IN THE HOURS BETWEEN • TC

18. Favoured Foods

"Timmy, I'm not pretending," Una says quickly. She notices that he has started biting his nail again. Just the thumb. Timmy glances at her. "I swear."

"Okay," he huffs. "Well. Anyway. The break is finished."

She wants him to continue his story, but they sit there in silence as the recap comes on.

"Una, I will kill her," he says morosely, watching the woman put multicoloured sprinkles on top of the 'parfait'.

Una can't help but laugh. "It looks nice!" she says disbelievingly, and she can feel Timmy glaring at her. "It just needs...I don't know. A little sprig of mint. Or something."

"Mint," Timmy whimpers, sounding distressed. He falls sideways into the sofa and buries his head in the cushion, his hands over his ears.

"Timmy, it's not that bad," she chuckles, pushing her foot briefly against his calf, and his head rises from the cushion for just long enough to roll his eyes at her.

"I hate England. I hate all of it," he mutters, taking another cushion and pulling it over his head. Una grins at the TV, her cheeks aching with the urge not to laugh at him. (And she knows he's exaggerating. Knows he's playing it up for her benefit, but. Still.)

"Our food isn't that bad," she says. "Have you even had a full English yet?"

"No, but it sounds horrible," he replies quickly, moving the pillow so his mouth can peek out, so he can be heard.

"You don't even know what it is," she retorts, and Timmy's mouth falls shut. "English breakfast," Una explains. "Sausage, fried egg, bacon, and you make it all crispy on the outside, and beans and grilled tomatoes and fried mushrooms and hash browns and then you split the yolk on the egg and dip everything into it, and..." she trails off wistfully. "I haven't had a fry-up in ages."

"Oh, I love eggs that are...how do we say it?" Timmy frowns. "When they're not," he clenches his fist, "but they're," he waves his hand in front of him. Una sputters with laughter.

"Can you do that again, for me?" she asks, and Timmy repeats his actions, a smile on his face. "Nope, no clue," she shakes her head, and Timothée's bottom lip juts out.

"You are so stupid," he sighs, rolling his head back on the couch cushions. "It is so simple to understand," Timmy grumbles, and just as Una is about to open her mouth and tell him that she is not stupid (and that it's his fault for giving her almost nothing to work with), Frank walks in and plops himself down on the other end of the sofa.

Una huffs, turning back to the TV.

"What's she done now, Tim?" Frank asks, and Timmy gives a great big sigh.

"Rien d'extraordinaire," he mumbles, and Una might not understand French but she can understand a bitching when she hears one. She glares at Timmy, but he is staring at the screen again, watching the guests tuck into the starter.

"She baked the brie," Timmy says, looking with horror at the woman, who is serving out little dishes of brie, baked with honey and rosemary

"Yeah," Una replies, and he looks at her with a pained expression.

"Una I am going to kill this woman. I am going to do it," he tells her.

Una can't stop herself from laughing, despite the fact that she's told herself she's angry at Timmy for calling her stupid. "There's nothing wrong with baked brie," she tells him, her voice higher in pitch than usual. Timmy scoffs, turns to Frank.

"I think your sister is wrong."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Frank shrugs. Una takes it with good grace and says nothing. (He's right, anyway.)

---

During the ad break, Una gets a couple of notifications.

One from Max, which she will wait until later to open so she doesn't seem desperate.

One from Instagram, telling her that timmy19.95 has accepted her follow request.

And one from Timmy, who is sitting right next to her.

She glances up at him, but he is staring resolutely down at his phone, texting someone. She opens the message, and it's only a couple of words.

timmy19.95: it's runny

timmy19.95: the word it's runny

timmy19.95: runny eggs

"You couldn't have just said that? I'm literally right here," she asks Timmy quietly, glancing over at Frank, who is religiously watching an ad for a vacuum cleaner.

"I don't know," he frowns. "Yes. I could, but I didn't." He turns back to his phone and Una rolls her eyes. Clicks on his profile.

The display of brightly coloured squares is enticing, but she'll save it for later. She'll wait until no one else is around, and then she'll scroll through every single photo on his feed, savouring each one, taking in the minor details. It'll be fun - she hasn't Instagram stalked someone in a while - but she can't do it here. Not with him still around.

"Dinner in ten!" comes the yell from the kitchen.

"Okay," Una and Frank yell back. Timmy is yet to pick up the only method of communication in the Murphy household: shouting. He's still softly-spoken at every turn. Delicate. Gentle.

They finish the main course of Come Dine With Me, then the ad break, and then the dessert. When the banoffee pie parfaits (with extra sprinkles) come into view, Timmy rolls his eyes and turns his whole body into the sofa, facing Una. She looks down at his soft face hidden between his hands, and giggles.

"It's really not that bad, Tim, you're missing the best bit-"

"DINNER," comes the yell from the kitchen. The same yell has come two times in the past two minutes.

Una nudges his shoulder. "Come on, you have to watch their reactions," she tells him, and Timothée raises his head just enough to watch through the gap in his fingers.

"I feel sick," he says.

The general verdict is that it tastes like sick, too, so it turns out that Timmy really is the ultimate judge of parfaits.

"DINNER! COME ON, IT'S GETTING COLD AND YOU'RE PISSING ME OFF."

Timmy sits up, looking slightly worried. He's the first of them to stand up and leave the room. No doubt he's gone to check if there's anything he can do, to check if he can lay the table or get drinks for everyone. Una wants to roll her eyes but she keeps it to herself. Switches off the TV and chucks the remote onto the sofa.

Frank is close behind her as they make their way to the kitchen, his voice a grin as he fake laughs. "Timmy, ooo, Timmy, you're so funny," he mocks. Una turns around and jolts her knee towards his groin. Unfortunately, Frank backs away before she can knee him in the balls, but it's a close one.

"Good one Frank, that was really funny," she says impassively.

"You're only getting defensive because you know it's true," Frank says quietly as he brushes past her into the kitchen. Then, louder: "Dad, you made ratatouille!!! Timmy loves ratatouille!!!"

"No I don't," comes the disgruntled reply. "He's only saying that because I'm French."