Page 4 of Sleep

I snapped out of it pretty damn fast, impressing myself with sitting up straight.

“Don’t you dare pull that one on me today. I have enough going on at home.”

“Bullshit, Mabs. Have you suddenly forgotten that I know you better than I know myself? You’re pissed off with me, and I have no idea what I’ve done. You’ve been moping around here like the world is against you for weeks now, and when I try to take you out to cheer you up, you bloody ignore me and give me some pathetic excuse about staying in and washing your hair or something. Whatever I say to you, you snap at me. Nobody can get through to you, and it’s starting to piss me off.”

No shit, Sherlock. I couldn’t even get through to myself. I had no idea what had become of me and all my grand ideas, because I was hitting forty-three in a couple of months’ time, and Mark was right about one thing. I wanted to set the world on fire and watch it burn because my life had turned out nothing like the grandiose plans of my youth, all of which had conveniently included Mark, and now I wanted nothing more than for him to get out of my sight. Which was tricky since we shared this small back office and still had to work together.

“I need you to work tonight. That new Roz girl just called in sick. Since you were four hours late this morning—four hours!—covering the dinner service should be no issue for you.”

He was such an arsehole.

“Mark, my bedroom is currently missing a ceiling! I have better things to do than cover for your new employees just so you can smooch around the front desk and stare at your husband-to-be.”

I was being mean, but mean was what I felt. Mark glared at me furiously and said nothing.

I backpedalled in disgust at my own rudeness.

“Sorry, babe. I can’t deal right now. Too much going on. I have to find a new place to live and figure out what to do with my life. I’m too old for all this.”

I sank into the office chair with a sigh.

“I don’t blame you,” he said, surprisingly calm, but that was what friendship did to you. We could fire off at each other, one minute shooting bullets of anger without a second thought, only to sit back and laugh at ourselves the next minute. “If I had to put up with me like you do, I would be checking myself into rehab on a weekly basis. You know I love you. Always.”

“That’s the problem.” I gave a small, nervous giggle. We didn’t like talking about it and danced a constant, careful minuet around the elephant in the room. This was nothing new. He knew. I knew. There would never be a happy ending.

“You should take some time off. We could find someone to cover for you.”

“Mark, we barely have enough staff as it is, and the ones we employ call in sick the next shift. You wouldn’t survive a day without me whipping your arse and running around putting out all your stupid fires.”

I was trying to make it into a joke, but it was falling flatter than the flatbreads cooking in the kitchen. I could smell them. It was Tuesday, and there was always a wrap special on our menu on a Tuesday. Predictable and dull despite the restaurant concept we were trying to sell. At least, I was trying to sell it. Mark was bending over backwards at any suggestion of change these days. His mind was elsewhere, and I didn’t blame him. Actually, I did. I forced the feeling back down, though, and instead tried to figure out where on earth I was supposed to go from here.

Let me backtrack, fill you in with all the finer details of the pathetic life of Mabel Donovan, aged 42½ (and a bit more). Pronouns they/them. Divorcee, now happily single and unattached.

Lies. All Lies. I was narrating my life in my head like some deranged Bridget Jones. I didn’t drink, smoke or do drugs. I ate well. Looked after the body I’d been given. I was no gym bunny, but working in the insane restaurant world had me on my feet twenty-four seven, running around solving small catastrophes like they were mere ripples in the sand. Also? My ex-husband was marrying my best friend.

I rewound my little narration in my head as Mark stared at his hands. That sentence about me taking time off? He didn’t mean it. Mark needed me like a fish needs water. Not in a good way. Mark was a praise-vampire whose ego needed constant feeding, and that had always been my job, a job that I had done so well that he was now trembling at the sheer thought of me taking some time off and leaving him to run this place on his own even though he’d suggested it.

“Babe, I haven’t had a holiday in years. Perhaps I should go to the south of France. Sit on a beach and drink Champagne. I might even meet some rich man who would treat me like royalty.”

The words stung, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Whoever you meet will be the luckiest man on earth. You should go.”

Well, that was unexpected. These kinds of outbursts were usually followed by him begging me not to leave him alone.

“I might. Take a couple of months away from all this and try to figure out what I want to do with my life. I was looking at university courses the other day. I might go back and finish another degree. I mean, some of my qualifications are probably outdated by now, but it would be fun. Finally do my master’s?”

“Like, leave permanently?”

That was the Mark I knew and loved, a tiny tremble in his voice and a panic-stricken look in his eyes. We played each other like finely tuned violins, and in my head I’d always seen it as a healthy, balanced relationship. But it wasn’t. Not anymore. Probably never had been.

“I better go get those dinner menus printed then, seeing as I have four hours to make up.” I huffed, flicking my hair with what I hoped came across as nonchalance. I’d already given in to his demands because I always did. I was weak and stupid. Always and forever under his spell.

And I hated myself for giving in so easily, letting him get his way once again. I wondered how I had sunk this low. Because I didn’t want this. I never had.

3. Jonathan

“Just water, thanks.”

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