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

by Irvine, Ian C. P.

  Gail is staring at me, both hands resting defiantly on her hips.

  “Gail, fine, listen, I don’t need to defend what I did. Given the circumstances, I’d probably do the same again, and quite truthfully, I think I’m probably grateful for her being there for me. She’s not a bad person, and I don’t think it’s such a big deal, okay? Please don’t be mad, or think any less of me. Just try to understand. If you’d been around on Friday, it wouldn’t have happened ,…and I’m not blaming you for not being there, but you weren’t and I was so lonely and down….anyway, it’s happened, it’s history. Come on, please don’t be mad with me. I need your friendship Gail.”

  “Andrew, oh dear…I’m sorry. I am your friend….Perhaps I’m just a little confused. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you on Friday. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  “About what? I was happy you were out with Ben. I have my own problems to deal with.”

  “Were you really happy about Ben?”

  “The truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then some yes, and some no. But in general, yes. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  She steps towards me.

  “Gail,…let’s talk some more about this later. Right now though, I’m starting to get angry. I’m think I’m going to kill someone.”

  I start walking towards the building, leaving Gail behind me.

  By the time I get to the entrance to our office, my blood is boiling. I show my pass to the guard, step into the lift, and without waiting for Gail, hit “B” for basement, the home of the IT support department.

  I storm out of the lift, heading straight for IT, which is buried away in one of the cellars. At the end of the corridor I turn left, and am confronted by security doors which are closed. I swipe my electronic badge across the security lock, but it blinks red and denies me access. I try it again. It’s still red. Blast.

  I try to peer through one of the small windows in the door, but there is just another small corridor on the other side with two doors leading off it to the right and left, and I cannot see anyone. I stand there for a second, wondering what I should do next. Eventually, not going anywhere fast, I calm down and realise there is nothing to be gained from shouting at Dianne in front of her colleagues, so I head back up to my desk, grabbing some fresh tea on the way back.

  “Way to go, …stud!” Ben smiles at me and whispers as I walk past him. I grimace back and simply say, “Funny ha ha.”

  When I get back to my desk, I click open Outlook, and after staring at a blank screen for ages, I start to write an email to Dianne. After several false starts and subsequently deleting everything I write after each attempt, I eventually settle on the following:

  .

  “Dear Dianne,

  Thanks for promising not to tell anyone.

  But just remember this: if you don’t respect other people, how can you expect others to respect you? You certainly know how to make friends.

  Andrew.”

  .

  For a while I consider if it’s just best to completely ignore the whole thing, -after all, she’s done nothing illegal- but my ugly pride is shouting at me to not let it pass without saying something. I’m not only angry with her, I’m also disappointed. I hate to admit it, but Friday night was actually quite good, and I enjoyed being with her. I just don’t understand how she could possibly benefit from breaking her promise and broadcasting about her conquests to the entire office? In the end, I hit the send button.

  Yet only a few minutes later I am already having second thoughts and I consider trying to recall the message before she can read it. So I start to play with Outlook to try and find out how I can delete or recall sent but as yet unread messages.

  Not having much success I briefly consider calling the IT helpdesk and asking how it can be done, but I am instantly reminded of the futility of such an action: Dianne runs the helpdesk.

  There is a small beep, and looking at my Inbox I realise with a sinking feeling that it is already too late.

  “Dear Andrew,

  No need to thank me, lover boy. It’s all part of the service.

  Don’t get me wrong, I like your company, but I never said I wanted to be your friend.

  I thought you knew the rules?

  Still, anytime you want to repeat last Friday...

  Like I said, for you Andrew,… Whatever you want…Whenever you want.

  Dianne.

  P.S. Sorry if I upset your girlfriend. I know she wasn’t too impressed by what we did. ”

  Chapter Thirty

  .

  .

  When I get to the hospital at six o’clock, Mandy is still sitting by Sal’s bed. She is holding her hand and chatting away to Sal as if there was nothing wrong with her. As I open the curtain and step through she looks up at me and stands up, followed by an awkward moment when we both wonder if we should hug each other or just shake hands. In the end we both quickly decide not to do either, and I walk around to the other side of the bed and sit down on a chair opposite her.

  “How is she?” I ask, for lack of anything else to say. It’s pretty obvious that there has been no improvement.

  “I don’t know. The nurse said she was just the same, and all the time I have been here, she hasn’t moved or done anything to indicate that she can hear us.”

  “We’ve got to believe that she can,” is all I can reply, fighting the urge to ask her if she knows about Sal’s affair. “How long have you been here?” I ask, moving on.

  “Since ten o’clock this morning. I had lunch in the canteen.”

  “Maybe you should go home now. You looked knackered. Guy will probably come in this evening if he gets back in time. I’m going to stay until then.”

  “Thanks for looking after her Andrew. I know you don’t really know her all that well.”

  .

  Mandy turns to look at Sal again, and she bends over her, stroking her face. “Come on, girl. Wake up, please. We miss you.” When she straightens up, she picks up her coat and bag and I see that she is crying.

  She looks at me briefly and I nod, and she leaves.

  .

