'Nother long update! This is my problem - I can never judge how long anything will be. But we are FINALLY GETTING SOMEWHERE, I SWEAR IT.
Jimmy woke the next day with a headache that sidled uneasily round his skull, and a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He got up and dressed, careful to keep his mind blank.
Then he walked downstairs and put some bread in the toaster, feeling all the while like an actor in a play, following stage directions. He resolutely pushed down the thoughts that tried to sprout, like weeds, in the cracks of his concentration.
It helped to listen to Alfred. Alfred was the equivalent of weedkiller for thoughts.
" – must be some comfort to know he left his mark on the world. And I don't just mean the big stain on my bedroom carpet," Alfred said to Ivy.
"It's still so hard to believe he's gone," Ivy said, staring into her glass of orange juice.
The toast popped up and Jimmy put it on a plate.
"Did you have a good night, Jimmy?" she asked, as he sat down.
"Fine," he said, and took a big bite of unbuttered toast so that he wouldn't have to say anything else.
"You know, I think you had the right idea," Ivy said, as he resolutely chewed. "What d'you say, Alfred? We could go out and drown our sorrows this evening – have our own little wake for Wellington."
Alfred frowned. Usually he seemed excited at the prospect of sharing a spin cycle with Ivy, let alone an alcohol soaked evening, but strangely, he didn't seem happy.
"I'm sorry," he said, "But Daisy's coming over this evening to run through our sales figures…and after that, we're thinking of trying a quince and apple chutney."
Ivy's eyebrows rose. "Oh," she said.
"You're welcome to stay, of course…but…"
"You want to be alone with Daisy?" Ivy's eyebrows went up.
"Well, a good chutney requires a lot of concentration," Alfred said.
"Sounds serious," Ivy said, then, a little quieter, as if she couldn't help herself, "You and Daisy, that's…new."
"We did consider a marmalade, but chutney seemed like the next logical step," Alfred told her.
"I didn't mean" – Ivy began, then stopped, shaking her head. "Never mind." She turned to Jimmy. "I suppose it's no use asking – you wouldn't be up for a repeat of last night?"
Jimmy looked up from his blank contemplation of his plate, meeting her eyes, only to quickly look away. He took another enormous bite of toast, and chewed and chewed.
At Downton, he couldn't avoid thinking about it any longer, and he sat in his car for an extra minute or two, trying to collect himself.
Not that there was anything to think about, really. In spite of the jumping in his stomach telling him otherwise, he hadn't done anything.
All right, he'd grabbed hold of Thomas, to make a point. But what was that, really? Nothing.
He remembered closing his fingers around Thomas' wrist, like a bracelet – holding fast. Maybe he'd held on for slightly too long – but he'd been drinking, and people tended to get a bit carried away when they were drunk.
He thought about slowly stroking the inside of Thomas' wrist, his palm, the way Thomas' breathing had quickened, and how Jimmy had wanted to keep talking, keep touching him for as long as possible.
He hadn't done anything, he told himself again. His unsettled body didn't seem to believe him.
In the café, he debated whether or not to get coffee for Thomas. He didn't want to deviate from normality…but he baulked at the thought of giving Thomas the coffee, their hands meeting as he passed the cup, their fingers maybe even brushing. He didn't want to remind Thomas of last night.
Of course, since he hadn't done anything, not bringing Thomas his coffee might only serve to draw more attention to something that really didn't merit a second thought.
"For heaven's sake, stop dawdling and make your mind up," Mrs Patmore said, throwing up her arms. "It's coffee – not the fate of the free world!"
He got two cups, and slowly made his way to the office.
The key, he thought, was to act as if everything was normal – which everything was, because he hadn't done anything. Just touched Thomas' wrist and – asked to go to his house. For a drink, or something.
What would he do, he wondered, if Thomas actually followed through and invited Jimmy to his place?
The idea was enormous, unexpected, and he had to walk around it, examining it from all angles. If Thomas asked, he thought, if Thomas asked him…
Well…he would say yes.
Why shouldn't he?
He and Thomas were friends, and friends did things like that. He felt a thrill of anticipation in his stomach – Thomas would ask him, he'd said so last night. Next time – they'd practically made plans already. It would be rude to say no, and then Thomas might not ever ask him again.
Jimmy would just make sure he wouldn't drink so much this time.
He nodded to himself – a kind of punctuation at having resolved the situation to his satisfaction. Unbidden, Mrs Hughes words floated into his mind – these situations have a way of working themselves out.
Still, in spite of his newfound confidence, he found himself faltering as he reached the office – maybe because he wasn't quite as certain underneath the surface, or maybe because, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, it still felt as if something had happenedlast night…
…or maybe because he had a premonition that things weren't going to proceed as smoothly as he imagined.
Afterwards, when he thought about it, it was the latter part of Mrs Hughes' wry prediction that rattled around in his head – for better or worse. For better or worse. For better or worse.
But that was probably just hindsight, because when he turned the corner, the woman waiting outside the office didn't look anything like a harbinger of doom, and she didn't strike fear into his heart, or anything apart from mild curiosity, really.
