"You what?" It was all Jimmy could manage when his heart had kicked into a rhythm of 'oh-fuck' beats per minute.
Thomas shrugged, facing forward and not turning his head in Jimmy's direction. He took another drag of his cigarette, and let the silence speak for itself.
Jimmy felt like he was breathing through a straw. "You're chucking me?"
Thomas exhaled smoke. "Well, I didn't think I'd have to spell it out, but – yes." He spoke in a light tone, the precision of his words the only thing that gave any hint of discomfort. "…if you want to put it like that."
"Right – and how would you put it?" Jimmy asked. A mixture of panic and anger lurched in his stomach. What Thomas was saying felt unbelievable – and yet oddly irrevocable at the same time. It was like running face-first into a wall. His hands shook, and he clenched them. "Go on then, Thomas – because I'm dying to know how you see it."
Thomas stubbed out his cigarette into the ashtray on the coffee table, before turning to face Jimmy properly. "Look," he said, with a businesslike air that he'd never before affected when speaking to Jimmy, "It's been – fun, I'm not denying it" –
Fun. "Oh that's big of you, nice to know this was good for a laugh at least" –
"– but let's not get carried away here. It's not like it was going anywhere."
"And what – you're in such a rush to go somewhere that you need a head start?" Jesus. First Ivy, now Thomas. Jimmy'd never realized he should've been consulting a fucking street atlas every time they'd so much as kissed.
"I like to think I'm open to the possibility, at least," Thomas said, with deliberate mildness, and a clipped smile.
"Of course," Jimmy said, goaded beyond measure. "I'm sorry – I forgot all about Philip. Because that was built to last, definitely. And Edward Courtenay, oh yeah – anyone could see that was heading toward for-fucking-ever."
Thomas pressed his lips together for a long moment, until they went white, and Jimmy felt a kind of primal satisfaction at having scored a hit. But it was short-lived – when he spoke again, Thomas didn't acknowledge Jimmy's words, detachment stinging like antiseptic. "I just feel it's pointless dragging this out any longer."
Jimmy heard himself give an awful sounding laugh. "Oh yeah, wouldn't want to drag it out, whatever happens."
Thomas purposely, offensively missed the point. "Glad you agree."
"Because it was all such a waste of time. Obviously. Don't know why you bothered in the first place." He stared off to the side. He could hear the sofa shifting as Thomas adjusted his weight. "Liar."
He got a quick flick of Thomas' eyes at that, but he stubbornly refused to say anything, so Jimmy repeated it even louder. "Liar." Still nothing. Jimmy continued to prod. "D'you want to know what I think this is all about?"
A beat, before Thomas deliberately relaxed, flipping open the packet of cigarettes again and taking another. He placed it in his mouth and spoke with his lips clamped mostly together as he flicked his lighter. "Oh please – enlighten me."
"You're doing this because of what happened last time," Jimmy said. It burned to admit, but he tipped his head up when Thomas finally turned and met his eyes.
"Is that right?" he asked, and looked Jimmy up and down, disinterest dripping from his tone.
"'I don't mind anything – not if I've got this to come home to'?" Jimmy mimicked, all but flinging the words in his face, "You said that. Or am I meant to have forgotten?" His natural instinct was to shy away from even the thought of what Thomas had said – but it turned out Jimmy would far rather him talking as if what they did meant too much, than nothing at all.
"Funny, but you didn't seem too bothered about whether this was 'going anywhere' when you said that," Jimmy continued. "Strange how quickly you changed your mind. A bit unbelievable, you might say."
Thomas regarded him for a long moment, unflinching under Jimmy's hard eyes "Well," he said finally, "that was before I realized how very literally you were going to take the idea of 'keeping it separate.'"
Jimmy frowned. "What?"
"Are we being blunt now?" Thomas asked with interest, as he stubbed out his latest half-smoked cigarette. "Because if we are…then all right – yeah, it's got something to do with last time." He turned his body to face Jimmy more fully on the sofa. "Y'see, when it comes right down to it…all that hush-hush business, hiding in corners and never going out…well, no offence, but it's a lot more trouble than I usually go to for a shag."
The laugh Jimmy squeezed out hurt his chest. A shag. "Oh yes – I'm sure it was cramping your style, me not being ready to go at a moment's notice, not wanting to put on a show for everyone" – he lashed out blindly, hardly knowing what he was saying, only that it was important to keep going.
