SLEEPYTIME - chapter one

 
 
ONE
 
 
‘Hello,’ a voice close to my ear said, ‘what are you in for?’
            An ancient woman was peering at me, her face inches from mine. Had I been asleep? The old woman’s eyes were bright blue and her deeply weathered skin looked soft, like a walnut made of velvet. The chair next to me had been unoccupied when I arrived, so perhaps I’d nodded off for a couple seconds.
            ‘I can’t sleep,’ I said.
            ‘You were doing all right just now.’
            ‘That’s the problem. I can’t sleep at night, so I tend to drift off during the day.’
            ‘I get a lovely sleep, with the pills they give me. Mind you, I get a bit...’ she tapped her head with a gnarled finger.
            ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that’s the problem with all the pills, isn’t it? You get side-effects.’
            She contemplated me for several seconds, then turned away and gazed slowly around the crowded waiting room. When she turned back she seemed disappointed to see me. She frowned. ‘What did you say you’re in here for?’
            ‘Insomnia.’
            ‘What?’
            I raised my voice. ‘Sleeplessness.’
            She pulled her head back like a startled tortoise and revealed pink gums studded with delicate little pearly stumps. ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘it’s nice to see the old-fashioned diseases making a comeback.’ She nodded at me and chuckled.
            I heard my name being called, or an approximation of it: 
            ‘Robert Lacking?’
            A woman of about forty was standing in the doorway leading to the doctors’ surgeries. She had the brightly deranged manner that comes with chronic overwork.
            ‘Lucking,’ I said. ‘It’s Rob Lucking.’
            She consulted a clipboard. ‘Oh, yes. Sorry. Lucking. This way, please.’
            As I stood up, I nodded to the old woman and raised my hand in farewell.
            ‘Cheerio,’ she cried, ‘and good luck with the syphilis!’
            I kept my gaze lowered as I walked to the door the doctor was holding open. 
 
‘I’m Doctor Pym,’ she said. ‘Please take a seat.’
            I sat in a hard chair next to her desk. 
            ‘I know you usually see Doctor Francis,’ she said, ‘but he’s away, so I’m his locum. Now, let me just try to pull up your notes here.’
            She began to grapple with an elderly computer in front of her, peering at the screen and frowning as she tapped at the keyboard, breathing through her nose. 
            ‘It’s a bit slow,’ she muttered.
            I looked around. I hadn’t been in this room before, but it was very similar to my usual doctor’s room. The wash basin, the scales, and the examination table with the roll of paper at one end were the same, but some of the things on the wall were different, including a poster featuring a brightly coloured representation of an upright human body with its hands spread, palms outwards in a vaguely Christ-like gesture. The suggestion of martyrdom was reinforced by the flesh being folded back to expose the veins, arteries, and nervous system, as if the body had been flayed.  
            ‘Right,’ said doctor Pym briskly, ‘you’re twenty-nine and you can’t sleep properly which you say is insomnia and this has been going on for how long?’
            It took me a moment to realise she was asking me a question. ‘About three months,’ I said. 
            She squinted at the computer screen. ‘And none of the medications we’ve tried you on have worked?’
            ‘That’s right.’
            ‘Are you experiencing any dizziness, nausea or vomiting?’
            ‘No. Just insomnia.’
            ‘Are you diabetic?’
            ‘No.’
            ‘Hmm. Let me just take a look at our options here.’
            She bashed at the keyboard for a while, then began scrolling. I looked around the room again. My gaze kept returning to the picture of the body. It was mesmerising.  After a minute or so I detected a slight movement beneath its surface: a kind of rippling, heaving motion. I narrowed my eyes. The body was breathing. As I watched, the head turned fractionally, the figure’s lips twitched into a smile, and it winked at me. 
            ‘Do you ever find yourself hallucinating?’ said doctor Pym.
            I spun around to face her. How did she know I’d been hallucinating? Or perhaps I was still hallucinating, and had imagined her question. 
            She looked at me over her glasses. ‘Are you all right?’
            ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
            ‘So, do you? Find yourself hallucinating?’    
            I shook my head firmly. ‘No. Not that I’ve noticed.’
            She typed something, then turned back to me. ‘Would you say that you’ve been feeling stressed recently?’
            ‘Kind of, yes.’
            ‘Any particular cause that you can identify?’
            I shrugged. ‘Just life in general, really. You know how it is.’ I tried my insouciant smile on her, but she ignored it and glanced at the screen again. 
            ‘Are you currently working, Rob?’
            ‘Yes. Well, kind of.’
            ‘What do you do?’
            ‘I’m a writer.’
            ‘So,’ she said, typing, ‘no regular source of income.’
            ‘Actually, I’m writing a book, but I was a journalist until recently.’
            She leaned back and raised an eyebrow. ‘Anything I might have seen?’
            ‘That depends. What kind of things do you read?’
            She thought for a moment. ‘Actually, I don’t often read newspapers or magazines these days, now that everything’s free online.’
            ‘Tell me about it.’
            ‘Oh, I see.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, that’s not terribly useful for you, is it? And it could certainly contribute to you feeling stressed.’ She drummed her fingernail on the desk. ‘How long did you say the insomnia has been troubling you?’
            ‘About three months.’
            ‘Did anything particular happen to you three months ago?’
            I nodded. ‘Yes.’
 