"Hello," she said, as soon as she saw him. "I wonder if you could help me – I'm looking for Thomas Barrow." She was young and very attractive, pretty in a lush kind of way, full-lipped, with masses of thick, dark hair.
"Well, you're in the right place – this is his office," Jimmy said, indicating the door behind her.
"I've already knocked – he's not in," she said. "He is working today, isn't he?"
"He should be in shortly," Jimmy said. "But he has quite a few appointments – I don't know that he'll be able to see you right away. If you want, I can take your name and number and" –
"That's all right. I'll wait," the woman said, quietly, but with assurance. Her expression was somber but somehow determined.
At a bit of a loss, Jimmy juggled the coffees and unlocked the office door. He supposed he should offer her a seat. "If you'll come in, Miss...?"
"Sybil?" came Thomas' voice from behind them both.
With a bright smile, the woman turned, immediately crossing the distance that separated them. "Thomas! It's so good to see you." And without a trace of hesitation she flung her arms around him. Even more surprising, Thomas' hands came up around her back, not just allowing her to hug him – but actively returning the embrace.
"It's good to see you too," he said. In spite of how clearly pleased and taken he was with Sybil's appearance, Thomas glanced over her shoulder, and Jimmy felt his eyes rest on him for one long, hot moment that made the way Thomas' skin had felt under his thumb flash through Jimmy's mind.
When Sybil pulled back, Thomas gestured toward Jimmy and said, "I take it you two have already met?"
Sybil shook her head. "Not formally, no. So why don't you do the honours?"
Thomas swept his left hand between them. "Jimmy, this is Sybil Crawley – Sybil, this is Jimmy, my" –
The word 'my' jolted through Jimmy like an electric shock, and he blurted out, " – friend," at the same time as Thomas said, "– P.A."
Thomas stared at him for a second, but Sybil said, politely, "How nice. You're doing well – an office and a P.A. all to yourself."
Thomas shrugged, deliberately casual. "I've made a few changes, here and there."
Sybil's mouth twitched. "So I've heard." Jimmy studied her. There was a family resemblance certainly, but she looked softer than her sister, the eldest one, Mary, who hated Thomas, and she seemed more vibrant and natural than the pleasant but rather stilted mother.
"You've been talking to Carson, then," Thomas said, but Sybil shook her head. "No, actually – I stopped one of the tour guides and came straight here. You know how Mr Carson is – he always makes such a fuss, and I wanted to talk to you first. You look – well."
Jimmy wondered if he was imagining the slight pause before she said 'well'.
"I'm doing all right," he said. He cocked his head to the side. "And how about you? Still getting by on four hours a night?"
Sybil pulled a face. "Living in the calm between ear infections at the moment."
"You can bore me with the details on the guided tour," Thomas said smoothly, and offered his arm to her with perfect courtesy. "We should start with the military hospital – I have a feeling you'll like that, Nurse Crawley" –
But Sybil didn't link her arm through his, and the smile leaked slowly off her face. "Thomas," she said, and she laid her hand on his sleeve. Jimmy definitely wasn't imagining her hesitation this time. "Is there somewhere we can talk – in private?"
Thomas went very still for just a moment, before his face just closed off, like a curtain had fallen across it.
"Of course," he said, and walked stiffly toward the office, holding the door open for her. Sybil ducked inside, and Thomas' eyes met Jimmy's. "I'm sure you can find something to occupy yourself for a while, Jimmy," he said, and he even smiled – but it was a facsimile, polite punctuation, and even as Jimmy smiled back and agreed, he felt dread coil and slither heavily in his stomach.
This, whatever it was, was bad – he knew from the way Thomas had braced himself, wiped his face clean of expression, and the slightly rigid way he'd moved, like he was preparing for a blow.
And so, when the door clicked closed, Jimmy found himself rooted to the spot. He stood there, a few paces away, listening to the muffled murmur of voices inside the office – Sybil Crawley's mainly – and drank his coffee. And then he started on Thomas' coffee, because it was getting cold.
The voices stopped and there was complete silence, a moment of pure quiet that made Jimmy tense up - before suddenly, the office door burst open and Thomas appeared.
His face was very white, and he strode quickly past Jimmy without a word – Jimmy didn't even think Thomas saw him.
"Thomas? What's wrong?" he asked, trying to grab Thomas' sleeve, but Thomas just kept moving, and didn't acknowledge him at all. Jimmy started after him, but suddenly, there was a hand on his arm, and a voice in his ear, saying, "It's all right – you hold the fort, I'll take care of Thomas," and Sybil Crawley was brushing past him, almost running to catch up as Thomas disappeared around the corner.
For want of anything else to do, Jimmy went into the office. He waited for a while, then, when it didn't look like anyone would be coming back – and his call to Thomas' mobile went unanswered – he began cancelling Thomas' appointments for the day.
" – until the mustard seeds start to pop," Daisy finished, consulting the recipe. "Then I'll be ready with the spices."
"Right," Alfred nodded.
