Page 87 of Sleep

Too much? I wasn’t sure. But as I looked up, they were still smiling, so I counted that as a win.

“When Mum was pregnant with me, she didn’t know if I was a girl or a boy.”

“Okay.”

“Turned out I was neither, but anyway. Mum had two names ready for me. Matthew or Mabel. So Matthew it was.”

“You’re not a Matthew.” I was serious. That name felt incredibly wrong, especially saying it out loud.

“I was Matty most of the time until I was somewhere in my mid-twenties, and it just didn’t sit right with me anymore. I’d always known that I was somewhere in the middle—I always had been. Neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. On the fence but balancing just right. But Matty was no longer the same person I’d been in my teens, and he wanted out. Turns out, Mabel wanted in.”

“I bet they did. Mabel is quite the force.”

“Mum chose it. She sat me down one day when I’d turned up for dinner with a wig and a dress. Full make-up—not for the first time, but my parents were never surprised. They just asked me to twirl around and complimented my clothes, offered me tea and a sandwich, asked about my day. It was never a big deal, and I suppose I was trying to push those buttons. Make them explode at me or something. I was just desperate for someone to acknowledge who I was. What I was. Help me take that final step because I couldn’t do it myself—I felt so lost on the inside.”

“I understand,” I whispered. I’d been lost most of my life.

“So Mum sat me down and asked me outright. Told me she loved me whatever the answer was, and to just be honest. Who was I? If I closed my eyes and saw myself, who did I see? Matthew or Mabel?”

“God,” I said.

“Nope. I didn’t see God.”

“Mabel.” I had to smile. “I think I love your mum.”

“You would have loved her. She was very, very lovely. Warm. Kind. Always happy. Making wedding dresses for people was her favourite part of her job. Seeing them happy. She wanted me to be happy, whatever the cost. If I’d said I’d wanted surgery or if I’d wanted to become…I don’t know, but she would have made it happen just to see me smile. It was a wonderful way to grow up, being so supported. Still, I wanted more.”

“That’s what you do when you’re young. You want the world. Then you grow up.”

“Absolutely. I wanted everything. And Mum gave me a kiss on my forehead and told me that Mabel was my name anyway, so what was the issue?”

“And thus…”

“I was Mabel. From that day forwards. And I don’t know. I felt so relieved that I could actually be someone who didn’t feel so restricted. Matthew was a man. Mabel? Nobody quite knew, and I liked it like that. I still do. I like who I am.”

“I love who you are.”

“And I have never met anyone like you.” There it was again. The way their voice went soft and wobbly, full of emotion. I could feel it in the air, that little vibration of comfort, when we felt. “You have never even doubted me. Never misgendered me. From day one, you treated me exactly how I’ve spent my whole life wanting to be treated.”

“And how is that?” I had to ask.

“Like I’m your whole world.”

“Well, Mabel Donovan. That’s because you are.”

29. Mabel

In the end, we ordered a takeaway. To hell with eating healthily, and even more to hell with admitting that I was completely out of funds. Broke and irresponsibly pursuing a romance with a man so out of my league it wasn’t funny.

I was forty-three and still had zero sense, but…I’d also been offered a criminally lucrative job offer, so lucrative, in fact, that I’d have thought it was a wind-up, but the group of loons I’d met with had made it sound plausible, like they were dealing with someone who one hundred percent wasn’t me. I told Jonny all of this over the world’s greasiest Chinese meal, eaten out of recyclable paper boxes. We used bamboo sticks that hurt my teeth with every mouthful. I felt sick—sick to my bones with everything that was going on.

“Whoa,” he said calmly, in the middle of one of my rants. “Firstly, darling Pickle, let’s break this all down. I think…” He put his food down, reached over, and took my hands. “Should you really be here? Should you not be at your mother’s bedside?”

“No,” I said firmly. “My dad sent me away. We’ve talked about this for years. He doesn’t think I should be there, and he wants to be the one to sit with her. I understand his reasoning, and he’s promised to call me. Anyway, the hospice staff are keeping me updated.”

“I don’t wish to be morbid…” He wasn’t. He was actually making me want to cry. I’d never had this—someone who looked after me the way Jonny did. “But I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

“Trust me, there are none. Dad and I will be fine. We have everything sorted for when the end comes. Mum is never going to get better. She’s been gone for years already. We’ve done our grieving, and when that time comes, we’ll celebrate the woman she once was and be glad that she’s no longer suffering in a medical bed. Does that sound cruel?”

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