Una goes downstairs and opens a cupboard. Takes out a jar and stares at it for a moment, before going to the desktop and doing a little Google search.
There’s no harm in trying, at least.
--
When Timothée walks in for dinner, she sees him glance at the cake sitting on the counter. Not his birthday cake, but his apology cake, his consolation cake. He looks around for her, and she’s sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for a reaction.
Timothée doesn’t disappoint. He goes towards the cake, leans over and quickly smells it. A smile grows on his face, and all the redness is gone. He looks okay again, especially now that he’s walking to the chair opposite her and taking a seat.
“Now I know why you asked me,” he says quietly, and Una removes her chin from her palm, pulling her hand over her mouth to shield it as she smiles secretly. Nods.
“It smells good,” Timothée offers.
“Thank you,” Una replies, and unfolds her napkin onto her lap. For a moment, it’s just the two of them at the table; Sean hasn’t come in from the garden yet, Fen is plating up, and Frank is getting drinks. Una looks at their house-guest and wonders at what point he started fitting in with the scenery.
“Una, d’you want water?” Frank asks, and she tears her gaze away from Timothée’s hands, folded neatly on top of the table.
“Please,” she smiles, then stares at Timothée’s hands again. He flexes them a little, lengthening his fingers, rotating his upper palms against each other as he looks around. She wonders how he simultaneously manages to look like it’s his first day.
“There you go,” Frank says, setting her water down on a coaster. Una watches it slope from side to side of the glass. She can’t quite work out if Timothée has just kicked her because he thinks she’s the table leg, or if he’s just kicked her because he was feeling like it.
She glances at him, and he’s looking at her. Definitely. There was nothing accidental about that kick. “Thank you,” he mouths. “For the cake.”
Una doesn’t know what to say so she just nods, gives him a half-smile, and stares at the water marks, the scratches on the dining table.
--
They eat the cake after dinner, just her, Frank and Timothée in the sitting room, sat on the sofa. To Una’s absolute disappointment, the cake tastes like nothing. She chews and chews until the taste of cardboard becomes pulp, until she swallows and she can still feel it coating her throat. It feels difficult to speak, and she has no idea what to say.
“Sorry guys, it doesn’t really...taste of much,” she says haltingly. Frank takes a huge bite and shakes his head dazedly, like he hasn’t noticed. Una watches Timothée nibble delicately at the end.
“Mm,” he says, and it feels like a token remark. They watch TV in silence for two minutes, while Frank finishes his slice and moves onto the rest of Una’s. She stopped eating hers when Timothée started looking like it was paining him to eat the cake. Una lost her appetite after that.
Timothée puts his plate on the table and yawns, his arms stretching above his head, his shirt riding up. He lays there, sprawled out for a moment, all pale skin and the grey waistband of his boxers. Una stares at the crack between the sofa cushions until he gets up. She can feel the tears welling in her eyes.
“Thank you for trying,” Timothée says, and that would be the thing that hurt the most if it weren’t for the almost untouched slice of cake on his plate. He’s barely left a dent in it.
She nods wordlessly, fearing her voice will break if she tries to talk.
YOU ARE READING
IN THE HOURS BETWEEN • TC
Fanfiction"Are you lost?" "No, I'm Timothée." --- When her brother's exchange student first comes to stay, Una feels like a stranger in her own house. Timothée speaks English slowly and softly; pauses in the wrong places, constantly tries to take back what h...
