Chapter Text
When Mary Bennet first heard the name Tom Hayward, it was from the mouth of babes.
Rebecca Gardiner sat down at the kitchen table with crayons and a piece of pink paper in her hands.
‘It is Tom’s birthday next week, and I am going to make him the prettiest card he has ever seen.’
Madeline Gardiner smiled at her daughter, suppressing the eyebrow raise as Rebecca began to draw love hearts and flowers on her paper. Mary looked intrigued and glanced up at her aunt for an explanation.
‘Tom is a friend of ours; he stayed here with us for a few months whilst he was finishing his law degree when his flatmate decided to ask his girlfriend to move in, leaving Tom pretty much homeless.’
Looking up from her stick people, Rebecca added, ‘Tom is so nice. He brings us sweets when he comes to visit, and I always get to sit next to him at dinner time.’
Mary nodded appreciatively, respecting the obvious honour it was to sit next to the man. She had only been staying with her aunt and uncle for a few weeks but she felt right at home straight away. Here, she was far away from her mother’s snide remarks and any news of her sisters’ successes (plural – always plural). Still, moving to a metropolitan city like London was difficult for the quiet and reflective sort like Mary. At every party and in every meeting, she took up the part of wallflower without meaning to. But then, was that not what she was used to?
‘Look Mary, here he is.’
Rebecca snapped her cousin out of her daydream by shoving a photo frame in her face. In the picture were her 3 cousins, aged down by a few years, piling onto a young man with dark hair and wide framed glasses. He was carrying Rebecca on his back, her little hands leaving a red imprint on his neck, with George and Marianne grabbing each arm. He was, she had to admit, a very nice-looking man. Mary was struck by his smile the most, it was so wide and so bright she thought it could power a city. Realising that perhaps she had been looking at the picture for just a little too long, she made a non-committal ‘mm’ noise and returned to her lesson plans.
Her aunt was eyeing her in a strange way, a small smile playing upon her lips and the imperceptible mischievous glint in her eye.
‘As Rebecca has so well remembered, it is Tom’s birthday next week. We’re having him round for a little dinner party I hope that’s OK, Mary.’
‘Oh yes of course, I have lots to be getting on with so don’t worry I will be in my room.’
Mary didn’t believe that she thrived in social events, and she hated the thought of putting a damper on such a party.
Moving to take the seat next to her at the dinner table, her aunt took Mary’s hand and looked into her eyes.
‘Mary, you are part of the family now! We would love you to join us. You need only be yourself with us – we love you for it.’
Unaccustomed to such affection, Mary felt a blush creep up her neck onto her cheeks. She shyly nodded and said, ‘Of course’, with a small smile.
Madeline clapped her hands together.
‘Excellent! The children will be so excited. We only let them play Twister if Tom is here to referee. He has the patience of a saint, that man.’
With a look to her youngest daughter, who was serenely not listening and instead adding a crown atop her biggest stick man (Mary assumed that was supposed to be Tom), Madeline sighed happily and left the room.
The day of the party arrived faster than Mary would have liked. She was so busy completing her teacher training that time seemed to never stand still for her: always reports to write, always books to mark, always lessons to prep. She didn’t feel like she really had time to stop and celebrate the birthday of a guy she’d never met, but nevertheless Madeline insisted on lending her a dress and forcing her to put down her books for the evening.
Mary surveyed herself in the mirror. Madeline’s dress was actually rather comfortable, a green gingham pattern with short sleeves and buttons up the middle. She felt a little garish in it, but after a few minutes decided that maybe she liked feeling garish and, after all, it wasn’t like anyone important was going to see her. Pinning the front bits of her hair back, she brushed her fringe in a vague attempt to tame the untameable. As with every time she tried to style her fringe, she gave up pretty quickly, shook her head about a bit, shrugged her shoulders and set off down the stairs.
Greeting her at the bottom of the stairs were her three cousins, ready with party poppers by the front door. George, rather self-importantly, held the birthday crown. It was not a tradition Mary was used to, but in the Gardiner household the birthday boy or girl had to wear a crown. Mary had long since given up trying to make sense of some of these things.
‘Mary – quickly, put on your hat and stand by the door!’
