Standby: Chapter 3
...
And I've been running over all the things that I will never say to you
Like how I just wanna hang with you
And watch Grand Designs
~Orla Gartland, Heavy.
...
Present Day.
"Oh Christ! Sorry!", Tom spluttered, tossing Ethel's note away and replacing it with the one his mother had tacked up earlier on.
"There's a room at Flynn's", he added hurriedly, avoiding Sybil's gaze and the sight of their matching flushed faces. "Upper Gardiner Street, near the Rotunda. I'd say you'll know it. "
The air was so brittle, it may easily have snapped. One painfully long and awkward moment dragged on until it seemed as though an eternity had passed in a matter of seconds. Tom swore that Sybil could probably hear his heart hammer... he knew that he could.
He chanced a look at her and found himself surprised (and then relieved) by the silent laughter that glinted in Sybil's eyes. Tom released a breath that he scarcely knew that he had been holding, rolling his eyes in amazement.
Of course Sybil would find this funny!
She bit back a grin, radiating a certain kind of inherently Sybil mischief (both warm and teasing) that somehow reminded Tom of just how much some he had missed her all this time.
"Well you're more hands on than the New York tourist office, I'll give you that."
"Land of a thousand welcomes, what can I say?"
His eyes searched hers, seeing a multitude of conflicting unspoken emotions bubbling just below the surface. Tom almost swore he saw a momentary flicker of pain crossing Sybil's face and knew then that her thoughts had gone down a rather similar path to his own.
"So you didn't drop off the face of the earth..."
"And neither did you."
"No...no, I didn't."
Looking at Sybil for the first time in six years, Tom couldn't help but think of three years of firm friendship forged in the fires of Trinity's debating society, a bond over social issues and politics that had led to shared meals with his family around The Bransons' dinner table and long walks from the edges of Sandymount beach all the way up to the Martello Tower—discussing everything from his latest assignment to her day in the anatomy labs.
Tom thought of how things began to change and how he and Sybil's friendship slowly began to become...more. He thought of the frequent 'accidental' brushes of fingers and hips and the glances that suddenly carried more weight than they had ever had before, like a switch had been flicked somewhere inside of them.
After one particularly maddening night out in Temple Bar, Tom recalled how he and Sybil had unceremoniously stumbled into her old flat, clothes all but discarded before they had even reached her bed. In his mind's eye, Tom could still see her—remember what Sybil felt and tasted like.
She'd fallen in love with him, and he with her. At twenty one years old, it was just that simple.
Tom thought of how he had gone, hired tails and all, with Sybil to Downton Abbey as her date for Mary's wedding. He remembered her father's pointed glares, her grandmother's bristling disapproval and how Sybil had dismissed it all and wrapped her arms all the more tightly around him on the dance floor.
He thought of how they'd broken up six months later, regardless of how neither of them had truly wanted to at the time. Tearful shouting matches aside, Tom understood now why Sybil had made the decisions she had.
They had been young, too young to make a life changing commitment to one another. They'd had careers to start (or in his case, feck up!) and lives to build, lives that had taken them in very different directions.
"You know, Sybil", Tom suggested earnestly, spontaneously. He pushed aside his memories and his hurt. That was all in the past now. "I could put you up for the night."
Raising her eyebrows, Sybil glanced away from him to the rubbish bin that held Ethel's discarded note. Her eyes held a firm and blatant uncertainty.
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Tom", she answered gently.
Tom shook his head, hurrying to clear up any kind of misunderstanding. This wasn't a prepositioned hook up, he just wanted to talk to her again—talk to her properly. Preferably over a pint.
"No funny business or anything. Just two friends catching up."
Sybil seemed to consider his proposal for a moment. "I don't know", she replied suggestively , her tone perfectly serious. "I'm not so sure that I'll be able to get that post-it note out of my mind."
A beat. Tom gaped at her, his eyebrows raised.
No matter how well they had come to understand one another, Sybil had always been able to throw him a metaphorical curve ball, leaving him flummoxed and wondering whether she was joking or not.
