Misspent Youth (22 page)

I
T WAS
A
NNABELLE
who had to get the door when the bell rang. Roger Goddard was confused by the sound. It was only quarter past eight in the morning, and this wasn’t the day when the Community Supply Service van came to restock their house with food. He didn’t know what to do about the insistent tone of the bell, it didn’t belong in his routine.

She pulled her worn old bathrobe over her equally faded knee-length T-shirt and opened the door, making sure the security chain was engaged. A young man was standing on the step, a safety helmet under his arm, electronic pad in his hand. The e-trike parked behind him had a florist franchise logo on its cool storage box.

“Ms. Goddard?”

“That’s me.” She started to smile as soon as she realized what was happening.

“I have two deliveries for you.”

“Oh that’s great. Wait. Two?”

She had to sign twice on the pad before he’d hand the bouquets over. One was big, twenty red roses just starting to open, complemented by long graceful white orchids. That was from Jeff. The other was even bigger, a wide cone of gold and royal-purple paper containing a vast array of flowers, half of which she couldn’t name. The little card that came with it said:

I never knew losing you could hurt so much

Please forgive me.

If you can’t, have a wonderful birthday anyway.

Tim

Annabelle slumped against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, wincing broadly. “Oh bugger.”
Get over me, Tim, please.

“Flowers,” Roger said quizzically. He’d emerged from the living room to blink in the daylight that streamed in through the front door’s frosted glass. “They’re yours, aren’t they?”

Annabelle resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. “Yes, Dad. Why don’t you go into the kitchen, I’ll make us some breakfast.”

Her father looked from her to the flowers, then back to her again. His lower lip started to tremble. Tears welled up in his eyes. “It’s your birthday.”

Oh Christ.
“Yes, Dad.”

“I forgot your birthday. My daughter’s birthday.”

“It’s okay,” she said brightly. “You can nip out and get me a card later.”

His arms dangled loosely by his sides as his head bowed forward. “I am such a useless fuck-up. How could I forget? That’s so horrible of me. Horrible! I’m a horrible person. I don’t want to be like this, I really don’t.”

“Please, Dad, don’t.”

“You’re eighteen today. You should be having a fabulous party at a hotel or the town hall. There should be people there, lots of lovely people. And a band playing music. And food; a banquet. And I forgot. I forgot my own daughter’s birthday!” His hands came up to slap hard against his forehead. He did it again, then again.

“Dad, don’t.” She had to shift the bouquets around to free a hand so she could grab hold of him. “Stop it, please.”

He twisted his head from side to side. “I’m so sorry.”

“We’ll go out for lunch together, all right? A nice lunch at the Falcon Hotel. Just you and me. How about that?”

“Really? You want to go out with me?”

“Of course I do. You’re my dad.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You’ll have to find something to wear. Why don’t you go and check your wardrobe.”

“Okay.” His attention switched to the flowers. “Are they from your boyfriend?”

Her hand curled round Tim’s card, crumpling it. “Yes.”

“Oh Annabelle, you should be out having lunch with him, being happy together. You don’t want a meal with me.”

“Yes I do. I’m seeing…him later.”

“You are?” Roger seemed pleased with the idea.

“Yes. We’re going out this evening. He’s going to take me to a restaurant, then a club. Some of my friends are coming as well. I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Good. That’s good. I’m going to go and find something to wear. Something decent, something suitable to take my lovely daughter out to lunch with.”

She held up the bouquets again, aghast by how over the top Tim’s was, then went into the kitchen to find a vase.

T
HE CHAMPAGNE CORK POPPED
as soon as Annabelle opened the suite’s door. She gave a little start of surprise, which melted into a smile when she saw Jeff with the foaming magnum in his hands.

“Happy birthday,” he said.

She ran across the room and flung her arms around him, kissing him exuberantly. “Thank you. The flowers were lovely.”

He kissed her back. “They were just the warm-up. I’ve got your real present here. Now sit down and help me pour. Krug is far too expensive to let it spill all over the carpet.”

She plunked herself down on the edge of the bed and held up a pair of saucer glasses for him to fill.

“So, good birthday?”

“Actually, not until I got here, no.”

“Why, what happened? Oh, cheers.”

