Work Text:
The Space of a Year
It could be worse, Francis thought as he eyed the apartment building. It was rented out by the university to its staff and given the lack of accommodation in the village most took advantage of it. There hadn’t been a flat available for him at this point but Jopson had offered his spare room immediately. Francis had refused at first but Jopson had insisted and it was his best option.
Truth to be told, it was his own fault. He should’ve seen the signs instead of blindly believing that Sophia would abandon her whole life in London and move up north just to be with him. It wasn’t just the new position; their relationship had been crumbling for the past year.
Maybe it was for the best, Francis thought and knocked on the door.
Jopson answered so quickly that he must have waited by the door for Francis to turn up. He had moved here three months ago to make sure that the transition from their old department to the new one would go as smoothly as possible.
“Let me take that”, Jopson said and already had Francis’ suitcase in his hand before he could say anything.
“I know you’re my research assistant but you don’t have to assist me with everything”, Francis said. Sometimes he worried that Jopson was a little too dedicated to his job.
“I don’t mind”, Jopson flashed him a quick smile before moving up the staircase.
The flat was a spacious two bedroom with a separate kitchen and bathroom. It was tidy, as expected from any space that was inhabited by Jopson, but Francis could see a few touches that spoke of him actually living here.
“That’s your room”, Jopson said, carrying Francis’ suitcase into one of the bedrooms. The flats came furnished so it looked like every other accommodation Francis had seen in his life: a bed, a desk and chair, and a wardrobe. “I’ll leave you to get settled. I’m in the kitchen if you need me.”
“Thank you, Thomas”, Francis said and hoped it would come across how much he meant it.
“Always”, Jopson replied with a smile and closed the door behind him.
Francis had only brought one suitcase. He had constantly moved around since finishing his undergraduate studies and had learned not to get attached to things. Sophia had always hated that. Even after his clothes and other possessions had been stored away, the room didn’t look much livelier than before.
This was only temporary, he reminded himself. As soon as the university had a flat available, he would move out. Jopson was putting up with him enough as it was. He should have taken more care about his housing situation before moving here, but until recently he had assumed Sophia would come with him and that they would get a house together.
With nothing else to do, Francis decided to join Jopson in the kitchen if only to get a cup of tea before going through all the emails and documentation that were there to make his start as head of the department easier.
He had been at the Institute before of course, but from tomorrow on it would be his main workplace, with only the occasional visit to London instead of splitting his time between the two places.
Francis had worked with the Institute’s director, John Franklin, before, back when he had been in Australia, and appreciated him even if their work styles were very different. As head of the department, he could have insisted on bringing his own post-docs, technicians and PhD students with him but apart from a few volunteers, Francis had decided not to ruffle any feathers. Pretty much all of the senior staff had been recruited by Doctor Fitzjames, the rising young star in their field of research and a favourite of Professor Barrow, who was dean of their university. He had only briefly met Fitzjames but his first impression hadn’t been favourable.
With that in mind he stepped into the kitchen, just when the kettle boiled. Jopson, who had been standing at the stove, moved quickly to pull two mugs from a cabinet, putting in a teabag into each before filling them with hot water.
“What’s for dinner?” Francis asked, stirring his mug.
“Bacon and cabbage.”
His favourite even though Francis had never said so and Jopson had never asked, but they had eaten often enough together in the canteen that Jopson must have noticed him choosing that one every time it was on offer.
“Where do you keep the plates?” Francis asked.
Jopson tilted his head towards one of the cabinets and Francis retrieved two plates, followed by finding the cutlery in the top drawer. It reminded him a little of their time in Antarctica. There had been a communal kitchen and Jopson had taken over kitchen duties more often than not. The only person missing was James.
Francis’ heart squeezed in his chest when he thought of his best friend. They had spent most of their research career together that not having him here felt like missing a limb. Of course, he was happy for him, both for attaining the professorship at Oxford and his engagement to Ann, but that didn’t mean he didn’t wish for James to be here.
Jopson piled the food onto the plates while Francis migrated their tea mugs and cutlery to the kitchen table. It was calming in how familiar it was.
They ate mostly in silence, the bacon and cabbage being excellent, but it was a companionable silence. He had known Jopson a long time, nearly ten years at this point, and some of it had been spent in close quarters. If Jopson had declined to come up here, Francis doubted that he would’ve still taken up the job once Sophia broke up with him.
“What’s your first impression of this place?” Francis asked. He knew Jopson to be diplomatic even about the worst of places, so he was surprised by his answer.
“I think it’s a good place”, Jopson replied, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It has a low turnover rate. People have been very welcoming here. Don’t mind me, sir”, he added, ducking his head.
“You’re not going to call me ‘sir’ in your own home”, Francis replied. “I’m glad you like it. Gives me hope even if I have to deal with Fitzjames on a daily basis now.”
“He’s not so bad”, Jopson said as if he hadn’t heard Francis complain about Fitzjames for months at this point.
“I see he managed to get you under his spell”, Francis grumbled. “Is he still keeping that French trophy boyfriend of his?”
“I believe it’s French trophy husband by now”, Jopson said.
“Who in their right mind marries their PhD student?”
“I guess it’s a cliché for a reason”, Jopson replied diplomatically.
/
The first day went reasonably well. Francis handed in all of his paperwork, moved into his office and had to sit to through induction courses for new staff and students. The first one was a general one about the institute, its standing in the research community and its goals; while the other was an embarrassing exercise in how to lift heavy stuff. It included a practical part which meant that each person present had to lift an empty cardboard box to show that they had understood the instructions. After that second course, Francis was ready to murder someone.
At least it couldn’t get any worse.
Or so he had thought because Franklin found him in his office and insisted on giving him the tour around and introducing him to everyone officially as if Francis hadn’t met most people already on his frequent trips up north.
Jopson wasn’t there to save him, so Francis dutifully followed Franklin around and introduced himself to the other principal investigators and lab managers.
Fitzjames was there, of course, joining them half way through as if this day couldn’t get any worse, and seemed to know every single person in the institute. Of course, a lot of these people had ended up here because they had some prior history with Fitzjames.
To Francis’ surprise he did meet a few familiar faces from Antarctica and especially Mr Farr and Mr Diggle seemed happy to see him, too, which was the bigger surprise. Antarctica hadn’t been his best time as a team leader.
Still, by the time Franklin allowed him to return to his office, Francis was itching for a drink. The invitation to dinner hadn’t helped either though Francis had managed to postpone it by pointing out that he was still settling in.
