Chapter 7
In which Mary, Thomas and Matthew prepare to go home for the Christmas holidays, and gifts are exchanged.
Christmas seemed to arrive earlier every single year, and this year was no exception. It felt like the decorations had been up in the shops since August, the whole term spent counting down the days to the end of November when they would be able to go home.
The holidays had never been the highlights of Mary's year. While, initially, it was nice to be home in her own bed, with someone else to do the cleaning and the laundry, the novelty usually wore off after a couple of days – or her first fight with Edith, whichever came first. She knew that this year would be no different.
Before she knew it, it was the last day of term and she'd just finished her final lecture of the Friday. After dropping off her bag in her room, she made her way through the college to Thomas' room, steeling herself for the doubtless terse conversation. This was by no means the first time that Thomas had shut himself off, lashing out at anyone who crossed his path in an attempt to hide his feelings, but it had been a few years since it had last been this bad, and they'd never gone this long without talking before. The last thing Mary wanted was to go home without being on speaking terms, putting off their inevitable confrontation for another couple of weeks.
She turned into the corridor to Thomas' room just as a door opened, revealing Tom Branson dragging a suitcase behind him.
"Hello, Mary!" He greeted, not looking at all bothered that he received only a polite smile and wave in return. "Are you here to see Thomas?" He looked slightly nervous at this last suggestion, as if even mentioning Thomas' name would cause him to come out of his room in a rage.
"Yes, I am," Mary said politely, before nodding towards his suitcase. "Are you off already? We haven't even had the end-of-term formal."
Tom shrugged. "Tonight was a cheaper flight back to Ireland, I figured I could miss one fancy meal. But I'll be back soon, though; did Sybil tell you I was visiting over the holiday?"
For a second, Mary was caught out by his announcement, but she didn't let it show. "Oh, really? No, she didn't mention it, but – well, it will be wonderful to have you."
"Then I look forward to it!" Locking up his room, Tom tugged his suitcase down the corridor. "Mary, do you… do you think that your parents will like me?"
He looked oddly nervous and out of sorts, and Mary briefly felt for him. "Of course they will," she smiled. "Nothing to worry about."
An Irish socialist, she thought as he left. Yes, they'll love that.
There was no answer but a noncommittal grunt when Mary knocked on Thomas' door, so she let herself in regardless.
"Hello, stranger," she said, forcing a smile on her face. "How are you?"
Thomas didn't look up from where he was packing his suitcase. "Perfectly fine, thank you Mary," he said dryly, busying himself in folding his clothes. "What have you come to lecture me about this time?"
"Nothing," Mary said, attempting nonchalance. "I just… Well, frankly I just wanted to make sure we're still on speaking terms. Before the holidays, I meant."
"Of course we are. Haven't you heard?" He turned to face her, and Mary thought that his eyes were the saddest she'd ever seen. "We're in a relationship, you and I. We're in love."
"Well, that was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about," Mary said, sounding braver than she felt.
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"
Swallowing audibly, Mary soldiered on. "Yes, I – well, we said at the beginning of the year that should either of us meet someone meet someone that we want to have an actual relationship with, then we should break this off right away."
"I see," he said smugly. "And I suppose you fancy cosying up to Matthew, then? It makes sense; he's much more in your league, a posh toff like him - "
"Just stop it!" Mary shouted, making Thomas jump. "First of all, you don't get to be bitter. We're not together, we're not in love, we're just doing each other a favour. And secondly, I wasn't talking about me. I was talking about you."
Thomas froze, realisation dawning on his face. "Really?" He said, his voice trembling but still dripping with sarcasm. "So you think I've got a gentleman friend on the side, then?"
"You've got Jimmy," Mary said boldly.
"I have not got Jimmy!" Thomas was rapidly growing red in the face, his hands beginning to shake. "He's straight, if you haven't noticed! And he thinks I am, too!"
There was a long silence, neither of them saying a word but each calculating their next move.
"What is it?" Thomas asked eventually.
Mary only shrugged. "Well, what you say may be all good and true, but you don't deny it."