"It has been a trying few weeks. Enjoyable as it's been," Thomas paused before the word 'enjoyable', just enough to be noticeable, as if it was too big a lie to sit comfortably in even his mouth, "I find the closet a little…claustrophobic for my taste. Suppose I've just – outgrown it, and all this is a bit too – adolescent – for me." His smile, full of dry, distant humour, was like the twist of a knife.
Adolescent. All Jimmy's brain could do was numbly repeat the terms and phrases Thomas flicked at him.
Fun.
Pointless.
Dragging it out.
A shag.
Adolescent. Like what Jimmy and he had done was comparable to a quick fumble behind the bike sheds, or some drunken pawing on a sticky nightclub floor.
Ado-fucking-lescent.
Far from being blunt, Thomas' words were sharp, slicing Jimmy to bloody ribbons. "Oh, my heart bleeds. Must've been so hard for an expert like you to have to suffer through a bit of inexperience," he managed to say. "You're a proper bloody saint, you are."
"Well, I wouldn't go quite that far," Thomas allowed. "I'm not saying it was a complete hardship – you're quite the…natural talent, shall we say?" He smiled, small and pointed, and it took everything Jimmy had not to flinch, though he could feel his face working.
"But all good things must come to an end, and if it wasn't me calling time on it, it'd be you, eventually," Thomas continued. He paused. "Unless...you know something I don't?"
Jimmy didn't answer. He couldn't, because…well…it was true, wasn't it? Despite the fact that his body felt something akin to magnetic repulsion at this entire scenario…this thing between he and Thomas was always going to end – he'd never contemplated any other conclusion.
"I didn't think so," Thomas said. The blandly polite look on his face didn't change, but it seemed almost to set, like lacquer, on his face. "At least this way, there are no hard feelings."
"No hard feelings?" Jimmy repeated. The words stuck in his throat like cracker crumbs.
"Of course not – since we both got what we wanted." Thomas was aggravatingly pleasant. "Got that boy-curious phase out of your system now, haven't you?"
"Oh yeah. Completely." Right now it felt like Thomas' words had withered his sexuality right down to the root. Jimmy laughed again. "And what about you? What exactly did you get out of it? I'd hate to think it was all one-sided."
Thomas looked at him. A beat. "I got to enjoy it while it lasted."
Didn't enjoy it enough to keep it going, though, did you? Jimmy thought, glancing away. The sight of the two cups on the coffee-table made his throat clench up like a fist, and he pitched to his feet.
"Right. Well. I'd better be off then. Wouldn't want to cut into your valuable time any more than I already have."
Judging by the wreckage of crockery steeping in the kitchen, Alfred had been there at some point, but by the time Jimmy arrived, the house was cold and the lights were off.
He made himself a ham and cheese sandwich that stuck in his throat with every bite. But that was probably because Alfred had used almost all the mayonnaise and all that was left in the jar was an empty promise of moistness. When Jimmy was finished (and he made sure to swallow every bite), he carefully slid the plate under the towering stack in the sink. It probably would have taken less time and effort to put it in the dishwasher, but knowing that Alfred would have to clean up his mess (no matter how small the mess in question) always gave Jimmy a flicker of satisfaction.
Well, usually.
Then he went into the sitting room and turned on the television, and watched an episode of Nothing to Declare with an attentiveness that bordered on the ferocious – like he expected to be quizzed later on Australian border security policy.
He made himself a cup of tea, and waited for it to cool, taking sips at appropriate intervals. He drank half of it, and then threw the rest away, but that was fine. It was a large mug.
Throughout, he had the odd sensation that he was standing behind himself and looking over his own shoulder, watching as he did all those things – forcing himself to perform normality to its fullest, even though there was no-one else there to judge him.
He went upstairs early – but that was understandable too. He was tired that was all. He hadn't gotten much sleep lately, what with – one thing and another. An early night made sense.
The light in Ivy's room was on, shining under her closed door and through the small window above it. As Jimmy passed, he hesitated, and then knocked. He waited until he heard a slightly muffled, "Come in."
She was sitting cross legged on her bed, laptop in front of her. When Jimmy entered, she looked startled. "You're back early."
"Yeah," he said.
Ivy looked at him and frowned. "Is everything all right?"
"I thought you might like to know that I took your advice, that's all," he said abruptly.
"My advice?" she repeated.
