Page 89 of My Year of Saying No
‘Yes, to all the above. But I’m still not taking your bed.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’d be rude.’
‘No, it wouldn’t,’ I said, sitting down next to him and bouncing slightly on the sofa as though I was testing out a mattress in that completely pointless way that everyone, including myself, has done while shopping for one.
‘Yes, it would. Plus I’m far more used to sleeping in different situations than you, and can pretty much sleep anywhere.’
I thought about that. ‘I’m pretty sure I could do that too. And I’ve fallen asleep on here plenty of times.’
‘Not the point,’ Seb said, gently nudging me out of the way with his hip. ‘You’re not sleeping here. I’ve claimed it.’
Now stood, I looked back down at him. ‘It’s my house. My rules.’
His grin was wide. ‘Nope.’
‘You’re impossible,’ I huffed.
‘Quite probably,’ he replied, leaning back and swinging his legs up on to the sofa, Both hung over the end.
‘Oh, Seb! Look. You can’t sleep like that.’
He caught my hand. ‘Will you stop fussing and go to bed?’
‘But you—’
‘I generally don’t sleep like a laid out corpse, so you’re worrying about nothing. Plus, this is coming off in a minute, so I’m already a little more… compact.’ He winked at me, as he tapped his artificial leg.
‘That’s not funny.’
‘It’s kind of funny.’
‘You have a weird sense of humour.’
He gave a head wobble. ‘Admittedly, there’s probably a little more darkness than there used to be, but that’s often part and parcel of the life I had. Most branches of the armed forces can have a pretty dark sense of humour at times.’
‘I guess I can see how that would develop.’ A huge yawn enveloped the last word.
‘Go to bed, you.’
‘OK. I can see I’m on a losing streak here.’
‘You are.’ He reached out, catching my hand. ‘But don’t think I don’t appreciate the thought behind it all.’
I bent and hugged him, wished him a goodnight and pottered off to my room.
Ten minutes later, I was just dragging myself into bed when I realised I’d forgotten my glass of water. Damn. I pulled my dressing gown on and padded to my door. Cracking it open a little, I listened for movement. Hearing none, I stuck my head through and listened again. Still nothing.
I pulled the door open and tiptoed through. The living room was shrouded in darkness, the street lights outside having now turned off for the night, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Misjudging the corner of the hallway, I stubbed my little toe on the skirting. The tiniest of noises escaped from my lips – which was actually pretty good going considering how much it bloody hurt – and I crouched, squishing my toes in my hand to try and ease the pain.
‘Let it out. It’ll make you feel better.’ His voice, low and gravelly with a hint of sleep, drifted around me.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.’
‘I wasn’t asleep yet. You all right?’
‘Hmm.’
