“Takes one to know one,” Jonah told her. “Your mother’s calling.”
Agnes cocked her head, hearing her name bellowed. She contemplated Ben for a moment, pulled another horrible face with startling suddenness, and fled.
“Frowny.” Jonah grinned at him. “Look, Ben, they’ve Dickens here. I don’t suppose… I know we’re busy, but maybe on Sunday?”
It was so tempting, and so foolish. Another stone in the reconstruction of what they’d shared. Another link reforged in the chain that bound them.
“We won’t be here long enough to finish one,” Ben said. He meant it, too. It would be agonising to bring back those blissful days, and dangerous to their fragile peace, and he didn’t want his memories tainted any further.
Jonah swallowed, and nodded. “Of course. Sorry.”
“I mean, not a novel.” Ben couldn’t stop himself. He was so tired of pushing away Jonah’s efforts, tired of being ungracious, tired of the load of resentment that had come to feel like a burden he wanted nothing more than to put down and abandon forever. It surely could do no harm, he told himself, though he was aware that his resolve had wilted like wet paper at the expression in Jonah’s eyes. “But, Pickwick’s all bits and pieces as I remember, short stories and episodes. I suppose we could start…”
“On Sunday?” Jonah’s eyes lit—he did adore stories—and Ben couldn’t stop himself smiling as he nodded.
Jonah vanished shortly afterwards to shop. Mrs. Linney muttered an awful warning about the difficulty of finding a carter to take him to Looe. “He’ll walk,” Ben assured her, since it was a half-truth, hoping Jonah had the sense to be discreet in his movements.
Ben spent a satisfactory day on repairs, tightening loose hinges and mending joints. He was sweaty and hot by the time he retired to the bedroom with a pitcher of water to scrub off the sawdust, and he was stripped to the waist and rubbing himself down when Jonah came in.
“There’s a sight for sore eyes,” Jonah remarked.
“If you mean you want a wash…”
“I didn’t, no.” Jonah flashed him a smile and put a large brown-paper parcel on the bed. “Don’t let me interrupt you.”
Ben took that at face value, running the washcloth over himself, relishing the feel of the water, and the awareness of Jonah’s gaze on him as he sat on the bed, opening the parcel in a rustle of paper. Ben took longer than he might have done, ensuring that the back of his neck, where Jonah had loved to run his tongue and make Ben shudder with pleasure, was very clean. At last he turned to reach for a shirt.
“What the…”
Jonah was watching him with a glazed expression, suggesting that he also remembered his attention to the back of Ben’s neck, but Ben was caught by the pile of goods on the bed. There was a lot there. Two horn-handled straight razors, two small piles of clothing—drawers, socks, a shirt. What looked like a couple of papers of sweetmeats. A battered copy of Our Mutual Friend.
“I thought we could take it with us,” Jonah said. “So if we wanted to read it… What is it?”
Do not raise your voice, Ben told himself. Do not accuse. Everything he’s said, everything he’s done. Give him a chance to show it wasn’t lies.
It was all lies, always, said another part of him. He was handling the money. All that temptation. You let him. The bands tightened round his heart with the thought.
“Where did you get the money?” he asked as neutrally as possible.
Jonah took a deep breath. “You mean, did I steal it?”
“No. I mean, where did you get it? That’s all I mean.” He read disbelief and wariness on Jonah’s face and went on, forcefully, before any more could be said, “If we can’t trust each other, we have to end this now. And I mean that both ways. I have to know you won’t steal, or anything else, and you have to know that I believe you won’t. If we can’t do that, we’ll tear each other apart. So tell me, where did you get it?”
“What if I told you I stole it?” Jonah asked, voice thin and tense.
“I don’t know. But…” Ben shut his eyes for a second. It felt like stepping off the windowsill once more. “But I’ll believe you, whatever you tell me, because you’ll tell me the truth.” I will believe. Don’t betray me this time. Please.
Jonah looked down at the bed, at the pile of gifts, and up again, with a tight grin. “I pawned a watch.”
“A watch?”
“Which”—Jonah pulled a face and spoke swiftly—“which I did steal, granted, but it was months ago, back in December. I’ve been keeping it for a rainy day, but…well, we needed some things, and it doesn’t bring back happy memories for me, and I just wanted to get rid of it, to be honest. To be honest.” He offered Ben a wry smile, and after a moment, Ben returned it.
“I just wanted you to be comfortable,” Jonah said.