IN THE HOURS BETWEEN • TC

17. Dark Corner

In the morning, Timmy is gone.

Nobody is quite sure where, and nobody heard him leave. Even Sean, who gets up at six for work, found nothing to suggest where he'd gone. Timmy has left no traces of leaving indefinitely, nothing to suggest he won't be coming back. It's just the fact that he's left without saying anything which is unnerving.

They find out because Frank goes to check on Timmy with a bowl of cereal, goes to clear out the plates from last night, and he's not in his room. Nor is he in the bathroom, or the kitchen, or in the garden, though Una goes right up to the end to check in the shade of the oak tree. He's not in the front garden either, not next door when she peeks through one of the slats in the fence, and he's not in the attic.

During breakfast, Frank calls Timothée to ask where he is, but it goes to voicemail. He texts him as well, leaves several messages. Una would too, if she had his number. She texts him on Instagram instead. Quickly presses the follow button before she can think too much about it.

The house is quiet all morning. Everyone has come to the conclusion that Timmy is just out, somewhere, maybe an English lesson or a date or something. It doesn't stop Una from worrying a little.

(Because what if she'd really irritated him? What if she'd made things so bad that running away was the only option?)

She lets herself into his room and stands there for a moment. The bed is unmade, the covers drawn back, the pillow at an angle. The windows are open, the thin curtains fluttering dangerously. The wardrobe door is open too, a muss of jumpers spilling from the bottom. It looks...messy. This isn't at all like Timmy.

His phone is gone, at least. Hopefully he had the sense to charge it.

Una tries to think what else he would take if he was thinking of running away. (He wouldn't really, would he? It's a stupid thought, but even so.)

He'd take cash, probably. His passport. His card.

She wants to check in his desk drawer, but after yesterday she wouldn't be surprised if he suddenly popped out of it, so she just sits at the edge of his unmade bed and looks around.

He can't be gone. He's probably just meeting up with someone. Maybe he's gone to see Milo off.

Maybe he's gone to see Milo off.

Una rushes through the house to the kitchen and tells Frank her theory."Makes sense. S'probably why his phone's switched off," Frank nods, and Una's heart is still bumping in her chest from her jog downstairs. She leans back against the counter and watches her brother wash up. She wants to ask him when he thinks Timmy will be back. Wants to ask if they should do something nice for him, seeing as he's been so down the past day or so.

(But she remembers the look on his face as he told her to leave - the look that told her she was aggravating him when really she was just trying to be nice. Una remembers the dull stab in her stomach. Remembers walking to her room and sobbing with her pillow over her head until the hurt went away.)

She pours another bowl of cereal and goes to sit out in the garden with next door's cat, who has taken custody of the bench. He's laying down on it, his stomach drenched in sun, and Una laughs. Sits on the other end and watches the soft rise and fall of his furry, breathing body. She doesn't know what it's like to lose a pet, but she can't imagine it's nice. She doesn't envy Timmy, even though Milo wasn't directly his. Even losing an animal that seemed like a pet must be hard enough.

"Marlon," she whispers, making soft kissing noises. His head perks up and he sniffs her finger. Brushes his whole face against it and resumes his nap as Una gently pets the top of his head, warm and glossy with sunlight.