Jimmy sat at the table and flicked his mobile with his fingers, until it spun in aimless circles.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing? Mrs Patmore says that if we want this to turn out right, we have to be really precise about times and ingredients, otherwise we'll have fourteen jars to get rid of – and we can't afford that, not with our profit margins." Daisy had been all business from the moment she'd swept in – she hadn't even looked up from her recipe to wish Ivy and Alan a good night when they headed for the pub, and Jimmy had received a stern talking-to about sitting quietly and not talking - for the good of the chutney.
"I'm ready," Alfred said, bracing himself like he was about to run a triathlon.
After that, it was a two-hour blur of simmering quince and grating ginger and stirring and preparing jars – during which Jimmy's phone steadfastly refused to ring. He hadn't seen Thomas for the rest of the day, and when he'd gone searching, it had been to find Thomas' car gone, and no sign of him, or Sybil Crawley.
Finally, as he'd been leaving the office, he'd sent a text, asking Thomas if he was going to be in tomorrow. A text that had gone unanswered for the last four hours. He tapped his mobile off the edge of the table.
"Stop it!" Daisy said, brandishing a spatula. "Stop distracting Alfred – can't you see he's trying to get the air bubbles out?"
Jimmy stopped, and watched Alfred frantically push another spatula down the sides of one glass jar, then thrust the implement toward the centre – but before he even realized it, he was back to staring at the unhelpful screen of his mobile.
Finally, fourteen jars were sealed, one of which was thrust under Jimmy's nose. "What colour would you call that?" Daisy demanded. "Would you say it was amber?"
Jimmy stared down at the thick brownish-yellowish mixture inside the glass. It was speckled with black dots, and red, mushy looking pieces of…something. "Only if you promise to take it away," he said, lip curling in disgust.
The jar was thankfully whisked away. "Amber," Daisy crowed, beaming at Alfred. Her sleeves were rolled up past her elbow, and tendrils of her hair were stuck to her forehead. Alfred's face was beet red from all the simmering. Clearly, chutney was a grueling business.
"I must say, Daisy, you really know your way around a stock pot," Alfred told her.
It wasn't possible for Daisy to flush, given that her face was already pink, but her eyes went wide – and then she blinked and cleared her throat. "Right. Well – I'd better be off."
"What – just like that?" Alfred said. "There's no rush, is there?"
"Time is money," Daisy replied, holding her chin up. "And I can't afford to waste either, not anymore."
"What's that supposed to" – Alfred began, only to be interrupted by the sound of Ivy shouting, "Well fine, then, don't bother," and slamming the front door.
Daisy grabbed three jars of chutney and balanced them under her arm. "I'm going home," she said firmly, over the sound of Ivy's feet pounding up the stairs.
Jimmy's phone continued to not-ring.
The next morning, Thomas wasn't in the office when Jimmy got there.
A little warning might have been nice, Jimmy thought sourly. It wasn't as if he had, oh, he didn't know – specifically texted to know if Thomas would be in. He tried Thomas' number again – but there was no answer. What a surprise.
Ten o' clock, he thought. He could hold off on cancelling Thomas' appointments until ten o' clock. It was possible Thomas had just gotten delayed this morning. The image of Thomas yesterday, stiff-backed and white-faced as he walked away flickered through Jimmy's mind like a ghost.
Jimmy turned on his computer and started work. Well, as much work as he could do while Thomas wasn't there – which wasn't much. His eyes kept flicking to the clock on his screen, as time crawled by. Quarter past nine. Half nine. Twenty to ten. Ten to ten.
At five minutes to ten, the office door opened, and Jimmy felt his heart thump hard with relief. Unfortunately though, it wasn't Thomas who stepped inside.
"Hullo," Sybil Crawley said. She stood just inside the door, hand still on the handle. "Jimmy, isn't it?"
He forced himself to smile. "Yes. Sorry Miss Crawley – but I don't think Thomas is in today." It probably wasn't the right form of address – Mr Carson and Thomas had referred to her sister as Lady Mary, but it felt unbelievably stupid to refer to anyone as Lady Something while actually speaking to her, like they were all white-gloved characters in some plodding old play.
She didn't seem to mind, anyway. "Sybil, please. And that's all right," she said. "Actually – it was you I came to see."
They took a table right at the back of the café – after Sybil had spent a full five minutes talking to Daisy and Mrs Patmore.
"Looks like you're a hit," Jimmy commented, as Daisy finally left the table.
Sybil raised her teacup to her lips and took a sip. "I suppose when you work somewhere, it creates a bond."
"You worked here?" Jimmy asked.
Sybil shrugged. "For a while." She took another sip from her cup. "Typical teenage rebellion, I suppose – you know…apply for a job in your family's stately home, work summers as a tour guide, bring a socialist boyfriend home to tea…"
"Oh yeah. Typical," Jimmy agreed.
She grinned. "Well, I did my best. Though Granny did ask if I wouldn't rather just get a piercing or a tattoo. It would be less trouble, she said."
"So that's how you know Thomas. From working together."
She nodded. "Yes." She smiled. "We had a lot of fun during those summers. Like I said – when you work with someone, it creates a bond."
