A/N: Thank you to AlexisRose84 for the lovely review and to everyone else for reading this far! This is one of the saddest chapters of the fic, but I promise things will cheer up soon!
New Normal
Chapter Two
August 28, 2013
Papa was here. She could hear his voice drifting up from the kitchen. The bedroom door was wide open, the sound clear as a bell.
At first, it was banal pleasantries. How are you holding up? and It's such a sunny day. What a shame. All as if they were the ones who had lost their husband.
Mary felt a stab of guilt. It wasn't fair, really, to lump Tom in with that crowd. Unlike the rest of her family, he hadn't treated her as if she were made of glass... if anything, Mary felt like a solid piece of lead, immovable and unrelenting. If someone were to drop her to the ground, she wouldn't shattered into a million tiny pieces but would instead fall with full thud and not react in the slightest.
The conversation between the two men downstairs shifted quite quickly. "Cora and I have been thinking and we think it might be best if Mary and the baby were to move in with us at Downton. I think it'd be easier on us all..."
"I understand where you are coming from. Really, I do. Sybbie might only be a year old but I know I'd do anything for her." Mary imagined they were they sharing a smile. Ever since the triumphant cricket match a year ago, Papa had taken a liking to Tom. Mary had thought it was unfair that learning cricket and hitting the ball was the price Tom had to pay in order to be properly accepted, but she was at least pleased that it had happened. "But I honestly don't think Mary would be able to handle a move right now."
"It would only be to her old bedroom," Papa insisted. "And the baby—"
"Mary hasn't been able to really look after George," Tom cut in.
"All the more reason to come to Downton. Someone can look after the both. We could even hire someone, if we had to—"
"I've been able to do that myself so far. And like I said, I don't think Mary can handle a move at present. She's overwhelmed as it is with... with everything." Tom clearly couldn't bring himself to say it. "Uprooting her now would only add to her struggles."
"So what are you proposing?"
"Mary and the baby will stay here, in their home, and I'll look after them."
"Tom... please don't think that I believe your intentions aren't admirable... but what about when you return to work? Do you really intend on leaving the children alone with Mary? I don't really think that's a safe option, do you?"
She tried not to take offense. Really, she did. After all, she was just laying here instead of marching down the stairs and refusing to leave her home. Tom was fighting her battle on her behalf. The most she was able to do each day was hold George, feed him, and then put him down to sleep. She hadn't even changed a single diaper... all those parenting classes had been money flushed down the metaphorical toilet, considering Matthew would never use the skills learned and Mary wasn't using them at all.
"I won't be returning to work."
"What?" Papa said, in that flabbergasted tone.
"I've already handed in my resignation— I did it yesterday."
"But you loved working at the paper!"
"I did. But I love the children and Mary more. And they need my help, so..." She imagined her was shrugging. "I can do freelance things, if I have the time. Until then, the house is paid for. We'll have enough money between the two of us for utilities and whatnot."
"I see." Papa paused. "You're sure it won't be too much for you?"
"I'm not pretending it'll be easy. I'm sure it's going to be very hard. But I've done well enough so far..."
"Of course you have. Right. Well, that's all I came here for..."
"Do you want to see Mary? Or George?"
"I think not. I don't wish to disturb them. But Cora and I are willing to help in anyway we can."
"Thanks, Robert. I'm sure I'll take you up on that at some point."
They exchanged goodbyes and Mary rolled over onto her back. Truthfully, she didn't know how to feel. She hadn't wanted Tom or Sybbie to leave... but at the same time, this seemed an especially cruel price to pay in order to keep them here.
She wouldn't cry. Not now. She had cried enough last week in the hospital, at the funeral, when she had first seen their empty bed and realized that Matthew would never join her there again...
Some minutes passed by before Mary heard Tom climb up the stairs. It was an old house and they creaked and groaned with each step he took. He appeared at her bedroom door a minute later. "That was your father. He—"
"I know. I heard."