He hadn’t made it through one year of sobriety by giving into his worst impulses.
A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. “Come in.”
“Ready to go home?” Jopson asked, standing in the door frame.
“More than you think”, Francis replied and grabbed his bag.
The accommodation was within walking distance of the institute and the weather was surprisingly nice given the high latitude. Northern Scotland wasn’t exactly famous for its summers.
“Franklin asked me over for dinner”, Francis said while they were walking side by side. Again, something familiar from the time in Australia and again something that was missing James’ presence. “I know he’s only here half of the year. Can you make something up so I don’t have to go?”
“He’s going to be here until the end of September. That might be tricky.”
“I have full confidence in your abilities. Don’t let me down, now.” Francis’ reluctance to have dinner with Franklin was mostly due to Franklin being Sophia’s uncle, who had raised her form early childhood.
“When have I ever?”
“Never, that’s what I’m saying.” In the evening light it almost looked as if Jopson was blushing. Learning to communicate more openly had been part of Francis’ recovery program. Given everything Jopson had done for him, he was the most frequent victim, aside from James, of Francis’ newfound ability to voice his appreciation.
“I’ll see what I can do”, Jopson replied, then changed the topic, “The Terror arrived at the harbour this afternoon. Do you want to go down tomorrow and see her?”
“Absolutely.” It would spare him another day in the office even if seeing her wouldn’t easy. Not without James here. The Terror was the sister ship of Erebus, the research vessel they had used down in Antarctica. They looked almost identical and seeing her would no doubt remind him that James was not here.
/
Being back on a ship was something Francis had missed down to his bones in the last year. Perhaps he had been a sailor in a past life because feeling the waves under his feet and the salty wind in his face gave him a feeling of content that nothing else ever did.
They didn’t take her out very far, just across to Dunnet Head and back, but in Francis’ mind it made up for all of the yesterday and possibly for whatever would happen the rest of the week.
Like that dinner invitation Franklin had issued.
Despite Jopson’s best attempts, Francis was gently coerced into agreeing to come over for dinner on Friday evening. He was tempted to ask Jopson to come with him, but he also knew that it could make things awkward if he turned up with someone unannounced.
He would have made a different call if he had realised that Franklin had invited a good deal of lab leaders to the same dinner. A belated welcome party that included Fitzjames, Le Vesconte, Irving and Hodgson.
“ – by the time Fitzjames recounted how he was bitten by a Chinese bat, I wanted to put the food in my ears”, Francis complained to Jopson once he had safely made it home. He had been glad to find him home, curled up on the couch with his latest craft project.
His knitting had won over pretty much everyone in Antarctica. Francis knew for certain that Jopson had been offered multiple employment contracts and at least one marriage proposal. His collection of bead animals had resulted in a similar reaction in Australia, and more than one London based scientist had dried their tears of rejection in a hand-embroidered handkerchief.
Jopson’s current work involved leatherwork but Francis couldn’t tell yet what it would end up as. His hands moved independently of his eyes which were fixed attentively on Francis.
“Hodgson was part of that expedition and he still laughed”, Francis continued complaining. “Even Stanley smiled. We’ve all heard this story multiple times already. How is he still getting those reactions?”
“Do you want my honest answer?” Jopson asked when Francis stopped to take a breath.
“No, I want you to lie to me”, Francis grumbled.
“In that case, I will tell you that’s it purely out of politeness and not because Fitzjames is a great story teller.”
“That was cheating”, Francis replied.
Jopson laughed softly. “If you say so, sir.”
Francis threw him a look.
“Sorry”, Jopson said, an embarrassed look on his face.
“Next time you’ll come with me”, Francis said to break the awkward moment. “If Fitzjames can bring Le Vesconte, I can bring you.”
“Le Vesconte is a principal investigator in his own right”, Jopson said, which Francis scoffed at.
“Tacky”, he said. There had been many times when he had wanted to murder whichever PhD student had been stuck with him, but to go out with one?
“Who else was there?” Jopson asked, turning his leatherwork around in his hands.
“Doctor Fairholme and Mr Osmer, the latter also being an old friend of Fitzjames. I’m starting to think he staffed the Institute with his Facebook friends list.”
Jopson let him grumble, none of these complaints were new or to be taken too seriously. Francis liked to complain and Jopson knew it.
In the flat next to them a door was slammed and voices could be heard in the hallway. Loud voices.
“You’re being ridiculous, Cornelius” Francis recognised the voice of William Gibson, a research assistant in Little’s lab.
“I am being ridiculous?” The second man was clearly Cornelius Hickey, Hodgson’s PhD student. “I wasn’t the one who was being all cosy with my boss last night.”
“I came home with you, didn’t I?”
“As if that means anything”, Hickey scoffed.
“You have no reason to be jealous.”
“I’m not the one who started this relationship by cheating on someone else.”
“You were perfectly fine with the situation at the time.”
“Still not a good look at your character Billy.”
“Fuck you, Cornelius. Fuck you.”
“As if.”
“Fine if you need to hear it: we’re over.” Steps could be heard, fading down the hallways.
“Fine, go and fuck Hodgson or Peglar for all I care” Hickey yelled after him before the door to the flat was being slammed harder than before.
“You’ll find them making out in a storeroom in a week max”, Jopson said as he returned from the kitchen, carrying two mugs of tea.
“This is not the first time?” Crozier asked, accepting one of the mugs with a grateful nod.
Jopson snorted. “It’s not the even the first time this month. The make-up sex is even worse than the break up.”
/
As head of his department, Francis didn’t need to be on the Terror to collect samples for the students to analyse or to take readings. In fact, many of his colleagues preferred to leave the field work behind when they got promoted out of the lab and into their offices.
Francis wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
In the past he had often left the paperwork to Jopson even what was beyond his scope of work and pay, but he was trying to do better. So instead of back at the institute, Jopson was here with him on the Terror. He had never said it, but Francis knew that Jopson liked being outdoors, even back in Antarctica.
He looked over Francis’ shoulder and started smiling but before Francis could ask, he heard, “Francis!” He recognised that voice even though he hadn’t heard in months.
“Thomas”, Francis said as he wrapped his arms around Blanky. “I didn’t know you were staying here. I thought James had made you an offer as well.”
“Aye, but Oxford’s a bit too posh for me. Besides, he’s not going to do any field work anymore. What am I supposed to do there? Count the snowflakes as they fall one day a year? Hah!”