Jimmy thought this was a bit of a starry-eyed way of looking at it. Thomas had worked with Mr Bates too, and they weren't exactly walking around arm-in-arm. But obviously she believed it, and it was just as obvious that there was a bond between her and Thomas – she launched into anecdotes of her summer-as-a-tour-guide with enthusiasm, and she questioned Jimmy about his experience with Thomas with clear interest.
"I was so glad when Matthew hired him on, especially after…" she trailed off and studied Jimmy, very intently, for a moment. "Jimmy…you said yesterday that you were Thomas' friend. That's true – isn't it?"
Her manner had changed from warmly open to something more serious. The earnestness of her gaze made him uncomfortable.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm – we're friends."
"Good," she said, sitting back in her chair a little. "I just – I wanted to make sure before I said anything else. Because this is rather personal."
And then she told him about Edward Courtenay.
" – a degenerative disease – very rare. Very sad." Sybil stared at her teacup, as if she were miles away. "He'd only just learned about it, really, when we first met him. And it was – he was trying to come to terms with it, I suppose. He talked an awful lot about wanting to go travelling – he should go while he could still see the sights, he said."
She broke off and fiddled with the empty sugar packet on the side of her saucer.
"I'm sorry," Jimmy offered, a bit awkwardly.
She ignored him, continuing on as if he hadn't spoken at all. It sounded almost as if she were talking to herself. "But it really did seem like he was coping a little better. Talking about the future. Starting to accept…" she stopped, and met Jimmy's eyes. "He committed suicide just a few days ago."
He didn't know what to say. More than that – he didn't know what she was going to say…though thinking of Thomas' face yesterday, he thought he could guess.
" – a big shock, obviously," she said. "And that's – well, that's why I wanted to talk to you."
"So – were he and Thomas…" Jimmy began, then trailed off, because he didn't know how to finish that sentence. He wasn't sure he wanted to finish it.
Carefully, Sybil said, "I think…that's probably a question Thomas should answer." She looked at Jimmy and admitted, "Though…I'm not sure it made any difference, either way. I mean, if you'd seen them together, the way I did, you'd know that the – the definition didn't matter…Thomas even handed in his notice just so that he could go travelling with Edward."
It felt like the world jerked around him. "That's why he left Downton?" He couldn't take it in. He understood the words Sybil Crawley was saying, but they refused to make sense in his brain.
"I'm sure you understand that this is going to be a difficult time for Thomas," she said. She bit her lip. "The thing is...we're going to Ireland soon, Tom and I, so it's – I won't be here, and phone-calls and email aren't the same. I know Thomas has been seeing - um, and I've spoken to Philip, but I'm not sure how" – she paused, and then said delicately, " – how practical that will be, in the long run."
"D'you think he's going to – what, do something? Like this Edward Courtenay?" Jimmy asked, a kind of indignation at the thought of it. Thomas wasn't like that. And Sybil, well-meaning as she was, couldn't know Thomas very well if she thought that about him.
"No, of course not," she said, quite calmly, and Jimmy felt slightly mollified. "I don't believe Thomas would do anything rash. But it's a hard thing to have to deal with…and no-one should have to do it alone."
She leaned forward, elbows on the table, very serious. "You said you were Thomas' friend…well, Thomas is going to need a friend now – a real one." Her eyes were fixed on Jimmy's now, steady and clear. "Will you look after him? Just – be his friend? Please. I don't like to ask…but I can't, and I just – I want to know that someone will be there for him, if he needs it."
It was a responsibility – a heavy one, the kind he'd never asked for – or wanted, even. He could feel it on his back, an enormous burden – the kind Sybil Crawley really couldn't, in good conscience, ask a perfect stranger to shoulder on her behalf.
He opened his mouth. "Yeah," he said, and found himself nodding. "Yeah. I think I can do that."
Back in the office, after he'd left Sybil Crawley, he thought about Thomas and this shadowy Edward Courtenay.
That Thomas had been – in love with the man was a strange, preposterous thought. That they'd been friends, he could believe…but Thomas was – Thomas was practical, too practical to get swept into some – some overblown gay version of Jane Eyre.
There were of course, some things that didn't quite fit with Jimmy's resolutely platonic reading of the relationship – like Thomas' face, and the way he'd moved, and how Jimmy hadn't heard a word from him since Sybil's visit yesterday.
And the way Thomas had left Downton to be with Edward Courtenay.
But Jimmy could make 'friends' stretch at the edges to cover most of that – of course Thomas was upset that a friend had died. It was a shock, and shock made people act strangely, in ways they wouldn't usually.
The only thing he couldn't quite explain away was Thomas leaving Downton. But, he reminded himself, that was Sybil's take on it – and as nice as she was, it wasn't as if she knew everything about Thomas.
Really, he decided, it was kind of her to take this kind of trouble, and to ask him to look after Thomas – but it wasn't necessary. He'd had a shock, of course, but – Thomas didn't need looking after. Thomas would be fine.
The words on Jimmy's computer screen kept sliding out of his grasp, and he had to keep rubbing his tired eyes.
It was a shock when the office door eased open for the second time, and he stared at the Duke in incomprehension. "What are you doing here?" he couldn't keep himself from asking.
