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Jimmy had hated Thomas at first. Well, not at the very beginning, but undoubtedly later on, when he couldn’t go two steps without checking over his shoulder to see if he would find Thomas there. He could see what was happening, even before O’Brien stuck her prawny fingers in and made it into an even bigger mess.
He had hated to feel he was being chased, hated having to read into every interaction and second-guess himself, lest he do something unintendedly misleading. He’d hated feeling suffocated, having to wake up every morning and dread crossing paths with him, but above all else, he’d hated seeing a perfectly capable man reduced to such humiliating infatuation. Thomas, it seemed, had followed him around like a lap dog, and basked in any half-decent acknowledgement Jimmy gave him.
It was unbearable, really. Jimmy had been half way into comforting the poor chap when the news of Lady Sybil broke. But Thomas had to spoil it by yanking his hand so forcefully and making it into a thing. The more his desperation showed, the more it made Jimmy want to crawl out of his skin with embarrassment.
Jimmy was used to feeling a healthy dose of well brewed jealousy every time he saw people so obviously struck by love, when he himself had never experienced anything of the sort. But he hadn’t even managed that, so put out he was from the pathetic nature of it all.
During those days, he’d made it his mission to offend Mr Barrow, at least once every day. It was childish, unwarranted and, frankly, a foolish thing to do. He’d regret it instantly every time, but he didn’t dare stop. He’d been desperate to prove a point.
It hadn’t been as easy as he’d thought it’d be, Thomas wasn’t a simpleton, he didn’t rise to the bait once, Jimmy had to hand it to him. And it’d cost him the respect of the other servants. For someone as complicated as Thomas had been, he had some silent allies in the house.
On one particular occasion, Jimmy had walked into the servants’ hall and found Mr Barrow smoking and chatting away with Anna and Mrs Patmore.
‘‘What are you ladies talking about?’’ Jimmy had greeted, looking Mr Barrow in the eye, a nasty smirk tugging his lips upwards.
Thomas had held his stare with an impassive face, and didn’t grace him with an answer. It was Mrs Patmore who spoke.
‘‘We were just discussing a book with Mr Barrow, here.’’ Jimmy hadn’t known Mrs Patmore very well, but he could sense the challenge in her voice.
‘‘Do you like Greek mythology, Jimmy?’’ Anna had asked. And because it sounded like an innocent enough question, Jimmy had been foolish enough to answer.
‘‘Some.’’ He’d grumbled.
‘‘Ever read about Narcissus?’’
Mrs Patmore had coughed to hide a laugh.
After that, Jimmy never picked on Mr Barrow when Anna was around.
It didn’t matter, anyway. Every time he tried to have a dig at him, someone jumped in to save his honour. It was a little insulting, how the only times anyone was willing to defend Mr Barrow was when it came to Jimmy.
‘‘The florist is coming this afternoon.’’ Mr Carson had announced one day during their lunch. ‘‘Since I won’t be in the abbey at that time, I’ll need someone to receive him.’’
‘‘Mr Barrow shall be eager to do it. He’s very fond of the florist, ain’t you, Mr Barrow?’’ Jimmy had said, coating his tone with faux innocence, and thinking he was safe since Anna was on bed rest for a cold.
‘‘Why don’t you do it, Jimmy?’’ It was Mr Bates, of all people, who’d intervened, no doubt sent on a sabotage campaign by his wife. ‘‘I heard he’s bringing a whole bouquet of your favourite flowers. Was it Narcis-’’
‘‘Narcissus, yes. Very funny.’’ Jimmy had interrupted on a sneer, and promptly stuffed his face with bread to muffle his curses.
He saw Thomas holding back a smirk, the smug bastard.
The last joke he ever attempted was, perhaps, a bit too far, Jimmy allowed.
He’d been hanging about in the kitchen, tossing flour at Ivy’s back while she chatted with Daisy, oblivious. The girls had been cooking something or other, not paying him any mind. But then Mr Barrow had walked in, and Jimmy’d perked up.
‘‘There’s a magic show next Saturday in Thirsk.’’ Daisy was saying, enthusiastically.
‘‘Ooh, I love magic.’’ Ivy chimed, while she stirred a sauce.
‘‘I went to a magic show once.’’ Jimmy joined, unprompted. ‘‘It was quite funny, the fellow waved his wand over a closet and said ‘poof!’ and then Mr Barrow appeared.’’ He finished with a sly smile.
The girls turned to look at him, Daisy with uncharacteristic seriousness and Ivy with her chronic confusion.
‘‘Did he really?’’ She asked, innocent as ever.
Jimmy looked sideways and found Thomas glaring at him with such heat Jimmy felt his heart skip a beat. He knew at once he was in terrible trouble.
He barely heard Daisy telling Ivy to keep at the sauce because Thomas walked closer and ordered him in a low voice.
‘‘Come with me, right now.’’
He made towards the boot room without looking back, sure that Jimmy would follow. And Jimmy did.
As soon as he walked in, Mr Barrow closed the door and rounded on him with a quiet rage that made Jimmy’s hairs stand on end.
‘‘That’s quite enough. I understand that you hate me and want nothing to do with me, but if you want to call the police on me do it now.’’ He snarled. His voice was so steady and low that it made Jimmy regret every word he’d uttered since he learned how to talk. ‘‘I don’t deserve to have you dragging this out, and I don’t deserve to be exposed to the whole house while you play whatever game you think you are playing. If you want me gone, I’ll take you to Mr Carson’s office meself and you can place the call.’’
He waited for Jimmy to say something but Jimmy was busy trying his damndest to stop his heart from beating out of his chest.
‘‘Is that what you want? Don’t be a coward now, Jimmy. Is that what you want?’’ He stepped closer and Jimmy dropped any pretense of calming down, he could hardly breathe.
A few seconds ticked by in silence. Thomas took a deep breath and that was the first indication that he was anything other than perfectly composed.
‘‘Then drop it. I’m begging you. Leave me be.’’
Jimmy did.
Things were different after a while. There hadn’t been a breaking point, necessarily, only the slow waves of mutual understanding rocking their friendship boat slowly onto safer shore. The whole Thirsk affair certainly helped things along. Funnily enough, it was Jimmy who felt had to earn his forgiveness, in the end. He did it slowly, with a self-deprecating joke here and there, a few presents he made a point to buy every time he went to the village, and the occasional sweet treat he snuck from the kitchen, which he knew Mr Barrow was a special fan of. Because that was all safer than putting words to the complicated thoughts that muddled his brain.
Time did its thing and, much to the surprise of the rest of the household, they were familiar with each other, now.
No, that was not a fair assessment.
Thomas seemed happier than ever, he hid his emotions well and was a good friend to Jimmy. And Jimmy was developing some sort of obsession.
It’s just. Thomas, once he got past any wrongful illusions, was a really, really fascinating fellow. He had these airs about him, he had opinions, preferences, secrets. It was always something new with him, that even Jimmy, now his closest friend, was only just starting to figure it out. No one else in the house was as mysterious. Jimmy, at last, was happy with his choice of friend.
Jimmy could learn from him, and he did, not just as his superior in rank. But also, Thomas asked him questions, took a genuine interest in Jimmy. Not an overly inappropriate one, but enough to make Jimmy glad. They could converse together, joke together. Oh, the jokes.
Jimmy had always been of a more lighthearted nature, but he was never the funniest of the bunch. With Thomas, though. His wit improved tenfold, Thomas’ dry humour and frequent nasty remarks seeping into his own, and they had built a shared sense of humour that would send their colleagues to an early grave. They could be lewd just as often as they could be subtle, egging each other on with just a look, while holding trays and serving champagne.
And Jimmy felt, for the first time in a while, he had something too precious to lose.
They went to the pictures when their off-days lined up and the weather allowed the long walk into town. They’d established somewhat of a ritual, playing critics over cigarettes on the way back.
When April rolled around they got tickets to see The Cheat. They shared their popcorn, strolled about for a while and walked back to the abbey with their jackets around their arms and their sleeves rolled up, basking in the sun.
‘‘What d’ya think, then?’’ Jimmy prompted, after the first drag of his cigarette and watching while Thomas lit his own, making it wiggle on his lips as he spoke.
‘‘Oof, my tooth aches.’’ Thomas complained absentmindedly, taking his hand to his left cheek.
‘‘Oh, you should get that checked out.’’ Jimmy said, concerned.
‘‘Mmh. I hate getting dental checks.” He admitted. ‘‘Yeah, t’was good enough.’’ He replied to Jimmy’s original question. ‘‘You?’’ He pocketed his lighter and looked at Jimmy.
‘‘I thought it was great, what was wrong with it? Did you think the 1915 version was better?’’ Jimmy asked, half-way to defensive.
