For the secondnight in a row, Catherine lay awake, staring into the dark. For a while she thought about Jules lying in the room above her.Is she restless too? Or does she sleep like the dead?
There was so much to learn about a new person in your life, but wasn’t that supposed to be the fun part? The thrill of discovery, the slow unveiling of personality, the shared laughter and quiet confidences — these were the things Catherine craved. Perhaps she wouldn’t like what she found out. Or worse, Jules wouldn’t like what she discovered as she peeled back Catherine’s layers to find her shrivelled, old core.
Enough with the old — you’re fifty-six, not a nonagenarian.
Her mind drifted to Jeremy and the curious lunch he was planning. A mixture of anticipation and dread swirled in her stomach. Despite her reluctance, she was a little intrigued. She’d sensed there was more he wanted to get off his chest.
Resigned to wakefulness, Catherine swung her legs out of bed and padded to the kitchen. As she waited for the kettle to boil, the image of the man she’d earlier visited in hospital flashed into her tired mind — Alice’s friend, George — a chronic insomniac, suffering from grief-induced episodic memory loss. There was something about the hunch of George’s broad shoulders that reminded her of her father — the way his weary face crumpled when he spoke of his loss. That was why she’d picked this career path, after all — and really why Jeremy had, too.
A memory stirred as she steeped a Chamomile Teapig, adding a squirt of honey to take away the bitterness.
They satin the old stables, legs dangling from the mezzanine floor as Jeremy popped the cork on a bottle of vintage Champagne he’d swiped from his parents’ wine cellar.
“Are you sure they won’t mind?” Catherine scanned the bottle’s dusty label. It was older than her, and probably worth more than her dad earned in a month.
Jeremy shrugged. “School’s out. We’re celebrating!”
She took a tentative sip and giggled when the bubbles fizzed up her nose.
“Have you decided what you want to do at uni yet?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it, and I want to help people somehow. I wondered about training to be a psychologist or something?”
“Right, yeah. Psychology,” he said and swigged another mouthful before passing the bottle back to her.
“My dad needed help after my mum…” She took another sip from the bottle and left the end of the sentence hanging because still the word was too hard to say.
“Do you reckon psychology would help me understand girls any better?”
Catherine spluttered. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Right, well that’s settled then. I’ll do psychology, too.”
She laughed, but Jeremy didn’t, so she turned and took in his earnest expression.
“You’re serious?”
“Of course!”
Catherine carriedher steaming mug through to the lounge and flicked on the lamp. She’d allow herself a little time with the Sappho jigsaw while her tea cooled, and maybe after that sleep would claim her again. But she lost herself in the puzzle until the thin dawn light strained through the blinds.
OM-THE-GO
2024
Bedtime isn’t just sleep — it’s a gentle seduction into calm.
Dim the lights. Let shadows soften the edges of your day and wrap around you like an embrace.
Savour the stillness, the hush, the warmth, the weight of rest waiting for you.
Breathe slowly. Let the rhythm from each exhale melt the tension from your body.
Let sleep unfurl, unhurried and effortless; imagine it like silk slipping through your fingers.
Catherine posted her latest blog and sat back, watching as a flurry of likes and comments tallied on her screen. She removed her glasses and rubbed her tiredeyes. Thedingof a new message hitting her inbox reclaimed her attention. Her heart fluttered at the name:Betty,whom she hadn’t heard from in months. Not since the grief blog, in fact.
Betty77:
