Misspent Youth

33. AGONY AUNT

THE ELEPHANT KECK WAS IN FULL BLOOM, big hemispherical flower clumps swaying in the slightest breeze, sending dead petals to carpet the roads. Councils had a statutory requirement to cut them down, but to do that they needed money, a commodity Rutland County Council was notoriously short of. So the tall invaders were left alone to grow up packed tight along the county’s D-class roads, blocking the view around every bend.

They didn’t make Tim’s journey any easier as he rode the e-trike along the strip of dilapidated tarmac ringing the reservoir, weaving about to dodge the potholes. He had to keep the speed low for fear of what was coming the other way; mostly it was cyclists and other e-trike riders, but once a car purred toward him, well into the middle of the road when it appeared. He was sure it only braked because of the Europol team’s BMW following him. He was back on probation with the bodyguards following his behavior at the ball.

He arrived at the gates to the protected estate and flashed his smartcard at the sensor pillar. Aunt Alison was in her little front garden, clipping away determinedly at the straggly rosebushes that were tumbling over the pavement. Her heavy-handed attentions were actually making them look worse. She pushed her straw hat back, and gave him a big welcoming smile. “Tim! Hello, darling, how are you?”

He endured the wet kiss she gave him as best he could. “Okay, suppose.”

“Oh, dear me, that bad is it?”

“Maybe.” He frowned. “Why are you doing gardening?”

Alison gave his shoulder a mock punch. “A little less of your cheek, young Timothy. I always keep this garden in tiptop shape.”

“No you don’t.”

She gave a hearty laugh. “Got an official letter of complaint from the Residents Association. They said I was letting down the tone of the estate. I assumed they meant the garden. Do you want to see it?”

“Er, no thanks.”

“That’s my boy, who cares what old people do and say.” She stripped off her thorn-proof gauntlets. “Come on through, I’ve done quite enough vegetable maintenance for today.” Her attention suddenly focused on the Europol team, who were out of the BMW, stretching their legs. “I say, young man, do you think you could possibly help me out?”

Hans Goussfar was unfortunate to be the one closest to Alison. “In what way, madam?” he asked politely.

Alison waved her clippers at the black dome of the lawnmower robot, which sat inertly in the middle of the front lawn, surrounded by grass that was now almost as high as it was. “It simply stopped the other week. I have no idea what’s wrong with the poor thing, I’m utterly dreadful with machinery. Could you possibly take a peek underneath for me?”

“Ah, well…”

“Oh, you are such a dear. Thank you. I’ll have Timmy bring some tea out to all of you.”

Once the front door was shut, Tim started laughing. “That was cruel.”

“Pha, about time I got my money’s worth out of Brussels, all that bloody tax I pay. And let’s face it, it’s probably the most useful thing he’ll do all year.”

“I doubt he’ll be able to fix it. He’s a policeman, not an engineer.”

“It just needs the skirt sensors cleaning; the software will reboot once it has all-round coverage again. Oh, and there’s a filthy great wad of wet leaves plugging up the engine intake, although they’ve probably dried solid by now.”

“You do know what’s wrong with it!”

Alison winked at him. “How could I? I’m just a helpless girlie.” She led him through the living room and out onto her patio. The arch of wisteria creepers had thickened considerably this year, turning the paved area into an emerald cave. Bushes and shrubs in the back garden were climbing skyward as if that was their only escape route. “Still upset about your mum leaving?”

“Oh, that.”

“I can’t believe Jeff announced that on this ridiculous life site of his. You don’t brag about separating from your wife. It should be a private thing.”

“Lucy Duke said it was the best way. By being first to break the story we get to preempt any media interest and control the angle.”

“Timmy, if she ever gives you advice like that, you will tell her to go take a flying fuck, won’t you, dear?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Yes.”

“You do still talk to your mum, don’t you?”

“Oh yes. We’re fine, I suppose. But there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“That’s very flattering, darling. I’ll do my best, you know that. Just don’t expect miracles, will you.”

Tim sat on the edge of a sunlounger, dropping his chin into his hands. “Me and Annabelle split up.”

“Oh no! She was such a lovely girl, Tim. Oops, sorry.”

“It’s all right. She was lovely.”

“Here, have some Pimms.” Alison picked up a big glass jug that was only a third full. The brownish liquid had a lot of fruit slices bobbing round on the surface, along with the remnants of ice cubes. She started to pour some into a highball glass. “Best summer drink there is. Always cheers me up, especially by the fourth glass.”