***
 
I’d been at my desk when Cindy, our editor, asked us to stop what we were doing  and gather round, as she had some exciting news for us.
            ‘So, everyone,’ she said, ‘This is Jordan, our new owner.’
            The guy standing beside her in the middle of the open-plan office wasn’t much older than me, and he was dressed pretty much like the rest of us, but his hoodie and sneakers looked cooler than ours, and his hair was expensively unkempt. There were a dozen of us in a semicircle, with Cindy’s deputy, Tristram, filming on his phone so that staff who were working remotely could link to this exciting event. 
            Jordan looked around at us slowly with a big, friendly, ominous smile. 
            I glanced at Amit and Beth. We’d instinctively gravitated towards each other as soon as we left our work stations, like small furry creatures in a wildlife documentary huddling together when they scent danger. Amit gazed at me expressionlessly. Beth kept her eyes fixed on the intruder.
            ‘Hey, team!’ Jordan said. ‘I cannot tell you how honoured and pumped I am to be working with you – so I won’t try! I’m not a wordsmith like you guys, and I’d just fuck it up!’ He gave a boyish laugh. Cindy laughed along, and few of the others joined in.
            ‘OK,’ he continued, ‘I’ll make this short and sweet, because I don’t want to keep you from the awesome work you do. I’m a huge fan. I know how you must feel about losing the print edition, but I want to tell you that by going digital-only we’re taking a big, positive step in today’s media landscape. Will there be challenges? Yes. But I’m totally confident you can step up to them and make this unique, beautiful, crazy motherfucker of a magazine even greater than ever. Any questions? Cool.’
            Beth raised her hand. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I’d like to ask about the investigative work. Are you saying that nothing will change?’
            Jordan seemed taken aback, but recovered quickly. ‘Hey, Beth! Great to put a face to the legend. I just want to say I love the work you do, especially with Amit. The dream team: Beth and Amit, and...’ he looked around until he spotted me, where I’d been all along, standing next to Beth. ‘There he is! Rod! Amazing work, dude – undercover, stings whatever. Total respect, bro.’
            ‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘bro. And it’s Rob.’
            ‘Of course it is! So sorry, Rob. I’m a little overwhelmed right now. To tell you the truth, I’m humbled, actually. Wow.’ He took a deep breath and expelled it loudly to show us how bravely he was struggling under the onslaught of humility. ‘OK, Beth’ he said, ‘in answer to your question – hell, yes. We shall continue to fight the good fight. And in that context, we may be looking at a minor pivot to a more click-friendly format, that’s all.’
            Amit cleared his throat. He didn’t need to raise his hand as his height made him unmissable. ‘What does that mean, exactly, Jordan?’
            ‘OK, let’s say you’re working on a great story, and instead of writing, like, an article, or a think-piece, maybe you evolve it into a list-based format, right?’
            ‘Evolve it into a list-based format?’
            ‘Or maybe you decide the story has playful engagement hooks, so you lean into an interactive paradigm, and make it a quiz. You see where I’m coming from?’
            ‘Oh, I think so.’
            Jordan checked his watch. ‘OK, people, let’s get back to work. It’s all good. And hey, Beth, Amit and Rob? Can I have a quick word with you in Cindy’s office? Just to get you up to speed with some specifics. Thanks.’
 
