‘Mmm.’ She sounds very sleepy, and her breathing is already slowing as though she’s falling into a deep slumber.
The light’s still on, so I take a peek at her face after a couple of minutes. Her eyes are closed, her long lashes beautiful against her cheeks, her hair spread on the pillow around her head.
I decide not to switch the light out, because I don’t want to do anything to disturb her, and just close my eyes, feeling weirdly contented now, and drift straight off.
* * *
We’re woken by a loud knock on the door and Maxim calling, ‘Rise and shine.’ Maxim has a touch of the Duracell bunny about him. When I drag my arm out from under the duvet I see that it’s 5a.m. He sounds as though he’s already firing on all cylinders.
Now fully awake, I look over the cushions to the other side of the bed.
Flavia wasn’t joking when she said she’s an excellent sleeper.
She’s curled on her side, clearly dead to the world, looking very peaceful, and also quite… adorable.
I feel myself take a deep sigh.
If I were a different person… And if she were…
But I wreck relationships. Maybe because I’m too busy for one: my job is extremely full on. And no-one sane wrecks a relationship with a friend’s sister. And no-one kind wrecks a relationship with a woman who’s probably very vulnerable right now.
So I won’t be having any kind of relationship with her, including even just a very short fling.
I frown. I’m being exceptionally arrogant. There’s every chance thatshehas no interest in any kind of fling with me and that I have absolutely no choice to make.
I’m an idiot actually.
We need to get out of bed.
‘Flavia,’ I say. No response. I repeat her name a couple of times, and she just carries on sleeping.
Eventually, I put my hand on her shoulder and give it a little squeeze and say, ‘Flavia, it’s time to get up,’ right into her ear.
‘Mmmph,’ she says and then, as I lean back to my side of the bed, she takes a very deep, sleepy sigh, and does a huge, full-body wriggle.
I have to close my eyes for a second to recover from the incredibly tempting sight.
‘Why don’t I have a one-minute shower while you wake up properly?’ I suggest to a fully-back-to-sleep Flavia.
When I’m out of the bathroom, fully dressed, Flavia is, naturally, still fast asleep.
I walk round the bed and bellow in her ear: ‘Flavia, you’re going to miss the safari.’
She opens her eyes and then sits bolt upright, her pyjama vest in complete disarray.
I do the right thing and look away, before repeating that shereallyneeds to get out of bed now.
‘Mmmph,’ she repeats. Then she fixes me with a wild-eyed stare and says, ‘Tired.’
‘Got it,’ I say. ‘But, also, you do have to get out of bed.’ I’m not really sure what to do in this situation. Obviously I can’t leave her to miss this morning but also I can’t physically pull her out of bed. (And I should certainly not physically do any of the things I’dliketo do with her.) I settle for taking my phone out and playing ‘Dance Monkey’. Surely anyone would get out of bed to make that stop.
I’m about to tell her that I’m blackmailing her with it, when she smiles, leans back against her pillows, eyes closed, and says, ‘Ilovethis song.’
‘What? It’s terrible. I hate it.’
‘Why would you put on a song you hate?’ she asks, eyes still closed. ‘That’s just weird.’
‘To get you up. What’s your most hated song?’ I ask.