The Duke's eyebrows rose. "Why, availing of your hospitality – as ever."
Jimmy scowled.
"Actually," the Duke said – and beneath the unruffled exterior, there was the slightest hint of – nervousness, or tentativeness or something, "Something's come up, and I just wanted to pop by before I caught the train. Say goodbye and all that."
"You're leaving?" Jimmy knew he sounded incredulous, rather than ecstatic – and that was a cruel twist of fate.
"I would have thought you'd be all in favour," the Duke said. "Given your – tight schedule."
"But Sybil did speak to you, didn't she?" Jimmy persisted, refusing to be distracted from the issue at hand. "So you know" –
The Duke cut across him, swiftly. "As I said, something has come up." His smile clearly indicated that the discussion had been closed.
"Right," Jimmy said. He couldn't stop his mouth from curdling into an expression of distaste. "Well, I really don't see why you needed to launch a personal farewell tour, but," he shrugged and barely waved his left hand, dismissing the Duke, and looked back down at his work.
"The thing is, Thomas is – rather occupied at the moment," the Duke said, annoyingly continuing to stand right in the middle of the office, pointedly not leaving. Jimmy began to tap at his keyboard, creating a string of nonsense words that would have to be deleted.
" – so I hope you won't mind making my excuses to him."
Incredulous, Jimmy rose to his feet. "What – you're not even going to say goodbye to him?"
"From what I hear, Thomas has other things on his mind, and I'd prefer not to disturb him."
"Oh – how kind of you," Jimmy bit out.
The Duke shrugged. "Honestly, I don't imagine I should be any great comfort in a crisis," he said. He sounded rueful, self-deprecating almost. As if Jimmy believed anything that came out of his mouth. "Really, I think the best thing I can do is – stay out of Thomas' way."
"No, you're right," Jimmy told him, snapping the words out. "We should manage just fine without you."
The Duke smiled one of those small, infuriating smiles that made Jimmy's fists itch. "Will we?" he said, emphasizing the second word. "I'm glad to hear it."
"Actually," Jimmy said, goaded into rashness, "Thomas probably won't even notice you've gone."
The Duke looked him up and down. "Well – that makes your job significantly easier then, doesn't it?" he said, quite calmly.
It turned out that Thomas had phoned in sick to Mrs Hughes.
"I told Mr Carson, of course – but I assumed Thomas had let you know," she said, and sighed. "Then Sybil came by this morning, and told me the whole story. I take it she told you, too."
Jimmy nodded.
"We'll be – careful with Thomas, when he comes back," she said, eyes sharp on his. "All of us." It wasn't advice, but an order.
"And when will that be?"
"Tomorrow, I expect. Unless he calls to tell me otherwise." Mrs Hughes seemed to soften a little. "Try not to worry too much, James. It's a hard thing, but – Thomas will come through it, in time."
He wasn't worried. He knew Thomas, after all. Still, before he left Downton that evening, he got Thomas' address from a red-rimmed Daisy. Just in case he didn't show up tomorrow.
" – just a dog," Ivy said, waving her fork in the air. "Can you believe he said that?"
Jimmy pushed his food around his plate and tried not to listen.
" – so I said, 'Well, maybe I'm just a girl to you,' and he said" –
"Do you think the potatoes are overly seasoned?" Alfred asked with a frown.
"Hm?"
"You haven't eaten very much."
"It's fine," Jimmy said, and stuck a forkful of whatever-it-was into his mouth, to shut him up.
"Are you sure, because" –
Jimmy shoveled in another mouthful. "S'fine," he repeated indistinctly, through a mass of food.
" – just need to find someone who cares and listens to me," Ivy finished. "Don't you think?"
There was a silence.
"…yes?" Alfred hazarded.
The next morning, the office door was unlocked – but Jimmy still had to take a moment before stepping inside, and the sight of Thomas sitting behind his desk made gladness surge through him like an electric current.
"Thomas," he said.
Thomas looked up. "Were you expecting someone else?"
He looked neat and put together, the expression on his face composed, as it usually was. And he sounded normal too, voice cool and slightly sardonic.
"No," Jimmy said, "Just" - he stepped a little closer, "Sybil was in, and she told us what happened…about your friend. I'm sorry."
"Right," Thomas said, "Well, if you're quite done wringing your hands, maybe we could get to work?" There wasn't a waver, or a catch, or even the hint of a hitch in his words.
Jimmy felt something he hadn't realized was tense, ease inside of him.
They didn't need to worry about Thomas. Thomas was all right.
Except – he wasn't.
It took a while for Jimmy to admit it, but by the end of the day, he couldn't lie to himself any more. Thomas asked him for times and dates and figures…and that was fine, that was standard.
What wasn't standard was the way he asked Jimmy for those times and dates and figures again, as if he'd forgotten he'd ever requested them in the first place. And he sat at his desk, to all intents and purposes engrossed by his computer screen – except for the tight clench of his jaw, and the way his eyes sometimes stopped moving from side to side, and just stared blankly ahead.
And he didn't speak, at all. The office was church-quiet, and even the click of the keyboard keys seemed oddly muffled in Jimmy's ears.
