out an arm, opening his eyes cautiously before swiftly shutting them once again. "I haven't been much help to you, have I?"

She knelt down on the carpet, not an easy feat in her current state, and lifted his hand to her lips. "I'll let you off. It was a special day. Me and the baby will be keeping you busy soon enough."

"It was a very speshhhial day, wasn't it?" He was trying very hard to articulate his words correctly, but it only served to make him sound all the more drunk.

"Yes, I'm very happy for them. And you. And Ireland. Tomorrow's going to be a very celebratory St. Patrick's Day."

"Oh yeshhh, St Patrick's Day tomorrow."

"But we're in London…" she reminded "…and you're supposed to be going to work."

There was a long pause. "Oh shhhhit"

Sybil struggled to contain a smirk. He was going to feel terrible in the morning, but she knew he would go in regardless. Colm and Elaine Branson had instilled a strong work ethic in all of their offspring and Tom would not be able to cope with the subsequent guilt if he allowed over-indulgence to keep him from his desk.

"Perhaps you should go to bed now too, darling? Drink lots of water and get an early night."

He didn't reply, but his breathing was measured and he looked very peaceful. Sybil decided that she didn't have enough energy to face the efforts involved in persuading him to move. With one hand on the side of the sofa and the other reaching out to hold a nearby coffee table, she pushed herself up from her knees, stifling a groan and reached for the furry throw they often snuggled under in front of the TV.

The effort of bending down to kiss him was beyond her by this point and she simply draped the throw over his body and traced her finger along his cheek.

"Night darling" she whispered.

ooOoo

Tom woke to see Sybil standing above him and a dim light which suggested that the table lamp across the room had been only recently switched on.

"Whasss the time?" he asked, startled and rubbed his hands over his face. He felt dehydrated and confused, but the dull, rhythmical ache in his head soon reminded him of the previous day's events.

Sybil seemed ill at ease."Um, about twenty to four I think. Listen Tom, I'm sorry to wake you but my waters have just broken in bed."

It took him roughly half a second to digest this news, the ensuing consequences drawing him abruptly into full consciousness.

"Oh shit!" he declared and sat up, swinging his legs down onto the floor and then wincing at the wave of pain which immediately shot across his forehead.

"Oh fuck…" he instinctively moaned and leant forward, covering his face with his hands.

"Don't panic, nothing much is happening at the moment, just some tightenings." Sybil clearly believed that his second profanity was connected to the first. He decided not to enlighten her about the scale of his hangover, it wasn't his finest hour.

"Okay" he whispered meekly and stood up. Christ, he was still wearing yesterday's clothes. He couldn't remember the last time he had ended the day in such disarray. The timing was proving calamitous.

"I've phoned the hospital and they like to check you over when your waters break. In case there's an infection. Chances are they'll send me straight home again for a few hours, but we have to go in."

"Now?" he asked, his throat parched and voice low pitch.

"Well I've just rung Gwen and she's coming over to look after Eliza, but yes when she's here."

Tom was light-headed and felt himself sway. Sybil narrowed her eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Um…"

"Look I realise you probably feel a bit hungover…"

"A bit" he gasped and turned to hold the sofa arm for support.

"Well I'm sorry, but I want you to come with me."

The idea that he might suggest otherwise brought forth an indignant burst of sobriety. "Of course! I wasn't suggesting that I don't."

"Well go and sort yourself out then. Gwen'll be here in about ten or fifteen minutes I should think." Sybil wrinkled her nose. "You've got time for a quick shower."

He rubbed his face once again, his mind racing at the thought of the day's magnitude. "I'll just have a quick wash and change my shirt" he muttered but Sybil quickly interjected.

"I really think you should probably have a shower."

It proved good counsel and he felt at least half human by the time he returned downstairs, dosed up with Nurofen and having downed several glasses of water. Sybil's pre-packed baby bag was sitting in the hallway and Gwen was moving around their kitchen with bustling authority.

"Right, so I'll get her up, do breakfast, get dressed, leave at 8.30. No problem, all sorted!"

Sybil was waving an A4 piece of paper around in front of her. "I've written a few things down on here – where clothes and things are kept, but you know most of it anyway."

"We'll manage, don't worry."

"I expect I'll be back home again in a couple of hours, but she might cry first thing when she realises we're not here."

Gwen placed her hand on the small of Sybil's back and gently guided her towards the door. "I'll cope, she'll be fine."

"Don't forget her stuffed elephant when you walk to nursery. She can't take it in with her, but she likes to hold it on the way there."

"Yes fine, now go."

Sybil swung around, another thought brewing. "Aren't you working later? I mean, I'm sure we'll be back again soon but…"

"Kieran can take over. That's the beauty of having your own business, he can walk out. He doesn't actually know he'll be doing that yet, but I've left him a note. " Gwen turned to face Tom with the ghost of a smile brewing. "I don't think he's going to be at his best though. She might end up watching a lot of CBeebies. I have to say Tom, you look a lot brighter than I expected."

He forced a smile. "Having your wife go into labour seems to be a good hangover cure."

Gwen flashed a grin. "Don't tell your brother that, it'll give him ideas. Anyway, if you do end up staying, I'll ring Edie and see if she can relieve Kieran after work."