Party hats were another tradition. Mary obediently put on her shiny pink pointed hat, and waited by the door for the mysterious Tom appear. The ridiculous nature of the situation hit her and she stifled a giggle.
‘He’s coming!’ shouted Marianne, pushing her mother forwards to open the door.
‘Surprise!’ they shouted, firing the party poppers at the bewildered man who had just walked in.
‘Oh!’ he said, smiling round at his welcomers. He gazed rested on Mary for a few seconds, before he turned back to the children.
‘What a lovely surprise! Thanks guys!’ His enthusiasm and warmth struck Mary to be completely sincere, and she respected him for that. She thought really that there was nothing she would hate more than a surprise birthday party.
Marianne, ever the gracious hostess, grabbed Tom by the hand and led him to Mary.
‘Tom, this is Mary. She is our cousin and she’s really nice.’
Tom, in a move from the old days, shook Mary’s hand and bowed his head – causing his crown to slip off onto the floor in between them.
‘Oh sorry.’
Tom reached down to pick it up as Mary crouched to get it for him. Their hands brushed lightly and Mary was aware of a small jolt somewhere in the pit of her stomach. As they straightened up, Mary could not help herself but take a good look at him. She noticed that the crown which now sat atop his head was slightly skewed, pushing the curl of his hair down onto his forehead and into his eyes. He was dressed plainly in a light blue shirt and some dark jeans – his sleeves rolled up to his elbow revealing some (Mary could be accused of ogling now) rather lovely forearms.
The moment was broken by Rebecca running up to Tom and gifting him her birthday card. Again, Mary was impressed by his reaction. Though a flash of laughter appeared in his eyes, he crouched down and admired the card with due diligence.
‘Very excellent effigy of me, Rebecca I must say. Would you not agree, Miss Bennet?’
Stunned at being brought into conversation so easily by someone she had just met, Mary took a moment to register what had been said to her. But then she crouched down with Tom to observe.
She made a few ‘hm’ noises, replicating an art critic.
‘Yes indeed, sir. The shading is quite cleverly done and that is the perfect shade of crimson for the roses.’
‘Hm yes, an astute observation. It will be hanging in the National soon enough I am sure,’ Tom stroked his chin in a wise and aged manner.
Rebecca giggled and then ran off to join her siblings in the lounge.
Tom stood up and offered Mary his hand. She took it, again feeling a jolt somewhere hidden even from her knowledge, and brushed down her dress.
‘Those kids, they’re quite something,’ Tom joked, ‘I feel as if I barely get time to speak to Ed and Madeline when they’re running about!’
They laughed. There was a beat of silence. Both stood looking at the ground for a second, Mary subconsciously picking at her fingers as she always did in these situations.
Tom opened his mouth to say something, when Madeline called from the other room that dinner was ready. Letting Mary go in front, Tom adjusted his crown, cleared his throat and came through into the thoroughly decorated dining room.
Madeline had cooked up a feast as usual. The table was ladened with fat Yorkshire puddings, fluffy roast potatoes, a variety of vegetables (George turned his nose up at the cauliflower but was given some anyway), crispy stuffing and a cut of beef so large it could have fed double the party size.
‘I want to feed Tom up! He never seems to eat enough.’
Tom looked conspiratorially at Mary, whom he had seated himself next to, and whispered, ‘She’s been saying that to me for years. I’m beginning to feel self-aware about my weight.’
A snort escaped from Mary’s lips and she covered her mouth. Tom’s eyebrows quirked up, pleased, and he smiled down at his plate.
They dug in to the delicious spread, and the children bombarded Tom with questions. He seemed used to it, and managed to answer all of their questions whilst getting in a few of his own directed at Mary.
‘What brings you to That London, Mary?’
‘I’m completing my teacher training here, I’d like to teach geography and geology if I can get it and London seemed the best place to do that.’
George interrupted their conversation: ‘Mary sat in on one of my lessons once and she did so good.’
‘Well,’ corrected both Tom and Mary at the same time, unable to help themselves. In surprise, Mary caught Tom’s eye. He gestured for her to carry on her correction.
