Sleepless in the Square

Bloody Remi. During the night, Sophie would be aware of Remi banging on the dividing wall from her flat next door to Sophie’s. Sophie then would have to suffer the indignity of being whispered about and covertly pointed at should Remi catch sight of Sophie in the garden. Sophie, feeling awkward, would attempt a pleasant smile at her ‘warring’ next-door neighbour, but Remi’s face would freeze, horror-struck that Sophie would try to acknowledge her.

Sophie could blame Remi and claim it was all her fault for this awkwardness. She could easily say: ‘what a shame Remi can’t sleep well at night, and all that banging on the wall is disturbing my night.’ She could, except she knew this wasn’t strictly true. It didn’t matter who was to blame - the fact was - there was a problem.

Sophie and Remi lived in a Square near Buckingham Palace in Central London. To get a flat in the Square, residents had to be recommended by their employers to the Square’s Executive Board to ensure they were the “right kind of person” to live there. The Square’s residents comprised mainly high-ranking personnel who liaised closely with the Government and included high-ranking naval, army and air force officers aligned with the War Office, MI5, MI6 or the Secret Service. At one time, the Square had even boasted a Senior Member of the Royal Family residing there. The vetting ensured that they were potentially not terrorists, had full-time jobs, were employed in well-paid jobs based within the Central London area and living in the Square would allow them to get to ‘essential’ jobs and pay the rent.

What the Board didn’t vet and may not have had the means to investigate was checking on anyone suffering from mild mental disturbances. Sophie had assumed to work, or be in charge of, any of the headquarters of crucial services required to run a complex, advanced country; one would have thought that the Square might do a bit of checking on the mental health of its residents! One famous High Court Judge had only recently committed suicide by throwing himself from the roof of the building.

A few years before moving into the Square, Sophie had been an active alcoholic. She worked full-time for a Global Accountancy Head Office, but it was only when Sophie transferred to London and moved into the posh, centrally based Square did it become apparent that Sophie had a problem with alcohol. In her Company Headquarters, employees were expected to work long, efficient hours, and she knew it could not take long for her alcoholic behaviour to rob her of the well-paid, prestigious job and posh flat in the Square. A near neighbour in the Square called Michelle became Sophie’s friend and surprised her by confiding that not only was she in Alcoholics Anonymous, but half of the Square was also. Michelle quickly identified that Sophie had an alcohol problem and was lonely and desperate for a boyfriend. She persuaded Sophie to attend AA by telling her that only handsome, wealthy men went to AA, and they were all waiting for someone as pretty and charismatic as Sophie to walk in through the door. Sophie couldn’t believe her luck and nearly broke her neck to get to her first AA meeting to claim her handsome, wealthy alcoholic man before anyone else kidnapped him.

Sophie had never been to an AA meeting and was thrilled that the men were handsome, extremely well dressed, charming and could have easily been auditioning to play a stand-in for Cary Grant. She was aware of the overpowering smell of clean, expensive suits and shirts, all overlayed with luxurious masculine perfumes. Every glorious man sported beautifully styled and brushed hair; that could have given George Clooney a run for his money. This was worth giving up alcohol for.

At 7.30 a.m., when the meeting started, these anonymous “Captains of Industry” or “Heads of Security” shared portions of their lurid histories detailing years of active alcoholism. Following a few seconds of polite silence, the room would suddenly erupt with a roar of loud, uncontrollable laughter. Sophie would find herself hanging on to strangers’ arms whilst doubled-over with unrestrained belly-laughs. Could it only be 7.30 a.m.? Sophie thought it strange that every story, although being placed in a different year, entirely different location, and centring on strangers and their antics, contained the same basic facts of Sophie’s past life (and, it seemed, everyone else sitting in the room), which seemed to encourage the great hoots of laughter. They all had total empathy for each other.

Sophie went every day to a meeting, waiting to hear her particular problem shared by someone, hoping that she might face the problem and join in the loud hoots. But Sophie couldn’t share her pain as she honestly felt she would leave the room crying, not laughing.

