Misspent Youth

39. HOME COMFORTS

“I HAVEN’T USED THIS ROOM FOR AGES,” Alison said as she showed Tim into the bungalow’s back bedroom. “It might need a little freshening up.”

Tim looked around, and managed a small smile. The bed was covered in big cardboard boxes full of books, stacked three deep. Not that it mattered; there was no way to reach the bed anyway. More boxes and plastic storage bins were littering the floor, along with other stuff, intriguingly shaped items wrapped tightly in newspaper that was yellowed and crumbling. Polyethylene shopping bags were stuffed full of clothes, or at least bundles of fabric. When he looked down at his feet, he saw a pair of ancient hiking boots, so old the dark brown leather had dried out and cracked. It wasn’t the kind of footwear he would ever normally associate with Aunt Alison.

“Ah, those,” she said wistfully, following his surprised gaze. “I’ve worn those on three continents, you know—other than Europe. Tramped along the Peruvian coast, marched up the Uluru rock even though you’re not supposed to, and wandered over the Serengeti. Good times, before the world went the way we know it today.”

“Yeah,” Tim said miserably. “It’s a pretty rotten place now.”

Alison’s arm went around his shoulder. “I was speaking in general terms, not what happened to you. Now, come on, let’s get some space cleared for you.”

They stacked the boxes along one of the walls, making a precariously high half-pyramid. Other containers were taken out to the garage, once Alison had inspected them and reluctantly admitted she might not use them again. The rear wall of the garage wasn’t even visible, there was so much junk stored inside already.

When they cleared the bed and she found him a clean duvet cover they went back into the living room. The storm had cleared, leaving the sun glinting brightly off the leaves and flowers in the unkempt garden.

Alison settled herself in a deep old armchair and poured a large gin and tonic. Tim was sent to the kitchen to fetch some ice. The freezer was badly frosted up, with just a couple of packets inside, both of them ready-made meals for one, long past their expiration date.

“What do you eat?” he asked when he came back with a few ice cubes clinking round in the glass. “There’s hardly anything in there to cook.”

Alison took a long sip, and relaxed even further into the squashed nest of cushions. “The thing is, Tim, I don’t really do cooking. Never was much good at it, not even the microwave stuff. I either pop down to the pub, or get myself a takeout. You don’t mind having those kind of meals, do you?”

“No. That’s fine.” Tim was perched on the corner of the couch, staring out across the big reservoir without really seeing it.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“I think you’re supposed to. All my friends who talk native psychobabble say you should rationalize events back to their origin point so you can acknowledge their structural integration within your life flow.”

“Alison, that’s…that’s…such a load of crap.”

“I know that.” She grinned at him, and took another sip. “What they actually mean is, don’t bottle things up. They only hurt for longer.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Dad’s got my girlfriend. What can you possibly say about that?”

“We could start with how you feel about it.”

“Feel? Feel! Alison, she was my girlfriend!”

“I thought it was all over.”

He let his head fall into his hands. “Yeah, well. It was over because he moved in on her. I found that out today.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Was that a joke?”

“Let me put it this way. If it had been anyone else—anyone—other than Jeff, would you be surprised that Annabelle had found herself a new boyfriend?”

“No. Suppose not. She’s so beautiful. Why, are you taking his side?”

“No. I think what he’s done is despicable. It’s not something I’ll ever forgive him for, either. But knowing my big brother, I have to say I’m not surprised. And if you can withstand one more observation: I always thought Annabelle was sort of flighty.”

“What do you mean, flighty?”

“Let me put it this way, I don’t think the two of you were ever scheduled to get married and live happily ever after. I know she was the prettiest girlfriend you’ve had so far; and I know this is what I said last time, but you’ll find someone else just as nice. No, scratch that, nicer. Let’s face it, Tim, it takes two to tango. She’s not exactly innocent in all this, now, is she?”

“No.” It came out as a hugely sullen grunt. “Suppose not.” He really didn’t want to examine that part of it. Simon was right about her. And she did to me exactly what she did to him.

“You want a drink?” Alison asked.

He was tempted. Just wash her out of his mind, his life, with a huge flush of drinks or synth8. The one thing he’d promised himself he would never do again.

Because Annabelle didn’t like it.

There were synth8s that would make this a whole lot easier to handle. Taking them would be so simple, making his life a pleasurable thing once more. He just had to stop being true to himself.

With every cell in his body screaming to say the opposite, he said: “No thanks, Alison, my head’s in a big enough mess as it is.”

“Tough it out, eh? Good for you.” She took another big sip of her gin and tonic. “Have you told your mother yet?”

“No.” He shifted around as if the sofa was suddenly crawling with ants. “I was sort of wondering if you might do that.”

Alison cocked one eyebrow at him. “How long till you leave for university?”