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I still thought about Lewis. I couldn’t help myself. Perhaps it was self-torture, or maybe it was just the way life worked. After his mother had promised not to contact me again, she still had. She’d texted me and called a couple of times. Cried down the line in despair. I had no words of comfort for her but always wished her well.
Lewis had gone to rehab at some fancy clinic in Switzerland and yet again absconded. Got himself deported then jailed for some financial fraud that neither his mother nor I had managed to make heads or tails out of.
She said jail was good for him. I doubted it was.
There was still a trial of some kind to come for what he’d done to me, but it didn’t worry me. I was different now. Stronger. Not so afraid of everything around me.
And I had Ben. Gorgeous, wonderful Ben, who placed a cup of tea on our new small bedside table and waited for me to sit myself up before handing me a plate of toast.
“Do you know how spoilt you are?” he teased as he turned around and walked that butt of his back out into the kitchen. His naked butt. I liked it. I liked everything about him. Even his terrible farts and his bad habits and the way he had to organise everything in the fridge in a certain way.
A former version of myself would have been sucked right into that shit. Turned every label around and lined everything up in perfect rows. This me, though?
I was the one who made messes. Moved the milk to a different shelf, just because I could. Left the teabags out or put them back in the wrong cupboard. Spilled jam on the floor and laughed.
I hoped his grandma would have laughed too, seeing the happiness that still existed within these walls.
I laughed a lot these days. I think that had been her plan all along because the woman had some skills in the hex department.
Nothing bad would ever happen to us here.
Ben crawled back under the duvet with a cup of tea in his hand. “So, Hu. What fake name did you give this Dieter then?”
I still smiled. Took a sip of tea. Shoved a big showy piece of toast into my mouth. I didn’t care.
“Hu-go,” I mumbled, trying not to get crumbs in the bed. “That’s why I went to see Anna. I booked him in as Mr and Mr A.N Oyster. Thought it would make her laugh.”
“You’re an idiot.” He shook his head.
I laughed. I was. And I truly didn’t care.
Sleep releases on the 1st of August, 2024
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Jonny
This had been the right decision. The late-afternoon sun was beaming through the glass as I unlatched the patio doors, marvelling at the effortless slide of the highly engineered metal work as the cool air hit my skin. The laughter spilling out of my mouth was a welcome relief, my bare feet clenching against the cold, wooden slats as I stepped out on the rooftop veranda.
This.Exactly this.
Freedom came in many shapes and forms, and mine had taken some calculated twists and turns lately. My decisions hadn’t always been wise or good for me, but this one had been exactly what I needed.
The modern office culture used to feel like it was strangling me. Meetings gave me more anxiety than I was comfortable with. Dealing with people in person was a constant chain around my neck. Now? Here in this space? I leant against the railings, taking in the view from my new home. Slash office. Slash company headquarters. Perhaps I would be named Business of the Year in that magazine again, with my new vision of how to run a multimillion grossing company. I’d turned the industry on its head over the last three years, narrowly escaping the pitfalls that the competition had fallen victim to. Where others had expanded, I had downsized. Where costs had needed to be cut, we had simply removed them. It had been both risky and brutal, but at least I could stand here with a clear conscience and a core management team that had my back.
God, I hoped this had been the right decision.
Home for the last thirty years had been a townhouse in Marylebone, gifted to me by my parents for my eighteenth birthday. It had been a home fit for the family I would never have, complete with a nanny annex that had become damp-ridden and neglected during its time in my care.
My mother, who should have sighed at me in disappointment, had laughed at my total disregard for my surroundings. My father had again shaken my hand and congratulated me on my choice to remain single and on the road to an easier path in life than he had chosen for himself. Children were a worry and a burden. A family ate into all your time. This way, I could dedicate myself to the business and spend my weekends golfing. Well, that was his idea of heaven.
Not mine.
My idea of heaven was this. A glass-fronted penthouse apartment with a roof veranda that overlooked the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. The picture-perfect view where the Thames created a constant source of simple entertainment with boats passing by and red buses crossing the bridges. I almost regretted having waited this long to buy myself a place that was more to my taste, somewhere where I was right in the middle of the city I loved.
Home. This felt like home. The sun setting behind the revolving London Eye, people the size of ants admiring the views of the city from their revolving pods, probably staring back over towards my veranda where I stood with my shirt and tie flapping in the wind, my bare legs developing goosebumps trickling down to my sockless feet. I was wearing suitably smart boxers, but to be honest, I didn’t care. This was the freedom I had sought. The freedom to work from home, get up in the morning and wear whatever I fancied. Deal with other humans remotely and stick two fingers up to the idea of shaking hands with strangers and having overpriced meals in noisy surroundings, trying to iron out deals that were child’s play in the first place. I resented the charades of the business world. I resented the expectations. I hated my collection of Saville Row bespoke suits and the horrific modern office building from which Jonathan Templar Ltd had once ruled the London property market.
