My littlest one isn’t sleeping very well at the moment. And in those small hours of the morning while I’m stumbling around in the dark trying to find the errant dummy, I can’t help but think about the rumour of sleeping through the night. Surely not. Surely no-one could actually sleep for eight hours straight. Surely everyone gets woken up at regular intervals all night long. Just so they can stub their toes, fumble around in the darkness for a missing teddy or discover that the lid has come off the little one’s drink and their whole bed is soaked. Surely everyone has to change sheets in the middle of the night.
If I wasn’t so tired I could probably remember far enough back to know for definite. But such a dream must be just that. A rumour made up to tease the exhausted.
In the following extract from Braving Madness, Edward has slept about as badly as I have.
Edward stifled a groan and buried his head below his pillow. He only succeeded in grinding his face into the oaken floorboards, his stubble catching against the grain. Not his best idea.
It couldn’t be morning already. The blankets Wilkins provided had disguised the unyielding nature of the floor about as much as he’d expected. Sleep would have been impossible even without the gale like draft that had appeared the moment he’d put his head to his pillow.
“Lord Carrington, get off that floor immediately!”
Not a command he was used to hearing. He gave an experimental stretch. Every vertebra in his spine clicked. He let out a heart-felt sigh and tried not to think of the soft mattress only a few feet away.