This was Sophie’s problem. During a typical 12-hour working day, having experienced a truly exhausting but deeply unsatisfying day, Sophie would enter her flat, make a poor dinner, tidy up, fall into bed and immediately fall asleep for precisely two hours, no more, no less. After two hours, her screams would wake her as she seemed to fly from the bed, through the air and land with a resounding thump on the floor, heart thumping as if it would burst through her chest, and yet strangely not be fully awake. She would clamber back into bed, gently moaning to comfort herself. Within a comparatively short time, Sophie would re-enact the whole performance again. She could do this most nights, falling like a sack of potatoes from her bed at least eight times on a good night. On a bad night, she would try desperately to wake up and not go back to bed because it was just a waste of time. This had been happening long before she had ever lived in the Square, and she had now been in the Square for at least eleven years. 

Remi, who had always been her next-door neighbour, decided at some stage that enough was enough and began her nightly ritual of banging on the dividing wall and screaming at Sophie to shut up. Strangely Sophie had found this helpful as it seemed to wake her up properly and save her the heavy thump as she crash-landed onto the hard, carpet-covered, concrete floor. Sophie always promised herself that one day she must thank Remi for waking her up, and a feeling of warmth and camaraderie would flood her veins. Good old Remi.

However, as the seasons followed, Sophie’s night terrors didn’t improve. Remi continued to bang and shout in that friendly, neighbourly way, and Sophie continued to whisper ‘thanks’ under her breath as she painfully crawled back under the sheets. Sophie finally bumped into Remi in the garden and was about to introduce herself when she noticed Remi’s frozen, angry face and negative body language. Remi was not friendly. Could it be that all that banging and shouting were not out of kindness and compassion for her next-door neighbour having a few problems with her sleep?

One evening Sophie got home from work exhausted and dreading the attempt at sleep. She desperately needed a night’s sleep. She needed Remi to leave her alone and stop constantly banging on the dividing wall between the two flats. As Sophie walked into the flat, she saw a handwritten note that had been pushed under the door. She picked up the note from Remi. 

“I am going to have to report you to the management. The excessive noise of you entertaining men in your flat keeps me awake night in, night out. If you are running a ‘night service’, can I suggest you take your men to a hotel?

Please be aware that if I report you to the management, you will be required to leave immediately.

Remi”

Ah, now Sophie understood the banging and yelling on the wall. Quite how poor Remi thought Sophie was entertaining male customers night after night initially made Sophie start to giggle. It must have been obvious there was no prior conversation, no sound of money changing hands, apparently, only the sound of very rough sex, which kept ending up with the two (or three? or four?) of them landing with a thump on the floor, clambering back in bed and starting again. Wow, where did Remi think Sophie got the energy from?

She attempted to explain matters to Remi, but it turned out that Remi was a furious woman and had had enough of all the disturbances. It was challenging to get Remi to understand there were no men, and she made it clear she wanted Sophie to move as far away as possible. Frankly, things were not too good for Remi as well, with long working days and very little sleep each night, she longed for Sophie never to be seen or heard again. 

Ultimately, it turned out that Remi’s threat to evict Sophie had done both of them a big favour. Sophie dragged herself to the doctor, who possessed a large bulky medical file on her as she had sought help for her ‘sleeping problems’ for years. The doctor was finally spurred into action as it was obvious that the nocturnal issues were not improving, and his patient could now lose her flat and, from there, probably lose her job, and then things would spiral rapidly downhill. It was clear something had to be done. With the Doctor pushing for an urgent appointment, Sophie was quickly booked into the local Sleep Disorder Clinic for an overnight stay to be observed. 

The preparation for a night’s sleep consisted of being wired up to a polysomnogram; the 22 wire attachments were stuck on her head, arms, legs, and chest. A TV screen was linked to the wire attachments, and a technician observed her all night. As Sophie lay in her narrow clinic bed, she felt comforted that at least Remi would get a good night’s sleep, although she, with her 22 wire attachments, was unlikely even to doze off! 