  “So,” I say to Sal, pulling out ‘Marrying Slovakia’ and turning to page twenty-two. “I’m going to read you a story, so when you are lying comfortably, I’ll begin…” mimicking the beginning to Jackanory, one of my favourite children’s TV programmes from when I grew up.

  .

  After an hour of reading, I am starting to feel quite light headed, and I need to take a break. The nurse assures me that the canteen will be open till eight, and that if I hurry down I should still be able to get some food.

  In the canteen I check what is on offer,- none of it looking particularly appetising-, and I settle for dried chips and greasy battered fish with peas and carrots. Sitting down at a table near the windows, I look around the café at the others enjoying the haute cuisine with me this evening, a mixture of nurses and doctors, and I open up my book and carry on reading from where I left off on page forty-five. Soon I am lost in the magical world being created for me by the words and images jumping from the pages, and Sal and Guy and Dianne are all left far behind.

  .

  “Hullo,” a voice says to me, dragging me back to the sterile hospital café. “I think you reading interesting book?”

  I look up, blinking and adjusting my eyes so that I can see the person standing beside my table: a tall woman carrying a tray with a pot of tea and some cake, her long curly blonde hair cascading down over the shoulders of a white blouse. It’s ‘MBW’, my ‘Mystery Blond Woman’ from the train and the bus.

  “Sorry,…” I say, automatically standing up from my chair, startled and really surprised. I look at my book, then back at her. “Yes, yes. It’s very interesting.”

  “And interesting topic?” she asks, nodding at the title on the front cover.

  “Yes. I think so….” I hesitate, suddenly incredibly nervous. “I’m sorry, my name is Andrew,” I say, thrustin
g out my hand at her. She laughs a little, looking at her tray. She leans forward partially resting the tray on the table, and shaking my outstretched paw with her free hand.

  “And I am Slávka.”

  “That’s a nice name,” I reply, lamely.

  “Yes.” She agrees. “It is Slovakian name.”

  I look quickly at the title of the book again, suddenly comprehending.

  “Aha….” I say enthusiastically and laughing. “Actually, it’s a brilliant book. Have you read it?”

  “No…”

  “Sorry,” I say, interrupting her. “I’m really rude. Would you like to join me?”

  I see the hesitation in her eyes, and I quickly pursue the opportunity before it will be lost.

  “…If you’ve got a few minutes, I would like to ask you some questions about Slovakia?”

  “Okay. Yes. For that I have time. I am on break.”

  I move my tray out of the way, and she sits down opposite me. There is a silly awkward moment of silence when we both look at each other, which I manage to break by offering her the sugar.

  She sips her tea and starts to eat her cake.

  “Slouka,” I start out, not quite believing that out of all the hospital cafes in the world, MBW has just walked into mine. What is she doing here? “I don’t know if you recognise me, but I have already seen you a few times…”

  “Yes. I see you yesterday on bus. You were asleep for long time.”

  I blush.

  “I also see you on train.” She replies. “I think I embarrass you, and I am sorry.”

  “No, no, you shouldn’t apologise. It was me that was staring…, sorry, it was me that was looking at you,” I say, quickly rephrasing my reply.

  She cocks her head to one side. “Why were you looking at me?” she asks.

  I am just about to burst out that I couldn’t help but look at her because she is so attractive, but I catch myself just in time. “Sorry. It’s probably a very bad habit. I love studying people's faces. I’ve just come to London from Scotland, and down here it’s just amazing how many different types of people there are. You can sit on a tube or a train and see people and faces from every corner of the world…You name any country or ethnic minority in the world, and there’s people from there, living here. One trip on the tube is better than watching any National Geographic channel on cable. And you’ve….you’ve got very interesting features. I couldn’t help looking at you…I’m sorry.”

  “You mean, I have big nose?”

  I laugh, and she raises her eyebrows, questioningly.

  “No,” I say. “Actually, you have a very nice nose. But, it is rather different. Not like an English nose, or a Scottish nose. Anyway, what I wanted to say was that your face is ….it’s eh, …I mean, now I know where you’re from, it’s Eastern European and…Can I just be honest and say that the reason I was looking at you was because I think you are very pretty?”

  She blushes.

  “It is good reason. I think you flatter me. Maybe perhaps you have not so good eyes…you need test?”

  “No, honestly. You are very attractive…”

  She looks at me and laughs.

  “Thank you, Andrew,” she says, starting to eat her meal. “So what is book about?”

  I pick it up, turning it over nervously in my hands.

  “It’s about a man from London who meets a woman from Slovakia who comes to work here as an Au Pair, and he falls in love with her. It sounds a bit trashy, but it is actually quite funny. And interesting. I’m learning a lot about Slovakia.”

  “Aha,” she says, in between mouthfuls. “Maybe you teach me something?”

  “Maybe later. I’ve just started it, but I have learned that Bratislava is the capital, which is a big start and not bad for someone who hated Geography at school.” Slávka is busy eating, so I keep talking. “I saw you with the two children yesterday on the bus. Were they yours?”

  “You think I am mother already?”

  “No. I meant, sorry, …I was just assuming you are an Au Pair too.”

