Page 25 of Sleep

Standing there in the open wind, my coat tucked around me and the tears falling freely from my eyes, he simply made it for me.

11. Jonathan

Ihad no idea where the words had come from, or these frankly unhinged ideas, but for once, I’d just done what was necessary.

I felt myself smiling as I pushed them through the doors to my building and nodded to tonight’s concierge. Oje, his name was.

“Donovan is on my approved list,” I told him while Donovan stood beside me, their expression blank. “They can be sent up at any time.”

The concierge nodded. Another blank face.

“A couple of other things…” I continued, giving Oje my instructions regarding retrieving Donovan’s car and depositing it in my allocated space. He scribbled them down without a word.

I held out my hand, expecting Donovan to hand over their car keys, only to be met with them staring at the wall. I was stumped momentarily, but then I reached into their coat pocket and extracted the keys.

Look at me problem-solving on my own, dealing with real life. No Jenny in sight to anticipate my needs and pave the way for my life to continue on its track.

I didn’t socialise. I had no idea how to actually maintain real-life adult friendships. I was awkward and stiff and way off track here, swerving into my very own brand of newness as I pushed Donovan ahead of me into the lift, held them by the shoulders and turned them around.

Their stony silence should perhaps have worried me, but it didn’t, and Oje was no doubt thinking I’d picked up someone for the night. I stifled a laugh at the very idea, finally getting a reaction out of Donovan.

“He thinks I’m your seedy hook-up,” they mumbled. Ah, good. They were still with me then.

“Not a seedy hook-up,” I assured them. “Though it occurred to me too. That Oje would think that, I mean.” I wasn’t sure they believed me because I knew how this looked, especially as I grabbed their arm and dragged them out of the lift.

“I’m totally out of my comfort zone here,” I admitted, pressing my snazzy keycard against the reader on the doorframe. The door swung open like magic. Modern technology. I loved it.

I expected a gasp of awe, but Donovan was unimpressed, and I liked that. I slipped off my hoodie and dropped it casually over one of the many sterile matching chairs placed around the massive glass dining table. Disturbed by the motion, dust danced in the stark light from the ceiling, swirling around Donovan, who remained standing, taking in the panoramic view of the London Skyline, millions of people’s lives playing out in front of us as if we were watching them on a giant screen, lights shimmering as far as the eye could see.

“Good God,” they muttered. “A bit of a difference from a council house in Newbury.”

“Where was your flat?” I asked.

“The one with no ceiling? Osterley, far end of the Piccadilly line. Dodgy backstreet earmarked for redevelopment years ago. The building was condemned but kept getting a reprieve for all kinds of planning permissions to go through. We were supposed to have been moved on over a year ago, but hey. This is how things work.”

Didn’t I know it.

“I eat planning regulations for breakfast,” I sassed. It brought a smile to their face. Goodness. Was I making conversation?

“People like you keep people like me homeless,” they snarled back. They weren’t wrong.

“This is a three-bed penthouse flat. I live here alone with my collection of coffee cups and dust. I take your point.”

“Good,” they said wearily. I was tired myself, but a kind of calm-tired.

“Balcony, bathroom, toilet, bedroom, guest room…my office.” I waved my arms around like a flight attendant pointing out exits. “Fridge. Random foods. Coffee maker.”

“Black, please.”

I acknowledged that with a smile and continued. “Sofa. Blanket…”

“You sleep here.” Having regained the use of their feet, they pointed to Exhibit A—the pillow and crumpled blanket on the sofa—and walked through the sliding door to my bedroom, then came back.

“Your mattress is still covered in plastic.” Exhibit B.

“Correct,” I concurred.

“Why?”

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