Page 97 of Sleep

Could I do this? Take on that role and not fall flat on my face? What had they called it? Head of the club slash buyer? Curator of London’s finest wine cellar?

Bullshit, my consciousness heckled me. What? Me? In that role?

It was almost like Mark was sitting on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. Safe. You’re safer here. Just stay. You know things here. You know what you’re doing. Everything is fine here.

I’d believed him. I’d believed everyone around me. I’d only tried so hard to get that Master of Wine title so Mark would be pleased, so I could elevate his restaurant. So he would be…happier.

I hadn’t been happy. Not at all, and fuck him and his bloody restaurant and fuck the world.

I wanted to scream, my face now wet from droplets of rain.

What was I doing?

I was awake all right, as I took myself back inside, hoping Jonny was still asleep and not standing there watching my disgraceful frozen self leave wet footprints on his pretty flooring.

I showered, like a sensible human, got warm and wrapped up in a towel that I found on the floor. Then I curled up on the sofa, still too frazzled to even attempt to sleep. I understood Jonny, God knew I did. When your brain was so chaotic, there was no way to slow it down.

I picked up my phone and dutifully took a deep breath. Tapped on the icon.

In the end, my child, it was nothing to worry about. She fell asleep about an hour ago. I’m going to stay here and sit with her for a while longer. I don’t want her to be alone. We can sort out everything tomorrow if you fancy coming round.

I love you. Dad.

I felt like I’d done a lot of crying, far too much of it already, but it didn’t matter whatever we’d said. Agreed on. Planned. I still sat on that sofa, tears falling, my body convulsing in spasms I had no control over. I hurt, and I hurt bad, trying to hug myself with that towel, reaching for the blanket on the floor, wanting anything but this, the absolute crippling fear of what was to become of me.

All these things that seemed within reach, only to be snatched away from me, like the world was laughing behind my back.

I wanted my mum back. I wanted the world to stop being so cruel. I wanted to hear my dad’s laughter again as he danced my mum around the room. I wanted her to stroke my hair the way she always had and tell me I was beautiful.

I felt nothing but ugly sitting here, snot running down my face.

“Oh, Pickle.”

If anyone was beautiful, it was Jonathan Templar, in his imperfectly perfect self, covered in dark hairs, that messy mop on his head, and in the way he slid under the blanket beside me and held me as I howled into his shoulder.

“Sweetheart,” he said gently.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” I snuffled out, still not able to fully form my words. My face…God. I probably looked a mess.

“I wish you had. Please don’t ever hesitate to wake me up if you need me.”

“I think I need to go home,” I said, my brain finally kicking in. “Mum has passed.” I didn’t know how I got those words out without falling apart again.

“I figured that might have been the case. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know what to do. I’ve spent the last ten years preparing, grieving, trying to get used to the idea. I thought I had. Now, though…”

“Nobody can prepare for something like it. And if you give me a second, I will make a phone call and get my driver ready. Anywhere you need to go.”

“I’m really scared.”

“Of course you are. As would anyone be in your situation. It’s nothing you can ever know how it will play out. How you will feel. What will happen. How your body will react.”

I was shaking, every muscle failing me as he wrapped his arms around me and gently rocked me, his lips in my hair. I was probably leaving nail marks all over, the way I was clutching at him.

“Mabel, my darling. You’re not on your own here. Whenever you feel ready, we will get dressed and we will go wherever you need to be right now.”

“I can’t do this,” I whimpered. “Any of this, but I have no choice.”

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