“Cheers.” She touched the rim of her saucer to his. “Dad forgot it was my birthday. He was really upset when he realized, so I had to spend most of the morning calming him down. Mum sent me an avtxt greeting. But it was the same as last year’s; I think her computer is programmed to send it.”

“Ah, God bless diary programs.”

“And Tim sent me flowers as well. He even used the same site as you did to order them.”

“Ah.” Jeff grimaced. “Well, we can stay here till late if you’d like.”

“Can we?” She brightened considerably at the prospect. “Can we really?”

“Sure. I’ve not got to get back. Neither have you.”

“I so much want to spend the whole night with you.”

“We will. I might even manage better than that. I’ve got a physics conference in America scheduled in a couple of weeks. Fancy being my assistant?”

“You’re joking!”

“No.”

“Oh my God, America. With you. Oh Jeff, that would be superb.”

“Nothing firm yet, but I think I can swing it.”

She tilted her head up and kissed him again. “Thank you.”

“Now let’s have a look at what we’ve got here.” He sat on the bed beside her, and pointed to a pair of boxes on the side table. They were both wrapped in dark purple paper, tied with scarlet ribbons.

Annabelle flashed him a dazzling smile. “Which one first?”

“That one, I think.”

The first present was sensual black lace underwear. “Thanks,” she said with a mischievous grin. She needed something to replace the silk negligée, which was now quite badly torn.

He handed her the second present, a slim case. Annabelle was almost afraid to open it; she knew it was jewelry of some kind.

A gold necklace chain sat on the case’s black velvet. The pendant was an ultramodern-styled platinum triangle, with a diamond on each point. The sight of it stopped her breath. It must have cost a fortune, and he’d spent it on her.

“Oh God, Jeff, it’s beautiful.”

“Stand up,” he said. “Let me put it on.”

He undressed her carefully, and fastened the necklace round her neck.

Standing there naked, the cool metal resting on the skin between her breasts, placed there by her lover, was an incredibly erotic sensation.

“Perfect,” Jeff announced.

Annabelle’s eyes were fluttering half closed. She smiled warmly at him and took his hand, licking the tip of his thumb. “I’m going to give you a thank-you for my present. A very special thank you.” She tilted her head right back, and slowly tipped her champagne saucer up until the liquid splashed over the front of her neck. It began to foam as it cascaded down her chest and across her breasts. “But first, I want one more present from you.”

M
RS
. M
AYBERRY HAD MADE THE BURGERS
, using her own special recipe involving lots of fresh herbs and Aberdeen Angus beef. Jeff had them piled up on a big plate next to the six-burner gas-fired barbeque. He shouted out to the youngsters on the lawn who were finishing off the rounders match, asking them what sauces they wanted. Mrs. Mayberry had provided him with a selection of those as well—chili, honey and lemon, hot barbeque, and something she called sticky smoke. Jeff used his oversize tongs to dip the burgers into the deep bowls of sauce before dropping them on the grid above the glowing lava rocks. While he was dealing with the first batch, the Europol team called in their preferences. Smoke spat and sizzled upward from the meat.

The pork ribs came next, picked out of the sweet and sour marinade. Then it was the sausages, whole ribbons of them. By the time it was all cooking away he hoped the Environment Agency mobile pollution monitor van wasn’t cruising the village for clean air violations. He was having to stand well back as the acrid scents mixed into a single plume and started to make his eyes water.

“Another beer, uh, Jeff?” Colin asked. He was peering in the big fridge just inside the pool building’s door.

“Sounds good, thanks.” He took the can from the smiling youngster. “What’s the score?”

“Ah, we’re winning easy. Boys, eighteen. Girls, five, so far, and they’ve only got two bats left.”

Jeff had taken his turn batting earlier. It was decided he could get on with the cooking when it was the boys’ turn to field; one less on the team would even the odds, so the girls claimed.

Lorraine took a mighty swipe at the ball that Tim threw, and knocked it down to the far end of the garden. Philip watched it soar over his head in amazement, and belatedly gave chase. All the girls were running fast between the posts, shouting encouragement to one another. The boys directed a barrage of abuse at the hapless Philip.

“Go, you moron!” Colin yelled.

