around me, close my eyes, and drift off…but it won’t work. It’s not a lovely squashy duvet which warms you and cocoons you. It’s too thin and shiny and unfriendly.
Harold’s warming my feet, but the rest of me is freezing. It’s not just the bedcover, it’s the room. It’s too cold. I’m wearing the cotton pajamas I brought with me—but I’m still actually shivering. I try to edge toward Matt for body heat, but he murmurs in his sleep and rolls away, and I don’t want to risk waking him up again.
I can hear the distant ticking of a clock. I can hear the occasional siren from the London streets below. I can hear Matt breathing, in…out…in…out. I don’t dare look at my phone or switch on the light to read a book. I don’t even dare move. Lying awake next to a happily sleeping person is agony. It’s torture. I’d forgotten that about relationships.
It wasn’t like this in Italy, I think morosely. That super-king mattress at the monastery was the most comfortable one I’ve ever slept on. The quilt was gorgeous. When Matt and I slept together, it worked. We were both out like lights.
I close my eyes and try to start a relaxation meditation. My head feels heavy…my shoulders feel heavy….But just then, Matt mumbles something in his sleep and turns over, taking the rustly cover with him and leaving me cold and exposed—and I nearly scream in frustration. OK, that’s it, I’ve had it. I’m getting up.
Carefully, in tiny gradual movements, I edge off the bed and into a standing position. I glance down at Matt to ensure he’s still sleeping, then creep out of the room. Luckily the floor doesn’t squeak, which is the only plus point of this place.
I tiptoe into the kitchen, turn on the light, and switch on the kettle to make myself a comforting cup of tea. You can’t have a cup of tea in the middle of the night without a biscuit, but as I poke around the cupboards, I can’t find any snacks, except roasted nuts and crisps. Where are the biscuits? Everyone has biscuits in their kitchen. No one doesn’t have biscuits.
As I exhaust one cupboard, then another, my search becomes more urgent. I’m not giving up. They have to have some biscuits. “All I want is a digestive,” I mutter to myself furiously, as I search behind bottles of ketchup and cans of baked beans. Or a Hobnob. Or a shortbread, a custard cream, anything…
And then, as I’m investigating an unlikely cupboard full of tonic water, I gasp in glee. Yes! A tub of chocolate rolls! I don’t care who they belong to, I don’t care what the flatmates’ rules are, I am sitting down with a cup of tea and two chocolate rolls right here, right now, and no one can stop me.
My mouth is already salivating as I grab the tub. I need these. I will love Matt far better if I can just have a couple of chocolate rolls, and maybe he should know that. As I prize off the lid, my fingers are quivering in excitement—but then I freeze in horror. What the…What?
As I gape down, I can’t believe it. The tub is full of phone chargers, all twisted around one another. There’s no chocolate. No chocolate.
“Noooo!” I wail, before I can stop myself. “Noooo!”
I desperately empty out the phone chargers onto the counter, in case they’re somehow only the top layer—but there’s not a scrap of a chocolate roll. Not a crumb.
And now rage is starting to brew in me. What kind of twisted, warped person puts phone chargers in a tub labeled chocolate rolls? It’s playing mind games, is what it is. It’s gaslighting.
“Ava.” Matt’s voice makes me jolt and I look up to see him at the kitchen door, peering at me with sleepy eyes. His hair is on end, his face is sleep-crumpled, and he looks alarmed. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I say, my voice a little tense. “Sorry if I woke you. It’s just…I thought there were chocolate rolls in here.”
“What?” he says in puzzlement—then his eyes focus on the tub. “Oh. We keep chargers in that.”
“Oh, really?” I say, but Matt’s not quite awake yet and he doesn’t seem to notice my tone.
“Why are you up at five A.M.?” He comes into the room, looking anxious.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Well.” He rubs his face. “They do say that if you allow a dog in your bed—”