Sybil waddled into the living room to rummage in her handbag and for the first time Tom noticed that she had a towel clasped firmly between her thighs.

"Let me give you Edith's number, Gwen. She's working in London this week and she offered to help. I think she'd love to be asked. She could probably get down from the shop late afternoon."

Tom patted the pocket of his trousers to feel for his phone. "Should I ring your parents, do you think? And Matt told me to let them know as soon as there was any news."

Sybil frowned and shook her head. "Well there isn't any. I'm not in active labour yet. Don't ring them at four o'clock in the morning, Tom. They'll all just lie there worrying."

"Alright."

He picked up the car keys. "Don't!" Sybil exclaimed loudly and he flinched, swinging around to face her with alarm. "You're way over the limit" she said.

A scowl passed across his face before he could curtail it. He was embarrassed that he couldn't fulfil his defined role in the proceedings. "I feel completely fine" he muttered.

"No way, give me the keys" Sybil held out her hand and he stared at her open-mouthed, his mortification rising.

"You can't drive yourself there for God's sake. I'll phone for a taxi."

She shook her head firmly. "Tom, I'm leaking amniotic fluid all over the place."

"That'll have every Clapham taxi driver fleeing north of the river" Gwen murmured as she passed by them to pick up Sybil's bag and take it outside. Tom glared at her receding back, did she not consider him fit to do anything?

Sybil cleared her throat and met his gaze with a steely glare, alarmingly reminiscent of her eldest sister. "I'm quite capable of driving, I'm not contracting properly yet. It's not painful."

"But…" He searched wildly for another counter argument and failed, wallowing instead in a feeling of failure.

"Come on, before it does start to hurt."

He felt on the verge of tears by his incapacity, something he knew was wholly unjust when it was Sybil who faced the biggest challenge of the day. Grasping hold of the one tangible image he could summon to uphold his fatherhood credentials, he abruptly turned and ran up the stairs. "Just a minute" he mumbled.

Eliza's room was swathed in eerie green by the dragon nightlight on her bedside table. Tom tiptoed across the room, managing to curtail a shout of pain when he stepped on an unidentifiable piece of plastic lying on the floor. She lay curled on her side, a bunched fist raised high as if declaring a point of honour, the other reaching out over the duvet towards her toy elephant who was hanging precariously off the edge of the bed. Dark curls covered the pillow like an extended fan and Tom's felt his heart constrict at the sound of her gentle, snuffling snores. They had tried to prepare her for the imminent arrival, taking advice from friends and reading appropriate books. However, if he cast his mind back, he could still vaguely remember the affront of having to share his mother with a new arrival. Kieran had once tried to bury Edie down the back of the sofa when she was a few days old. No matter how excited Eliza appeared to be about her new sibling, her needs would be greater in the short-term. Tom felt as if he had never loved her more.

"Bye-bye sweetheart" he whispered and bent down to kiss her cheek, feeling suddenly grateful at Sybil's insistence that he take a shower. He moved the elephant close to her chest, swept a strand of hair from her cheek and quietly crept out of the room.

ooOoo

Sybil's prediction of a swift return home was misjudged. By the time she had been examined, her contractions were established and she was transferred to the delivery ward. Eight and a half hours later, their son was safely born. Left alone afterwards to bond, the three of them sat cuddled together on the bed. Tom reached across to stroke the baby's head, the threat of tears once again imminent as the day's emotion took hold.

"He's just perfect" he breathed and Sybil, appearing less shaken by the delivery than her previous experience, smiled serenely.

"Yes, he's absolutely beautiful."

"You were fantastic, Syb. I can't believe how calm you were, it was amazing."

"I didn't feel very calm, I'd forgotten quite how painful it is. I'm not doing it again."

"You said that after Eliza was born."

"I mean it this time."

"Well, we don't have to think about it for a couple of years anyway."

She turned her head, narrowing her eyes. "You want another one, don't you?"

He grinned. "Let's not talk about it now. We'll just enjoy him."

"You'd like a football team really, wouldn't you?"

"No" He gave a nonchalant shrug. "Well maybe a five-a-side team…"

"No way!"

"Five including you and me, I meant!"

She looked back down at their son but he saw the corners of her mouth flicker and knew she hadn't entirely dismissed the idea. "We'll see" she offered as a concession.

He fidgeted and then sat upright, preparing himself for the next round of negotiation. "I can't believe that my son's been born on St. Patrick's Day and after Ireland winning the Six Nations yesterday. It's like something out of a film!"

She smiled and nodded, tracing a finger gently around the baby's head.

"So I just wanted to talk about his middle names…"

Sybil swung her head around in surprise. "I thought we'd already decided? We gave Eliza both her grandmothers' names, so we said we'd do the same with the grandfathers if it was a boy? I don't want to offend anybody."

He waved his free hand around in the air in an exaggerated fashion. "No, no. I wasn't suggesting that we leave someone out. I was just wondering about adding an extra one?"

"Do you mean Patrick?"

Tom shuffled on the bed again and scratched the side of his head. "Um, no, I was thinking about yesterday, rather than today."

And that was how Rory Colm Robert Brian Branson came to have his name. And why, to most of his family, he was often simply known as 'the man'.

THE END