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The moment the aeroplane touches down on Fair Isle it hits Jimmy how badly he’s screwed up. His dad is waiting for them next to the tiny shed of a terminal, the wind howling around the corners of the building in what feels like the beginnings of a gale. Dad is all smiles as he greets them, shouting over the wind about how glad he is Duncan could come for Christmas this year, before hugging them both and bundling them and their bags into the station wagon.
In the car, the wind is muffled to a dull roar, but it’s far from quiet in Jimmy’s head. It’s going on three months since he and Duncan have been more to each other than co-parents, more than housemates, more than friends. Yet, he still hasn’t managed to bring it up during his semi-weekly calls to his parents. He’s told them about the bistro and about Duncan staying with him while he gets back on his feet after the divorce, but he’s neglected to mention that the bed Duncan’s been sleeping in these days is Jimmy’s own.
Now here they are as Dad drives them across Fair Isle, cheerful and none-the-wiser, Jimmy sitting in the passenger seat unable to get himself to broach the subject while his dad’s reminiscence skirts around the truth.
“It’s just like that time you came for Christmas when you were teenagers,” Dad says, smiling at Duncan in the rearview mirror. “Mary’s always so chuffed to have another person in the house. Makes it feel more festive.”
Duncan goes on chatting to Jimmy’s dad from the back seat as easily as he ever chats with anyone and, not for the first time, Jimmy envies him that ease. But then, Duncan is essentially here under false pretences. He assumed Jimmy’s parents already knew they were together and that was why they invited him for Christmas, and Jimmy went right on letting him think it.
“Jimmy?” Dad glances at him expectantly.
Jimmy blinks at the view through the windscreen; the hill sloping away in front of them down to the sea, white caps just visible at this distance, and the low, grey clouds blowing in from the west. They’re more than halfway to the house, he’s missed some part of the conversation.
“Aye, it’s good to be here,” Jimmy says, as his dad brings the car to a stop at a crossroad.
Dad gives him a pointed look before making a left turn. He doesn’t know what Jimmy isn’t telling him, but he knows Jimmy isn’t telling him something. And of course he does, he’s a perceptive man. Why had Jimmy thought this would be easier to do in person? He should have said something last week. He should have said something two months ago, after the night when it became abundantly clear that he and Duncan were both in it for the long haul.
Maybe working out how to tell his parents would be easier if he’d had to tell Cassie. But she’d come home early from Allan’s one night, during a visit up from Glasgow, to find the two of them on the sofa watching a movie; Duncan’s head in Jimmy’s lap, Jimmy’s fingers in Duncan’s hair.
She hadn’t seemed terribly surprised. Possibly she’d orchestrated the entire thing, his brilliant girl; saving them all the awkwardness of Jimmy sitting her down to have a talk. Cassie had agreed not to say anything to her grandparents until Jimmy could tell them himself. He’d meant to tell them the next time they talked. And then the next time. And the next. But time slipped away from him until bringing it up at all meant explaining why he hadn’t said anything sooner, and he didn’t have a good reason for that. He still doesn’t.
Why is the thought of admitting to his parents he’s in love with a man so much more intimidating than hunting down murderers?
“Cass made it in okay?” Duncan asks, filling in the gaps left by Jimmy’s silence.
“Aye,” Dad says. “Yesterday morning’s ferry. She’ll be up at Angus’ by now I’m sure. Those two are still thick as thieves, just like you two alway have been.”
Only not exactly like the two of them, Angus being gay. That would be a good opening, but Jimmy hesitates and the conversation moves on without him.
When they arrive at the house, his mum is baking up a storm to match the one brewing outside. The kitchen is warm and filled with lovely, homely smells; cinnamon and cloves and apples, mixed with wafts of peat smoke from the burner in the sitting room when his dad goes through to stoke the fire. She wipes her hands on her apron and enfolds Jimmy and Duncan in flour-covered hugs.
“You boys must be knackered,” Mum says, taking a step back to look them over. “Go put your things in Jimmy’s old room and get settled, I made space in the wardrobe. I’ll get this lot in the oven and put the kettle on for when you’re done.”
“Thanks, Mum.” Jimmy smiles in spite of himself. He feels at once worse that he’s going to spring this news on her without preamble and better for the warm welcome.
Jimmy’s childhood bedroom is now his mum’s project room. Bits of posters he’d hung up as a teenager are visible behind the intricate jumper patterns tacked to the walls, baskets of yarn line the shelves that once held his books, and the double bed that was in the guest room last time he visited is pushed into the far corner.
“Right. No more bunk beds.” Jimmy sighs, dropping his suitcase and the bag of presents on the floor. Somehow he’d forgotten about the bed.
“Looks like an improvement from here.” Duncan puts his suitcase down next to the wardrobe. “I remember lying on the top bunk, thinking about you below me, wondering if you were thinking about me.” He smirks at Jimmy as if he expects him to say he used to think about Duncan too—and he did, Duncan knows he did—but all Jimmy can manage is another sigh as he scrubs his hand over his face. “Jimmy?”
