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“See you later, son,” says Les.
And the family leave, in a surprisingly upbeat fashion for a group of people who’ve just been told to fuck off by their ownflesh and blood. Jonathan, meanwhile, is storming away to call a taxi. I offer to go with him but he turns me down flat and, to be honest, I’m glad. Because I am bushed. I am bushed, beat, and bloody knackered.
Avoiding the room-full-of-Christmas-tree, I head into the kitchen and make myself another cheese sandwich to keep my strength up. There’s probably about three sandwiches worth of cheese left, if I’m counting, and I make a mental note to do another food run tomorrow so we don’t slip back into living off takeaways. While I’ve got the bread out, I make a sandwich for Jonathan and all, wrapping it in cling film so it’ll keep if I’m in bed before he gets back. And so he knows it’s there, I send him a text sayingI did you a sandwich,but he doesn’t reply.
Then I flop down on the settee and stick on the first thing that gets recommended to me on iPlayer, which turns out to be a repeat ofGavin & Stacey. Gollum creeps in from the other room, belly to the ground and ears back, suggesting he’s reluctantly conceding that round one, at least, goes to the Christmas tree, though if I know Gollum there’ll be a round two. I just hope we’ll make it to Boxing Day without him pulling the whole thing down on somebody’s head.
He curls up on my lap with the discontented air of a cat who’s wishing I was the other human, but I don’t take it personal. Any more than I took Jonathan Forest going on about how not attractive I am personal. And anyway, beforeGavin & Staceycan get to the end of the title sequence, I’ve fallen asleep.
I wake up I’m not sure how much later, but late enough that the BBC is asking me whether I’m still watchingGavin & Staceyin that judgemental way they do when you leave something on in the background. And I’m aware of a weight against my shoulder that,when I flicker my eyes open, turns out to be Jonathan. In the pale TV light, I can see he’s fast asleep, with half a cheese sandwich on his lap and Gollum next to the sandwich with awhat is this shitexpression on his face.
They say people look different when they’re asleep. Younger or softer or more attractive or more vulnerable or something. But not Jonathan. Sleep just makes him look like an experimental piece from a sculptor who’s going through an abstract period, all strong lines and harsh angles with shadows painted across his cheeks.
And maybe it’s because it’s dark, and maybe it’s because being unconscious substantially improves him, but I think I’m going to have to accept the fact that, visually at least, Jonathan Forest is a very interesting man.
I figure if I move I’ll wake him up, and he’s had a long day. Partly because of me. So I stay where I am, and let him sleep.
CHAPTER 17
The next morning at breakfast neither of us mention the time we spent passed out on the sofa together. Instead, I mention that we’re out of cheese.
“And in just over a fortnight,” I add, “you’re going to have to feed your whole family with a range of socially mandated, labour-intensive foodstuffs that you do not want to be shopping for at the last minute.”
Jonathan looks up from his laptop, which he’s been buried in since I came down. “You realise that’s the kind of thing you can pay people to do for you.”
“Oh, that’ll be touching.Do you like the turkey? I bunged a stranger fifty quid to pick it out for me.”
“I’m also intending to pay a stranger to cook it for me.”
I give a bit of a yelp and Gollum looks around like he’s worried we’re under attack. “You can’t do that. It’s Christmas dinner. The rule is, you’ve got to spend all day making it, and then complain about how no one appreciates the fact you spent all day making it. It’s part of the magic.”
“It’s not magic, Sam, it’s an inconvenience.”
“You can’t call your family an inconvenience.”
“I can when they’re being inconvenient,” he snaps.
Opening the cupboard, I grab myself a mug and boil the kettlefor tea. Jonathan’s a coffee in the morning person but now I know tea’s an option I’m taking it. “Well,” I ask the wall in front of me, “would you rather they weren’t there?”
“No, of course not.”
I’m still talking to the wall. “Then you need to stop acting like they’re an overhead you’re trying to reduce.”
“That’s not what I’m doing. But I’ll be no use to anyone if my business collapses.”
“Firstly,” I say, turning back to him, “yes you will, because they’re your family and they’ll love you anyway. Secondly, your business isn’t going to collapse because you’re good at what you do, people will always need somewhere to sleep and take a dump, and you’ve got teams working for you that know what they’re doing.”
Jonathan’s holding his coffee cup far more tightly than it’s really healthy to be holding a coffee cup. “I still can’t afford to be complacent.”
“It’s not complacent to take a day off. And it’s definitely not complacent to cook your own fucking turkey.”
“No”—he bristles his eyebrows at me—“but hiring a professional will make it better for everybody. That’s how hiring professionals works.”
I sigh. “If your family wanted a high-quality dining experience, they’d go to a restaurant and they probably wouldn’t order the turkey because it’s not the kind of thing anybody actually wants to eat. What they want is for you to share something with them. Something you haven’t just paid for.”
“I’ve worked very hard to be able to pay for things.”
“And that’s lovely,” I tell him. “It really is. But right now you’re using it as an excuse. And what’s weird is, I’m not even sure what you’re using it as an excuse for.”