“Captain”, Jopson greeted Blanky, which answered Francis’ other question, namely what Blanky was doing up here job-wise.
“It’s about time I got some use out of my license”, Blanky told Francis. “Shall we take her out?”
“On your word, Captain.” They grinned at each other, like the schoolboys they had once been, and then Blanky moved to order the crew to ready the Terror for departure.
“You know I hate surprises”, Francis said to Jopson as they stood at the reeling to keep out of the way.
“I promised not to tell”, Jopson replied, a smile playing around his lips. The wind brought some colour to his pale cheeks and not for the first time, Francis wondered why Jopson seemed to be perpetually single.
Perhaps he just wasn’t interested in that kind of stuff.
/
August came quicker than Francis had expected and with it one of the highlights of social life at the Institute – the summer barbeque. The first time he was made aware of it was when the posters started to appear everywhere, announcing the location, date and dress code.
“Sailing?” Francis said out loud when he read it.
Next to him Blanky laughed. “Fitzjames is one of the major organisers. Last year it was cowboys.”
Francis sighed. What else had he expected? They had had parties like this in Antarctica, it brought people together and the theme meant that people had something to work for.
“Are you going?” He asked Blanky.
“Wouldn’t miss it. Fitzjames throws the best parties. Besides, I want to know who’s going to win the costume contest between him and Jopson.”
“Does Fitzjames have some hidden skills in costuming?” Francis asked in a tone that made clear he didn’t think Fitzjames had any hidden skills at all. The man was like an open book.
“Just the audacity to pull of the most outrageous costumes you can think about”, Blanky replied. They were having lunch in Francis’ office, Blanky with a visitor’s card pinned to his jacket. Jopson ate in the canteen, with a mixed group of people that included everything from research assistants to PIs.
It was good to see him make friends that didn’t hesitate to collect him for lunch when he inevitably forgot.
“So”, Blanky said, spearing a potato with his fork, “what happened between you and Sophia?”
Francis had been expecting this question. He and Sophia had made it through his years abroad only to break up now that they were living together? Rumours had started on less.
“We broke up.”
Blanky threw him a look.
“Her career makes it necessary for her to stay in London, or at least a town with an airport.”
Blanky kept looking. Francis should’ve known he couldn’t throw him off that easily.
“I’m different when I’m not drinking but that’s not the man she fell in love with. I don’t blame her”, he added quickly when it looked like Blanky was going to say something. “And that alone wouldn’t have been it but in combination with the job up here and – “he hesitated, “– and us not being exactly compatible when living together.”
Blanky made an agreeing noise in the back of his throat. “Took you long enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, I know you loved her, Francis, and she loved you but she always tried you to change your mind about your job. Esther’s first husband hated that she was always busy running the pub. Sometimes, someone only loves part of you, but if you’re lucky, you’ll find someone who loves all of you.”
Francis was a little startled by Blanky’s opinion. In his eyes, he had changed so much that he had no longer resembled the man Sophia had fallen in love with. That was what she had said, too, well that and the things about her job and his job, it had been a long conversation.
A knock on his office door interrupted him and when he called, Jopson stuck his head in.
“Sorry sir, Doctor Irving has a rather urgent report about inventory?”
“Tell him to give us five minutes please”, Francis said, giving Blanky an apologetic look.
“Of course, sir”, Jopson said and closed the door behind him.
“Aren’t you living together?” Blanky asked.
“Temporarily.”
“And he’s still calling you sir?”
“He’s trying not to do it at home”, Francis replied as he packed up his lunch.
Blanky laughed. “Well, at least your work-husband hasn’t deserted you.”
Doctor Irving knocked and Francis called him in.
“Don’t forget to get your tickets for the barbeque”, Blanky said on his way out.
/
Francis was very, very tempted not to show up the barbecue. He hated attending social events and social work events were even worse. However, he also knew that it would be expected of him, and that as the newest member of senior staff, it was almost an obligation so that the other people at the institute had a chance to get to know him better.
It was a small town. It wasn’t as if any of them had much of a social life outside of work.
He did draw the line at dressing up.
A lot of people hadn’t. A remote Scottish coastal town might offer more distractions than a research base in Antarctica but not much more.
“Francis.”
“James”, he replied together with a nod and made sure to keep his eyes on Fitzjames’ face.
His costume was positively indecent, especially for a PI, a PI whose students were attending. The shorts only covered what was necessary so he wouldn’t get arrested for public nudity, clinging to his arse and left his bare legs on display. The top wasn’t much better as it revealed his midriff, had a deep V-neck collar and he had accessorised it with a small kerchief around his neck.
Someone had re-purposed last year’s pride parade outfit, Francis thought uncharitably.
“Nice party”, Francis said.
“I’m surprised you came. Doesn’t seem to be your kind of event.”
“I work on a ship, so I thought why not.” From the corner of his eye, Francis tried to see if Blanky or Jopson had arrived yet to rescue him.
No luck.
“How was your first trip?” Fitzjames asked, “I’m excited to join you soon.”
“It was fine”, Francis replied, already wondering how to best keep Fitzjames off his ship.
“I heard you’re living with Thomas at the moment.”
“Temporarily”, Francis replied. Something about the way Fitzjames used Jopson’s first name grated on his nerves even more than Fitzjames usually did.
“Sorry it took so long, sir”, Jopson said when he appeared next to them, holding a glass of coke for Francis.
“Thank you.” He took it but saw Fitzjames’ eyebrows rise when Jopson called him sir.
“Nice costume, Thomas”, Fitzjames said, raking his eyes of Jopson in a manner that Francis thought ill-fitting for a married man. Perhaps it was an open marriage. Really, he should only dislike Fitzjames for his flashy scientific talks and overly dramatic paper titles, not his lifestyle.
Jopson’s costume was nice, though it seemed Fitzjames wasn’t the only one who had re-purposed an old costume because Francis recognised it from a Halloween party in Antarctica. It was a historic sailor’s outfit with a white shirt and long white trousers, and a short navy blue jacket as well as a straw hat with a ribbon around it that said “The Terror”.
“Thank you, sir”, Jopson said, probably putting to rest many of the assumption Fitzjames had just made.
“I’ll leave him to you”, Fitzjames said and gave Jopson a friendly pat on the shoulder, “May the best costume win.”
“You’re okay?” Jopson asked, and Francis could practically hear the ‘sir’ even if Jopson didn’t say it.
“Yes, thank you.”