"Get out," Thomas snapped, standing completely rigid. "I said, GET OUT!"
"Very well," Mary said after a few moments of terse silence. "I… I hope you have a good Christmas, Thomas."
She turned on her heel, and left.
"Good evening, Mrs Hughes," Mr Carson said as he opened the door to the porter's lodge.
"Good evening," Mrs Hughes said, turning round incredulously. "You're late!"
Gasping, Mr Carson looked offended at the accusation. "I am not late!"
Mrs Hughes laughed. "Well, you're certainly not early! I got worried when you weren't here at your usual time."
"Nothing to worry about Mrs Hughes," he said in his usual growl. "I, er… stopped on the way to buy you a gift. For Christmas, of course."
A twinkle appeared in Mrs Hughes' eye. "Well, hasn't that worked out well! I bought you a gift, too."
She pulled a wine bag out from under the desk, handing it over to Mr Carson who peered inside.
"That – that is my favourite, Mrs Hughes. How did you know?"
"I know you well enough," Mrs Hughes smiled, taking the small parcel from Mr Carson and unwrapping it.
Mr Carson cleared his throat. "I saw it in a shop window, and I thought of you."
Speechless, Mrs Hughes carefully lifted the necklace from its box. "It's… it's lovely."
"You don't like it," Mr Carson said awkwardly. "I shouldn't have - "
"No," she interrupted. "I love it. Thank you."
"And this is the porter's lodge – oh, hello Mrs Hughes, Mr Carson."
They both looked up to see Thomas Barrow there with a shorter young man with blond hair.
"Hello there, Mr Barrow," Mrs Hughes said, Mr Carson echoing the sentiment.
"Oh, this is my friend, Jimmy," Thomas said at their enquiring looks, giving a rare genuine (if unsure) smile.
The young man – Jimmy – waved sheepishly. "Er – hello."
As they left, Mrs Hughes turned to Mr Carson once more. "Well. You can't say you didn't pick up that at least something was going on there."
Mary wrapped her coat tighter around her as she rang the doorbell for Matthew's flat, the winter chill bitingly cold.
"Hello there, Mary," Matthew said as he opened the door. "Come on in, it's much warmer inside, and Jimmy's out, so it's just the two of us."
Mary raised an eyebrow. "Just the two of us? How improper." She followed him in as he chuckled, shutting the door behind her.
"So," Mary said as they collapsed onto the sofa, her coat and scarf hung up, "I wanted to see you before the holiday to give you your gift and… well, yes."
She presented a neatly-wrapped gift, a ribbon rosette stuck onto the top. "Here you go! Merry Christmas."
Matthew took the parcel from her, sliding his finger under one flap and pulling out the contents.
It was a slightly misshapen, extremely long scarf. The wool was a deep red, and clearly very high quality, but the scarf itself was at least seven feet long and not entirely straight, with mustard yellow tassels which clashed spectacularly with the rest of the scarf.
"Oh, er… thank you," Matthew said awkwardly, unsure of how to react. "It's, er…"
"I made it myself," Mary said nervously, looking down at her hands. "I know it's not, er, particularly nice, but I'd never knitted before and I wanted to make you something myself." When he didn't say anything for a few moments, she continued, "You don't like it; I was ridiculous to think you would. I'll – I'll get you something else, if you just give me your home address and I can post it - "
"I love it," Matthew interrupted, running his hands over the wonky knitwear. "It's wonderful. Thank you. I'm afraid that my gift will quite pale in comparison." He tore himself away from the scarf to pick up an envelope that was resting on the arm of the sofa. "Here you go. Merry Christmas."
Mary slowly opened the envelope, pulling out a gift card. She looked at it for a few moments, puzzled. "You… you bought me a goat?"
"Well," Matthew said, smiling nervously, "I, er, technically I bought a family in Kenya a goat on your behalf."
"You got me a goat?" Mary looked – and sounded – thoroughly unimpressed.
