Page 103 of Sleep

Yep, I had a PA—two actually—and a job that made me happy. A year ago, if someone had shown me videos of myself now, I’d have thought it was some kind of deep-fake hoax, because it was almost unbelievable how much I’d grown in just a few months, the confidence I had slowly rediscovered. The sharp suits were back. The bright colours. Dresses. The hair extensions had been a mistake, but my hair was longer now anyway. I liked it down. Or up. However I felt like styling it.

“We’re staying at the same place as last time, by the way,” I said. “And we’ll have the same driver. I asked.”

“Good stuff.”

It was. I would never tire of this, waking up with Jonny next to me, his hair in my face. He kept it neatly trimmed and shaved his scruff daily. He was handsome, so handsome, kind and lovely. His laughter filled our glass castle.

I worked at the main table. Jonny in his office. The back corner housed my sewing set-up, and the guest room was where our guests slept. It was slightly more crowded now, with the twins’ travel cots being a permanent feature next to the bed that still housed Jenny once a week. Friday nights were whisky nights, and Jenny was family.

Funny how my life had changed. How had I ever doubted I could do this? I’d been so blinkered, terrified of a future I didn’t think I deserved, stuck in a rut that hadn’t done me any favours. Now I knew I could do this—with my hands tied behind my back and a blindfold over my eyes.

I was making connections, networking, all things I had always done—dealing with staff and suppliers and planning shift schedules and writing menus, sampling and buying wines, curating the cellar of my wildest dreams, massaging fragile egos and negotiating deals—all while being me. Mabel Donovan. Head of the Exchange.

Good grief. Little old me.

And I was good at it. Frighteningly so.

I had lunch with my mother-in-law once a week, during which she grilled me on alcoholic drinks and made me eat her favourite foods. I spent one day a week making dresses. And at the weekend, I spent time with my family and had lazy days in bed with my very kinky husband.

Fun times.

Yes. Husband. I’d done it again, hadn’t I? Tied the knot on a whim.

Well, I suppose I was selling myself short there, because Jonny had asked me, and I had said yes, in a frenzy of feelings and weird butterflies and a strange realisation that this was exactly what I was supposed to do. Where I was supposed to be. Married to Jonathan Templar. And then he’d had Jenny file the paperwork and I’d been whisked off to the countryside in the middle of summer with pretty words and flowers and Champagne, like a princess in a fairy tale, only to come back with a ring on my finger.

My life was a fairy tale, I had no doubt about that. A fairy tale full of ups and downs, grief and sorrow, happiness and light. Mostly light. And hard work, because I was not one to slack off. I was slowly building up the trust of my new, handpicked team, my PAs, my colleagues, the owners, shareholders—people who all relied on me to perform to earn my money and theirs.

In November, I met up with Mark, just for coffee, almost a year later. Sat there like a large blob of nerves as he strolled in, looking as effortlessly handsome as ever.

“Do you think you’re ready for that hug?” was his opener. Not quite what I’d expected, but at that point, I would have taken anything. I just wanted that big black ball of angst in my stomach to disappear. I was so goddamn tired of carrying it around.

“I live next door to where you work, Mark. I have to bloody deal with knowing I could run into you at any moment. I see people I used to work with walk past my car, and some of them don’t even say hello. I can’t live like that. So we need to actually be civil and polite.”

God? What was wrong with me?

“I’ll file the hug for another time then,” he said, removing his jacket. It was nearly Christmas again, and I had no idea where time had gone. How long it had been. He looked the same. Still Mark. My Mark.

“How are you?” I had to step back the anger, chill. I hadn’t realised it was still there, brewing inside of me. I’d thought I was ready, yet I was anything but.

“I’m coping,” he said, sounding less confident than usual, I thought, but I felt like I barely knew him anymore. “I’m slowly figuring out how to cope without you. I’m not going to pretend it’s fine. Nothing is fine.”

“Don’t say that.” I tutted. “I’m the overdramatic one.”

“Finn almost left me a month ago. I don’t cope well with stress.”

“Oh, shush. You’re talking to the human being who has known you for decades. You just have to pull up those big-boy pants and get on with it. What did you do to Finny?”

“I pissed him off, whingeing about work and because he refused to replace the car. The normal stuff. I don’t know how to stop sometimes.”

“No, you don’t. You just go off on these tangents and railroad over everyone else. You always have.” Here I was again, tossing out life advice like I knew what I was talking about.

Mark didn’t even try to defend himself. Nor did he comment on the blatantly sparkling wedding band on my finger that I kept waving in his face. I wasn’t being cruel, but it was right there.

“You wanted to meet me,” he said instead, making himself comfortable and looking around for someone to serve him, but the waitress was nowhere to be seen. Not surprising. They’d probably be hiding in the back on their phone. I knew these things, and I was so bloody grateful I could pay my staff proper wages, get the right people for the roles I needed filling, enthusiastic humans who actually wanted to be where they were.

“I did,” I replied. “I wanted to apologise for my behaviour. For getting so angry with you and making a mess of everything.”

“No need to apologise. I’m the one who should be grovelling here.” He was as well. Grovelling. That voice he did. “I behaved like a dick. For years. I should have been a stronger person and…well. I should have treated you better. I’m selfish and horrible sometimes, and it’s something I need to work on.”

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