chapter three
We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.
Tom Stoppard
.
"I do wish I could have come along," Sybil murmured, her eyes shut tightly as she lay on her side, hands folded beneath her cheek. She ran the aching soles of her bare feet along the mattress underneath the duvet, sighing softly at the relieving coolness.
"We'll find some time next week, then we can both visit," Tom, whose fingertips were pressing gentle circles into Sybil's temple, reassured her.
Two days before, Shinead, the older of Tom's two younger sisters, had given birth to her second child. While Tom had followed his brother-in-law's proud invitation to come and visit the new baby girl, Nora, Sybil had been at work, unable to find even a spare minute to walk the short distance to her sister-in-law's house.
Her disappointment had been more than evident all day long. At work, her mind had been terribly occupied, wishing she could take the afternoon off, just this once, and Tom had asked her more than once during dinner if she was feeling alright. She was indeed feeling better, apart from the dull headache and invisible weights that seemed to pull her eyelids shut, but she could not hide the fact that she was simply sad about missing out such an important family event. Welcoming a newborn child into the family.
It was new to Sybil. She had always been the youngest. The youngest daughter, the youngest cousin, there had never been younger children around her. The baby had always been her. To now be part of a large family where children were constantly around, cherished and born not as heirs but as a new link for the future, was a change she enjoyed and was eager to discover.
To not be present today had felt like a step backwards, as if she willingly put a bit more of the distance between herself and Tom's family that she had so meticulously attempted to reduce in the past months since her arrival.
"I know you're disappointed. But Shinead wasn't angry, trust me. She was excited when I told her we'd come next week."
Sybil nodded, sighing as Tom's fingers moved from her temple through the thick curls of her hair, gently rubbing up and down her scalp. She sank deeper into the cushion, edging a little closer to Tom. The warmth of his body behind hers was comforting, much more than any fire could ever be.
"And with that horrible woman back, you won't have to cover her shift any more, so you'll have more time," he added, pressing his lips against Sybil's temple, lingering there. His breath was damp against her skin, his lips just barely hovering there, not moving away, not moving closer.
"That is true," she murmured sleepily. It had been Nurse Hayes' first day back at the hospital, and Sybil would be lying if she pretended not to have dreaded this day. Surprisingly, the day had gone rather well. It made her sad to think that the death of her mother had been necessary to soften her colleague, but she was grateful that she had been mostly ignored today.
The last thing she wanted was to complain, to tell the head nurse about Nurse Hayes' behaviour. She understood it, somehow. Remembering the young man she had seen being dragged away only last week, she understood. The woman had lost her husband to a system that, in her eyes, Sybil represented, supported, was.
Tom's lips brought Sybil back into reality, out of her deep thoughts, and she faintly heard the patter of first raindrops against the window. Sighing as Tom's lips met her own, she turned her head to face him. The movement caused Tom's fingers to sink fully into her hair, small shivers buzzing through Sybil's nerves as his fingertips connected with the sensitive skin of her neck.
Sybil freed her hands to wrap them around Tom's neck, feeling the coarse stubble on his cheeks rub against the palm of her hands. She held on tightly to him, pulling him closer, needing him nearer to her.
Responding to the eager pull of her hands, Tom moved on top of Sybil, his free hand finding the soft curve of her waist, bunching her nightdress in his fist as he deepened the kiss.
As Sybil's hand began to roam across Tom's back, she gently parted her lips from his, opening her heavy eyes.
"Tom," she whispered softly, cupping his cheek. He looked down at her, eyes darker than usual, but softened and warm.
Sybil allowed her legs to fall open, giving Tom room to rest fully on top of her, enveloping her in his warmth. The soft sound of her voice was of such a different nature than the fiery kiss only a few seconds ago, and both of them calmed down slowly, steadying their breaths.
The rain was starting to become heavier, the rhythmic patter against the window becoming louder, wind howling and rustling.
