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There’s a long silence, Jonathan still resting against the kitchen counters he never uses in the fancy house no one visits. And I find myself thinking it’s all a bit of a shame. Because I don’t think he was born a prick. I think he had prickness thrust upon him. And, right now, he looks genuinely fucking miserable. And like he’s always been fucking miserable. And like he always will be.
“Jonathan,” I say.
His expression doesn’t so much lift as shut down. He goes from sad to emotionless. “What?”
“C’mere a minute.”
“Why?”
I push the chair next to me out with my foot. “Can you not argue about everything for once?”
“People don’t normally start their own business because they like being told what to do.”
Trying to comfort Jonathan Forest is already more trouble than it’s worth. “I’m not telling, I’m asking. And all I’m asking is for you to sit in a chair.”
“Can I not sit in the chair I was sitting in before?”
“Just sit in the fucking chair.Please.”
He sits in the fucking chair. “What?”
“I just want to say,” I begin, already wishing I hadn’t, “that whatever you might think, I don’t not like you.”
“And I had to be sitting in this exact chair for you to tell me that?”
Somehow, I don’t stab him with a fork. Partly because there isn’t a fork. “Oh fuck off, man. I’m trying to do a thing here. I’m trying to be nice. And I figured it’d be, y’know, more personal like if we were sitting next to each other instead of you being on the other side of this stupid gigantic kitchen you’ve got for no fucking reason.”
He scowls and up close it’s even scarier. “How personal can it be—you’ve got amnesia, haven’t you?”
“Which means I’ve got no prejudices.” I fucking wish I had no prejudices. “I’m just judging on what I see in front of me.”
“And you like this?” Jonathan demands, with a gesture that indicates his whole self. “Or rather, you don’t not like this. Gosh, I feel so seen.”
It’s my turn to sigh. “I know you’re being sarcastic, but I do. I do see you.”
He folds his arms, leaning slightly away from me. “And what is it you think you see?”
“I see someone driven and ambitious who’s been told those are bad things when they’re not. I see someone who cares but doesn’t know how to show it. I see someone who thinks he’s got to be alone, so he pretends it’s a choice.” I stand up before he can object or reply or anything. “Also, you’re surprisingly good with cats.”
And, for once, Jonathan Forest doesn’t have an answer.
CHAPTER 12
Somewhat predictably, jonathan’s in his office with the door closed for most of the day, and my fucking cat’s in there with him. Since I haven’t left, I boil the chicken carcass up to make broth, and mash the leftover veg into bubble and squeak. I’m just tucking into a piece when Gollum comes through, racing to his bowl, followed by Jonathan, carrying the biggest fucking binder I’ve ever seen.
“What’s that?” I ask.
But Jonathan’s ignoring me in favour of falling for Gollum’soh woe is me, I shall die if I do not eat at onceact. When he’s fed the cat, he gives my pan a significant look. “Is that bubble and squeak?”
“Aye. It’s a good way to use your spare veggies.”
“I…I haven’t had that in years.”
This would almost be a tender, nostalgic moment except Jonathan Forest isn’t a tender or nostalgic person and Gollum has his face in a bowl of Fancy Feast’s natural white meat chicken and liver plus a touch of coconut milk cat food and is making a noise like when you suck up a wet cloth with a hoover.
I try to ignore the squelching cat sounds. “Do you not have it at Christmas?”
“My dad makes it on Boxing Day but I’m usually working.”
