though I’m done in. Reading strains my eyes, waterfall sleep sounds make me want the loo and it’s a well-established fact that counting sheep is a crock of shit.
Jonah’s stayed over, he’s downstairs on the sofa like he always used to be. I wonder if he’s awake too or if sleep finds him easily at night. The floorboards are cool against my feet when I get out of bed, quiet so as not to disturb him. I sometimes make a cup of tea if I can’t sleep, but the kettle might wake him so I don’t bother tonight. I stand at the sink with a glass of water instead, yawning, and then I put my head round the door to look in on Jonah before I go back up to try for sleep again. He’s fast out, one arm flung towards the floor, his dark hair black in the shaded room. He’s always possessed an innate calmness, even back when we were kids and his home life was anything but. Sleep only amplifies it; he’s guru-level relaxed right now, his T-shirt discarded on the floor. Something draws me closer, until I’m sitting on the floor next to him, resting my head on the bunched-up quilt. God, I’m tired. I close my eyes, comforted by the sound of his breathing.
‘Can’t sleep?’
Jonah strokes my hair, soothing. I must have dropped off. I’m cold and my arm’s gone numb where I’ve been leaning on it.
‘Struggling,’ I admit. It won’t come as news to him, he knows I’ve been battling insomnia for a while.
He moves back and lifts the quilt. ‘Come up, there’s room.’
I don’t hesitate, not really. I crawl into the space he’s made for me, my back pressed against his chest. He wraps his arms around me and pulls the quilt up to my shoulders, his knees behind mine.
‘Go to sleep now,’ he says, his mouth close to my ear. ‘I’ve got you.’
Jonah Jones cradles me in his arms and shares his beautiful calmness with me. The steady beat of his heart against my shoulder blade, his body heat radiating into my blood and my bones. I sleep.
Monday 6 January
‘You look a bit peaky.’ Flo rummages in her cardigan pocket and pulls out a tube of mints. ‘Bit of sugar, that’s what you need.’
I shake my head. ‘Thanks, Flo. I’m all right, just tired.’
Jonah flew back to LA on Saturday. He called round on the way to the airport and left me with a kiss on the forehead, a hug that has to last until I see him again, and a copy of his manuscript.
Be brutal, he said. I trust your judgement more than anyone else’s.
I spent yesterday reading it, and all of last night rereading it, and it’s in my desk drawer right now. I keep going back through it, trying to read the empty spaces in between. It’s such a tender story, teenage angst at its poignant best and at its raging, hormonal worst, the horror and heartbreak of losing your best friend, the confusion and heartache of silently loving his girl. It’s all there, the story of us: Jonah’s vulnerable teen heart, Freddie’s bravado, and me, the thread that pulls the two of them together and apart. As is often the case in real life, no one wins in the end. The characters grow up and drift apart because seeing each other hurts too much. It’s raw and melancholy beautiful, but it’s not the kind of ending this story deserves.
‘Are you sure we can’t go back to the bonkers, Lydia?’ Flo grumbles. ‘I can’t make head nor tail of this computer.’
I look up from sorting a pile of recently returned books. ‘Bonkers?’
‘You know,’ Flo says, miming the old library date-stamp action. ‘The bonkers.’
‘You’re bonkers.’ I find a smile because Flo deserves it. ‘You and Mary, you’re both bonkers.’
‘Best way if you ask me,’ she says. ‘Makes life more interesting, anyway.’
I look at Flo. ‘Is Flo short for Florence?’
‘Florence Gardenia,’ she says, then laughs. ‘Bit of a mouthful. I used to tell Norm I only married him because his name was Smith.’
I don’t know a great deal about Flo’s past. She mentions Norm, her GI husband, every now and then, and I know they celebrated their golden wedding just before he passed away. She has sons, but I get the impression she doesn’t see as much of her family as she’d like to.
‘Where did you meet him?’
Her face softens. ‘He turned up one Sunday evening at the dance hall, all