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I let the patio doors slide shut behind me as I crossed the marble flooring towards what I was reliably informed was an Italian handmade bespoke kitchen. It had a built in espresso maker, which was bubbling away, creating a fresh coffee for me in a sleek little cup. I didn’t recognise the cup, so perhaps it had come with the kitchen. My belongings had been packed and unpacked for me: opening a random cupboard door revealed some familiar-looking crockery, and an empty crystal bowl.
I had no idea where it had come from. Perhaps a random birthday gift? A business associate’s swag? I’d had people who came in to clean and organise and simplify my life for as long as I could remember, and now?
I was going to do this on my own. There was no cleaning service employed to cater to my everyday needs, no assistant on call to bring me my coffee. I had got used to the daily delivery of my meals from the myriad of apps Jenny had put on my phone, but my plan was to start cooking for myself. Create small nutritious salads for my evening meals instead of the greasy takeaways I had been used to in the office. Well, I would start, eventually.
“Jenny,” I answered my phone, killing the deafening shrill shattering my silence.
“Hey.” Her soft voice calmed me instantly. “You need anything else before I shut down for the evening?”
“Nah, I’m good.” I was. Truly. “I assume all is under control?”
“If you’re asking if my house is still standing with its four walls intact? Then yes, I suppose it’s under control. Felicia has just thrown a mug of milk over the stove, and Frazer is currently covering his body in couscous, but the contracts came back for the retail park, and the contractor for the Ealing build is ready to sign, and Jasper wants to see you tomorrow. I’ve scheduled him for ten, then you have the Zoom call with Kopetski. Good?”
I could deal with that. I was immensely grateful for my capable PA who, in true Jenny style, had rehashed her entire life so she could care for her toddler twins and still provide me with the excellent results I expected of her. While she seemingly effortlessly took multitasking to another level, I was once again trying to finish off my linear workday without feeling the now-familiar overwhelming stress creep up on me.
“You sure you don’t need me to order you dinner? Chinese? Indian? I could have it all organised in an instant. You know that.”
I was grateful for her concern. Also grateful for our easy friendship where she never hesitated to ask or prompt or berate me for my mistakes. She had my back. I had hers.
“Jen, switch off your phone. Off duty. I’m going to grab some dinner from that place next door and then go to bed. I’m good. Promise.”
“I know you are. Speak tomorrow.” She hung up, and I took a large gulp of air.
I needed to sleep tonight. I downed the last drops of my espresso, cursing my inability to control myself and do all those things I was supposed to do. I had spent thousands on a renowned sleep therapist, who had guided me through a ten-step program to achieve the perfect amount of rest. I was still lucky if I got a couple of hours of solid sleep at night. My phone was full of mindfulness apps and calming reading and whale song from Antarctica. I was sure all of them were brilliant, but I struggled to follow any of the advice I was given because my life was busy and I had things to do…and I again remembered that I had declined Jenny’s kind offer to set up a food delivery service.
Because I was going to learn to cook.
I hadn’t ordered a food shop or figured out where the nearest supermarket was, but I was almost sure there was one around the corner, having handled the plot and build of this complex myself. Hence I had purchased the penthouse apartment, after having it designed to my requirements. I was thoroughly pleased with this particular business venture, but like with everything, I was overlooking those tiny essential practical details.
I’d once read an autobiography of a former teen pop star who’d made it into politics. He had mused about growing up without learning those very basics of life that I myself was lacking. How to purchase necessities. Plan a weekly shop. Live a normal life. I remember thinking that most people probably read those kinds of statements with a smile, ridiculing the First World problems of the rich and mighty. Myself, I had cringed in recognition, because the sheltered and extremely privileged upbringing I’d enjoyed had done exactly that. I didn’t know how to live. I barely knew how to get up in the morning, and if Jenny didn’t meticulously organise my workdays, I didn’t doubt that I would put myself into an early grave and bankrupt my own company within a year.
That might be taking things a bit far, but in reality, I was fine. I was perfectly fine.
I still giggled like a child looking around the apartment. The open-plan kitchen now bathing in oranges and reds from the London sunset, my workspace behind a glass wall where my familiar huge desk and office chair were swamped by boxes and wires. Someone was coming in to build the wires into the floor for me, to create an office that would complement the sleek profile of my living space, but I wasn’t bothered about my temporary mess. It was just me here and nobody to impress.