“We’ll still walk it,” Jeff said. He twisted the plastic tab on the top of his can, and gulped down an icy mouthful. It had been a great afternoon. None of the youngsters had minded him joining in when they were splashing around in the pool. That invitation was extended to the croquet game and then the rounders. Jeff hadn’t played croquet for twenty years. It was fun remembering all the dirty tricks. Anybody who believed that croquet was a civilized sport had clearly never played before. It was fun playing rounders, too. And sinking highballs of Pimms. Everyone was in their swimsuits. Having the girls bounding past, bodies barely contained in the thin fabric of their swimsuits and bikinis, was a blissful addition to the afternoon’s delight.

It just needed Annabelle to make it perfect. More than anything, he wanted here there, sharing in the exuberance of this lazy sunny afternoon. The youngsters were more her friends than his, after all. But this was Tim’s party, a farewell for all his friends. Jeff had actually seen the boy smiling as he lined up to pitch the ball, finally shaking off the terrible moods that had dominated his days since the summer ball. Balancing the happiness of three people was a profoundly difficult act. Jeff kept wondering how long it could be before he and Annabelle could actually tell Tim about them.

Quite a while, if I know Tim.

Boys won the rounders, eighteen to eight. A raggedy chorus of Queen’s “We Are the Champions” filled the garden.

“Two minutes,” Jeff called.

The youngsters went to find sweatshirts and cardigans now that the sun was sinking lower, then grabbed themselves plates and lined up by the barbeque. Jeff was kept busy dishing the meat out. There were so many burgers on the grill, he’d completely forgotten which ones had which sauce on them.

Jeff overhead one remark Martin made to Tim as the boys sat down together. “Anyone who has a whole fridge just for beer is okay by me.” Which made him smile. The manor had been built with exactly this kind of afternoon in mind; a big lawn and a swimming pool were essentials for Jeff. Although his parents had been comfortably-off professionals, they’d lived in a town house with a very small garden. He’d been envious of all his childhood friends out in the villages with their wide, open lawns to run around on.

Not that he’d ever expected to benefit from the manor; it had always been for Tim. Now though, twenty years late, he could enjoy it for himself, too, along with all the other things he’d never found time for before. The new car was a good example.

“Is there anything left you’d like to do, Jeff?” Simon asked. “I mean, this time around? Something you missed out on before?”

The talk had been about coming holidays and their futures after that, what they most wanted to achieve or see.

Jeff shoveled the last couple of burgers onto his plate, and went over to sit beside Tim. “Actually, there is one thing I’ve really wanted to do ever since I was six years old.”

All the youngsters fell silent, watching him closely.

He shrugged at them. “Sorry, it’s not particularly important, just something I fancy.”

“What?” Tim asked curiously.

“I’ve always wanted to go into space. Not those little semiballistic lobs they sell in America and the Caribbean. I want to see the Earth from orbit. Just look down and watch the whole planet roll past underneath me.”

There were a lot of sighs from around the patio. Several of the youngsters nodded sympathetic agreement.

“Comes from an astronaut fixation when I was a kid. That and the fact I grew up in the era of the Apollo program. I mean, I really did expect to be taking holidays on the moon by the year 2000. All the Sunday newspaper magazines around back in the early seventies were full of articles about how easy spaceflight would become right after the pioneering part was complete.”

“Were they really saying that?” Vanessa asked. She was sitting on the other side of Tim, peering around him to look at Jeff. It wasn’t the first time she and Tim had wound up next to each other that afternoon.

“Oh yes. All of us in those times had a lot of big expectations about how the world was going to turn out. You know, offhand I can’t think of one prediction that ever came true—apart from the datasphere sliding the whole videophone idea in at us from the side.”

“You can still make it into orbit, though,” Philip said. “Sir Mitch is going to be offering rides next year.”

“The Mojave team will beat him,” Simon said. “They’ve got access to Boeing’s scramjet technology. That’ll bring the price of spaceflight down to the same as it costs to fly across the Atlantic.”

Jeff laughed. “Now, that’s the definition I’ve been looking for ever since I came out of the suspension womb. I look young, almost as young as you lot; but the real difference between us is cynicism. You don’t have any, while I’ve got a ton of it.”

“I’m cynical,” Philip protested. “I don’t believe a word politicians say.”

“That’s not cynicism,” Sophie said. “That’s just common sense.”

Jeff smiled to himself as he tucked into the barbeque. The youngsters chattered avidly around him, losing just about every inhibition when it came to topics and comments. He was pleased about that. Teenage reticence in front of adults was a near absolute. But he’d obviously found a form of acceptance among them. Not, he admitted to himself, that he’d want to hang with them the whole time; their interests and conversation were too shallow for that.

