Emily Barr - The Sleeper

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?’