To his surprise, Jopson stuck to his side throughout the evening. It was certainly not for the lack of other options; plenty of people stopped by their table for a quick chat with Jopson, but no matter what they tried to get him to come with them, Jopson always politely declined.
Probably to make sure Francis wasn’t getting a drink. The thought didn’t sting as much as he had assumed it would. Aside from James and Blanky, Jopson was the only person who knew how bad his drinking had been. When he had realised that, he had wanted to spare Sophia the sight of him going through withdrawal but Jopson had been there through all of it.
He wasn’t drinking either, Francis noticed, and there certainly wasn’t any alcohol back in the flat.
Well, as soon as he got his own flat, Jopson could store as many beers as he liked to drink during football games. Francis preferred hurling, but he had started to look up when Jopson’s favourite team was playing and switch to that even when another channel was showing hurling because he knew that Jopson wouldn’t.
/
An ongoing complaint from everyone, aside from the weather, was the dearth of entertainment and activities offered by the nearby village. The next proper town was over a hundred miles away, so people had to make do with what they had. And since it was summer, or what passed for summer this far north, that meant an avalanche of physical activities.
Francis knew that Jopson was an avid football player but up here the interdepartmental league was a much bigger deal than it had been in London, especially the first and last games of the season, which ran from September to May.
“I joined when I moved here but this the first real game”, Jopson told, sounding as if he was slightly embarrassment by his enthusiasm for his hobby.
“It’s this weekend, isn’t it?” Francis asked despite knowing perfectly well that that was the case. “I’ll come and watch.”
“You don’t have to – “
“I want to”, Francis interrupted him.
The least he could do after everything Jopson had done for him, was to watch him play. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had other plans.
“Thank you”, Jopson said, so softly that Francis almost didn’t hear it.
/
It was a beautiful September morning, and Francis was by no means the only one from the institute to come to watch the match. Social butterfly that he was, Fitzjames was present as well, but thankfully he only gave Francis a short nod before moving on.
Le Vesconte was on the opposite team from Jopson, though Francis hadn’t been able to figure out yet what determined membership in which team, especially since the Hartnell brothers played on opposite sides as well.
Sophia hadn’t been one for sports and hurling wasn’t popular outside of Ireland, so Francis hadn’t been to a match since he had left school. Antarctica had also had a football team, but in Antarctica he had been at his least sociable.
Compared to how subdued Francis had seen him lately, Jopson was clearly having the time of his life on the pitch. He was good at it too as far as Francis could tell who was more of a hurling fan. He was waving between the others players with quick elegance and shot both goals that secured their department’s team’s win.
The other players half-buried him in a pile of bodies, laughing and cheering. Jopson looked good like this, happy. Francis couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Jopson like this.
A lump of ice formed in his stomach. It had been two and a half months and still no news from the institute’s housing department and if he was being honest, Francis had let it slide. Living with Jopson was comfortable. Familiar. They had spent so much time in close quarters that actually sharing a living space felt natural and Francis liked that there was someone around when he came home.
Monday, he told himself firmly. He’d call the housing department again on Monday.
The match had ended and Jopson jogged up to him, flushed and with bright eyes.
“Congratulations”, Francis said.
“Thank you”, despite clearly trying to keep his composure, Jopson couldn’t help but grin, “A few of us are going to the pub for a celebration, would you like to join me – us?”
“I’d love to but I’ve got emails to write before Monday”, Francis said. It was true, too, but not urgent. He had taken over more than enough of Jopson’s life already. “Enjoy yourself.”
“thank you”, Jopson replied, although it seemed to Francis that his smile was not quite as bright as before. “I’ll see you later.”
One of the Hartnell brothers was calling him, so Jopson turned to go, waving as he tuned back to Francis one last time.
Francis watched as Jopson’s teammates surrounded him, like a colony of colourful penguins. This place seemed to be good for Jopson even with Francis own disruptive presence in his home.
/
The housing department didn’t have anything for him, unsurprisingly, but Francis made a point of calling them every two weeks. It quickly evolved into a routine where he stated this name and the secretary taking his call would tell him immediately that there were no open places.
He settled into a routine in other places as well. Two or three times a week they’d take The Terror out, sometimes for experiments, sometimes just because he could, and on Saturdays he’d go and watch Jopson play football. Franklin hadn’t insisted on another dinner yet, he had certainly issued invitations but so far Francis had been able to beg out of them, citing one excuse or another. As a side effect, he got a lot more paperwork done than ever before.
In the past Jopson had usually done it, from writing up manuscripts to grant proposals, sometimes unprompted. A week ago, they had both written the same grant proposal without realising the other was writing it as well until they had both finished.
They had laughed it off, but it had been another reminder how much Francis had put on Jopson over the years, especially during their time in Antarctica. James had done his fair share of supporting Francis as well and without him, he wouldn’t have gotten the position in London, but without Jopson…
Without Jopson he also would have walked in on Hickey and Gibson making out in a supply closet at least twice. Irving had and Francis was impressed that someone could physically turn red by that much.
/
Francis had never expected that there wouldn’t be a Halloween Party, but he had severely underestimated how big of a deal it was. From the moment the first of October came around, it seemed that no one was talking about anything else. It was even tradition to give everyone the first of November off because no one would be sober enough to actually work.
Every conversation he overheard in the labs, the hallways and the canteen all centred around the Halloween party and costuming choices. The theme of the summer barbeque was nothing in comparison. There was no dedicated shop in town, and since shipping so far up north could be unreliable, most people were making their own.
Francis once more declined to dress up for the Halloween party. The sight of Fitzjames dressed as a sexy bat would be forever seared into his mind. In fact, the theme was to dress up as a sexy version of your research subject.
Blanky came as a Disney character that apparently had ice powers in an elaborate dress and a long white wig, to the delight of everyone who knew the reference.
“My daughters threatened to put themselves up for adoption”, Blanky grinned as he joined Francis by the window table. “Teenagers have no sense of humour.”
Franklin and his wife dressing up as the King and Queen of England was perhaps a little bit too much on the nose but it got a few laughs since they had gone for the 18th century version including an impractically high wig for Jane Franklin.
“Where’s your better half?” Blanky asked when he noticed that Jopson wasn’t around.
“Getting changed”, Francis replied.
“What is his costume?” Blanky asked. Someone saw him and started to sing a few notes of that obnoxious pop song that had been everywhere in Antarctica.
Francis was going to fire Irving.
“I don’t know”, he said, though he suspected it had something to do with the leatherwork Jopson had taken up since moving here.
