Emily Barr - The Sleeper

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?’

I laugh. ‘I wasn’t planning on this. It wasn’t even an outside possibility. I don’t walk round with condoms in my pocket.’

‘Neither do I. And despite the fact that I’ve turned up at your door like a cad, after you’d so graciously removed yourself from my company, I was not that well prepared.’

‘Maybe we can work around it?’ I say tentatively, and I kneel down on the floor in front of him. We cross so many lines that I soon forget all about my husband, and his wife, and everything apart from the movement of the train and the reality of Guy inside my mouth.

Later, much later, we squeeze together into the tiny train bed, both of us naked. I am on a high, and still so utterly in the moment that I do not feel even a momentary pang of guilt.

‘We really shouldn’t do this,’ I say, nuzzling into his neck. ‘I love the smell of you, by the way.’

‘Why thank you. I adore the smell of you. It drives me wild.’

‘Good.’ I smile and run my fingers through his chest hair. ‘What you did to me just then? It was …’ I stop, suddenly shy. ‘Well. You know what you’re doing. That’s all.’

‘It’s not me, Lara. It’s you. It’s us. Together we make it work like nothing else I’ve ever known.’

‘You have known it, though, really. Be realistic. You just haven’t had the excitement with someone new for a long time.’ Suddenly, I realise I am probably wrong. ‘What I mean is, I haven’t. You know I haven’t. You may well have done. I don’t mean to assume anything – if I’m one of a long line of conquests, that’s fair enough.’

‘Oh, Lara!’ He kisses the top of my head. ‘You’re not one of a long line. There’s no reason for me not to be entirely honest with you, though. I haven’t always been a great husband.’

‘That’s a euphemism for shagging around?’

‘It is indeed a euphemism for shagging. Not around. I’ve had a couple of flings over the years. I’m a bastard. My wife is a saint.’

‘Does she know, then?’ I suddenly imagine him telling her that a woman on the train gave him a blow job, and that he reciprocated with panache. The thought chills me. I feel myself tensing up, pulling away from him. His wife could track me down, turn up on my doorstep. She could tell Sam.