The Sleeper (35 page)

I had texted Alex my apologies, and before I left I posted him the diary. I had not been able to bear, so far, to talk to him. When he had read Lara’s story, he would know why I was here.

Lara had sent Jake to prison. He would have come to get her. I could imagine him getting on the night train and killing Guy to set Lara up. She had known something was coming; she must have done, or she would not have taken the precaution of stealing my passport.

What, I asked myself, was I planning to do? Wander around Bangkok with an old photo of him printed off a computer, and ask anyone who looked a little dodgy if they had seen him lately? Amiably stalk a psychotic druggy killer, all on my own? Walk up and down the fabled Khao San Road staring at everyone in case they were Lara? I had not thought this plan through and it was stupid.

Coming here had been a grand and futile gesture, and it was solely serving to remind me that I was not up to this kind of thing. I never had been one for adventures, not even back when Laurie was alive and I was happy. This was beyond me.

I had booked a random guest house. It was quite expensive, so I thought it ought to be nice enough. The outside was painted pale green, and as soon as I walked through the plastic front door, the air conditioning attacked me with the force of a cold shower. The hairs on my arms instantly stood up on end, and I shivered.

This place, this city, this continent: it was not for me. I thought of Lara’s description of strolling along, making eye contact with a handsome Australian and becoming an excellent drug smuggler. It was so unimaginable that it was almost funny. Lara had been so much better than me at everything. She had effortlessly hooked up with a gorgeous, unattainable man on the train. She had stolen my passport in the coolest possible manner. She had loved Asia so much she wanted to make money in one part of it and then retreat to the mountains in another. I would never actually have been interesting enough to be friends with her. I was built for a small life.

The room was small and basic, but it had a tiny bathroom attached, and its door locked, and there were both an air-conditioning unit and a ceiling fan. It was a good place for waiting around in; this was a hiding place. I sat down on the bed, which had a thin, hard mattress that was probably good for backs, and tried to tell myself to be brave.

This was ridiculous. I was paralysed. All I could do was blank it out, by reading the book I’d bought at the airport. It was a literary thriller and I did not take in a word of it. Every muscle in my body was tense.

In the end I called Leon. He answered after half a ring: ‘Iris!’

‘Hi, Leon.’

I could hear how expectant he was, across the world, and I hated the fact that I was going to disappoint him. I said nothing.

‘You’ve arrived safely?’ he checked, in the end.

‘Yes, thanks. It’s quite a …’

‘A culture shock?’

‘A huge one. Oh God, I’m not sure I’m up to this.’

‘No, you can do it. Try her email and all her social networking accounts again. Tell her you’re here. Don’t mention anyone else or you’ll scare her. Make sure you say it’s just you. No Olivia, no Sam, no policeman, no me. Don’t write Jake’s name down in case that scares her. Keep it simple. Make it just about you and her.’

I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me.

‘OK,’ I managed to say.

‘And Iris? Have you seen half the idiots who go to Thailand from round here? If they can manage it, then believe me, my dear, you can. All right? Get out there. Go to that Khao San Road place and walk around. Or look at a temple or something. You’ll acclimatise.’

I took a deep breath. ‘You’re right. OK, I’ll give it a go.’

‘Keep in touch. You’re doing a great job. I’m at the end of the phone any time at all. Day or night.’

I would never get used to the heat: I knew that for certain. I was made for London clouds and Cornish drizzle. All the same, once I had changed into a loose skirt and a T-shirt, regretting not thinking about footwear when I’d packed, I felt a little more ready for it. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, instantly making myself feel like a style-free twelve-year-old, and cursed myself for still not getting around to having that long-overdue haircut.

Then, with my biker boots incongruously on my feet, I set off in search of sandals. It was good to have something to aim for.

The pavements were uneven, the air as solid a wall of heat and unfamiliar scent as it was before, and there was not even the shadow of the gentlest of breezes. My feet were sticky and sweaty. I knew the area I wanted: the famous Khao San Road that Lara had written about in her diary, that even I had heard of as the backpacker centre of South East Asia, was a few blocks away. I knew I would get there and find some shoes to buy. I did not know anything else.