Fifteen minutes later Beth, Amit and I were standing outside the building, watching two security guards walk back in through the front doors.
            Amit and Beth each carried a box with the things they’d cleared from their work spaces. All my stuff was in my backpack, including a long, spindly plant that poked out of the top and waved about like a radio antenna wreathed in green fungus. I didn’t like the plant, which had been dying ever since I’d acquired it, and I didn’t know why I’d kept it beside my desk, and I’d hoped to leave it behind, but they made me take it.
            ‘Hah,’ Beth said, ‘this is the best thing that could have happened.’
            Amit nodded vigorously. ‘Absolutely. We’ve been talking about it for long enough, and this is actually the kick in the arse we needed.’
            ‘Fuck him,’ Beth said. 
            ‘Actually, we should thank him,’ Amit said. He turned to me. ‘Right, Rob?’
            ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Now you can be your own boss.’
            ‘Don’t give him ideas,’ Beth said. ‘Being Amit’s boss is my job.’
            Amit frowned at me. ‘You’re still in, aren’t you, mate?’
            ‘Of course he is,’ Beth said. ‘We’ll be doing proper news. We’ll be able to make a real difference.’ She looked at me with concern. ‘You’re not bailing on us, are you?’
            ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Do we actually make any difference in the end? Like, that wanker just strolled in and trashed a year of our lives.’            
            ‘No, he didn’t!’ Amit said. ‘He can’t undo what we’ve achieved. Never forget, my man, that you – you, personally – got a corrupt government minister fired!’
            ‘Right, and another one took her place the next day. And what do I get? Online abuse from nutjobs, and a load of other hassles. Thanks, but no thanks.’
            Beth moved close to me and scanned my face. ‘Rob, you can’t just give up.’
            ‘Oh, I’m not giving up, believe me.’
            ‘Then why don’t you want to come in on the new site with us?’ Amit said.
            ‘Yes,’ Beth said, ‘what are you going to do?’
            I waited for a moment, catching up with my own decision. I felt it taking shape inside me. ‘I’m finally going to do it,’ I said.
            Beth shot a worried glance at Amit. ‘Do what?’
            ‘I’m going to write my novel.’
            ‘That’s great,’ Amit said, slightly too late.
            Beth summoned up a smile. ‘Terrific! But can’t you still work with us?’
            ‘No. What just happened is a sign. It’s time for me to settle down with Becky and become a serious writer.’
            ‘Fuck that,’ Amit said, ‘you’re already a serious writer, mate.’
            ‘Wait,’ Beth said, ‘I thought Becky was just a weekend fling.’
            I spread my hands as if owning up to a crime. ‘Right, every weekend for six months now. What can I say? It’s a relationship, people.’
            Beth and Amit exchanged another glance.
            ‘Come on,’ Amit said, ‘you can’t just give up the investigative work.’
            ‘I’m not giving it up. It’ll just be a different type of investigation, that’s all, asking different questions. Deeper questions.’
            ‘Like what?’ Beth said.
            ‘Like, Who are we? Why am I here? What’s our purpose? You see, while the novel is essentially a kind of quest narrative, it’s really a quest for the nature of reality, and the meaning of –’
            ‘Oh, wow,’ Amit broke in. He was checking his watch. ‘We need to go, or we’ll be late for... what we need to do.’ 
            ‘Late for Meg!’ Beth said.
            ‘Right,’ Amit said. ‘Childcare. We need to pick her up early today. We forgot.’
            They began to back away. ‘Stay in touch,’ Amit said, ‘and if you’ve got a story, bring it to us, my man!’
            ‘Yes, don’t be a stranger,’ Beth called, ‘and good luck with the book!’
            I watched them until they turned the corner, heading for the bus stop. Casually, I slipped off my backpack and wrestled the plant out of it. I placed it outside the front doors and walked away briskly.
 