‘‘I don’t really remember the other version, to be honest. I just thought this one was a bit dull.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘Although Pola Negri is a good deal prettier than poor Fannie Ward.’’
‘‘An’ how would you know?’’ Jimmy asked without missing a beat, turning to smirk at him.
Thomas abstained from answering but he did whack him on the back of the head. Jimmy moved his head forward like a chicken to try and dodge it and chuckled.
‘‘Anyway, Fannie Ward is not hard on the eyes either.’’ Jimmy argued.
‘‘I dunno, something in her gaze… she has some sort of je ne sais quoi, it disturbs me.’’ Thomas motioned with the hand holding his cigarette.
‘‘I would have guessed it was her name you didn’t like.’’ Jimmy stared ahead and bit his lips to hold his laugh. He could see Thomas turning his awe-struck face to look at him and only held it in for one second before meeting his eyes.
‘‘Oh, for the love of-’’ Thomas’ face pinched and he covered his eyes with the palms of his hands.
Jimmy burst out laughing.
‘‘Oh, please, Thomas, that was so funny.’’ Jimmy got out in between his cackles.
‘‘It was not. How vulgar you are, you should be ashamed.’’ Thomas squealed.
‘‘Oh! Bugger me,’’
‘‘Enough! James-’’
‘‘-did I offend you, Mr Barrow?’’
‘‘-I swear, I had more peace when I thought you would hand me to the police, you know? At least I could catch a break when you barely spoke to me, but now I have to suffer, this constant, incessant-’’
‘‘Oh, come off it, you like it when I tease you, now.’’ Jimmy said, still grinning madly at him.
‘‘You know no limits.’’ Thomas shook his head disapprovingly but his amusement was starting to show. Jimmy ‘s laugh trailed off and a happy silence settled as they walked.
‘‘You shouldn’t hold back, you know?’’ Jimmy told him. ‘‘I know you’ve got it in you, you should just give it to me.’’ He motioned to himself.
Thomas turned his head slowly with his eyebrows near his hairline and a devilish smile.
‘‘Oh, I should, should I?’’
‘‘No! I meant- Of course not, I only meant,’’ Jimmy went red like a tomato and Thomas was once again trying not to laugh. ‘‘Oh, God. I meant about the teasing. Obviously.’’
‘‘Obviously.’’ Thomas breathed out a laugh and left it at that.
When they reached the abbey, they walked up stairs and went to their separate doors. Before walking in to change, Jimmy pulled a little tin out of his pocket and gave it to Thomas.
‘‘Here, I got you some candy while you were gettin’ your shoes polished. Don’t think it’ll be any good for your bad tooth but. Just thought you’d like ‘em.’’ He finished with his sweetest smile.
Thomas, caught by surprise, thanked him with an expression he surely wouldn’t allow if he knew he was making it. Jimmy winked at him and crossed the door to his room, feeling warm.
The next day a group of them were in the kitchen, getting luncheon ready to take upstairs. Alfred was mumbling to himself while setting up a tray and Jimmy was watching Thomas sneak bonbons from the counter when nobody was looking. Well, nobody except Jimmy. But Jimmy was almost always looking.
‘‘If you like chocolate so much, Mr Barrow, you should visit the Cocoa Works in York, y’know.’’ Daisy said without slowing down her furious whisking. It seemed Thomas was not as discreet as he’d like to think.
He looked like he was going to retort something cunning on reflex, but he stopped short, contemplating.
‘‘I don’t appreciate your cheek, young lady, but I do believe you just gave me something interesting to do on my next half day.’’ He said with a little smile that he saved for Daisy only.
‘‘Yeah? When is it, then?’’ She asked, returning the smile and now pouring the foamy batter onto a baking sheet.
‘‘Next Thursday.’’ He said, shoving another bonbon to his mouth and helping her hold the giant bowl so she could scoop the batter out. It looked heavy and it was bigger than her face. It was nice of Thomas to help, even though he needn’t. Maybe Jimmy should’ve gotten his hands out of his pockets and done it, instead.
‘‘Wait, next Thursday?’’ Jimmy broke out of his daze. ‘‘I thought it was on Wednesday. My one is on Wednesday.’’ He said with a frown.
Thomas looked at him and put down the bowl while Daisy disappeared into the pantry.
‘‘Oh.’’ He said, unsure if he was expected to say anything else.
‘‘Well, bugger, now I’ve got to switch it.’’ He protested, twirling on his heels and looking for Alfred, who, for once in his life, had left the kitchen.
‘‘It’s fine. You don’t need to do that, Jimmy.’’ Thomas felt compelled to assure. He was looking at him strangely.
‘‘What are you on about? Of course I do.’’ Jimmy muttered half-heartedly while he walked out to look for the ginger oaf.
That evening, Jimmy took his polishing out of the boot room because the smell of the product was getting to him and he was starting to feel light-headed. He walked to the servants hall table and sat down, knowing Carson was out on an errand and wouldn’t chastise him for it. Thomas maybe would, if he found him. But he could deal with that with a smile and a wink, he knew from experience.
Daisy came in to set the table and greeted him when he saw him. They were the only ones there for now and Jimmy was glad.
‘‘How was the film, Jimmy?’’ She asked, counting plates.
‘‘T’was good. Mr Barrow didn’t enjoy it too much, he said. But I thought it was alright.’’
‘‘I thought I might ask Alfred if he wanted to go.’’ She said shyly.
‘‘Might be too complex for our poor Alfred, you’re better off with The Hunchback of Notre Dame, I gather.’’ He said without looking up from his silver.
‘‘Don’t be nasty, now.’’ She chided. Jimmy looked up.
‘‘Sorry, I forget you actually like the sod.’’
‘‘That’s the problem, see.’’ She said in a quiet voice, looking around. ‘‘I like him, but I can’t be sure if he actually likes me back.’’ She sounded quite anguished.
‘‘Oh, Daisy, that’s not hard.’’ He shook his head and tried to reassure her. ‘‘Everyone can tell he’s mad for you.’’ He continued to polish.
‘‘But how can you be sure? I never know, with boys.’’ She confessed in a whisper. Jimmy kept talking at a normal volume, because he was not twelve.
‘‘Because, Daisy, when a man likes someone it’s quite plain. We are not twisted like you women. He’ll want to spend all his time with you, he’ll get you presents, talk to you about anything. And Alfred here is as subtle as a blow to the head, it’s all over his tragic face.’’
‘‘Shouldn’t I wait for him to ask me, then?’’ She asked curiously.
‘‘There’s nothing wrong with asking yourself. But if you want to be sure, then I guess you could wait for him to ask. It’s his loss if he doesn’t, though.’’
‘‘Thanks, Jimmy. That’s very kind.’’
Jimmy looked up once more, caught off guard. He realised he was tricked into giving advice.
‘‘You should ask Mr Barrow, though. He’s wiser about these things.’’ He added, just to be safe.
Daisy looked at him for a beat, and Jimmy had an uncomfortable feeling about it. He shifted in his seat.
‘‘Okay.’’ She said, high pitched, and went back to the kitchen.
Jimmy had learned a lot about caring, since becoming friends with Thomas. He didn’t think about it often, since he didn’t care much for the sentimental stuff. But it was true, and it was a nice thought to ponder, when he was in those moods. Consideration was a newfound ability for Jimmy. Once all the sourness had died over, Jimmy noticed Thomas was very considerate with him. He always tapered his jobs around the things Jimmy hated the least, and he was generous with his cigarettes. He bought his packets in twos now, because he knew he would be sharing them. And he started snatching chocolate truffles from the kitchen, instead of scones, when he found out Jimmy was not a fan of sultanas. Alfred argued it was favouritism but Alfred didn’t know a damn thing.
In turn, Jimmy had started to talk about music with him during the day, so he could play his favourite tunes late in the night, after they had their supper and the piano became an excuse to hang around a little longer. Jimmy also bought him a new Dunhill lighter, when he had saved enough money for it, an engraved one with beautiful detailing on the silver case. He’d wanted to buy a cigarette case, to match, but he still hadn’t managed to save enough for it. Thomas blushed madly when he got it, but Jimmy suspected it was more for the gesture than for the selling price.
And, the most considerate thing of all, in Jimmy’s mind, were the touches. Jimmy had started to touch. At first, his idea had been to let Thomas touch him, like he so obviously wanted. A pat on the arm, a nudge with his elbow, maybe even a hand over his shoulders. But Thomas, traumatised as he was, had never tried to lay a finger on him again. And Jimmy was not about to talk about it, so, he started to touch. Their hands brushed every time they smoked, when Jimmy laughed he slapped his arm and let his hand linger, and when they ate together, Jimmy always pressed his legs against Thomas’. It had taken a while for Thomas to allow these friendly contacts, but in the end he got the idea. He was yet to reciprocate, though.
