Misspent Youth

19. CROWDED BREAKFAST

TIM MADE IT DOWNSTAIRS by nine o’clock on Sunday morning. It hadn’t been a particularly late night. They’d all been round to Martin’s house last night, drinking and sending out for pizza. Tim and Annabelle had been snuggled up together on the big couch all evening. He had been kind of quietly confident that the two of them would make it to a bedroom at some point during the night. But it hadn’t happened. Annabelle went back to Uppingham on the bus with Sophie and Vanessa. He’d asked her to come back to the manor with him. She said no, and kissed him hard to make up for the disappointment. He even asked if she’d like him to escort her back to her house. She said no thanks, and kissed him again; he was even encouraged to slide his hands up under her T-shirt to maul at her bra. When they were standing outside the front door, in the dark and out of sight from their friends and the Europol team, he made a last appeal for a quick trip back inside and up to Martin’s spare room. Her giggles were loud and playful in his ear, and her hand wormed down into his trousers. Which was fantastic, but still a no.

His mood wasn’t helped when Simon and Rachel strolled off down the drive together, leaning together and French kissing as they went.

In the morning Tim had a quick shower and put on a clean sweatshirt before taking the stairs two at a time. When he thought back, last night wasn’t so discouraging after all. He and Annabelle were making a kind of progress toward having full sex. Even that would have been unthinkable two months ago. He heard the voices coming from the kitchen, and barged straight in.

His mother and father were sitting at the long table in the middle of the room, both of them in bathrobes. There was tea and toast on the table, along with jars of marmalade and honey. The wallscreen was silently playing a news stream.

“Morning,” Tim grunted. He sat down at the table opposite from them, and reached for the jug of orange juice.

“Morning, Tim,” his father said.

Tim saw his father’s hand move out of his mother’s lap where he’d been squeezing her leg. And his voice, that was cheerful. And they were both smiling, leaning close to each other. Two contented people.

Very slowly Tim’s eyes tracked back up to his father’s face. A handsome young face, reasonably similar to his own. A young face on a young body. And then there was his mother, gorgeous as always, even with her hair uncombed—which it never was at breakfast. Could they have…Last night, did they…Had they actually been…

“Careful, Tim,” his mother called.

His glass was full, and orange juice was leaking over the rim to flood down his hand. “Shit! Sorry.” He stopped pouring, and looked around for a cloth. His face was bright red. He knew that for certain, his skin was surely hot enough to blister.

“Here.” His father handed over a dish cloth.

Tim began dabbing away. “Thanks.” He concentrated hard on the task. There was no way he could glance up. If he did that he’d have to look at their faces. And if they really had… No!

“So what’s the plan for today?” his father asked. “You and Annabelle going out?”

“Er, no, she’s visiting her cousins today. I’ve, got some, um, friends coming round later.” Tim stood up and dumped the dripping cloth in the clothes hamper. “We’re doing some stuff.” He sat down again and found the toast.

“Stuff, eh?”

“Yeah.” At the edge of his vision he could see his father and mother exchange a glance and grin at each other. God, this is so embarrassing.

“Good stuff?” Jeff asked. “Bad stuff? Terrible stuff?”

“Er, your old Jet Ski, actually. We’ve fixed it up, and we’re going to test the engine. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Fine by me.”

Tim slapped some butter on a slice of toast and gulped down his orange juice. “I should go and get ready. They’ll be here soon.” With the toast in his hand he fled out of the kitchen. When he was halfway up the stairs, he was sure he heard laughter behind him.