Doughnut - By Tom Holt Page 0,123
no food. This is a nightmare.”
Theo breathed in deeply and counted to ten. It didn’t work. It never had. “Max.”
“What?”
“You know something?”
“What?”
Theo smiled sweetly. “You,” he said, “are an arsehole.”
It was as if he’d suddenly started speaking Portuguese. Max simply didn’t get it. “Huh?”
“Arsehole,” Theo repeated clearly. “You’re horrible. You’re the most pathetic excuse for a human being it’s ever been my misfortune to meet. You’re selfish, thoughtless, arrogant, inconsiderate, totally self-centred and quite unbearably annoying. You don’t give a damn about how much trouble you cause for other people. You’re feckless, shiftless and no damn good. And your feet smell.”
“They do not.”
“Your feet,” Theo repeated sternly, “smell.”
Max hesitated. “All right, maybe they do, a bit. But all that other stuff—”
“Perfectly true.”
Long silence. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Am I really all those things you said?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
There was a moment of absolute stillness, such as hasn’t ever happened since the beginning of the universe. Then Max said, “Really? You’re not just saying it because you’re pissed off?”
“No, Max. I meant every word. Every word was true.”
“Oh.”
Max was frowning. He looked rather like a scientist on the verge of making a revolutionary new discovery, something so original and out-of-the-box that the words to describe or define it don’t exist yet. “I never realised,” he said. “Nobody ever said anything before.”
“Well, they wouldn’t,” Theo said kindly. “It’s so obvious, they assumed you knew. It’s like, when you go to Egypt, you don’t grab the locals by the arm and point and go, ‘Look! A pyramid!’ ”
“But people like me.”
Theo nodded. “True,” he said. “For a short while. Then they get to know you. Then the fact that you seemed pleasant enough at first glance only makes it worse.”
“I’m popular.”
“People were trying to kill you,” Theo reminded him. “That’s why you had to disappear.”
“Yes, but only because I’d stolen their money.” “People can be so unreasonable.”
“Not,” Max said severely, “because I’m a basically unpleasant person. You do see the distinction.”
“Don’t wriggle, Max. You’re a toad. Accept it. If we’re going to have to stay cooped up in here for ever and ever and ever, it’s vitally important that you acknowledge the fact that you’re a shit.”
“Would you go that far?”
“Actually, that’s not far enough. You’re a complete shit. You’re what shit shits. Don’t argue,” Theo added firmly. “Just say, Yes, Theo. Can you do that?”
“Look—”
“Yes, Theo.”
An agonised look spread over Max’s face; somewhere between the torment of self-realisation and toothache. He opened and closed his mouth three times. Then he said, “Yes, Theo.”
“What?”
“Yes, Theo.”
“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that. Say again?”
“Yes, Theo.”
Theo smiled beautifully. “Thank you,” he said. “You know what,” he added, leaning back in his chair and resting his head on the headrest, “it’s almost worth it, being stuck here and all, just to hear you say that.”
Max looked at him. “Really?”
Theo nodded. “It means I don’t have to hate you any more.”
“Hate. Rather a strong word, isn’t it?”
“In context, no.”
“Ah. But you don’t, any more.”
“No.”
The silence that followed combined the golden glow of peace and joy with the toe-curling embarrassment that always happens when men talk about their feelings. It lasted five seconds, which was plenty long enough. Then Max said, “How about playing snakes and ladders?”
“Love to.”
“Fine. I’ll be blue.”
“No. I’ll be blue.”
Max opened his mouth, then stopped. “Sure,” he said. “You be blue. You want to go first?”
“You can go first, Max.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
They played snakes and ladders. Then they played Ludo. They found that, if they cooperated instead of trying to win, they could stretch the game out for a very long time. Neither of them had a watch, there was no clock, and no window to indicate whether it was day or night outside (Theo had a shrewd idea there was no outside), but Theo eventually calculated, by counting seconds while feeling his own pulse, that the average game took nineteen hours, twelve minutes. When the score stood at 16 games to Theo, 16 games to Max and 378 games drawn (snakes and ladders), 29 games to Theo, 28 games to Max and 1,775 games drawn (Ludo), Theo said, “You know what?”
“What?”
“I’m bored with this. Let’s do something else.”
“What?”
“Let’s escape.”
Max looked at him. “The only way out of here is through the D-O-O-R in the wall,” he said. “You know, the one that appears when you say the D word. I don’t really think you want to go there.”
Theo shook his head. “The only way out we’ve been told about,” he said.
“Theo.” Max made a noise like a tree being ripped out by