It was the afternoon. The evening, and the next day, and days beyond that stretched ahead of me. When I lived in Budock with just my cats and a ghost for company, I had been a lot less lonely than this. And yet I was in Thailand, and everyone knew that was heaven.

I was getting closer to the backpacker nirvana. I could tell because there were a lot more white people about. They were alien to me, and I wanted to hide from every one of them. When I saw a shoe shop with its door wide open, I decided to be brave.

It was staffed by a chubby man who smiled broadly at my approach. He must have been baking in his formal shirt and woollen tank top, but he didn’t look it.

‘You’d like some shoes,’ he surmised, then looked at my feet. ‘Oh, my word! You
need
some shoes.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘I forgot about shoes.’

‘We’ll find you some sandals. When you wear them you will find them so marvellous that you will never buy shoes from any other shop again.’

I imagined myself flying all the way over here every time I needed some shoes.

‘Maybe,’ I agreed.

‘You tell your friends: the best shoes are at the top of Khao San.’

‘I’ll tell my friends,’ I echoed, wondering what this man would say if I told him how few friends I had: a woman widely suspected of murder, who had stolen my identity; a policeman who’d kissed me despite being aware of my alarming delusions; a dead boyfriend who had now evaporated; and a City trader in his sixties who was the only person I was speaking to. ‘Yes,’ I added. ‘I’ll tell them all.’

I left the shop wearing a pair of comfortable sandals that let the air, which suddenly felt fresh and clean, soothe my hot and smelly feet with every step I took. I decided to go and buy a cup of coffee. I would set myself one goal at a time. Once I was sitting down with a drink, I would switch my phone back on, and do things with it.

The infamous Khao San Road, the place in which Lara had met Jake, and where, perhaps, either one of them might be hiding out right now, was not at all the way I had pictured it. In my head it was grubby and intimidating, packed with terrifying drugs casualties and smugglers, with the insane and the cool and the confident looming out of the gloom at me. I had pictured a place in which I would stand out as naïve and foreign and a target for all sorts of sinister characters.

This, however, was just another street. There were food stalls at the top, and I bought a bag of pineapple slices on an impulse, and walked along letting the juice drip down my chin. The street was lined with shops, many of them clothes stalls, and with cafés and guest houses and proper shops with doors on them. There was the tiniest of warm breezes, and I turned my face into it, in gratitude.

A middle-aged couple nodded at me as they passed. They both had grey hair cut sensibly short, and long shorts and Aertex T-shirts, and they looked like people who would go on sturdy walking holidays in the Swiss Alps, rather than backpackers slumming their way around Thailand. Two women of about my age were sitting at a table nearby, poring over a guidebook and making notes. They were dressed in vest tops and short skirts, and they could have been in Italy. I scanned the place for the freaks and the dropouts, but the best I could manage was a man with a long grey beard and darting eyes, and I had seen odder than him on the Tube. He was not Jake; at least, I assumed not. I did not have a clear photograph to go on. The chances of his being Jake were remote.

I chose a café with a strange thatched roof, and sat at a table beside the road.

Alex had emailed me five times. For the first time since I had run away from him, I forced myself to open one.

Iris
, his most recent said.
I went to your hotel. Not in a stalkerish way, but because I am so intensely worried about you. They said you’d checked out a few days ago. I called your house in Cornwall but of course there was no reply. I’m not sure what else to do. Have you dashed to Asia to look for Lara? Or are you hiding away from me in London? You don’t have to see me ever again, but could you please, I beg you, tell me that you’re safe. Otherwise I’m going to have to reach for my policeman’s hat and start to look for you properly.

I apologise again for everything that happened between us. I came on too strong. I recognise that. I was crass. I have no idea what I was thinking.

That’s all. Please look after yourself, and please, please tell me that you’re fine. Then you’ll never have to have anything to do with me again.

Your friend, Alex

I swallowed hard. This was an email that needed a reply, and I forced myself to write it, typing out a stiff little response on my phone and sending it without reading it through.

