five

home, mid 1919

The Garrison was always a familiar place. The warmth of its wooden beams, the low hum of conversation, and the clinking of glasses had a way of grounding Sabrina, despite the ever-present chaos that sometimes swirled around Small Heath. The pub was busy but not overcrowded when Sabrina and Betty arrived, and the usual crowd of locals settled into their comfortable routines. It was a Thursday evening, the kind of time when everyone was unwinding after a long day's work, yet still early enough for the energy to be more relaxed than the raucous weekend nights.

Betty led the way through the room, her laughter carrying over the chatter. She knew everyone here; her loud voice and quick wit made her easily recognised, even in a place full of familiar faces. Sabrina, on the other hand, was quieter, moving with purpose beside her sister. She took in the scene as they walked to a table by the window: a few working men sipping their pints, some familiar women from the neighbourhood gossiping in the corner, and Harry behind the bar, wiping down the counter.

Sabrina's eyes scanned the room, her attention moving like a current, skimming over the moments happening around her. There was something about the familiar noise and chaos of the pub that settled her, even if she felt disconnected from much of it. It was one of those rare moments where she could slip into the background, just a part of the crowd, without needing to be the centre of attention.

Betty, in contrast, was already deep into conversation with one of the men at the bar, laughing loudly as she playfully scolded him for not getting her drink right. Sabrina couldn't help but smile at her sister's antics. Betty was boisterous in a way that Sabrina could never quite emulate, but in a way, she envied that freedom. The loud, gregarious energy that seemed to pour out of Betty made her the life of the room. Sabrina, however, preferred her corner, quietly absorbing everything around her. Tonight, she wasn't in the mood for the bustle, but she found herself relaxing in Betty's presence; something about the way Betty could talk to anyone with ease had a way of lightening her mood.

Betty slid into the chair across from Sabrina, nudging her slightly to get her attention. "Oh, you should've heard what Arthur did last week," she started, leaning forward, her voice full of animated excitement. "He nearly knocked over the cart in the market because he thought someone was trying to steal his wallet. Turns out, it was just an old lady trying to buy vegetables. The look on his face was priceless."

Sabrina chuckled, her lips curling up into a smile as she listened. "Sounds like him," she said, her voice quieter, but no less affectionate.

"God, I swear, you could drop a brick on Arthur's foot, and he'd still be grinning like an idiot," Betty continued, eyes dancing with mischief. "But you should've seen him try to apologise. Told the old lady he was just 'protecting the integrity of the market.'" She snorted in laughter. "Integrity of the market, my arse."

Sabrina couldn't help but laugh at the image of Arthur, all bluster and charm, trying to explain away his actions. Though their brother wasn't the sharpest in the family, his heart was in the right place. It was the kind of story that was impossible not to laugh at, especially in Betty's retelling.

Betty took a sip of her drink, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "But enough about Arthur, what's going on with you, huh? You've been quiet lately. Still nursing that headache from France, or is it something else?"

Sabrina was quiet for a moment, the lighthearted atmosphere of the pub contrasting sharply with the weight she carried in her chest. It wasn't just the memories from the war that still clung to her, it was the feeling of being caught between wanting to help and feeling like an outsider in her own home. Sabrina couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she'd been carrying tension ever since returning to Small Heath. The war had changed everything, and while people tried to move on, Sabrina couldn't shake the feeling that nothing would ever be quite the same.

"I'm alright," she finally said, taking a small sip of her drink to avoid revealing too much. "Just... been thinking a lot. About the clinic, mostly. Dr. Morley's agreed to let me help out." Sabrina's voice held a note of quiet excitement as she mentioned the clinic. It was a step in the direction she'd been hoping for, a way to be useful, to give back after everything she'd witnessed.

Betty leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. "Helping at the clinic? With Dr. Morley?" she asked, clearly intrigued. "Well, I'll admit, that's a bit more exciting than whatever you've been brooding about lately. And what's this about helping with shell shock? I know you've been reading about it, but do you really think Dr. Morley will let you do that?"

Sabrina nodded, setting her glass down. "He seems open to the idea. But it's a tough one, people don't seem to want to give it the time of day. Not many understand it. I know it's real, though. I've seen it. Just because the injury isn't physical, doesn't mean it's not there."

