IN THE HOURS BETWEEN • TC

18. Favoured Foods

She stays in the sitting room for a while after Timmy has gone upstairs. It is bright in contrast with the hallway, and it feels airier. Cooler. She's halfway through some getaway to the countryside programme when Timmy comes in, sets down his drink, and sits down on the floor, his legs stretching out on the carpet.

With his back slumped against the side of the sofa, Timothée watches absently for a while. Una says nothing, but glances over from time to time to see if he's genuinely interested.

(He's not. He's staring at the floor, his hands turning over themselves in his lap.)

"What do you want to watch?" Una asks in the ad break, and his head jolts upwards.

"Oh," he says. "Um. This is fine." Gesturing towards the TV, he resumes his slumped position.

"Do you mind if I put on something else?" she asks, and Timmy shrugs. His head falls to one side, and then his whole body follows, spreading out on the carpet. He stretches his arms out like a rousing cat, and then curls up on the floor, facing the TV.

Una wants to point out that there are literally multiple spots on the sofa that he could sit on. An armchair, if he doesn't feel like sharing with her.

She puts on Come Dine With Me instead. She can't stand the commentary but watching people make a mockery of themselves on national television is usually quite amusing.

The contestant is making a parfait.

Timmy sits up slowly, creakily, and rubs his eye. "Una, I don't like it when you ruin our food," he sighs, getting to his feet and settling down next to her on the sofa. There's still a gap between them, but it's not very big.

"Me, personally?" she asks, and Timmy smiles. Shakes his head. "No. But English food is bad, and then you try to ruin ours, too," he tuts. "Regarde ça. Qu'est-ce que tu fous?" he mutters at the screen. Una watches a middle aged woman bumble around her kitchen, making what is supposed to be a banoffee pie parfait.

It sounds quite nice to her, but she keeps quiet about it, and watches with growing amusement as Timmy begins to despair over the dessert.

"C'est cristallisé," he says, of the sugar syrup. The custard (sabayon, Una finds out) has to be redone because "she did not stir it lots and now the eggs are cooking." They watch as the contestant phones her mum for help. "Her mum will not know what to do, either," Timmy grumbles.

There is silence as she finally manages to remake the custard and fold in the whipped cream. Seemingly, she has managed to do this well enough for Timmy's standards.

Then, the chopped bananas and crumbled digestive biscuits come out. Timmy watches with hard, glaring eyes, and Una is finding it very difficult not to laugh at him.

"How come you know so much about parfait?" she asks, and he glances over. Seems to realise that he has been hunched forwards, his hands placed in a steeple over his nose and mouth.

"I make it with my dad at home. The shop we have, it is a bakery but also a dessert shop. We make lots of things. Parfait is one of the easiest things to do, but I'm good at making it," he says quietly, humbly. "We don't have it all the time. But when we do, I make it. It's nice, because there is a lady across the street who it's her favoured, um, favourite, dessert. In the whole world. And when we make it she always comes to have one on the little table outside but if it is raining, then...sorry. I'll stop."

Una frowns when he cuts himself off. "No, carry on, it's interesting," she says, but Timmy shakes his head.

"You don't need to pretend."