Sleepless Nights by Sarah Bilston

contract negotiations (I laughed scornfully as I kicked off my slippers). His idea of living was presumably counting the zeros in his bank account. Meanwhile his wife was shagging the doorman and his children were snorting cocaine to get over the unbelievable, ineffable boredom of life. This was not the kind of man to appeal to me (I switched off the light and pulled the covers up to my chin). And I’d made that completely clear to him.
    I lay in the dark, thinking about my boyfriend, who was a different story entirely. “When d’you want me to come over to America to see you?” he’d asked me excitedly on the phone that morning.
    “You can come out any time you want,” I replied, wondering briefly what Dave would make of this home of rich, elegant whiteness. He was a T-shirts, work-boots, and newspapers-on-the-table sort of man—the real deal. “But I think you should aim for sometime next month; go for halfway through my trip to split the difference. Limit the amount of time we’re apart.”
    “Good idea, I’ll look into tickets. And you said your sister will help with the cost, right? Bloody marvelous, tell her ‘thank you’ from me. I can’t wait to see you, Jeanie. I can’t stop thinking about you, to be honest. The bed seems so cold without you.
    “I’ll feel like a bit of a hypocrite, though, going to Heathrow,”he went on, earnestly. “Badger’s mate Ranger has been telling me all about the environmental impact of air travel. He’s, y’know, an expert; he spent two weeks last year kipping on a runway to demonstrate against Terminal 5. He’s seriously hard-core. Did you ever think about how many gallons of fuel are used over three-and-a-half thousand miles, Jeanie? And the injurious effects of it all go straight up into the atmosphere! Still, there’s no other way I can get there, I suppose, and I can’t wait four bloody months to see you…”
    I could see him in my mind’s eye, biting his jagged, worn-down fingernails. “Dave, I’ll have to leave that decision to you,” I told him a little impatiently, “but personally I think politics have to yield to practicality sometimes.” That sounded rather good, so I said it again. “And anyway, there’s bound to be some research you can do out here—you might gain a whole fresh perspective on—on—on the Kyoto Agreement,” I finished inspirationally. “True, true…” I could tell he was impressed by my argument.
    “Well, I’ll see what it’ll cost, and perhaps I’ll ask Ranger to look into the number of gallons an airplane really uses on a long-haul flight, then I can make an informed decision. Or—” he thought for a moment—“maybe I’ll just say ‘bugger it’ and come over, what do you think?”
    I laughed, and told him that sounded like the best plan.
    It was ages before Tom and Paul went to bed.
    13
    Q
    Q , are you awake?” (I pulled the covers over my head and pretended not to hear.)
    “Sweetheart, it’s eleven o’clock. And it’s a beautiful day.” My husband had tiptoed into the room and was peering hopefully into the duvet. “Paul has a suggestion…”
    I half-opened my eyes. “What is it?” I growled.
    “You don’t have to come—I think Jeanie would stay home with you, if you want. So don’t feel—I mean—” I groaned, clutching my forehead. I had the strangest sensation of having a metal sword lodged inside my brain after the night’s terrible screaming. “What?”
    “Well, Paul has to take a boat to his friend’s house this morning, further along the coast, he’s going to help him replace some rotten wood in the stringers. His name’s Adjile—did you ever meet him? Ex-CEO of G-Metrix dot-com? Well, anyway, he’s offered to take us all sailing—that is, Adjile’s offered to lend Paul a boat for the afternoon so he can get some time on the waves. We could all go. But only if you want, of course.”
    I thought about this for a moment. Adjile Olawe…“The baby needs more time outside,”