Tom nodded. He stepped into the room. "Can I get you anything? Some food, a drink?"
She shook her head.
"Well, I'll start dinner soon. I'll bring you up some of that."
"Thanks." Mary waited a moment or two before asking, "What about the flat? In York?"
"I turned it down," Tom said with a shrug.
"'m sorry."
"Don't be. It wasn't the right time to move."
"You don't have to baby me. I'm fine." It was a lie but even at her lowest, Mary couldn't bear to be pitied.
"I wasn't under the impression I was babying you. I thought I was helping out a friend, just like she helped me."
Truthfully, Mary had always thought Matthew was the one to do most of the helping. She had just been there...
"But honestly— if you feel like I'm smothering you, tell me to knock it off. I know you hate it. And I'm trying to be a help, not a hinderance."
Mary was surprised that he knew so much about her, really. She was fond of Tom and they had swapped some stories whilst tipsy in the late evenings, but in some ways, she felt like she didn't know him. She considered him a friend, of course, and she had picked up on some of his idiosyncrasies by virtue of living with him, but in the bigger picture, Tom Branson was still a mystery to her in many ways.
"Don't worry," she told him flatly. "I won't hesitate."
In spite of everything, he laughed. "Oh, don't worry. I know you won't."
September 2, 2013
"Anna will be here soon."
Mary stared at the wall. It was color somewhere between blue and grey, like the sea at dusk. Her and Matthew had picked it out... she saw the white frame of their wedding photo in the periphery of her vision.
"Okay."
"She's coming to help you take a shower."
"I know how to take a shower."
"But you haven't done it." His voice was gentle— far too gentle. "It's been a five days since you last had one."
Tears formed in the corner of her eyes but she didn't let them fall. She felt like shit. "Fine. So I guess I don't know how to take care of myself anymore."
"It'll make you feel better. I promise." She felt the bed dip. "It was hard for me, too. Doing the simple things. But I always felt better once they were done."
Mary said nothing, blinking rapidly. She wouldn't cry. Tom stayed with her until there was a faint knocking at the door, at which point he rose. "It's Anna," he told her needlessly. He left the room.
A minute or so later, she heard Anna's soft footsteps. After living together nearly three years, Mary could identify her friend by her footsteps alone. "Mary, it's me."
"Hi." Mary wanted to move. She wanted to turn her head and at least force a smile but she couldn't. The energy wasn't there.
With minimal reluctance, Mary let Anna held her out of the bed and into the bathroom. She affirmed the temperature for the water was right and was able to strip out of Matthew's clothes. She tried not to be embarrassed by the food stains on the front, but she was regardless. Mary didn't make eye contact with Anna, not even when her friend helped her into the steaming shower. Mary was normally embarrassed by nudity, but the depression dulled her inhibitions and Anna had helped her shower in uni after Mary had imbibed too much and vomited all over herself.
Mary had never been more grateful for the shower chair— well, it was more of a bench, really. After Matthew's back injury during a match of rugby, he sometimes found it hard to stand for too long and they had installed it for him when they renovated the house. Now she could sit in the walk in shower as Anna, who stood outside the shower for the most part, handed her a wash cloth with soap on it.
Anna talked about everything and nothing, able to distract Mary somewhat She told Mary about the progress on her new house, about the garden John was planting, how they were thinking of getting a puppy. "You ought to ask Papa about his latest litter," Mary told her, staring straight ahead. "I'm sure he'd give you one." Since retiring, he had taken up dog breeding. He was rather proud of them... her and Matthew had talked about taking one of them.
"It's okay. We're thinking of adopting from a shelter, anyway. So maybe we won't have a puppy, but..."
Mary nodded. "How's the book coming along?" She asked tonelesslg, trying to keep the conversation running. Anna had quit her job at the nursing home a few months ago in order to pursue a career as a mystery novelist.
