Page 34 of Sleep

“I want to have a glass of wine in a bar on my own. In peace and quiet. Then I want to see Con Telford’s new play. I have a friend who will slip me a free ticket. Connections are good, Jonny. You should go out and see a show sometime.”

“No, thank you. I much prefer staying right here, in the safety of my home, babysitting your offspring.”

“I know you do, which is why I break every professional rule to make you happy.”

“I like your rules. And I like babysitting.”

“Despite your home being a death trap.”

“I barely own anything dangerous. Apart from rotting hummus.”

She laughed, and that made me very happy indeed.

“What day?” I asked.

“Thursday I’ll drop them at five, fed and ready for bed. You just need to somehow make them fall asleep somewhere, and I’ll pick them back up in the morning. Usual thing.”

“How many PAs get their insomniac boss to babysit their precious children?” I pretend-grumbled.

“None. But you’re just not my boss. You masquerade as a friend after hours—a friend I much appreciate.”

It was nice to hear. Sometimes I needed that.

14. Mabel

“You’re an absolute fool,” my father said, banging his fist on the tabletop.

I’d received a message from an unknown number and swiftly deleted it. Some creep, no doubt. The wrong number. What did I know?

The stupid thing was that now I was stewing over a weird feeling that it had been Jonny. Yes. I agreed with my father. I was a fool. I hadn’t even opened it, just stabbed away at my phone, deleting all the spam that littered my messaging inbox. I didn’t do social media. I only used WhatsApp for select family and friends. My phone was usually a black box of static dust, a handy device for communication, nothing else.

“Some nice man looks after you and you don’t even ring him back to say thank you? If I were him, I’d be filling you inbox with rude texts night and day. I taught you better, child.”

I agreed, and for once, we both nodded. Me smiling guiltily, him picking up a tissue to blow his nose. Anyway, I was just being weird. It had been someone texting the wrong number or a phone scam. No reason for me to feel bad about accidentally being rude to nice people. Nice people who were professional clients from work, and…sometimes I could slap myself.

“You’d better go check on your mother, so I don’t give her this dreadful cold.”

“Another very good reason why I should stay a few more weeks. Help you so you can rest and get better, instead of sofa surfing around London.”

“It’s a cold, not a terminal illness, Ma-belle. And you’re not staying. You do this every time, hide out here thinking all your problems will just go away. What was it last time? Failing your wine diploma again? That Harry at work getting beaten up, again?”

“Hugo. His name is Hugo, and he never got beaten up again.”

“I hope not. Regardless, you need to get your stuff and move back out into the real world. I have better things to do than sit here watching you mope around.”

“What better things?” I got up and flicked the kettle on again. I was still in my pyjamas, despite lunchtime having come and gone, and Mum’s carers would be rocking up any minute—the same team that had seen me in this very pyjama set five times a day over the past week. Even I was starting to see the error of my ways.

“My favourite time of day is when my only child rings me in the afternoon to ask what I’m doing. I make notes all day so I have amusing little things to tell you. But you’re right here, and I haven’t made notes for weeks. Let an old man have his fun.”

“You could still make notes.”

“Yes. Mabel is still in those filthy pyjamas. They—note this—are starting to smell, and I may be an old age pensioner, but you need to top up the hair dye. I can count at least five different shades of blonde around your roots.”

“The shame,” I muttered.

“It’s awful.” Dad was deadly serious. Perhaps a shower was in order. In my parents’ dreadful avocado bathroom suite that had originally been built for very small humans. I could barely stand up straight in the shower.

“Ma-belle, Ma-belle, Ma-belle,” my father sang. If I thought I was losing it, my father was as nutty as the chocolate spread he was shoving towards me. I’d bought it to cheer myself up. I still hadn’t opened the jar. “Take this awful sugary stuff with you when you leave. You said you’d thank that nice man friend of yours? Go see to that and take all the awful food with you. You can borrow the car. Then when he throws you out, you might finally see the light and get yourself back in order.”

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