Standby: Chapter 4
...
I've been trying to train my mind to put you in another category
But it's still not coming naturally
After all this time
~Orla Gartland, Heavy.
...
Present Day.
The great orange sunsets of early October stained the waters of the nearby Liffey with colours of green, red and gold. Passing the Spire, the General Post Office and walking over O'Connell's Bridge, Sybil and Tom made their way from end of Dublin's historic centre to the intersection that led to Abbey Street.
Steering clear of any serious topics, they chatted casually about some of the more trivial happenings of their own lives, their voices mingling with the bustle of the city.
Around them, the buildings of Abbey Street were all made of the same semi-faded brick red. The worn grey footpaths were teeming with people; tourists and Dubliners alike—heads down, all rushing from one place to another.
To Tom, it was home. These were the streets he'd walked his whole life. He glanced over his shoulder at Sybil who seemed to be drinking in their surroundings—taking notice of the subtle little things that had changed over the past six years.
"Well", he asked after watching her in silence for a few moments. "Has it changed much?"
Sybil turned to him with a smile, visibly happier and more relaxed than he had seen her thus far. She shook her head. "Only a little. I'd forgotten how beautiful Dublin was."
"It's got a charm of its own, I suppose", Tom answered offhandedly, returning her smile.
Suddenly, he gestured across the street to a traditional looking pub, brassy letterings over the door and a chair and table just outside. "Over here, Sybil. Kieran and I live in the flat above. Are you sure you don't want a hand with the bags?"
She shook her head, as stubborn as ever. "No, I'm fine. Thanks."
Tom smirked, shaking his head. Life may go on, people may change, the world kept turning and Lady Sybil Crawley remained every bit as stubborn as she was the day he met her.
"You never did learn to travel lightly", he teased good-naturedly.
Rolling her eyes, Sybil followed him across the street. She tugged hard on her rather large leather suitcase, the wheels rattling as she struggled to pull it over the curb. Somewhat embarrassed, she shrugged noncommittally—going for a little humour.
Sybil cranked her already unmistakably upper crust accent up to an eleven.
"Oh Branson, don't you know that the girl may leave Downton Abbey but Downton Abbey never completely leaves the girl."
Smiling fondly, Tom opened the door to let her inside. "I'll drink to that."
Sybil laughed aloud. "You and my grandmother both."
Rolling his eyes at the bizarre image of he and The Dowager Countess having anything in common (and drinking to said thing!), Tom followed Sybil inside as she began making her way up the staircase.
"You and Kieran have a nice flat. Very central."
"Thanks", Tom replied, sensing the compliment was truly genuine. "Yeah, it was just me for a while but then I—ah, left my job and Kieran went through a fairly messy divorce. We decided to split the rent between us for a few months. "
Sybil bit her lip, her hesitant tone clearly suggesting that she was worried about seeming overly intrusive. Glancing at him over her shoulder, her gaze was fixed firmly upon his.
"What happened?", she asked quietly, her words lacking the insult and sarcasm that they would usually have coming from just about anybody else. "Weren't you set to be the next Fintan O'Toole?"
"Well, I was up for promotion until I decided to go a bit rogue and piss off my editor."
Her eyebrows raised, Sybil looked at him curiously. "That sounds like a story."
Sheepishly, Tom scratched the back of his neck.
While many of his friends and co-workers had thought his decisions had been a little foolish at best, deep down Tom knew that Sybil (or at least the Sybil he had once known) would perfectly understand his reasoning.
"Let's just say my views were a little too much on the side of 'the everyday working man' for their liking."
"So you stood up for what you believed in and bit the bullet because of it", Sybil said with a faintly nostalgic smile. She seemed just as grateful as he was that, deep down anyway, the aspects of the other person they had been so fond of had remained inherently the same. "That sounds like you."
Tom smiled humourlessly as they reached the top of the stairs, exuding a quieter self confidence than was usually typical of him. While raising the proverbial middle finger to the Irish Times had cost him his job, he couldn't say that he regretted it.
