Peter Hamilton - Misspent Youth

“Are you going to have sex with him?” Lynda asked.

“That’s what he’s here for.”

“I meant Jeff.”

“Hadn’t really thought about it,” Sue said, which wasn’t entirely true. In fact it had been bothering her ever since he emerged from that suspension womb machine. Who would have thought he’d turn out to be so damn good looking when he was in his twenties? But when she looked at him she just kept seeing an image of the old Jeff. As a contraceptive, it was one hundred percent effective.

“Lying tart,” Pamela squawked. “He’s fucking gorgeous. I’d shag him.”

“Hands off,” Sue said, a little too curtly.

Pamela chortled. “So you have been thinking about it. I suppose there’s got to be a first time for everything.”

“You could have a honeymoon,” Jane said. “See if it works out.”

Sue really wanted to tell the woman to shut the hell up now, there were some things that genuinely shouldn’t be mentioned in front of her son’s girlfriend. She should never have told the nonworking mothers club about the marriage “arrangement” between her and Jeff, which was so unbelievably eighteenth century—although it had been her salvation at the time. A legal contract for her to have his child (no sex, thank God, just a trip to a very special clinic) in return for which he’d support her financially. The whole cohabiting “wife” part was to provide Tim with a normal, comforting family environment. As if this has turned out to be normal! “It’s worked for eighteen years the way it is,” she said with an icy smile. “If it ain’t broke, don’t try to fix it.”

“He’s been fixed, and fixed very well indeed. The best body money can buy. I wonder if they can give men a bigger cock in the suspension womb? They always say there’s no real genoprotein treatment for that.”

“Oh, come on, Sue,” Lynda implored. “You’ve got to try it. This is like the first foot on the moon, or climbing Everest. The first person to have sex with the first rejuvenated man. This is history.”

Sue grinned, shaking her head. “It’s not going to happen.”

The waitress finished filling Annabelle’s glass. Annabelle left quickly. The nonworking mothers club regarded the kitchen door as it swung shut behind her.

“How old is she?” Jane asked after a moment.

“Seventeen, I think.”

“Shit. Seventeen years old. Melons growing out of her chest, and no ass whatsoever; I mean, forget visible panty lines, she simply doesn’t have a bum.”

Lynda licked her lips. “But no style, either. Did you see that cheapo reproduction dress? God, do girls that age really think Stephanie Romane has class?”

The others smiled.

“Ladies,” Pamela raised her glass. “A toast.”

“A toast,” they agreed.

“Expensive shopping, older champagne, and younger men.”

The club drank to that.

JEFF HAD DUTIFULLY MET the two local MEPs, the Westminster MP, and his regional parliament representatives, as well as a pack of local county councillors and some of the more wealthy members of Sue’s social circle, even a few supposed celebrities who lived in the county. It wasn’t quite guilt that made him keep going. He simply felt obligated to make sure he got around and said hello to everyone. Certainly, everyone there was very eager to see him. The worst thing wasn’t even having to feign amusement at the same jokes everyone made about time warps and seventies fashion. He’d played the elder statesman at enough corporate and academic functions now to fly on autopilot through the small talk. No, what annoyed him was genuinely not knowing a good half of the people. Sue should have been at his side to introduce him, or whisper names just before he said hello. But she’d vanished along with her demon friends, leaving him to fend for himself. It was her bloody job to help out. It wasn’t as if she had anything else to do.

The party had been going a while when he met Patrick. It was purely by chance; Patrick was leaving the living room when Jeff came through the doorway from the other side. Jeff automatically stuck his hand out and bashfully admitted he couldn’t recall the other’s name.

“How did we know each other?” he asked.

“I’m afraid we didn’t,” Patrick admitted.

“Oh?” Jeff didn’t quite understand; the man must have been in his late twenties, handsome if you liked chiseled chins, with thick long hair swept back and highlighted. For some reason he seemed a little perturbed by the meeting, almost as if he wasn’t expecting Jeff to be at the party.

“I run the Magpie Gallery over in Uppingham. Your wife and several of her friends are valuable patrons.”

“Ah, social obligation, then?” Jeff said, sympathizing.

“In a way, yes. But it’s still a pleasure to meet you. My congratulations. You look splendid.”

“Thanks.”

Patrick nodded politely and moved off.

Jeff gave him a slightly bewildered frown, then saw Alison and gave her a frantic wave.

“How are you doing?” She’d found herself a gin and tonic. A long Cuban cigarette was smoldering away in her fingers, earning her disapproving stares from most of the partygoers.

“Badly,” he grunted. “Is that bloke one of your friends, too? He’s an arty type.”

Alison took a drag and squinted where Jeff was pointing. She gave him a curious look. “No. That’s Sue’s friend.”

“Yeah. He said.”

“Sue’s special friend,” Alison said emphatically.

“Oh.” Jeff just managed to stop himself from doing a double take. He’d never actually met one before. The arrangement was that they didn’t come to the manor. He couldn’t understand what Sue was playing at. They were going to have to have a serious talk about obligations tonight.

“Are you okay?” Alison asked.

“What? Oh yeah. Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

“Hmm. You shouldn’t be doing stuff like this so soon.”

“Still looking out for me, little sister?”

She grinned up at him. “Always have done.” Her expression became devious. “Ah, it looks like Tim’s wound up his courage. Now remember, show no disapproval at all; no matter what you think of her.”

“What?”

“I believe your son has someone he wants to introduce you to.” With a last evil wink, she slipped free and disappeared back amid the guests.

Jeff didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. Then he caught sight of Tim determinedly making his way across the living room. There was a girl with him, their hands welded together. That was when he registered Tim’s anxious yet proud expression, and understanding dawned. Little Timmy had a girlfriend. Jeff felt horribly out of his depth. This simply wasn’t fair; fathers normally had months of early warning to prepare for this moment. A year and a half earlier, Tim had been a raging knot of hormones and suppressed anger. Your standard teenage nightmare, repellent to anyone but his own kind. Now, by the look of things, he was growing up. For an instant Jeff felt angry at missing out on another part of his son’s life.

“Dad, um, I’d like you to meet Annabelle, she’s an, um, friend of mine.”

The desperation in his son’s voice was almost painful to hear. In a kind of semipanic Jeff did what he always did, and fell back on the excessive formality he’d learned at his public school. “I’d be delighted.” He made a small bow. It was only when he straightened up again and looked at Annabelle properly that he realized she was utterly gorgeous. His gaze moved slowly up long legs, shown off by a short skirt, and took in a very generous cleavage. When he finally dragged his guilty eyes away from her bust he found she had rich brown-gold hair brushing her bare shoulders, and a delicate face—on which there was a quizzical expression as she stared at him.