Misspent Youth

28. EXAM PRESSURE

THE FINALS FOR PSE (progressive secondary education) courses had started. More than seventy-five percent of England’s eighteen-year-olds were currently fretting their way through them. You couldn’t fail if you got a low mark on the finals—that would be tremendously unfair after spending two years performing the course work—but the exam did make up twenty percent of the overall course mark, which decided a pupil’s grading and therefore which university they went to.

All told, Annabelle had eight exams to work her way through (Tim had fifteen). It meant she was going to have her PCglasses glued to her head for hours at a time during the two weeks of the finals, reviewing and running through previous exam questions. She didn’t plan on spending much time with her friends in that period; they were too likely to distract her (she hadn’t decided about Derek; admittedly it would be a good way of letting off steam). But she couldn’t study the whole time; there had to be periods when she could chill out. That wasn’t going to happen at home. Which made the manor just about perfect, and Tim was ever eager to make amends for the après-Jet Ski party.

The afternoon she went up there they splashed around in the swimming pool for half an hour before dragging a couple of sunloungers out onto the patio. It was a hot afternoon, with no clouds and no wind; the forecasters were predicting the high would last at least three weeks. Annabelle toweled herself off, then sprayed on factor forty sunblock. She was wearing her navy blue bikini, a copy from the one in Stephanie’s range. It was a shame because she would have preferred an all-over tan, but going topless in front of Tim right now would give him the wrong idea. As far as she was concerned he was still on probation.

So they lay side by side, with only a small table between the sunloungers. Tim lay with his head resting on the cushions so he could look at her the whole time. The talk was almost as relaxed as it had been a week ago. Tim was starting to accept his father going out with other girls, though Annabelle wrinkled her nose with distaste when she learned about him going out and crawling around the clubs each night. But it was nice to see Tim returning to some sort of equilibrium. She told him how devastated she’d been when her own mother left.

When it came to the finals, he was cool about them, which sparked not a little envy in her. He apologized, and said he understood about her wanting to get to university and away from her home. They daydreamed together about what it would be like if she went to Oxford or Cambridge with him. He still hadn’t decided which one he’d choose.

The radio they had on in the background, tuned to an eighties music station, began a news report about Rob Lacey’s campaign. He was in Spain, speaking at rallies there and trying to make alliances with regional politicians, eager for their endorsement.

“He’ll do well out there,” Tim said.

“How come?”

“Spain’s always been a good ally to us in Brussels. They usually vote with us to block the central and northern countries.”

“He’ll never win.”

“Yes he will. The Med countries don’t have their own candidate. Nobody in France will vote for him, same way as we’d never vote for a Frog. All he has to do is swing the Germans behind him.”

“I can’t believe we’ll have a president of Europe.”

“Do you think it’ll matter, that it’ll make a difference?”

“No. Be nice if it did, though. There’s so many regulations he needs to liberalize or just abolish.”

“And more he needs to strengthen. The Germans are getting a thousand Russians a day sneaking in over the eastern laser-curtain border. More, if you access the undernet reports.”

“I know.” She sighed. She picked the glass tumbler off the table, only to find it was empty. “I need more juice.”

“Call Mrs. Mayberry,” Tim said.

“Honestly, Tim, you’re so much a slob.” She climbed to her feet and walked over the lawn to the house with its wide open French doors.

“Get me one, too,” Tim yelled at her.

“One of these coming right up.” Annabelle gave him the finger, and walked into the living room. It was cooler inside, the air conditioning murmuring quietly behind slim vents in the baseboard. She pushed her sunglasses up onto her forehead, and blinked while her eyes adjusted to the light.

“You look sensational in that bikini,” Jeff said.

Annabelle just managed not to jump at the shock. He was sprawled in one of the deep leather couches, feet up on the armrest, shoes off, an old, very fat paperback science fiction novel in his hand.

She pursed her lips as her heart calmed. “Why, thank you, Mr. Baker. What’s your next line? I’d look even better out of it?”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” he protested. “If Sue taught me anything about clothes, it was that revealing is always more alluring than revealed. Always leave ’em wanting more.”

“From what I’ve heard, you’re not wanting for anything at all right now.”

Jeff gave a mock bow. “Ouch. Cruel lady.”

“Nothing you don’t deserve.”

“True.” He nodded at the patio outside. “So how’s it going?”

“Great. I’ve got through most of today’s studying.”

The answer made him frown. “Right. And with Tim?”

“Equally fine, thanks.”

“I hope he appreciates how lucky he is.”

“I think he does.” Annabelle was very conscious of how Jeff was looking at her—after all, it was a small bikini. Although his face was so spookily similar to Tim’s, he had none of his son’s worshipful uncertainty when he spoke to her. Jeff was infinitely more confident and urbane, which made his flirtatiousness fun rather than awkward. And Sophie’s insidious little phrase trading up kept running round her mind.

Bad bad bad, she told herself as she went into the kitchen. So why does it feel exciting?

TIM PRODDED HIS SUNGLASSES up as she approached the sunloungers. “You all right?”

“So much okay.”

“I thought you were scowling at me.”

Annabelle stood above his sunlounger, looking down at him, a glass in each hand. Back out here, with Tim, it was hard work not to feel guilty. “No, I wouldn’t do that. I’m not unhappy with you.”

Tim managed a nervous smile. “Good.”

“It’s too hot for me out here. I’m going up to your room to cool off.” She put the drinks down on the small table. One eyebrow rose slightly in query. “Are you coming with me?”