Emily Barr - The Sleeper

‘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.