  She looks up at me and coughs on her food.

  “What, you think that I am Au Pair? So British person thinks that all Eastern European women in London are Au Pairs? Or perhaps you think I am plumber or builder?”

  “Oops. Sorry, there I go again. I didn’t mean to offend you. I didn’t want to label you with a stereotype. It was a natural mistake, because I am reading a book about it, and then I saw you controlling those two kids on the bus, and they listened to you, so…”

  “Badly behaved children were nothing to do with me. I think they listen to me because I tell them off and I must be very scary?” she says, half smiling and raising her eyebrows again, the net effect being to make herself look very, very attractive and not the slightest bit scary.

  “Nope. That you are not. Anyway, so what brings you to the hospital? Are you visiting someone?”

  “No. Are you?”

  “Yes. Someone I know was injured in one of the terrorist blasts on the underground.”

  “Oh dear. Is he badly injured?”

  “It’s a she, and she’s in a coma.”

  “Your girlfriend?”

  “No. My flatmate's girlfriend.”

  “I am sorry for your friend. Is she stable?”

  “Yes. For now. There’s been no change in her condition since Thursday.”

  “Well, …is good she now in stable condition,” she says, finishing her cake. She glances quickly at her watch. “Oh dear, my break is over. I must go back.”

  “Do you work here?” I ask.

  “Yes. I am hospital plumber.”

  I stare at her for a second, as she starts to rise from the table.

  “Are you serious?” I ask.

  “Yes. I fix tubes, and make internal plumbing work properly.”

  “No…?”

  “What? Now you think I cannot be good plumber? Please make up mind.”

  “Okay, I think you are probably a very good plumber.”

  “Or maybe even doctor…?”

  “You’re a doctor?”

  “Yes and no. In Slovakia I am qualified doctor. Here, in England, I must do conversion year for make English NHS believe I am good enough for saving lives of English people. But in few weeks I be good English doctor too.”

  “Wow. You’re not only pretty but you’re smart as well.”

  “Thank you. English people are so charming.”

  “I’m not English. I’m Scottish.”

  “Oh dear, now it is I who make mistake. Apologies. But now I must hurry quick. I will be late.”

  I get up from my seat and she picks up her tray.

  “Slouka, since you really are a doctor, ….can I meet you again and buy you a coffee or drink sometime? It would be great if I could talk to you about my friend’s medical condition. And maybe you could tell me a little about Slovakia?”

  “Ah ha, so you not want speak with me if I am only plumber?” she asks, frowning.

  “No…I mean, yes, absolutely yes. I would love to talk you, but…but...” I say, beginning to turn a little red. “Plumbers are great. But if you’re a doctor, you might know a bit more about my friend…”

  I look at her eyes, my pulse suddenly racing, worried that I’ve just blown it and hoping that she won’t say no.

  “I am sorry…” she begins to say, and I prepare myself for the rejection, “… I am very busy today and tomorrow…But if maybe you free on Wednesday night, then perhaps we could meet for then talking about your friend?”

  “On Wednesday? Yes, definitely. That would be great.”

  We swap phone numbers, Slouka reluctantly scribbling down her details on the inside of my book, “I not want ruin your book. Perhaps better write it elsewhere?”

  “No, don’t worry about the book.” I reply. “In fact, I think it’s the most appropriate place to write it. After all, this book is about your country.”

  As I watch her write down her number on the inside cover, I find
it rather touching and considerate the way in which she thought about not wanting to ruin the book, and I can’t help but wonder if she is so thoughtful and caring in all things?

  We agree to meet up at the entrance to the Embankment Tube station on Wednesday at 7pm. When I return to Sal’s bed, I am walking on cloud nine. Could it be that I may have just arranged my first real date in London?

  .

  At 9.30pm the nurse suggests that I should go home, and I agree. I am exhausted. I call Guy on his mobile on the way out, and catch him somewhere on the M40 just driving back into London. I tell him it would be better just to go home and get some rest but he insists on popping into see Sal, even if it is only for a short while. I say good night and head home.

  .

  --------------------------

  .

  In my dream I am flying above the hospital. People below do not see me, and I am able to watch everyone unobserved. Little specks walking in and out of the front door, miniature white ambulances pulling up to the entrance and small people in green jackets running around to the back door and helping people out of ambulances and into the hospital.

  I fly lower, now able to make out the people’s faces, and I circle around and around above the entrance to the hospital.

  Suddenly I see her. It is Sal, walking out of the hospital, holding hands with a man I do not recognise. This is what I have been waiting for.

  They walk out of the main gate, and the man flags down a taxi, and they both climb in.

  Determined not to lose them and to follow them both home, I start to follow the taxi as it pulls away, hovering above them about ten metres in the air. From this height and angle I can see them both through the rear window, and as I watch the man puts his arm around Sal, draws him to her, and starts to kiss her. Suddenly I cannot keep my anger under control any longer, and I swoop down to the back of the taxi, knocking furiously on the back window. As if in slow motion, they both turn to face me. Sal stares at me in shock, and for the first time I get to see the man’s face clearly in the daylight.