The Sleeping Truth : A Romantic Thriller (Omnibus Edition containing both Book One and Book Two)

by Irvine, Ian C. P.

  Sal sees us coming over and wraps an arm around Guy’s neck and shouts my name at the rest of the group. “This is Andrew…Guy’s new flatmate. It’s his first week in London.”

  A round of “Hi’s” and ‘Hellos”.

  “I’m thirsty. I’ll go and get us both a pint,” Guy volunteers.

  He pats me on the back and disappears, leaving a small gap in our circle, which Sal immediately fills by moving closer to me.

  “So, how are you?” Sal asks.

  “Fine. This week has been great. The job seems really interesting.”

  “And you? How are you? Guy told me what happened with Kate. It must hurt.”

  It’s the first time that Sal and I have spoken alone since I got to London, and the first time she has mentioned Kate.

  “I’m fine. I’m over her.”

  She looks at me for a second, then touches my hand gently.

  “Listen, if you want to talk sometime, just let me know. Okay? And just take it easy and enjoy yourself for a while… And don’t worry… Andrew, you’re a really good looking guy. You’re interesting, far too modest for your own good, you’re tall and strong, you’ve got a great sense of humour and you’re kind and sensitive, all qualities that women like, and best of all, you’ve got a fantastic smile. Men like you are not easy to find down here, so when the time’s right, and you’re ready, I’m sure that you’ll find it easy to meet someone new…”

  “Maybe,” is all I can muster in reply, feeling myself beginning to blush.

  Sal sees me turning red and laughs, and leans towards me and gives me a kiss on the cheek, squeezing me gently on my arm. “Don’t worry, Andrew. You’ll be fine.”

  A few minutes later Guy returns and I’m handed my next pint.

  “So what are you going to do with yourself this weekend?” he asks. “Do you still have any hobbies, or have you given them all up?”

  Guy is a massive rugby fan. He is a big man, broad shouldered, strong arms, and powerful. But his face is soft, with big blue eyes sparkling out from a wide skull, with short curly blonde hair. He is a bear, although a soft, and harmless bear at that. Even more soft now with the substantial beginnings of a sizeable beer belly that threatens to grow and spread beyond control. At university in the first year he was good enough to play for the university first rugby team, but after several years of drinking and missing several practice sessions he realised his top performance days were over. Since then he has played for local clubs in the minor leagues, the league becoming more minor as the years passed. Nevertheless, Guy still enjoyed the game, and the game enjoyed his participation.

  “I still love windsurfing but I’ve left my boards up in Edinburgh,” I reply in answer to his question. “…And I still love climbing and ridge walking. I’m trying to climb all the Monroes and I’ve done over half of them now.”

  “…That may be, but since there aren’t exactly many mountains down here, you’ll have to find something new to do in flat old London.”

  “Fair point. Maybe I’ll bring my windsurfer down next time I go to Edinburgh and I’ll join a club down on the south coast somewhere. In the meantime, I’ll probably take up squash again.

  “Listen, …changing the subject a little bit, but have you talked to that attractive girl over there yet?” Guy asks, pointing. “That’s Mandy, Sal’s flatmate. She’s single and…”

  “Guy! Are you listening to me? For the last time, I’m NOT looking for anyone! At least…I’m not looking for anything serious and I don’t want to give anyone the impression I am. Which for now makes the Road House the ideal place for me. It’s the perfect place to meet some drunk woman for a totally meaningless, short-lived, relationship…that just lasts anything between one hour to one night…And right now, that’s all I’m fit for.”

  “So you’re going there again tonight, then?”

  “Try stopping me.”

  ..

  ---------------------------

  ..

  I am sitting at the bar feeling rather sorry for myself and getting rather drunk. Draining the rest of my third bottle of beer, I set about ordering myself another one. As I try to get the attention of the barman, I notice someone looking at me from the other side of the circular bar. The face is familiar. It’s Louisa. Or Dianne. Or whatever else her name is tonight. Obviously this is a regular haunt of hers.

