IN THE HOURS BETWEEN • TC

Days 5 & 6

Her bare legs are itchy. Una lies down, giving her hands a break from where they have been propping her up. Blades of grass are imprinted on her reddened palms, and she circles her wrists to lessen the ache.

Their faces are on the same level now, ever so slightly on the decline towards the banks of the lake. There is a picnic blanket. Horrendously picturesque, red gingham, wicker basket, bread and cheese, wine glasses propped up by various items of food to stop the contents from bleeding into the blanket, from splashing onto a white top. All Timmy's doing.

His side profile is still striking. She takes small, shameful glances at him from now and then. The gentle slope of his nose, the rogue hairs between his eyebrows, the old scars from spots that used to accentuate his beauty, not mar it.

"Do you remember when we went swimming, last time? At the beach?" Una asks, staring out at the lake. It is mostly devoid of people. A small child is naked, sitting on the sloped bank and swinging her feet through the shallows.

Timmy looks at her, and shakes his head, slowly. "When?" he asks.

Una blinks, shields her eyes from the sun so she can study his expression. Is it worth trying to jog his memory? It was such a long time ago - he's allowed to forget. But why does it sting so much, that she can recall it as if it were mere hours ago? She likes to think she can still taste the salt on her lips, her arms looped around his neck, the grit of sand in her palm before it went sailing through the air towards Frank.

"I think it was your birthday," she says.

He snorts softly. "I don't remember that. I remember the cake, though."

"Oh, that took me ages," she grins. "I was so proud of it, too."

Timmy says nothing and moves some roquefort from the spot between them. He lies down completely, rolling onto his side to look at her. Una picks a grape from the bunch and begins to nibble, skinning it between her teeth.

"So, Romain. He's your brother?" she begins, popping the naked grape into her mouth and chewing. Flavour bursts over her tongue.

Timmy reaches over her, his forearm brushing her stomach as he picks a grape for himself. "Yeah," he nods. Chews. Looks at her, seemingly waiting for a follow-up question. Una wishes he would say more. She doesn't want to seem like she's probing, but surely she's allowed to know? Surely, after all these years, a little explanation wouldn't hurt. Una thinks of a Word document that is sitting, unfinished, on her laptop.

"Do you have the same mum?"

Timmy shakes his head. "Different. She was my Dad's friend from a while back."

"Ah," Una nods. There is another silence now. It floats gently between them. She could reach out and touch him, any and every part of him, in a way she hasn't been able to since she was eighteen. Barely an adult. She retains this feeling in an older body: she's just a child, barely out of school, barely capable of taking care of herself. The only thing she would feel capable of looking after would be someone else, someone who uses the same cologne as before and just served her a portion of everything in the basket before even taking a glance at his own plate.

"So then...more than a friend, I'm guessing," Una smiles.

"You could say that."

They look at each other for a moment. Not knowing how to cut the silence, Una offers him another grape. He smiles, shakes his head.

—

She isn't quite sure how it happens.

Only, one minute they are inches apart, on a picnic blanket, in a public space. Then, there is no space between them because they are on Timmy's bed, in his room, and he is a writhing weight above her.