A moment passed. Her lips curled upwards. Then suddenly, Sybil burst out laughing at his expression, prompting Tom to immediately shake his head in self depreciating amusement.
She got him! (but in a way, had anything really changed in that respect)
"So, what about it?", Tom tried again. He matched her playfulness, as persistent as ever. "Will you stay, make an evening of it? I could show you what you've been missing about dear 'oul dirty Dublin."
"That's still awfully presumptuous of you", Sybil teased. "How do you know I haven't any responsibilities?"
Tom tilted his head sideways, "Do you?"
Sybil made a face, shrugging slightly. For a moment she looked as though she were about to say something else, but thought better of it.
"Nothing comes to mind", Sybil admitted, her emerging smile mirroring Tom's.
"Alright then."
"Alright."
Seven Years Earlier
Sybil stood on the beach in Sandymount, her boots in the sand and her woolen coat buttoned tightly around her frame. Her eyes moved from sand to stone, from rock pools to breaking waves.
The evening wind was cold and biting and the air was thick with the briny aromas of the Irish Sea. Twinkling like a starry night, the expansive lights of Dublin city were visible dotted both across the horizon and spreading out behind them as far as the eye could reach.
Even through her coat, Sybil could feel Tom's warmth beside her, sense his presence even outside the moments when his knuckles brushed against her own.
They made their way along the beach, following the strand, all the way down to the crumbling Martello Tower—nursing disposable cups of tea from Mulligan's.
"I'm sorry about Bellasis", Tom sympathised softly, breaking their companionable silence. His voice provided a certain kind of comfort and support that she wasn't even sure that she needed.
"Are you alright?"
Sybil considered about Tom's question for a moment, hands sinking deep into her pockets.
Was she truly okay after breaking up with Tom Bellasis? In all honesty, she was...
Admittedly, Sybil had known for several weeks now that Tom Bellasis's feelings had begun to grievously outweigh her own. She knew that it would be completely unfair to stay with him, especially when he had stubbornly remained 'the other Tom' when she referred to him in her own thoughts as opposed to 'her Tom'...a moniker that would never belong to anyone other than Tom Branson.
"I am actually", Sybil confessed, glancing at Tom (her Tom) over her shoulder. "We just...weren't a right fit. Does that make sense?"
Tom looked a little apologetic for the next words that came out of his mouth, but come out they did. "Well, not to sound like a smart arse, but I reckon I could have told you that."
Surprising even herself, Sybil wasn't in the slightest bit annoyed by his admission—she had seen her break up with Tom Bellasis coming for quite some time herself, why shouldn't have that been obvious to hear best friend. "Fair enough."
"And you feel better now?"
"I do...is that a horrible thing to admit?"
Tom shakes his head. "Don't be daft, Sybil. If that's how you feel, that's how you feel", he reassured, clearly noticing that Sybil still seemed rather troubled. "There's nothing wrong with admitting it."
"You think so?"
"Of course I do."
Feeling rather childish, Sybil grinned slightly—leaning into him. Being with Tom here like this, talking openly with him... it was like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. "Promise?"
Chuckling, Tom shoved her gently with his shoulder until they both stumbled sideways in the sand.
Despite herself, Sybil laughed aloud and elbowed him in return as they fell back into step with one another.
"You deserve someone who's wonderful, Syb", Tom said genuinely, not quite meeting her eye as they recovered from their messing. "Someone who will challenge you, drive you mad, make you happy and love you to the moon and back every step of the way."
He looked at her openly, honestly, raw—an expression that, coupled with his words, made Sybil's heart swell as she looked at her friend...her best friend really. Deep down, she knew that there was only one person in the entire world who perfectly and seamlessly fitted that description...Tom, her Tom.
Oh Goodness, how Sybil wished so badly it were that simple.
Theirs was a friendship that both she and Tom were determined to protect and preserve. Neither of them had an exactly stellar track record with their previous relationships and both were clever enough to accept that what they had already was too special to ruin.
"You're sweet to say so, Tom," Sybil offered with a slight smile, one that she hoped concealed the raging feelings for him that she struggled to keep buried down deep inside. "I'm terribly flattered."
