Misspent Youth

25. FEEL THE BURN

SOPHIE HAD CHANGED HER HAIRSTYLE. It had been cut short and dyed an even lighter blonde.

“I like it,” Annabelle told her when they went for their gym session together. It was something she tried to fit in most Sunday evenings, and if she couldn’t make it then she rescheduled for sometime during the week. Keeping herself in shape was an interest that had grown steadily over the last few years. She would never be the Amazon that Stephanie was; she wasn’t that tall, for a start. But the way her figure had developed was a marvelous compensation for a lack of wealth—she was determined to keep that advantage; the way her mother (only forty-eight, for heaven’s sake) had started to balloon was a constant worry. So every week she just kept going on the weights and presses and treadmill a little longer than Sophie, keeping her abs perfectly flat and her legs toned.

Sophie ran her hand through her hair. The front was slightly spiked. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” It was a kind of cross between butch and cute. “Suits you.”

“Thanks.”

Annabelle went straight to the bench press, and started lifting. Sophie climbed onto the treadmill.

“So what happened after I left?” Annabelle asked. Tim had sent eight avtxts through the afternoon, becoming progressively more frantic. She’d finally relented on the bus home and replied, agreeing to meet up as normal tomorrow. It would be awful, she knew, he’d be groveling for hours.

“We just got totally blasted and slept in the caravan,” Sophie said. “There were sleeping bags. I spent the night on one of the couches. God, was I so much hungover. Not as bad as Colin, though. He looked really ill, like he was dying.”

Annabelle pushed hard, forcing the weights up. “What about Tim?”

“Crashed same as the rest of us. His gestapo babysitting squad were really pissed off at having to hang around in their car all night.”

“Right.” Annabelle sat upright, and wrapped her arms around the hinged front bars, gritting her teeth as she pulled them around.

“What? It’s going well with Tim?” Sophie’s voice was thick with irony.

“No, but…I’m not sure if Tim doesn’t have a problem, you know. A real one. He gets like that every weekend.”

“We all do.”

“No. Not the way he does. He goes at it like it’s a challenge, either drink or synth8, doesn’t matter which. By the end of the night he’s always blasted.”

“You know what he’s like, always desperate to be one of the pack. Anything we do, he tried to do it that bit harder. Typical male behavior. Simon’s the same. I’d have thought you’d noticed that. They’ve got a real little contest going there. It’s all about who’s got the biggest willy.”

“It’s so stupid. What’s Tim got to struggle for? He’s rich, and he’s smart…well, clever, anyway. Have you seen his grades? He had Oxford and Cambridge offering him scholarships, for Christ’s sake. I work my ass off at school, and I can’t get those sort of grades. The best I got was an acknowledgment that they’ll consider me for a place. Then every Saturday he turns into a total zonehead.”

“That must be frustrating for you.”

“It pisses me off, yeah.”

“Is that what last night was all about?”

Annabelle strained harder against the bars. “I’d just had enough. It was boring, especially after the reservoir.”

“I suppose you’re right. But we needed to celebrate. You have to admit the Jet Ski was good fun.”

“I don’t have any problem with that. I just want him to behave normally afterward.”

“We spent most of this morning on the lake as well. You should have come back. I’m getting good at dodging those buoys.”

Annabelle thought back to what she’d been doing for fun that afternoon. Remembering Derek’s arrogance made her skin tingle. It put her in a wicked mood. “Keep a secret?”

Sophie’s face lit up with interest. “You bet.”

“I mean, really.”

“If it’s important, yeah. You know I can.”

“Jeff hit on me yesterday morning.”

“Jeff…” Sophie took a moment to make the connection. Her hand slapped the treadmill’s off switch. “You are so much kidding me! Tim’s dad, Jeff?”

Annabelle grinned at her friend’s reaction; very little managed to shock Sophie. “Yes.”

“Oh my God. That’s… God. He’s just been all over the news streams with that girl from the awards ceremony. Isn’t she enough?”

“Apparently not.”

“Wow, what do they put in that rejuvenation treatment? Raw Viagra? I mean, he’s nearly, what, eighty?”

“You’ve seen how old he looks. Not five years older than Tim.”

Sophie folded her arms, giving Annabelle a very curious look. “Yeah, but, God. Hitting on you. His son’s girlfriend. That’s like incest or something. Got to be illegal.”

“Like son, like father.”

“Are you winding me up?”

“It’s not the first time someone’s hit on me.”

“No, but not their father.”

“Actually, yes, I think. Mike Haulsey’s dad was certainly sneaking looks when he thought I couldn’t see.”

“Men always hit on you. Me too, occasionally.”

“So there you are. What’s new?”

“The fact that Jeff’s eighty,” Sophie said emphatically.

“So far all the eighty-year-olds I’ve met have looked eighty, even with genoprotein. Jeff certainly doesn’t.”

“Does Tim know about this?”

“God, no. He’s insecure enough as it is.”

“You’re really supportive, aren’t you,” Sophie said sarcastically.

“Do you think I should tell him?”

“No.” Sophie curled her lips in a half-sneer. “He’s so insecure something like that would flip him right over the edge.”

They shared a sisterly grin.

“Well, then,” Annabelle said.

“So what are you going to do?”

“Don’t know, try and stay out of his way, I suppose.”

Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Tim’s or Jeff’s?”

“Jeff’s!”

“I’d scream the house down.”

“What good would that do?”

“It would make sure he wouldn’t do it again. Not ever.”

“Yes, but it would hurt people, too.”

“You’re trying to protect him, are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“That’s it,” Sophie said with a devilish gleam. “That’s why you’re sounding me out, to see how I’d react. My God, Annabelle, you’re so much atrocious. I don’t believe it. You want to shag Jeff.”

“I do not!”

“You just said it. He doesn’t look eighty. I mean, he looks barely a couple of years older than Tim. It’s actually spooky how similar they are. You want to trade up, don’t you?”

“No.” She was trying to laugh, but it came out more like a guilty snort.

“Makes sense to me. I mean, think of the advantages. He’s rich and famous; it’s like he was his generation’s Sir Mitch. He’s experienced, which has got to count for something in bed. Hey, I bet he knows all sorts of tricks that’ll ring your bell. The age difference obviously doesn’t bother him. I mean, he must have been sixty-plus when he married Tim’s mum. How old was she back then? She only looks about a couple of years older than us now. And we all know he certainly doesn’t have a conscience, so he’s not going to plague you afterward.”

“Are you saying I should?” Annabelle had the uncomfortable recollection of the Rutland nonworking mothers club, and their discussion along similar lines.

“I’m not saying anything. You’re the one who has to decide.”

“There is nothing to decide.” Annabelle shoved herself back into the bench, and resumed her lifts. “Nothing.”