"Yeah."
"All…right," she said slowly.
"You know – examine your options, don't throw yourself away on something that's not going to last…" Ivy was still frowning. "You only said it yesterday – you can't have forgotten already."
"You don't mean that you've" –
"Chucked Thomas?" Jimmy supplied. "Yeah." Ivy's mouth opened and closed. "Well, don't rush to congratulate me or anything. I thought you'd be pleased."
"I…am," she said, with an effort. "I just…wasn't expecting it, that's all."
"Yeah, well, I got to thinking about what you said, and you were right." He shrugged.
Ivy took a breath. Her mouth continued to work, shaping words that never materialized. Finally, she managed, "It's a bit…out of the blue, isn't it? I mean – you were dead set against it only yesterday" –
"But then I thought about it, and I realized I was wasting my time," Jimmy said, enunciating every word. "And – like I said, it's not like it ever meant anything to begin with."
"…right," Ivy slid her feet off the bed, and stood. She seemed to consider what she was going to say before she spoke, voice careful. Jimmy didn't like it for some reason. "And…how did Mr Barrow take it?"
"What? Why?" His voice sounded too loud, bouncing hard off the pink walls.
"Well…you said he was really serious about the two of you. So I was just wondering how he handled it, that's all."
Under her steady eyes, Jimmy's mind went blank for a moment. "It doesn't matter," he said, after an awkward beat. "I mean, it's not my problem any more, is it? Why do you care – you don't even like him."
"I don't like to think of him being cut up about it," Ivy said, gaze soft but unwavering. "If he was as serious as you say he was."
It's been fun…let's not get carried away…pointless dragging it out…a lot more trouble than I usually go to for a shag…
"He'll live," Jimmy said.
Ivy shifted on her feet, taking a tiny step closer to him, only to move backwards immediately. "Well," she said. Her hands hovered by her sides for a moment before coming up to wrap around her elbows. "I suppose it's for the best, really."
The ceiling burned itself onto the back of his brain. Every time he shut his eyes, they popped back open as if they'd been spring loaded.
It was frustrating. He was tired, but a kind of nervous energy thrummed through him regardless, making him twist and turn in the bed. His mind kept marching in weary, foot-dragging circles around everything that had happened earlier with Thomas.
He wasn't angry because Thomas had broken things off, necessarily. He'd known that was bound to happen from the very first…though he hadn't thought it would be happening so soon. The – the suddenness of Thomas' turn around had surprised him, that was all.
He'd imagined it would be a more gradual process. Painless. And he'd imagined…well all right – he'd imagined that it would be him doing the breaking off, if he was being completely honest.
But it wasn't just the fact that Thomas had neatly turned the tables on him that made him smart – it was that he'd done it so…gracelessly. Jimmy'd always – it wasn't that he'd planned out how things were going to end, but he'd always had a vague sort of idea that Thomas would be…regretful, yes, but – grateful too. Not that Thomas would be thankful precisely – but that he would realize that Jimmy had done it because he cared about Thomas. He'd - it sounded stupid, but Jimmy'd thought that even if Thomas was initially disappointed, he would come to see it as a testament to their friendship. That even if it didn't mean quite the same thing to Jimmy as it did to him, it still meant something.
But instead, Thomas had just – decided like the flick of a switch that Jimmy wasn't worth the fuss anymore…and sent him packing. Brutally. Not so much as a shadow of a regret there, just a deep desire to untangle himself from Jimmy's suddenly unwanted inexperience. Begging him to stay one minute, then slamming the door in his face – was it any wonder Jimmy'd been so thrown?
Thomas didn't have to do it like that – like it had meant nothing at all, just because he'd decided he was done with it. That was all.
Jimmy turned over on his side and resolutely closed his eyes. But it was no use - ten minutes later, he was lying on his back again, staring at the ceiling.
Alfred hummed tunelessly all through breakfast. It sawed through Jimmy's head, and he aimed black looks in Alfred's direction, though Alfred seemed oblivious. His cheer was obnoxious, practically neon.
"I take it last night went well, then?" Ivy asked. She sounded a little subdued, but she smiled genuinely enough at him.
"Yeah." Alfred ducked his head, the sudden colour in his cheeks clashing with his hair. "Yeah, it went…all right."
"So you're going out then? Properly?" Jimmy asked. He stared down at his cup.