Thomas walked out to the yard and found Jimmy already there, bent over in half and tying his shoelaces, his bum to the door.
‘‘Careful, you might tempt the likes of me.’’ Thomas joked, deadpan.
Jimmy straightened at once at the sound of his voice and stared at him in a bit of a shock. Then he burst out laughing.
Thomas smirked, satisfied, as he pulled out a cigarette. Jimmy snatched one for himself and waited for Thomas to light it for him. He watched his hands come up and he leaned his face forward to meet the little flame.
They smoked in silence for a bit and when they spoke, they did so at the same time.
‘‘How’s your tooth?’’
‘‘I was talking to George, earlier.’’
‘‘Oh, sorry. What?’’ Jimmy let him go first, taking a drag.
‘‘My tooth’s fine, thanks. I said I was talking to George, earlier. He seems like a fun sort. About your age, too.’’ He motioned towards Jimmy.
‘‘Who the hell is George?’’ Jimmy frowned.
‘‘What do you mean ‘who the hell is George’?’’ Thomas asked, a little scandalised. ‘‘The hall boy who’s been working ‘ere for a month now.’’
‘‘Oh, I thought his name was Paul.’’
‘‘No, Paul is the old bat who delivers the milk twice a week.’’
‘‘Wasn’t his name Francis?’’
‘‘There is no Francis, where’s your head?’’ Jimmy just rolled his eyes. ‘‘Anyway, I thought you two might get along.’’
‘‘Why? Cause he’s my age?’’ Jimmy questioned.
‘‘Yes, and because he likes the flicks, too.’’ Thomas explained, patiently.
‘‘Oh, well, that sets him apart from anyone else.’’
‘‘You’re being a twat. I’m just trying to get you some friends.’’ Thomas said, resigned.
‘‘Whatever for? I’ve got you, don’t I?’’
‘‘Yes, of course. Just thought you might want to take up some new friendships.’’ He shrugged.
‘‘Is something the matter, Mr Barrow?’’ Jimmy asked, now a little preoccupied.
‘‘No.’’
‘‘What’s all this about, then? You’re being weird.’’
‘‘Nothing.’’ He sighed. ‘‘I just ran into him upstairs and I asked him if he had polished the knobs, like I’d told him to, he made a bad joke and it occurred to me you might get along with him. And I’m not being weird.’’
‘‘Well, the joke was quite obvious, wasn’t it? But you are being weird, I know you too much, you’re up to something.’’ Jimmy accused with a finger.
‘‘Oh, sod it.’’ Thomas sighed. ‘‘I didn’t want to spell it out, I was hoping you would take a hint on your own time. I think you are a little too attached to me, Jimmy.’’
Jimmy froze completely. He was sure the only part of his body still moving was his heart, beating so hard he could hear it in his own head.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Don’t take this the wrong way, you know I like that we’re friends. But, I think the others are starting to talk. About how you spend all your time with me.’’
Jimmy needed a minute to understand what Thomas was saying to him. And consequently decide how he felt about it.
‘‘So what? What are they saying? No, it doesn’t matter. What do they care, anyway? They’re all a bunch of ninnies, they can sod off.’’ Jimmy took another drag of his cigarette, furious.
‘‘Alright, calm down.’’ Thomas looked like he would find it amusing if perhaps Jimmy wasn’t currently huffing through his nose like a bull.
‘‘No. You brought it up. What’s the matter, then? Do you not want me around you anymore?’’
‘‘I said don’t take this the wrong way, didn’t I? Don’t know why I bother. Of course I want you around, but I thought you might not appreciate being associated with me like that.’’ He clarified, self-deprecatingly.
‘‘I don’t bloody care what the lot of them think. They hardly do a lot of thinking, anyway. I thought that was clear the moment we became mates. You know, even after-’’ He cut himself off abruptly.
Thomas looked at the state of him and pursed his lips.
‘‘Even after I kissed you while you were asleep.’’ He finished on his stead. He sounded so disappointed in himself, still. Jimmy looked at his profile and felt his heart rate slow.
‘‘If you call that a kiss.’’ He said under his breath, turning to look ahead. Thomas heard him anyway and let out a surprised laugh.
‘‘Don’t question my skill, Kent. The circumstances were not in my favour, that’s all.’’ Thomas copied Jimmy and looked forward while he finished his smoke.
‘‘Right, the circumstances.’’ Jimmy mocked, a smirk taking over his face against his will. It was hard to stay angry. He glanced to his side without turning his face and saw Thomas holding back a smile of his own.
They continued to smoke in silence. When they turned to go inside, Jimmy’s mind was still on the previous conversation. He grabbed Tomas’ arm and held him back while he spoke.
‘‘We are an odd pair, Thomas. Leave it at that, I don’t want another friend.’’
Thomas gave a grateful nod and that was that.
Thomas was leaving for America. Jimmy sat down to eat his lunch and nearly spat it right out when Mr Carson spoke and said Thomas was leaving for America.
Of course Mr Carson didn’t use those words, he spoke a load of rubbish about Lord and Lady Grantham crossing the pond on the pretense of some business or other, and spending a little under a month over there, Jimmy didn’t quite catch it. But the important bit was that they were taking Thomas and Jimmy caught that just fine.
Jimmy’s stomach churned and he put down his fork, the quiche suddenly losing all appeal. He tried to lock eyes with Thomas but he was busy mumbling something to Anna.
To be perfectly honest, Jimmy was a little overwhelmed by his own anxiety. He wasn’t aware he’d become so attached to the under-butler. But the prospect of not seeing him every day, not getting his company, was frankly making him quite barmy. There’s no one in the house, or in the whole county most likely, who could take Thomas’ place. And Jimmy didn’t want anyone to take his place. He wanted Thomas to stay.
Or, as long as he was asking for things, he wanted to go with him.
Jimmy started to picture what those weeks would be like, and he was already missing the thrill of waking up knowing he got to spend the day with his friend. The complicity they shared was unlike any connection Jimmy had ever had. Not that he’d connected much with people over the years, but. Jimmy felt it in his bones, it wasn’t very usual to feel this close to someone.
And then a horrid thought occurred to him. What if Thomas met someone over there? Would he want to stay? Jimmy couldn’t really see Thomas leaving Downton. But then again, not so long ago he didn’t see himself all chummy with Thomas, either. So. Things changed and no mistake.
‘‘Everything all right, Jimmy?’’ Thomas asked. Perhaps he noticed the grim expression Jimmy forgot to conceal. Jimmy looked up at him, still a little stricken.
‘‘What will I do in all that time?’’ He whined, preoccupied.
The people nearest them laughed good-naturedly, including Thomas, who was looking at him with amusement and a little tenderness. Jimmy blushed madly, he was even more confused, and now a little offended. He supposed it was a good thing they all took it as a joke, since he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
‘‘Your job, I expect.’’ Thomas retorted with a soft smirk.
Jimmy walked out of his room in his pajamas and fuzzy socks to knock on Thomas’ door with one hand. With the other, he held a small collection of photographs.
‘‘Jimmy?’’ Thomas asked curiously when he opened the door.
‘‘Good evening, Mr Barrow.’’ They hadn’t seen each other since supper, Thomas having to attend to something or other while Jimmy went up for the night.
‘‘Come in.’’ Thomas opened the door a tad wider and Jimmy slipped in. ‘‘What’ve you there?’’
‘‘Some photographs. I was tidying up and found them; a couple from my parents, one from my cousin that lives in Liverpool, and a few battered ones that I kept from the trenches.’’
‘‘S’nice. I don’t have nearly as many.’’ Thomas offered while he picked up his cigarettes. Jimmy watched him handle the lighter he bought for him and felt a flutter in his stomach.
‘‘Well, I only thought I’d come to ask if you had any pictures of yourself. That you could give me.’’ Jimmy smiled at him and took the cigarette Thomas handed him. But Thomas, who was looking at him strangely, didn’t put his hand down, so it lingered uselessly in the air for a beat.
‘‘Whatever for?’’ He finally lowered his arm and asked, in a high pitched voice.
‘‘To keep, obviously. I don’t have one of you and it don’t seem fair.’’
‘‘Well, I- I mean,’’ Thomas stuttered. Thomas never stuttered. ‘‘I never thought you’d need one.’’ He frowned. ‘‘I don’t have one of you, either.’’ He said before taking a drag.
‘‘That’s because I’ve never had my picture taken. But I plan to go this Saturday, so I’ll make sure to save one for you.’’
‘‘Yeah? And who else will get one? Ivy?’’