***
 
Doctor Pym was looking at me expectantly. 
            ‘I got fired,’ I said, ‘and I turned down the offer to go and work with some friends of mine, who’d also been fired, then I phoned my girlfriend and told her about it.’
            ‘How did she take it?’
            ‘She was OK with it. She had some news of her own, as it happened, so I went to see her. She works at a hair salon. She’s the co-owner, actually, but the other owner stays in the background, so she manages it. Becky does, I mean. My fiancée.’  
            ‘Oh, so you’re engaged?’
            ‘Yes. Probably.’
            ‘Don’t you know?’
            ‘Well, I didn’t think it was official, but it is. Apparently.’ 
            ‘How long have you been together?’ 
            ‘About six months now.’
            Doctor Pym removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘And is everything all right with the relationship? Any stress there?’
            I considered the question. Was there stress? It depended on how you looked at it.
 
***
 
When I got to Becky’s salon, which was called Chase to the Cut, I could see her through the window. She was in the centre of a cluster of people who were laughing and drinking from champagne glasses.
            She saw me, and rushed out of the door and flung her arms around me ‘Robbeee!’ she shouted, and kissed me.
            When we came up for air, I said, ‘You seem happy.’
            ‘I am! I’m happy to see you!’ She kissed me again, more briefly. ‘And I’m happy because we’re in profit! Only a tiny bit, but we’re now officially out of debt!’
            ‘Congratulations,’ I said, and meant it.
            She became suddenly crestfallen. ‘But you poor thing, you’ve lost your job! I was so shocked when you phoned, but you hung up before I could get properly upset. I’m getting upset now, though, baby. Come here.’ She enfolded me in a hug.
            ‘It’s OK, it’s all good,’ I said, mostly into her hair.
            She released me and gazed into my eyes. Hers were brimming with tears. ‘Really? Or are you just saying that because you’re so brave, lovely Robbie?’
            ‘Seriously. It’s helped my think about everything, and I’ve made a couple of decisions.’
            She smiled. ‘What decisions?’
            ‘I’m going to write my novel.’
            Her smile didn’t diminish, but it no longer reached her eyes. ‘Great!’ she said. ‘It’ll be brilliant, I know it will, and it won’t get in the way of you looking for proper work, so it’s perfect!’
            ‘Actually, writing a novel is proper work. It’s very hard work, in fact.’
            ‘Oh, I know. I just meant that you could still be looking for another job while you’re doing it, couldn’t you?’
            ‘We’ll see how it goes. But meanwhile I’ve been thinking about everything else we’ve been talking about.’
            ‘Moving in together! Yesss!’ She snaked her arms around my waist and pressed herself against me. ‘Then we won’t have anyone else around when we want to... you know...’ She began to lick my ear.
            I noticed that her colleagues inside the shop were now at the window, watching us. I disengaged myself gently. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘we need to be practical about this.’
            She made a serious face. ‘Absolutely. For a start we need at least two bedrooms.’
            ‘Oh, really?’ I said, smiling despite myself. ‘Why, do you think we should – ’
            ‘Yes! MAKE BABIEEEEES!’ 
            She flung herself at me again, and the people inside the shop started cheering.
 