The next thing Sophie knew, she was being shaken by a nurse and told it was time to get up! What? No falling, no screaming, no landing heavily and painfully on the floor?

‘One night in a clinic, and I’m completely cured’! Sophie squealed excitedly.

‘No’, said the nurse giggling, ‘This often happens in sleep clinics - because patients know they are being observed, they frequently sleep - but not deeply or satisfactorily. So no, not cured.’

The doctor speaking afterwards to Sophie explained she had been experiencing ‘fight or flight mode’ all night long. Despite not falling out of bed, the polysomnogram detected she had not experienced a restful deep sleep. He was right; Sophie felt even worse than usual. She was led into a room, given a questionnaire to complete and left alone. She turned over the questionnaire, picked up a pen, nervously fingered the glass of water, and stared at the 25 questions.

Question 1. ‘Do you think you are ugly?’ yes/no.

Question 2: ‘Do you think people don’t like you?’ yes/no

In total, there were 25 similar questions. 

Were these the thoughts that were ruining her sleep each night? No wonder she was screaming and falling out of bed. She’d always been told by her mother that she was ugly but seeing it written as a question - it suddenly looked silly - and evidence told her, definitely not true. She looked at all the questions, took a deep breath, and, feeling rebellious, ticked the positive answer in each case. She knew that she wasn’t ugly. What had convinced her she was? 

Talking with the doctor after the questionnaire was completed, she asked what could be done to solve the sleep problem. He wondered how much alcohol she drank. She was surprised by the question and explained that she was a recovering alcoholic and no longer consumed.

‘Why, is the drinking related to my poor sleep patterns?.’

‘Look at the questionnaire - what do you think? Sleep disturbance is common with alcohol problems. Go deeper into your recovery program, and you could kick this’. 

Sophie looked at him suspiciously, and he smiled conspiratorially. 

The Doctor told her of his years of suffering alcohol abuse and sleep deprivation and had been advised to join AA. He changed his Major and began to work with sleep disorder patients and, amongst other things, had devised the questionnaire, which he suggested would continue to help Sophie, and explained how to use the questions.

As taught, Sophie worked on the 25 questions each day and worked on positive thoughts and answers. Slowly, over time, Sophie began to sleep longer and was surprised to find herself dreaming - pleasant, exciting and often quite complicated dreams which seemed to enhance the whole night’s sleep. Not all nights were without disturbance, but the disturbances became more and more spasmodic, and Sophie presumed that Remi was also sleeping.  

Sophie knew she had grown up with a hostile mother who had regularly told her how ashamed she was that Sophie was such an ugly child. Realising that such a traumatised childhood could have affected Sophie’s sleep for years and helped push her into alcoholism was a total revelation to her. She now felt less alone as it wasn’t just her struggling with these psychological problems; there were millions of sufferers who, if presented with the questionnaire, could not answer positively - but Sophie could.

It was now apparent that Sophie had to face her past to move on. 

Within a year, Remi and Sophie were finally parting company. Remi presumably had gotten used to many nights of peaceful slumber. Sophie was now packing and setting off for Asia, where she would work and live for many happy years and enjoy the experience of nights of deep, untroubled sleep.

As Sophie prepared to leave the Square, she wandered through the gardens for one last time. In the garden, Sophie observed a large-bosomed blousy woman, a face dominated by a gash of red, tarty lipstick, her large, well upholstered, springy bottom jammed into a too-tight skirt, which seemed to be trying to control the movements of her loose hips swinging from side to side. The woman carried a large suitcase and was clearly waiting to take over her new tenancy. Sophie was surprised as this wasn’t the usual tenant the Square attracted - quite honestly, she looked like a “lady of the night”. Sophie gave her ‘the once-over’ and started to giggle. She knew without any doubt that this was her flat replacement. As her taxi pulled away, Sophie felt sure she could almost hear the long, tortured groan from Remi’s flat.