Mark took a sip of cold beer and flicked on the TV, lifting his feet to the coffee table. He was glad to be home, to be able to relax, put his feet up, all that. But he was glad he was waiting for something – someone. If he went to sleep before she got home then at least he knew he'd wake up beside her. He smiled, imagining she was sitting cross legged on the other end of the sofa, some ancient novel in one hand, lemon tea in the other, smiling over the top of her book, maybe reading him a few lines of a language that was certainly not English, as far as he was concerned. She loved those old books – classics. He listened to her describe them – amused by her enthusiasm more than the stories. One of them sat on the coffee table. He picked it up in the TV commercials. "The Three Musketeers." By Alexander Dumas. At least he'd heard of that one. Another sat under it, "Persuasion" by Jane Austen. He recognised the author this time and flicked it open at her bookmark.
His eyes fell on the word 'sex' as eyes are wont to do. But it wasn't nearly as interesting as he'd expected: 'We never shall. We can never expect to prove anything upon such a point. It is a difference of opinion which does not admit of proof. We each begin, probably, with a little bias towards our own sex; and upon that bias build every…' his mind wandered as he read. It didn't really make sense – these two people, presumably a man and a women, disagree about something to do with men and women. Happens all the time, he thought. The man, a captain, described how he felt in saying goodbye to his wife and children – not knowing if he'd see them again. That's gotta be bad, Mark thought, getting a bit more involved than he expected. "… the glow of his soul when he does see them again… he calculates how soon it may be… I speak, you know, only of such men as have hearts!' Pressing his own with emotion." Mark smiled and beat his chest with one hand, muting the television with the other, resting the book between his knees. Another captain was folding up a letter when the phone rang. Mark held his finger where he was up to and picked up the phone from the table behind him.
"Hey, Mark here."
"Hey, can you come down?" Doug's familiar voice asked anxiously.
"Oh mate, I'm not on tonight."
"I know." Doug stalled. "But you need to come down."
"Why?" Mark challenged him, assuming Doug would describe some tragic staff shortage, a mass trauma…
"Susan's in OB." Doug deadpanned.
"What?"
"She went up a few minutes ago. It might be nothing – I just thought you'd want to come down. Even if it's nothing."
"What happened?"
"Probably nothing – just Braxton-Hicks or something. Relax mate."
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
His eyes fell on the word 'sex' as eyes are wont to do. But it wasn't nearly as interesting as he'd expected: 'We never shall. We can never expect to prove anything upon such a point. It is a difference of opinion which does not admit of proof. We each begin, probably, with a little bias towards our own sex; and upon that bias build every…' his mind wandered as he read. It didn't really make sense – these two people, presumably a man and a women, disagree about something to do with men and women. Happens all the time, he thought. The man, a captain, described how he felt in saying goodbye to his wife and children – not knowing if he'd see them again. That's gotta be bad, Mark thought, getting a bit more involved than he expected. "… the glow of his soul when he does see them again… he calculates how soon it may be… I speak, you know, only of such men as have hearts!' Pressing his own with emotion." Mark smiled and beat his chest with one hand, muting the television with the other, resting the book between his knees. Another captain was folding up a letter when the phone rang. Mark held his finger where he was up to and picked up the phone from the table behind him.
"Hey, Mark here."
"Hey, can you come down?" Doug's familiar voice asked anxiously.
"Oh mate, I'm not on tonight."
"I know." Doug stalled. "But you need to come down."
"Why?" Mark challenged him, assuming Doug would describe some tragic staff shortage, a mass trauma…
"Susan's in OB." Doug deadpanned.
"What?"
"She went up a few minutes ago. It might be nothing – I just thought you'd want to come down. Even if it's nothing."
"What happened?"
"Probably nothing – just Braxton-Hicks or something. Relax mate."
"I'll be there as soon as I can."