Finally he said, awkwardly, because by now it was obvious that Thomas wasn't going to give him ordinary small talk, let alone a perfect lead in to the Duke's sudden absence. "By the way – Philip called in yesterday. The Duke."
"I know who Philip is," Thomas said, in that flawless imitation of a normal tone.
"And he said," Jimmy began awkwardly, "he said something'd come up and he had to leave. Said he didn't want to disturb you before he went."
Thomas was quiet for a moment. Then he lifted his head and looked right at Jimmy. "And? Is that all?"
Jimmy looked back at him. Thomas looked entirely disinterested, and even though that should have thrilled him, instead, it made him feel off-balance. "Yeah." He nodded. "That's all."
Thomas turned back to his computer and kept pretending to read.
At lunch, Daisy was still quiet and swollen-eyed.
"Are you alright?" Alfred asked.
She shook her head. "I'm fine. It's just…hearing about him. Edward. It's just sad."
"Did you know him then?" Jimmy asked. "Edward Courtenay?"
"A bit," she said. "Not very well. They used to come in here – him and Thomas. And Sybil, sometimes. He were nice, you know."
"Were he and Mr Barrow…?" Ivy asked, tailing off. When Daisy didn't answer, she said, "Together. You know."
Jimmy thought about that morning – Thomas' carefully constructed face, and the considered timbre of his voice, and had to look away.
"I don't know," Daisy said, with a shake of her head. Though Jimmy thought that probably meant no. If Thomas had been with Edward Courtenay, like that, then he imagined everyone would have known it. Subtle, Thomas was not.
"I mean, they were close – anyone could see that. He was always around, Edward. He used to walk around the grounds or wait in here until the tours were finished…and then, Thomas gave up his job for him, so I suppose" –
"And did he say that?" Jimmy interrupted. "That he was chucking it all in for him, this Edward bloke?"
"Well, no," Daisy said.
"Then you don't know," Jimmy said, with flawless logic.
"I suppose not, but – they went off together. Travelling and all sorts. And – none of us really expected to see Thomas here again."
"But you did – and he came back. So whatever it was, it mustn't have worked out," Jimmy pointed out.
Daisy stared at him. "That don't mean he's not sad he's died."
"I didn't mean that. That's not what I'm saying."
"Then what are you trying to say?"
Jimmy didn't have an answer.
Daisy sniffled, and Alfred awkwardly tried to cheer her up. "Oh, come on now – a long face never solved anything. And – you didn't even know him, not really" –
"That's not the point!" The words burst out of Daisy, and Mrs Patmore looked up from the counter sharply. "It's just – he were so young, and it's – it's not fair. He had his whole life ahead of him, and now it's just…gone. Young people aren't supposed to just – die like that. It's not how it's supposed to be!"
Her face began to crumble, and she whirled around. "Daisy!" Alfred called after her, but she didn't even pause, heading past the counter and toward the kitchen. Mrs Patmore made to follow her, but stopped first and held up a warning finger. "If I find any of you has been upsetting that girl, today of all days – well…I won't be responsible for my actions!"
She bustled out after Daisy.
"What was that about?" Ivy asked. She laid a hand on Alfred's arm. "You were only trying to help."
"D'you think she's all right?" Alfred said, squinting after Daisy.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to take another look at this," Mr Carson said, holding out several sheets of paper. Thomas took them.
Mr Carson remained.
"Is that all?" Thomas asked.
Mr Carson cleared his throat. He seemed a little ill at ease, but straightened his shoulders and said, "I just wanted to say, Thomas, that if you…needed some extra time…that that could be arranged."
Thomas looked up from the sheets he held in his hands. "Are you implying I can't do my job, Mr Carson?"
Jimmy looked between them as Thomas held Mr Carson's gaze challengingly, until finally he said, "No. That's not what I'm saying at all, Thomas."
"Then I can't see why you'd bring it up."
"As you wish," Mr Carson turned away, sigh rumbling through his words.
One morning, Jimmy found Miss O' Brien skulking around the office – clearly waiting for Thomas.
She started when she saw Jimmy. "Can I help you?" he asked, as he unlocked the door, affecting his least interested, most distant tone, as if she were a stranger.
"I just wanted to see if" –
"If what?"
"If Thomas were all right."
"Of course he is. Why wouldn't he be?" Jimmy lied.
She'd seemed off-balance before – actually, she'd seemed…sincere, almost, but at his tone, her usual impenetrable mask slipped back into place. "You don't know then," she said.
"Know what?" Jimmy didn't bother to keep his dislike out of his voice.
"About Edward Courtenay."
"Of course I know about him," Jimmy said.
"Then, if you know about him, then you should also know that there's no way that Thomas is fine."
"It's funny," Jimmy said, "I don't think I'd come to you for an update on Thomas' emotional state. Well, not an honest one, anyway." He held her gaze. "Thomas is fine."
"If you say so," she murmured, and glided away.
She was right, of course, and so was Mr Carson. Thomas put up a good front, but that was all it was – a front.