"Fairly well, I'd say." She stopped briefly to ask Mary if she needed help with the shampoo. After Mary hesitated, Anna reached in, turning the water off. After working the shampoo into Mary's hair, she turned the water back on, explaining, "Back to what we were saying— I need to finish up fixing the last couple of chapters then I can send it in to my editor."
"Marvelous," murmured Mary as genuinely as she could manage, eyes closed as the shampoo ran down her hair and her face.
When all was said and done and she had changed into a pair of silk pajamas, Anna began gathering up her things. "Are you sure you don't want to stay for a cup of tea?" asked Mary as she climbed back under the covers of her bed, thinking it was terribly rude to submit Anna to such a task and let her go without any hospitality.
"I had better not," she said apologetically. "John's waiting for me and I need to get back to work. The book won't write itself, which is a pity."
Mary felt stupid. Anna's life didn't revolve around her— "Of course you do." They exchanged goodbyes, and just before her friend left the room, Mary managed to say, "And Anna? Thank you."
Anna gave her a warm, sympathetic smile before leaving.
October 31, 2013
"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Tom asked, throwing his coat on over his shoulders. Mary was slumped over in the armchair, phone in her lap, not bothering to look at it. "It might do you some good, to go out and take a walk."
"Someone needs to pass out the sweets for the children."
"We can leave it in a bowl on the porch," insisted Tom. When she didn't say anything, he said, "George would love for you to come."
"George doesn't care what I do, Tom," said Mary wearily. "He's three months old."
He frowned. "You know that's not true, don't you?" When Mary said nothing, he said, "You're the most important person in the world to him. You're all he's got."
Mary blinked. "He's got you... and you're the one who actually takes care of him. All I'm good for is food."
Tom was steadily growing more and more frustrated. "It's his first Halloween. I think you should be present for it." When Mary said nothing, Tom walked out of the room, tossed her coat onto her lap. "You're coming with us."
Mary wanted to protest but truthfully she had no energy. She woodenly tugged the coat on and followed Tom out the door. Belatedly, she realized they were matching— they were both wearing beige trenchcoats. Perhaps the neighbors would think they were dressed as detectives. If only she had deerstalker and a magnifying glass...
In the end, Mary was pleased she went... or as pleased as she was able to be, all things considered. As usual, not many other people were out, simply small families like themselves with young children. Sybbie was able to toddle to the doorsteps in her Winnie the Pooh costume and say "T'ick or T'eat!" and hold out her bag, whereas Tom had to lift George out of the pram and ask for him. Mary wondered why Tom had dressed him as a pumpkin— and then she wondered why she hadn't picked out a costume herself. After all, she was supposed to be his mother.
When they finally arrived home, the bowl of candy was empty and Mary's cheeks were cold, but the fresh air had made her feel rather revitalized. She found herself picking George up out of the pram, carrying her now sleeping baby up the stairs to his room, ignoring the wide grin on Tom's face.
George woke up as Mary began taking off the Velcro pumpkin costume. "It's alright," Mary whispered for him, hoping he wouldn't cry. "It's just me." She paused, helping his arms out of the holes. "It's just Mama."
She essentially was on autopilot as she changed his diaper and dressed him in his pajamas. He didn't squirm much or put up a fuss, simply watching her. Mary felt as if she was an onlooker into her own life, watching herself actually care for her son.
Her son. Already she saw so much of Matthew in him, but there was a great deal of her as well. He had her fine, dark hair, for a start... though she hoped it would lighten as he grew older. She suspected he would pick up her idiosyncrasies and mercurial moods and imitate them until they become a facets of himself. She tried to ignore the fact he would never know how Matthew sounded when he laughed or be able to taste his cooking or play football with him in the backyard...
She pushed the melancholia away. "It's time for bed now," said Mary, lifting him up off of his changing table. George gurgled. "Do you need to eat before you go to bed?"
