AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’ll know what I want when I see it,” I tell him.
Jonathan looks around impatiently. “We know what we want. We want a chicken, some carrots, some peas, and that’s it.”
“What about gravy?”
“Okay, chicken, some carrots, some peas, and some gravy.”
I scan the lavish rainbow of the vegetable section, feeling better than I have for a few days. “What are your thoughts on parsnips?”
“I thought they went downhill after their third album. What do you mean, what are my thoughts on parsnips? I don’t have thoughts on parsnips. Who has thoughts on parsnips? Who has time to have thoughts on parsnips?”
I’m genuinely wondering if he’s lost it. “Shall we try this again? Do you like parsnips?”
“I suppose…” He makes a bewildered gesture. “I’d eat them if they were there?”
“Good enough. I’ll grab some then.”
Pulling out his phone, he checks the time. “Brilliant. Can we move on?”
“How about runner beans?”
“Are you going to do this for every vegetable in the shop?”
“No, just the ones I think would be nice with a roast. Ooh”—something else catches my eye—“shall I get some mushrooms and bacon and we can have them with breakfast tomorrow?”
Jonathan unleashes the biggest sigh it is technically possible to sigh before it become a scream. “Sam, get whatever you want. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I’m busy, it’s a workday, and I don’t care.”
I want to say,seriously, do you have anything in your life except your job. But I’m pretty sure I know the answer, and I’m not really one to talk. “Alright.” I try to be soothing because he seems perilously close to having a breakdown in the middle of Morrisons. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
And I do try to be quick, or as quick as you can be with a concussion in a supermarket you’ve never been in. I get a chicken, potatoes and veg, and some bread, and some bacon and eggs for breakfasts, then I hurry back to where I left Jonathan checking his email, only he’s not there. That panics me a bit, although I can’ttell if it’s panic like a kid who’s lost his dad, or a dad who’s lost his kid. A little bitter part of me wonders if he’s just given up and gone home without me. But then, given how much fuss I’ve had to make to get him to leave me alone, that seems unlikely.
Feeling a little bit smug, I remember how he put location sharing on my phone and I figure that’ll probably work both ways. And it does, but all it tells me is that he’s somewhere in the same building as me. So, I run the trolley up and down the aisles looking for a miserable git in an out-of-place suit.
I find him in pets looking at cat treats. And when he spots me, he gets this expression on his face like I caught him with porn.
“I thought you’d be longer,” he says.
“You told me to be quick.”
“Yes, but I didn’t think you’d listen.”
He’s holding one of those cat toys that’s a stick with a mouse on a string. Teasers, I think they call them. And the idea of Jonathan Forest dangling a mouse in front of Gollum is a funny mix of endearing, bizarre, and a little bit terrifying. Clearly, he wants to buy it but doesn’t want to admit he wants to buy it, so I take it out of his hand and put it in the trolley. And while he’s staring at his feet, pretending he’s not grateful, I throw in a bag of Felix Salmon and Trout Crispies, which I know Gollum loves, but I can’t admit I know he loves, on account of faking amnesia. Thankfully, Jonathan’s still too embarrassed to catch my eye.
Staying angry at anybody’s a lot of effort. Staying angry at Jonathan Forest is usually less effort because he’s a very angry-making person. Except sometimes I’m surprisingly not angry at him and that’s beginning to get a little bit worrying.
Jonathan’s housekeeper arrives about twenty minutes after Jonathan leaves.
“Hi,” she says. “I’m Agnieszka.”
When Jonathan said housekeeper, I was sort of expecting somebody over sixty with a blue rinse and marigolds. Not an icy blonde twenty-something who looks like a lawyer. So I feel like a bit of a prat sitting under my duvet on Jonathan’s barely used sofa, watchingPointlessuntil it’s time to start cooking. “Sam,” I tell her.
“I know.”
“I’ve got a concussion.”
“I know. And amnesia, apparently.” She sounds sceptical about that last bit.
“Am I in your way?” I ask, trying to distract her from the whole amnesia question. “Do you need me to get out your way? Or, like, help with anything?”
