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

by Irvine, Ian C. P.

  I step up the three steps to the door and ring the bell.

  For a few moments I stand there, wondering if I will faint before anyone answers the door, but no-one comes. I ring the doorbell again, retreating back down the stairs again, and once more nervously checking my tie, my hair, and my fly.

  I am in the process of touching the zip on my trousers when the door opens in front of me.

  I look up, and panic…

  It is an older woman. She looks like Slávka…either her sister, or her mother…probably her mother…

  It’s now or never…

  “Dobry den,” I say, nervous as hell, trying my best to concentrate and repeat parrot fashion the few sentences I got the Slovak teacher to help me learn and pronounce especially for this moment. “…Ja som Slavkin priatel z Anglicka. Mozem rozpravat so Slavkou?” [Hi! I am a friend of Slávka’s from England. Can I talk with her please?]

  The woman smiles, looks at the massive bunch of flowers in my arms and becomes very animated, saying something very loud and very excitedly. She opens the door wide and smiles at me. I smile back. She says something more, and though I try to understand any single word of what she has said, I don’t catch anything. So I just smile back at her twice as hard as before and stand there silently, looking like an idiot.

  The woman in the doorway smiles back, laughs, waves her hand at me, and then disappears back inside the house, …leaving the door wide open.

  And now for Part Two (B) of The Plan.

  I take out the sealed envelope containing my letter to Slávka and check for the tenth time that I have written the other sentence I learned parrot fashion onto the front of the envelope “Slávka Malikova - Do vlastnych ruk’’ [ For the attention of Slávka Malikova only].

  I quickly put the bouquet of flowers on the step, put down my copy of the book ‘Marrying Slovakia’ and place the letter beside it so that it is in full view, and then quickly retreat down the steps, along the path and outside of the gate.

  Standing by the gate outside on the street, I wait. A second later another woman appears in the doorway, and my heart skips a beat at the sight of her. I swallow hard.

  Slávka first looks down at the steps, her attention drawn by the flowers, book and the envelope…exactly according to plan…and then as she bends down to pick them up, she glances upwards and sees me.

  I look at her, smile, and then without waiting for any response from her, I turn and walk quickly away, not looking back and not stopping.

  I get into my car, switch it on, and drive away.

  Chapter Fifty Nine

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  Two days later I am sitting in the restaurant that I first saw during my first walk around the town square. It is 7.18 pm. I am seated at the front of the restaurant, Café Roland, and from here I have a good view of the steps which lead from the main square above down into the restaurant located in the old thirteenth century cellars of the medieval buildings above.

  For the fifth time I read a copy of the letter that I gave Slávka two days ago, praying and hoping that when I wrote it, I used the right words, and somehow managed to find that magic combination of letters that would say all that needed to be said. In the shortest way possible.

  When I finish reading it, I look at the door, and check my watch. It’s now 7.19pm.

  Sipping my tea, I try to relax, and find myself thinking about my plan again, and remembering just how I ended up here tonight, waiting to complete Part Three.

  It all started two weeks ago, just after I had finished talking to Kate.

  The conversation had gone surprisingly well. She forgave me. She even thanked me for calling her, thanked me for giving her complete and final closure…and wished me the best of luck for the rest of my life. In other words, ‘please don’t call me again’. Which was fair enough, considering she had shared with me that she now had another boyfriend and that she wanted to give it every chance for it to work between them.

  After the call I felt good. Not brilliant, considering. But better than I had done all day. I was even slightly bored.

  After pacing around my bedroom for a few minutes, I noticed the copy of Marrying Slovakia lying in the corner of the room, still there where it had landed after I had thrown the book at the wall when I got back from the hospital after the nurse had told me about Slávka’s boyfriend in Slovakia.

  I bent down, dusted off the cover, and started reading it again from where I had left off. I finished the book the next night, ploughing through the final chapters, not able believe how many similarities there were between the characters in the book and what had happened to me. It was almost supernatural.

  There was one difference however.

  In the book, there was a happy ending, although right until the end, you couldn’t tell what was going to happen. In fact, in the last part of the book, the female lead, the Slovakian Au Pair, had to return to Slovakia because her visa ran out, and she could no longer stay in London –the story obviously having been written before Slovakia joined the EU. The boyfriend, heartbroken and distraught, spent a few months desperately missing her, before in the end, he decided to give up his job, and go to Slovakia to start a life with her in her country. On the last page of the book, the reader was left with a big question, not knowing the outcome: did they get married or not?

  Of course, there was a big difference between the story and my real life. In my life, Slávka had told me she never wanted to see me again. Ever. And at that time, I never knew where she lived.

  The book haunted me for the next week, so much so, that a week later I took the book with me to Edinburgh with my mother, and I sat re-reading the finals chapters again whilst my mother fell asleep opposite me as the train sped northwards through England and the Borders of Scotland.