As It turned out ten minutes later, Jopson was wearing a very well-made knight’s costume, including some chainmail and a long cloak with a scabbard on his belt. So that was where all of his leatherwork had ended up.
“I see you didn’t decide to go with the theme”, Blanky said when Jopson joined them.
“I’m not sure what ‘sexy magnetism’ would even look like”, he replied, putting a glass of coke down in front of Francis.
“Thank you”, Francis said. “James would’ve said you should come as yourself. He complained once that you stole his title of ‘most handsome man in Antarctica’.”
Thomas laughed uproariously but Jopson gave him a strange look and Francis wondered if he had said something wrong.
“I like your costume”, Jopson told Blanky, who repeated the line about his daughters. The conversation devolved from there to how Blanky’s family was doing, how the pub was going and how the older kids were doing at uni.
“You know”, Blanky said eventually, “You don’t have to stand here, talking to us all night. Go and live a little.”
“I don’t mind”, Jopson said, quickly glancing at Francis. “I’ve never been much of a party goer.”
“No wild parties at uni?” Blankly asked.
“I didn’t go to uni”, Jopson replied, almost as if he was embarrassed.
“Ah, don’t mind me sticking my foot in”, Blanky said.
“No, it was my choice. My brother later went to uni and he enjoyed it but he was always much more outgoing than me”, Jopson said.
Francis hadn’t even known that Jopson had a brother. They had never talked about things like that, only work or, as they had grown closer, colleagues and some such, but their personal histories had been off limit.
“You never spent a single day in a lecture hall and managed to be a better scientist than most other people I know”, Francis replied. It wasn’t the first time he had thought it but it was the first time he had said it.
Jopson blushed up to his hairline, stuttering out a ‘thank you’ while Blanky laughed and hit him on the back.
Francis felt better after having said it. Jopson deserved to know that his hard work, diligence, attention to detail and intelligence were being appreciated. Maybe there was some merit to being honest after all.
Someone approached their table.
“Would you like to dance?” Little asked. He was dressed as some sort of huntsman or perhaps Robin Hood given the quiver on his back.
Jopson glanced at Francis, then Blanky before he said, “Sure.” And followed Little onto the dance floor.
“Thought he’d never make a move”, Blanky said, watching them join in a larger group.
“Who? Little?”
“Aye. There’s been a betting pool since Jopson moved up here. Want in on it?”
Francis looked at Little and Jopson dancing. Little kept looking at Jopson who seemed oblivious to it. In the whole eight years Francis had known Jopson, he had never known him to date anyone.
When he said as much to Blanky, and expressed some doubt whether Jopson was interested in anyone at all, Blanky replied,
“He’s interested all right, just hasn’t found the right fella yet.”
“Do you know why?” Francis asked despite knowing that some of it had to be job related. Even before he had dragged Jopson all the way to Antarctica, he had worked for Byn, who at the time had done field work in remote areas of North America and the Caribbean.
“Too married to his job, I guess”, Blanky replied. “Not so unusual in our profession.”
Francis scoffed. Jopson was a beautiful man on top of a sweet temper and conscientious nature. Any man should count himself lucky with whatever attention Jopson had time to give them.
He gave Little a long, considering look. Little was a good lab manager, a bit quiet perhaps, but Francis judged him to be a good, dependable man who was certainly not bad looking either. He and Jopson were also in the same football team. It wasn’t a bad fit.
“Sure, put me down, why not?”
/
The next evening, when there was a tell-tale door slam down the hall and Francis actually turned down the volume of the tv. When Jopson threw him a look, he smirked, “I’m actually starting to find this entertaining.”
Jopson’s expression was a mix of disbelief, exasperation and understanding but more tellingly he didn’t turn the volume back up.
“Billy, come on, we were on a break!”
“Oh and that gives the permission to sleep with my boss?”
Francis turned to Jopson and mouthed, “Darlington?” to which Jopson shook his head and replied, “Irving.”
Irving had been very drunk at the Halloween party, Francis remembered. That must have been an awkward morning after.
“Yeah it does”, Hickey replied and if reconciliation was what he was after then this had been the exact wrong answer.
Gibson huffed and stormed down the hall but was being followed by Hickey from the sounds of it.
“If you want me to stop sleeping with other people, you need to stop breaking up with me.”
“You need to stop making eyes at people.”
“It doesn’t mean anything when it’s not you”, Hickey replied, his voice dropping slightly. “Come back?”
Footsteps could be heard and then the front door of the next apartment was closed.
Francis and Jopson exchanged a look.
“I’m not opening any supply closets tomorrow”, Jopson stated firmly.
“We should probably take out the Terror just to be safe”, Francis agreed.
/
Perhaps it was a little un-sportsman like to interfere given that he was part of the betting pool, but Francis’ main interested was Jopson’s happiness, not the money.
“I’ve heard Edward asked you out”, he said conversationally as he and Jopson went over the paperwork for a collaboration with Fitzjames that they had set up a meeting for on Friday.
“I’ve turned him down”, Jopson replied, looking surprised that Francis would even bring it up. They usually didn’t talk about these kinds of things.
“Why? I thought you got on well enough”, Francis wasn’t going to drop the matter that quickly.
“I’m busy”, Jopson more or less mumbled into the papers.
“If this is about the meeting on Friday, you don’t have to attend it. I can handle Fitzjames.”
“Sir – “
“You like it here, don’t you?”
A complicated look passed Jopson’s face, but he shrugged and said, “yes.”
“Maybe it’s time to put down some roots. Edward’s a good man and a date is not a marriage proposal”, Francis said, watching Jopson’s eyes flutter close for a moment. He felt as if he was breaching some kind of unspoken contract by bringing it up, but he also wanted Jopson to take a chance at being happy.
Jopson shuffled the papers in front of him as if he was looking for something. “And you’re sure you don’t want me there?”
“Enjoy your Friday evening, Jopson.”
/
“Where’s Jopson?” Fitzjames asked, looking around as if Jopson was hiding in a corner somewhere.
“He has a date”, Francis replied. He only looked up from his laptop when his answer was greeted with prolonged silence. “What?”
“Who does he have a date with?” Fitzjames asked as if the idea of Jopson having a date was somehow ludicrous.
“Little.”
Fitzjames’ eyebrows shot up. “Please tell me you had nothing to do with this.”
“Even if I did, this doesn’t concern you.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re an idiot. This will blow up spectacularly and I can only hope you’re there to pick up the pieces when it does.”
