Page 100 of Sleep

“Just a little dusty.”

“You’ll have to get the hoover out,” Francis pitched in, giving them a sideways glance that told me we were thinking the same thing.

Talk, Mabel. Please.

“So,” they said.

“Whatever decision you made, you made the right one.” Francis.

I wasn’t kidding when I said I held great affection for him.

“I think that I am no longer unemployed.” They smiled with unease. “Still not sure what I’ve done, but I signed a lot of paperwork, negotiated a four-day working week with flexible remote working when needed. I also get to oversee recruitment of my staff, and the budget is insane.”

“Well done.” I finally breathed out. “Good job.”

“I still don’t understand why they want me. I mean? I’m—”

“Shush,” I said, perhaps a little too brusquely, but I hated when they put themselves down. “They chose you because you have all the knowledge, all the skills and a nose for the perfect glass of Shiraz. Trust me. I know these things.”

“Speaking from experience?” Francis gruffed. “Never understood these wines. Give me a nice pale ale, and I’m a happy man. Better still, a cup of tea.”

“Has Jonny not made you a tea, Dad?”

“Need to get the carers back in, Mabel. Not only does he make a weak tea, he’s completely useless at Wordle. Not sure how I’ll cope when you two leave.”

He grimaced. I smiled.

“I booked the flowers,” he continued. “Crematorium, two o’clock on Friday. All good. And afterwards, we come back here and have fish and chips. That’s the deal.”

“That’s perfect.”

I liked the way the Donovans dealt with everything. Nothing over the top, no worries, and no stress. Not even when the medical team had come to remove Mrs Donovan’s hospital bed, nor when Mabel had cleared out the last of their mother’s clothes and packed them neatly away for disposal. There was nothing left they wanted to keep, apart from a few dresses that they’d carefully put aside and a box of jewellery.

A whole life. Yet there was so little left.

“I’ve decided to bring the ashes back here, just for a while. I don’t think I’m ready to let go yet. Is that all right with everyone?”

Like I was now part of this.

“She’d be fine with that, Dad. Being back home with you again. Do whatever you think is best.” Mabel raised an eyebrow at me, to see what I thought.

Incredible. I’d always been alone. Now I wasn’t. I didn’t even feel alone when I was on my own anymore, because I’d realised a few things recently, the most important being that my life wasn’t as narrow as I’d believed it to be. These days, I was kicking down walls. Letting things in. Letting people in. Jumping off cliffs.

It felt…fantastic.

“You look tired,” I said later, when we were standing in the kitchen, just the two of us, me trying to wash dust off my hands, Mabel dunking teabags into cups. I never drank tea. Apart from in Newbury apparently, where sleek espresso machines didn’t exist and mismatched old teacups did.

“I’ll sleep tonight. With you.”

Sleep. What a peculiar concept that was. I’d spent the last weeks sharing a single bed with a human being with impossibly long legs, and I’d slept like a tot.

How life worked was a mystery to me.

Friday came, and we were picked up by the undertaker’s and driven to a small crematorium. No flowers other than a bouquet of pale yellow roses clutched in Mabel’s clenched fist.

“You okay?” I whispered, knowing they weren’t. Where they’d started the morning in a black suit, they were now dressed in a flowing yellow dress. I fully approved. This was not a day for a suit, and I was starting to read their moods. Indeed, I could almost tell what they would be wearing before they picked it out. The yellow dress was gorgeous on them, contrasting with black boots to insulate against the cold: it was mid-afternoon, yet a thin layer of frost clung to the ground.

As we turned up towards the building, we were blocked in by cars, people, everywhere, which gave me a taste of the old Jonathan, getting out of the car and demanding answers. We had a funeral to attend, and…

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