Down to Sleep

by M K Farrar

  It might not be him.

  But her mental warning didn’t stop the flicker of excitement sparking inside her.

  She opened the message.

  Hi. It’s Kyle from the car park. Coffee tomorrow at eleven? My treat.

  Natalie stared down at the message, chewing at a piece of dried skin on her lip. Did she really want to do this? Did she want to start something with a man who was clearly way out of her league and who would most likely only want friendship? She’d end up making a fool of herself and beating herself up for weeks and months to come.

  But then she remembered the excitement in Mina’s eyes. Someone who was from another country felt sorry for her. She couldn’t keep going on like this. Sometimes, it was important to take risks in life.

  Feeling spontaneous, and reckless, and a little wild, she texted him back. Hi, Kyle from the car park. How does The Coffee House suit you?

  It wasn’t too expensive there. She knew she would be able to afford to pay for her own coffee, if he decided it wasn’t going to be his treat, or if he didn’t show up and she’d already ordered.

  She held the phone in her hand, staring down at it, willing him to reply.

  It beeped.

  Perfect. See you there.

  “Natalie!” She jumped at Phil’s shout. “What did I say about being late?”

  A bubble of happiness swelled inside her.

  She didn’t even care about Phil telling her off.

  Chapter Three

  Natalie stood over the pile of clothes she’d spread out across her bed and stared down at them as though hoping the correct ensemble would just throw itself together.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d got dressed for a date.

  A date. Was that what this was? It seemed like such an old-fashioned thing to do. It wasn’t as though she’d never had boyfriends, though many of those had been drunken hook-ups that she’d quickly regretted. They’d tended to sit around drinking beer and cider in pubs, much like the one she now worked at, and would go back to someone’s flat where they continued with more beer, and normally a spliff or two. She wasn’t sure anyone had ever bought her dinner—certainly not anything more than a drink, which she’d normally have repaid on the next round anyway.

  In the end, she went for jeans and boots and a V-neck jumper in a pale pink, wanting to appear casual but classic. Her hair was having one of its crazy days where it refused to be tamed, no matter how much mousse she dragged through it, so she tied up the top half. It didn’t look too bad, though corkscrew curly wisps of hair escaped within minutes.

  Did she get her hair from her mother’s side or her father’s?

  Natalie did her best not to think about her birth family and why they’d given her up. Even when she became an adult and the possibility of searching for them came up, she didn’t want to. Deep down, she was sure finding out the truth about why they hadn’t wanted her would only reveal more bad things about her past—and perhaps even about herself—that she’d rather not know. What if she’d hurt someone before—a member of her birth family—and that was why they hadn’t wanted her? Or what if her mother had been unable to keep her because her mother was insane?

  Ignorance was bliss.

  Besides, if her birth parents were happy, and getting Natalie out of their lives for whatever reason had been good for them, she didn’t want to be the person to step back into their lives and ruin everything. She’d already destroyed one family. She didn’t think she could handle it if she wrecked a second.

  What about this man you’re going to meet now? Doesn’t he deserve to know what he’s getting himself into?

  Maybe. Maybe he’d understand, and tell her that she’d had no choice, and had done the right thing. But she could never take that risk. The possibility of her parents ever finding out the truth—not only about what had happened that day, but also the years of abuse that had gone on by their golden-child son, right under their nose—would destroy them.

  Even more anxious than usual, she caught the bus into the city centre. From there, she walked the five minutes it took to reach the coffee shop where they’d arranged to meet. All morning, she’d been checking her phone, expecting to receive a message from him to tell her he’d changed his mind, or something had come up, but, so far, she’d heard nothing. She’d even considered sending him one, making sure they were still on for today, but she hadn’t wanted to come across as too needy or demanding.

  Natalie reached the coffee shop and paused outside, her heart in her throat. This was so stupid. She hadn’t even been that interested in him. He was only a man, so why was she getting herself worked up? If he wasn’t there or didn’t show up, she’d sit and have a quiet coffee by herself. She’d even tucked a paperback in her handbag to read, just in case.

  She pushed open the door and spotted him immediately. He’d clearly been keeping an eye out for her, as he lifted his hand in a wave and half stood from the table where he’d been sitting.

  She smiled, her body heating from the inside, and prayed her face didn’t turn an unattractive beetroot. She wound her way between the tables until she reached him.

  “Natalie, hi. I’m so glad you came.”

  There was a moment where it was clear neither of them knew how to greet each other. He leaned in to kiss her cheek, while she stuck out a hand, and they ended in a strange part-kiss, part-hug, part-handshake, which only made her cheeks hotter.

  They both laughed awkwardly, and Kyle gestured to the seat on the other side of the table.

  “You look beautiful today,” he told her. “That pink really suits you.”

  “Oh, thanks.” She wasn’t used to being given compliments. “You look good, too.”

  He did. He was more casually dressed today in jeans and a t-shirt, but they both fitted him well. He really was an attractive man, and she sensed the gazes of other women, perhaps wondering what on earth he was doing having a date with her.

