He's halfway through making tea when Mary and her friends come bustling into the Kitchen.
He's used to it by now. He'd been introduced to the Crawley clan when he was only twelve. It's only recently that he has become a more permanent fixture in their home. He'd made friends with Patrick at Radley – having been thrown together in the first eleven cricket team with the bond of a surname and not much else. They'd done some digging – no relation, which had been a disappointment at the time, but after having met Patrick's father, Matthew found it more of a relief. Patrick had been his first friend at Radley and his best – at least for a while. For a few years they bounce back and forth each other's houses during school holidays, but where Matthew's home in Manchester is a fairly normal affair, Patrick's family had been anything but. Upon boarding the train to York one summer and ending up stood at the gates of Downton and Matthew, who has always been comfortable with his lifestyle, had endured his first experience of being intimidated by the wealth of others.
The visits to and from were frequent when they were young. Robert had taken him enthusiastically in; perhaps because he hadn't ever had a son himself, or perhaps because he knew Matthew was lacking in father figures since the death of his own. He'd gotten along well enough with Cora – the both of them being able to jokingly bond over their comparatively normal backgrounds to the environment of titles and estates they now found themselves immersed in. Sybil, who'd been only six when he'd met her, became like a younger sister, and Edith too.
He got along with all of them.
Apart from Mary.
Mary and Matthew have never seen eye to eye and, after ten years, he strongly suspects they never will. They don't like each other, these two. He doesn't like her, and she certainly doesn't like him. They're opposites for Christ sake. Matthew is friendly, approachable, a true defender of the downtrodden. He prides himself in his work ethic, his resilience, his insistent championing of right from wrong. Mary on the other hand, is prim, proper and popular. She's a modern-day socialite. Always cool and confident – unalterably headstrong, proud, determined.
They agree on nothing. They bicker about everything.
He's a couple of years older than she is, but even when they were younger it had never stopped her from initiating their quarrels. Patrick had thought it hilarious – how stubbornly each of them had grappled for the upper hand and fought tooth and nail for the last word.
But Patrick is gone now. And ever since, Matthew's visits to Downton have become few and far between.
Robert remains steadfastly involved in his life. To all intents and purposes, Matthew becomes akin to his son; Robert takes him out for lunch on his birthday every year, invites him up to Yorkshire in the holidays and when he finishes at Cambridge, offers him a job for a year at his law firm. Which he accepts, gladly.
He lives with them now. Or at least he has done for six months – much to Mary's chagrin. He offered to find his own place in the village, but Robert would not hear of it. Cora had suggested that he take Patrick's old room, in the hopes it would finally spur them to clear it out, but one look at the paled faces of all three of her daughters had been enough to dissuade her from that idea. Even five years later, Patrick is still a sore point for the family. So Matthew sleeps in the bachelor's corridor.
Which, funnily enough, happens to be the topic of conversation he overhears the three girls discussing before they reach the kitchen.
"That's a crying shame," he hears the voice of Lavinia giggle, "You'd have to walk miles to sneak into his bedroom."
"I wouldn't want to sneak into his bedroom, thank you." He hears Mary curtly reply. Her voice as prim as ever. "I have bigger fish to fry."
He rolls his eyes at this. It is a comment so typical of Mary he almost laughs out loud.
"What fish?" Lavinia asks, slyly.
"Haven't you heard?" Anna says tiredly. "Kemal is taking Mary to Amelia's party next week."
The all giggle as they walk into the kitchen, dispersing into it almost immediately.
"Hi Matthew," Anna greets on seeing him there. The pair share a familiar look of mingled amusement and exasperation as Mary habitually ignores him.
"Hey Matthew," Lavinia smiles sweetly.
"Hi Liv, how're you finding Beckett?" Matthew's tone is so casual. He concentrates on making tea as he talks. It's Mary and Anna's turn to share an exasperated look. They both know, all too well, that Lavinia's crush on Matthew has led to her googling the Cambridge reading list for English Literature and slowly working her way through it just to generate a topic of conversation with him. They also both know that English lit is by no means Lavinia's subject. She studied Biology at Edinburgh and is definitely more of a science scholar than one for the arts. Mary, on the other hand, studied history at Oxford, and found Beckett as much of a breeze as Matthew did. Anna knows this well enough. She also knows, however, that the last person to ever admit they have something in common with Matthew, is Mary.
"Fascinating, actually. I was wondering if I could get your thoughts on this particular section..."
