I'm back!
Quite a short chapter today, I'm afraid, and quite bitty, but this is setting up most of the major plot points for the next section of the story.
Chapter 9
In which Mary, Thomas and Matthew return to Oxford, and Thomas makes a new friend.
It was the usual wet, damp British January when Mary and Thomas pulled up outside Downton College, the car filled with suitcases (mostly Mary's), ready for the new term.
Mary sighed happily as she stepped out of the car, looking up at the grand gates that led into the college.
"It's like coming home, isn't it?" she said breezily. "I refuse to believe that we have to leave for good in a few months' time."
"Well, believe it," said Thomas, his voice strained as he started pulling the luggage out of the car. "You know, I didn't think it was even possible for you to pack more than you did last term, but once again you've proven me wrong."
"Oh, stop whining," Mary said, although there was no real bite to it as she took the smallest case. "Come on, I'll get the rest later."
They greeted an amused Mrs Hughes as they went past the porter's lodge, stepping once again into the quad of the college. Thomas nearly collided into Mary when she stopped suddenly, the pile of boxes he was carrying crashing to the floor.
"How come I'm still carrying your boxes?" he grumbled as he picked them up. "I'm sure most blokes don't act as removal men for their ex-girlfriends - "
Mary interrupted him. "Shh, listen!"
Pausing in what he was doing, Thomas tipped his head to one side slightly as the music that he hadn't heard when he'd come in washed over him. A small smile, not unnoticed by Mary, grew on his face, his eyes lighting up as he realised what he was hearing.
"I wonder who that is. I didn't realise anyone played the piano in the chapel anymore."
Thomas stood up quickly, abandoning Mary's boxes. "Carry your own luggage," he said absent-mindedly, before slipping inside the chapel, a bemused Mary looking on.
It only took him a matter of seconds to spot Jimmy's blond head in the corner, bent over the keyboard where he was engrossed in what he was playing. Not wanting to disturb him and more than content to enjoy the music, Thomas perched on the edge of a nearby pew, watching and listening intently. It was only when Jimmy finished the piece, and Thomas began to clap, that Jimmy realised that there was someone else there.
"I didn't realise you were there; you made me jump!" He put a hand on his heart jokingly, smiling up at Thomas.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. That was just so incredible, I had to listen. I hope that's okay."
"Of course it is! And just so you know, I'm relying on you to be my biggest critic."
At this, Thomas blushed. "I think I'd be pretty terrible at that. It all sounds incredible to me."
"Well, in that case you'll have to be my morale booster."
"What, like your muse?" Thomas said before he could stop himself, looking away bashfully as soon as the words were out.
Jimmy cocked his head on one side and looked at Thomas quizzically before answering. "Yeah; my muse. After all, without you, I wouldn't have been able to practice. I've been wanting to play that piece for years and now I can, so thank you."
Thomas shrugged. "Oh, it was nothing really. I'm glad it's helping though." He paused for a moment, thinking about his next words carefully. "Have you… I don't suppose you've thought about what you want to do? You know, long-term? Because you're really really good, and I bet you could get into a music college or something if you wanted to."
"Me? Music college? You must be mad!" Jimmy laughed. "There's no way I'm good enough for that, not a chance! No, music will always remain a hobby and nothing more." He looked down sadly for a moment before clearing his throat. "Anyway, enough about me; how was your Christmas?"
"Oh, you know…" said Thomas nonchalantly. "It had its ups and downs. It was nice to spend some time with my mum, and with my cousin Phyllis, but, well, er, Mary and I, we, er - " Look sad, he told himself, "We broke up. Just before Christmas."
"Shit," Jimmy breathed, reassuring Thomas that his acting had been convincing. "I'm so sorry, that – that really, really sucks."
"It's not too bad. It's been a long-time coming, I think, and we're already back to being friends. I think it had just…" he paused, searching for the right words. "I think we'd just grown into different people who… who didn't want to be together in that way anymore." Not technically a lie, he thought to himself rather smugly.
Jimmy said, "That's okay, then," but he didn't look particularly convinced. He put a hand on Thomas' far shoulder, pulling him into an awkward, side-on hug. "It, er, it still can't have been easy, though.
If he noticed the way Thomas tensed up in the hug, he didn't say anything, keeping his arm around him.
"I'll bet you anything my Christmas was worse than yours."
Mary sped along in her new car, Matthew in the passenger seat looking at her with disbelief.
"You do realise that we're in your new car right now, yes? So it surely can't have been that terrible."
"Ah, but there's a difference!" Mary crowed. "This was a twenty-first birthday present; it just so happens that I have a January birthday. No, the birthday wasn't so bad; it was the Christmas that was more terrible."
Matthew only rolled his eyes, gazing out the passenger window as the English countryside sped past them.
"Well?" Mary said after a few seconds. "Aren't you going to ask me why my Christmas was so terrible?"
"Fine," Matthew sighed. "Why was your Christmas so terrible."
"A whole number of reasons."
"I somehow thought that might be the answer."
"Hey! Enough of that, thank you. Anyway; to start with, I had to spend time with my sister, Edith, which puts a dampener on anything. She even once managed to make Disneyland awful, which is a skill no person should have. Then Tom Branson came, and caused a bit of a ruckus by talking politics and socialism at the dinner table before almost persuading Sybil to head back to Ireland with him in the middle of the night, he'd upset my father that much. I managed to stop them, but it wasn't pretty for a while, him and Papa fighting at every opportunity."
"I fail to see how that makes your Christmas so awful," Matthew said, putting a hand on the door to steady himself as Mary swung around a corner.
"I haven't finished," Mary chided. "Tom visiting was only the tip of the iceberg. Edith had somehow persuaded Mama to let her invite Sir Anthony over for Christmas Day – Sir Anthony is her sugar daddy," she added at Matthew's confused look.
