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“Not the fucking chicken.” He makes a visible effort to unsnap. “About the whole situation around the chicken.”
“The you treating me like crap situation.”
“If you insist on putting it that way, yes.”
This is going to have to be good, and I honestly don’t think Jonathan Forest has it in him. I fold my elbows on the table. “Alright then?”
It takes him a long time to say anything. “I have a large family.” He strokes his temples and stares at what’s left of his sandwich.
“I’d noticed.”
“And I do care about them. Very much. More than I probably care about anything.”
“No offence,” I tell him, “but you’ve got a funny way of showing it.”
“I show it by working hard so I can support them.”
This is more honesty than I’ve had from Jonathan since I’ve known him. And I have to be really careful in case I give away that I do know him. “They look quite a lot like they can support themselves. Johnny seems a chancer, mind.”
“He is, and I’ve covered his debts more often than I should have. I’m also covering my parent’s mortgage, my sister’s divorce lawyer, my grandmother’s residential care, and making a contribution to Anthea’s school fees.”
“And that’s good of you, but they didn’t seem like the sort of people who’d expect you to.”
“They don’t, but I want the best for the people I care about.”
It’s a lovely sentiment, and would really show Jonathan’s human side, if it weren’t for the way everything he says comes out kind of flat and bitter, like he’s angry at something but he’s notsure what. “The best doesn’t always come from throwing money at stuff.”
“Not always,” Jonathan barely concedes. “But often enough.”
I look around at Jonathan’s echoing, empty kitchen which opens onto the empty, echoing reception room whose big glass-fronted doors look out over the empty, probably not that echoing garden. “I’m not saying you haven’t worked hard,” I try, “or that you don’t deserve what you’ve got. But what’s the point of all this”—I make a sort of all-of-this gesture—“if you’ve nobody to share it with.”
“I do have people to share it with, I’ve just told you.”
“Aye, but you never share it with them.”
He picks at the crusts of his chicken sandwich. “I do. Sometimes. Just—it’s a difficult time.”
“When was it last not a difficult time?”
There’s no answer.
“You don’t remember, do you?”
“Ironic, really.” He gives me something that’s almost a smile. “Since you’re the one with amnesia.”
The part of me that’s bad at lying worries that he’s taking the piss here. That he knows I’m not. “Okay, so.” I do my best to move the conversation on. “Would it really be that hard to have them all over for one day?”
“It’s a—”
“Yeah yeah it’s a bad time, I know. Why, though?”
He looks blank. “What do you meanwhy, though? It’s Christmas and I run a chain of shops. It’s our busiest time of the year.”
“But is it?” I ask. “I mean, I can’t really remember because”—I point to my head—“but it’s not like you work in a toy shop or you sell, I don’t know, jumpers or jewellery or the sorts of things people buy as gifts.” I’m cheating a bit here because I know frommy not-actually amnesiac experience that while we do get a bit of a seasonal bump in the bed and bath trade, it’s nothing like you get in less toilet-focused industries.
“There’s still a rush,” Jonathan insists. “Yes,mostpeople get their partners socks or earrings for Christmas, but some families do in fact invest in a new bed or bathroom suite and they call it the golden quarter for a reason.” He gives another one of those sighs. “And on top of that there’s the company Christmas party to organise.”
Because oh yes, there is also that. Every year I take my team out to the pub to say thanks for doing your jobs, but I have to pay for it out my own pocket because Jonathan Forest insists that the company will have exactly one Christmas do, and it’ll be in Croydon, and the folks from other stores can come if they want but they have to work out their own transport. Honestly, it’s shit, but I usually go because I need to look like a team player. The rest of the Sheffield branch can take it or leave it, and mostly leave it, though I reckon New Enthusiastic Chris’ll be driving them as wants it down this year.