“Little is a good man, he won’t treat Jopson badly.”
Fitzjames broke out in a humourless laugh. “You don’t get it. You actually don’t get it.” He sounded genuinely flabbergasted which annoyed Francis more and more.
“Enlighten me then if you’re so clever.”
Fitzjames shook his head. “You need to consider other people’s feelings before you meddle in their lives. That’s all I’m going to tell you.”
For a moment, Francis wanted to tell Fitzjames exactly where he could shove it. Which one of them had known Jopson for nearly ten years again? He took a measured breath.
“I am considering Jopson’s feelings”, he replied, forcing his voice to stay calm. “I’ve dragged him around the globe for a decade. Our housing situation is complicated enough but I’m trying not to stand in the way of his happiness any longer.”
Fitzjames gave him a long, flat stare that made Francis wonder if he had misjudged the situation. Was there something about Little that Fitzjames knew but he didn’t? Some kind of warning sign he had overlooked?
“Let’s go look at the grant proposal”, Fitzjames said eventually, turning back to the paperwork.
/
Despite Fitzjames’ warnings, the relationship between Jopson and Little seemed to progress. Work had been a little awkward at the start, but they had gotten over it quickly, and Francis couldn’t see any signs that Jopson was unhappy.
Thankfully Jopson also never brought Little back to their flat despite Little having flatmates too, but said flatmates weren’t their boss.
Francis had actually started looking at mortgages and houses again like he had when the plan had been to move up here with Sophia. However, he didn’t have much in the way of savings and to buy a house on a single income when he wasn’t sure how long he wanted to stay, seemed madness.
It wasn’t that Jopson wanted him out, but Francis also knew that Jopson would let him stay even if all of the flats were suddenly available. Living with him was the kind of quiet domesticity that Francis had imagined he would have with Sophia one day.
After Halloween, Jopson’s late night arts and crafts had turned towards Christmas decorations, which they had hung up around the flat together last weekend. Christmas songs had played on the radio, Jopson singing along under his breath, and they had ordered takeout and watched The Thing on telly in remembrance of Antarctica.
They had also discussed what they would do for Christmas, with both of them being in the country for it and available for the first time in nearly a decade. Jopson wanted to go down to London to see his family, his brother and his father as Francis had learned, while he would fly over to Ireland to visit his sisters and then join James’ and his family for New Years.
It had been a good weekend, Francis thought, though maybe he should’ve asked Jopson to invite Little. He wanted to be supportive of their relationship even though he had double checked Little’s references and CV after Fitzjames’ comments.
Outside his office, people were mostly standing around chatting. It was a miracle that anyone got any work done in December.
There wasn’t just one big Christmas party like there had been for the summer barbeque or Halloween. No, instead there was one on every level of organisation from lab to department to institute levels. On top of that there were Christmas dinners and lunches and secret santas.
At least Franklin wasn’t coming up to host a Christmas dinner, that was saved for the start of the new year.
Francis remembered his threat to Jopson that he’d bring him next time, and swore to make good on it. There were things in this life that a man shouldn’t have to suffer alone.
/
His sisters commented on his improved looks and kindly didn’t mention that he abstained from drinks. Christmas dinner was a friendly if a little stiff affair, and Francis couldn’t help but feel relieved when he boarded the plane to London.
He had missed James so much that at times it had physically hurt and the days spent in Abbotts Abbey’ passed too quickly. Watching James and Ann and their kids, Francis used to wish to be part of it. Now he found himself thinking back to the flat he shared with Jopson. Living together created its own kind of intimacy independent of romantic or platonic feelings and Francis missed it.
In an ideal world, he and Jopson would live down here as well, together with Blanky and Esther and their kids. He couldn’t imagine wanting for anything in such a world.
In this world however, he had to say goodbye to James again, take a plane and then a train up north, and managed to arrive just when Fitzjames was in their flat to water the plants.
“What are you doing here?” He asked despite Fitzjames holding a watering can and standing next to a plant.
A PhD did not actually make anyone smarter, academic degrees were just formalised bragging rights.
“What does it look like?” Fitzjames replied. “You’re back early.”
“So are you.” Francis vaguely remembered hearing something about France, but evidently, he had heard wrong.
“I didn’t leave. It was our term to host the extended brood of our families”, Fitzjames explained and put the can down. “I didn’t think you’d return before Thomas.”
“I’ve wanted to have the flat ready when he returns”, Francis said. “I think this is the first time he’s actually taken two whole weeks off since I’ve known him.”
“Your doing as well I presume?” Fitzjames replied in a tone that seemed to blame Francis for everything wrong with the situation.
Unfortunately, he was right.
“Yes”, Francis said, “I told him I would fire him if he came back early.”
Fitzjames rolled his eyes. “Your empty threat didn’t work. He still sent me the revised grant proposal between Christmas and new year.”
“Guess I’ll have to ask IT to kick him out of the system next time”, Francis replied, already wondering if that was possible. Maybe. Probably, if he asked nicely.
“I guess you will”, Fitzjames said. “By the way, Franklin’s invitation came. I don’t think you can avoid this one.”
“I’m not going to avoid it”, Francis said, noticing the white and blue, very posh looking envelope on the sideboard now that Fitzjames had mentioned it. “I’m just taking some steps to make it more bearable.”
“Good luck with that”, Fitzjames replied and left.
/
There was a strange atmosphere in the lab and Francis couldn’t pinpoint why but he had a suspicion it had to do with Franklin’s dinner. Maybe that was what Fitzjames had tried to warn him of. It must have seemed strange to everyone but especially Little that Francis had taken Jopson to Franklin’s dinner instead of him.
Or perhaps, given the comments Franklin had made about Jopson’s lack of a formal university education, everyone was busy plotting his murder.
Francis had certainly been tempted to, and even Fitzjames had seemed disturbed at his boss’ classicistic comments regarding education. It had been delivered int eh kind of well-meaning, paternalistic and incredibly condescending way that people from the upper classes had sometimes.
Jopson, to his credit, had not risen to the remarks at all and had born them with the kind of gracious air that’d be better suited to a martyr than a researcher.
Part of him wished Jopson had talked back to Franklin, because Jopson had thirteen years of hands-on research experience.
Since murder was not an acceptable solution, Francis had spent the last three hours scrolling through a lot of university regulations to make sure that the solution he had thought of was actually feasible.
“Here”, Francis said as he dropped a stack of papers on Jopson’s desk. “I need you to write an introduction for these.”