Betty was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. Sabrina appreciated that her sister wasn't dismissive of her concerns. Betty might not have fully grasped the severity of what Sabrina wanted to do, but she at least understood her need to help.

"I suppose if anyone can convince them, it's you," Betty said with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. "You've always had a way of getting people to listen to you."

Sabrina smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'll give it a go."

As the conversation lulled, Sabrina's gaze wandered to Harry behind the bar. He was juggling orders with his usual efficiency, his hands moving rapidly as he took pints to tables and cleaned glasses with practised ease. Sabrina watched him for a moment, and then, after a thoughtful pause, turned back to Betty.

"You know," Sabrina started, her voice a little quieter than before, "I think it's about time Harry hires someone to help him behind the bar. The place has been getting busier, and he's got his hands full every night."

Betty followed her sister's gaze toward Harry, who was now rushing to meet a new customer at the bar. "Yeah, he does look a bit like he's on the verge of losing it. But you know Harry, he likes to do everything himself. The man's got more pride than sense sometimes."

Sabrina shrugged, still watching Harry with a degree of sympathy. "I know he does, but even Harry can't handle everything alone forever. It might be time for him to face that."

Betty let out a short laugh. "You've got a point, but I don't think he'll take kindly to anyone telling him how to run his pub."

Sabrina smirked slightly. "Not everyone's that stubborn, Betty."

Betty raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? You've got the stubborn streak too, you know."

Sabrina smiled, but it was bittersweet. She hadn't fully realised how much of that streak she'd inherited from her family until she'd come back to Small Heath. There was a part of her that wanted to challenge the world, to fight for things that mattered. But sometimes it felt like the fight was more of a struggle than a victory.

"Maybe," she said softly, before turning her focus back to the room. "But I'll let Harry have this one. For now."

Jack.

He was sitting at the bar, alone, nursing a pint. A local man, not particularly flashy, but Sabrina could tell there was something about him that set him apart from the usual crowd. His posture was relaxed, but there was an air of being slightly out of place, like he was trying to settle into a room that wasn't quite his yet. His quiet presence, tucked away from the usual clamour of the pub, caught her attention in a way she hadn't expected.

Sabrina studied him for a moment. He was a regular at the Garrison, but he'd only started coming around more frequently in the past few weeks. Betty had mentioned him more than once, always in a teasing, interested tone, though Betty never said outright that she was interested, Sabrina knew well enough.

Betty eyed Jack across the room. He was leaning against the bar now, scanning the room, seemingly lost in thought. Sabrina could tell her sister was hesitating, unsure whether she should make the first move. Betty wasn't the shy type, but something about Jack made her cautious. She shifted in her seat, looking for an excuse to avoid it.

"You know I don't do this sort of thing," Betty muttered, glancing sideways at Sabrina. "I don't need you trying to set me up with some local who won't even know how to make conversation."

Sabrina gave her a look, one that said everything without needing words. "You won't know unless you try."

Betty sighed dramatically, but the faintest smile played at the corners of her lips. "Fine. I'll go. But only because you've been nagging me about it."

With that, Betty stood up and, to Sabrina's amusement, walked over to the bar, her every movement exuding a kind of bold energy. She was determined not to let Sabrina have the last word. Sabrina watched with quiet satisfaction as Betty made her way across the room, her eyes narrowing slightly as she caught Jack's attention. Sabrina wasn't sure if Jack had noticed Betty's approach at first, but soon enough, they exchanged a few words. It wasn't long before Jack's body language shifted; he seemed more open, interested, even if he was trying to play it cool.

As Jack stood and began making his way over to the table where Sabrina sat, Sabrina gave Betty a knowing look, the subtle confirmation of what had just happened.

Jack joined them a moment later, pulling out the chair with a slight grin. "Evening, ladies," he said with a quiet but friendly tone, his gaze lingering on Betty for just a beat longer than necessary.

Betty, ever the quick-witted one, didn't miss a beat. "Evening," she replied, her smile playful, but her eyes carefully neutral.

