IN THE HOURS BETWEEN • TC

11. Intervention

Una finds herself so thrilled with the prospect of a day at the beach that she doesn’t even mind when she is pressed up against Timothée again in the back of the car. She can bear everything because the heat isn’t so oppressive with the prospect of the sea on the horizon. Things seem a little more manageable, so Frank’s terrible music becomes a distant hum and the warmth of Timothée’s leg against her own is somehow peaceful.

When they get there, Una hops out before everyone else, stretching her arms above her head deliciously. They’ve chosen a different beach to the one they went to last time. This one is sand, not pebbles, and the pier seems to extend further. Una gets the impression that Fen has planned a proper brunch, not just slushies or fish and chips, and suddenly her breakfast seems a long time ago. It did take them an hour and a half in the car, after all.

She steps to one side as Timothée gets out behind her, and he goes immediately to the railing, tilting his face towards the sun. Frank does so too, and Una gets her phone out. Quietly takes a picture, slipping her phone back into her pocket before either of them can notice.

“Timmy, we have to do the Titanic pose,” Frank gasps, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Timothée’s waist. Timothée laughs, his head tilting backwards as he gasps, simpers, “Je vole, Jack!”

Frank laughs too, digging his chin into Timothée’s shoulder. Una wishes she’d taken a photo of that as well, but she is too late. They’re already detaching themselves by the time she gets her phone out.

The family make their way onto the beach, Timothée and Frank kicking sand at each other’s ankles as soon as they get to the shore. Una lingers behind with Fen and Sean, watching with an amused smirk as Frank gets sand in his eye and turns away, blinking rapidly while Timothée cackles, throwing his arms out behind him and stretching with his face turned to the sea.

They set up camp as far from the pier as possible, which means they’re out of the way of almost everyone else, sheltered by the side of the cove. It takes some time to get there, but it’s worth it to sit down and see nothing but a murky stretch of water, no screaming children in sight. Only the bobbing head of a determined swimmer is visible, along with a family who have obviously had the same idea, but the children look old enough to be quiet.

Una gets out her towel but the wind is blowing in the wrong direction, meaning she receives a faceful of sand and her towel won’t stay down. A hand brushes past her ankle and Una realises that Timothée is holding the other side down for her. “Thank you,” she says, and he doesn’t reply, just nodding and setting out his own towel that Fen has handed to him. For some reason, he has less of a hard time unfolding it. The wind is prejudiced, perhaps.

With the sun beating down, they all strip down to their swimwear. Frank is the first to rip off his t-shirt and go striding down to the shore, followed by Timothee, who is a little more reserved. He doesn’t seem embarrassed, merely calm. It’s much more than Una can say for herself.

She waits until the two of them are capering in the shallows before she shimmies her dress over her head, balling it up in her beach bag. She starts on the sun cream, smearing it all over and watching absently as the boys jump the smallest waves, evidently not yet brave enough to go crashing all the way in.

Maybe she should feel self-conscious, dressed like this, dressed in barely anything, with Timothée around.

Then again, it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

She stands up slowly, wiping the last traces of sun cream onto her thighs, and pads her way down to the shore, her toes delving into the luxuriously hot sand. The cold dampness of the shore is a little bit of a shock, but she makes her way to the waves brushing the sand and teeters on the edge, letting the freezing water lap at her feet.