“They don’t know,” Jimmy says. “Mum and Dad. About us.”
Duncan laughs. “Of course they do.”
Jimmy shakes his head. “I let you think that I… I haven’t told them.”
Duncan gives him a sceptical look. “Doesn’t mean they haven’t figured it out. You’re not subtle, you know.”
“I can be.”
Duncan laughs again. “They put us in your old room.”
“That doesn’t mean anything, we used to share when we were teenagers.”
“When we were both lying there trying to resist the urge to wank,” Duncan says with a smirk.
Jimmy sighs again. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
“You’re taking it a wee bit too seriously if you ask me. They like me just fine or they wouldn’t have invited me.”
“That’s not it.” Jimmy sits down on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath to steady himself. It only half works. “They don’t know about—” How can this be so hard when he’s happier with Duncan than he has been in years? He takes another deep breath. “I never told them I’m… That I like men too. Never thought it would come up after I married Fran.”
Duncan’s smirk is gone when he sits down next to Jimmy. “You’re really worried about this?” His tone is tender, concerned.
“Of course, I am.” Jimmy leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. A particularly strong gust of wind howls around the corner of the house, rattling the window panes.
Duncan slides his hand across Jimmy’s shoulders; warm, a grounding weight. Duncan is always so warm. “I don’t think you need to be, Jimmy boy.”
“Easy for you to say, you’re just the boyfriend.”
“I am hardly just the boyfriend in any circumstance.”
“Aye, yeah.” Jimmy can’t help but chuckle. He leans toward Duncan and Duncan wraps his arm around him. “But that still leaves me in this mess I’ve made for myself. How am I going to do this?”
“Just tell them. I have a feeling they won’t be any more surprised than Cass was.”
Jimmy looks up at Duncan. “You think she let on?”
Duncan shakes his head. “I think your detective skills came from somewhere.”
“I’m an idiot,” Jimmy says.
“On occasion,” Duncan says with mock-solemnity. “But at least you’re in good company.” He squeezes Jimmy’s shoulder, then stands, holding his hand out. “Come on, the kettle’s long since boiled by now.”
Jimmy takes Duncan’s hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet.
“How did you tell your Mum?” Jimmy asks, still searching for some clue about how to do this the right way. If there even is a right way.
“Didn’t,” Duncan replies, eyes twinkling. “She walked in on me and Peter Howarth when I was sixteen.”
Jimmy huffs out a laugh. “Peter Howarth?”
“He had very beautiful hands.”
“Did he, now?”
“Among other things.” Duncan holds Jimmy’s gaze, his bright eyes shining with love. “But he’s got nothing on you.” He cups his hand over the nape of Jimmy’s neck, thumb tracing along his jaw, and tugs him forward into a kiss.
As their lips meet, Duncan lets out a soft sigh, his other hand sliding around Jimmy’s waist, pulling him closer, and all at once Jimmy’s worries seem ridiculous. The idea that his parents wouldn’t accept him and the man he loves when they accepted Angus without question, when they forgave Duncan for how his philandering hurt Cassie and invited him to Christmas regardless. Sometimes, maybe, the job skews his thinking toward worst-case scenarios when the reality is nothing of the sort. Duncan’s hand strays to his arse and squeezes, Jimmy groans, lets the kiss deepen for a moment, then starts to pull away.
“As nice as this is,” Jimmy says, resting his forehead against Duncan’s. “Maybe not here.”
Duncan slides his hand up under the edge of Jimmy’s jumper. “You telling me you never had sex with Fran in your parents’ house?”
“No.” Jimmy plants a chaste kiss on Duncan’s lips and takes a step back. “But some people are a wee bit louder in bed than others.”
Duncan grins. “So, what you’re saying is, if I’m quiet I won’t have to wait a week to get my hands on you?”
“Not exactly.”
Duncan’s grin widens. “But you’re not, not saying that.”
Jimmy can’t help but smile back. “First things first, though.”
“Tea?”
“Aye,” Jimmy nods. He takes a steadying breath, it works this time. “Time to pay the piper.”
“You know it’ll be all right, don’t you?” Duncan says. “They love you no matter what.”
“I know.” Jimmy still can’t quite articulate why telling his parents this truth is so difficult, but it does feel a wee bit less daunting with Duncan here by his side. “But I hate to disappoint.”
“Hey, that’s my job,” Duncan says with a soft smile. He reaches for Jimmy’s hand and twines their fingers together. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Jimmy says.
Duncan gives Jimmy a quick kiss, then leads him out the door, down the stairs, and into the sitting room where his Mum and Dad are waiting on the sofa. When they walk through the doorway hand in hand, Jimmy’s mum looks up from the freshly baked biscuits she’s arranging on a plate on the coffee table and smiles.
“Told you,” she says, nudging his dad.
Dad puts down his newspaper, looks from their still joined hands to their faces, and smiles as well.
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