  I frown, and without catching her eyes, I look away, concentrating on trying to order my beer.

  “Hi.” A voice says behind me a few minutes later. A woman’s voice, which I swivel round to meet.

  “Oh…,” I say, in pretence of surprise.

  “I noticed you earlier. I suppose you’re ignoring me. Which is fine. Considering.”

  “Good,” I reply. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to upset you. So it’s good that it’s fine.” I say, a little drunkenly. “Oh, and by the way…who are you? I mean, now,… or tonight?”

  “Listen, I just wanted to come over and apologise for maybe being a little too harsh earlier on in the week. Maybe we got off to a bad start, so …”

  “Actually,” I volunteer. “I thought that we got off to a rather good start. But you were someone else then, and after all, you don’t do relationships.”

  She smiles, looks down at her drink, and stirs whatever it is with the little cocktail stick in the glass.

  “Which is fine with me” I carry on, “because actually, I don’t really do relationships either.” I smile at her, cocking my head to one side.

  “What do you mean?” she asks.

  “Oh, you know…” I hesitate, but being drunk and unable to stop saying exactly what comes into my mouth, I carry on. “…because to be honest, I am on the rebind. Rebound. Which means that from now on that I can only meet people, who like me, do not want a relationship, because if they do, I will just hurt them, and then I will be a bastard. Which I’m not. Or at least, I don’t want to be. And there you have it.”

  She comes closer, leaning on the bar beside me, and I swivel back round to the counter, half facing her, half-facing away.

  “Wow.” She says. “That’s honest. Well, if it helps, I don’t think you are bastard. And I’m sorry for the false number and name last week.”

  “No problem.” I reply. “And since we’re being so honest with each other right now,” I reply. “I feel under obligation to tell you that my name is not actually Andrew. It’s Doris. And I am a girl.”

  I chuckle, not knowing exactly why I just said what I did. But thankfully Dianne laughs too.

  “So, Dianne,” I say, “Now I have told you why I will not have a relationship with you, no matter how much you beg me…or you pay me…, now you can tell me just why you don’t do relationships either.”

  “Fair enough,” she replies. “ I mean, why should I do relationships? I’m only twenty five, which in my books is far too young to be serious about any one person. I prefer to just go out there and meet men and have fun.”

  “So, are you on the rebound too?” I ask.

  “No,…not really.” She starts to reply. “Well, actually-since we’re being so honest-…, yes... I mean, I was. But that was a year ago. And since then I just know that all men are bastards, and not to get involved with them. That doesn’t stop me from occasionally sampling the merchandise though. If you know what I mean.”

  Which is how, four hours later I find myself leaving her flat and catching a taxi back to Clapham.

  ..

  Chapter Eight

  The Truth Will Out

  ..

  ..

  Whilst I lie in my bed, my head propped up with my hands behind my head, I stare at the ceiling and think about last night. I’ve only been in London for one week, and already I am changing. I’ve just had my first one night stand. My first real experience of casual, meaningless sex with the first woman, apart from Kate, that I have slept with in four years. Still, sleeping with Dianne was something that I definitely needed. A catharsis that took care of several months of frustration. And
plus, although I am reluctant to admit it to myself, since arriving in London there have been a few moments when I have felt quite lonely, and even though it was only for an hour or two, I needed the touch and warmth of someone else.

  My coffee finished, I reach out to my watch on my bedside cabinet. 1pm. Not good. Time to get up and decide what I’m going to do with the rest of my weekend.

  Guy and Sal are in the kitchen, and Guy is fixing some lunch. Sal is wearing one of Guys long T-shirts. And nothing else. She is barefoot, long-legged and very sexy, and for a moment I am very jealous of Guy. We chat for a few minutes and then she disappears to the bathroom for a long, hot, soak.

  “You’re a really lucky man,” I say to Guy as soon as she leaves. “She’s lovely.”

  “I know. You don’t need to tell me…” He looks at me, his face suddenly very serious. “Wait here a moment, will you?” Guy says quietly, walking out of the kitchen and saying something to Sal in the bathroom, before coming back and closing the kitchen door behind him. He sits down at the kitchen table opposite me and starts to fiddle with the small crumbs of toast left on his plate.

