Emily Barr - The Sleeper

The Sleeper

EMILY BARR

Copyright © 2013 Emily Barr

The right of Emily Barr to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

First published as an Ebook in 2013 by HEADLINE REVIEW

An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

eISBN: 978 0 7553 8801 1

HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

An Hachette UK Company

338 Euston Road

London NW1 3BH

www.headline.co.uk

www.hachette.co.uk

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

About the Author

Also By

Praise

About the Book

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Part One: Lara

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Part Two: Iris

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Part Three: Lara’s Diary

March 21st 1999...

Part Four: Thailand

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Epilogue

About the Author

Emily Barr is the well-loved and bestselling author of Backpack , the original backpacking novel, and many other highly acclaimed novels. A former journalist, she has travelled around the world and written columns and travel pieces for the Observer and the Guardian . After living in France, Emily and her husband (whom she met backpacking) settled in Cornwall with their three children. To learn more about Emily and her novels, you can visit her website www.emilybarr.com.

By Emily Barr

Backpack

Baggage

Cuban Heels

Atlantic Shift

Plan B

Out of my Depth

The Sisterhood

The Life You Want

The Perfect Lie

The First Wife

Stranded

The Sleeper

Praise for Emily Barr’s novels:

‘A characteristically dark-hued tale, with unexpected twists’ Guardian

‘Beautifully written with engaging, emotionally complex characters and a great plot. I couldn’t put it down’ Daily Mail

‘A real page-turner with a plot twist worthy of Lost ’ Cosmopolitan

‘Toothsome twists … a Daphne du Maurier vibe haunts the hinterlands of this unconventional page-turner’ Independent

‘Brilliantly written, tense and refreshing, you’ll devour this fantastic read’ Closer

‘This gripping novel will have you gasping in sympathy’ Company

‘A great read from start to finish … believable characters that are variously biting, insightful and sympathetic’ The Times

‘Barr has come up with the goods again: a buzzy, exciting work that refuses to bow to convention’ Sunday Express

‘We can’t praise Emily Barr’s novels enough; they’re fresh, original and hugely readable’ Glamour

‘Compelling’ Heat

‘Bright and breezy with a nasty little twist’ Mirror

About the Book

Lara Finch is living a lie.

Everyone thinks she has a happy life in Cornwall, married to the devoted Sam, but in fact she is desperately bored.

When she is offered a new job that involves commuting to London by sleeper train, she meets Guy and starts an illicit affair. But then Lara vanishes from the night train without a trace. Only her friend Iris disbelieves the official version of events, and sets out to find her.

For Iris, it is the start of a voyage that will take her further than she’s ever travelled and on to a trail of old crimes and dark secrets.

For Lara, it is the end of a journey that started a long time ago. A journey she must finish, before it destroys her…

For James, Gabe, Seb and Lottie, as always, with lots of love.

Acknowledgements

Huge thanks to an anonymous policeman (you know who you are) for invaluable help with police details, and to Amanda James for detailed advice on Lara’s property development role. Both of you put in a huge amount of time helping me, and any mistakes are mine.

Vanessa Farnell, thank you for once again coming on the research trip with me, and selflessly helping me research Koh Lanta and Krabi. Thank you to Steve and Ali Brooks in Singapore for spectacular hospitality.

Thanks are due to the people who keep me sane on a daily basis: Kerys Deavin, Jayne Kirkham, Bess Revell and many others, and to my children for reminding me constantly that there is life outside the book.

My local bookshop, the Falmouth Bookseller, is a constant support: thanks to Ron Johns and all his colleagues.

I have had enormous support while writing The Sleeper from Sherise Hobbs and all the team at Headline, and from my wonderful agent, Jonny Geller, and everyone else at Curtis Brown. Thank you.

prologue

January

She should have been back two hours ago.

A person could not disappear from a train in the middle of the night, but apparently she had. She got on at Paddington (as far as we knew), but she did not get off at Truro.

‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ I told him. My words hung in the air, improbable and trite. I cast around for an explanation. Once you discounted amnesia and sleepwalking, there were really only two, and neither of them would give her husband any comfort.

‘I hope so.’ His face was crumpled and his eyes seemed to have shrunk back under slightly hooded lids. Everything was sagging as, gradually, he stopped being able to pretend that she might be about to walk in through the door. His face was, somehow, at once both red and grey, patchy and uneven.

I had no idea what to do, and so, once again, I started to make coffee. He was looking at his phone, checking again for messages that might, somehow, have arrived by stealth, even though he had turned the volume right up and called it from the landline, just to see.

‘Next train in seven minutes,’ he reported. I set the coffee pot on the stove, lit the gas under it and left it. I opened a few cupboard doors, looking for something easy, something that he might eat without noticing it.

It was strange being in someone else’s kitchen, flung into what I feared was the very early stage of the total breakdown of the life of a man I didn’t even know. He was halfway off the cliff already, clinging on with his fingers to a flimsy clump of grass.

I put some custard creams on a plate.

The view from here was spectacular, but the only part of it either of us could focus on was the little station in the foreground. As a squeal of brakes announced the imminent arrival of the train, he was on his feet, hands pressed against the glass of the full-length window, staring. He would have forgiven her anything if she appeared now, walking around the end of the train, pulling a little case (I was sure she must have had a little pull-along case; people like her did). He would not have cared where she had been, what she had been doing, and with whom.