Page 26 of Sleep

Direct. Appreciated.

“Because I see no point in making a bed I will never use. The plastic is handy for throwing my clothes on it. I live on my own. Nobody cares, least of all me.”

They looked at me with one eyebrow raised, a zombie no more. Good work, Jonny. My inner voice sounded like my childhood nanny.

“No wonder you don’t sleep,” they said. “Sleep hygiene is important. Taking care of yourself and creating restful surroundings.”

I shrugged in defeat. I knew, and I still did absolutely nothing to help myself. What was the point?

Making coffee was a fine skill I did possess, so I set about doing so, pushing buttons and flicking levers and inserting a clean cup underneath, all without falling flat on my face. It wouldn’t have surprised me if I had in the circumstances.

“I must confess, I’m a little out of my comfort zone here. I don’t entertain.”

“Neither do I.” They had slipped out of their coat, revealing that the bright green I’d spotted earlier was a fitted boilersuit. I liked it very much. I liked whatever they wore. I liked their company.

I didn’t know them. At all. And this like stuff clouding my brain was rattling me somewhat.

“Is this what you do then? Find people on the street and drag them home to sit on your sofa and drink coffee?”

“Not usually. But you’re my friend, Donovan. Friends don’t leave friends crying on riverside benches.” What did I know? I would have rolled my eyes at myself, but they did it for me.

“True. But usually I’m the numpty who takes care of everyone else. Not used to anyone caring enough to…” They turned away. I didn’t like that, but I understood, far too well. I’d dined in that restaurant and watched them often enough, their very presence brightening the place, coaxing those young waiters along with a kind word, gently correcting mistakes, dishing out smiles like confetti.

“You’re a ray of sunshine in an otherwise dull world.” Now I did blush, for real, and let out a small, strained laugh.

“God, Jonny. You’re a piece of work.”

“What can I say? I got straight ‘A’s in English poetry, my favourite subject, yet I can’t put a sentence together to save my life. Explain that, if you will. I craft careful business proposals, and my PA sends them back full of corrections and red markings, just like at school.”

“You’re flirting so far is legendary.”

“Thank you.” I gave a little bow, stilted and awkward, but it was worth it for their laughter. Worth every bit of my cringeworthy performance so far.

“Boarding school?” they asked.

“It was all I knew.”

“All I know about boarding schools is sex, drugs and bullying.”

“Drugs and bullying, yes. Sex?” I cringed.

“Sit,” Donovan commanded as I handed them the cup. “I think I’m going to need this.”

“It’s decaf,” I said.

“Good grief.”

I had to smile. “Old age and insomnia.”

“So you left boarding school at what, eighteen something? And you left a virgin? I’m honestly appalled. All my prejudices have been proved wrong.”

“I’m afraid so.” I was a little shocked at my honesty. “My father was just as appalled. He offered to pay for a night with a special lady in order to pop that badge of honour on my chest.”

“I hope you declined.”

“I imagine the look on my face was all that was needed to scrap that very bad idea. My father is old-school. An English gentleman. Belongs to clubs. Wears tweed. Smokes a cigar.”

“Good grief,” they said again and laughed. “Still, you went on to become a celebrated property magnate with millions in the bank.”

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