"Well…we've not said, but…yeah. I suppose so." The words were ambivalent, but Alfred's tone was anything but.
Jimmy took a sip of bitter coffee. "If no-one's said it, then you're not going out."
Alfred frowned. "What? We went to the cinema last night – and I paid her way. What would you call that then?"
"I'd call it a free ride, if I were Daisy."
"Jimmy." Ivy's eyes were reproving. "Stop it."
"What? I'm only saying."
"Daisy wouldn't do something like that," Alfred said.
"Really? Because yesterday, she was getting itchy feet just committing to your jam – and that's an earner, at least. What makes you think she's going to be any keener on committing when it's just you on the table?"
Alfred stared at him. He looked like he'd been slapped, and Jimmy took another sip of coffee. It warmed his stomach.
"Don't be stupid. You know Daisy's mad about Alfred – she always has been," Ivy said, tone slightly flat.
"She was mad about him," Jimmy allowed. "But it's possible she changed her mind in the meantime."
"What – just like that?" Ivy propped her elbows on the table and crossed her arms.
Jimmy shrugged. "People do. It happens all the time." He pushed his plate away. "I wouldn't get too comfortable if I were you, Alfred. You might be in for a nasty shock."
"Don't listen to him, Alfred," Ivy said. "He's just je" – she stopped gaze flying to Jimmy, who jerked as if he'd been burned before narrowing his eyes at her. She looked away.
"It's all right. I know what he's like," Alfred said, with dignity. He didn't hum anymore, though, so Jimmy counted it a success.
His stomach churned as he approached the office. Ivy had caught his sleeve as he was going out the door and whispered, "Are you okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" he had said, and shrugged her off.
But now his heart stumbled in his chest and his feet felt clumsy, and he felt overwhelmingly angry that Thomas should have made him feel so ill-at-ease and uncertain in his own body. He pressed his lips together and marched up to the door, not allowing himself a second's hesitation.
Thomas looked up from his desk. "Good morning, Jimmy," he said, in a warmly professional voice, accompanied by a matching warmly professional smile that made Jimmy's whole body clench up.
"Good morning," he said instead, ungritting his teeth as best he could. They gritted right back when Thomas bestowed an avuncular nod on him before redirecting his attention to his computer.
Apparently, that was it.
Jimmy sat down and began to work, making as much noise as possible. As he waited for his computer to load up, he tapped his fingers against his desk. He rustled his papers. He sucked in air through his teeth and clicked his tongue – and when Thomas' expression remained unaffected, he began to whistle as he typed – just one long note, occasionally varying in pitch. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Thomas twitch, shoulders just barely rising, and felt a twist of something too joyless to be satisfaction.
"Do you not find that throws off your work?" Thomas asked, pleasantly.
"I find it helps it, actually," Jimmy said. "Keeps me focused." He hit the spacebar with a flourish, ignoring the red spellcheck lines that seemed to cover half the page.
"Good. Good," Thomas said, smile a little tighter than it had been.
The whole morning, he was intensely aware of the distance between his body and Thomas' – it was a dull ache, just enough to make itself felt. It was stupid, of course, because this was how it had always been – it wasn't like they'd ever done their work holding hands or anything.
It was just…a thought kept occurring to him. Two days ago, he could have reached out, and touched Thomas…and that would have been welcome. But now – now he couldn't. Thomas' body was now completely off-limits to him, and even if he knew it, he couldn't understand it. How could something be okay – wanted, even…and then suddenly not? His entire body felt utterly bewildered.
After several maddening attempts to proofread and whistle, Jimmy finally managed to print out the report, which he then handed to Thomas across his desk. Thomas thanked him. Their hands didn't touch, and Jimmy found his thumb and index finger pressing together, refusing to release the sheaf of paper.
I've seen you naked, Jimmy thought, holding Thomas' eyes. I was inside you two nights ago. You can't act like –
"Are you finished with this?" Thomas inquired politely, indicating the papers Jimmy still gripped.
His stomach didn't so much heave as turn a slow, sick somersault. Something spasmed inside him, and he couldn't breathe for a second. He had to take a step back, and he let go of the papers as he did.
Thomas didn't seem to notice anything amiss. "Can I have the stapler?" he asked.
Jimmy picked it up off his desk – but when Thomas reached out for it, he jerked it away. Thomas' eyebrows rose. Jimmy held it up over Thomas' table, before letting it drop with a heavy clunk.