When Tom arrived upstairs with Sybbie, Mary had to hastily reach for the quilt underneath her to cover up. "Don't do that," Tom said, spinning around immediately. "I won't look if it makes you uncomfortable."
Mary hesitated before letting the quilt drop. "He'll be done in a minute," she assured him, staring down at his heavy eyelids. "He's about to fall asleep."
Once George's eyes fell shut, he unlatched himself from Mary. She held him with one arm, covering herself back up. "Can you hand me his pacifier?"
"Sure." Tom bounced Sybbie in his arms, reaching for a pacifier.
When Mary realized he was still angling his head away from her as he backed up, pacifier waving around, she clarified, "You can look now."
Tom turned around, looking a little relieved. "She's about ready for bed," he explained needlessly.
"Do you need any help?" Mary asked, putting the pacifier in George's mouth and steadily rising. He was still fast asleep when she lowered him into his crib.
"You can pick out a pair of pajamas for her to wear," said Tom, taking Sybbie over to the changing table.
It was silly, really... a grown woman getting so excited about picking out some clothes for her niece. Nevertheless, Mary was delighted to notice the new additions to her wardrobe. "You've been shopping," said Mary. She was surprised she hadn't noticed.
Tom laughed. "Not really. Rose did it for me."
She arched an eyebrow, even though Tom couldn't see her. Rose was studying in York, living with Mary's parents during the summer holidays instead of joining her parents in India. Shrimpie was a diplomat who had been stationed all over the world, but his daughter needed a stable home base as he flitted around the world. "Is that a wise idea, giving a nineteen year old baby fever?"
"She volunteered for it! I'd say she's got baby fever already."
Mary hummed. It seemed so strange... she had been here all this time and yet it was so easily to let everything pass her by. She had lucid moments, when Tom brought George into her room and informed her that he was hungry or when she awoke clutching a pillow instead of Matthew. The rest was mindless, grey blur— staring down at well meaning texts from friends and family and reminding herself to reply later, watching sitcoms without paying any attention to the plot, lounging around between her bed and the couch when she grew too tired. She only remembered to eat whenever Tom thrust a plate of food under her nose.
This was one of those lucid moments, when she was aware of the surroundings and the people around her. She hoped she wouldn't slip back into her shadowy existence, able soak this in as long as she could.
When Sybbie was placed in her crib and ready to fall asleep, Mary held the door open for Tom. "Going to bed?" He asked.
Mary hesitated. She had planned on it... "Is there anything else to do?"
"Eat George and Sybbie's sweets."
She blinked. "That seems rather unfair, when it's theirs."
"George can't eat solid food and Sybbie doesn't need the sugar. The window allowing us to take as much as we want will close soon... so we might as well seize it," said Tom, his words a temptation to her.
Mary pondered it. She wanted to go to bed, to go to sleep... but the allure of chocolate was too enticing. "Very well," she said wearily, following him down the stairs. "But only if you promise not to tell Edith." Tom turned around, frowning, which lead Mary to elaborate, "If she found out I literally stole candy from a baby, she would never let it go."
Tom let out a loud laugh.
November 2013
Somehow, in spite of everything, Tom still managed to find enough time in the day to tend two babies, cook three meals, do household chores, and look after Mary and make sure she was eating and managing her personal hygiene.
Gone were her fashionable clothes (not literally— Mary had some vintage Chanel that she would never dare part with); she had no desire to dress up anymore. What was the point? The only people who really ever saw her anymore were Tom, Sybbie, and George. Her parents would stop over, of course, and sometimes Anna, Isobel, and her grandmother— Edith only ever seemed to come when she felt guilty. All in all, it was a small pool of people and she felt no need to impress any of them. So Mary wore no make-up, simply adorning herself in gym clothes...
One of the few things that made her happier was wearing Matthew's clothes. They still smelled of him— it wasn't just the laundry detergent, but his scent permeated through the fabric. If she hugged a pillow and tried not to think too deeply, she could pretend he was lying beside her...