"I'm sorry," Sybil whispered against Tom's lips, their skin still touching feather-lightly, warm and soft, and Sybil felt her heart swell as Tom smiled softly, moving his hand from her waist to her cheek, mirroring her own hand. He leaned in closer, nudging his nose against hers. His fingertips traced her cheekbone so delicately as if he were cherishing the smoothness of a strip of silk.
"It's alright," he murmured, resting his head in the crook of Sybil's neck, "I know you are tired."
"Can we stay like this?"
Tom looked up at Sybil with a sleepy grin, reaching out to take her hand in his, nodding lightly. Sybil's eyes fell shut almost immediately as she felt their fingers interlace, her chest still fluttery, her breath still heavy, and every expanse of her skin tingling.
She felt herself beginning to feel better, stronger, less consumed by the dull ache inside her head. Maybe she had let all the difficulties from the hospital and all the pressure to be accepted into Tom's family fill her head to the brim. Let it literally fill up to the point that it was about to burst.
Maybe this was all she needed to feel better, to rest in Tom's arms, to feel his even breaths against her skin, slowly mingling with the patter of the rain until all sound began to fool her and sleep finally took over.
.:.
Placing the still wet bowl on the wooden grate next to the big, deep sink, Sybil pressed the back of her damp hand against her mouth. As she mentally told herself to breathe calmly, her eyes fell onto the stack of bowls and trays that still needed to be cleaned. All of them covered in blood or vomit, Sybil sighed, swallowing hard.
Usually, this did not bother her in the slightest. She had seen such savage injuries, the sight of blood or vomit was nothing extraordinary to her any more. Today, however, the mere thought of scrubbing at least another dozen bowls and trays caused her stomach to twist and turn in discomfort.
Edna, who had her hands deep in the cold water of the sink on the opposite wall, was still complaining about the rude woman working in the bakery across the street. Apparently, she had deliberately given Edna the wrong order this morning, resulting in an argument with the man whose order Edna had received, and in the end, Edna had arrived at the hospital last, ten minutes too late, and with a head as red as her hair.
"You would think they'd make an effort in employing people who actually want to sell, and want to keep the shop running," she continued, her voice clear, echoing so very slightly off the tiled walls, that Sybil barely noticed, "But instead, they place that awful woman behind the counter and expect me to still invest money there. I tell you, if they weren't the best bakery around here – by far, I can tell you – I would stay clear of there until I am old and grey."
Sybil remained quiet, sensing that Edna was not yet finished with her rush of complaints. She was a lovely woman, kind, friendly, and a very gifted nurse, and they had gotten along very well from Sybil's first day on. They had spent several afternoons in each other's homes for tea, and Sybil was glad to have someone outside of Tom's family to consider somewhat of a friend. If she was being honest with herself, she was not sure if they were friends, really. But she liked the thought, and saw no need to discuss the topic with Edna.
"The woman could have gotten me fired," Edna spoke on, water splashing in the background, and Sybil closed her eyes as her insides seemed to twist and turn even more. She felt the tray she was washing slip from her fingers before she even realized she was leaning over the stack of cleaned bowls, clutching her stomach.
"Sybil?"
She could not remember the last time she had thrown up, but it must have been a long time ago, for the agonizing pressure on her ribs seemed so unfamiliar and out of this world, that Sybil felt tears gathering in her eyes.
"Sybil, what on Earth is the matter?" Edna asked, hurrying over, resting her hand on Sybil's shoulder.
Sybil pushed her soaking wet hands against her sides, trying to breathe calmly as she stood up straight again. The throbbing pain in her ribs momentarily distracted her from the humiliating embarrassment that began to flood her mind.
"I'm so sorry," she said quickly, pressing her thumbs deeply into her uniform, "I'm sorry, I don't know how that happened."
"Don't be silly, don't worry about this. We'll have it cleaned up in no time," Edna reassured her, smiling her wide smile, "But are you alright? You have been looking terribly pale lately."
