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So far, Jonathan has still never actually smiled at me, but I keep thinking he’s coming close. “You’re going to make this into a thing, aren’t you?”
“Me?” I do my best to look innocent. “No. It’s just a shopping trip. Totally normal shopping trip to a place that’s mostly famous for hampers.”
“There’s nothing wrong with hampers. They make good gifts.”
“You are not at all at home to the personal touch, are you?”
He fixes me with a stare that isn’t half as cold as he thinks it is. “You’ve got two choices, Sam. You can stand here criticising my personality or you can get your coat.”
“I can probably do both,” I tell him as I grab my jacket. “I’m gradually recovering my ability to multitask.”
But Jonathan isn’t listening. He’s too busy reassuring the cat we won’t be long.
I’ve never seen Fortnum & Mason in the flesh—or, I suppose, the brick—and I can’t decide whether it looks more like a hotel or a prison. It’s got the uniformity of a prison, with its regimented windows currently numbered like an advent calendar, y’know, for the Christmas theme, but it’s got a fancy doorway, a big clock, and a massive royal crest. Although, thinking about it, you probably get a fair few of them in His Majesty’s prisons as well. Inside, it basically looks like a shop. A nice shop, mind, with plush carpets and chandeliers and fancy displays with little Christmas trees on them.
It’s quite crowded, though part of that is because everyone who goes through the doors stops and gawps for a bit. Well, everyone except Jonathan who marches right in and doesn’t stop marching until he gets to the needlessly majestic spiral staircase that leads to the first floor, that being where all the festive tat is. And, my God, is there a lot of festive tat.
“Right.” Jonathan whips out his phone and peers at a list he’s clearly got on there. “We mostly need baubles for the tree because, and you may be surprised to learn this, the tree we had at home did not stretch across two fucking floors of quite a large house. We probably also want a wreath for the door and garlands for the surfaces.”
“What’s a garland?” I ask.
“I’ll admit I’m not completely sure, but I think it’s tinsel for the middle class.”
There’s something I find inherently hilarious about Jonathan Forest standing in the middle of Fortnum & Mason, dressed business casual, staring at a grand’s worth of phone somehow still managing to have a chip on his shoulder about the middle classes.
He looks up suddenly. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say. “You’re funny, is all.”
“I am not funny.” From what the way Jonathan’s looking at me, I can’t help thinking he might want to be. A little bit. “I’m ata shop buying decorations so I can dress a tree with my family. It’s a completely normal thing to be doing at Christmas.”
Reaching out, I grab a single bauble from a nearby display. It’s blue and sparkly, and has ballerinas painted on it. “Is this normal?” I ask him.
He stares at it, doing his best to see the normalcy. “It’s a glass ball for a Christmas tree. What’s un-normal about it?”
“Firstly, it’s covered in painted ballerinas. Secondly, it’s fifty quid.”
“For a set?”
“No, for one.”
For a brief moment, he gets very, very London-by-way-of-Sheffield. “You’re having a laugh.”
I show him the label.
“Fucking hell.”
“Are you not extremely rich?” I tease him.
“Yes, but I’m not extremely stupid. Now put that down.”
I crack up laughing. Because I’m starting to think my favourite thing in the world is Jonathan Forest being excessively angry about things that I am also secretly a little bit angry about. I put the ball of overpriced glass down and Jonathan’s on such a mission that he grabs me by the wrist. Except the thing is, it doesn’t feel controlling. In a strange way, it’s more like he’s letting go.
“Theremustbe something here that’s more reasonable.” Jonathan starts browsing with a systematic efficiency that’s much more entertaining to watch than he intends it to be.
“Y’know”—my arm’s warm where he’s still holding me—“I really don’t think there must.”
“Everywhere says that this is the best place to buy Christmas decorations in London.”