  “What do you want to drink?” he asked.

  “Oh, just a white coffee would be great, thanks.”

  “And cake?” he suggested. “We have to have cake.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “We do?”

  “Absolutely. What do you like?”

  “I like all cake. Chocolate? Carrot cake?”

  “How about I get one slice of chocolate cake and one slice of carrot cake, and then we share?”

  “I should warn you that I can get quite possessive over my food,” she said, but the teasing tone had come back into her voice. She was flirting with him. Who was this woman? She barely recognised herself

  “In which case, I’ll let you pick your favourite out of the two, and you can keep that one.”

  “Deal.”

  He vanished off to queue up at the counter and order for them. Natalie distracted herself with checking her phone to see if she had any messages—not that she thought she would—and tried to surreptitiously glance at the tall, dark-haired man who was now ordering. He must have sensed her gaze, as he glanced over his shoulder and caught her eye. He threw her a wink before turning back, and her heart flipped.

  She was in trouble.

  Kyle returned, as promised, with two slices of cake and their drinks on a tray. He offered her a fork. “Here you go. Taste them both and see which one you like best.”

  “You need to taste them both, too,” she protested. “You did buy them.”

  “Okay, then let’s see if we agree.”

  She picked up one of the small silver forks and dug into the slice of chocolate cake.

  His gaze drifted down to her mouth as she placed the tiny fork between her lips and tasted soft, moist sponge, and creamy, sweet buttercream.

  “Mmm, that’s good,” she said.

  He nodded to the second plate. “Now the other one.”

  She repeated the process with the carrot cake. “That’s good, too.”

  “But which one did you like best?”

  She nudged the plates towards him. “You
try first, and then I’ll tell you.”

  He grinned but did as she said and tried them both. “Okay, now we say our favourite at the same time. One...two...three...”

  “Chocolate,” she said at the exact same time as he said carrot.

  “There you go then.” He pushed the chocolate slice over to her and took the carrot cake for himself. “A perfect fit.”

  It was strange how he made her feel so instantly comfortable with him. Even though they’d only just met, and she knew nothing about him, she felt as though a part of her had known him for years, and they were already good friends.

  Putting the cake aside for a moment, she stirred sugar into her coffee. “It’s crazy, but I feel like I know you, but I don’t know anything about you.”

  He gestured outwards, his fingers splayed. “What do you want to know?”

  “What do you do for work?”

  “I’m a computer programmer, but I work from home.”

  “A computer programmer? So, did you have to deal with the whole Millennium Bug thing last year then?”

  He chuckled. “Well, it was really the year before that where everyone was freaking out. By the time it turned to the year two thousand, the whole thing was over and done with. I hadn’t actually expected anything bad to happen, though there was always that possibility. I suppose I’d have been looking for new work, if it had.” He put his forearms on the table and leaned closer. “How about you? What do you do?”

  “I’m working in a pub at the moment. It’s not exactly glamorous, but it pays the bills.” She wished she had something more exciting to tell him. “Maybe I should have my life sorted by now, but the truth is, I’m still trying to figure things out.”

  His expression softened. “Maybe you just haven’t been given the right guidance.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  “But you’re not from Bristol originally?”

  “How do you know?”

  He waved the teaspoon between them. “I can tell by the accent.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m not.” Should she tell him that she didn’t know where she was from for sure. She’d never learned her place of birth, or where she’d spent the first years of her life. No, it was too soon. The last thing she wanted to talk about right now was that she was adopted—a child no one wanted. He was going to start thinking he’d landed himself with a complete loser. “I’m originally from Devon, so I’ve only moved up the road really.”

  “I love Devon. Beaches and moorland. A perfect combination.”

  Cold fingers ran down her spine at the mention of the moors. Her lungs tightened, and she discovered herself short of breath. To try to hide her discomfort, she picked up her coffee and took a sip.

  The moors. Where it had happened. She’d never been back there—something she could easily excuse to people as being because it was the same place she’d watched her brother die. People understood that. It was a clean, easy explanation, one that garnered sympathy and shock, but not horror or fear.

  She would never forget those moments after it had happened. The shock had been a very physical thing. After she’d called for help, she’d retreated, frozen inside herself, disbelieving what had happened. Years later, she read about how, when something tragic happened, people tended to go into denial, feeling as though they could somehow change things, wanting to go back in time and undo what had been done. But Natalie had never wanted that. Even though she was distraught at her parents’ grief, she couldn’t bring herself to want Anthony alive again. Her vision of her future with him in it was as unthinkable as the one she was currently living. Did that make her utterly selfish? Sometimes, yes, she believed it did. But during other times, she’d thought she had saved her parents from heartbreak as well. At least with Anthony dead, they could mourn him as the golden child they’d believed him to be. They’d never have to find out about how he’d tortured her and threatened to rape her. In their eyes, it would have been like their son threatening to rape their daughter. How could anything be worse in a parents’ eyes? And it suited Natalie for no one to find out. If they learnt the truth, it would give her a motive for her to want her adoptive brother dead, and then perhaps the police might have considered that the events of that day had been something more than a terrible accident.

