C.L. Taylor - Sleep

‘Did you ring Tim today?’ He crossed his arms over his chest.

‘Yeah.’

‘And?’

‘I gave my notice.’

He raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘I’m struggling to pay the bills as it is. If this is a permanent situation then …’ he sighed heavily. ‘I really don’t think I can deal with this, Anna. I knew you’d be a bit … upset … for a while but I can’t live like this. If you’re not thrashing around in bed because you can’t sleep you’re sitting around in jogging bottoms watching reruns of Friends . Have you even had a shower today?’

In another life, the life I lived before my world was shattered, I would have bit back at Alex and told him that maybe he should be a bit more sympathetic. Instead I looked at him and said,

‘It’s not working, is it? Between us?’

‘It’s …’ He looked down at the grubby beige carpet and shook his head. ‘No, it’s not.’

I’d imagined this conversation in my head a hundred times since the accident, but actually having it was surreal. I’d expected to burst into tears or feel a jagged pain in my chest. Instead I felt detached, as though I were watching the break-up scene happen to two other people. We’d been drifting apart for a long time, way before the accident, but you’d have to be a cruel kind of bastard to leave someone when they needed you most. We didn’t dislike each other, we hadn’t had blazing rows or shagged someone else or been cruel, but we were living separate lives. We weren’t even sharing the same bed any more, not really. There might be an hour or two – between my insomnia and Alex getting up for work – when we lay on the same sheet but we rarely touched. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed me goodbye or hello. And the most telling thing was, I didn’t really mind.

‘What do you want to do?’ I asked. ‘Do you want to keep the flat?’

He looked shocked. He’d come back from work expecting a fight. He might have secretly wanted this but he hadn’t expected us to have this conversation now.

‘I’m happy for you to have it,’ I said. ‘I’ll go back to Reading and live with Mum and Tony for a bit.’

He looked up and met my gaze but I couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. ‘You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you? Us splitting up?’

‘Haven’t you?’

The air between us was suddenly very still, heavy with sadness.

‘Are you moving out today?’ He glanced at the open bedroom door and the room beyond it, looking for suitcases or signs that I’d already started getting my things together.

I looked at the kitchen clock. It was after seven. ‘I don’t know. It’s probably too late.’

‘Good.’

‘Good?’

‘I’m glad you’re staying tonight. I’m not sure I could cope with you just upping and leaving. I feel a bit …’

‘Shocked?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I know what you mean.’ I paused, suddenly unsure whether I’d misread the situation. ‘You do want this, don’t you, Alex?’

‘Yeah, yeah I do. It’s just … weird. I feel …’ He faltered. ‘I feel like I need to give you a hug or something.’

‘Okay, sure.’ I said yes, only because saying no would have been harder.

I shifted the blanket and book on my lap to one side and tried to get up from the sofa as Alex crossed the room. We met in the middle, an awkward hug with him reaching down to me and me reaching up, a huge space between our bodies. It was like embracing a stranger.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said as he pulled away. ‘I feel like I’ve let you down.’

‘You haven’t let anyone down. I’m not the person I was. I don’t think you are either. We’ve both changed. No one’s to blame.’

He looked at me steadily and said nothing. He didn’t have to.

We had beans on toast for dinner, the plates resting on our laps as we sat on the sofa and pretended to watch a film. It was better than the alternative, sitting across the kitchen table from each other, shovelling food silently into our mouths as we tried to think of something to say. We went to bed at the same time and automatically reached for our books. It felt as though we were in a bizarre sketch show, the couple who’d just split up but were acting as though nothing had happened.

‘Have you made plans, beyond living with your parents I mean?’ Alex laid down his book but kept his gaze, and his body, facing forward. A wave of sadness passed over me. It was real. We were splitting up. We no longer fitted together like pieces of a puzzle. Time had changed us. We’d become warped and incompatible.

‘I was thinking about moving to Scotland.’

‘ Scotland? ’

‘Yeah. One of the islands maybe. I …’ I discarded my book, twisted onto my side and pulled the duvet up over my shoulders. Looking at Alex’s side profile, I had a flashback to the first time I’d seen him – his long nose, strong brow and slightly recessive chin.

He looked at me curiously. ‘Since when have you wanted to live in Scotland?’

‘I’ve wanted to get out of London for a while, you know that. I told you when we first met.’

‘You said you wanted to move to the Cotswolds or Norfolk, not Scotland.’

‘There was a programme the other day, on the TV. I was only half watching it but I got sucked in. The Scottish Isles … they looked so beautiful and wild and remote.’

‘And cold. And rainy. And miserable.’

I shook my head. ‘No, not miserable.’

‘You won’t know anyone.’

‘Good. I don’t like people.’

He laughed. ‘And I don’t imagine they have a thriving marketing industry.’

‘I don’t want to be in marketing any more.’

‘So what will you do? Become a fisherwoman?’

‘I thought I might work in a tea shop or a restaurant or something. Or I could clean maybe, be a cleaner.’

‘Clean?’ One of his eyebrows twitched in disbelief.

‘Why not? I don’t want to do what I did, Alex. I don’t want the pressure or the … the responsibility.’

He looked grave for a second as my words sank in.

‘This is some weird kind of grief thing, isn’t it? Making reckless decisions. I read about it online.’

‘No, it’s not. I’ve given it a lot of thought.’

‘But …’ He looked at me steadily. ‘You’re the messiest person I’ve ever met. Who the hell’s going to employ you as a cleaner?’

We both laughed then.

‘I just want you to be happy,’ Alex said as he twisted round to turn off his bedside lamp.

‘I want you to be happy too.’

He didn’t reply. Instead he pulled the duvet up over his shoulders and buried his head in his pillow, shifting and shuffling as he made himself comfortable. I studied the shape of his head and the curve of his shoulder as his breathing grew slower and deeper. Then, when I was sure he was asleep, I slipped out of bed.

I lean back in my chair and stretch my arms above my head. 5.04 a.m. I rarely fall asleep before four. I’ve tried hypnosis apps, lavender, Night Nurse and Calms but nothing works.

I’ve just spent the last couple of hours searching for jobs in the Scottish Isles. There were more than I expected, particularly in Orkney, but where I want to live, the isle I fell in love with when I watched the BBC documentary, was Rum. The thirty-one residents are outnumbered by the animal life – deer, eagles and ponies – that run wild on the rough, rugged terrain. But there’s only one job available – ‘General Help’ at the Bay View Hotel. Duties including reception work, cleaning and website updating. The salary’s pitifully small and the hours are relentless. I’d barely get time to rest, never mind think. It’s just what I want.

As Alex said, I’m hardly qualified to be a cleaner but I worked in a hotel bar for a couple of years after school and I can do the website stuff standing on my head. I peer into the laptop screen, reread my application again, checking for typos or errors, then grab the mouse and click ‘Send’.