Sleepless Nights by Sarah Bilston Page A

I said, at last, throwing back the covers. “Vitamin D and all that. We should go, it’ll be fun. And I’d love to try sailing, I don’t really know how to do it, but perhaps you can show me?”
    Tom’s face was transfigured.
    I dressed myself quietly in my capacious jeans and XL green button-down shirt—Samuel was miraculously sleeping—and went downstairs to find Paul and Jeanie sitting silent, side by side, in the kitchen. Paul was leaning backward in a chair, reading the property pages; Jeanie was working her way through a tottering stack of waffles, dressed in a tight plum-colored T-shirt and skimpy denim shorts. “So. Are you going to come with us today, Jeanie, or not?” I asked, observing her get-up dourly.
    Jeanie looked up, her face smeared in syrup. She was rather taken with American breakfasts. “Wha—? Oh, you mean this sailing business,” she said, through a full mouth. “Well, really” (swallowing hard), “I suppose I should, but I’ve always thought boats were just big toys for men with too much money,” she added airily, as if she’d been giving the matter a great deal of thought over the course of a very long life. I stared at her. “Yes, the consumption of resources—and the—er—damage to marine ecosystems from the—um—rudders is positively shocking,” she finished triumphantly. She launched into another waffle.
    “Well, we’ll all understand it if your political principles prevent you from coming.” Paul put down his newspaper. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, Jeanie. I’m sure between us we can help Tom and Q with Samuel, so why don’t you just stay here? We’ll spend the day sailing on the Atlantic, enjoying the views of the house from the sea (it just won another design award, Q, did you hear?) and you can work on that press release on—what was it you were telling me about? Oh yes, whales’ dental cavities, instead.”
    Jeanie choked slightly. “Well, obviously I would under normal circumstances,” she explained carefully, “but Samuel has been tricky recently, I wouldn’t want—”
    “No!” Paul interrupted. “Certainly not. You stay here. Adjile and Lily aren’t your kind of people anyway, from what I can tell you’d beshocked by their way of life. They have a personal chef. The desserts are phenomenal, I had this thing with iced chocolate last time that was beyond description. Amazing fish too, fresh-caught in the Atlantic. Plus Adjile has a world-class wine cellar, the quality of his champagne beats anything I’ve had in New York; he sponsors a small family operation in Epernay. All that consumption would make you sick, Jeanie. Much better to stay away. Have lunch by yourself. I think I saw some brown sliced bread in the fridge.”
    He went back behind his newspaper. Jeanie put down her waffle carefully, and turned to me.
    “Q, love, I think I will come today, in spite of everything, because you look very tired, and I came here to help.” She wiped her sticky mouth on a napkin, and smiled virtuously at me. “And I promise you I will keep all my deeply held political ideas to myself today, you don’t need to worry. I would never embarrass you with your friends.”
    I thanked her faintly as I slithered into a chair and helped myself to some breakfast. Paul glanced up over his newspaper, folded down a corner, and looked at her with his head on one side. I wondered what he was going to say, but then—“you’ve got some syrup on your face still,” was all he remarked, coolly, and, reaching out, he wiped Jeanie’s cheek with a deliberate finger.
    14
    Jeanie
    I love sailing. I am brilliant at sailing. Paul told me so.
    Dave would probably have been horrified if he’d seen me speeding across the Atlantic with a man who wore a gold signet ring on his pinky and designer linen shorts. But Dave wasn’t there, and I felt I was allowed some fantasy time before I settled into life as an eco-warrior’s spouse.
    It was a