Mary stops listening at this point in the conversation. She watches as Matthew sits beside Lavinia at the kitchen table, leaning over beside her to talk her through his thoughts on the opening of Waiting for Godot. She gives a disinterested sigh and pours herself and Anna a cup of tea using the water Matthew has just boiled. Mary always feels an uncomfortable mushing in her chest whenever Lavinia monopolises Matthew. It's not because she likes him — because she doesn't. Not at all. It's because — well she doesn't really know why it is, but the fact is, she knows that Lavinia and Matthew are not right for each other. That's the truth of it. She doesn't need to justify it. She's Mary Crawley, she doesn't need to justify anything.
She frowns. That sounds suspiciously like something her granny would say.
But Lavinia and Matthew would never work. They just wouldn't. Matthew needs someone who equals him, who can give him a good argument. He needs to be challenged, not agreed with. He needs someone who knows him. Lavinia, as much as she fancies him, does not know him.
How would she know that Matthew always loses his cuff links in the cushions of the sofa, or that he likes all potatoes except mash? Or that he never has butter in his sandwiches but always does on toast? She doesn't know that he always drinks his coffee black, or that he has a tradition of watching a film with his family every Friday night. She doesn't know that he's terribly allergic to insect stings and needs to go to hospital immediately if he ever gets stung, but she also doesn't know that he'll never admit he needs to go to the doctors and therefore has to be dragged by someone else.
Mary shakes her head again. They're not right for each other. They're not. She just wishes they'd see it, so they'd stop flirting all the bloody time.
It infuriates her.
Anna, smirking to herself, watches Mary's awful attempts at hiding her obvious annoyance. She knows where her irritation is stemming from, even if Mary herself doesn't.
Sensing that Mary has reached her absolute limit of the amount of exchange she can handle between Matthew and Lavinia, Anna decides to swiftly move them on. She takes her cup of tea in hand. "Come on Lavinia, I need yours and Mary's opinions on which dress I should wear out with John."
The exchange is swept up rather neatly as the girls file out of the kitchen, Matthew chuckling at their talk of dresses as he runs his fingers through his messy hair before getting on.
Just as she leaves, Mary tugs his tie rather childishly, saying: "Another triumph in the wardrobe department. You must stand out at work."
Matthew gives her a sickly false smile. "You know, your ladyship, it is possible to not comment on someone's attire when you see them."
Mary smiles radiantly. "I can't ignore fashion catastrophes."
With that she leaves.
Matthew rolls his eyes, going about fixing himself a sandwich.
The next week starts with Sybil coming back from school in a mood.
"Larry Grey is the world's biggest arse, I tell you!" She huffs, slumping down on the sofa beside Mary. The latter looks up from her magazine.
"Funny," she muses, "I was just thinking the same thing about Edith."
Edith, who sits at their father's desk just across the room, turns around.
"Have you ever heard the expression 'takes one to know one'?" She says bitterly.
Mary, un-amused and uncaring, sighs indulgently. "What's Larry's crime today then?" She asks to change the subject.
Sybil takes a breath. "He's just so arrogant all the time! He cares about nothing and no one but himself, and only opens his mouth to either insult someone else or say something that's so bloody self-righteous it makes me want to throttle him!"
"Now," Edith says, pretending to be thoughtful, "who does that remind me of?" She glares at Mary.
"Someone must have taken a long look in the mirror this morning." Mary replies easily. She tucks some of Sybil's hair behind her ear before standing up. "Only one more year, darling and you can go to University and never have to see him again." She tells her, encouraging.
Sybil smiles thankfully.
"I'm going down to the kitchen; do you want anything?"
It goes unsaid that this invitation is given only to Sybil.
"No thank you," she says, swinging her feet up and turning on the TV. "Are you going to Amelia's later? Everyone has been talking about it."
"I am," Mary says. "I suppose you're not?" She directs at Edith.
Edith scoffs. "If you're there? No thank you. Besides, I have studying to do."
"Which, roughly translated means: 'I wasn't invited'" Mary retorts. She turns and goes before Edith can think of a response. Walking into the kitchen, however, she finds Matthew already there.
"Good afternoon Sea Monster," she greets with a grin, sidling into the room.
"Hello trouble." He looks at her through playful eyes. There's that stupid grin over his face again, the one that quirks the corners of his mouth up and makes his eyebrows rise rather sweetly.
Mary sidles up to him, leaning her hip against the sideboard. "Don't tell me you went to work like this?" She teases.
Matthew looks down at his outfit. He rolls his eyes. "And what do you think is wrong with this one?"
Mary sighs, smirking. "Well first of all, you need to re-do your tie." She purses her lips and raises her hands to his collar. Matthew swallows as her fingers swiftly un-do, then re-do, his tie. He feels the pads of her thumbs over his Adam's apple, her finger tips gliding over his collar and then gently securing the knot, so it lies smart and straight. Her hand straightens it in a stroking motion down his chest. She laughs as she looks back up at him, but he senses a little fondness in it. "You and your floppy hair," she remarks, and all of a sudden Matthew finds Mary's fingers gliding through his fringe, pushing it back out of his eyes so she can see them properly.