***
 
I didn’t tell all this to the doctor. I was aware I’d been with her for nearly ten minutes, and I expected her to tell me soon that she needed to see her next patient.
            ‘I wouldn’t call it stress, exactly,’ I said, answering her last question. ‘I’d say it’s more like a challenge. Or a series of challenges, if you like.’
            She nodded. ‘Well, it’s good that you’re taking a positive attitude. Is it helping?’
            ‘No, not really.’
            ‘Why not, do you think?’
             ‘Well, at the beginning I really thought it could be perfect. I’d settle down with Becky, write my book and be a serious writer. But then the insomnia started. I think part of the problem is that I’ve been living at my mother’s place ever since my dad died, about a year ago, and I’m still there. She was lonely at first, and it meant I could save on rent if I moved back in with her, so it seemed like a good solution for both of us, but now she’s kind of... moved on.’
            ‘In what way?’
            I examined my shoes, and adjusted their position on the floor. ‘She brings men back. Only two, actually, but the second one has visited a few times now. She’s only sixty, and I know I shouldn’t mind, but there’s something about being in my old room, with the little desk, and some of my old things pushed into the corners, and my old posters on the walls, and my old toys jammed into one of the cupboards, and I’m sitting there in the evening, trying to write, and she comes upstairs with this man – Barry – and they’re usually a bit tipsy, and she knocks on the door and peeps into my room, and he’s looming behind her, probably groping her, and she asks how it’s going, and he chips in with some lame joke about writing, and then she says goodnight, and tells me they’ll try not to make too much noise, and Barry winks at me, and that’s when I kind of shrink, and my blood runs hot and cold, because it makes me acutely aware of them being a few feet away, in her bedroom, and what they’re actually doing in there, and I can’t stop thinking about it, and I can’t write a fucking word. Sorry.’
            ‘That’s all right. Tell my, why don’t you take the posters down?’
            I frowned. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’
            ‘I don’t know. It might help, though, not to be reminded of your childhood when you’re trying to come to terms with your mother’s perfectly natural libido.’
            I flinched at the word libido, and tried to expel it from my mind. ‘I suppose I could try it,’ I said. ‘Nothing else seems to be working.’
            She gave a long, loud sigh. ‘Oh, shit,’ she murmured.
            ‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ I said. ‘You’re doing your best.’
            ‘No, it’s just that I have the same problem.’ She took off her glasses again, and rubbed her eyes. ‘I’m exhausted all the time.’ 
            ‘Have you tried yoga or meditation?’
            ‘I tried meditation,’ she said, ‘but it’s so boring.’
            ‘Isn’t that the point, though?’ 
            ‘Have you tried it?’
            ‘No. I went to a yoga class, but everyone seemed very grumpy. And I got embarrassed because everyone was better than me.’
            ‘You should try a beginner’s class.’
            ‘It was a beginner’s class.’
            She nodded, and gazed at me in silence. ‘So,’ she said finally ‘what can I do for you? What do you have in mind?’
            ‘I don’t know. You asked to see me. The surgery did.’
            ‘Did we?’
            ‘I got a text asking me to come in. I assumed there were some tests or something.’
            Suddenly she sat up. ‘Of course!’ She frowned at the mess on her desk and plucked a document from it. ‘Sorry, yes, it’s about this.’ She cast her eye over the two stapled pages in her hand. ‘It’s a new study. They’re looking for sleep research subjects. It’s backed by the government. Volunteers wanted... all aspects of sleep disorder... residential... thirty days, out in the country, and they pay – holy shit. Six thousand pounds. That’s not bad for a month in the country, is it?’
            ‘Six thousand? When does it start?’
            ‘Tomorrow.’
            ‘Damn.’
            ‘No good?’
            ‘I can’t go away for a month right now. I’m meant to be finding a flat with Becky, so it’s really bad timing. And very short notice.’
            ‘I’m sorry about that. I think it’s been here for a couple of weeks, but it must have got overlooked when Doctor Francis went away.’    
            ‘It’s kind of ironic,’ I said, ‘because that is exactly what my novel is about, as it happens: those crucial moments in life when a pathway seems to bifurcate ahead of us, and even though we think it’s fate that decides which turning we take, in fact there’s a profound metaphysical dynamic of – ’
            ‘Sorry,’ she said, springing to her feet, ‘it sounds fascinating, but I really must see my next patient.’ She strode to the door and opened it for me. ‘If you change your mind about the research project,’ she said, ‘let me know before six o’clock.’ She laughed. ‘I’m tempted to take up the offer myself! Goodbye, Rob.’

 

​