‘‘Ivy? Not bloody likely, no. I’d sooner give one to Mr Molesley.’’ Jimmy grimaced. ‘‘No one else is getting one, I’ll just keep ‘em for meself.’’
‘‘To give out to innocent lasses when your out and about?’’ Thomas said around a cloud of smoke.
‘‘Give over, of course not. Just to have, you know, for the future. For when my hair falls out and I’m so fat I can’t find my neck.’’ He shrugged.
‘‘Ah, so it's vanity motivated. Of course, I should have known.’’ Thomas mocked, as though he had him figured out.
‘‘Stall all you want, Mr Barrow. I’m not leavin’ without your picture.’’ Jimmy took a drag of his own.
‘‘I haven’t even said if I have a picture.’’
‘‘But you do. Of course you do. Because you tease,’’ Jimmy stepped closer and nudged Thomas’ chest with his pointer finger. ‘‘but you are vainer than I am.’’ He said in a low tone.
Thomas’ eyes went from the finger poking his chest to Jimmy’s eyes.
‘‘Alright, fine. I don’t accept that assessment but you can have my picture.’’ He went to his dresser and pulled out an old shoebox. Jimmy peered over his shoulder and he could make out miscellaneous trinkets and papers, possibly old letters. He could see what looked like a diary of sorts, and an elegant ink pen. Jimmy wondered what Thomas wrote about. He could picture it, the whole bohemian composition: Thomas on his bed, with his knee propped up, a cigarette dangling from his lips much as it was now, and his fancy pen scribbling his musings away. Maybe a lock of hair falling loose from the pomade and onto his forehead.
Thomas moved some things around and finally pulled a little rectangular picture of himself. He put the shoe box away and turned to offer it to Jimmy.
‘‘Thank you very much, Thomas.’’ Jimmy said, absentmindedly as he looked the thing over. It was almost imperceptible, the lack of colour. Thomas’ skin stark white against his ink black hair, neatly combed back. It was so loyal to how Jimmy thought of Thomas when he wasn’t looking at him. Stoic, but with a glint in his eye if you knew to look for it. And so handsome. So handsome they might need to come up with a new word for it, to give him justice.
‘‘I shall put this in my mirror, so you’ll be in front of me every day.’’ He shook the little thing and smiled at Thomas before heading for the door.
‘‘Jimmy.’’ Thomas called when he was almost out. Jimmy turned, expectant.
‘‘Don’t forget to give me yours.’’ Thomas said in a thin voice, and it looked like he hadn’t moved an inch since handing the photo over.
‘‘Of course.’’ Jimmy smiled, winked and closed the door behind him.
A couple of nights before Thomas was supposed to leave for America, Jimmy waited for him in the yard. It was a dingy place, Jimmy could appreciate that. But for him it was a safe haven. It’s funny how those things work, Jimmy mused. How one could be standing on moldy cobblestone, in the hidden corners of the world, meant only for the eyes of folk who didn’t need their newspapers ironed, and see the stage of one’s favourite moments of the day. Or equally, go to the prettiest cities and visit the most prestigious galleries and stand surrounded by all kinds of Michelangelos, Rembrandts or Velázquez and find the most interesting thing of all is the conversation of your company.
Jimmy stood with his hands in his pockets and squinted his eyes at the stars as his face was beaten by the harsh wind.
Thomas walked out with his winter coat on, having a little more foresight than Jimmy, who had been fooled by the afternoon sun and did not count on catching his death once the moon showed face.
‘‘Blimey, where did this wind come from?’’ Thomas struggled as a violent gust threw his coat open, making him shudder.
‘‘Bloody hell, I dunno but my cheeks are stingin’’’ Jimmy complained, turning to him and rubbing his hands together to warm them.
Thomas came to stand near him, already attempting to light a cigarette. The flimsy thing trembled in between his shaking fingers and Jimmy watched his pale hands will the lighter to work. It was an impossible feat, of course.
‘‘Here, hold on.’’ Jimmy stood right in front of him, attempting to block the wind so the flame could catch. He had to step a little closer but they finally managed, lighting one cigarette and then another. From this angle, Jimmy could only see Thomas’ hands and chest. Jimmy lamented how loud the wind was, for he was sure he would be able to hear Thomas’ heartbeat too, if it were silent. He wondered if Thomas was alright with how close they were standing. Sometimes, when it was Jimmy struggling against the wind, Thomas would take the lighter, cover it with his other hand and raise it to Jimmy’s mouth. It made Jimmy’s heart race so much he wished he wouldn’t do it.
Once he put the cigarette in his mouth, he looked up and found Thomas looking down at him already. They blinked at each other for a second, before Jimmy finally took a step back. Thomas’ eyes were cast down to the ground, as they both smoked in silence. Jimmy noticed the moon reflected a little on Thomas’ dark hair.
The door swung open.
‘‘Hello, boys.’’ Ivy said, walking out to the yard with Daisy in tow. Thomas and Jimmy abruptly turned their heads to the side to look at them. Jimmy frowned.
‘‘What’re you doin’ here?’’
Ivy looked at him, a little defensive.
‘‘You don’t own the place, do ya?’’ She challenged. Daisy looked amused as she wrapped her coat around herself tighter. She looked much too fragile for harsh weather.
‘‘No.’’ Jimmy did not pout. ‘‘But you’re never out here. Did the kitchen finally go up in smoke?’’ He teased, meanly.
Thomas snorted.
‘‘It almost did.’’ Daisy said, and rolled her eyes in Ivy’s direction.
‘‘It did not. I put it out, didn’t I?’’ Ivy whined at her, annoyed at something or other. There was always some drama with these two.
Jimmy rolled his eyes and turned back to face Thomas, taking a drag. He was being robbed of time with his friend and he was annoyed. They had such few moments together, it wasn’t fair.
‘‘Give us a drag, Mr Barrow.’’ Ivy said sweetly, taking in Jimmy’s attitude and giving up on engaging with him.
Daisy looked at her strangely and so did Jimmy. Thomas looked unfaced and offered his cigarette.
‘‘Since when do you smoke?’’ Jimmy frowned some more.
Ivy just shrugged, not even coughing on her first inhale. Daisy looked at her curiously.
‘‘Don’t you go taking after me.’’ Thomas warned her with a finger, before she could say anything.
‘‘I weren’t.’’ Daisy shook her head like she was caught being naughty. ‘‘I don’t think I’d like it.’’ She scrunched up her nose.
‘‘And Mrs Patmore would kill you if you took the stench to the kitchens.’’ Thomas said.
‘‘All her cakes would taste like ash.’’ She grinned at him.
‘‘Don’t they already?’’ Thomas joked, with a side smirk, making Daisy giggle.
Jimmy was fascinated. He loved it, loved seeing Thomas show a sense of camaraderie with other people. And he briefly felt grateful for Daisy, for reciprocating. Sometimes it felt he was the only one who could see Thomas beyond his glares and snide remarks. He still loved him when he was nasty, though. Always made Jimmy laugh.
Ivy gave back the cigarette and Thomas took it without a word.
‘‘What do you do when you’re out here anyway?’’ Ivy prodded.
‘‘What’s it to you?’’ They both answered at the same time.
Jimmy noted he’d finally mastered the tone Thomas always used when he said that. He mentally patted himself on the back.
Daisy’s eyes opened wide and Ivy looked like she was holding back a laugh. Jimmy admitted their answer probably sounded a little on the suspicious side.
‘‘Just askin’’’ She said.
‘‘Alfred says you come out here to plot against him.’’ Daisy said, smiling and shivering a little.
‘‘Sure. There’s a whole list, isn’t there, Mr Barrow? About this long.’’ Jimmy gestured with his hands about half a meter apart. Thomas smirked at the ground. ‘‘Just filled with evil pranks to make his life miserable.’’ Jimmy told the girls, pulling a face. ‘‘Next Wednesday we’ll put gravy on his aftershave bottle.’’
‘‘You are truly mean.’’ Ivy shook her head, disapproving.
‘‘Wicked.’’ He told her, shoving his face forward with a scary expression, to put her off. It worked. Ivy scoffed and turned to go inside, offended. Daisy looked at her retreating back.
‘‘You don’t really do that, do you, Thomas?’’ She asked.
‘‘Of course not, Daisy.’’ He said, calmly. Jimmy smoked. ‘‘Alfred likes to think he is more interesting than he really is.’’
‘‘As if we would waste our time discussing the git.’’ Jimmy scoffed. ‘‘Mr Barrow and I have more important things to talk about.’’
‘‘You do spend a lot of time out here.’’ Daisy said, not unkindly.
‘‘It’s called having friends, Daisy.’’ Jimmy retorted. He liked her well enough but this conversation was making him uncomfortable and he didn’t care to find out why. He just wanted to be alone with Thomas for five minutes before going to sleep and doing it all again tomorrow.