"There you go," she states stepping back. As she does, she swipes at the sandwich he's making, taking a bite before he can snatch it back.
"You sneaky little…" his arm darts out to grasp her waist, spinning her around to take his sandwich back but, sensing an opportunity, he pulls her in and tickles her so her knees buckle and she collapses against him with a shocked yelp.
"Serves you right!" Matthew laughs, taking a victory bite of his sandwich as she straightens her clothing. She puffs out a breath, blowing a stray lock of hair from her face.
"Do you know when Papa will be back?"
"His meeting finishes at five. He shouldn't be too long after that."
Mary considers this, nodding as she takes it in.
"Why?" Matthew asks. "Are you planning to slip away before he gets back?"
Mary pulls a face. "As a matter of fact, I planned to have dinner with him before I go out to Anna's."
Matthew cocks his head to the side, one eyebrow shooting up. "And I suppose you're going to watch a film at Anna's – maybe paint each other's nails?" He says, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Something like that," she smiles angelically.
He scoffs. "So, this has nothing to do with Amelia Napier's party? Because I heard it was some sort of rave all the way up in York."
"No one calls them 'raves' anymore, grandad." She says.
He rolls his eyes. "Still, it's hardly the picture of sophistication you usually like to paint your father."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she says sweetly. "How did you hear about it anyway?"
"Lavinia mentioned it, but I'm busy this evening." He sips his tea.
"Working again? What an exciting life you do lead." Her eyes glimmer. Her voice drips with sarcasm.
"I've got a date actually."
Well, that shuts her up.
She picks herself up quickly, giving a radiant smirk as she says, "Ooh, you Casanova."
"Well, M'lady," he teases, "I hear from Lavinia that you're being picked up by someone yourself."
Mary can't help but be a little pleased at Matthew's hint of annoyance as he says the words. They're level pegging, it seems.
No surprises there.
"He's coming at eight," she mentions breezily.
Mockingly, he looks her up and down. "You should start getting ready," he remarks.
"I've got four hours," she exclaims, nose wrinkled.
"It might take that long," he says with a smirk.
This earns him a slap on the arm.
Mary heard the front door bell ring as she slips on her heels, taking no short amount of time admiring herself in the mirror before slowly heading down the grand staircase where she sees Kemal walk briskly past Matthew, sauntering into the corridor and casually admiring the balustrade.
"What's all this?" Robert appears from the library, looking suspiciously at Kemal before turning to Matthew for his answer.
"This is Mr Pamuk," Matthew says. Mary doesn't miss the reserved and slightly cold tone of his usually so warm voice. "He has come to pick up Mary."
"Hmm." Robert gives an unconvinced grunt. He turns to Mary on the stairs. "I thought you were only going to Anna's."
Mary smiles, practically breezy. "Kemal is giving me a lift."
At the sound of her voice, Matthew and Kemal also both turn to watch her descend the stairs. She's very pleased, and not at all surprised, with the reaction she stirs. Kemal's eyes widen, a look that is very much admiring and yet slightly predatory. Matthew's jaw slacks, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulps at the sight of her long, bare legs. He quickly recovers, but Mary has already seen.
"I just need to fetch my jacket and I'll be right with you," she tells Kemal, heading into the library.
Matthew rolls his eyes, knowing perfectly well that Mary has planned this out deliberately so they would have to watch her walk back to the other room.
Despite his accurate assessment of her tactics, it still works. He finds himself staring at her retreating figure, his eyes lingering a little too long on her bottom.
Mary returns with her jacket over her bent arm, just in time to catch Matthew and Kemal locked in what looks like a rather clipped, aggressive conversation. Matthew's eyes issue a warning. Kemal looks somewhat surprised but defiant.
Mary stops to lean up and kiss her father's cheek before joining him at the door.
"Don't wait up, Papa."
"Be careful," he warns, but he says it with fondness.
Matthew's jaw is still set with a stern glare as she walks out. But he flashes an attempt at a smile to her before she turns to leave.
Once the door is shut, Matthew turns again to Robert.
"I had better get ready to go. Will you be alright looking over the case notes without me?"
Robert thumps him on the back, unfazed.
"Of course, of course. Don't worry about me. Go. Have fun."
Matthew grins, and jogs upstairs.
Upon arrival at Amelia's, the party is already in full swing. The Napier's country home is larger, but their house in York is hardly modest. Even so, people pour in their hoards throughout every section of the house and onto both front and back lawns. Mary excuses herself from Kemal to seek out Anna and Lavinia, both of whom are already on the tipsy side, dancing carelessly with a mob of others in a room of deafening music.