“No,” Tim said firmly. He started to tell Aunt Alison what had happened.

When he finished she gave the glass a mildly guilty glance, then took a sip. “You’re a silly old thing, Tim. Don’t think there’s much more I call tell you. ’Course, I’m not exactly the one best placed to lecture you on the evils of drink.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to. I’m never going to touch any alcohol or synth8 again. I promised myself that.”

“Jolly good.” She started picking up the cigarette packets littering the table, shaking them to find one that had some in it. “So who’s going to be next?”

“Next?”

“Girlfriend, Tim. Annabelle was a damn fine notch on your bedpost. You can be proud of that. Who’s going to be the next?”

“Alison! I don’t want anyone else. I just want Annabelle back.”

“The way you told it, Annabelle made it pretty plain you were through.”

“Suppose.”

“That was good psychology on her part, making you end the phone call. I wonder where she learned that?” She found a packet that had a couple of cigarettes left, checked that they were straight nicotine, then lit up.

“How do I get her back, Alison? I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do, what to say.” Tim waved his hand in front of his face, trying to waft the awful smoke away.

“I remember when I was your age.”

“Yes?”

“One boy after another. Dearie me, the reputation I earned myself. Then I had my seventeenth birthday; now he was a hell of a present to find in your bed the next morning.”

Tim tried not to smile.

“He was wonderful. Alexander was his name. Tall, blond, handsome, hung like a donkey. Those were the days, that kind don’t look at me twice today. Anyway…he claimed he was descended from Russian aristocracy. It could have been a family of Russian sanitation engineers for all I cared. I was so in love. I would have followed him anywhere if he’d only asked. He didn’t. At least not me. That was my very best friend Siobhan who traipsed along after him for a dirty weekend in Scarborough. Broke my heart.” She blew a long plume of smoke, staring wistfully out over the reservoir.

“Is that why you never married?” Tim asked reverently.

“God, no, I went out and grabbed myself another bloke before the end of the week. That’s what you do when you’re a teenager, you’re forever on the bounce-back. Then you reach an age and look around, and all the good ones have been snapped up—so the myth goes. Of course, novelists aren’t the easiest creatures to live with, either. I used to have neuroses that could frighten a shrink at twenty paces. Doesn’t mean I didn’t have long and worthwhile relationships with men, though.”

“Um, yes. Alison, what’s this got to do with me and Annabelle?”

Alison shook her head in exasperation. “Your generation, always want the capital letters, never the subtext. You don’t learn to read properly, that’s the trouble. And don’t start telling me you’ve accessed books. I’m talking about the real thing, good solid paper that you can hold in your hand, and bend the page corners the way you’re not supposed to.”

“I wouldn’t tell you that.”

“Hmm. The thing is this, Tim; you’re eighteen, forever is about a month at your age. You’ll get over her. And move on to the next like the healthy, appallingly randy boy that you are.”

“I don’t want to get over her. Why does everybody say that? I want her back.”

“Did you dump Zai?”

Tim was thrown by the abrupt shift. “Er, yes.”

“She must have felt just like you do now. Except it would have been a lot worse for her. Women get hurt a damn sight more by these things. Not that men ever appreciate that. Oh no, you know and care as much about our feelings as you do our G-spot.”

“I do care.”

“Hmm. So after you’d cast Zai aside because Annabelle had bigger boobs, she was left with her emotions bruised and bleeding, and feeling as low and unwanted as a person can get.”

“I didn’t do it like that.”

“But you did leave her. It was your decision. So did she have a date for the ball?”

“Yes.”

“There was never any chance you would get back with her. You were so obsessed with Annabelle you wouldn’t even consider it. Zai knew that, so she had no choice. She picked up her life and met someone else. She got over you.”

“Yes.”

“Well, there you are. It’s possible. You will survive. Now, which of your other friends-who-are-girls do you fancy the most?”

Tim fell back into the sunlounger and smiled in dismay. “I know I’ll survive. But I still want Annabelle back.”

“Ah, the lowly servant boy smitten by the unattainable princess. I’ve written about you so many times.”

“Do I get her in the end, the princess?”

“Unless you’ve got a magic sword and a flying dragon that does smart-ass one-liners, not a snowflake’s chance in hell.”