The one thing Thomas was, above all else, was competent. He did his job with a kind of confident, ostentatious ease, and so now, to have Mr Carson handing back work, and to have Mrs Hughes stopping Jimmy in the corridor and saying things like, "If you could just get Thomas to check those schedules he sent me – I don't think they're quite – ready yet"…was just – embarrassing.
Embarrassing and…painful, in a strange way. Like no matter how he tried, and how much of an act he put on, Thomas couldn't hide his vulnerability.
And it was a burden for Jimmy – it felt like he was carrying Thomas, and it made his shoulders ache. He took copious notes during meetings for the Heritage Week, because Thomas sat there with an attentive look on his face, and a blank notebook, and the only time he really seemed properly present was when Mr Bates approached him and said, "I was sorry to hear about your friend, Thomas."
"I don't see why," Thomas had said coolly. "You didn't know him."
"I can still feel sorry about it, can't I?" Mr Bates said.
"Oh, I'm sure you can, Mr Bates," Thomas said, with a small, sharp smile. "Being as that's your natural state, and all."
Jimmy seemed to spend the rest of the week apologizing to people that Thomas was supposed to meet but hadn't, and cancelling anything that wasn't urgent, and trying to cast quick, surreptitious looks over anything Thomas sent to Mrs Hughes or Mr Carson.
He hated it. It was uncomfortable and humiliating, and it had nothing to do with him, even. He could almost have hated Thomas for putting him in this position, but…Thomas hadn't put him in any position. He'd never asked Jimmy to do any of it. Sybil Crawley had. And even though she'd stood him a cup of tea, he really didn't feel like he owed her anything in particular. Certainly not this.
Except – he had promised. Even if he hadn't known then how it was going to be. Somehow, he couldn't stop himself from doing all those things, even as he hated doing them. It was strange - he and Thomas, well...they weren't really anything to each other - not anything that could explain this, anyway. They were friends, yes - but even friendship had its limits, and Jimmy felt as if he had passed those some time ago.
But he just gritted his teeth and kept going. And like a mantra, the whole time, he told himself that Thomas was going to be okay.
That morning began like any of the others. Jimmy dragged himself out of bed, got dressed, had breakfast, and made his way to Downton Abbey. Possibly Ivy and Alfred made an appearance at some point, but he wouldn't swear to it.
He was tired. The words he typed on his computer that morning ceased to make sense early on, and blurred into one another. At his desk, Thomas sat with a book open in front of him. But he looked like a still life – minutes went by before he turned a page.
I don't know how much longer I can watch you do this, Jimmy thought. He scraped his chair back and got to his feet. Thomas looked up, and Jimmy tried to smooth his face into neutrality. "I'm going to get a cup of coffee. D'you want one?"
At the café, he queued behind four old women with the same blue-rinsed perm, and ordered two coffees. But it wasn't until they were both placed on the counter that Edna, who was waiting behind him said, "I hope you're thirsty, because if one of those is for Mr Barrow, he's already gone."
"What? Gone where?"
Edna shrugged. "I don't know – I just bumped into him on the way to the car park."
"And you couldn't have told me this before I ordered?" Jimmy asked, clenching his fingers in annoyance. He wondered where Thomas could have gone.
"It's all right – I'll take that one," Daisy said, and picked up the second coffee. "Come on," she told Jimmy, and nodded toward the door of the café. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she called to Mrs Patmore.
"Oh – will you? How kind of you to let me know," Mrs Patmore said, but it sounded more like an routine grumble than an actual complaint.
Outside, Daisy pulled him around the side of the building, and then she sat on the ground, with her back to the wall. Jimmy followed suit.
"I'm worried," she said. Both hands were wrapped around her coffee, and she stared into the cup.
"He's fine," Jimmy said – it was his kneejerk response. It was mostly a defensive answer – but a small part of him felt like he could will it into being if he said it often enough. "Thomas will be fine."
"I'm not talking about Thomas. I'm talking about you," Daisy said.
"Me?" he frowned. "Why would you be worried about me?"
"Because…I know what it's like," she said, sounding ridiculously, painfully earnest. "I know what it's like when someone you like – you care about – is hurt…and you want to help them, you do, but…"
"But what?" he said, drawn in, despite himself.
She looked up, "But you can't. Not really. Or maybe you think you can, only…only it's doing what they want, and not what you want, and before you know it, you're all – tangled up and you can't get out of it, and – and then everything ends up even worse than when you started." Her voice rose and became more agitated as she finished, and Jimmy winced.
"What are you talking about?" he said.
"I just…" she stopped and put a hand on his arm, "It's good of you to try and take care of Thomas. But – don't forget to take care of yourself, too. Don't let yourself get – swept along. Because – sometimes that can happen." She stared at him, eyes wide and sad. "So, don't take it all on yourself, because no-one can do that for someone else – and…and be honest. Because if you're not, then…everyone ends up getting hurt."
"I won't," he said, finally. "And – Thomas is going to be fine."
She smiled at him, a bit, but he didn't know if she believed him.
Thomas didn't return for hours. Actually, Jimmy had completely given him up, and was shutting down his computer when he appeared.
Or rather, they appeared.
