This may seem like an "odd chapter" to throw into the mix, but I always envisioned the chapter before the wedding to be one where Tom had the chance to "talk" once again to Martin. You'll also find glimpses of Tom's "stag night" in this chapter (for those of you who mentioned being curious as to what happened). But I felt it was important, that after all the angst which he would write to Martin, back when the future seemed so uncertain for him and Sybil, that here he can write...on the eve before his wedding. I hope you like it, and I thank you again, for your continued support as this fic pushes forward.
That being said, this chapter is a VERY QUICK update; I posted chapter 27 very late the previous night, so if you haven't had the chance to read that one yet, please do so! THANK YOU AGAIN for reading and sharing your thoughts! I truly do appreciate it!
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dear Martin,
…
…It's been a long time.
Too long, perhaps?
I confess, there's a part of me that's expecting to hear your voice, hear you muttering, "Jesus, Tommy—where have you been!?" but then again, I can also imagine you muttering, "What are you doing? Writing to a ghost on the night before your wedding?"
…
...I've been asking myself that very same question, actually. Yet I know the answer.
…
I'm getting married tomorrow, Martin. Married! ME! Finally! I know I don't need to tell you more (I probably didn't even have to tell you that much, no doubt you're seeing everything and possibly shaking your head and even rolling your eyes at me) but…it's here. It's finally here.
Tomorrow I'm marrying Sybil.
…
…
Oh God…it's…it's almost too much to take in.
…
I…I've been dreaming of this day for so long; you know that better than anyone. You've seen all the letters I wrote to you, even after you died. All those letters that were never posted, letters that went nowhere, letters where I poured my heart and soul out onto the paper, sometimes full of anger, sometimes full of bitter sadness, oftentimes filled with frustration of some kind…and most of them, I might even dare to say, all of them…mentioned Sybil at some point.
Sybil, who I've loved for years, who at times I feared may never return that love…or deny her feelings, because the risk of a future that holds more unknowns than anything else would be just…too much.
And then, by some miracle Martin, she said yes, and I didn't think it was possible to be happier! That not only did I know for certain, from her own lips, that she loved me, but that yes, yes, she wanted to marry me! But just when everything seemed to be falling into place, there were other complications, setbacks that kept us apart, that kept us waiting, until finally…
Here we are. Back in Ireland, both of us with jobs now, with a home of our own now, and…and tomorrow, I'll finally, at long last…be marrying her.
…
…
God knows I've tried, Martin, but…I truly don't think it's possible to really describe how…how happy I am. Lord help me, I'm an emotional mess right now, what will I be like tomorrow when I see her? Did you know that she's chosen to walk down the aisle all by herself? I'm sure you do. I'm sure you're aware that her family—with the exception of her sisters, chose not to come. Sybil's shed her tears, and more might be shed, but…but God bless Mam, she's doing what she can to try and help.
Mam loves her; I always knew that she would. I always knew that they would come around and embrace her. I'd like to think you would feel the same way, if you had known her. Maybe you do? But Mam, as soon as she learned that Sybil's parents weren't coming, that seemed to solidify her resolve, declaring Sybil as "one of us", a fellow "Branson", and that we would be her family.
Speaking of which, Sybil is at the mercy of the women in our family. Tonight, Mam held a special party for her, one which all the women were invited to attend, and you know how some of our aunts can be. But if anyone can navigate the rough waters that is "the Branson family", it's Sybil. And with Mam's help, I have no doubt her sailing will be smooth.
As for myself, Kieran insisted on a "proper stag night". I have no doubt, Martin, that if you were here, you'd be just as guilty as Kieran in organizing a "pub crawl". I probably would have disappointed you too, just as much as I disappointed our cousin, when I refused to have more than three pints and a few shots. Actually, I can't deny, I'm regretting the shots just a bit—I don't think I'll wake up tomorrow without my head throbbing just a little, but I wouldn't say I'm drunk (nor would Kieran, for that matter. He kept going on and on about how I needed to "drink up" as this was apparently my "last night of freedom", before the so-called "shackles of marriage" tether me down).
…I'll be honest with you, Martin; I don't think I'll mind being "tethered down". I certainly don't mind if it means I get to be shackled to Sybil for the rest of my life.
God, I love her. I know, I know, I sound like a broken phonograph, but I make no apology for my feelings. Blame it on the whiskey if you'd like.
…
…
We did…we did stop somewhere on our way to one of the pubs. Did you see us?
I'm sorry for not visiting sooner, Martin. I…I hope you can forgive me for that…
…
The stone…
…
…
The stone looks good.
…
Kieran told me we would be stopping there, so…so I was prepared, or as prepared as I could be. I thought about bringing you flowers, but…well, I think you appreciated the whiskey more.
We toasted to you…and poured quite a generous amount on your stone, and the earth beneath it. I'd ask you if it tasted good, but no doubt there's a pub in heaven where you and Our Lord frequent together quite often. We did lift the bottle towards heaven, did you see? Did you raise your glass back?
