Misspent Youth

29. TIM IN LOVE

AND AFTER ALL THAT, all the crap in his life, his mother leaving him, his friends that weren’t quite, the constant nervous anxiety of wondering if he’d done and said the right thing to her, the rickety flight that was his life had suddenly leveled out. No, actually, it had done more than that, it had become perfect. His finals were so easy he just sailed through them. The weather was warm and sunny. Dad actually stopped bringing the girls down to breakfast.

And there was Annabelle.

Annabelle, who came around to the manor most afternoons. They really did spend a couple of hours studying; swimming and sunbathing, too. But each time, they wound up in his room, naked, and having sex. There was a whole great summer holiday coming up ahead of them as well. Over eight long weeks, when neither of them had anything to do. That would mean she could come around every day. Really, how could anything possibly get better?

He began to wonder about after the holiday. She’d probably be going to a different university. At night he made calls, finding out if he could switch from Oxford and Cambridge so they could remain together. He didn’t tell her that; it would be his surprise present later on. Just thinking about what she’d do to thank him made him break out in a sweat of excitement. She was as eager as him to try things in bed.

HIS FATHER SEEMED HAPPY with the arrangement. Tim kept on saying how happy he was, how wonderful Annabelle was. Jeff would smile, and grip him by the arm, and say: “That’s great, Tim, I’m so pleased. She’s a lovely looking girl.”

He didn’t even have a beer. Which just proved he could act in a restrained manner, despite what everyone said. It also pleased Annabelle. He hadn’t realized before how much she disapproved of him getting blasted. Quitting was just another example of how in tune they were now.

“Dad,” he asked one morning, “how old were you and Tracy when you got married?”

“I was early thirties, she was late twenties. Why?”

“Nothing. Mum was twenty, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah.” Jeff ordered the kitchen’s wall screen to switch off, and the news stream vanished. “You thinking of eloping, son?”

Tim shook his head and scooped up another spoonful of cornflakes. “No.”

“Thank God for that.”

“Dad?”

“Oh shit. Yes?”

“Which university do you think I should go to?”

“Ah. Right. Okay, well they’re both pretty good. I went to Oxford, of course, but I’m not insisting you follow. Have you actually decided what you’re taking?”

“General science for my degree. Unless I find something that really grabs me, then I’ll switch to it. I’ll probably go for a physics doctorate.”

Jeff poured a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, giving Tim a smile over the rim. “Doctorate, eh? That’s very focused for you, Tim.”

“Better the qualification, the better the job.”

“I know, but you are only eighteen, you know. I’m just a bit surprised you’re thinking along those lines. If you’d like, you can take a gap year, you know. I never did, and I always regretted it.”

“Are you dead on? I hadn’t thought of that. I’d have to ask Annabelle what she thought about it.”

“Would you?”

Tim colored slightly. “Yeah. If we could do that together, it would be amazing.”

“I’m sure it would. If you could travel, where would you go?”

“America, Australia, Japan. I don’t know. Certainly the Caribbean. Wouldn’t that be something, seeing all the spaceplanes, watching a launch. I might even get to meet Stephanie and Sir Mitch. But that would be so much expensive.”

“I’m not broke, I could probably pay for a ticket. And once you get there, you’d be able to pick up casual work to keep you going.”

“Really? You’d really pay for that?”

“Sure. I’ve been taking a peek at your PSE grades. I think you deserve some kind of reward. Especially as you qualify for a scholarship. You’ve done a hell of a lot of work.”

“Jesus, Dad, that’s…Thanks!” He wasn’t quite sure how he’d got off the subject of going to university with Annabelle, but this more than compensated.

“How’s the planning for the ball going?” Jeff asked.

“Good, I suppose.”

“That’s it? Good? You’ve got three days left, Tim. Have you rented a tux? Because I certainly haven’t seen a bill for a new one materialize on the household account. How are you traveling down there? Where are you picking Annabelle up from? What flowers have you chosen for her?”

“Oh.” Tim was suddenly crestfallen. Mum usually sorted all that kind of thing. And I never appreciated it. “Dunno.”

“Better get started then, hadn’t we?”

