The Sleeper by Emily Barr Read Free Book Online

from somewhere, just as I open the cupboard to be hit by an avalanche of paperwork, discarded clothes, random items and what can only be described as ‘assorted crap’.
    I wonder whether to retract the thanks, but in the name of peacekeeping I just get down on my knees and shove the whole lot under the bed.
    A rangy man with a beard and a tweed jacket appears at the door. He looks a bit like Jarvis Cocker, and I am pathetically grateful when he greets me warmly.
    ‘Aha!’ he says, pointing at me from the doorway. ‘You are the famed sister! Loitering with wine! Cornish-woman come to work in the city, no?’
    ‘That’s right.’ I don’t want to know what she has been saying about me.
    ‘Enchanted to meet you,’ he says with a little bow. ‘I’m Allan.’
    ‘Hi, Allan.’ He is looking expectantly at me. She clearly has never mentioned my name. ‘Lara.’
    He stretches out a long arm, and we shake hands with a strange formality.
    ‘Lara.’ He rolls the word around his mouth. ‘Lara. Sorry to whisk your sister away on your first night, Lara. Would you care to join us, Lara?’
    I am tempted to accept, just to see her face.
    ‘No. Thank you, though. I’ve got lots to sort out. Have a good evening.’
    ‘We most certainly plan to.’
    Allan bids me a polite good night as they leave. Olivia pretends I am not there as she sweeps past me and out on to the new-yet-dirty landing carpet.
    I speak to Sam for half an hour, amazed that I have not yet been away from home for twenty-four hours. As we talk, I pace around the flat, into and out of the sitting room that is bright even when dark closes in, illuminated by the street lights outside, into the tiny kitchen where I help myself to an olive, a piece of pitta bread dipped in hummus and then, on my third circuit of the flat, a refill of wine.
    ‘What have you been doing, then?’ I ask, hating my patronising tone. Sam does not seem to notice it.
    ‘Oh, you know,’ he says. ‘Slept badly without you. Bed’s too big. No one to complain when I wrap myself in the duvet. It’s all no fun without you.’
    ‘Oh, I know,’ I tell him. ‘Same here. Me too.’
    ‘I’m rubbish on my own.’ He starts speaking quickly, his pent-up frustration released in a torrent. ‘I wish we weren’t doing this, Lara. It’s a mistake. I wish we’d laughed at it and called it a ridiculous idea. I wish we’d put ourselves, you and me, ahead of the money and everything else. I wish you were here, with me. This is all wrong.’
    ‘I know.’ I am not just saying this to make him feel better. Even though London has been exciting today, and being at work was stimulating and amazing, I suddenly wish I were in Falmouth, in our little house above the docks, with Sam. Sam makes me feel safe. He, and our home, suddenly look like a harbour in more ways than one. We could have struggled through without the money. ‘I’ll be back on Saturday,’ I remind him.
    ‘But it’s only Monday!’
    ‘It’s the end of Monday. And I’ll be back at the very start of Saturday. It’ll go quickly. You’ll get used to it. You can watch Man v. Food as much as you like! You can leave the loo seat up.’ I stop because I know how pitiful this sounds.
    ‘Yeah.’ Neither of us speaks for several seconds. ‘So,’ he starts at exactly the same time that I say: ‘And.’ We pause, awkwardly, each waiting for the other to continue.
    ‘Go on,’ Sam says. We both laugh, and the tension is gone.
    ‘I was just going to say, and at least you don’t have to live with Olivia. At least you’re in our home. Let’s go out for lunch on Saturday. To one of the nice pubs.’
    ‘Yes.’ He is suddenly decisive. I like it when that happens. ‘Yes, I’ll book a table at the Pandora, or the Ferryboat.’
    These are the two pubs we love near Falmouth, both situated on the water. The Pandora Inn is on the banks of the Restronguet Creek; it is a thatched pub that burned down then miraculously reopened almost