‘‘You’re welcome to join us, if you want.’’ Thomas offered, knowing she probably wouldn’t take him up on his offer. Jimmy still glared at him for risking it.
‘‘Thank you, but no.’’ She said, to Jimmy’s relief. She watched Thomas put out his cigarette and continued. ‘‘Mrs Patmore wouldn’t let me. And I imagine it’d be a lot like talking to Anna and Mr Bates. They’re kind but when they’re together it’s like I’m not even there.’’ She complained. ‘‘Anyway, I better go inside and cheer her up before she goes to sleep. Ivy works so slow when she’s moody.’’ She rolled her eyes and walked in.
Jimmy should’ve said goodnight but he couldn’t find his words. He looked at Thomas and found him staring wildly at the spot where she’d been standing, completely frozen.
‘‘Did she just-’’ Thomas squeaked.
Jimmy took a deep breath.
‘‘So apparently we act like an old married couple.’’ He mused. ‘‘I suppose that makes you happy.’’ He looked at Thomas’ spooked expression and grinned, to put him out of his misery.
Thomas exhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
‘‘I told you they were talking.’’ He said in a low voice.
‘‘And what nonsense they say.’’ Jimmy retorted.
Thomas left and Jimmy barely coped. When he’d helped carry the suitcases to the motor, he’d been able to feel himself pouting but could do nothing to relax his face. He was feeling sour and he could tell that Thomas had noticed. They’d said goodbye and Jimmy had to force himself to look him in the eyes, lest he forget what they look like when they take pity on him. They hadn’t even had time to have a proper smoke together and they were not about to light one in front of the upstairs lot. Jimmy did take pleasure in noticing Thomas didn’t really say goodbye to anyone else. He imagined he had said his farewells to Daisy earlier in the kitchen, but Jimmy could not resent Daisy. Thomas had a soft spot for her.
Jimmy took little comfort in Thomas’ promise to correspond. Jimmy hated letters and he was not happy about having to communicate with Thomas in writing. Their conversations were hardly meant for paper. It just wasn’t right. He dragged his feet the rest of the day and went to bed feeling miserable.
The heavy feeling stuck to him like glue through the nex weeks. His frown became almost permanent, he was shorter with Alfred than he usually was and Mr Carson’s wrath laid heavy upon him as a consequence, making matters worse. The only times he caught a break were when the mailman stopped by. Contrary to what he expected, each time he received a letter his mood changed so suddenly people were starting to suspect he had one of those manic tendencies Freud liked to go on about. He cherished those envelopes like a lifeline, and kept every single one on his beauro, just beneath Thomas’ picture that he kept on his mirror.
Jimmy inquired after New York, and the food and the music. And he subtly managed to learn that Thomas was not at all interested in the American way of life, nor its gentleman. He was a Brit through and through, he said. And, in his words, visiting New York was not unlike a trip to the zoo. Fascinating, but nowhere you’d like to set up house.
Jimmy, relieved as he was, still missed him terribly. He felt like a sodding girl and he was starting to see why the rest of the servants had qualms about him and Thomas’ friendship. He’d become a little codependent. He mentioned him every two sentences, could hardly give his opinion about something without referring to what Thomas thought, he didn’t even want to smoke on his own, with his dull, insignificant lighter, lest Ivy decided to unexpectedly join him. And he was so bored. He kept himself entertained, starting up gossip or writing to Mr Barrow for mischievous suggestions, like they’d joke about to the girls. For a full morning he managed to convince Alfred the King had died, until Mr Carson overheard the fool repeating it to the maids and his bellowed indignation could be heard from the cellar to the attic.
The next day he woke up feeling more charitable and, in an attempt to make it up to Alfred, he tried to strike up conversation about literature. He only got so far because when he asked him if he knew The Tell-Tale Heart , the dunderhead cockily answered that of course he knew what treacle tart was, and he continued to add spices to Ivy’s soup, oblivious to her annoyance. Jimmy barely refrained from calling him a dunce and left the kitchen to sulk alone.
On one of his most erratic days, he went into Thomas’ room. He didn’t even bother coming up with an excuse for himself. He had half a day off and opted out of going to the village for a pint with Anna and Mr Bates to go scourging in his superior’s quarters, instead.
He roamed around a little, starting with the box where Thomas had taken his picture from. Then he snooped around different drawers and shelves, and ended up with his bureau. In one of the little drawers he found the tin of candy he had gotten him, now empty. He also found the little cloth bag where the lighter he gifted him came, and a ticket for every film they’d seen together. He stared numbly at all the contents of the drawer for a few seconds, and finally closed it shut. In the second drawer he found buttons, needle and thread, his old lighter, a few pennies and some shaving supplies. Lastly, he went up to a crooked shelf to look through Thomas’ small book collection and found a little box of bonbons safely hidden in between. He opened it, because of course he would, and found it almost full. He stole one in the shape of a heart with very little guilt and shoved it in his mouth. It was delicious, the chocolate was creamy and dark and it had a berry filling that gave it a little acidic contrast. Jimmy closed his eyes and let out a satisfied huff. He then closed the box and put it back carefully in the same spot, and made the impromptu decision to lock the door handle with the back of a chair and plop down on the bed. He fell asleep, like that, with the taste of chocolate in his mouth and the scent of Mr Barrow all around him.
After that, his letters to Thomas tilted a little to the sentimental side. He talked about missing him in every one of them and had to keep scratching out sentences every time he realised he had confessed to crying about it.
And in the nights, he stopped lying to himself. Underneath his covers, muffled by his pillow, he sobbed. The first few nights the main contributor was restlessness. Not being able to identify what was happening to him, why he was feeling like that, had him so on edge the tears wouldn’t stop.
But then it was fear. And fear turned into guilt. After that came impotence, and finally, he was crying for love.
Every night, he cried for love of Thomas.
Jimmy went to church. Jimmy hadn’t gone to church of his own accord since his mother died. The only time he did, he had been in London and he and Thomas had used their time off to visit some churches and bask in baroque artistry. Figures.
He stepped in and walked slowly towards the first bench. The chapels surrounding the main nave were austere, nothing like the ones that had fascinated Thomas back then. Jimmy resolved to push all thoughts of Thomas away from his mind before he reached the altar.
Once he sat down, he took a minute to himself, trying to remember what one does when beginning to pray. Jimmy wasn’t even sure if he wanted to pray. He wasn’t sure why he had gone there at all. He looked up at the Calvary. The ominous silence and the slightly cooler air inside helped his anxious state.
He thought about how many people had said their prayers in this same temple. How many christenings had been celebrated, how many losses had been mourned. He remembered how coming to church always helped his problems seem smaller. Even with his different beliefs, he always found peace in watching people, older, far wiser than himself, seek their mercy and find their faith. He wasn’t so interested in the devotion aspect of religion, but he had always been jealous of the blind conviction religious folk had, how light their steps when walking a path set by a higher power. His steps were often weighed down by uncertainty and regret.
He stopped his musing and closed his eyes. He figured if there was indeed a God, he’d forgive his clumsy protocol and be glad Jimmy was doing this at all.
Hello.
Dear God, I came here bec- Oh, hang on. Um.
He hastily prayed The Lord’s Prayer and then continued.
Right. Well, this is long overdue, I suppose. You see, I’m burdened with pain. I never thought I had it in me to feel this way. I hope it’s not disrespectful to say, or- think this here but I have a friend, a close friend at that, and he lives in sin. Every day he lives in sin. He can’t help it, I don’t think. Not anymore than I can, in any case.
Oh-
Jimmy opened his eyes, but he did not look at the Calvary again. He took three deep breaths, staring at the marble floor, and then closed his eyes again.
We are not the same, him and I. But I don’t suppose that makes my problem any better.
I love him. Very much, despite his sinning. I sin too, a couple of times a day, but we are different. And he hurts, and that was fine before, but I find it is not fine at all now.
He hurts, and so I hurt.
I don’t want to sin like he does, and I don’t want to break the law like that. But, the joke of it is that I actually do. I very much do. It’s all I think about, sinning with him, for him-
The sound of a heavy door opening and closing echoed through the walls and Jimmy opened his eyes once more.
A priest had walked out from behind the altar, and he was strolling past Jimmy by the right nave, heading towards the entrance. Jimmy was up on his feet before he knew what he was doing.
‘‘Father?’’ He called out.
The man looked up at him with a small smile and kinder eyes than he’d ever found in a church. The marks on his face indicated that that smile had probably been there most of his life.
‘‘Yes, son?’’ He addressed him softly as Jimmy approached him.