Sybil felt sick again as she heard Edna's confirmation that her unsteady state of health lately had not gone entirely unnoticed.
"I don't know," she said quietly, feeling terribly uncomfortable with her cold hands, water-stained uniform, the smell of blood in the air and the taste of vomit in her mouth, "It must have been the fish we had for dinner yesterday. It tasted odd, I should have known. I'm already feeling much better."
She was so used to reassuring Tom that everything was alright by now, that the words easily slipped past her lips. It was not even a lie, it might very well have been the truth. Truly, it was the only explanation Sybil could come up with for herself.
"Well, you better go home straight away, in case it wasn't the fish," Edna suggested, eyeing Sybil with concern.
"Can we not pretend it never happened? I'd hate to have to leave because I might be ill," Sybil protested, coughing as she suddenly realized how sore her throat felt.
"I'm afraid not," Edna chuckled, but Sybil saw the suspicion twinkling in her dark blue eyes, "I'll clean this up, you go and let Collins know you'll have to take the rest of the day off."
"No, I couldn't have you clean this up," Sybil immediately protested, but Edna's hand on her shoulder held her back as she stepped forward.
"Don't worry, Sybil, truly, it's no bother. I insist."
.
Tom shrugged off his wet coat the second he shut the front door behind him, eyes adjusting to the dark hallway. Cursing under his breath – white clouds appearing in front of his mouth as he exhaled – he shook the coat over the wooden floor.
"Boy, leave the sea where it belongs, not on my floor."
His heart nearly jumped out of his chest, and for a moment he thought Sybil might have to revenge his death at the hands of an elderly woman.
Mrs Gallagher, tea-stained apron wrapped tightly around her, and her grey hair sticking up frizzly from her head, stood in the doorway to her flat, hands folded over her stomach. She eyed Tom sternly, but somehow still managed to smile kindly, a welcoming gesture, the sign of her gratefulness.
"Beg pardon," Tom said politely, quickly stuffing his coat under his arm, shivering as the rain began to seep into the fabric of his shirt, "Is everything alright? I'll have a look at your window on Saturday, just as soon as we get back from my sister's house."
"Oh, no hurry, my dear," Mrs Gallagher – Tom wondered for a moment if her name was Molly, but he could not be sure – said quickly, waving her hand. Last week, she had complained about a leak in her bedroom window, and he had promised to take a look and fix it for her. "You make sure to take care of your own worries, before fixing leaks for a poor old woman like me."
She laughed, her voice as dry as gravel, deep and warm, but with a harsh edge to it.
"No worries so pressing as a leak in the window," he chuckled, wiping a raindrop of his forehead that was quickly making its way towards his nose.
"Are you sure, my lad? You better ask Mrs Branson if she agrees with you."
"What do you mean?" Tom asked, confused, and eager to take off his wet shoes.
"She came rushing in here, must have been around one o'clock, looking white as a sheet," Mrs Gallagher reported, sounding worried herself.
"I'll better go upstairs, thank you," Tom said quickly, already halfway up the stairs when he stopped and turned around, "And I'll still have a look on Saturday, I promise."
He saw Mrs Gallagher nod and heard her dusty laugh, before he took the last few steps up the stairs. The front door to their flat was unlocked, and he stepped inside quickly, flooded by the warmth of the fire.
"Sybil?" he called straight away, kicking off his shoes and carelessly dumping his coat and hat by the door. There was always time to hang them up by the fire later, they had all night to dry.
He had barely taken three steps across the room when Sybil appeared in the kitchen doorway, not in her uniform but in a skirt and shirt, barefoot, wiping her forehead.
"I was waiting for you," she said with a wide smile, walking towards him with almost bouncy steps. Meeting him halfway, she leaned on her tiptoes to kiss him softly, resting her hands on his shoulders.
Tom was taken aback, pulling away from her, and eyeing her with concern. Her cheeks were flushed, probably from the heat in the kitchen, and her smile was broad and genuine, almost excited. Still, he could make out the dark rings surrounding her eyes, and the paleness that was only partly concealed by her flush.