"You don't think I was a bit stupid then?", he asked. Tom wasn't fully sure why he wanted Sybil's approval but for some unfathomable reason he did. "Not a bit too idealistic?"
Sybil shook her head, squeezing his arm. "Of course not, Tom", she said, her tone almost proud rather than sympathetic. "You're a good man. You always were."
Tom watched from the doorway as Sybil tentatively explored the bedroom.
Her eyes roamed over the blue-grey walls, the messy desk and the cluttered bookshelf—lingering upon some of the titles, the vast majority of them historical or political works of some description.
Unsurprisingly, Adiechie's 'Why We Should All Be Feminists' immediately caught her eye. .
"No way", Sybil laughed, looking rather pleased with herself. "It seems as though I made a lasting impression."
Shaking his head, Tom remembered with the affection how a younger Sybil had fervently convinced every member of the 'phil and hist' of the merits of third wave feminism, regardless of whether they had wanted to be educated on the subject.
"That was a Christmas present actually", Tom replied stubbornly, knowing perfectly well she wouldn't believe him.
Sybil rolled her eyes, predictably unconvinced. She glanced around once more, turning to him somewhat accusingly after another moment's observation. "You know, I have a feeling this isn't your guest room."
He chuckled, surrendering to her somewhat half hearted glare. "Guilty as charged...but don't worry, I'll sleep on the couch."
"You know I wouldn't have minded taking the couch."
"And you know that I would have insisted upon you having the bed."
For a moment, Sybil looked as though she was going to argue against putting Tom out of his room for the night but seemed to decide against it...at least for now.
She smiled genuinely. "Thank you."
"No bother", Tom replied with a slight shrug. "Do you need anything else?"
Reaching into her handbag, Sybil pulled out her phone and a charger. "I should probably ring Mama and Papa and let them know I won't be home until tomorrow. Do you have somewhere I could-?"
"Of course. Just over here."
Tom took the proffered phone, showing her where the power socket at the far corner of the room was. Immediately, the screen lit up—showcasing a picture of both Sybil herself and a man whom Tom didn't recognise.
"Oh who's this?", he asked, a little surprised by the unexpected twinge of jealousy that reared its head in the pit of his stomach. Tom immediately tried to push the strange and uncomfortable feeling aside. Sybil's love life really wasn't any of his business...it hadn't been for years.
"That's Larry Grey", Sybil replied almost breezily, an uncharacteristically cold edge creeping into her voice. "His father is a friend of Papa's."
In the four years that Tom had known Sybil, he had only seen her truly angry a handful of times.
She was an innately kind person who generally chose to see the best in others—something that Tom had always aspired to but never quite managed. Larry Grey, whatever he had done, had somehow found himself at the wrong end of Sybil Crawley's wrath...a truly terrifying place, but a place one only got to if they really deserved it.
"I actually meant to change that", Sybil added hastily, her emotions hidden away again almost as quickly as they had revealed themselves.
For the first time since they reunited in the airport, the air between the two former friends felt heavy and tense. Nonetheless, Tom had always been a persistent man—even when he was damn well sure he shouldn't be.
"What's he like?"
Sybil sighed deeply, seeming as reluctant to say anything as she was to stay fully silent on the matter. "An entitled ass, a compromise after a decades worth of rebellion, my parents' perfect man. Need I go on?"
Tom frowned slightly, a little surprised. In the four years that he had done known Sybil, she'd rarely spoken ill of her parents—their frequent disagreements aside. His next question had already sprung to his lips before he had properly considered it's impact.
"Your parents' perfect man but not yours?"
Sybil crossed her arms defensively over her chest, clearly taken aback. "That's quite a personal question for someone you haven't seen in six years."
Tom's eyes sought out hers. In that moment, he saw hurt in Sybil's eyes...a feeling he that was all too familiar with.
"Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?"
He wasn't sure what it was that compelled him but before Tom knew it, his hand was on her waist and Sybil's flushed face was only inches away from his own. She stared right back in silence, completely undeterred, and drew him a bit closer to her. Her breath on his cheek, her hand on his chest...it was all a little too overwhelming and intoxicating.