‘It’s ‘she did so well’, not good. You’re describing how I did something, so you need the adverb, not the adjective…’ Mary trailed off, embarrassed at the way Tom was now looking at her. She did not enjoy being the centre of attention, especially when she gained it for being what her mother would call ‘a joyless pedant’.
‘Exactly,’ Tom piped up. ‘It is an easy mistake to make but a good one to catch – we want you speaking properly Master George!’
Mary was grateful for the attention to be on someone else. She sat back and held her glass close to her as if it were a protective blanket.
When she looked to her side, Tom had put on his glasses – wide framed with a thin metal rim – and was looking for something on his phone. Before she could be caught staring at a good-looking man with dark curly hair and lovely glasses who had seemingly fallen from the heavens, Mary turned back to her comfort glass and took a sip.
Once the conversation had moved on to safer grounds, whether or not Marianne would beat George in a fight, Mary felt a small tap at her arm. She turned to the side just as Tom leaned in to whisper to her – meaning that their faces met very closely in the middle.
‘Oh!’ Mary jumped back in shock.
Tom laughed awkwardly, ‘Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just going to ask, are you a big reader, Mary?’
She couldn’t deny how much she liked it when he said her name at the end of every question.
‘I read a lot of non-fictions,’ she said, plainly. ‘Mostly geography, geology or sometimes I like a history.’
Once again, those eyebrows moved as if of their own accord.
‘You don’t… read fiction at all? Not even poetry?’
Mary could have tried harder to hide the disdain from her voice and the curl of her lip.
‘Especially not poetry. I like cold hard facts. None of this whimsical flowery language. Either tell me plainly what you mean or don’t try and tell me at all.’
Rising to the challenge, Tom sat up straighter and leant in.
‘Do you see no merits in poetry at all?’ he asked, confounded by her.
Unseen by both young people, Madeline eyed them over her glass of wine and then shot her husband a look. He only shook his head in amusement. The poor pair, they had no idea what their interaction was cooking up in Madeline’s mind.
Tom and Mary’s debate had gathered in intensity, with Tom now vociferously defending the honour of poets like Wordworth and Blake. Mary sat back, bemused but very much enjoying herself.
‘You’re saying that you don’t appreciate the talent it takes to write a poem commenting on the state of the world cloaked in a description of a mountain?’
‘Not at all, I’m simply saying that, personally, I would much rather he just tell me plainly what he thinks about the state of the world – none of this garrulity.’
Tom’s mouth remained open – but he could not hide the twinkle in his eye. Mistaking this silence for one of confusion, Mary said: ‘Garrulity means-’
‘I know what it means,’ Tom waved his hands as if to brush away her statement. ‘I am just in disbelief. Well, you don’t know what you’ve started now Mary Bennet. You have thrown down the gauntlet. I will not rest until you can appreciate the merits of poetry.’
Despite their strong words, both of them could not help the wild grins on their faces. It was not often one could find someone else to debate such things with. Mary submitted, and nodded gravely like she was agreeing to be led to the gallows.
‘OK fine,’ she said. ‘But only if you agree to read one of my geology books.’
‘Absolutely,’ Tom agreed with alacrity. ‘Unlike some, I like to read outside of my comfort zone.’
The children by this point were growing wild with impatience, waiting for Tom to turn his attention on them once more.
Once the meal was finished, Happy Birthday had been sung, cake had been eaten and games had been played (much to Mary’s amusement Tom was not at all good at Twister), the children were hurried to bed with the promise that Tom would come and read them a story if they were quick. Madeline pulled Mary aside and smiled warmly at her.
‘Well, now, that wasn’t so bad after all, was it?’
Mary shook her head with a small smile.
‘No, I suppose it wasn’t. It was nice to spend time with the family, and get to meet Tom.’
‘Oh yes, I’ve never seen him quite so animated. I think he rather enjoyed his evening more than he expected.’
Tom had to leave not long after the children had gone to bed. He stopped Mary in the corridor.
‘I need your phone number.’
Taken aback by his forwardness, Mary blushed and stumbled to get her phone out.
‘If you are going to take this challenge seriously, I need to be able to check up on you! There will be no half-hearted attempts at poetry reading on my watch,’ Tom chuckled whilst he typed his number in her phone. Their hands brushed as he handed it back.
‘It was lovely to meet you, Mary.’