  “So, my Andrew,…” my mother asks me, finally opening her eyes and yawning. “Is it a good book? What’s it about?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I reply. “It’s very good. In fact, it’s all because of this book that I met my last girlfriend, and it was because of her, because I lost her, that I came looking for you, so in a way, it’s because of this book that I found you!”, and in that moment, it dawns on me that this book has probably been the most influential book in my whole life. It changed the course of my life, and helped bring my family together.

  A shiver runs down my spine. A moment of deja-vu, that takes my breath away.

  It was here, in Carriage D, the ‘quiet mobile-free carriage’, that I was sitting when I travelled from Edinburgh down to London and where I first saw the book lying abandoned on the table top in front of me. The lady who it belonged to had given it to me as a present, so convinced that I would love it. What was it that she had said again? … “A little voice tells me that the book could almost have been written just for you.” Another shiver runs down my spine. Was the woman psychic? How did she know?

  In fact, it was even more weird than that.

  The last time I was in Carriage D was when I left Edinburgh, running away from my life, the city and Kate, heading down to London, ….perhaps secretly hoping that in London I would be able to find a woman that I could trust.

  And now, …and now I am returning to Edinburgh with that woman.

  A woman that I can trust.

  My mother.

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  I spent the rest of the journey telling my mother about the book. I tell her how I was given it, how it has changed my life…and when she asks, I tell her all about Slávka.

  I tell her everything.

  My mother does not judge me. She does not comment. She just listens. And then when I am finished, she kisses me on the cheek.

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  Hannah meets us at the station. It is an emotional moment that I never thought I would witness. My sister and her mother re-united. With no animosity between them at all. We have all been on a journey. We have all suffered. And now is the time for healing.<
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  That night we drink some champagne, and talk and laugh until the wee small hours. The next day I leave Hannah and my mother alone to bond by themselves and I walk for hours through the streets of the city, wondering how I ever managed to leave this stunning city behind and move down to London?

  Edinburgh is probably the most beautiful city in the world. I know that now. Yet, as I find myself standing looking out from the Castle Ramparts over onto the city of the New Town below, I find myself asking myself a curious question: “Will I ever come back to Edinburgh?”

  Now that I have moved to London, I realise that the world is my oyster. London is but a stepping stone to a much larger universe. There are so many cities to see, so many countries to explore, so many places where a person could live...

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  That night we all go to bed early. The weather forecast is good for the next day, and when we wake at 3 am, it is warm and dry outside.

  It is still dark and there is dew on the grass as we get out of the car, parking near St Margaret’s Loch, not far from the Palace of Holyroodhouse, the official residence of the Queen in Scotland.

  Hand in hand, my sister, my mother and I start the long, slow walk up onto Whinny Hill, the large hill in the centre of the Queen’s Park in the middle of Edinburgh.

  At first it is tough going, and we find it difficult to make our way through the gorse and the long grass in the dark, but soon the sky is beginning to lighten and as we slowly gain altitude we are rewarded by the incredible view over the Firth of Forth, and a golden glow beginning to appear above the long, flat horizon of the North Sea to the east of the city. As the morning dawns before our eyes, our senses come alive: the smell of fresh grass and the scent from the whinny bushes fills our nostrils and the sound of thousands of birds beginning to sing the morning chorus soon fills our ears.

  Stunned by the incredible view and exhilaration of simply being here, we stand in silence and watch the sunrise and the birth of an incredible new day. A moment I will never ever forget for as long as I live.

  “Look,” my mother shouts excitedly, distracting our attention, and as Hannah and I follow the direction of her pointed finger, we see our first rabbit. It is sitting on its back legs, its little front legs pawing the sky, its nose and whiskers twitching in the first rays of the morning sun.

  “And there…” Hannah shouts, laughing. “There’s another one!”

  “And there… I can see three!” I shout even louder, pointing in the completely opposite direction to Hannah.

  Minutes later, as we stand quietly in the middle of the hillside, watching the sky going through the magical sequence of changing from night to day, we find ourselves once more welcomed to the secret kingdom of the rabbits. They are everywhere. The last time I was here I couldn’t count. I didn’t even really know what a number was. This time however, I can count from one to many thousands, but still that would not be enough to count the numbers of rabbits we see this morning. Jumping. Running. Laughing. Eating. Playing. And enjoying life.

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  We stand in a circle, holding hands, and laugh.

  We laugh, and we cry. The past is not forgotten, but it is forgiven.

  “Here,” Hannah says, pulling out her digital camera and placing it on a rock…”We need another photograph…”

  We smile, we wait, there is a flash, and once more we are a family again.

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  The sun is now clear of the horizon, a bright, orange globe that is rising higher and higher into the sky.

  The rabbits are slowly beginning to disappear and all too soon the magic is coming to an end. We sit down on the grass, and Hannah opens her bag and pulls out a thermos flask, pouring us each a mug of hot tea.

  “Andrew,” my mother says, reaching out and touching my hand. “I have been thinking about the book, …you know, ‘Marrying Slovakia’…I liked the ending that you told me about. About how the man decided to leave England to go and be with his girlfriend in Slovakia.”