Tom smirked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders in a manner that Sybil tried to assure herself was strictly 'best buddy' style.
Usually he would make some half serious/half teasing remark about how 'flattered' was a word posh people used when they were about to reject something nice said about them—but tonight wasn't the time or place for those sorts of comments.
"I mean it, Sybil. You're the best person I know. Someday you'll find someone who'll dedicate their every waking minute to your happiness...and he'll be the luckiest bastard in the world."
Sybil tried to ignore how Tom so effortlessly made her heart skip a beat.
"Until then, I'm here for you, Sybil. I always will be."
"As I will be for you, Tom."
With a tea stained counter, a table with a wobbly leg and a multi-coloured assortment of mugs hooked up over the sink—Mrs Branson's kitchen couldn't have been further from the dining room at Downton Abbey.
While The Crawleys were generally loving and protective of one another, time spent as a family was steeped in a sense of propriety and tradition. These were values that went all but out the window in the Bransons' family home. Laughter, teasing and playful (yet strangely well meaning) insults were how almost everything was communicated, and if not voices became raised and tempers came out.
Sybil sat cross-legged on the couch, having crashed there the night before. Mrs Branson had insisted that it would be easier for her to stay the night in Killester and go into college with Tom in the morning rather than to travel all the way out to Drumcondra so late at night.
It wasn't a very frequent occurrence, but it did happen from time to time.
She glanced up from the essay in front of her, an essay belonging to Tom's sister Meadhbh who was still in secondary school.
'A discussion on the oppression of women in Shakespeare's Hamlet.'
Sybil supposed that it was rather inevitable that she would befriend a second Branson sibling. After all, they truly did share many of the same ideas and passions. That, and it was rather nice having someone who looked to her as a big sister after being so accustomed to her role as the baby of the Crawley family.
"So?"
"I think it's rather brilliant, Meadhbh. I don't know why you were so worried."
"Really?"
"Truly."
It was then that Tom walked into the kitchen, clearly looking like he had just rolled out of bed. He nodded to Meadbh, before flopping down on the couch next to Sybil.
"Mornin'", he said, moving his head to rest it on her shoulder.
Sybil smiled, playfully reaching up to ruffle his bedhead. "Good Morning."
Tom grinned lazily in return, glancing down at the notepad she was holding—reading the title. He looked up at his sister mock-accusingly.
"What this? I thought I was your designated proofreader."
Meadhbh smirked, clearly remembering the time Tom tried to convince her to rewrite an entire three thousand word history essay just because he didn't agree with all of her points on Sean Lemass's attempts towards Irish industrialisation. "You're too critical. Sybil's nicer to me."
"Well, Sybil's nice to everyone", Tom countered teasingly. "I'm just honest."
"No, you're tactless."
Listening to them, Sybil rolled her eyes. She was almost as accustomed to Tom and Meadbh's banter as she was to the oftentimes vicious exchanges between Mary and Edith.
Sybil pinched Tom playfully in the side, handing the essay back to the younger girl.
"I'm being perfectly honest too. Meadhbh", Sybil said with an encouraging smile—mock glaring at Tom. "I wouldn't change a thing. Your brother's just being a prat."
Feigning hurt, Tom got up from the couch but still reached over to help Sybil up as well.
"I am not!"
"You are too...", Sybil returned with a chuckle as Tom puffed out his chest in disbelief. Her next words came out quietly, almost as if by accident, as he pulled her to her feet. "...but you're my prat."
Tom expression softened and he smiled affectionately at Sybil in return, making her cheeks darken.
Suddenly, she became very aware of the fact that several seconds had passed and neither she or Tom had released the others' hand.
Glancing between her brother and Sybil, Meadhbh chuckled in amazement—breaking the spell.
"Oh for feck's sake", she said, shaking her head. "I'll never know why you two don't just hook up and get it over with!"
A/N: Hi guys! Hope ye enjoyed the update. Thanks so much for all of your wonderful support so far. Let me know what you thought of this chapter, it would mean so much to me to know what you think. Hope you are all keeping well and having a nice day :)
Thanks again!
Pearlydewdrop xx