Page 67 of Sleep

“Yes, I can see she taught you well. That skirt suits you.”

“Thank you.”

“Hugs those hips in a flattering way.”

“Do you think so?” There was a smile there.

“I do.” Trust my mother to use her charms for good. It wouldn’t last, though.

“And you and Jonathan?”

Mabel looked to me for guidance on how to respond, but I was utterly useless at this.

“Mother,” I whined.

“Jonathan. I spent almost ten years in women’s athletics. There is nothing here I haven’t come up against before, and you should know me better than to think I have any kind of prejudices. I’m your mother. You need to face up to facts and properly introduce me to your partner.”

“Partner?” I hiccupped out in what felt like the start of a panic attack.

“Partner. This lovely…my apologies.” She smiled demurely at Mabel. “Pronouns?”

My mother was woke. Always had been. Her worst nightmare was to be thought of as backward and old. She was neither.

“They/them,” Mabel replied.

“Thought so. Charming. I like you already. I do hope you’re good for my Jonathan. What do you do for a living?”

“Mother, please. Don’t you have a lunch to go to?”

“I did, but since my own son can’t even put on a pair of trousers, I’ve changed my mind. Mabel, how do you feel about Champagne?”

No wonder my father played so much golf. My mother was a piece of work.

“A delightful drink for any occasion,” Mabel replied coyly, at which my mother howled with laughter.

“Grand Siècle or Noble?”

“Is this a test?” they asked with a slightly mischievous smile. I had to smile too. My mother had no idea who she was playing with.

“I don’t rate Lanson as a producer,” Mabel continued, “and would choose Laurent Perrier. But I have sampled the Noble, and I must say I was impressed.”

“Right answer!” My mother winked, linking her arm with Mabel’s. “Jonathan, it seems I’ve found my lunch date, so go back to work. I will return this delightful, elegant person to your care before dinner. And Jonathan?”

“Yes, Mother?”

“Put on some trousers.”

And with that, they were both gone, and I was alone again, but not for long.

“One is supposed to be the master of one’s own life,” my mother was wont to say, but mine felt more like a circus, one in which I was most certainly not the ringmaster. Was it any wonder the concierge team was struggling when I could barely keep track myself? Nevertheless, I was sure I’d been clear about who could be admitted straight to the lift and who should be announced beforehand.

“Jonathan.” Kopetski burst in and immediately covered his eyes with his hand. “I almost brought Thomas Wu up. I just met him for a drink to try to change his mind on the architect. I don’t like what he’s doing, and neither do you.”

Seeing as I’d rescheduled our phone meeting, Kopetski had no idea whether I liked what the architect was doing or not.

“Get dressed, Jonathan. I hope you have coffee.”

“When do I not have coffee? You know where the machine is.”

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