‘‘I hope I’m not bothering you, but I, um,’’ He actually had nothing to say. No words to voice his inner turmoil. The priest waited patiently, contemplating him.
‘‘Would you like us to sit down?’’ He offered when Jimmy didn’t continue. Jimmy nodded gratefully. They sat down on a bench about the center of the church. ‘‘I was going to suggest the confessionary but it looks like that might be too much for you right now.’’ The priest mocked amicably.
‘‘I dunno about the confessionary but I could sure use some of your wine.’’ He said before he could think better of it. The priest just chuckled and shook his head, as if it needed clarifying.
Jimmy didn’t expect to banter with a minister when he woke up today, but it did help him ease up a bit.
‘‘What troubles you?’’ He asked, his voice was soft and warm, his eyes equally so. ‘‘Or are you here because you had a vocational turn?’’
‘‘No,’’ Jimmy let out a laugh. ‘‘not nearly, no. Sorry.’’
‘‘I guessed as much. What do you do for work?’’
‘‘Um.’’ Jimmy chose his words carefully so as to not give out too much. He didn’t think the man was the kind to phone the police on him but he didn’t want to take any chances. ‘‘I work at the Downton Estate.’’
‘‘I see.’’ He didn’t seem to recognise him at all so Jimmy continued.
‘‘I don’t really know why I came to be honest. I don't even attend mass. Sorry, again. But I thought it might do me some good.’’ He looked at the father’s eyes and quickly looked away. ‘‘I have a problem with a friend.’’ He took a deep breath. ‘‘He’s my best friend, he is. And, um, he has some- a condition, or- not a condition, but. He has preferences. That make him different. He is different.’’ Jimmy stopped and a pregnant pause took over. He dared to raise his gaze and was immensely relieved to see the priest’s encouraging smile unchanged.
‘‘What’s your name, son?’’
‘‘Jimmy. James.’’ Jimmy answered, and hoped he wouldn’t come to regret it.
‘‘James, let us not pretend that I’ve not been on this earth a great deal longer than you’ve been alive.’’ Jimmy blinked, at a loss. ‘‘And let us not forget that this world has seen many tragedies, for longer than even I have been alive.’’ Jimmy nodded. ‘‘You need not be so troubled. More things are different to what we know than they are similar.’’
‘‘Yes, but, you see. I don’t have a problem with my friend being different. Or, I did, I suppose, but not anymore.’’ Jimmy’s eyes started to sting. ‘‘Trouble is, it’s affecting me now, too. And I- I don’t want to change myself. I think I already did but it’s wrong, and I don’t want it, and-’’ Jimmy looked up and away, hoping gravity would help un-shed the tears now streaming down his cheeks. ‘‘and my parents won’t know, they are gone and they will never know.’’
‘‘Jimmy.’’ The priest put a hand on his shoulder as he sobbed. His voice was soothing in a way that made Jimmy suspect there really was a deity. ‘‘I assume from the state of you that you loved your parents very much. And I think it’s safe to say they loved you, too.’’
Jimmy nodded and wiped some snot from his nose, trying to compose himself.
‘‘And I find most people wish their children to be happy, and to be loved.’’ He paused. ‘‘But above all else, I think they want their children to love, Jimmy.’’
Jimmy looked at him with glassy eyes and the priest continued in his serene fashion.
“In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone.”
“That’s a really nice sentiment.” Jimmy mumbled.
“Oh, I didn’t come up with it.” He chuckled. ‘‘St John of the Cross said it first. But don’t tell the reverend I said that, he’d think I’ve gone catholic.’’
Jimmy laughed, wetly.
‘‘I’ve always liked that quote.’’ He continued. ‘‘You see, he meant not the love we receive but the love we give out. And I think you wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t have the courage to cry for your friend, and share your pain, if you didn’t love.’’
Jimmy stared at him with a frown. Courage?
‘‘So I don’t think you need to worry about your parents. You could come here every once in a while to talk to them, if you like. But they are with you, always. And God will always welcome you into his house.’’
‘‘You are not disgusted? By my- by our sins?’’ Jimmy asked, rather desperately. Almost challenging him to respond like Jimmy was sure he would.
‘‘This is a house of sinners, Jimmy.’’ He answered, his tone assertive and final. It brought more comfort than Jimmy thought he’d ever find outside of his own mind.
‘‘Hm. Cast the first stone, and all that.’’
‘‘Ah, you are familiar with His work, then?’’
‘‘Hah.’’
Jimmy sat on the servant’s table, nursing a cup of tea and dutifully ignoring the trousers he was supposed to be hemming. His eyelids were droopy and he’d been fighting back a headache all day. Mrs Hughes sat on the corner, cataloguing linens and making little noise, which Jimmy was grateful for. Alfred was also there, doing the things he usually did, like lowering the intelligence of the entire room.
Then Daisy strutted in, carrying a recipe book larger than her face, which she promptly plopped down on the table, making a loud bang. Jimmy jumped, Alfred and Mrs Hughes looked up.
‘‘Sorry.’’ She muttered with an apologetic smile.
‘‘What’s that you got, Daisy?’’ Alfred asked.
‘‘Just some new recipes Mrs Patmore wants me to try. Mr Trueman mixed up our order and now we’ve got two pounds of turmeric to go through.’’
‘‘Two pounds?!’’ Mrs Hughes exclaimed. ‘‘Heavens.’’
‘‘Mr Barrow hates turmeric.’’ Was Jimmy’s only contribution, which earned him an odd look from both women. Alfred scoffed, like an idiot.
‘‘How is Mr Barrow, Jimmy?’’ Daisy asked after a moment. Jimmy looked up at her and realised he’s stirred the conversation towards the under-butler yet again. Unwilling to dig himself deeper, he shrugged.
‘‘I dunno. Fine, I suppose.’’
‘‘He must be working very hard, tending to his Lordship by himself.’’ She mused.
‘‘Mr Barrow? Nah.’’ Alfred shook his head with a smug smile.
And. Okay. No.
‘‘Of course he is.’’ Jimmy said on a frown. ‘‘Mr Barrow is an excellent worker.’’
‘‘Oh, c’mon-’’
‘‘And he’s your boss.’’
‘‘Mr Carson’s my boss.’’
‘‘Very well, then. Do you want to find Mr Carson and let him know you think yourself so much better than Mr Barrow? I’ll go with you, if you like.’’ He challenged, much more narked than the situation called for.
‘‘That’s enough, James.’’ Mrs Hughes scolded, but when Jimmy turned to look at her she was biting back a smile. Jimmy stared at her, unused to seeing her smile over something he said.
‘‘He’s the one speaking out of turn, Mrs Hughes.’’
‘‘Yes, he is.’’ She said, looking sternly at Alfred now.
‘‘Sorry, Mrs Hughes.’’ Alfred said reluctantly.
‘‘Anyway, it’s only four days until he comes back, no?’’ Daisy chatted on, leafing through her book.
‘‘Three.’’ Jimmy corrected automatically, finally picking up his needle and thread.
‘‘Are you excited to have him back, then?’’ She asked.
Jimmy, for once, thought about it before answering. He could see Alfred biting his lips out of the corner of his eye. He felt like he was under some sort of spotlight.
‘‘I’m excited for my workload to be lighter.’’
‘‘Aw, you don’t mean that.’’ Daisy smiled up at him.
‘‘Course I do. It’s not like Alfred here is much help.’’
Mrs Hughes tsked. Alfred straightened in his chair and spoke to Daisy.
‘‘Of course Jimmy’s excited. They’ll probably run off to the pictures together as soon as he’s back, like they always do.’’
‘‘You’re just jealous because we never let you tag along.’’
‘‘S’not like I want to go with the pair of you.’’
‘‘No, of course. You’d be too scared a train would jump out of the screen and run you over.’’
‘‘You always think I’m so stupid-’’
‘‘Can you even read, Alfred?’’
‘‘Yes, I can read. But I don’t go for the soppy novels you and your Mr Barrow-’’
‘‘He’s not my Mr Barrow, you numpty-’’’
‘‘-like to read on your little book club .’’
‘‘It’s not a club, it’s called being cultured.’’
Mrs Hughes’ defeated sigh got lost over their bickering.
‘‘Oh, Mr Carson, there you are. Put a leash on these two, if you please. I’m going to my study.’’ She picked up her things and left the hall with a roll of his eyes.
Mr Carson walked in, one bushy eyebrow raised to the heavens, making Jimmy and Alfred silent at once.
When the group returned to Downton, Jimmy was tasked with getting out the luggage of the first car. That meant that when the second car came around, the one with Thomas and Mrs Baxter in it, Jimmy had his back turned already. As he walked into the abbey and towards the stairs, he could feel Thomas walking in a few steps behind. He wanted to drop the sodding suitcases to the ground and run into his arms. But, social propriety aside, Mr Carson was keeping careful watch nearby and he dared not look backwards.