Matthew scoffed, "Surely that's a bit harsh?"
"Really? He's older than our father, and bought Edith a flat for Christmas."
At this, Matthew snorted. "Okay, fine; he's her sugar daddy. Surely it can't have been that bad, though?"
"Well, we all got food poisoning, and he threw up all over himself. In Edith's bed, which was not where he was supposed to me."
Matthew laughed loudly, still clinging on for dear life and Mary violently turned another corner, throwing him into the car door. "So, Sybil's boyfriend fell out with your father, Edith's boyfriend threw up all over her - "
"While she was naked."
"While she was – what?! Anyway – which leads me to believe that you're saving the best until - "
"I broke it off with Thomas."
" – last. Really? You – you and Thomas, er, you…"
"Yes," Mary said, all composure, "Thomas and I are no longer in a relationship. We're still friends, so there's no need to worry about all of that, but we did split up."
"Wow." Matthew ran his hand through his hair, resolutely not looking at Mary. "Are… are you okay?"
"Absolutely wonderful, which says everything you need to know about that relationship."
"You know, I underestimated you when you said you'd had a terrible Christmas. You broke up with your boyfriend, one sister nearly eloped with hers and the other was vomited on. Can't have been the easiest time for your parents."
Mary shrugged. "Well, Papa spent most of the time hiding in the library, and Mama can take anything any of throw at her." She paused for a moment, thinking. "Well. Almost anything."
Deciding not to question it, sure that he wouldn't like the answer, Matthew soldiered on. "So, all in all, a terrible Christmas?"
"In short, yes," said Mary. "Anyway, enough about me. How was your holiday? Was it as terrible as mine?"
"Oh, well, I don't really want to compete," Matthew said, suddenly nervous. I mean, it sounds like you had a pretty awful time of it, and I – well, I - "
Mary looked over at him, worried. "Is everything alright?" she said, nearly running over an unsuspecting cyclist.
"Well – not really," Matthew said awkwardly, clearly hating the dampener he was putting on the conversation. "It's – it's my mother, you see, she was – well, she was taken quite ill just before Christmas. It was just the two of us for Christmas, as usual, so we had it all in her hospital room. She wasn't really well enough for the whole Christmas Day, so we just exchanged some presents, had some hospital turkey, watched the Queen's speech. It wasn't so bad, not really; it was nice to spend some time with her, but… well, I'm sure you can imagine."
"I'm so sorry," Mary said, watching the road more out of respect to Matthew than concern for safety. "I… I didn't realise. That must have been bloody awful. Is she… is she okay now? Will she be okay?"
Matthew shrugged. "The doctors think she's on the mend, but they're not sure. It's cancer, you see, so it's going to take a while."
"I… I really hope she gets better, Matthew. Truly."
"Thank you," he said weakly, frantically rubbing the tears from his eyes. "That means a lot. I - Thank you, Mary."
Monday morning, 9 a.m. came too soon for Thomas. He would have much preferred to have a few more days' holiday, lounge around in the warm common rooms after brunch, but no; he was up before the sun was, trekking across Oxford, wrapped up tightly in a thick coat and scarf. Ever since the beginning of first year, he'd preferred to be the first one in his lectures; it never hurt to look eager, and it meant that he could choose the best seat without negotiations. He'd never really spoken to any of his classmates past small talk and casual greetings, so it suited him to sit in the lecture theatre for ten minutes by himself while everyone else milled around outside.
That particular morning was no different. No matter how much he grumbled about having to get up early, he still arrived before anyone else, sitting in his usual spot in the middle of the fifth row of the lecture theatre, pulling out his notebook and pen. Drumming his fingers impatiently against the top of his notebook he gazed around the empty lecture theatre, cursing himself for forgetting his lighter that morning, cancelling his usual cigarette on the way to class.
"Hello."
He jumped as someone spoke behind him, whipping his head around. He recognised the boy who was speaking, if only vaguely; the thick glasses were quite distinctive.
"Er, hello?" Thomas replied, phrasing it more as a question than a greeting.
"I was hoping I'd catch you," the boy said nervously, before blushing slightly. "Do you – do you mind if I join you?"
"Of – of course, that's fine," Thomas said, not able to think of an excuse for the boy not to.
The boy carefully made his way through the rows of seats of the lecture theatre, and Thomas couldn't help but notice the way he brushed his fingers over every bench and table he passed, as if to reassure himself that it was there.
"I'm Edward," the boy said genially when he reached Thomas, sticking his hand out.
Thomas shook his hand. "Thomas."
"I know." Edward's blush deepened at the admission. "I mean, um, yeah. You're Thomas. I noticed, you know, from when the lecturers call on you in class. You're very clever, you know. You're much faster at answering their questions than I am."
"I wouldn't say that," Thomas said, now slightly embarrassed. "And now I feel bad that I didn't know your name."
"Oh, I wouldn't feel too bad," Edward hastily said, putting a hand out as if to rest it on Thomas' arm but clearly thinking better of it. "I don't have many classes with you, not really. I can't do the workshops, not with my eyesight the way it is, so I take extra theory classes instead. But it means that I never really got to know people in the same way."
"That can't have been easy." Something about the way Edward spoke, the casual ease with which he held himself, made Thomas want to know more. It was clear that Edward, like him, felt like an outsider; had never really found his place among the others. For vastly different reasons, of course, but nonetheless, the end result was the same. "You're not the only one, though; to feel left out, I mean. I myself have never really fit in, either."
"Really? How come?"
Before Thomas could answer, the door to the lecture theatre opened and the rest of their class trickled in, followed by a bleary-eyed professor.
"We'll talk about it some other time," Edward whispered, and Thomas couldn't help but feel cheered by the thought that, perhaps, there would be a next time.