  “What?” I say to him, recognising from the silence and the way he closed the door behind him that this is a portent of something important to come.

  “What do you mean, ‘what?’” he replies, playing for time, a touch of nervousness in his voice.

  “I mean, it’s obvious you want to tell me something. So what is it?”

  “What makes you so sure it has be something?” he asks.

  “Guy, …just get on with it, okay?” I know Guy. From the look on his face, this must be pretty big. Whatever it is.

  “Well,…It’s really something that you asked me last week…Can you remember when you first got here and we were sitting having a beer and you asked me if it was serious between me and Sal? I don’t know why, but I avoided giving you an answer. And the truth is, that actually I think that Sal,…Sal could maybe be the one for me.”

  “What you mean, ‘the one for you?’ ”

  “I mean my wife-to-be. The mother of my children. The one who I will sit and grow old and grey and get osteoporosis with. The truth is, I’m completely in love.”

  I start to say something, but am stopped before I even open my mouth.

  “…no, listen. After we talked last week I felt like a bloody traitor for not being completely honest with you. So I had to tell you now. The fact is, Sal is great. And she’s the best thing that ever happened to me. There. I’ve done it. The truth is out.”

  “Wow,” is all I can muster in reply.

  It’s not that I’m shocked. Sal is a fantastic sexy girl. A lovely personality. The works. But I’ve never seen Guy like this with any woman before.

  “So, what does Sal think? Does she feel the same?” I ask, mainly because I don’t know what else to say. I’m still surprised to see how far and hard Guy has fallen.

  “I don’t know. I know she loves me,… but I don’t know if she thinks if I’m the one for her…or not.” He says, looking at the table and beginning to nervously flick the little brown dried toast crumbs off the edge of the plate, one by one.

  Then a sudden thought occurs to me:- “Have you asked her to marry you?”, I ask.

  “No,” comes back the answer. “At least, …not yet. Soon though. I mean, probably soon. I’m just still trying to figure the whole thing out. Like, where and when, …and how.”

  “Are you really serious? You are really going to propose?” I say, getting excited.

  “Maybe. Probably.” He almost stammers. “I mean, do you think I should?”

  I start to laugh, but when I look at Guy I see that he is looking straight at me, hoping for an answer. So, this is what this is about. Guy has just called a “Three Amigos” meeting -except we are one amigo down- to get my advice on the most important question of all. Marriage.

  I feel honoured. Really. This is great. Things are getting back to like they were in the old days. But then the euphoria passes and I realise that Guy is still staring at me. Waiting. For an answer.

  “Sorry,” I forcibly bring the laughing under control. “It’s just such a surprise. I can’t believe that you are asking my advice on this. This is one choice you have to make for yourself.”

  Guy looks at me sheepishly, almost pleadingly. Desperate for some words of wisdom.

  “Guy, …Sal’s lovely. Sexy, kind, interesting, intelligent, good with your mates. What else could you want? If you are so much in love with her, why not just ask her?”

  “…But you don’t think that I would be crazy if I did? I mean, I’m just 28 years old. Is that not too young to get married?”

  “Listen Guy. I think you’re lucky. Sal is fantastic. But only you can decide if you love her enough to spend the rest of your life with her.”

  Guy is listening to me intently. When I finish my sentence Guy turns and stares at the door Sal just left through.

  “Yes. Exactly. Absolutely… you’re right. Thanks,” he says, almost absentmindedly.

  He slowly rises to his feet and walks out of the kitchen. I follow him into the hall. He is putting on a jacket and just about to walk out the door.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “Out,” he says. “There’s something I have to buy and I need some fresh air.”