THE WAY IT WAS EVENTUALLY ARRANGED, Annabelle and Tim went with Rachel and Simon, with all of them leaving from the manor. A beauty therapist from Gazelle’s in Oakham turned up at three o’clock to style the girls’ hair and apply their makeup.

“We’re not leaving till six,” Tim protested when she arrived. The look he got from Annabelle froze any further comment. Sue’s old bedroom was taken over for the afternoon by the girls. Mrs. Mayberry and Lucy Duke were also drafted to help them get ready.

Tim and Simon took a brief quarter of an hour to dress. Tim’s tux had been delivered by the Community Service Supply van only that morning. It had been chosen after several rushed video calls with Sue, who had surveyed current suitable evening attire in several London outfitters. In the end she’d gone for a classic style, with a modern cut for his trousers and a slender silk collar on the jacket. Jeff had to tie their bow ties for them. Tim hadn’t dared suggest an elastic one to his mother.

The florist arrived at quarter to six, the corsages in a cool storage box on the back of her e-trike. As he waited down in the hall, Tim was beginning to feel the impact of the event with a fluttery stomach and tingling feet. At five past six, Lucy Duke appeared at the top of the stairs and coughed. Both boys wheeled around.

Rachel looked superb, her strapless purple satin dress stroking the contours of her figure. Tim never noticed her. Annabelle was dressed in a white evening gown that was so bright it was almost silver; it had a deep plunge back, which was countered by a demure neckline blending into a seamless bodice section that was surely sprayed on; the skirt was made up from an array of long panels that slid about fluidly as she walked, to reveal momentary glimpses of her legs. Her thick gold-chestnut hair had been swept back and down in a straight glossy mane, with thin strands corkscrewing at either side of her brow.

Tim stood at the foot of the stairs as both girls made their grand entrance. He put his hand out for Annabelle when she was a couple of steps from the bottom, entirely unsurprised to find it was trembling. She took it gently and alighted on the hall’s marble tiles.

“You look beautiful,” Tim whispered.

“Thank you.” She brought her lips together for a slight kiss. “Don’t muss me.”

He hadn’t even noticed she was wearing makeup it was so subtle, highlighting strong cheekbones, a mild mascara deepening her eyes. Her scent was the kind of air that gusted off a meadow of summer wildflowers.

“Sorry.” He proffered the corsage, a scarlet rose bordered with tiny saffron freesias. Annabelle curtsied as she took it.

There was a burst of applause around the hall, led by Jeff, with Mrs. Mayberry and the Europol team smiling on behind him. The four youngsters were suddenly a knot of happy flustered grins.

The limousine that had pulled up outside the manor’s portico belonged to the era of movie stars, glam rock princes, and decadent opening nights in London’s West End. It was a stretch white Lincoln with black windows and small orange running lights, a boomerang TV aerial sticking up out of the trunk.

Tim saw it and gasped. “Dad! Oh my God!” He couldn’t believe anything like it still existed outside a transport museum.

“My treat,” Jeff said. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t find you a pink Cadillac.”

“It’s brilliant!” Rachel squealed. She stood on tiptoes and gave Jeff a kiss. “Thanks so much.”

“No problem.”

“Yes,” Annabelle said. “Thank you.” Her lips brushed his cheek. Their eyes locked for an instant. Then she was pulling Tim down the stairs, both of them laughing gleefully.

“Be good!” Jeff called after them.

The chauffeur held the rear door open, somehow managing to crack open a bottle of champagne at the same time. The kids whooped excitedly as they ducked inside, looking around the extravagant interior. They found the cut crystal flutes, and held them out for the foaming champagne.

Jeff stood on the top step in the shade of the portico. There was a gentle smile on his lips as he listened to the animated exclamations coming from inside the ludicrous vehicle. They were cut off abruptly as the chauffeur closed the back door. The Europol team clambered into their own BMW, slamming the doors shut.

Then the stretch limousine was pulling out of the drive, crunching gravel beneath its whitewalled tires.

“Didn’t little Timmy look grand, just grand,” Mrs. Mayberry said. “And Annabelle’s as pretty as a picture. You must be very proud.”

Jeff turned to see the housekeeper clasping her hands together, her face all puckered up as she watched the limousine depart.

“I am, yes.”