"Are you alright? Mrs Gallagher told me off downstairs for bringing in all the rain, and she said you've been here since this afternoon."
Sybil sighed, brushing her fingers over Tom's shoulders. He reached out for her himself now, resting his hands on her waist, pulling her a little closer to him.
"I was sick at the hospital, so Edna told me to go home," she told him, purposely avoiding his gaze.
"You were sick?" he asked worriedly, and Sybil almost cut him off in her attempt to reassure him of her well-being.
"It's fine, really. It must have been the fish, I told you it tasted funny. But I had to report to Nurse Collins, and she told me to stay home tomorrow, as well, just in case it is something else. But I have been fine ever since, truly."
"Sybil," Tom began, but she was quicker, placing her finger softly against his lips.
"I know you are worried about me, Tom, and I won't pretend that doesn't mean the world to me," she said softly, "But you have to trust me. I'm fine, truly."
The look in Tom's eyes told Sybil exactly what he thought, disbelief and concern as evident as the exhaustion of a day at work.
"Nothing is wrong, trust me. I know it."
"How?" Tom asked, his breath fanning across Sybil's finger as she removed her hand, "How do you know?"
She sighed, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
"I just know."
.:.
Light, feathery snow flakes floated through the air, and each exhale of breath created a white fog so thick that it swallowed the tiny flakes.
Sybil pulled her thick scarf tighter around her neck, feeling the icy cold against her flushed cheeks. Her fingertips ached inside of her gloves, and as much as she enjoyed the walk through the park with Tom's mother, she could not wait to reach her fingers out towards a crackling fire.
"She's as stubborn as Tom, I can tell you," Mrs Branson said with an unnerved expression on her kind face, "Always has been. Those two, you always had to keep twenty pairs of eyes on them, no matter what you said and what they did. Never mattered. Like talking to a brick wall."
Sybil chuckled, eyes glancing over the small lake they were slowly approaching. Soon, it would be frozen, the air already sharp with cold.
"I think I know exactly what you mean," she agreed, smiling to herself as she remembered how extraordinarily patient, and stubbornly persistent, Tom had been during all those years in which she could not make up her mind about what she felt, how strong those feelings were and how much they were worth, how much she was willing to leave behind.
"I told her. I must have told her a dozen times, that I don't mind taking Cillian for a few hours," Tom's mother continued her rant about Tom's sister Shinead. She had twisted her ankle two days earlier, while hurrying to pull her two-year-old son away from the fireplace, her newborn baby on her arm, "But no, she just won't let me help. Never. Not even when Cillian was born. Could barely stand on her own feet but refused to let me help. Too proud for her own good. And this is what she gets. Now she really needs my help but won't ask for it, so she sends that poor husband of hers to do it for her."
It had not been Shinead who had informed her mother about what had happened, and that somebody needed to look after Cillian and their newborn daughter while Shinead made a trip to the doctor. Her husband, Aengus, had been the one to take the trip to her mother's house to ask the favour of her.
"But she does get along very well, doesn't she?" Sybil asked, "When Tom and I visited the other day, she seemed quite well."
She remembered how easily Shinead had seemed to nurse the tiny, red-haired infant in her arms, restrain the wild boy chasing imaginary monsters around the house and clinging to Tom's leg like a bird holding on to a branch, and serving her guests warm tea, hot soup, a fire crackling, and the sofa plush and comfortable. Never before had Sybil seen someone handling so much so smoothly, and with so much warmth and passion. Without a maid, without any help, and Sybil had felt more warm and welcome and at home than during any dinner party she could recall.
"She does get along, but at what expanse?" Tom's mother asked, sighing, "There's no shame in asking for help every now and then."
They were passing the small lake now, surrounded by leaf-less bushes. The gravel underneath their shoes was crunching loudly in the silence left in the near absence of wind.