  Returning to the kitchen I pop the kettle back on and start to make another cup of coffee, wondering where Guy has just rushed off to. With the coffee made, I slowly read Guy’s copy of the Guardian, which is lying on the kitchen table, then I return to my room and begin to lose myself in the latest album from Helen Boulding, the best female singer to come out of Britain in the past twenty years. I pride myself in my good taste in female vocalists and even more so, because I am one of Boulding’s first fans. I’ve been buying her singles for years, but it’s only in the past few months that she has started to get noticed by the media. One day she is going to be huge, but at the moment, we have pretty much got this exclusive thing going on between us. As I lie back on my bed and start to enjoy her mellow tones, - a cross between Sarah McGlachlan, Jewel, and maybe even Joni Mitchell-, I wonder for the hundredth time what she looks like. Is she a middle aged product of the eighties, or young, attractive and single? Just as I reach for the album cover to study it once again and see if there is a photograph on the inside sleeve that I might have missed, there’s a soft knock on the door, and Sal speaks.

  “Andrew, has Guy gone out?” she asks from outside.

  “Yes,…come in…” I reply as the door opens and she walks in with a large green towel wrapped around her body, her long, wet hair wrapped up in a blue towel on her head. “He said he had to get something. He’ll probably be back soon.”

  “Oh….right.” she replies, hovering in the doorway, as if she wants to say something.

  There is a slight, pregnant pause, whilst I wait for her to either leave, come in, or continue speaking.

  “Andrew…you’ve known Guy for a long time now, haven’t you?” she asks. I can tell she is nervous, playing for time, because we both know that she already knows the answer.

  “Yes. Since just before university.”

  “Right. That’s good….” She starts out strongly, but quickly comes to another silent stop. Then, “The thing is….can I come in for a moment?” she asks expectantly. “There’s something important I want to talk to you about.”

  “Sure” I say, patting the bed beside me, not totally against the idea of a beautiful semi-naked woman fresh out of a bath wanting to join me on a bed. But then I ruin it all with an unexpected, “Actually, why don’t you grab some clothes first…?”

  She looks down at the towel which starts just above her breasts and stops a little below her bottom, and quickly blushes.

  “Oops…sorry. That’s probably a good idea…I’ll just be a moment,” and she disappears down the hall into Guy’s room.

  ‘What on earth does Sal want to talk to me about that is making her so nervous?’ I wonder, hoping th
at I haven’t done anything to upset her. But before I can find out what it is, the front door opens and a beaming Guy strides back into the flat, his hands thrust deep into his jacket pockets.

  “Where’s Sal?” he whispers to me as he pops his head around the bedroom door.

  “In your room, getting dressed I think.”

  “Right. Thanks,” he replies, a wistful smile gracing his lips.

  “So what did you go out to buy then?” I ask, genuinely interested.

  “Oh nothing. Nothing. Just something that I had to get,” he replies to me, his eyes twinkling. “But don’t mention anything to Sal, okay?” he says, lifting his forefinger in front of his mouth and asking me to keep quiet about it.

  Just then Sal emerges back out from the bedroom, walking up to Guy and cuddling up to his back from behind, kissing him on the cheek and wrapping her arms around his long-extinct waistline. Guy smiles, returns the kiss and then asks if he can make us all a cup of tea. As he speaks, Sal winks at me, mouthing something over his shoulder before raising her forefinger gently to her mouth and requesting or gentling telling me not to mention what we were talking about before.

  What is it about these two? Both of them keeping so many secrets from each other? Is that what happens when you really fall in love?

  ..

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  ..

  With nothing exciting on the TV or Radio, I settle down onto my bed and finish the last two chapters of my Wilbur Smith novel.

  Dropping “Triumph of the Sun” onto the floor, I take a sip of my lukewarm tea and pick up the copy of “Marrying Slovakia” I was given on the train. I’ve been dying to start reading it and am looking forward to the next few hours of self-indulgence. Unfortunately, I am only twenty pages further into the book when at four o’clock the doorbell rings and I have to put it down to go and answer the door. There has been no sign of either Guy or Sal since they disappeared into their bedroom after lunchtime, and I guess I probably won’t see much more of them until 7 o’clock, when we’re all meant to be going into town for some drinks and a meal.