Hah. If Anna could see me now. She’d sure think I was more Orpheo than Narcissus.
He willed himself to do his job right and avoid any extra chores so he could go up to Thomas’ room as soon as he could manage. Or, maybe, in a case of unconscious fraud, he wasn’t brave enough to see him yet, after recent revelations.
Thomas didn’t seek Jimmy out anymore than Jimmy did Thomas, for the whole afternoon. Jimmy’s brain was doing acrobatics, jumping from resentment, to relief, back to frustration and then anticipation. He did his duties diligently, fighting against the unrelenting tremble of his hands.
As time dragged on, it was less clear to him whether he was excited to see him or if he was dreading it altogether. In between rushing from one task to the other, he stopped to nick a sandwich from the kitchen. When he saw Mr Barrow approaching from the window, he scurried out with half the sandwich in his mouth and leaving Daisy mid-conversation. So, maybe it was the latter.
It was right before their supper, when he was rushing through a corridor downstairs, that a pair of hands came out of nowhere and grabbed his waist to drag him sideways into a different hallway.
Him and Thomas stood alone, and Jimmy stared dumbly at Thomas’ smirk for a second as he recovered from the sudden ambush.
‘‘Why are you avoiding me?’’ Thomas inquired, amused.
‘‘I’m not. Why are you lurking in the shadows?’’ Jimmy retorted. He could hardly believe this was their first interaction in weeks. Though he had to admit, being manhandled into it was a pleasant surprise.
‘‘I wasn’t lurking, I was looking for you.’’ Thomas explained. ‘‘And you are avoiding me, Daisy said so.’’
‘‘Daisy?!’’ Jimmy did not conceal his alarm. ‘‘What would Daisy know? She should learn to keep her gob shut. You’re mad to listen to her.’’
‘‘Forget Daisy, you haven’t said a word to me all day. I would’ve thought you’d be pestering me for presents by now.’’
‘‘Did you get me any, Mr Barrow?’’ Jimmy was momentarily distracted by the prospect of a gift.
‘‘Maybe I did. Are you coming up later for cards?’’ Thomas kept talking in a low voice and it made Jimmy do the same.
‘‘Of course I am, I want to hear everything.’’
Thomas looked at him for a beat and Jimmy shifted in place.
‘‘And everything is alright?’’
‘‘Everything is alright, Mr Barrow.’’ Jimmy nodded once. ‘‘I’m glad you’re back.’’ He added in a moment of earnestness.
They got through supper and didn’t bother stalling in the servants’ hall like they usually did, instead going straight up to Thomas’ room. Jimmy walked in behind him and closed the door.
‘‘How was London?’’ Jimmy asked conversationally.
‘‘Oh, same old. I went to the National Gallery, though. That was a nice treat.’’ Thomas said while he removed some clothes from his chair.
‘‘Oh, I love their collection. Did you see any Rubens?’’
‘‘I did, although I myself prefer some Van Gogh. They didn’t have any last time I went.’’ He admitted, pulling out a second chair for Jimmy.
‘‘Course you do, you can’t resist the melancholy.’’
Thomas’ face lit up, his smile tinted with a hint of pleasant surprise. He needn’t be. It was obvious Jimmy knew him by now.
‘‘And I suppose you like the modern French Art-rebels?’’ Thomas asked.
Jimmy shrugged.
‘‘I like Degas. I can never tell between Monet and Manet, though.’’
‘‘Manet would probably paint the Crawleys. Monet is more likely to paint the gardens.’’
‘‘Didn’t Manet paint prostitutes?’’
Thomas raised his eyebrows at him suggestively, making Jimmy chuckle.
‘‘I meant to ask you where you got those chocolates you keep by your books, they’re glorious. I’d like to buy a box for myself.’’ Jimmy changed the subject while he sat down.
Thomas paused where he stood now, near his wardrobe. He turned to him with a suspicious frown.
‘‘How do you know about those chocolates?’’
Oh.
‘‘Have you been in my room while I was gone?’’
Jimmy was sure he looked like a spooked animal.
‘‘I thought I could smell your aftershave on my pillow! I was sure I finally lost the plot.’’ Thomas held his forehead and shook his head. ‘‘Heavens, Jimmy, you’ll drive me mad one of these days if you keep at it.’’
‘‘I’m sorry.’’ Jimmy mumbled like a scolded child.
‘‘Did you have lie in in my bed, then?’’ Thomas accused.
Jimmy found he had nothing to say to that.
‘‘Why did you have a lie in in my bed?’’
Jimmy didn’t have a lot to comment on that, either.
‘‘Look, I’m not- I’m not mad or anything but you ‘ave to admit it’s a bit weird and you’re not saying anything so,’’ Thomas’ voice had gone a bit high.
‘‘I’m sorry.’’ Jimmy repeated and he could feel his eyes burning a little, which was such an overreaction that a wave of embarrassment took over him, making it worse.
‘‘No, don’t-’’ Thomas’ confusion was now obvious on his face as he scrutinized Jimmy where he sat on his chair. Jimmy noticed the moment Thomas realized there were tears pooling in his eyes. He stepped forward, closer to him, his confusion mixing with concern.
‘‘Love, what’s wrong?’’
Jimmy’s eyes widened and Thomas immediately corrected himself.
‘‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it just slipped out, I won’t-’’ He sat down on the bed, facing Jimmy but further than he was before.
‘‘You don’t have to apologise.’’ Jimmy heard himself whisper, even through the turmoil going on in his head.
‘‘I know you don’t want me calling you that, it were wrong of me.’’ Thomas shook his head.
‘‘It wasn’t. That’s not true.’’ Jimmy wasn’t sure how he came to this state, but he was wringing his hands and lookin Thomas in the eyes, his voice a little hoarse.
‘‘What do you mean?’’ Thomas was so patient with him.
‘‘I mean I don’t mind it anymore, Thomas.’’
‘‘Alright.’’ Thomas swallowed, making his throat bob and Jimmy’s eyes get distracted. ‘‘You know you don’t have to say that, for my benefit?’’
‘‘I’m not. I’m really not.’’ It was Jimmy’s turn to swallow, hoping for some of that courage the priest had talked about. ‘‘In fact, Mr Barrow, when it comes to you, so many of the things I do are for my benefit that I sometimes wonder if there’s anyone more selfish than me in this funny world.’’
‘‘Jimmy, what are you talking about?’’ Thomas looked crossed between comforting him and shaking his shoulders to try and get a straight answer.
‘‘I don’t want you to leave for America again.’’
Thomas paused before answering.
‘‘That’s alright, I don’t think anyone is planning-’’
‘‘And I wouldn’t want to go, myself, either. Not unless you’re going.’’ Jimmy interrupted. ‘‘I don’t want you to leave me and I don’t want to leave you.’’
‘‘Jimmy-’’
‘‘I want to be next to you. With you. All the time.’’
Really, Jimmy had only come up here for cigarettes and maybe a round of Twentyone.
‘‘All the bloody time, Mr Barrow. Forever.’’
Okay. Maybe that had been a little on the nose.
‘‘Like,’’ Thomas started.
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘When we’re working?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘And on our breaks?’’ He looked puzzled.
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘And our half-days? And when we go to the flicks?’’
‘‘Yes, Mr Barrow.’’
‘‘And in my bed?’’ He motioned to the bed he was currently sitting on.
‘‘Yes.’’ Jimmy exhaled.
Thomas turned shellshocked.
‘‘For napping.’’ He said, so clearly trying to convince himself that Jimmy had to laugh.
‘‘Maybe a little more than that, but yes.’’
‘‘Jimmy, what-’’ Thomas trailed off.
Jimmy made a sudden move with his torso, leaning forward as if to stand up, but aborted the movement at once.
Thomas, smart, perceptive Thomas, could sense that the situation was getting a bit much for the both of them.
‘‘Why don’t we, um, play some cards and- Oh, I’ve got your presents here. I’ll just-’’ He stood up and went back to the dresser where he’d originally been.
Jimmy didn’t say a word and watched him pull out two little rectangular boxes, similar in size.
‘‘Here.’’
Jimmy took the parcels, looking Thomas in the eyes. He downed his gaze to tear at the wrapping paper, noting at the last second the little Love, T. written in the corner. He looked back up at him and saw him blushing madly, but neither said anything. He continued to unwrap his gifts, mindful not to tear at the writing so he could save it later, until he had them both out.
One was a novel, This Side Of Paradise, because Thomas had lended him his copy of a different F. Scott Fitzgerald and Jimmy had thoroughly enjoyed it. And the other was a box, inside a simple but delicate handkerchief with his initials engraved and the outline of a little saxophone, embroidered with white thread over the white cloth.
