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“You’ll get used to it,” drawls Auntie Jack. “Just give it sixty or seventy years.”
“You know what?” Jonathan has finally started sounding decisive again. “I think I’m going to take this upstairs.”
There’s a frankly juvenile chorus ofooooooohsfrom the family, which is cut off by Anthea just saying “really?” at them in a tone of such teenage disapproval that it buys a moment’s quiet.
A round ofBye Sams fades into the background as Jonathan turns me off speaker again and, I assume, carries me to his room.
“Sorry about that,” he says again.
“No, its fine. Good to hear from everyone.”
“And it really was everyone.” He laughs to himself, much softer than his usual laugh. “God, I really did throw you in at the deep end with this lot, didn’t I?”
In a lot of ways, I threw myself in. “I’m getting used to it.”
He’s quiet again. Then finally he says, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
We both continue to be shit at telephones.
“So, I suppose…” he tries.
We both continue to be extremely shit at telephones. “Yeah,” I say.
“I’m sure you’ve…”
“And I’m sure you’ve…”
“Sort of. I think Granddad Del might want to play charades in a bit and he’ll get huffy if I’m not there.”
“That sounds great,” I say. Because it does.
“So I think I should.”
“Yeah.”
“Good talking to you.”
“You, too.”
He doesn’t hang up. And neither do I.
“I’m aware,” he says slowly, “that this is absurd because I only saw you this morning. But I miss you.”
And then he rings off like something’s caught fire. He doesn’t even give me a chance to say I miss him too.
CHAPTER 31
At the doctor's the next day, I finish up the follow-my-finger tests and wait while Dr Singh checks some notes on her computer.
“So it says here”—she sounds hesitant—“that you’ve been experiencing some memory difficulties.”
Ah. “Yes,” I say. “Sort of.”
“What do you meansort of?”