Sabrina couldn't help but notice the subtle tension in Betty's posture, like she was trying not to give anything away. There was a certain air about her, the way she held herself, that betrayed her internal struggle. She was trying to play it cool, but Sabrina could see right through it. She was intrigued by Jack, no doubt about it.

The three of them fell into easy conversation, with Jack and Betty exchanging casual banter while Sabrina watched the exchange with an almost detached curiosity. Her mind was elsewhere, though. She couldn't help but think of how her own life seemed to be moving at a different pace, slower, more deliberate, almost like she was watching the world from the sidelines.

As the conversation flowed, Sabrina felt a slight pull to shift things in a different direction. She could feel Betty's reluctance still hovering between them, and Sabrina had an idea on how to nudge things along.

With a small, almost imperceptible smirk, Sabrina leaned forward slightly, catching Betty's eye. She said, as casually as she could, "You should ask him out, you know. It's obvious he's interested."

Betty nearly choked on her drink. Her eyes widened for a moment before narrowing, her lips pressed into a tight smile. "I'll ask him out the day you admit you like John Shelby," she shot back, her voice just loud enough for Jack to hear.

Sabrina froze, a slight flush creeping up her neck. She hadn't expected that. She had expected Betty to tease her, sure, but this was something else. Betty's words hung in the air between them, lighthearted but pointed. Sabrina's heart skipped a beat, and for the briefest moment, she felt exposed. She hadn't realised how much she'd been holding back until Betty's comment broke the surface.

Jack, oblivious to the undercurrent between them, grinned at the exchange. He looked between the two women with mild curiosity, clearly trying to figure out what had just happened. "You two are an odd pair, you know that?" he said with a chuckle, the tension in the room dissolving into laughter.

Betty took another sip of her drink, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Just trying to get her to admit the obvious," she said, her voice teasing but still carrying a certain challenge.

Sabrina felt a mix of amusement and discomfort at Betty's comment. She hadn't thought she would be caught off guard so easily, but here they were, with the elephant in the room suddenly out in the open. She quickly recovered, flashing Jack a smile and shaking her head slightly.

"Well, don't hold your breath," she said, her voice light, "I'm not one for confessions."

Jack laughed, clearly intrigued by the dynamics between the two sisters, but he didn't press further. He leaned back in his chair, settling into the conversation with ease. Despite the teasing, Sabrina felt a sense of relief wash over her, something was calming about the casual exchange.

As the night wore on, Jack remained a pleasant distraction, but it was Betty who took the lead, her flirtations becoming more direct as the evening stretched on. Sabrina, for her part, couldn't help but watch quietly, knowing full well that Betty had taken the first step, even if it had been in her own, particular way.

But as for Sabrina... she wasn't ready to face what Betty had just hinted at. Not yet, anyway.

The morning air was damp, clinging to Sabrina's coat as she stepped through the modest doors of the Small Heath Clinic. It was a squat, unimpressive building tucked between a pair of soot-stained shops, its exterior a tired shade of brick red and its windows streaked with condensation. The sign above the entrance hung slightly crooked, as if no one had noticed or cared to fix it in years.

Sabrina paused just inside the threshold, allowing the warmth of the clinic to settle over her skin like steam rising from tea. The scent was different than she expected, less medicinal, more like boiled cabbage and bleach, as though someone had made an effort to clean but couldn't quite scrub away the undercurrents of poverty. The floor creaked under her boots as she walked to the reception desk, clutching the strap of her satchel a little tighter.

A nurse greeted her with a tired smile, a woman in her fifties with grey threaded through her dark hair and deep lines bracketing her mouth. "You're the new girl, then? Doctor said you'd be by."

Sabrina nodded politely. "Yes, I'm Sabrina. I'm starting today."

The nurse, Mrs. Cartwright she introduced herself, didn't waste time with niceties. She led Sabrina down a narrow corridor lined with peeling cream-colored paint and a few mismatched chairs. "We're short-staffed most days. You'll find we do the best we can with what we've got," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "Doctor Tew's in surgery this morning, but you'll meet him later. He leaves the intake and follow-ups to the likes of us anyhow."

Sabrina nodded again, her expression calm, but her thoughts were already a step behind her, drifting backwards through time like autumn leaves caught in a draught.

Paris.

