Page 54 of Sleep

Jenny was my PA. I paid her to know what I wanted for Christmas. I texted her back to that effect and confirmed the babysitting duties. No sooner had I done so than my phone went again—some salesperson whom I had to ask to repeat themselves twice as I could make head nor tail of what they were saying.

I had a special office phone, the sound on it was so loud that people complained they could eavesdrop on my conversations down the road. Anything to be able to hear, but it was embarrassing with other people around. I was glad I was here alone without people laughing at my ineptitude and ignorance when I asked them to repeat themselves. I felt old. Old and grey. Damaged.

The interlude had done nothing for my panic, and I still needed to eat, but my stomach churned as I tried to swallow some kind of yoghurt I found in the fridge. I gave up and made myself another coffee.

Water. I was supposed to have two litres of water a day.

Good grief, as Mabel would say, but I gulped down as much as I could before I stripped out of my clothing and went next door to the gym, ran 5K without breaking a sweat. Then I threw up in the kitchen sink. Mostly water.

My life was governed by fear. Constant, nagging, debilitating fear.

I sat there, freshly showered, on my ridiculous sofa, and watched the lights of London herald the cool evening. Next week was the start of December, Christmas, and my staff would expect me to throw them a party, which I would—an excellent opportunity for me to meet my parents for lunch at their club, exchange the neatly wrapped gifts that Jenny would have organised for me and then come back here and get stone-cold drunk. That was as far as my festive plans went.

My heart was still going nineteen to the dozen.

I put some music on and tried to relax but had to switch it off. The noise annoyed me more than the silence, and the only thing left to do was to just lie here.

Trying not to remember how their body felt against mine.

How I’ve never had all those things I’d longed for.

All my life I’d wanted that. Someone next to me. Someone who would kiss me in the morning. Kiss me at night.

Someone who loved me.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I wanted Mabel Donovan, not because it seemed outrageous to me. There were so many different things about them that simply made me smile. Their height. The heels. The clothes. All that blonde hair. Cheekbones. Lip gloss. All superficial things.

More than that, I loved the way they made me feel, and I wanted to be that kind of man. The one who got to care for someone, with no long-winded job description attached, no contract, no monthly wage. Just someone to lean on, who would lean on me too.

A companion. A partner…

A lover.

Sex intrigued me, and I wanted it. I didn’t want to pay for it like I had in the past. It had been awful and unfulfilling, a business transaction, an orgasm for a fee.

I had faked it both times with the women. The men? Well, I’d certainly got what I’d paid for, but it hadn’t felt good. Hadn’t felt right. I’d felt cheap and awful and…

How could it be that I was fifty-one years old and had never experienced intimacy that was remotely fulfilling?

I’d tried apps, several times, but always chickened out at the last minute because I had no clue what I wanted or needed, let alone how to ask for it.

The minutes passed, the hum of the refrigeration unit keeping me alert. The sound of the city in the background. A car beeping its horn.

The click of the door.

I shot up, straight from lying to standing, as the door slid open.

“Oh, Pickle,” I exclaimed as a flash of blonde hair caught in the entry light. Heavens, I felt faint. I fell back down on the cushion, my head in my hands. This was all too much, but thank God it was them.

“Hey.”

I could hear them moving around, a coat being draped over a chair, a bag gently placed on the table. I imagined them unravelling a scarf, the swish of their hair as they swept it back.

“Sorry, I should have called or left a message, but I was watching TV with my dad, and he fell asleep, and all I could think of was…well, that I’d rather be here.”

My senses were back. Or rather, I was less dizzy but still me, and it was a tremendous relief when they sat beside me and let me crawl into their arms, held me while I pressed my face into their…hoodie?

I’d never seen them wearing a hoodie.

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