The Sleeper (12 page)

I smile. ‘My London shoes. I’ll change into boots.’

‘That’s the way. How are you feeling? What would you like to do today?’

I try not to wince as I give the answer Sam deserves.

‘I would like to do whatever you want to do. Shall we go out somewhere?’ I turn and look back at the view of Falmouth behind us. The sky is grey, but pale grey; the sun is trying to break through. ‘It might be a nice day. We should go for a long walk or something.’

‘Yes.’ Sam is happy. ‘We should. Really give you a blast of Cornwall. Do you fancy that? Really? How about Zennor?’

‘Zennor would be gorgeous. I just need some coffee and I’ll be fine.’

I force myself to walk on the cliff path. As we go, I decide I should tell him about Guy. If I admit it, confess everything and say how sorry I am, perhaps it will all go away. Sam is, after all, my best friend. My telling him, at this point, will stop me from ever doing it again. In future I can stay in my cabin and ignore Guy when I see him, and everything will be fine. I know that I need to tell him.

It twists inside me. I am having to concentrate, as I walk under slatey skies, because I could so easily stumble in my exhaustion. At some points it would only take a small misstep to send me tumbling off the cliff. There are not many places where that could happen, but where they exist they are terrifying and magnetic in equal measure.

‘Sam,’ I shout, on the wind, to his back. Seagulls are circling us, squawking.

‘Yeah?’

His back is wide and reassuring. He is shorter than Guy, but broader, like a rugby player.

‘Look,’ I shout. ‘There’s something I need to tell you. It’s …’ I take a breath and force myself to keep speaking, but even as I say the words I know I cannot do this. I am not brave enough to tell him. I cannot bear to inflict the suffering on him, but mainly I don’t have the courage. ‘It’s not going to be easy. Sam, Olivia’s pregnant.’

I did not tell him this on the phone, worrying that he would be more upset by it even than I was, and he is. He slows his pace while I tell the story of the showdown in Pizza Express to his back, through the wind. He does not react as I yell: ‘I don’t think Dad has spoken to her since. And then that of course makes me feel sorry for her. I know she didn’t do it deliberately.’

‘Maybe she did. Maybe she didn’t.’

He turns to wait for me, puts two heavy arms around my shoulders and pulls me towards him. When he kisses the top of my head, I lean into him, hating myself.

‘Why didn’t you tell me, Lara? Why didn’t you tell me on the phone?’

‘I didn’t want to say it. I just moved most of my stuff out and spent a night in a hotel and came home.’

‘Maybe you should stay home. Knock the London thing on the head.’

‘I’ve got a contract. I can’t walk out of work at this point, Sam. I really can’t. But I’ll find a more sensible place to live. Maybe I could even go to Mum and Dad’s. It might not be the end of the world.’

I expect him to scoff at this, but oddly he doesn’t. Sam has never got on with my parents, because in my father’s eyes no man could ever have been good enough for me. The acceptable son-in-law does not exist.

We stare out at the sea. The waves are black, uncompromising. The water rises and falls like a creature breathing.

‘Maybe you should,’ he says. ‘It wouldn’t cost you anything. I’d like to know that people were looking after you.’

We carry on walking, barely talking, along the edge of the continent, over the cliffs, around boulders, down to coves and back up to clifftops.

The clouds become blacker, and then they cover the sun entirely. An ominous wind blows off the sea, pulling strands of hair out of place and blowing them around my face.

Sam stops.

‘It’s going to rain,’ he shouts. ‘We should head back.’

I feel the exhaustion seeping through me, and with a huge effort I fend it off and turn round.

The first drops fall on us a couple of minutes later. It is impossible to hurry, because parts of the path are made so treacherous that one wrong step on mud could send you hurtling to certain death. I want to grab Sam’s hand, but the path is not wide enough for us to walk side by side.

By the time we get to the cove, we are soaked. My hair is clinging to my face, and all my hairpins have been washed away. A couple are in my pocket, the rest left as unobtrusive litter on the cliffs. The climb down here was steep, and the climb up for the section of the path that will take us to the car is going to be horrible. We stop and stare out at the water. I wonder how long we have been walking. It feels like hours. I hope it was only twenty minutes or so.

