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“And we got you home every night,” adds Jonathan unexpectedly.
For a moment that just hangs there with variously-regionally-accented actors from the TV obliviously filling the silence with wry commentary on the legacy of Thatcherism. Then finally Les offers, “Aye. I made sure of that.”
We none of us say anything else afterwards. We just finish up the episode then when it’s done. Les stands and stretches.
“I can put on another if you like,” suggests Jonathan.
But Les seems satisfied. “No thanks, son. I’m not sure I hold with this binge watching they do these days. Means things don’t last.” He carefully selects one final Brazil nut, chews it, and gives us both a little nod. “I’ll leave you two to it.”
It’s not totally clear whatithe thinks he’s leaving us to, but he leaves us to it anyway. I slant a glance at Jonathan, on the off chance he knows how to handle being abruptly left with a bloke he’s sort of living with and a herd of elephants. He’s wearing what I think counts for sleepwear in the Casa de Forest—soft lounge trousers and a novelty T-shirt from his stash of novelty T-shirts, this one reading “I <3 Napoli” and sporting a picture of an Italian flag and a cartoon dog who’s also inexplicably serving up a pizza. Seeing Jonathan like this is a bit like running into your dentist buying milk. In that it’s objectively unremarkable but, somehow, completely mind-blowing.
“What?” he asks, to the point as ever.
“Nothing,” I say. “It’s just very hard to take you seriously when you’ve Chef McPooch on your chest.”
His brows dip, though not quite as ferociously as usual. “Nanny Barb had a lovely holiday in Naples and got me this as a souvenir. Besides, did you really think I go to sleep in a suit, so my pillows know who’s in charge?”
“Honestly? Yeah. A bit.”
“Oh shush,” he says, without rancour.
I let that settle, because we’re on that border now between awkward and quite nice, and I don’t want to tip it the wrong way. Jonathan draws up a knee, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. Especially because his hair’s gone fluffy now he’s combed it out and that. You can’t tell when he’s got it all locked down with whatever product he goes for, but it’s the sort you really want to run your fingers through. Or grab onto.
Not wanting to ruin the moment is one thing. But I feel I should say something. And though I couldn’t quite tell you why, the something I choose to say is, “Good of you. To let your family stay.”
His mouth does that thing, which I’m coming to the conclusion might just be his smile. “Letting Mum and Dad stay was good of me. Letting BJ and Uncle Johnny come with them was fucking saintly.”
I think, in a roundabout way, he’s being self-deprecating. Which is to say, he’s being arrogant but in a sarcastic tone of voice. “You could still have packed them off to a hotel. In fact, I thought you were going to.”
“And I may yet.” He softens slightly, at least by his standards. “But I thought about what you—about the conversation we had and”—the words don’t seem to be causing him actual physical pain but they’re getting close like—“you had a point.”
“Sorry, what was that? I didn’t hear you.”
“I said you—oh very funny.”
I’m grinning. I’m not sure Ishouldbe grinning, but I am. “No, go on, say it again. I need to preserve this moment.”
“You had a point,” he says firmly. “And I resent the implication that I’m somehow unwilling to give other people credit.”
“I’m sure you think that’s true, but to give someone credit for something you’ve got to let them do it first.”
“Yes, yes, I’m terrible.”
It feels almost mean to still be shocked that Jonathan did a nice thing, and I’m not really. It’s not that I think he’s, y’know, evil or anything. But he’s just so fucking stubborn. “Seriously, though,” I say. “You didn’t have to listen to me.”
“I know. It’s—you were right. Sometimes it’s important to know when you’re beaten.”
And now I feel slightly worse. “I wasn’t trying to beat yez at anything. I was just—we were just talking.”
Jonathan scratches Gollum behind the ears. “That’s one way of putting it. Still, you said some things that I felt I should act on.”
Make that a lot worse. Whatever the plan had been, however good it was to see him just lightening the fuck up, I’d not meant to get there by being this much of a dick to him. “This isn’t about the whole ‘I don’t like you’ thing, is it?”
“A little. But I’m not a child, I’m used to people disapproving of me.”
In some ways, this is flattering. In other ways, it’s making my guts wince. “But you care if I do? Approve of yez?”
“Apparently.”