But as Christmas approached, Tom sat next to Mary on the couch as Coronation Street played, a cloth on his shoulder with spit up on it. "Isobel called me yesterday," he said, perfectly casual. When Mary said nothing, he said, "She's found herself a charity to work with. I think it's doing her some good. It helps her take her mind off things..."
Mary wondered what she was getting at, but she wasn't going to ask. If he wanted her to return to her job, she was afraid he was sorely mistaken. There was no way she could return to her office— it was full of history. Living in the same house where they had begun their married life was hard enough without the complication of yet another space to the equation. If she stepped foot in there, Mary knew she would be confronted with an onslaughts of memories. It was the place where they had shared their first kiss, the place where they had lunch dates on his days off... her desk, where Matthew had jokingly suggested George may have been conceived.
Thomas was running things now in her stead— well, him, her father, and Carson were working together. Had she more energy, she would have been embarrassed that both her father and Carson has come out of retirement, but she knew things were getting taken care of. Thomas was a hard worker and had become a dear friend (though she would only admit it under great reluctance), but he also didn't have the experience needed to carry Downton on his own. She was sure he hated it; he and Carson had always butted heads, but the estate came before petty vendettas.
"With the holidays coming up, they're looking for donations," Tom finally said.
"I can write a check," she said tonelessly. "How much does she want?"
He shook his head. "Not those kinds of donations. Things. Toys for children, toiletries... clothes."
Mary understood immediately. Her head snapped over to face him. "No."
Tom let out a sigh through his nose. "Not everything," he said, in a tone that sounded perfectly reasonable. "I agree. I notice you've been wearing some of them. But— it's time to start letting some things go. Like his suits." Before Mary could protest again, he said, "I already agreed to give her some of Sybil's things. And I'd like you there. For moral support, if nothing else. And I'll help you, too."
Mary wasn't looking at him. She couldn't believe he was doing this to her. Maybe he was ready to part with some of Sybil's old clothes, but she wasn't ready to give away Matthew's.
Nevertheless, she found herself at a storage shed two days later, wearing jeans for the first time in weeks with an oversized black hoodie pulled over her head. George and Sybbie were enjoying a day with their grandparents and Tom was kneeling on a concrete floor, opening a tote. "D'you mind pushing the box closer?"
Mary nudged it with her foot towards him as Tom lifted a pale pink dress out of the tote. It was wrinkled, having been wadded up and thrown in with little care. Mary suspected it had been packed in there when he moved in with her and Matthew— he probably had been too sick with grief to look at them for too long.
"If— if you want any of them, feel free," said Tom after he threw one of Sybil's red flannel shirts in the box, voice wavering only slightly. "She— she was your sister. If you want something to remember her by—"
Mary lifted up the flannel. It had been one of Sybil's favorites— she was tempted. Sorely. But she put it down. "I doubt any of it would fit me," said Mary, more to herself than Tom. Sybil had a more voluptuous than Mary, something she had been envious about when she was younger. While Mary was confident, she could pull it off, it was for charity. Someone might need it. There was enough other things to remember her by.
Tom nodded, adding a pair of her black, ripped skinny jeans to the box. "Do you think Edith would like to have a look through?" he asked.
"Maybe." Then, Mary added, "I'll text her."
"Thanks."
It was a quiet affair— Tom adding clothes, Mary standing and watching dispassionately. Both of them knew if they uttered another word, they would likely cry.
Mary's own experience was a more emotional— the tears had come almost immediately. It took them both by surprise— Tom was, historically, more willing to showcase his emotions. Mary bottled all her feelings up until there was an explosion. But these days, she felt as if she cried at the drop of a hat. She was sick of it, but it didn't stop her. "I bought him this. For his birthday," she warbled, holding up a blue tie. "To match his eyes."
"You don't have to get rid of it," Tom reminded her. He hadn't gotten rid of all of Sybil's things— certain items had been left in mostly empty totes with no explanation provided or demanded. "You can keep it."