"What are you doing here?" Jimmy demanded, as the Duke upended a slightly disheveled looking Thomas into his desk chair.
"Thomas decided to follow him home," he said. "I thought I'd do a good deed and return him, since he's clearly in no condition to drive."
There was a kind of alcoholic miasma almost shimmering around Thomas. "How nice of you," Jimmy said.
"I thought so too," the Duke said. He leaned over Thomas a little. "You can call me when you decide to be fun, again," he said, and touched Thomas' face with his hand, almost tenderly. Jimmy found his fingers curling into fists.
The Duke straightened and aimed that impersonal smile at Jimmy. "I thought I'd let you sort him out – seems rather more your job description than mine. I'll have his car sent down tomorrow."
Jimmy didn't relax until the office door closed behind the Duke. Then he turned and looked at Thomas in silence for a few moments. "You know," he said, almost conversationally, "There was a time when I thought you were clever."
"Well, there was a time when I thought you were gay," Thomas retorted. "So I suppose that makes us even."
Jimmy laughed, startled, and Thomas managed a rueful smile.
"Were you together?" he found himself asking, because suddenly, he had to know. "You and Edward Courtenay? Is that what all this," he gestured at Thomas' rumpled state, " – is about?"
Thomas looked away for a moment, and Jimmy didn't think he was going to answer, but eventually, he said, "No. It wasn't like that."
"You left Downton because of him," Jimmy persisted.
That bitter edge of self-deprecation was in his voice. "Yes, but you know me – I only fall in love with people I can't have."
Jimmy closed his eyes for a second. In love. He groped for something, anything, to say, to full the sudden, awful silence. "You should think about taking up as the lead in a romantic comedy – with a habit like that." His voice sounded distant in his own ears.
Thomas laughed, but there wasn't any joy or humour in it. "And what'll we call the show...Carry On Regardless?" He stopped. "Doesn't seem very funny so far."
"No," Jimmy agreed, because he was tired, and he had an ache in his chest, and Thomas had been in love with Edward Courtenay, and the last thing any of this was, was funny.
Thomas looked at him for a moment before getting to his feet, a little unsteadily, and saying, "Come on. Let's go for a walk."
Outside, it was cool, and a light, crisp breeze was blowing. But Thomas didn't seem to feel it, just slowly led Jimmy around the front of Downton. It was deserted now, due to the late hour, and the sky above was overcast and grey.
"We used to come out here, sometimes," Thomas said vaguely. Jimmy didn't say anything. It was clear enough who 'we' meant.
"We went all around, really," he said, "But this is the part I remember best. And there was this one time...it's still so clear – I was standing here, and he was there," he barely gestured with his index finger, " – and I can see him. He was standing there, and talking – and I could have – reached out, touched him." Thomas' hands moved at his sides, as if he were reliving it, even as he told Jimmy about it. He darted a sidelong glance at Jimmy before saying, "Could've really pushed it and kissed him. But I didn't. Because I was happy with what I had."
He looked at Jimmy, and grinned a skeletal kind of grin. "And you know me – I'm never happy with what I have." He stared off into the distance. "And it wasn't that I didn't want more, but – I didn't want to risk it. Not then. Not yet. And we had time, I thought…"
He stopped, and swallowed. "Turns out, there's never really a good time to sort out a relationship when one person is trying to come to terms with going blind. Tends to get a bit confusing. That's why I left, you know. He said he had to be alone for a while – learn how to do things for himself, before he could figure out how he felt about me. He didn't want me waiting around for someone who might never be able to give me what I wanted." Casually, Thomas said, "Shame really. I was quite good at it, after all the practice."
Jimmy looked at him, and only half absorbed the words. The breeze blew Thomas' dark hair over his forehead, and he looked very young to Jimmy, as if he were exactly the same person who'd stood next to Edward Courtenay, wanting more, but holding himself back, trying so hard to be careful – which said it all, really, given Thomas' tendency toward headlong stupidity when it came to matters of attraction.
"The thing is," Thomas continued, still in that same steady voice, "I can't get past that. I just – keep remembering that day. It keeps going through my head, and I…can't get past it." He looked right at Jimmy. "I'm sorry."
Jimmy began to nod, almost unconsciously, because he knew what was coming. It was there, in Thomas' apology…in the fact that Thomas was explaining this to him at all. Because he knew Thomas, and this was – Thomas' resignation.
And it was for the best, really. For him, and for Jimmy. They certainly couldn't keep going on like this.
Don't take it all on yourself, Jimmy thought. Because no-one can do that for somebody else. It was sound advice. It was the only sensible thing to do.
So Jimmy didn't know why, instead of letting Thomas finish, his heart gave one wild thump – and he found himself stepping forward, and cupping Thomas' face between his hands…and leaning up to kiss him.
It only lasted one breathless moment, Thomas' mouth soft and startled against his, before Jimmy stepped back, and pushed his shaking hands into his pockets.
Thomas stared at him. "What" – he began, but didn't seem able to articulate anything else.
Jimmy tried to keep his own voice steady as he said, "Well, you've got a new memory now."
He took another step back. "Come on," he said. "I'll drive you home."