“They’re the Antarctica papers”, Jopson said, shuffling through them. He should recognise them since he had in fact written them and was first author since Francis hadn’t had a PhD student at the time.
“Yes, I was thinking maybe we can turn them into a book, comparing southern and northern magnetism, so the introduction will need to be longer. What do you think?”
“It’s a new avenue to make our research more widely known”, Jopson said, as if Francis hadn’t ranted multiple times how useless he found books in research. Usually, the research was outdated before the book was even published.
“I’m sorry to put this on you with everything else going on…” he trailed off, half-oping Jopson would take the opportunity to rant but he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.
“It’s fine”, Jopson replied, “it’ll be helpful to review the experiments we already covered in Antarctica for when we can take the Terror out again in spring.”
“Thank you”, Francis said and tried not to feel too guilty about the bit of subterfuge he was employing. It was for a good cause after all.
/
Francis wasn’t sure what had woken him up but when he got up, he saw that the light was on in the kitchen. Jopson was leaning against the counters when he walked in, a mug of tea in front of him. He knew that ten months ago that would’ve been a glass of whiskey but Jopson had quietly gotten rid of all the alcohol in his flat before Francis had moved in.
“You’re home early”, Francis said. It was actually two in the morning but since Jopson would’ve usually spent the entire night at Little’s place…” Did something happen?”
As always Jopson felt clearly conflicted whether or not to burden Francis with his personal problems, as if Francis hadn’t burdened him enough with his own over the years, but in the end he said, “We broke up.”
For a moment Francis felt something akin to blazing fury in his chest directed at Little but it wasn’t useful so he set the emotion aside. “I’m sorry.”
Jopson shrugged while attempting half a smile. “It was inevitable. We both wanted very different things from this relationship.”
Francis, recalling his conversation with Fitzjames, wondered if this was what Fitzjames had warned him about. If Little had treated Jopson badly, Francis would make sure he was fired. He stood next to Jopson and rested a hand on his shoulder. “If there’s anything you need, ice cream, a chick flick, Edward’s head on a spike, let me know.”
The smile Jopson tried to give him was ruined by the tears clinging to his lashes. “It was really not his fault. I wasn’t quite honest with him.”
“Somehow I have trouble believing that. You’re the most genuine person I know.”
Jopson shook his head. “He wanted a relationship. I wanted to get over my feelings for someone else.”
“And this other person, they’re not…available?” Was the word he settled on. He was curious who they might be. Jopson seemed to get on well with everyone in their department, though a nagging suspicion told him that was probably James. The announcement of his engagement had come just before Jopson’s decision to join his new research group up north instead of staying in London.
“They’re not”, Jopson replied, and there was so much despair in his eyes that Francis felt the urge to grab this other person and shake some sense into them. Jopson was kind, brave and devoted. Only an idiot would refuse him, even if that idiot was his best friend. And sure, Ann was a lovely person but she didn’t measure up to Jopson.
“They’re both idiots”, Francis said decisively. “Edward and this person you’re pining for. You deserve someone wholly devoted to you, Thomas. You are worth everything.” It wasn’t until he said the words that he realised how much he meant them and that he had never taken his hand off of Jopson’s shoulder.
Their eyes met and Francis would forever be unable to tell who had made the first move. It could have been a brotherly kiss, a token of friendship, platonic and affectionate. It was none of those things. Francis felt as if he had dived headfirst into a maelstrom, unable to withstand the greedy pull of Jopson’s lips, and unwilling too. Odysseus must have felt like this when he had heard the Sirens sing.
In his fervour, Francis bumped against the table, breaking the kiss as he hissed in pain.
“Are you okay?” Jopson asked, sounding like so many other times when he had asked “Are you okay, sir?” That it sent Francis’ stomach plummeting.
What had he done?
Jopson’s face was flushed, his eyes still red rimmed and bright as if was going to cry again and Francis had just kissed him. One little show of vulnerability, and he had immediately taken advantage of it.
Francis took a step back as he realised the severity of what he had just done. He couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol.
“I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I’m so sorry…please just…I need to go.” It didn’t matter that he was in his pyjamas and a dressing gown. He had to leave, now, before he did even more irreparable damage to their relationship.
/
“You look terrible”, Blanky said bluntly when Francis came into the lab. “Did you sleep in your -office?”
“I’m fine”, Francis growled. Everyone else would have taken this as their cue to leave but Blanky had known him for so long that he knew that Francis bark was usually worse than his bite.
“So your state has nothing to do with your prettier half calling in sick this morning?”
“Jopson is not my – “
“I knew it”, Blanky interrupted him with the cheerfulness of a man whose theory had just been proven right. “What did you do?”
“What makes you think- “
“Because Thomas isn’t a coward. If he had done something then he would be in the lab right now.”
He should’ve known that defeat was inevitable from the moment Blanky cornered him. With a quick glance at the door to make sure he had closed it, he said, “I…I kissed him.”
“I had wondered when that would happen.”
“What?”
“It seemed inevitable.”
“Why?”
Blanky laughed. “Because he’s been in love with you for years, god knows why.”
Francis shook his head. “Even if that was true, which I don’t believe, I took advantage of him in a vulnerable moment.”
“Not you didn’t.”
“I think I know that better than you.”
His heart clenched at the memory of Jopson’s face. He should’ve comforted him, not leaned over and kissed him when he hadn’t been in the right state of mind to say no.
“Unless you treated him like a meaningless one-night stand, which I doubt, Jopson would’ve welcomed every bit of affection from you.”
“Not like this.”
“The guy followed you to every godforsaken place on earth for your work, he put up with your worst alcohol excesses and was there by your side all through your withdrawal. I doubt that one kiss could scare him away.”
Francis had to admit that this made sense, but he still couldn’t really believe it. Not until he had heard it from Jopson himself.
/
“I think we need to talk.” He said when he returned to the flat. He had rung the bell instead of using his key, and Jopson had looked uncommonly pale when he had answered the door.
“It’s fine, sir. Nothing happened, we can go on like we did before.”
It hurt to hear Jopson call him sir again after all this time. It felt like a door slamming in his face. “I don’t think we can.”
He should’ve worded that differently because Jopson just…faltered. “I’ll look for a new position immediately.”
“That’s not what I meant”, Francis almost barked and winced inwardly. He was making a complete hash out of it. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want you to know. It would’ve ruined everything, like it did last night.”