"I suppose that is true, " Sybil agreed, kneading her fingers, "I really don't know if Tom and I had been able to have such a smooth start here without your help. I'm so grateful."
It was the truth. No matter how little Mrs. Branson had thought of her eldest son's choice, she had helped the both of them to start their new life together. She had been the one to find the small flat they now called theirs, had taken it upon herself to show Sybil around the streets of Dublin while Tom was working, had given her a room to stay before her and Tom became husband and wife. And despite the fact that she was an outsider, a foreigner, a stranger, Tom's mother had never made Sybil feel that way.
"And don't ever hesitate to ask for help," Mrs Branson said, smiling brightly at her daughter-in-law, "I'd be glad. I really am sorry for calling Tom and you foolish. I am not saying that you weren't, but I suppose a single pair of fools can do no harm. And you make him so happy, and I'm glad to have you here, my dear."
Sybil felt her heart swell at the sudden honesty of the confession. It was almost brutal, how alike Tom and his mother were in certain ways. They said what they felt, although his mother knew when it was time to let silence speak for itself.
"I quite admire Shinead, actually," Sybil said, feeling almost a little embarrassed at her mother-in-law's words. It was new, having people tell her things like this, emotions like this, in such a straightforward way, "I mean, Tom never spoke much of her, although I don't understand why. She gets on so well, and seems to have everything under control all the time. I've never seen anyone so calm."
"She was always like that. Quiet, but so fierce, you have to be careful around her. Tom never really spoke about any of his siblings. Never. To friends and other family, he never mentioned them. I remember we ran into his teacher once, all four of them and me. His teacher made himself look like a fool, Tom had never mention his sisters or his brother. He was always so protective of them."
Both women smiled as they passed an elderly couple walking along the gravel path, the snow flakes thickening. Sybil suddenly felt trapped in her hat, coat and gloves, an uncomfortable flutter ripping through her chest.
"I know what you mean, only... I was the one everybody was always protective of."
"Because you are the youngest?"
Sybil nodded, a sudden flash of memories of party dresses and horses and vast gardens and dolls and shouts and bickering, seasons and suitors and watchful glances and rolling eyes and annoyed sighs, a motor in the night, a door bursting open, all under the watchful eye of a swan.
"Yes."
"There's no wrong in that."
"Not really, no. Only I never saw it that way later on. But I do now."
Mary and Edith. Mary and Edith. Sybil swallowed. It was still painful, her family's rejection, their refusal to accept what had happened and was irreversible.
Mary and Edith. Mary and Edith, who had been the only members of her family to attend her wedding, who had fastened her dress and pinned up her hair.
Mary and Edith, who had been united as sisters that happy day, who had, despite glances and stares and pursed lips, made an effort to fit it. To accept. To see that this was right for Sybil. Sybil, whom they had always protected from the world and all its monsters, back when they lived under their beds, until the day they wore uniforms or suits and spoke in eloquent ways.
"Tom mentioned you weren't feeling very well lately?"
It was hard not to sigh in annoyance. Partly, Sybil was relieved at the distraction, of not having to think about her family more than necessary, and partly she wanted to rush home and tell Tom that there was no need to inform his mother about her state of health, unless it was something actually important.
"I've been having headaches for a while now, but it's nothing to worry about, "Sybil answered, feeling like a broken record on a gramophone, turning and turning and repeating herself, "I suppose it's all so new and a big adjustment, maybe it all got a bit too much for a while. I'm feeling better. I rarely have headaches any more, only every once in a while."
That much was true. However, Sybil felt there really was no need to tell her mother-in-law, or anyone at all, that she had had to excuse herself more than a handful of times in the week that had passed since she had returned to work, rushing to the hospital's rest rooms as quick as her stomach could take. For now, nobody had noticed, and Sybil had not mentioned it to Tom.
