As welcome as what?

“I don't think she likes me much,” Timothy said sadly and looked down at his hands which were sat cupped atop his closed knees like he was hoping something might magically fall into his lap at any moment. 

“Very observant of you,” came Harry's reply which as always was as welcome as an Arab at a bar mitzvah.

“Thanks Harry old boy, you do know how to make a chap feel better. Care to shed any light or valuable insights on what her issue with me might be instead?”

“You cheeky sod. Well next time jolly well ask a bloody question rather than throwing a statement at me like a cricket ball high in the air and not expecting me to catch it. Look at you there!” He pointed to Timothy's hands. “See your hands are cupped ready to catch the thing if I dropped it. Dear Lord.” Harry rolled his eyes to the heavens for added effect. 

Timothy reacted by tucking both his hands under his armpits trying to thaw out Harry's frostiness. 

“Christ, you've gone from looking desperate to looking like you're…” Harry tailed off.

“Like what?”

“It's not important. I can't bear to have you sulking about for the rest of the afternoon looking like a 12 year old girl.” 

Timothy immediately sat now looking like the aforementioned 12 year old girl. 

After the best part of a minute of silence that Harry rated as highly as any poetry he'd ever heard, Timothy went and spoiled it by opening his mouth again. “So why doesn't she like me?”

“Because you're about as welcoming as a knock on the door from a Jehovah's witness.”

“Well I can depend on you for honesty. I might start looking elsewhere for moral support in future mind.”

“Timothy, this isn't the bloody girl guides you know.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I'm not sure but it sounded bloody clever when it left my lips,” and a devilish smile crept across one corner of his mouth. “Look, don't take this the wrong way but…”

“Hang on, is this going to hurt my feelings?” Timothy asked interrupting him in mid sentence. 

“Probably, given your skin is as thin as tissue paper!”

Timothy pinched the skin on his forearm as if to test the basis of that very theory, then said nothing and probably very wisely on his part too. 

“For starters, stop wearing jumpers that look like they were knitted by Nanny for a Christmas present.”

Timothy looked down at his chest and stayed sheepishly quiet. 

“Dear God man, that was meant as a joke.”

“Well it was knitted by my Nana actually, Nanny has lost some of the dexterity in her fingers in her old age and her eye sights not what it used to be so she normally buys me book tokens.”

“Book tokens? Christ alive whoever managed to get his leg over after being brought book tokens for Christmas and wearing a jumper knitted by his … well by his Nana?”

Timothy wasn't sure what the connection was but was at least grateful enough that Harry had stopped long enough to remember it was his Nana rather than his Nanny who had knitted it for him. Personally he really liked it. 

“Women seem to like two types of men, old bean. The absolute rotters and the strong silent types. Well we both know you're a goody two shoes so that crosses you off that first list and whilst you might be good at the silent part, no lady is going to believe you're strong when you're constantly being dressed by the ladies in your family.”

Timothy let out a large sigh and took his hands out from beneath his armpits, connected his fingers together and twiddled his thumbs. 

“And they don't much go for men who twiddle their thumbs either Timothy!” Harry rolled his eyes again. 

Harry took his pipe from his right jacket pocket and fished out his tin of tobacco from the left and placed them both on the small table in front of him and then checked his remaining pockets till he fell upon his box of matches. Unbuttoning his jacket he then hitches the top of his trousers legs up and sits down on a chair opposite Timothy and goes about the business of stuffing his pipe before lighting it with a match and finally crossing his left leg over right. 

“I’m not sure you'd have lasted the war Timothy, be thankful you were born ten years after it finished. Mind you maybe you should also be thankful that all the GI’s couldn't wait to get back to US Shores having had the fill of our womenfolk whilst our brave boys were off with having their bits shot at by those blasted Jerries. You'd have stood no chance at all with the competition.”

Timothy didn't argue because he knew too well that Harry was right. 

“You own a decent whistle old boy?”

Timothy mulled over the answer in his head. 

“One that wasn't a gift from a woman in your family?”

Timothy shook his head. 

“Got a few bob to buy yourself one?”

Timothy shook his head again. 

“Not looking good for you, is it old boy? Not looking good at all!” Harry said rather unhelpfully before going back to his pipe and the peace and quiet. 

Several times Timothy looked as if he was ready to ruin the silence but each time he did Harry shot him a look which said uh uh, tut tut, not yet, there's nothing wrong with a good silence. Like a well trained dog he sat there in servitude to his master. Finally he tapped out his pipe into an ashtray and was ready to hear what Timothy had to say. 

“Is there any chance…” Timothy started to ask but paused. Maybe to deliberately see if Harry would finish his sentence with something better than what he was about to finish with.

“That I could put in a good word or two for you. Soften her up a bit? Suggest a double date?”

Timothy smiled and nodded enthusiastically. That was definitely better than what he had come up with during his brief Benedictine vow of silence. 

“Be my pleasure but Timothy?”

“Yes?”

“If you wear that bloody jumper or once mention book tokens I shall never be associated with you ever again, do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly Harry.”

“Good, good, that's settled then. Leave it with me.”