Mary only cried harder, tears running down her eyes and snot leaking out of her nose. The tie fell to the floor and Tom hugged her.
January 1, 2014
The sunlight peeked in through the blinds, rousing Mary from sleep. Her head pounded as she sat up on the couch, staring at Tom's profile. His head was tilted back, still asleep. Her legs were on his lap.
Memories from last night slowly came back to her. The half empty bottle of vodka sat on the coffee table, as did the ugly antique vase full of Tom's vomit. Mary winced as she swung her legs off Tom's lap, picking up the vase and not inhaling through her nose.
It was almost too serene and peaceful outside when she stepped outside. There was a thin layer of snow that crunched beneath her feet as she walked to the dumpster. Mary very strategically arranged the vase so nothing would spill out before walking back inside.
When she reentered the living room after kicking off her boots, Tom was still asleep. She wondered if she ought to wake him or not... Last night had been tough for them both.
More memories flittered in. Providing comfort didn't come any more naturally when she was drunk than when she was sober. She felt powerless watching Tom break down, more aware than ever before that her rock in all of this was as broken-hearted and as vulnerable as she was; the only difference between them is that he had endured living without the love of his life longer than Mary.
"It's not okay!" He has sobbed when Mary began reciting mindless platitudes. "It's not okay..."
It wasn't okay. It wasn't okay that Sybil was gone, when she should be alive. It wasn't okay that Matthew hadn't been able to celebrate Christmas with her and George. It wasn't okay that the two of them were left all alone, dropping their children off with her parents for the night so they could try to numb the pain with alcohol.
Mary studied the angle he was sleeping at again before deciding to wake him. His neck would be sore...
After a quick trip to the kitchen to find some pain meds and a glass of water, Mary returned to the living room shook him awake. When his eyes fluttered open, his palm met his face and as he groaned, "What time is it?"
"I don't know," she replied honestly before shoving the glass into his hand. He accepted it and the medicine willingly. "But we should probably go up to our own beds so we can have some proper rest before getting the children."
Tom nodded, wincing. "I'm sorry about last night," he said, evidently embarrassed.
"Don't be." Mary met his gaze. "You've seen me fall apart dozens of times this last month alone. I think you're more than entitled to let it all out." If anything, Mary felt guilty that such a thing hadn't happened earlier. Tending to her and two babies was an extraordinary amount of stress for one person to be under. Mary felt like such a burden, especially when Tom was already enduring so much without her to add to his complications.
Tom swallowed the medicine down, still looking ill. "Thanks," he said, meeting her gaze.
"It's no problem."
"I mean it." He reaches out, taking her hand in his home. The sensation felt foreign, even though their general physical proximity had only increased since they had started living together. "Thank you. I— I don't know what I would do without you."
"I should be the one saying that."
"It's a good thing we have each other, I suppose," Tom relented, squeezing her hand. He wasn't looking at her anymore, an unfocused look in his eye as he stared at the wall. "As shitty as this is... It's nice to have someone who understands."
Mary said nothing but agreed nonetheless. Only Granny and Isobel came close to knowing the depths of their grief, having lost their spouses as well, but they at least had known it was coming. Reginald had passed away from cancer when Matthew was young, Grandpapa dying from a bout of pneumonia he couldn't shake in his old age and frail condition. They had at least been able to prepared themselves so they could cushion the blow— but neither Mary nor Tom had been allowed such a luxury. Instead, they'd been taken by surprise with a baby who needed someone to look after them.
In some ways, all of this was more tragic for Tom. Mary had at least been granted the memory of a wedding day, the white gown and the ceremony and the reception and all of that. There were pictures and rings and guestbooks... but Tom had never been given that. She was certain, after he had tearfully told her, that it was one of his biggest regrets in life, not being able to marry Sybil.
"I won't ever get married," he had insisted, words hard to understand.
