The Sleeper by Emily Barr

Author:Emily Barr [Barr, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Contemporary Women, General
ISBN: 9780755388004
Google: 4jJ0ZiOBS3MC
Amazon: 0755388003
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2013-07-04T00:00:00+00:00

chapter eighteen

My bag was next to the door. I had almost nothing with me: everything I was taking fitted into a largish shoulder bag and a canvas handbag. The shoulder bag had been my father’s, long ago when there was such a person in my life. It was black, plasticky faux-leather, with a sturdy strap, and it was the only suitable receptacle I owned. It held the very minimum of clothes and toiletries.

It was the end of the day, almost dark outside and an odd time to be setting off.

I stood in front of Laurie before I went, and tried, again, to explain it to him. He looked back at me without a word. I hated it when he did that. In the end I walked away. He and the cats would take care of each other. I had left the cats lots of food, and had filled the fridge and the cupboards with everything that any of them could possibly need.

If I ended up staying away longer than I expected, I would ask the neighbours to drop in with more supplies. I felt entitled to ask for that favour since for years I had fed their teenage boy’s snake when they went on holiday. Whenever that happened, I half wanted to put one of the cats into the snake’s tank and see what happened. My money would have been on the cat, but testing that out would have been unneighbourly, even though I would have been poised to step in the moment things became heated.

This was fine, I told myself. I had been in Cornwall for years, and going back to London was not a big deal. Everyone went to London. Lara had covered the ground I was about to cover twice a week.

It was only London. Laurie would still be here. I would come back.

The wood burner was blazing fiercely, to look after them for the first bit of my absence. I had announced myself unavailable for all work for the foreseeable future. My bike was propped in the hallway, safe and studenty. In my handbag were ticket, purse and phone, and a book to read. The sun had set hours ago, and normally I would be drinking tea in front of the fire, probably wearing pyjama bottoms and a jumper, and thinking about going to bed with a man, a book and a cat.

I tried to leave without saying goodbye, but I couldn’t.

‘I love you,’ I said, back over my shoulder. ‘I’ll miss you. I’m sorry. I’ll be back.’

‘Sure,’ he said. He was trying to be casual. ‘That’s fine. Have fun. Don’t worry, Iris. I love you and I always will. Come back to me.’

I walked, in blackness, to the top of the lane to wait for the taxi, blinking hard. The night air breathed coldly on to my face: I should have had a single tear frozen to my cheek, but instead I had a snotty nose, which I wiped elegantly on my sleeve.

There was a

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