It was a perfectly nondescript house. That was the beauty of it. Nestled in the Essex countryside, surrounded by flat fields that, by summer, would be golden with rapeseed. She stood at the upper window of the old farmhouse – built in the sixteenth century – and nursed her cup of tea.

It was time.

Her fingers pressed into the warm porcelain to stop the shake of her hands. It had been too long since she had last received the fulfilment that she needed. It had been too long since she had been in the embrace of a lover.

Pressing her face to the cold glass, her breath clouding its surface, she looked down into the yard. Her eyes travelled to the flowerbed that marked the border of the garden and the fields she leased out to farmers. Resting in the shade of an ancient oak, two little garden gnomes sat on the bare soil. Of course, in the spring the first flowers would burst into life, and the gnomes would be surrounded by snowdrops.

A smile spread across her face as her mind's eye saw what was under those gnomes, deep down beneath the dark soil.

"Mum?"

Her smile disappeared and she pulled away from the window.

"What?"

Her tone was flat. She did not turn around.

"There's a trip to London next month for school. I… I was wondering if I could go?"

She didn't even pause before answering.

"No."

"Okay…"

Her daughter did not argue. She didn't stamp her feet or call her mother all the names under the sun. Instead, the teenager simply left the room. The woman listened to the slow creak of her descent downstairs.

Irritation sparked inside her and, had it not been for her distracted thoughts, the woman would have pursued her daughter, grabbed her by the hair and taught her what happened to little girls who weren't content with what they had. Why, why, why did the child always have to ask for more?

The woman closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath.

It was definitely time. She needed comfort.

She turned to face the room that would soon be filled again. She crossed to the bed and straightened the patchwork quilt, tugging so that it sat just so. Everything needed to be perfect to welcome her new guest, whoever he might be. She set her cup down on the pine bedside cabinet and opened the drawer. Inside were the tricks of her trade. One by one, she took them out and set them on the bed. Handcuffs (proper ones, not the cheap safety lock kind), flunitrazepam and a telescopic baton. She opened it with a deft flick of the wrist.

It was time. The two bodies buried under the flowerbed, marked by their little gnomes, were of no use any more.

It was time for a new guest.

Time for a new lover.

When she grinned, her teeth glinted in the gloom.

~oOo~

"And you're sure you want to drive?" Jeff asked.

John nodded and tried not to smile. His father's concern was touching, if irritating. He was perched on the edge of Jeff's desk as the older man went over the itinerary for his trip. It was only three days away.

"Yes, Dad," John said. "It's been a long time since I've been behind the wheel."

"I don't understand why you'd want to, when there's a perfectly good, high-speed train that will get you from London to Cambridge much faster," Jeff said.

"I just feel like driving," John reiterated. "It's been a while and it means I'll have more freedom. The university have guaranteed me a sparking spot. And I hate standing around in train stations. I'd much prefer to be stuck in traffic in my own car so I don't need to share my space with any strangers."

Gordon looked over the top of his newspaper, one eyebrow raised.

"And this is clearly why Johnny likes his duty on Thunderbird Five. No pesky mortals like us to irritate him."

Had there been an item in his hand, John would have launched it at his brother. Instead, he merely shook his head.

"Ha ha, so funny," he said.

"Good comeback, bro," Gordon replied. "That's right up there with 'uh huh?' and 'takes one to know one.'"

Jeff shook his head at his sons' jests and tapped his PDA.

"Okay. I've booked a car for you to pick up at Heathrow." He scrolled back up to the top of the itinerary and read through it again. "You're taking Fireflash from Sydney Airport to Heathrow, then driving to Cambridge, staying at Darwin College…"

"Everything is in hand, Dad," John said. "I'll fly over, deliver my lecture, have a few pints in a 'ye olde tavern' –"

"And buy some fudge," Gordon said from behind the paper. "Do not forget to bring me home some of the heaven that comes from Fudge Kitchen."

"– and buy Gordon some fudge. How do you even remember that? I haven't been to Cambridge in six years."

Very slowly, Gordon lowered the paper and folded it on his knees.

"One never forgets good fudge," he said, his tone perfectly serious.

"So," John continued, shaking his head again, "everything is fine."

"I know, son," Jeff said. "I know. All you need to do is make sure you're ready."

John shrugged.

"I'm as ready as I can be," he said.

Those words, though, were not entirely true. Confident as he was in his research, there was a niggling doubt at the back of his mind. He excused himself, saying he wanted to look over his notes again and maybe take a walk, and returned to his room. However, instead of reaching for his tablet, he knelt down at his bedside table and pulled the bottom drawer out. He unhooked the runners and set the drawer aside, reached into the recess and laid his hands on a small package. He pulled it out, put it in his pocket and replaced the drawer.

Trying to look as innocent as possible, he made his way through the villa and down the steps that led from the pool patio to the beach. His feet sank in the sand as he walked in the failing sunlight until he reached his destination – a fallen palm tree that was partly in the shade. He sat down and fished the package from his pocket. No one will find out...

He only managed three drags before he was interrupted.

"Ahem."

John snapped around.

"Shit," he said, nearly dropping the cigarette.

His eldest brother was standing a few meters away, arms folded and a deep frown on his face.

"You must be nervous," Scott said. "I haven't seen you smoke since your last book launch."

John swallowed, the taste of smoke and guilt mingling on his tongue.

"If I said this was only a figment of your imagination, would you believe me?" he asked.

Scott took a few steps closer and held out his hand, saying nothing. John sighed, stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette, placed it back in the box and handed it to his brother.

"Lighter as well," Scott said.

John grunted but handed it over.

"We all said we would stop," Scott chided.

"I know, I know," John replied, sounding petulant.

Scott sat down on the felled palm tree and leaned his forearms on his thighs. John started out at the cerulean ocean. The waves were edged with gold as the sun sank. They were quiet for a while.

"Why are you worried?" Scott asked at last.

John thought carefully before he answered. When he did, his voice was low.

"I'm nervous in case I don't get a good reception, that's for sure. But…" He paused to gather his thoughts. He needed to find the right words. "Part of me wants to fail. Dad's been pushing me to pursue my academic career and I know what he would say, but I don't know what I would do if I was offered a fellowship somewhere. Again, I mean. I turned down King's College two years ago."

"Are you afraid you would say yes?" Scott asked.

John nodded. It was just like Scott to hit the nail on the head.

"Yes. I'm not saying I think that's what's going to happen – I deliver one lecture and then Cambridge are falling over themselves to have me. That's not going to happen. But… I guess I need to figure out what I really want. I don't want to leave IR. I really don't. But at the same time, I don't want to be Grandma's age, looking back and wishing I had taken the opportunity. You know? So it would be easier if I just made complete mess of the lecture and the door would be firmly closed."

"I wish I knew what to say." Scott laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You're one of the most intelligent people I've ever met and God knows you deserve the chance to share that knowledge. But I don't know what we would do without you."

John snorted.

"Buy an industrial answering machine for TB5," he said.

Scott did not laugh.

"Hey, that's not funny," he said.

"I know," John replied. "I don't really mean it. I guess I'm just afraid of change. And I don't want to be the one brother who left the organisation. The abandoner."

Scott squeezed John's shoulder.

"Just take things one step at a time," he said. "Get the lecture over with and see what happens. There's no point in worrying over something that hasn't happened yet.

"True." John dipped his head a little and gave his brother what he hoped was a puppy-dog look. "Can I have my cigarettes back now?"

"Over my dead body," Scott said.

John grinned.

"It was worth a try!"

They sat for a time in each other's company until the sun began to set. They walked back to the villa under an orange-wash sky.