“It didn’t ruin anything”, Francis said fiercely. “I meant what I said yesterday, only an idiot would refuse to be with you.”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“It is not pity”, Francis stated, needing Jopson to believe him. “I didn’t think it was me. I thought you were in love with James.”
“I know I gave him a key to the flat but that’s not – “
“I mean Ross”, Francis interrupted him.
Jopson’s eyebrows shot up. “You thought I was in love with James Ross?”
“I noticed you were different since we moved here and that coincided with James’ engagement to Ann.”
“That was just a coincidence”, Jopson reassured him. “It’s always been you.”
To hear it like that, openly said without a chance of misunderstandings, felt freeing.
“I cannot claim the same”, Francis replied, taking a step towards Jopson, “but I would like it, if you could give me a chance.”
“Of course.”
“May I?” Francis asked, holding his hand out. When Jopson took it, he pulled him close. “May I kiss you?”
“Whenever you’d like”, Jopson replied with the most charming little blush on his face.
So Francis did.
/
Nothing really changed, except that that wasn’t true. There was a new level of consciousness, at least for him, about how they behaved at work. Blanky knew of course but it would’ve felt unprofessional to disclose their relationship to anyone else.
“Jopson, a moment please?” Francis asked from his office door.
“Is something wrong, sir?” Jopson appeared almost immediately.
“Have a seat, please.”
Jopson did, looking actually nervous. Francis could’ve laughed. He doubted that there was anything Jopson could do that would lead to Francis firing him, even if he had murdered someone. Mostly because if someone had gotten under Jopson’s skin to the point that murder was the only viable option, they probably deserved it.
“Do you know how many first author publications you need for a cumulative thesis?” Francis asked.
“At least three, and a literature review.”
Francis pushed the papers forward. “Congratulations.”
“What?” Jopson stared at him.
“The work isn’t done yet of course, since I left you in the dark it needs a bit of polishing and you’ll need to defend of course, but if you want, the PhD is yours.”
“But I don’t have a degree.”
“That’s not actually required. You’ve proven your merit, don’t ever doubt that.”
“You’re not just doing this because”, Jopson gestured between the two of them.
“No, I’m not, but I am doing this partly to make Franklin eat his own words.” Just because it had been months since the new year’s dinner, didn’t mean that Francis had forgotten.
“If I…if I do this”, Jopson heisted, “I’ll be over overqualified for my job.”
“I can pay a post-doc position from the grant we’re currently on”, Francis said, having already checked that. “We’d have to advertise the position but I’m willing to play favourites should it come to that.” He winked at Jopson.
“Thank you”, Jopson said like he meant it. “I’ll think about it.”
“Take as much time as you need.”
/
Francis stared at the letter in disbelief. He had moved here ten months ago and only now had the university sourced an apartment for him. What would they have done if he hadn’t been able to move in with Jopson? Let him sleep under a bridge probably.
He wasn’t sure what to do about it. On the one hand, it would only be fair if he moved out. Relationship or not, Jopson deserved his privacy and independence. On the other hand, he didn’t want to move out. Living with Jopson was everything he had ever hoped for and more.
When he showed the letter to Jopson, he asked, “What are you going to do?”
“What do you want me to do?” Francis asked back.
“I don’t want you to move out”, Jopson said, fingers tight around his tea mug. “I don’t see the point. It worked out so far.”
“Good, because I don’t want to move out either”, Francis replied.
Jopson pulled him in by his shirt and kissed him until they heard a door slam open and Francis couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Why do they always have to do this in the hallway?”
“It’s probably some kinky sex thing”, Jopson replied with a shrug, making Francis nearly choke on his tea.
“Fuck, Billy, if I wanted to screw Sol, don’t you think I would’ve already done that?”
“If you don’t then what was that earlier on?”
“What? Can’t a friend hug another friend?”
The silence lasted quite a while, suggesting some kind of staring was going on since there weren’t any footsteps to be heard.
“I’m still waiting for answer that will convince me not to move in with my brother, Cornelius.”
“Your brother lives in Australia.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s overly dramatic, even for you Billy.”
The idea that Cornelius Hickey was accusing someone else of being overly dramatic was nothing short of being plainly hilarious.
“Fine”, Hickey huffed. “Give me your hand and close your eyes.”
“No.”
“Come on, Billy”, Hickey apparently got his way because he followed with a, “Close your eyes.”
There was a moment of silence, followed by sharp intake of breath from Gibson. “Is this a joke?”
“No”, Hickey sounded actually indignant. “But you ruined my plans.”
“You really mean this?”
“Of course I do.” There was a strangely vulnerable undertone in Hickey’s voice.
“Then yes”, Gibson’s voice sounded no less fragile than Hickey’s. “Yes.”
Jopson and Francis exchanged a look.
“If Hickey did what I think he did, we’re moving”, Francis said decisively.
Jopson nodded, “Please.”
Hickey’s and Gibson’s constant break-up’s and make-up’s were bad enough but he had a feeling they’d be infinitely worse when they were married.
/
A little more than a year ago, Francis had returned James’ and Ann’s wedding invitation, saying that he would bring someone. At the time, he thought it would be Sophia who would stand by his side as he watched his best friend get married. Instead, it was Jopson.
He wouldn’t change it for the world.
It was a beautiful ceremony, James’ crying with happiness as he recited his vows, while Ann joked that she couldn’t cry because it’d ruin her make up.
The reception involved a cake as tall as the bride, and enough colourful drinks to hide the fact that none of them contained any alcohol. Even Ann’s father, who had grumbled for years that they had had kids before getting married, mellowed out under said kids’ barrage of questions about his own wedding to Ann’s mother.
“Frank, Thomas, I hope you’re enjoying yourselves”, James said when he and Ann were finally free to mingle with their guests.
“It’s been a beautiful wedding”, Jopson replied.
“I’m glad Frank’s finally showing you some nice places instead of dragging you to the literal ends of the world”, James said, lightly elbowing Francis in the side.
“It’s northern Scotland, not the Arctic”, Francis said, but smiling along James’ ribbing.
“Shall we leave our old men to gossip while we dance?” Ann asked, offering her arm to Jopson.
“As you wish, milady”, he replied, linking elbows with her.
“Who are you calling old?” James protested, which Ann responded to with a blown kiss and laughter.
As they watched Ann and Jopson dance, James nudged his side. “So, you and Jopson then? Did he finally manage to seduce you?”
“Something like that”, Francis replied. It was a story for another day, if only so James would have enough time to laugh at his extraordinary stupidity.