Great. Jimmy could use it to dry his tears every time he started sobbing like a child, like it kept happening lately.
When Jimmy spoke, his voice came out hoarse and a little wobbly.
‘‘These are great, Mr Barrow.’’ He looked up at him, holding one present in each hand. ‘‘So great. I love them, thank you very much.’’
Thomas nodded and managed a smile.
‘‘I hope you know you don’t have to buy gifts for me, I don’t expect it.’’ He felt compelled to say, not waiting to appear superficial.
‘‘All the better, then. I like to surprise you.’’ He smiled kindly at him.
‘‘I didn’t get anything for you.’’ He said, which made Thomas laugh.
‘‘That makes sense, since you didn’t go anywhere.’’
‘‘Well, I didn’t buy anything but,’’ He stood up and put the presents down, improvising. ‘‘Maybe I can give you something, anyway.’’
Thomas stood very still and watched him take two steps forward, until they were breathing the same air.
‘‘Now, Mr Barrow. It took a lot of effort to get ‘ere, so don’t go running for the hills.’’ He warned, his voice low, since he could feel Thomas’ chest rise and fall from how close they were. ‘‘I’m gonna do something, now.’’
Unexpectedly, Thomas spoke, equally quiet.
‘‘If you’re gonna do what I think you’re gonna do, then maybe you should stop calling me Mr Barrow.’’
Jimmy smirked, confident, despite his nervousness.
‘‘And what do you think I’m gonna do?’’ He challenged.
‘‘Nick my cigarettes, of course.’’
‘‘Where do you keep them?’’
‘‘Front pocket of my trousers.’’ Thomas’ eyes were half-lidded and his voice was all but a whisper.
‘‘Hm.’’
Jimmy inched closer and placed a soft kiss on Thomas’ right cheek.
Then another, on the edge of his lips.
Then he kissed his bottom lip, and lingered. With his heart beating away in his chest, he kissed Thomas’ top lip.
When he was done, he parted.
Thomas chased after him, like in a daze, until he came to. He opened his eyes and they stared at each other.
‘‘You stole something.’’ Thomas said, softly. His cheeks were tinted pink.
‘‘You mean the kiss?’’ Jimmy’s eyes kept darting to his lips.
‘‘No, Peter Pan. I mean my cigarettes.’’ Thomas caught his hand, the one hiding behind his back and holding the pack of cigarettes.
In a half embrace, Jimmy let Thomas take the pack but instantly trapped his hand with his own. In between laughs, Thomas darted forward and kissed him while his other hand came up to rest on Jimmy’s arm. Jimmy copied him and, with his own free hand, cradled Thomas’ cheek.
When they parted, Jimmy let go of Thomas’ hand behind his back and wrapped both his arms around his waist, looking up at him adoringly. He could throw up about his own clinginess later.
Thomas grabbed both his shoulders and, with a similar expression said,
‘‘You give distance makes the heart grow fonder a whole new meaning.’’
Jimmy squeezed him with his arms, making him protest.
‘‘Don’t you dare leave me again, Thomas.’’
‘‘I won’t. You’re stuck with me, now. Should’ve thought about it better, really.’’
‘‘I thought about it so much, it’s not even funny.’’ Jimmy rested his forehead on Thomas’ chest, still holding him.
Thomas must have noticed something in his tone, because he wrapped his arms around him, kissed the crown of his head and said,
‘‘It’s alright, my darling, you don’t have to think anymore.’’
They were lingering in the kitchen, after everyone had gone up. The house was dark, aside from the yellow glow of the few lamps still on around them. Jimmy was making them some hot chocolate on the stove and Thomas was snacking on the marshmallows and flicking through the newspaper, bent over the table with his back to Jimmy.
Once the hot chocolate was done, he poured them both a mug and put down the dirty pot in the sink. He wasn’t about to clean it himself.
He stepped closer to Thomas from behind until his front was pressed to his back, and placed the mug on Thomas’ right.
‘‘Here you go, darling.’’ He said in a sultry voice. Thomas huffed out a laugh, knowing he was being mocked and grabbed his drink. He turned his face a little towards him and smiled around a marshmallow. Jimmy melted inside and placed a kiss on his cheek, switching his own mug to his right hand so his left could come down to rest on Thomas’ waist. Thomas’ blush came all the way down his neck until it got lost beneath his collar. Jimmy rested his chin on his shoulder and they both drank in silence while they read old news.
‘‘Can you pass me a marshmallow or have you ate them all?’’ He squeezed his side.
‘‘Are you calling me fat?’’ Thomas complained half-heartedly as he plopped a couple of marshmallows in Jimmy’s mug.
‘‘Never that, gorgeous. I like my pillows stuffed.’’ Jimmy smirked as he drank and a little chocolate dripped down his chin.
Thomas twisted in his arms with an indignant frown.
‘‘I’ll show you stuffed-’’
Jimmy started giggling so hard he had to put down his mug and close his mouth in a desperate attempt to not spit everything out.
‘‘Oh, stop that! It’ll start coming out of yer nose, you silly chump.’’ Thomas whined, whisper-shouting so as not to wake anyone up, but holding back a laugh himself.
As Thomas was dabbing Jimmy’s lips with a napkin, they heard a soft thump coming from the pantry. They turned their heads in sync and saw Daisy standing there, in a cloud of flour and the ripped bag at her feet.
They jumped so far apart Jimmy banged his hip against the opposite counter.
‘‘Oops.’’ She said.
‘‘Daisy, whatever you saw-’’ Thomas started.
‘‘Oh, it’s alright, Thomas.’’ She said, dusting her apron and forgoing any formalities. Thomas allowed it, his head going a mile a minute. ‘‘You don’t need to come up with a lie, I won’t say naught. Could you help me clean this up, please?’’ She said, looking sadly at the mess around her.
‘‘Are you blackmailing us?’’ Jimmy accused with a frown.
Both Thomas and Daisy looked at him confusedly.
‘‘No?’’ Daisy said. ‘‘Only I’m so tired already and Mrs Patmore will kill me if I leave it like this.’’ She implored.
‘‘Of course we’ll help you, Daisy.’’ Thomas said calmly, and went to fetch the broom.
‘‘Thanks ever so much, boys.’’
‘‘No, hang on a minute, what did you mean we don’t need to come up with a lie?’’ Jimmy asked, unable to get past it.
‘‘Um. What I said.’’ She stared at him. ‘‘I already know you two are, like,’’ she smiled and scrunched up her nose. ‘‘sweethearts.’’ She nodded.
‘‘What .’’ Jimmy glared and looked towards Thomas, who was standing next to Daisy now, holding the broom like an idiot and looking back at him, giving nothing away.
‘‘Jimmy, you told me.’’ Daisy giggled and Thomas’ eyebrows went up. So did Jimmy’s.
‘‘I said no such thing!’’ He exclaimed, appalled.
‘‘Yes, you did.’’ She took the broom from Thomas’ hands and started sweeping, looking up at Jimmy while Thomas picked up the torn bag carefully. ‘‘When you gave me all that advice about Alfred, you told me what boys do when they like someone and you named all the things you do with Thomas.’’ She said distractedly, sweeping the flour away.
‘‘But that’s not-’’
‘‘And then you said that I should talk to Thomas, because he knew better.’’
‘‘That doesn’t mean anything!’’ Jimmy protested, like a fool.
‘‘And you’re always begging me for those scones Thomas loves, even though he asks for the truffles because you hate sultanas.’’
Thomas looked up at him, interested, and Jimmy blushed furiously.
‘‘And you never take your days off alone, you’re always going together everywhere.’’
She would never stop listing things if Jimmy didn’t intervene.
‘‘That’s because we’re mates.’’ Jimmy did not whine. ‘‘That’s what mates do.’’
‘‘Oh. Really?’’ Jimmy nodded enthusiastically and Daisy frowned, finally accepting what he was saying. ‘‘Well. It doesn’t matter now, does it? Mates don’t kiss.’’ She shrugged with a devious smile Jimmy had never seen on her.
She swept all the flour onto the dustpan Thomas was holding for her, Thomas himself keeping suspiciously quiet.
Jimmy sighed, preoccupied, searching Thomas’ eyes. When he found them, a little spooked, Thomas shrugged as well.
‘‘It’s alright, Jimmy. Daisy won’t tell.’’ Thomas said, confident. He looked at Daisy with a respect he held for very few.
‘‘‘Course I won’t.’’ She took the dustpan and dumped the contents in the bin. ‘‘But I will have to tell Mrs Patmore you stole half the marshmallow jar. And you have to wash the dirty pot.’’