The sea is heaving ominously, breaking with showers of white spray. The dark sky throws water on us. I reach for Sam’s hand, and we run to the foot of the cliff at the edge of the beach, where an overhanging rock provides the smallest possible amount of shelter.

‘This is interesting,’ I shout through the storm.

Sam pulls me close to him. I lean into his familiar bulk.

‘It’s mad,’ he shouts back. ‘This was not meant to happen.’

He looks into my eyes, and I force a laugh, to go with his. We stand and stare at the sheets of rain pounding the sand, leaving pockmarks all over it. The water is wild. The wind blows a huge piece of driftwood across the beach. I hear thunder.

‘We can’t just stand here in the storm,’ Sam decides. ‘We can make it back to the car, if we’re careful.’

I want to stay here and watch nature battering everything.

‘OK,’ I agree, and I follow him, running across the sodden sand and starting our nervous ascent to the clifftops.

Sam starts the car engine and moves the heating dial around to its hottest setting. I find one of his jumpers on the back seat, and use it to wipe my face and hair, then pass it to him.

‘That was oddly fun,’ I say, watching him clear his ears with a jumper-wrapped finger.

‘In a way, yes it was,’ he agrees. ‘Now it’s over. My jeans feel disgusting.’

‘Mine too.’

He starts the engine. ‘Let’s get home, then. You look tired, darling. Get some sleep if you can.’

I nod, pathetically grateful. Despite my rain-drenched clothing, despite the caffeine and adrenaline cocktail that was meant to keep me awake all day, I feel my eyes closing the moment I lean my head against Sam’s damp old jumper on the window. I doze all the way home, my sleep punctuated by disconcerting dreams in which Sam and Guy change places and become one composite person.

chapter nine

At seven o’clock on Monday morning, just as I think I have managed the journey competently and am setting out to immerse myself in London, Guy catches up with me. Paddington is alive with the focused bustle of early commuters, and I am trying to make my way to the Tube when I hear him call my name.

I consider running to the Underground station. The moment I am on a train, he will have lost me. Instead I turn around.

‘Lara.’ I cannot read his expression.

My reaction to the sight of him is a huge betrayal. Everything I have been telling myself all weekend is suddenly and horribly overshadowed by the most outrageous blast of physical desire.

‘Hey, are you OK? I was hoping to see you last night.’

I pull myself together and hope that I am arranging my features into a sensible and cool expression. I must be dignified, must not allow him to see my longing.

‘Sorry. I just … I couldn’t see you, Guy.’ The station is never as busy, early in the morning, as you would expect it to be, but all the same I am aware that people are walking past us, every one of them as purposeful as you have to be if you are on a major train station early on a Monday morning. We stand still, slightly too close together, and the world moves around us.

Everything about his face works. He reminds me of a man from long ago. Guy feels safe. I can say anything to him. I push away the knowledge that he is married and transparently eager to cheat on his wife.

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘It shouldn’t have happened – that goes without saying. Neither of us is in a position to get involved in this sort of thing … But we’re friends, aren’t we? Please don’t avoid me, Lara. It will never happen again. All right? We can go back to the way things used to be. We’ll never be together without Ellen. She can be our chaperone. That way we’ll be sure to be safe.’ He puts a hand on my arm, and without meaning to, I mirror his gesture and touch him back. Instantly I regret it, and I pull my hand away, then try to smile at how awkward that move must have been.

‘Lara. I’m very fond of you, you know. I look forward to seeing you, every week. We both got carried away after too many drinks. Let’s just continue being friends, yes?’

I nod. ‘OK.’

‘Good. Well, I’ll let you get going, but I’ll see you on Friday, OK? No worrying. No complications.’

‘Thanks. Have a good week, Guy.’

‘You too.’

We both hesitate. I wonder whether he, like me, is considering a goodbye kiss. I decide quickly that it would be too dangerous, so I turn, raise my hand and walk off, through the station, towards the Tube. I want to look back, but I force myself not to.

On Friday morning, I check out of the hotel and take my pull-along bag to work. All through the day, which I spend brightly on the phone to councillors, flattering them in advance of the planning permission decision, I try not to think about him. I am bad. I will not do it. My behaviour makes me feel sick. I do not want to be this sort of person. Years ago, I pulled myself away from being that sort of person.