She did not want to destroy what little reassurance she had been able to build. Still, she had made the decision for herself, and had arranged an afternoon off in a weeks time, to see one of the doctors at a different hospital. She was still sure that nothing was actually wrong, but she did not want anyone at work believing that she was not fit to do her job. Most especially Nurse Hayes, who, as much as she may have softened, was still determined to cause Sybil to leave, and used every possible straw to make another attempt at pushing her out.
"You need to know for yourself when you feel like something is wrong. Don't be too harsh on Tom, though, my dear," Mrs. Branson said softly, but with determination, casting Sybil a strong glance, "He cares too much for his own good, he always has. Don't shut him out."
"He told you I didn't want to see a doctor, didn't he?"
"He did."
This time, Sybil could not hold back the sigh. Without another word, she left the gravel path and sat down on one of the benches, watching her mother-in-law as she took the seat next to her.
"I just, somehow, know I'm not ill. There is nothing wrong. I don't want to bother anyone. I will take care of myself. But, it is hard to make him understand. I don't want to shut him out, truly. That is the last thing I want."
Tom's mother looked at her calmly, reaching her hand out to gently pat Sybil's arm.
"He knows that."
Sybil smiled, and the two women turned to watch a group of children playing on a stretch of grass nearby, dancing amongst the rapidly increasing snow flakes.
.:.
"Tom?"
She stumbled into their flat just after the sun set, the chill of harsh evening air having flushed her cheeks, and the darkness of the hallway causing her eyes to burn as she stepped into their dimly-lit sitting room.
The short walk from the park had been exhausting, each step a fight against the increasing snowfall, and by the time she had arrived at the narrow house that Mrs Gallagher had owned for seemingly decades, the ground had been covered in a faint layer of white, soft snow.
"There you are," Tom said as he came walking out of the kitchen, drying his hands with the only kitchen towel they owned that did not have burn marks, yet, "I was getting worried."
"We ran into your mother's neighbour," Sybil explained, unbuttoning her coat as Tom kissed her forehead softly.
Tom chuckled, brushing a strand of hair out of Sybil's face, which the melting snowflakes had plastered to her flushed skin, "Oh, no need to explain, I understand."
"I now know a lot of very interesting things about people I never even heard of," Sybil said with a smug smile, feeling the warmth of the fire and Tom's touch seep into her as she removed her hat. All afternoon, she had longed to be back in his arms.
She was grateful to spend time with his mother, to build a relationship with her and become a true member of his family. But at the end of the day, it was him she had married, him she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, him she wanted to be the last person to see before she fell asleep. Him she wanted to be held by.
"I have to warn you, she isn't the most reliable source of information," Tom said, and Sybil laughed lightly, "Did you have a nice time?"
"I did. But my feet are freezing."
"Give me that, I'll put it up by the fire," Tom offered, taking Sybil's damp coat, hat and scarf out of her hands. As he carefully adjusted everything in front of the fireplace, Sybil sank down into one of the chairs, suddenly feeling a wave of fatigue. It had been a long day of walking and rushing and talking, and it seemed that it was all crushing down on her now, in the warmth of her home, Tom's hands resting on her shoulder.
She sighed as he squeezed gently, letting her eyes fall shut. For a few minutes, they were still together, relaxing, taking notice of nothing but each other's breathing. Feeling herself slowly slip out of consciousness, Sybil brushed her fingers against Tom's hand, turning her head to smile softly.
Tom leaned down to kiss the top of her head, before walking across the room to the small end table they had bought last month. Sybil leaned down to untie her shoes, freeing her freezing feet.
"This one if for you," Tom suddenly said, and when Sybil looked up from her soaked stockings, she saw him holding up an envelope, "From your sister."
"Which one?" she asked dryly, looking down at her feet again.
"Mary."
"Just put it with the rest of the post, I'll read it tomorrow. I'm rather tired," she said, placing her shoes by the fire and pushing herself off the chair.
"Don't do this, Sybil."
Tom's voice was surprisingly stern, and Sybil looked at him with confusion as he stood there, the letter still in his hand.
"What do you mean?"
"This," he said, dropping the letter onto the end table, "Pushing your family away."