"Mary!" Lavinia calls, pulling her by the hand into the fray and thrusting an overflowing drink into her palm. "You didn't get waylaid by your man then?"
Mary scoffs. "He is not my man." She insists.
"Where's John?" She asks Anna. She shouts, but over the loud music it still takes two times for the words to make it through to Anna's alcohol flooded brain.
"Somewhere about," she calls back. "I think he's found Evelyn. Neither of them are really party animals, so they've decided to stick together."
Evelyn, Amelia's older brother, is another friend of Matthew's from way back. They both knew Patrick at Radley as well, but Evelyn was a late edition, only having known him after he fell off the rails. Mary likes him and knows very well that he's always had a bit of a thing for her. He's had always been very kind — sweet really. She makes up her mind to say hello to him at some point that night.
For the time being, however, she drinks up, starting to dance with Lavinia and Anna. Kemal joins her again after a little while, proffering another drink which goes down just as quickly as the first, albeit with a bit more of a grimace. It's a fair bit stronger.
From then on, her mind is hazy and unreliable. She does find Evelyn, dances with him even, but it is Kemal that monopolises her time with the most success. They dance, drink, dance more. He's not particularly loquacious, but she's not really bothered by it. She's here to enjoy herself, which is exactly what she's doing.
She has her wits about her enough to remember when Anna and Lavinia tell her they're going to head back in John's car, but she declines the offer of a lift back. Or rather, if she recalls correctly, Kemal declines for her.
They dance until her feet are aching from her heels, and she knows well enough that when the pain overrides the alcohol buzz, it's time to head back.
Kemal takes her by the hand and leads her back to his car. He puts music on as he starts the engine, and her mind is swimming too much to question if he's really sober enough to drive. She barely registers when they stop. The music is still going, thrumming through her head with a beat that consumes her enough that she doesn't protest the first kiss, nor the second. It's only when he moves, his hands moving up and body moving in that she gathers enough realisation that she doesn't want this.
She can feel his breath on her neck and it's too far, too much, it's suffocating. She wrenches her arms up to push him away. "Get off!" She commands at last. She is mollified to find her voice as haughty as ever. It makes her seem stronger than she feels.
"Don't be silly." His reply licks over her. She snaps the button of her seat belt, so it flicks over and off her chest, and shifts in her chair so she's further from his reach.
"I'm serious, Kemal. Get off me." She tries to give a stern look but she's not sure her fearful eyes qualify. He certainly doesn't cower under it as people normally do. His hand moves up her leg. His body comes over the gear stick, so he swelters above her. She gulps, the feeling of being trapped in his shadow one she won't forget in a hurry. His hand pushes up further still, under her dress, over her bottom and her reflex lashes out at once. Her leg pushes up, knees him directly in the crotch in the same moment that her hands scramble for the door handle, pulls it and pushes the door so she stumbles unceremoniously out.
"Come on, babe," he says breezily through the opened window. "Get back in the car."
"No." She's seething, panicking, trying to keep from screaming, running and attacking him all at once.
"Mary, come on," he appeals, a sour look on his face now, as if she has begun to bore him.
"Fuck off."
Her throat is still burning as she watches him drive spitefully away.
Her chest shudders from the effort of breathing. She looks around – the garage shop is closed; the car park is empty, she's miles away from any kind of population. There's one dim streetlamp over by the building that flickers intermittently, a rusty old bench backed onto one wall and a hanging sign that creaks in the night wind. In addition to all this, it's bloody freezing.
"Oh shit," she breathes, clasping a hand over her mouth.
She doesn't know what to do. Her phone is in her jacket, which she abandoned in the car in her haste to get out. The likelihood of Kemal being kind spirited enough to tell someone about her predicament is – well, the thought almost makes her laugh out loud. Almost.
She shivers, rubbing her bare arms to generate some heat. It's futile. On a desperate whim, she walks around behind the building. She's not sure what she's hoping for. Her nose wrinkles in disgust at just how dirty the place is – how distasteful. She doesn't have time to dwell on it, because against the back wall, there's an old payphone. It's grimy and she has to grit her teeth in revulsion in order to touch it, but there's odd change left on top of the box and in that moment, she can't believe her luck.
Only now she doesn't know who to call.
She can hardly call Papa, he'll be irate. The notion of calling Edith to bail her out makes her feel physically ill. Sybil isn't old enough to drive. Anna is still on her way home with Lavinia and John.
She groans, dropping her head in her hands.
There's only one person she can call.
And she really, really, doesn't want to call him.
A/N – I'm going to try my damn hardest to get the second chapter out by New Year's Eve. Wish me luck.