The day passes slowly. The councillors wield their power, making me squirm.

I arrive at the station having convinced myself. The rainy walk I had with Sam last weekend was lovely, and I am pleased to be on my way back to Cornwall. He texts as I am going up the escalator on to the concourse at Paddington:
How about a trip to the Lizard this time? Kynance Cove? Come home soon and safely xxxxx.
I reply with as much warmth and enthusiasm as it is possible to cram into a text message, and head to the lounge, my stomach flipping treacherously.

Guy arrives in the lounge earlier than he usually does. Ellen comes in just after him, and I wonder whether he has somehow contrived to arrive with her as a chaperone, as he said. We drink fizzy water and eat biscuits, just because both of them are there, and free. We talk inconsequentially about our days, and compare notes about the upcoming weekend, and I am happy. I am doing well.

On the train we carry on, drinking our usual gin and tonics, eating the free crisps they unexpectedly give us, and being entirely proper. I manage to manipulate the seating so that Ellen is by the window, with me next to her and Guy opposite her. This puts us as far from each other as it is possible to be. Even after two drinks, I am successfully quelling my yearning, learning from my mistakes and being the sensible married woman I am.

The little voice that protests, that forces me to seek eye contact with Guy and then to look away, that persistently remembers sensations from this time last week, is irritating, but I override it. I am better than that.

‘Right,’ I tell them both, after two drinks. ‘Sorry to quit so early, but I’m knackered. I’m going to bed. See you on Sunday.’

‘We
will
see you on Sunday, won’t we, Lara?’ asks Ellen. ‘Last week you didn’t come out to play.’

‘Sorry.’ I avoid Guy’s eyes. ‘It was a tough weekend. I never really caught up with myself. I needed to crash out.’

She nods and pushes her curly hair back from her face. ‘Fair enough. We’ve all had weekends like that. Well, sleep well and see you soon, sweetie.’

I do all the normal things. I am in my pyjamas, in my bed, staring at the ceiling and refusing to address the longing that is close to overriding everything. I am doing the right thing: I’m going back to Sam. To do anything else would be horrendous. It would be unthinkable.

It is not quite unthinkable, because if it were, I would not be thinking about it so hard.

The gentle knock on my door takes me by surprise; I have been longing for it and dreading it in equal measure.

I stand up, suddenly shaky, and open the door a fraction.

‘Guy,’ I say. He comes in, and I close the door behind him. Then I lock it. I look at him. His black hair is sticking up: it looks as though he has been running his fingers through it. I want to reach out and stroke it back into place, but I do not.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, his voice quiet. ‘I shouldn’t be here. I wasn’t going to do this. Yet somehow I couldn’t bear not to.’

‘I was trying to do the right thing. I’ve been desperately hoping you’d turn up. How did you know where to find me? You didn’t ask anyone, did you?’

He laughs. ‘Of course not. Just looked at your reservation when we were in the waiting room.’

‘The great detective!’

‘Elementary deduction was required. Have you really been hoping I’d come? I wasn’t going to. But I had to, even if it was just to talk, because I wanted to see you, Lara. I’ve been so on edge tonight. God knows what Ellen makes of it. I bet she has an idea.’

‘She’s not stupid.’

We stand and look into one another’s eyes, and the atmosphere between us changes. My body betrays me with its response to him. It prepares itself with alacrity for what it hopes is coming. I feel myself soften, all the way through.

I am phenomenally physically attracted to Guy. Now, as I stand in front of him, touching him is the only thing that matters. I do not think about Sam. I am incapable of considering anything but the man before me, and how very desperately I want him. I want him obsessively, and all of a sudden I love that.

I step forward, put both my arms around his neck and draw him towards me. We are kissing, then pulling at each other’s clothes. This cabin was not built for sex, but that does not matter. He sits on the narrow bed, and I am straddling him. I undo his belt. He slides a hand inside my knickers, and I stand up for long enough to take them off, then sit down on him. I kiss him again. We are fumbling like teenagers.

We realise at the same time, and pull away from each other.

‘I, er, don’t suppose,’ Guy asks, his mouth twitching, ‘that you brought a condom?’