"I'm not pushing them away, they pushed me, I am certain you remember that," Sybil replied, her voice filling with the familiar frustration, word by word.
"They love you, Sybil. They write, and that, as frustrating as that might be, I think is all you can ask for at the moment. I am worried about you."
"Why?"
Tom swallowed, and Sybil felt her heart flutter as she saw the concern glimmering in his eyes. He stepped closer, gently resting his palms on her upper arms, holding her just barely.
"I know how much they mean to you, and I want you to be happy. I can't change who I am, I will never be who they want me to be, and what we did will always be a thorn to them. All they are willing to do is this for now, and I can see you rejecting that. You don't read their letters for weeks sometimes, and I know your replies are short. I know you are angry, and so am I, but we knew there was a chance for things to be this way, and I don't want you to waste the only chance you might get at reconciling with them, darling. I don't want you to wake up one day, and regret your decision because your family has cast you off entirely."
Silence fell upon them as his last word was spoken, and Sybil looked deeply into Tom's eyes. Her breath suddenly seemed caught in her throat, a heavy lump making it difficult to fill her lungs with the air it needed so badly right now. She had seen his suspicious looks before, when he found unopened letters, or saw her replying to letters she had received weeks before. However, she never knew that he blamed himself for her twisted situation. That he was afraid she was pulling away.
That one day, all her love might turn into blame, regret and anger.
"I'm not ready, Tom," she whispered, wrapping her cold fingers gently around Tom's neck, "It makes me so terribly angry. It is always Mama and Mary or Edith, sometimes they leave a message from Granny, but it is as if Papa did not even exist or acknowledges that I did not die, that I am still here. And that I'm happy. Tom, please, do not think that my family will make me regret my choice, because I never will. I am so, so happy here with you. And no matter what comes, I know I made the right decision."
"But you might still regret not taking this chance," Tom replied, his voice just as low, barely above a whisper. He lifted one of his hands to cup her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, remembering how unbelievably tired she was.
"What chance? Writing a few letters each year, letting them know I'm well, when they won't believe it either way?"
"Sybil-"
"Tom, they did not accept you," she interrupted, anger beginning to take over her tired mind, "They are my issue, and you are not to worry about them."
"But what if something happens?" Tom asked, dropping his hands, "What if there is a need to travel back to Downton? You never know. What if your sisters are getting married, or, God forbid, someone dies, Sybil? Would you want to be kept out? What if we are starting a family one day? Would you want to keep them out?"
Sybil was just about to tell Tom that it was never her decision to be kept out or be put in a position to keep anyone else out, when her mind suddenly went blank, and all she heard or thought was the echo of Tom's last words.
starting a family.
She began to feel her heart flutter violently in her chest, and every single moment of weakness and dizziness and pain that had accompanied the last few weeks began to roam her thoughts like a ghost hunting a long lost ruin.
Why had that thought never occurred to her? Had she really been this blind and oblivious, when it now seemed the one answer to suit all her problems and thoughts? Maybe there really was nothing wrong with her, maybe she was not sick, just as she had reassured Tom of all this time.
Maybe...
Absent-mindedly, Sybil rested her hand flat on her stomach, feeling the coolness of her palm through the layers of fabric.
"Sybil?"
Tom's worried voice pulled Sybil back into their small sitting room, and her eyes met his in a frenzy of wild thoughts.
"Oh, Tom," she murmured, stepping close to him to allow his arms to wrap themselves around her, "I knew very well this was likely to happen, when we left. But I'll read the letter after dinner, if it makes you feel more at ease."
"I don't want to make you do it, Sybil."
"You are not, I promise."
Closing her eyes, Sybil rested her head against Tom's chest, suddenly feeling aware of every fibre of her body.
Not maybe. It must be. For sure.
A/N: Once again, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews. I have recieved lots of amazing reviews that I can not reply to, and I want to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to let me know what you think about the story. It really means a lot to me.
