Jimmy enjoyed his days off. They had always been a way to escape from the relentless presence of people that happened when you worked in a big house, always making noise and asking questions and having petty arguments that made Jimmy tense with nerves. He might not be good at reading facial expressions, but he could read the mood of a room as quickly as blinking; it seemed to crawl under his skin in an instant.
Often, when released from his duties, Jimmy went for a walk. Sometimes, if he could face it and had the money, he would take the bus, and go for a walk somewhere further away. Occasionally he even went as far as the seaside and bought chips to eat on the sand (no fish to go with it, because the crunchy batter hurt his teeth and ears).
He sketched, too, (badly), or looked for sheet music for the piano, or simply sat in a pub and played cards. He borrowed a book on optics from His Lordship and read it four or five times.
Playing the piano was something he was rather proud of. He liked it, because it was a way of connecting with people - especially if they sang along - without anyone having to touch him or look him in the eyes. He loved to play with a good singer, their voice winding around the notes he played into a beautiful harmony. It made him happy.
Accordingly, he sat down at the piano at Downton within his first week, hoping he could impress them, because he was aware that most of them already found him strange. He tried his best to fit in, but sometimes he just wasn't sure what he was supposed to do that would pacify them and not make them think he was odd.
When he picked up the book of sheet music, Mr Barrow came over to ask about his favourite composers, so in return Jimmy asked for advice on what he should play that everyone liked. It seemed to work, because Mrs Hughes complimented his playing, and so did Mr Barrow, who laid his hands on Jimmy's shoulders, massaging them slightly.
Which, honestly, wasn't so bad, except when Miss O'Brien told him to leave he trailed his fingers away across the bare skin of his neck, which was horrible. He must have forgotten what Jimmy had said.
"I wish he wouldn't do that," Jimmy said to O'Brien. He had asked, he had asked Mr Barrow not to touch him lightly. "He's always touching me and I want him to stop."
"You're not going to tell Mr Carson?" said Miss O'Brien, though Jimmy didn't know why, because he hadn't mentioned that.
Even Daisy complimented his playing, though she said it made her sad. He was not sure how to feel about Daisy, because on the one hand she usually said things very plainly, but on the other hand she seemed to be saying that she liked to feel sad, which was silly. He offered to dance with her, though, because he knew he was good at it and he wanted her to like him.
It seemed to work to start with - until Mr Carson caught them and he was royally told off.
There was to be a new face to join them, Jimmy heard, which was bad enough on its own but this Mr Bates had worked there before, so everyone would know him and how to react with him except for Jimmy. Which would only make his differences more acutely obvious. Jimmy found himself rocking gently while sitting at the table, and kept having to ask Mrs Patmore for an extra crust of bread to chew on, to distract himself. (She obliged the first two times, then just flicked a tea towel at him and told him to find something useful to do.)
"When will he be coming?" Jimmy asked the table at large.
"This morning, Jimmy, as you well know," Mrs Hughes replied.
"What's he like?"
Mr Barrow answered this time. "Pig-headed, pious and in love with his own goodness. Why are you rocking?"
Jimmy made himself sit still. He shouldn't rock. His mother had always told him not to rock, said it made him look mentally deficient. Jimmy did not think he was mentally deficient. He could serve a dinner once and be able to replicate the entire table - serving dishes, cutlery and all - weeks later. That wasn't deficient.
Most people looked pleased to see Mr Bates, but Mr Barrow did not, and it made Jimmy nervous. Mr Barrow had a lot of time for him so if he did not like someone Jimmy would mistrust them. But Mrs Patmore liked Mr Bates, so maybe he wasn't so bad.
Jimmy thought that Mr Bates seemed quiet, and he moved gently.
When Jimmy entered the servants' hall one afternoon after upstairs' lunch, he saw Lady Mary's blue dress laid out on the table, the skirt hanging down off the side. Which it shouldn't be.
"Lady Mary's dress is on the table," he alerted everyone.
Anna glanced up at him. "I've been repairing it for her. She wants to wear it tonight but the seam had come apart."
"Lady Mary's dress is on the table," Jimmy repeated.
"Yes, I didn't want it to get trodden on. Don't worry, it'll be gone soon."
"Lady Mary's dress is on the table!" he said again, because no one was listening.
"Just shut up, Jimmy, she's told you why," Alfred put in.
"Lady Mary's dress is on the table!"
"Just shut up!"
"Lady Mary requested at lunch that you take the dress up as soon as it's mended, for her to try on," Mr Barrow said smoothly, entering the room behind Jimmy. "Mr Carson must have forgotten to tell you, Anna. That's what you meant, isn't it, Jimmy?"
"Yes," Jimmy replied, relieved.
"I see," Anna said, giving Jimmy a smile. "Thank you, then, Jimmy. I'll take it up now."
The next day, when Jimmy returned from serving dinner, he heard Miss O'Brien speaking in the servants' hall.
"That Jimmy's a funny one and no mistake," she said, and Jimmy froze in the corridor.
"Don't know what you mean," came Mr Barrow's voice.