"A hundred percent honesty for the whole night, that's what I'm offering you, Love", Tom whispered, knowing full well that with their torturous proximity Sybil wouldn't have the slightest trouble hearing him.
Steeped in a passion that ignites, the air between them crackled with intensity...an intensity that neither had truly experienced in quite some time. Tom felt his stomach clenched as Sybil's darkened eyes lingered over his lips, reminding him of all the times she had done so in the past, just moments before her lips would press against his own. Hot, fiery and demanding...
They wouldn't now, surely? They couldn't?
Decidedly, Tom pushed those stupid, mad, ridculous thoughts aside...madness, absolute madness. They'd already been there, too many times, and it hadn't ever worked out.
"I'm not sure that I can do that", she whispered.
Tom looked at Sybil resolutely, leaving the final decision with her. "You were always good at hiding your feelings...much better than me anyway."
Sybil frowned at him, almost sadly. "One hundred percent honesty?", she repeated in disbelief, taking a few steps backwards. Tom's hand fell away from her side. "Is that even possible?"
"I'd like to think so."
For a moment Sybil looked as though she was about to refuse him, to flee altogether.
She glanced up at Tom, a familiar steel in her eyes as she accepted his challenge. "Okay then. One hundred percent honesty...or as close as we can get."
Nine Years Earlier
Catching his eye, Sybil spotted Tom on his way between The Buttery and The Arts Building. Clipboard in hand, she approached him determinedly. After all, Sybil had never been one to take no for an answer. "Hey Tom! Do you have a minute?"
A smile immediately broke out upon his face as he bridged the few final feet between them.
"Sybil, what are you doin' here?", he asked in an attempt to gauge whatever it was she was trying to charm the Trinity student population into taking part in now. "Haven't you lectures down at the Pearse Street campus?"
She beamed up at him, completely ignoring his initial question. "I'm organising a student sleep-out for Focus Ireland"
Reading the proffered flyer, Tom smirked.
"Are you gone mad?", he asked teasingly. "There's no way anyone will sleep outside in Phoenix Park in the middle of November! You'll be a bunch of drowned rats after half an hour!"
Sybil frowned, "Oh for goodness sake, Tom. It's for charity!", she declared, eyeing him crossly. "Did you know that there is an average of nine thousand men, women and children in this country without homes? How can you do nothing?"
"Are you trying to guilt me up?"
"Is it working?"
Tom smirked affectionately, leaning in a little closer to her and dropping his voice. Although he found Sybil's determination to help others rather refreshing, he couldn't help but tease her just a little.
"I take it Lord and Lady Grantham aren't aware that their youngest daughter is planning to spend the night alfresco in the middle of winter. Especially when they're already paying for a flat in a nice safe neighbourhood."
Sybil rolled her eyes, her cheeks darkening.
Quite by accident, Tom had somehow managed to find out that she was a member of the English aristocracy—and while he hadn't mentioned Sybil's secret to anyone else, Tom hadn't exactly refrained from having a little fun with her about the whole matter whenever the two were alone.
"No they aren't ", she admitted reluctantly, swatting Tom lightly on the chest as his goofy grin grew only wider. "I was planning on telling them afterwards."
"A clever choice, milady."
Sybil pursed her lips, suppressing a smile of her own as she looked up at him. "So will you do it?"
Tom returned her smile, softer this time. He playfully tucked a lock of her shoulder length curls behind her ear, pretending to consider Sybil's proposal for a moment.
She bit her lip expectantly, half anticipating his refusal.
"For God's sake, Love", Tom replied, shaking his head. He seemed to know, or guess, which direction her thoughts had gone in. "You hardly think I could refuse you anything?"
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Wishing you all a wonderful week xx
Notes (that may or may not be necessary) ;
Fintan O'Toole...a famous Irish journalist.
The Buttery...student's name for the canteen in Trinity College
'Phil and Hist'...shorthand name for Trinity's oldest society. Think debating, philosophy and politics.