  After she’d screamed for help, people had come running. An ambulance had been called, but it had needed to come from Tavistock, and the journey over the tiny narrow roads of the moors had taken them almost twenty minutes. Their dad had pulled Anthony from the water by that point, cradling him in his arms, the boy clearly dead. Her mother had screamed in a way Natalie hoped she would never have to hear another person scream for the rest of her life. Raw. Unadulterated grief. Earth-shattering pain.

  Police had arrived shortly after.

  She’d given them her version of events. They were on a family picnic. Her and her brother were just hanging out. Messing around. They’d been sitting on the bridge overlooking the river. They’d decided to go back to their parents, and she swung her legs over the wall onto the road. But Anthony had been playing around and had stood up on the wall. She said she didn’t know what happened. He just lost his balance. She reached out to grab him, but both of them had been slippery with sweat, and her hand had slipped right off him, and he’d fallen.

  Just an accident. Teenager falls from bridge. A tragic accident. Everyone would shake their heads and comment on what a waste of a young life it was. All while silently thankful it wasn’t one of their own.

  She knew her lack of tears would be interpreted as shock. It probably was. The tears would come later, but she’d never cried for him. Her emotion had been for her parents and their grief, hating that she’d caused them such pain, while aware she had also saved them from it. The truth of what their beloved son had been.

  “Everything okay?” Kyle asked her, dragging her from her memories. “You’ve gone pale.”

  “Yes, sorry.” A part of her wanted to tell him everything, to confide in this handsome, attentive, funny man who seemed to actually like her, but she knew she couldn’t. “I’m fine.”

  “How’s that cake?”

  “It’s good.” She turned the conversation away from home and her family, and asked him about films he’d liked recently—he’d seen Zoolander at the cinema—and what music he was into—Stereophonics and Radiohead—and before she’d realised how much time had passed, they’d both finished their coffee and cake. Their cups and plates had been empty for a while, and one of the baristas hovered around them, wanting to clear up their mess and get the table back for new customers.

  Kyle walked her out of the coffee shop, and they paused on the street.

  “I’m this way,” Natalie said, pointing towards her bus stop.

  “I’m going this way.” He gestured in the opposite direction.

  “I suppose it’s time to say goodbye then.” She scuffed her foot on the pavement, suddenly shy.

  “I’d really like to see you again.”

  She glowed with happiness. “Yeah, me, too.”

  “Good. I’ll call you, and we can put a date in the diary.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He hesitated and then swooped in, his fingers to her cheek, and kissed her. It wasn’t the sort of kiss where it was all wet, with tongues, but firm and dry and warm. Before she’d even had time to process what was happening, he’d broken the kiss again and was already turning and striding down the street away from her.

  Unable to wipe the grin from her face, Natalie lifted her fingers to her lips and touched the place where he’d kissed her.

  Chapter Four

  That Saturday she wasn’t working, which meant she was able to drive down the M5 motorway to visit her parents.

  She was always conscious of how different she was in appearance to both her parents—naturally, since they didn’t have any actual shared gene pool.

  Anthony had looked like their mother—blond hair and blue eyes. Her mother’s hair was white n
ow, but she wore it in a chic jaw-length bob and, despite the tragedy in her life, it didn’t show on her face. Her father was darker, with brown eyes, and his once black hair was now faded to salt-and-pepper grey. None of them had her murky hazel eyes or light-brown frizz. When she’d been a child, people who didn’t know the family so well would comment things like ‘oh, she has your mouth’ or ‘I can see you in the shape of her eyes’, and Natalie would know the person was lying. Maybe they were just well-meaning, but it would always sting, and she’d catch her mother shooting her a sympathetic smile. Neither of them had corrected the commenter, however, knowing it would only embarrass all of them, and that little stone of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on had grown another layer.

  This pit of dread, of feeling that something wasn’t right, of anticipated horror, grew larger every day.

  She sat behind the wheel, trundling along on the inside lane, not daring to push the car any faster than sixty miles an hour, or a strange rattling started somewhere under the bonnet. Occasionally, other drivers, frustrated by her speed, tailgated her, so she deliberately drove slower and flicked on her windscreen washer to spray the vehicle behind.

  It was always with a mixture of anticipation and dread that she went home each week.

  Her parents were still living in their family home. They’d talked about leaving for a while—maybe emigrating to Spain or France, like many of their generation seemed to be doing. The exchange rates were in their favour, and they could have a lovely place near the beach somewhere and enjoy the sun and good food. But, in the end, they’d decided not to go.

  “What if you meet someone and settle down and give us grandchildren, Natalie?” her mother had said, flapping away her concerns about their lack of going through with a move, yet again. “I couldn’t stand to be so far away from you, if that happened.”

  “Mum, I don’t even have a boyfriend, and I have no intention of having children anytime soon. Besides, you could always come back, if you wanted to.”