"All that fuss over the dress yesterday. I didn't think Mr Carson was hiring simpletons now."
"He hired Alfred," replied Mr Barrow. "Jimmy's alright."
"You've got to admit he's strange," Miss O'Brien said.
"I think he's lovely," said Mr Barrow, and Jimmy burned with pride. Miss O'Brien might think him strange, but Mr Barrow didn't.
There had been a moment of quiet; now Miss O'Brien spoke again, her voice fading out as Jimmy walked away: "Well then. He certainly speaks very highly..."
Jimmy spent a lot of time playing cards when he was in the servants' hall. It was a good excuse not to look at people as he made conversation, and he liked the smooth expanse of them, the continual reordering, the press of the card edges against the pads of his fingers as he shuffled.
Mr Barrow spent a lot of time smoking, and Jimmy often wondered if it was for the same reason. Cigarettes were so eminently roll-able. He dare not ask, though, even though he had seen Mr Barrow rocking slightly when he was feeling something big.
The days slipped by; Jimmy attempted to flirt with Ivy as Luke had tried to teach him, but he thought he was doing it wrong because she kept looking at him as though he was strange. Mrs Patmore continued to be brisk and uncomplicated. Alfred continued to be useless and annoying, and Jimmy continued to bite at him.
Mr Barrow advised him to keep calm, which was easy for him to say when he wasn't stuck playing second-fiddle to a ten-foot beanpole, though Alfred was twice as thick and half as useful. Jimmy tried to follow his advice, difficult as it was. It did not help when Mr Carson caught on to his trick with the serving spoons and told him off obscurely in front of everyone else.
He went upstairs for a while to calm down, spending much of the time letting free the movement that had been gathering under his skin since that morning; he flapped, rocked and spun to his heart's content. How people could go whole days, weeks, without doing this, he would never understand.
Jimmy got thirsty after a while, and eventually realised that he should go and get a drink. He made himself tea and wandered into the servants' hall, because only Mr Barrow was in there and he could deal with that.
"If I'd thrown a bucket of slop in the old lady's lap, I wouldn't be allowed to go to the flicks," he complained.
"What are you saying?"
"Mr Carson doesn't like me," Jimmy replied. He had found that Mr Carson seemed suspicious of him. Jimmy got the impression that he had only been offered the job on the strength of his reference, and the reality of him was found wanting in Mr Carson's eyes. Which wasn't fair; he tried so hard to be normal. "No matter what Alfred does, he still prefers him. It's not bloody fair."
"Well I love you," Thomas said flippantly, which Jimmy found oddly reassuring.
"If you do, you're on your own." Perhaps not entirely; Mrs Patmore saved him the odd crust of bread; but other than that, most people looked at him as though he was an alien imposter doing a bad impression of a human. Though that was how he felt about himself half of the time too.
What he liked about Mr Barrow was that he asked specific questions, so Jimmy always knew how to answer. He managed to talk about his family without any awkward pauses, keeping his fidgeting down to rubbing his thumb against the teacup. He liked hard objects, when he knew where the edges were.
"Funny, we're quite a pair. We both like to look very sure of ourselves but we're not so sure underneath, are we?"
Jimmy hoped Mr Barrow was not referring to his behaviours. It had taken months for him to trust Luke with his fears, and he had only known Mr Barrow about a week. Or perhaps he was saying that he understood? That he knew how Jimmy felt?
"It's hard to be different," Jimmy said carefully, and saw Mr Barrow smile in his peripheral vision.
"That it is," Mr Barrow agreed, and soon afterwards Jimmy went upstairs. He was barely conscious of taking the empty teacup, but when he got upstairs he filled it with water from his wash-basin and put it in the windowsill to catch the morning light. As it was, the candlelight flickered delightedly in the surface, and Jimmy spent far too long watching it before he tore himself away to wash and dress for bed.
His nightclothes were infinitely more comfortable than his livery, which dug in and pained him and distracted him until he found the right places to sew patches on. His mother had taught him how to sew with such small, tight stitches that they could barely be seen or, most importantly, felt.
He settled into bed, and drifted to sleep.
The first thing Jimmy became aware of was lips on his, a weight on the bed, a presence leaning over him; then he was woken fully by Alfred entering the room and saying words that he was too shocked to process. Jimmy scooted backwards on the bed, drawing himself away and staring wide-eyed at Mr Barrow.
"It's alright," Mr Barrow said, reaching out a hand, but it wasn't alright because this was Jimmy's room and Mr Barrow was inside it and touching him even though this was sleep time, and Alfred was staring at them both as though they had done something terrible and Jimmy didn't understand. "Alfred's nothing, no one will believe him," Mr Barrow continued, but he leaned closer and he could not touch Jimmy so Jimmy leapt away out of bed and pressed himself into the smooth, hard corner of the room.
Mr Barrow looked sad; the hall light shone in his tears. He was talking but Jimmy couldn't make the sounds into words.
Jimmy couldn't answer. He heard Alfred say something he couldn't make sense of, and they both left. Jimmy locked the door behind them then pressed himself into the corner and banged his head against the wall, and eventually fell into sleep.