Page 13 of In at the Deep End

“Tea’s fine.” Matt pointed to the far end of the garden. “What’s in there?”

“Not much right now. It’ll have a sofa bed and chairs eventually. There’s a small kitchen space too. If I needed another home office, it would be perfect.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m officially retired, which means I need to cultivate some more hobbies. I haven’t had much time for those in recent years. Even my reading had to take a back seat.” Owen passed Matt a cup. “Help yourself to milk. And a cookie. They come with Callum’s seal of approval.”

He studied Matt in silence. The resemblance to Jeff at the same age was uncanny. The same dark hair, the same open smile. Even the laugh carried an echo of the young man Owen had met in the autumn of 1992.

It’s like stepping into a time machine.

For a moment he was twenty again, standing in a student cafeteria while Jeff attempted to convince half a dozen freshers that baked beans counted as a balanced diet.

We were close.

Friendships weren’t always lost in dramatic ways. Sometimes they slipped quietly into the spaces between jobs, marriages and children, until one day you realised decades had passed.

It was a sobering thought.

Jeff had neglected to mention how easy Matt was to spend time with. He listened instead of waiting for his turn to speak, and when he became enthusiastic about something, he didn’t care whether it sounded clever. There wasn’t a trace of showing off in him.

Owen liked that.

Better still, his phone had remained in his pocket since he’d arrived. Owen couldn’t remember the last time he’d met someone in their twenties who seemed more interested in the conversation than their screen.

When he’d talked about the tree, Owen had been impressed. He’d expected someone capable of mowing a lawn. Instead he’d found someone who could identify obscure trees, knew how to maintain a swimming pool, and was unexpectedly good company.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Owen gave a start. “Sorry. I was miles away. I was thinking you really do remind me of your dad.”

Matt tilted his head to one side. “What was he like then? He’s told us stories about uni, all the stuff he got up to.” His eyes sparkled. “Did he get up to any of it with you?”

Owen laughed. “He was a riot. He led me astray.”

“Dad?”

“He must’ve told you about clearing out Simon’s room. We were eight students who shared a huge house in our second year. Simon was a pain in the neck, so Jeff decided to teach him a lesson.”

Matt gaped. “He’s been telling that story for years, but he never once mentioned that it was his idea.”

“The best bit wasn’t moving the furniture.”

“There was a best bit?”

“We left him a Monopoly board on the floor. Every property card was hidden somewhere in the house. Inside socks, taped under drawers, tucked into cereal boxes. We told him he couldn’t have his stuff back in until he’d found every one.”

Matt burst out laughing. “Dad never mentioned that either.”

“In those days we seemed to have a never-ending supply of stupid ideas.”

“Which one of you usually came up with them?”

Owen didn’t hesitate. “Jeff.”

“And you?”

“I was the one saying, ‘Can I go on record as stating this is a terrible idea?’”

Matt smiled. “But you still did it.”

Owen chuckled. “Usually.”