When he thought about it, he wasn’t totally sure what kind of group he did want to be with on a permanent social basis. Late twenties, probably, or early thirties. Young enough not to be boring, old enough to have some wisdom.

Now that Sue had left, and Tim was on the verge of departing to university, he supposed he ought to make an effort to rebuild a social life. His slightly crazy existence since finishing the treatment had virtually precluded that. It had been a good time, though; not just because of Annabelle. Every consumer item he could want, he’d already got. Which is what youth should be about, no cares, no responsibilities, enjoying everything you do, and the decades stretching out invitingly ahead of you.

Jeff drank some more beer and ate his burgers, happy that not only was this evening one of the best, but that he could repeat it ad infinitum in the years to come.

H
E TOOK THEM TO SEE THE CAR
after they’d finished their strawberries and cream. It had been delivered only the day before, replacing his old Mercedes. A Jaguar I-type sportster, straight off the new production line at Birmingham, it was low-slung, with two seats, sculpted raw metal bodywork, broad flex-profile tires, computer stabilized suspension, laser proximity sensors, eight recombiner cells delivering power direct to the axle hub motors, limited to three hundred and twenty kilometers per hour but capable of a lot more (he’d already got the fix for that). The sight of it sitting in the garage, yellow light glimmering softly off the blue metal surface, was enough to draw several gasps of admiration from the eager youngsters. Jeff loved it. Most modern cars were big and sedate, giving the impression of quiet infallible power; while this looked seriously mean.

“How did you get it?” Colin asked. “They only started making them this year. I thought there was a two-year waiting list.”

“Being famous has its advantages,” Jeff said. “Although, you will have to put up with me on your spamtxt for the next three months. I did an endorsement deal with Jaguar’s PR division.”

They groaned.

“I know,” Jeff said, grinning. “Sellout.”

“But worth it,” Simon said. “Definitely worth it. This is so much dead on.”

“Can I sit in it?” Rachel asked.

“Of course.” Jeff put his palm on the biometric pad, and the passenger door opened smoothly. She gave him a long thank-you smile as she wriggled past him.

Vanessa stuck her hand up eagerly. “Me too.”

“Do we get to ride in it?” Philip asked.

“’Fraid not, we’ve all had too much to drink. And I haven’t got a hack for the breath sensor yet.”

“Can I at least sit in the driver’s seat?” Colin asked querulously.

“I guess so.” It was the first thing Tim had asked when they went out for a test drive yesterday morning. He’d even let Tim drive the Jag for a couple of miles along the country lanes, where there was no chance of the boy putting his foot down.

Despite the lack of an open road, the Jag had been a dream to drive. Tires clung to the crumbling, potholed tarmac as if they were rolling along a newly laid motorway. Sitting behind the wheel on a sunny morning, U2 cranked up to level twenty on the sound system, gliding through the countryside in a car that would make most other men weep, was another of those defining best moments. Jeff’s life seemed to be clocking up a lot of them right now.

When he was first young he’d hated the sight of middle-aged men in coupes. They were all posers, with no right to own cars like those. And they all wore the same kind of cap, white canvas with a peak, as if it was some kind of Masonic uniform requirement. Didn’t they realize how sad they looked? He’d always sworn he would never repeat their mistake.

Now here he was, pulling off the whole sports car scene with considerable class.

Once he’d dropped Tim off he zoomed over to Stamford to meet up with the birthday girl in their suite at the George. He couldn’t resist driving her home afterward. Sitting behind the wheel on a warm summer’s night, delectable teenage sex kitten at his side with Bruce Springsteen at level twenty—his quality of life had taken a remarkable quantum leap inside a few short hours.

A
FTER THE YOUNGSTERS HAD DEVOTED
a suitable amount of time to worshipping the Jag, Jeff went back into the study while they settled back around the patio. The call came in a couple of minutes early, just like he knew it would.

“You having a good time?” Annabelle asked. She was in her bedroom at home, a drab box of a room, with ancient burgundy-red curtains already drawn against the night. The single bed she was perched on took up a third of the floor space. The wall behind was covered in posters of Stephanie and Sir Mitch.

“I just want you to be here,” he said. “I miss you.”