Thomas looked at it, and then back up at Jimmy. "I take it," he said in that same polite tone, "that the whole 'keeping it separate' business is entirely out the window, then?"
"Looks like it," Jimmy said, viciously cheerful.
"All right," Thomas said, and nodded to himself. "Good to know."
"How was it?" Ivy asked in a low voice, as soon as he came home. She pulled him into the sitting room.
"How was what?" he asked.
Ivy made a face. "You know what. How did it go today – with Mr Barrow?"
Jimmy listened to the sounds of Daisy and Alfred clattering about in the kitchen. "It was fine. Why wouldn't it be?"
"Jimmy" – Ivy stopped and sighed. "It'd be all right, you know – if it wasn't all right."
"'It'd be all right if it wasn't all right?'" Jimmy repeated derisively. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Ivy put a hand on his shoulder. "It means you don't have to pretend everything's fine when it's not. It'd be understandable if things were a bit awkward, you know."
Jimmy looked at her, straight on. "You'd have to ask Thomas about that. I wouldn't know."
He took a deliberate step back, shrugging her hand off his shoulder, and went into the kitchen, where Alfred was holding out a wooden spoon covered in melted chocolate to a pink-cheeked Daisy. As Jimmy sailed past, he grabbed the spoon from Alfred's hand. He licked it clean, ignoring the outraged look on Alfred's face and leaned against the kitchen table.
"Not bad," he said. "What're you making?" And – without waiting for an answer, "Daisy, don't you look lovely tonight."
He wasn't used to spending so long in his bedroom. This was what Jimmy told himself when he woke at two. And then again, when he woke at quarter past three. At half five, he gave up and just stared up at the ceiling with heavy eyes.
It didn't matter. It was just a change in routine. He was used to creeping upstairs at all hours, body loose and replete, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
His sleep pattern would even out soon. If you were tired – you slept. It stood to reason. And...he was tired. So it was only a matter of time.
He turned off the alarm on his phone twenty minutes before it was due to go off.
The next morning, he had a second cup of coffee. His eyelids felt like they had weights attached to them.
Alfred didn't acknowledge him when he asked for the milk – actually, he cupped the jug with his hand and slid it further out of reach. Some milk slopped over onto the table.
"Oh, well done," Jimmy said, and gestured toward the jug again. "Can I have it, now that you've made your point – whatever it was."
Alfred glowered. "You know why," he said heavily.
"Because I stayed in the kitchen last night? I'm sorry – I didn't realize 'baking a cake' was an X-rated activity in your book."
Ivy looked up only to bend her head over her mobile again, almost immediately. She sighed and rubbed her forehead.
"Shut up," Alfred mumbled.
Of course, Jimmy did not. "Daisy didn't seem to mind me staying."
"That's just because she was too polite to say how she really felt. She has manners – unlike some."
"If that's what you want to tell yourself" –
Ivy reached across the table and took the milk jug from Alfred. "Here," she said to Jimmy. "Now shut up."
Thomas wasn't there and the office door was locked. Jimmy could have opened it – he had the key - but he felt a visceral aversion to the idea of going inside…even if Thomas wasn't there.
Instead he went to the café, and ordered another coffee. If nothing else, he would be alert while dealing with Thomas. "Just one," he said to Mrs Patmore, who had automatically taken out two paper cups.
Her eyebrows raised. "Oh – what's he done now then?"
"Nothing," Jimmy said shortly. He tapped his fingers against the counter. "He's not here, that's all."
By the time he'd made his way back, at as slow a pace as possible, his coffee was half gone, and the office door was unlocked. But when he turned the handle, it was to find Mr Carson standing in the middle of the room. "Ah – James, there you are," he said.
Jimmy held up the coffee-cup in response to the note of censure in Mr Carson's voice (if the old stickler expected a verbal apology, well...he wasn't going to get one) and said, "Thomas hasn't come in yet, if you" –
"Actually, that's why I'm here, James," Mr Carson said. He clasped his hands in front of him. "I thought I ought to let you know that Mr Barrow," he emphasized the last two words, "will not be coming in today. Or for the foreseeable future, in point of fact."
Jimmy's heart started to race – and it wasn't the coffee. He knew – he knew straightaway, but he still found himself saying, numbly, "What?"
"Mr Barrow came to me and tendered his resignation yesterday," Mr Carson told him.
