IN THE HOURS BETWEEN • TC

22. Portfeuille

heehee. get ready.

-

When Una wakes up, the first thing she sees is Timmy's jacket, thrown over her desk chair. She'd taken it upstairs last night with the intention of giving it back to him, but when she'd gone up to his door it was quiet. Dark, no light seeping through the crack.

She'd wanted to slip in through the threshold and hook it on the back of his door. Had wanted to stand there in the quietness, the darkness, and listen to the soft sound of heavy breathing. She'd wanted to curl up in the corner of the room, not even caring if he noticed. Maybe he wouldn't even have minded. Maybe he would have been just a little shocked. Just for a moment. Maybe he would've given her one of those tiny confused smiles, would've said something soft and mumbled. Would've pulled the covers back and-

She blinks a couple of times. Squints at the sunlight piercing through her curtains, and gets to her feet, sliding on her slippers.

On the stairs, she meets Frank.

"What are you doing up?" she asks, rubbing her eye. When he looks at him, his eyes are rimmed in red. His nose is blotchy and his hair is sticking up at the back.

"Frank?" Una says, shuffling down the couple of steps separating them.

His mouth draws up into a wobbly frown as he presses his lips together, and Una pulls him into a hug, their heights equal for once because of the way they're standing on the stairs. "What's wrong?" she asks gently, rubbing his back through his pyjama top. He smells like sleep and warmth, his shoulders shaking with the weight of repressed sobs.

He sniffs into her shoulder as Fen enters the hallway. She looks up at the two of them with a pained smile. "Oh, Una."

"What?" she asks, something scary building in her chest.

"Grandad," Frank whispers.

---

Una stares blankly at the television. It's on the lowest volume, so she can barely make out what they're saying. She doesn't know if she'd be able to concentrate even if it was louder.

A squeak of the door makes her lift her head from Frank's shoulder. Timmy walks in, carefully balancing several mugs on a tray.

"Do you need anything else?" he asks apologetically. Una can barely think about looking at him. She can already feel the anger boiling in her throat, ready to froth up and pour out in a stream of insults that she probably doesn't mean but he just-

She closes her eyes and rests her head back on Frank's chest, pressing her lips firmly together lest she say anything that makes everyone angry. No one needs anger on top of what's happened.

Frank's soft answer rumbles in his chest, and Una feels it against her cheek. Feels the sniff afterwards, the breeze as Timmy walks out with the empty tray, his shoulders stooped like an outwards show of respect. Maybe he feels awkward, being here.

He should.

She sits up, pressing back against the sofa cushions as Frank hands her a cup of tea. She thanks him quietly and takes a small sip which scalds the roof of her mouth. Una winces. Glances over at her dad, who is sitting in the chair, biting at the corner of his thumb and looking like a child. It scares her a little bit, him looking this small.

--

Una can remember going to Ireland when she was tiny.

She remembers the car journeys, wrapped up in her duvet on the back seat, reading. What was it she read? Fairy books, probably. Ruby the Red Fairy and Phoebe the Fashion Fairy.