"Maybe you will," Mary had said, mind far away from her. At this point she had been simply uttering all those meaningless phrases one said when no one knew what to say.
"No— I'm never going to marry anyone else. Ever." His words had shocked Mary, causing her to actually look at him. "I was only ever going to marry her. So I'm not going to do that with anyone anymore."
She had been rendered silent, knowing words wouldn't be enough to comfort him now. "I feel that way, too," she finally admitted after a lengthy pause. "But I try not to make sweeping statements like that. I only end up breaking them."
"Well, I won't. I mean it," Tom insisted. Then, "Oh, God, I'm going to be sick."
Now as they sat in their sunlit living room, the Christmas tree still in the corner, holding one another's hands. As much as Mary knew it was time to let go and depart for her room, this small comfort was enough to keep her rooted to the spot for another ten minutes.
February 14, 2014
EDITH: can't wait to see you xxx miss you so much babe! love you lots ? ゚メユ
MARY: Edith what the actual fuck
EDITH: Sorry! I didn't mean to send that to you!
Mary checked the date. Of course... it was Valentine's Day. She rolled over on her back, stretching out across her empty bed.
Mary: Please don't ever send me a text like this ever again ?
EDITH: Don't worry. Duly noted
Mary wondered why it was she was always the unfortunate receiver of texts meant for her sister's boyfriends. In this case, Mary supposed that her name could easily be confused with Michael's, but she was still confounded as to how a text meant for Tom had ever been sent to her.
Tom was downstairs already when she finally went downstairs, dressed Matthew's rugby jersey and a pair of sweatpants. It hung on her like a loose tent but it was comfortable. "Morning," he said, jumping up to pour her a cup of coffee.
"Morning." She reached for the paper. She didn't actually read it— mainly, she just scanned the headlines. Unable to resist, she said, "I had the strangest text from Edith."
"Oh?"
Mary didn't smile but her lips twitched. "She says she misses me and can't wait to see me."
Tom spun around, eyes wide. "Are we talking about the same Edith?"
"The very same."
"Well, that's awfully sweet of her." Mary could tell that by his tone he approved wholeheartedly. He poured her coffee into the mug, before carrying it over to the table.
She decided to wait until he had sat the scalding cup of coffee down before traveling the next bit. "Yes," said Mary. "It's a shame she meant to send it to Michael."
Tom was silent before bursting into raucous laughter. Mary joined in, although with significantly less enthusiasm. "Poor Edith," he said, reciting the age old family mantra— well, it was at least as old as Edith.
"Poor Edith? Poor me! I woke up to quite a shock!" Tom continued to laugh, and Mary had to stifle her laughter so she could say, "I think I must be cursed. This is the second time I've received a text from one of my sisters meant for their boyfriends." She narrowed her eyes at him.
Tom had the decency to at least pretend to be embarrassed at that. "You're right. Poor Mary." He sipped his own coffee. "But be honest— which was more shocking, a risqué text from Sybil meant for me or an "I miss you" text from Edith?"
"Edith's," said Mary in a deadpan as Tom roared with laughter again. "She sent me heart emojis."
"You're going to tease her relentlessly, aren't you?"
"Oh no. I want to forget it happened as soon as possible," said Mary, crossing her legs. "I just thought you'd get a laugh out of it. Someone ought to."
Tom chuckled again. He paused before asking, "What did Sybil send you again?"
Mary flushed, briefly recalling the contents of that ill fated text. "Something not appropriate for the breakfast table or the ears of the children." She glanced at George and Sybbie, who were seated in their high chairs, eating dry cereal and crackers.
Tom burst into laughter yet again, the sound of it causing her lips to twitch upwards. At least someone was having fun this morning. She leaned back in her chair and asked, "How long had the two of you been together?"
Tom shrugged when he calmed down, a lazy thing with not much thought behind it. "A month or two."