I had comfortable visitors’ chairs for those times when human interaction was necessary. The rest of the time, I was more than happy to entertain over video links. That made me happy, the thought of never again having to set foot in what had been our company headquarters, dealing with the constant flow of people and expectations of success and perfection.
My bedroom was on the opposite side of the living space, separated by another set of seemingly floating glass doors. I’d invested in a new, decently sized bed with fresh bedding still sat in its glossy packaging on top of thesumptuous-looking mattress. Another of those things I should have dealt with, but when you didn’t sleep in the way nature intended, then the comfortable sofa in the living room with its thick, wool blanket had served its purpose last night and would likely do so tonight as well. It was funny how all the rules of others had always impacted my life, and I was thrilled with this new quiet existence in which nobody would care where I slept or ate or threw my dirty laundry.
I still needed to eat, and I didn’t need to open my glass-fronted fridge door to know that I owned nothing of any nutritional value, apart from my collection of fine whiskeys and a random bottle of Japanese rice wine.
Hence I went digging in the bedroom wardrobes with their heavy doors that smelled of fresh wood and clean laundry, taking out a pair of grey joggers and a matching hoodie to cover up my shirt and tie. I removed the tie, throwing it carelessly on the bed. The glimpse of my reflection in the mirror made me cringe. I was no longer the slim, trim young man I had once been. Instead, a middle-aged man with grey in his hair and more stubble than was fashionable stared back at me.
A man who looked frighteningly like my father.
Jonathan, darling. We are hosting the Prewitts for dinner at Soho House this evening, will you be making an appearance? Haven’t seen you since the Summer soirée, and Father and I would love to catch up. x
I sent my mother a curt and polite response. I needed to eat, but socialising with my parents and their friends took a certain amount of strength, strength that I needed time to build up. There was nothing embarrassing about being a single, unattached male in your thirties. When you were fifty-one, that small fact became harder to dismiss in conversation, and it was always brought up in the company of my parents.
A few years ago, I would have gone in search of an evening meal at one of the clubs I used to frequent, smiled and shaken the hands of people I vaguely knew from my time in Oxford and gladly accepted a fine dinner from the subservient and polite waiters. I’d cut all of that out of my life too, slim-lined and trimmed down everything that caused me stress. I had a long history of ulcers, kidney stones, cholesterol issues and high blood pressure, things that might kill me if I didn’t figure out how to look after myself better. I didn’t need clubs. I needed to de-stress and reorganise my schedules and eat and sleep and function like life intended me to. All things I had failed to accomplish in the past months.
The sight of my bed made me briefly consider a hook-up of some kind, just something to calm my mood. Another reason I had chosen this location for what was now my home. I preferred a hotel encounter, faceless and clean with no strings attached, but the thought made me nervous. There was only so much I could handle on a day like this, and the business hotel next door would not be my venue of choice for any future such encounters. Instead, I would venture further afield for such frivolities, ensuring my much-needed total privacy here in my own home because the building with the sharp logo casting a cool glow over my veranda had been the ideal choice of companion for my new life.
The Clouds Hotel would provide business services, should I ever need the space. Conference facilities for larger projects as well as a fine restaurant with Thameside seating for when I needed to entertain. I had sent Jenny to do her research, and she had reported back that everything was of an acceptable standard. I supposed it was time to venture out and inspect it myself, since my stomach was rumbling and my head was running out of coherence. Food. Nap. Back to work. Perhaps even make up the bed if I had enough strength.
For now, I gathered myself up and stepped into the lift to take me down to the entrance of the building I lived in. Pulling the hood over my head to cover my messy mop of hair, I stood in silence as the doors silently opened onto the starkly bare lobby. I nodded at the doorman, a polite young fellow in a sleek uniform, before taking up a brisk stride out the door to join the London crowds. The sheer number of people enjoying the cold evening along the South Bank forced me to navigate closer to the buildings and away from the waterfront. It was still not quite winter but I was glad to escape the chilly breeze that blew straight through my clothes and enter the warmth of the Clouds Hotel lobby. There was soft piano music coming from somewhere, and the expected noise of humans filled the high ceiling space. Briefly considering fleeing and settling for the easier option of a quick McDonald’s from the other side of the bridge, I straightened myself up. There was no dress code here; all I needed was a table for one and to be left alone to have a half-decent meal in peace and quiet so I could settle the hunger and get some rest.
“Can I help you, sir?”