I’m in Bangkok, not doing very well but I’ll be OK. Sorry for dashing off like that. It was mad of me. Anyway don’t worry. I’ll call you when I’m home. I’m perfectly safe. And Alex – I posted you something that will explain what I’m here for. I didn’t know where to send it so it’s gone to the Falmouth police station. You need to get it and read it. Thanks.

I regretted it the moment it was gone: none of the huge affection I was feeling for him came across in that reply. All the same, at least he knew I was safe, and he knew to check the post in Falmouth. I wrote another tweet to Lara’s account, though I knew she would be unlikely to respond. I told her I had money: unless she had gone back to her old ways, she could well be struggling for cash. Then I emailed her old email address, which I knew was futile because Alex had told me it was being monitored, and if she logged into it something would beep somewhere in a police station. Lara would not be that rash.

I left a pile of baht on the table and set off back towards my hotel, my unwanted boots in a carrier bag that cut into my wrist. I made a phone call as I went, booking myself on a flight back home. It was easily done, with my bank card.

I was on the corner, turning towards the guest house, when my new sandal flapped into a little hole in the tarmac and I tripped. Someone materialised in front of me and put out both hands to steady me. I stumbled, but regained my balance all on my own.

I looked up, embarrassed, and when I saw him, I closed my eyes.

‘No,’ I said. ‘No. Absolutely not.’

‘Hey, Iris,’ he said in his own, unmistakable voice. ‘Steady, OK?’

I shook my head.

‘No,’ I told him. ‘You’re not here. This is over.’

‘It’s nearly over.’

I turned away.

‘You’re in my head. You look better, though. I’m sorry I made you so pathetic by the end of it.’

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘That’s OK.’

I looked quickly at him, then away. He was different from the Laurie who had hung around the house in Budock. This one was like the real Laurie; this was how my partner had actually been. He was tall and strong, with glinting eyes and smooth soft skin, and he was dressed for Thailand in shorts that were exactly right, and a loose T-shirt, and flip-flops. I reached for him, then pulled my hand back. I wanted to keep the illusion, just for a little while.

‘You would have loved it here,’ I told him.

‘Of course I would! It’s Thailand! You’d be loving it too if you’d let yourself. And Iris?’

Something in his tone was scaring me.

‘Yes?’ I looked at him. His eyes were shining, and he was blinking hard.

‘Iris. You’re an idiot. You met someone. He’s a good guy. You’ll be happy with him. Tell him you’re sorry for being a twat and you’d love to see him again. Because you and me, we were great, but that barrier is insurmountable. You did your best to overcome the logistics, but even the great Ms Roebuck couldn’t keep it up, and you know what – I’m glad you couldn’t. It was no good for you at all, you idiot. I want you to be happy. You’ll find her, you know. She’s here. Look out for him.’

‘Laurie.’ There was so much I wanted to ask him about everything he had just said, but he was gone.

I sat on the pavement and cried until a tuk-tuk driver stopped to check on me. Then I went into the hotel and lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, planning.

chapter twenty-six

Lara

My finger hovers over the keyboard. Both my hands, held up and ready to type, are trembling. I have no idea what to do.

At first, I followed the plan: everything depended on my getting it right. At least I knew what to do. I made the plan for different circumstances. Never for a moment did I think Guy would be dead.

It hits me again. Guy is dead. The love of my life, the man I adored, is gone. His children have lost their father, his parents their son, his wife her husband. I have lost my future. And it happened because of me.

When I got here, I pictured myself as someone else, a puppet, skulking in the only city I thought I might be able to disappear into, escaping from the bad guy. That stopped working quickly. Now I have no idea. I’m on borrowed time. Something is going to have to change.

I scratch at my hairline. This thing is so hot. I hate it more every day but I don’t dare take it off. Even at night I have it on the pillow like a shredded octopus, ready for emergencies. It stops me going in the sea to cool off.

And now I have run out of money.

I would like to ignore her. She should not be a part of this: it has nothing to do with her at all. But I have to let her find me. I have no money, no peace, nothing at all. I have lost literally everything I had, everything I was. I am half feral.