The memory came uninvited, as it always did now when she entered any medical space.

The hospital where she had trained under Mr. Banibeaux had been an entirely different world. High ceilings, gleaming tiled floors, polished brass doorknobs that never stuck. The air had carried the scent of antiseptic and ink, the soft rustle of clean linens. Orderlies moved with precision, each one dressed in crisp white, each patient logged, each corridor silent except for the echo of footsteps or the occasional murmur of a nurse. Even the chaos had felt... restrained.

There had been a kind of reverence there. Not just for medicine, but for knowledge, for excellence, for discipline. Banibeaux was a man of few words but cutting standards. He didn't tolerate mistakes, but when Sabrina succeeded, when she performed a procedure with a steady hand or offered a correct diagnosis, he nodded once. That small nod had felt like a medal.

And now she was here, in a room where the glass on the medicine cabinet was cracked and taped, and the examination table's leather was split at the seams.

Mrs. Cartwright handed her a stack of patient files and gestured toward a small adjoining room with a desk, a rickety chair, and a kettle that looked like it hadn't boiled properly in weeks.

"This'll be your station for now. You'll be doing intake paperwork, checking vitals, and we've got a few patients with dressings that need changing. And if someone faints, don't panic. Happens more often than you'd think."

Sabrina gave a polite smile, even as her stomach turned slightly at the organised chaos she was being immersed in.

It wasn't that she was above the work. Far from it. But the disarray was jarring.

In Paris, even the patients behaved differently, worn down by illness, perhaps, but not like here. Here, people came in with soot in their lungs, hands swollen from cold, infections that had gone ignored for weeks. They sat hunched in the waiting room, clutching caps and scarves, eyes guarded. Not out of disrespect, but out of necessity. As if their own survival left no room for trust or ease.

She moved toward the nearest patient, an elderly man with a persistent cough and a kind face hidden beneath layers of grime. She took his temperature, asked gentle questions, and jotted down his answers in her careful, slanted handwriting. He thanked her in a rough voice, like he hadn't spoken gently to anyone in days.

Sabrina forced a smile.

Here, the light was different. The windows were smaller, smudged with grime. The sun barely touched the corners of the clinic. The walls were thick, and the air stale. Dignity had to be earned the hard way, through patience, persistence, and small, stubborn acts of care.

She finished with her patient and moved on to the next. A child with a fever, his mother pacing anxiously nearby. Sabrina crouched to meet his eye level, placing a cool hand on his forehead, whispering quiet comforts. She saw the mother's shoulders ease slightly at the softness in her voice. That mattered too. Perhaps more than sterile walls or proper lighting.

By midday, Sabrina had washed her hands so many times her knuckles were red. The water never ran hot enough, and the soap left a film on her skin, but she kept scrubbing. The smell of disinfectant barely masked the more human odours, sweat, blood, illness, and poverty.

It was a far cry from the sterile, precise world of Banibeaux's hospital.

But as she leaned over the sink, drying her hands on a thin towel, Sabrina caught her reflection in the warped mirror above the basin. She looked tired. But there was a steadiness to her expression, too. Something calm in the centre of the storm.

Maybe this place wouldn't offer her the structure Paris did. Maybe it wouldn't sharpen her intellect in the same ways or teach her new theories. But it would teach her something else.

Adaptation. Compassion. The grit to carry on, even when things were falling apart.

Banibeaux had once told her that the best doctors weren't the ones who read the most books, but the ones who could listen to patients, to the room, to what wasn't being said. And here, in the hushed voices of the poor, in the careful words of a mother, in the heavy silence of a man too tired to explain his pain, there was plenty to listen to.

As she stepped back into the hall, clipboard in hand, she passed Mrs. Cartwright, who raised an eyebrow. "You holding up alright?"

Sabrina nodded. "Yes," she said simply. Then, after a pause, "It's not Paris. But I think I'll manage."

Mrs. Cartwright chuckled. "You'll do more than that, love. Stick around long enough, you'll find your hands do more healing than you think."

And as Sabrina turned toward the next patient, she believed, for the first time since she'd left Paris, that maybe she belonged here. Not because it was easy. But because it wasn't.

Rewritten 3/5/25