"I thought that, well, someone like you, you… well, you don't really want for anything, do you? If there's anything you want, you can just buy it, so I thought it would be nice to get something a bit different."
"You bought someone else a goat for Christmas?!"
Matthew's voice was extremely small when he spoke. "I just thought it was a nice idea, that's all."
For a few moments, Mary simply looked at him, evaluating, before leaning forwards and kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you. It is a nice idea."
"So this is Downton College," Jimmy said, looking round at the tall buildings. "It's certainly impressive; I can see why most of you lot are all high and mighty, waking up to this every morning."
"Oi!" Thomas said indignantly, but smiling all the same. "I will not be clumped in with 'those lot', thank you very much. Now, come on, this way."
"What are you showing me?"
"You'll see. It's a surprise."
Thomas led Jimmy through the quad and towards the chapel, towering above the rest of the college.
"A chapel?" Jimmy asked incredulously. "When did I ever seem church-y to you?"
"It's not the chapel!" Thomas laughed. "Just wait and see, we're nearly there."
He led them into the chapel, ignoring Jimmy's scoffs at the ornate ceiling and going straight to the far end.
"Happy Christmas!" he said, turning round by the grand piano tucked in the corner.
Jimmy looked at him blankly, clearly not understanding. "What… what do you mean?"
"It's your Christmas present," Thomas shrugged. "I – I checked with the chaplain, he said that as long as there's no service or choir practice or anything, you can come in and play it. And there won't be much on over the holidays, what with everyone being away, and I know you're staying in Oxford by yourself and all, and I thought - " He looked down bashfully. "You just looked so sad when you said you hadn't played in years, so I thought you could get some practice in, you know?"
"Thomas," Jimmy whispered, lifting up the lid and gently running his fingers over the keys. "This… this is brilliant! Like, really, really, brilliant! I… I don't know what to say. You didn't have to do this, you know?"
"I know. I just… I'd do anything for you, Jimmy."
The weight of Thomas' words were lost; Jimmy was far too absorbed in the keyboard in front of him. "But I – I haven't got anything for you."
"Then play something," Thomas said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Let me hear your play. That would be more than fine."
At this, Jimmy blushed. "But I haven't played in years, I'll be terrible!"
"I don't believe that," Thomas scoffed. "Isn't it like riding a bike, or something? Even if you're a bit rusty, you'll still remember how to do it."
They were caught in a battle of wills for a moment before Jimmy relented. "Fine. But I'll play something easy, mind. I'll have to work my way back up to the hard stuff."
"Okay, then. What are you waiting for?!"
Jimmy gingerly sat down at the piano stool, looking nervously at the keys as if they might bite. "Okay, well… I'll play Bach's Prelude in C. It's a famous one, but it's not too hard to play, and it's a good warm-up, so it will be good to get me back into it."
Thomas smiled. "Well, go on then!"
After a few seconds, Jimmy began to play; tentatively at first, the notes not quite even, but after just a few bars it was clear he was relaxing into it and the music, beautifully measured, filled the whole chapel, echoing around.
While Jimmy lost himself in the feeling of playing once more, Thomas was absorbed in watching him. He couldn't help but think that Jimmy had never looked more handsome, more beautiful; that something about the way he held himself had changed, that he was fulfilling his passion. Thomas slowly leant onto the closed lid of the piano, gazing at Jimmy who was none the wiser, completely immersed in the music.
They sat for a few moments after the music finished, taking the time to revel in the last remnants of the echo bouncing around the chapel walls.
"That was fantastic," Thomas whispered, not wanting to break the spell.
Jimmy only shrugged. "Well, it was alright. It was a bit shaky at the start, and I lost it somewhere around the middle but I think I picked it up again at the end."
"It was wonderful," Thomas reassured him. "Did it… was it nice? Playing again?"
"It was the best feeling in the world," Jimmy breathed, his eyes bright. "Thank you, Thomas. This is the best present you could have got me."
"Merry Christmas, Jimmy," Thomas said, unable to wipe the smile from his face.
"Merry Christmas, Thomas."
