Easy to say. Ben undressed, carefully not looking at Jonah, and climbed into bed. He was vividly aware of Jonah moving on the other side of the bed. His skin seemed to tingle at the closeness.
“You did well today,” he remarked, knowing it sounded abrupt. “Have you done that before?”
“No, but it’s not hard.”
“I couldn’t do it,” Ben said. “You’re good at it. At people. At charming them.”
“I don’t think I am,” Jonah said. “I don’t seem to have much luck charming you.”
Ben’s eyes snapped wide in the darkness. He had to clear his throat to say, “We both know that’s not true.”
“It wasn’t.” Jonah sounded defeated, none of the sparking gaiety there. I do that to him, Ben thought. I make him sad. “But you see through me now, don’t you? All the way to what’s inside.”
I really don’t. “What is inside?” Ben asked.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Ben didn’t even think. He simply found himself rolling over, pulling Jonah close, inhaling the warm scent of his skin. “That’s not true.”
“Really?” Jonah didn’t sound convinced. “I don’t think so. I don’t think there’s anything there for you. I’ve lied and stolen and run all my life. I’ve done more honest work in the last couple of days than in the ten years before. I never thought I could. And I wish I had tried, Ben. I wish I had.”
“Sssh.” Ben tightened his arm. He wanted to say it was all right, even if it would be a lie. “This isn’t bad. We can be here a while longer.”
“With you angry with me.”
“I’m not.” Ben rested his face on Jonah’s shoulder blade. “I’m not finding this easy either. I don’t know what we do, or how we go on, or if we should. But I’m glad we’ve had this.” He permitted his lips to brush Jonah’s skin, very lightly. “It’s made things better.”
“But it hasn’t made them good.”
“No.” Ben couldn’t—shouldn’t—argue with that. He rolled onto his back, releasing Jonah. “This isn’t the kind of tangle that gets unpicked overnight.”
“Are we untangling it?” Jonah sounded urgent. “I need to know, Ben. I’m trying to be what you want, and to make things different, and to live with you not liking me very much, but I don’t know how long I can do this—”
“I did ten weeks.” The words came out without planning, and Ben cursed himself as soon as they were uttered. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” The shift of skin against linen suggested Jonah was hunching up into a ball, a mass of ruffled feathers. “You’ve every right.”
He probably did. That didn’t stop him feeling like a swine.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it.”
“But you did,” Jonah said wearily. “Did the time, I mean. And nothing’s going to make that go away, is it?”
“I don’t know. But I know you’re trying and that matters. Come here.” He rolled onto his side, tugged at Jonah’s tense form, and pulled him closer. Jonah’s muscles were rigid, but Ben kept his arm there anyway, not promising anything or offering, just touching him, and they fell asleep like that, in silence, and together.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, a Saturday, brought a request from Mrs. Linney that Ben should take a look at one of the parlour chairs. He walked into the room and was instantly caught by the sight that met his eyes: Jonah, by the shelves, and the younger daughter, Agnes, standing on a stool by him. Agnes had been only a flitting presence with a tendency to giggle and run away when she saw Ben, though she’d been out for hours in the garden with Jonah. She was aged about eight, with a mop of blonde curls topping a round face, and right now she and Jonah were looking at the little shelf of cheaply bound books.
“The Old Curiosity Shop,” Agnes announced, pointing at the volume.
“I know that one too,” Jonah said. “Is there Our Mutual Friend?”
Agnes peered at the shelves, taking her task with the utmost seriousness. At last she shook her head. “No. That’s The Pickwick Papers, Ma promised me we’d read that together but she hasn’t. And that’s The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit.” She sounded out the last word with care. “Why can’t you read? I can read and I’m eight. I go to school.”
“I don’t know. I can’t learn.”
“So how did you read those other books?”
“I didn’t, silly.” Jonah mock-cuffed her across the head. She giggled. “Ben read them to me.”
“Ben’s got a frowny face,” Agnes observed dispassionately. “Like this.” She pulled a scowl.
“He does not,” Jonah said, with some indignation. “He never looked like that in his life.”
“Yerr, he does so. Like this.” She scrunched her nose until she looked like a maddened rabbit.
“More like this,” Ben put in from the door. Agnes swung round with her hands to her mouth, saw the terrifying grimace Ben was straining his facial muscles to produce, and shrieked with delighted terror.
“Monster! Monster!”