…
…
By the way, I do apologize for Kieran's awful singing. It was his idea that we sing "Danny Boy", and…I've heard pleasanter sounds coming from cats in heat. I'd like to blame it on a combination of alcohol and high emotions, but no, I think that's just how he is.
But in all seriousness…I…I do miss you, Martin. God, I miss you. I…I keep telling myself that you will be there tomorrow, just…a bit harder to see. But that you're there, sitting in the front pew, no doubt trying to distract me, only to tease me mercilessly later about allowing myself to become a blubbery mess.
…
I've asked Frank to be my best man. Does that surprise you? He is my brother after all, but…well, he was surprised. He said…
…
He said, "I always thought Martin would be doing this…" and I…I honestly didn't know what to say to that. I mean…it makes sense; we were so close, growing up. I always saw you more as a brother than a cousin, and we were certainly much closer in age than I am with Frank. And maybe that's why it's taken me so long to…to come around and ask him? Because, as mad as it sounds, it would once again be another acknowledgement that you're gone. And…and even after all this time, I still…
…
Well, you can see for yourself, how it still affects me.
…
We started the crawl at O'Malley's. Remember them? The whiskey's shite, but the stout is good. After that, we went to Riley's, then that place with the stag on the door, but whose name, even to this day, I can't remember—then the Wailing Banshee, which I know you always hated, and I don't blame you, but our cousin Eamon insisted we go, that he knew the current pub owner and we'd all get a free round, so we went…and Liam Doyle happened to be at the bar.
…
Liam fecking Doyle.
I don't need to say more than that, do I? And your sister is still mad for him.
…
I don't know, maybe I am being too harsh, I mean, men can change!
But every time I look at him, even after all these years, I keep remembering how he left us high and dry to deal with the police on our own, and if it hadn't been for you Martin, and your quick wits…
…
…
He's apparently good "friends" with Frank. That apparently, during those weeks after Sybil and I had come to Dublin, and Frank was missing, it was with Liam of all people, with whom he was staying! And according to some of our cousins, including Kieran, that "during my absence", Liam was the one that "took Frank under his wing", and looked after him as any older brother would.
You can imagine how this makes me feel.
You can also imagine how…"thrilled"…I was, when Frank told Liam that this was my stag night, and then invited Liam to join us. Liam then insisted on taking us to another pub, but as soon as I learned it was down on Sackville Street, I said "no", and remained firm in my decision, despite Liam's attempts to rally everyone to his side. Thank God for Sean, who originally had closed the pub for business tonight, but who countered Liam's offer by saying he would open his place up just for us…and that certainly seemed to quiet everyone down. I think it even won Liam over.
...
Liam wants me to…to write an article about this "underground" Republican organization that he's a part of. He thinks that doing so, it will somehow "boost" my writing career, though I really don't think I need his help to get something published. I've come close, Martin, and I'm fairly positive that the next opportunity I'm granted, will be the one. But…at the same time, I do feel like I'm still indebted to Liam for that help he provided for Frank, Siobhan, and Sybil. Is that mad? Am I being foolish?
…
I had one shot at Sean's, but that was it. I wonder if I would have found our cousins' drunken toasts half as amusing if I were properly drunk. I certainly don't envy some of them the hangovers they'll feel tomorrow.
Tomorrow, Martin.
Today, actually! The clock by my bed reveals that it's half-past one, but I'm not tired, not one bit, though God knows I should try to get some sleep.
One more night sleeping on this awful bed, one more night sleeping under my sister's roof, one more night where…where I sleep by myself.
…
This is going to sound so foolish but…are you happy for me?
…
Alright, now this, I can certainly imagine you saying, "what does it matter what I think? Are YOU happy?" And I am, yes. I'm very happy. And I know I don't need you to be happy for me, in order for me to be happy, but…still, it's something I wonder, sometimes.
Are you surprised? Surprised that this day actually came? I still am, and I've always believed, deep in my bones, that she loved me. Even with that belief, and the knowledge I now have, I'm still surprised. Wonderfully so, but still.
…
Before I left the pub to come back upstairs, Frank passed me something. A note Sybil had given him to pass to me, written on the smallest scrap of paper. It simply said: "Goodnight"…that's all. Just…"goodnight".
I feel like she's here with me now. That if I look over my shoulder, I'll see her, waiting for me, her arms outstretched for me. And that's how we'll be tomorrow, in our own home, in our own bed, and she'll be telling me "goodnight" with her own lips, as opposed to having to write them down and ask my brother to pass the message along.
Still, I welcome her message…and it remains nestled right now, in my left hand, while I write you this letter.
…
I don't think I've said it enough, Martin—I love you. I love you so much. I know that if you were here you'd tell me to calm down and perhaps even to "feck off" if I kept going on, but…I don't care. I love you, Martin Branson. And…if you're not too busy tomorrow, what with your time at the heavenly pub, would you consider stopping by? Looking in on us? Maybe even…giving us a blessing? Or is that a cheeky thing to ask for?
…
…
Alright, alright, I know, I know, I'll stop. But…it was good talking to you. Thank you, Martin. Thank you.
—Tom
...the wedding is next!