  “I know,” I say. “I can’t stop thinking about it either.”

  “So,” my mother says, “What is stopping you from doing the same?”

  I look up at her. “What? You mean, going to Slovakia to be with Slávka?”

  “Yes,” she answers.

  “But she doesn’t want to see me again.”

  “Listen, I’m just an old woman, but I thought you said that Slávka loved you?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “And you loved her?”

  “Yes…”

  “Let me tell you a secret, Andrew, from an old woman to a young man. Woman who are in love, who are really truly in love…they never fall out of love. If they are angry, it’s true, they can say the most terrible, hurtful things, but they never stop loving. They just hurt a lot…And the thing is, most women would rather forgive, than carrying on living with broken and painful memories that mean that they must carry on hurting. I’m just thinking, that if Slávka still loves you, and if she once gave up a good job to be with you,…what would happen if you were to prove your love to her by giving up your job for her? Maybe if you showed her how much you really loved her, then maybe she would find it in herself to forgive you…?”

  That is where ‘The Plan’ started. Right there, on the side of Whinny Hill, amongst the rabbits. And the best thing about it was that it was my mother’s idea.

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  The rest of the plan was crafted later that night with Hannah’s help over a bottle of wine, and a pad of paper on her dining room table.

  “It could work,” she nodded, when we had finished it. “But you have to do it just right. You mustn’t put any pressure on her. Give her the choices, let her know you are serious, but willing to walk away…no pressure. And that’s the key... Don’t put any pressure on her... If you can do that…it might just work.”

  With all the elements of ‘The Plan’ now coming together, there was only one thing that was missing: the courage to carry it out, something that I eventually did find, but only with a lot of help and support from a very unexpected source- David, the last member of the Three Amigos.

  On the Friday evening after my penultimate lessons in Slovakian, Guy had arranged to meet me and Sal in China Town for a meal. Everything else had been arranged by now, my flight tickets had been bought and I was due to leave first thing on Wednesday morning from Stansted. The only thing was that as the day got closer, I was beginning to get scared and was even having second thoughts. What happens if Slávka were to reject me again? What if she really meant what she had said, and that she never wanted to see me again. Ever. Could I really go through with it?

  As I walk into the restaurant, slightly late, and start looking for our table, I almost die when I see Guy, Sal, and David sitting at the back in the corner. David sees me as I come in, he stands up, and as I walk up to him, he lifts me off his feet and gives me a massive man-hug.

  “Come here, you great big wazzock!” he says, squeezing the breath out of me.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” I ask, excitedly.

  “Oh you know, I heard on the grapevine that One of the Three Amigos was in distress, and I thought I’d better get over here pretty sharpish.”

  I look over at Guy, and he laughs.

  “Sorry, it’s all my fault. I decided to call a meeting of the Three Amigos. ‘One for all, and all for one, and all that!’ ”

  “That’s the rallying call of the Three Musketeers,” Sal exclaims, “...not the Three Amigos!”

  “So, we stole it!” I reply. And we all laugh.

  We sit down at the table, and David immediately demands that I bring him up to speed, which I try to do over the meal and a few drinks afterwards at a pub in Soho.

  “Wow,” David says, breathing out slowly as I finish telling him everything.

  “And you’re leaving on Wednesday?” he asks.<
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  “I’m meant to be…”I reply.

  “What do you mean, you’re meant to be?” he asks.

  “Just that…the thing is, I really love her, so much so that I don’t know if I could stand getting rejected again…To tell you the truth, I don’t think I can go through with it…”

  He looks at me, and instead of laughing or joking or making fun of me for ‘being such a wimp’, he leans forward and says very seriously, very slowly, and in a hushed tone, “Andrew, you’re one of my best mates, you and Guy, and we go a long, way back. So please, please, listen to what I’m going to say to you now. Because it’s coming from the heart. You have to get on that plane on Wednesday and you have to go to Slovakia. You have to see Slávka, and you have to go through with this plan of yours, because if you don’t you will regret it for the rest of your life. And if it works, which it very well might, you will probably end up being happy for the rest of your life. And that is not a bad thing.”

  “But what if she rejects me again?” I ask, almost whispering to him.

  “Then you can walk away proud of yourself for knowing that you tried and that you did what you knew you had to do. Rejection is never a bad thing: it is a sign that we tried something, and life is all about trying. And this is not about rejection. This is about love. Have you never heard of the expression, ‘All is fair in love and war?’ Do you know what that means? It means that when you have found the most precious thing in your life, when you truly love someone, you do everything, and I mean everything you can to get that woman. Whatever it takes. Wherever it takes you. Do you understand?”

  I look at him, and I see that he is sincere and that he is speaking from his heart from one man to another.

  “Let me ask you one thing, Andrew. Do you love this woman? Do you love Slávka?” he asks.

  “Yes, I do.” I reply.

  “Then I think you know what you have to do.”

  I don’t reply. There is nothing more that needs to be said.

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