Mary contemplated that. There had been an air of mystery surrounding Tom and Sybil's early relationship. Mary suspected it was mainly because it was her first adult relationship, something she didn't want Mama and Papa sticking their nose into. After witnessing their prying into Mary's relationships with Evelyn and Matthew, it was hardly any wonder.
"She never told me how the two of you met," said Mary, leaning forward and reaching for her cup of coffee.
Tom's lips twitched. "I'm not surprised." He looked almost proud, he said, "Officially, we met when you came to pick up your car from the shop once... but we didn't really speak then. Unofficially, we met during community service."
Mary almost dropped her mug, succeeding in spilling coffee on the table. Tom stifled laughter as he said, "Here, let me help," whilst Mary sputtered, aghast. Community service?
Tom left the table briefly, returning with paper towels to wipe up the mess. Before he could say anything, she managed to ask, "Community service?"
"Yes." Tom was clearly amused. He handed the paper towel to her, smirking as she practically ripped it from his hands, mopping up the mess.
"Why were you— what did you do?"
"I'm shocked you want to know what I did instead of what Sybil did to warrant it," replied Tom, looking as though he was going to laugh.
Sybil isn't here for me to yell at, thought Mary, but thankfully didn't say it. It would surely destroy the pleasant mood they had created. Tom's eyes were finally alive, smiling and laughing without reservation. "Oh, don't worry, I'll be asking in a moment. Now what did you do?"
Tom shrugged. "Nothing major. Public intoxication." When Mary made a face, he explained, "I met up with some mates from uni and got a little carried away. I tried to climb on a statue."
"A statue?"
"Yes," said Tom, laughing. "I was going to pose on his shoulders and my friend would take picture... but we never got that far because the police appeared and saw me."
Mary bit the inside of her lip, trying to imagine Tom in such a disorderly state that he would try to do such a thing. Granted, he had been drunk at New Year's and before they had crossed that point of no return and started feeling miserable, they had been having fun... but not climbing statues fun.
"So... what did Sybil do?"
"Vandalizing public property." Tom was grinning, eyes far away. "She spray painted a rude phrase about some ghastly politician on the side of a building and got caught. We actually cleaned it off together."
It was strange, hearing him speak of it with that trace of nostalgia, as if it were something terribly romantic... but Mary supposed it was. While it was hardly her idea of romance, she knew the two of them had been happy in the all too short time they spent together.
"She never told me," said Mary, astonished.
Tom shook her head. "She didn't want to disappoint you. Anyone in your family, really." He smirked. "Matthew and Isobel knew, though."
"They did?"
"Matthew was the one who bailed her out. Isobel let her spend the night at her place."
Mary blinked. Matthew had never said... but knowing him and his sense of nobility, he has probably decided that it wasn't his secret to tell.
Thinking of him, today of all days, made her feel pensive. She missed him so much...
"Thank you," said Mary, staring down at her cuticles. "For sharing that with me."
Tom managed another smile. "It's good to talk about her," he admitted, glancing at Sybbie. "I loved her. I still love her," he corrected. "And one day, Sybbie'll have lots of questions about her. I want to be able to tell her about Sybil without falling to pieces."
Mary gazed at George, who had placed his fist in his mouth, covering it in saliva. "As long as you are here, I'll help." She saw Tom glance up out of the corner of her eye. "I remember what Sybil was like as a little girl... and she should know as much about her as she possibly can."
When she met his eye, Tom was clearly amazed. She felt almost uncomfortable under this emotion filled gaze. "Thank you," he said.
March 5, 2014
Mary stepped into her office, admiring the space. It had been so long since she had last stepped foot in it... about a month before George was born and now he was almost seven months old.
Little by little, she was waking up. She was surviving another day. George was a reminder of what she had to live for, a reminder of who would inherit her childhood home. Tom was in large part responsible for helping her acclimate back to the land of the living, gradually persuading her to return to work.
He needn't any longer. Mary sat at her desk, pulled out her laptop, and got back to work.
