I'm not entirely sure where this is going. I started it a few days after THAT episode and left it sat on the iPad. I kept going back to it and decided to finally post. I have a second chapter started but I'm not sure whether I should write more or not. Any comments therefore gratefully received.
Absence
The drug trolley squeaked as it made its way down the corridor towards the second of the two wards, the clicking of the nurses heels its only accompaniment. Richard nodded as she passed, his presence no longer required, his patients in safe hands, his intent to tie up a few loose ends. In another hour the patients would be tucked up for the night and Richard would finally go home.
"Are you heading home?" A nurse asked as he opened the door to his office, his thoughts already on the pile of paperwork on his desk.
"In a little while, nurse. I just want to go over a few charts."
As he made his way across the office to switch on the table lamp his eyes fell on the envelope lying in the centre of his blotter, the handwriting so familiar by now that he felt the knot of apprehension form in his stomach. With each letter and each week that passed, he found himself missing her a little more, wishing that he had the spontaneity to follow her to the ends of the earth. Sinking into his chair he picked up the small white package and held it between his fingers, prolonging the anticipation, delaying the agony of knowing that she wasn't coming home. While he longed for her return, he loved reading about her exploits, knowing that she was embracing life exactly as she said she would, rather than dwelling on grief and sadness. Her sentences were always long, rambling descriptions of everywhere she went, never once touching upon her return or more than a few days in the future.
He, on the other hand, was trapped in a world of grief and recriminations. While he had acquiesced to the Dowagers wishes and told the family that that was little hope that Sybil would have survived; in the middle of the night when sleep was evasive he thought back to that night, wondering if maybe he could have saved her. It was pointless and he wasn't God but it still pained him when he thought back to that evening, to the sudden decline in the youngest of the Grantham sisters. He grieved for her, as a girl who died too young, a nurse who showed promise, and as a wonderful person to be around. Her death had changed Downton forever and within a few months he had found himself wishing for something good to have come from it, for a chance to turn back the clock to before the war when life was everything he wanted.
Turning over the thick padded envelope he picked up the letter opener and sliced through the top. Her scent lingered on the pages as he unfolded them, his fingers tracing the neatly written words, her voice echoing in his head.
My darling Richard, she began and a small smile formed on his lips. Even alone in his office she had called him Doctor Clarkson, now with the freedom of distance she had become more familiar, her written words a loving conversation between them.
I hope this letter finds you well, that is to say you are in good health and not working too hard.
I arrived in Cairo the day before yesterday and know for sure now that there is a world beyond Downton, a world that didn't come to a screaming halt for the war. There is a constant hustle and bustle in the streets, a myriad of colours, and an aroma of spices that you can never imagine. The heat is unbelievable and sleep is most evasive, but I am learning that this is not always a bad thing. I thought this trip would keep my mind occupied, prevent me from dwelling on the overwhelming sadness I felt, instead I find myself more and more thinking about that young girl and the life she should have had.
He stopped reading, his thoughts instantly drifting to the young girl, his arms aching from not being able to comfort Isobel, to absolve her of her grief. As his eyes drifted back to the white sheet of paper he noted that she was once more detailing her travels, introducing him to the cast of characters that now shared her life.
A sharp rapping on the door brought him back to the reality of the hospital, and he inwardly groaned. "Enter," he yelled and the door opened, one of the young nurses hovering in the frame. "Did you need something?" He asked sharply.
"Mr Dawson is in pain. Sister would like to administer some morphine."
"I'll be along in a few minutes." His tone he knew was unnecessary but he couldn't help himself. For a few minutes he had been alone with Isobel, her voice in his head as vivid as if she was sitting opposite him, her inflections as clear as ever. "I just need to finish this."
The nurse closed the door behind her leaving him once again alone. Rubbing his hand across his eyes, suddenly aware of how tired he actually was, he picked up the letter and continued to read.
I must go now, she wrote, but I promise to write again soon. In the meanwhile my sweet man, try not to spend quite so much time at the hospital, and not to yell quiet so often at the nurses.
A smile quirked at his lips. It fleetingly crossed his mind that someone had been keeping her informed of his spiralling mood but no one really knew where she was, and he hoped that no-one was privy to how highly he thought of her. No, when it came down to it, she knew how affected he had been by Sybil's death, and maybe, just maybe, she realised how much he missed her too. In her case absence really did make the heart grow fonder.
His eyes drifted back to the familiar neat handwriting and the last few words. All my love, Isobel. He stared at the two neat kisses in the corner of the sheet, wondering again if she could know how much he read into them, how much he longed to feel her lips against his cheek, how much he wondered if two kisses would be enough. A deep sad sigh escaped his lips as a wave of sadness washed over him again. Later he would re-read the letter and try to be happy that she was enjoying the trip but until then he would miss her just a little bit more than he had that morning.
Safely tucking the letter back into the envelope and slipping it into his pocket he rose wearily to his feet, intent on finding the young nurse who he had been so dismissive of. Mr Dawson would have a little more of his personal attention, and he would once again break his promise to Isobel to work a little less. Work was far more preferable to lying awake thinking about her anyway.