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

by Irvine, Ian C. P.

  None.

  There’s no way I would admit that to her. No fucking way.

  I slept with someone else, but the truth is that in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t mean anything…

  .

  There is a sudden rush of air through the tunnel, the ominous sign that heralds the imminent arrival of a tube train. I breathe in deep and swallow hard. A tube train arrives at the platform. The doors open in front of me, and I close my eyes and propel myself inside. I reach out, and search for one of the support poles, grabbing it with both hands as soon my fingers touch it. I cling to it tightly, resting my head against it, scrunching up my eyes, and starting to hyperventilate.

  The fear rises within me and becomes overpowering. I feel sick and light-headed and my chest feels as if it is going to explode from the heavy pounding of my heart.

  A voice says something over the loudspeaker but I don’t understand it, even though it is in plain English. The voice is followed by the electronic whistle, and the doors begin to close. My knees feel weak, and I have an overpowering urge to run away, or scream, or explode…I have to get out of here.

  But I tighten my grip on the pole, and try to count to ten. Slowly.

  The carriage jolts forward and starts to move along the platform.

  “Three,…….four……..” I say to myself, swaying against the pole with the movement of the train. “Five,…..six…..” Miraculously I reach ten, but I am not able to make any rationale decision as to what I should do next, so I carrying on counting. “Eleven…twelve…”

  By thirteen we are pulling into the next station. Pimlico.

  The doors open, but I keep my eyes firmly closed.

  “Twenty-one….twenty-two….”

  I remember that I once read somewhere that a panic attack can’t harm you. That if you let it wash over you, and don’t fight it, the adrenaline that fuels the symptoms of fear will soon run out and the panic will subside. So I keep counting, waiting for the adrenaline to run out…

  “Thirty…thirty-one…”

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  The train is pulling into the next station now, Victoria, and it is with great relief that I jump out of the train and change from the Victoria Line to the District Line. I run between the platforms as fast as I can, and I arrive just as an eastbound train is pulling into the station. Once again I dive through the doors and cling to a pole as the doors close and the train surges forward through the next tunnel.

  I start counting again from zero, a fresh wave of fear washing through me as a new panic attack starts to unleash itself within me.

  “Ten, eleven…”

  I feel a hand on my shoulder, and the stench of a man’s hot breath assails my nostrils. I smell curry.

  “Are you okay?” the man asks me, concern showing in his voice.

  “Fifteen, sixteen…”I mutter to myself as I open my eyes slightly to look at the voice’s owner.

  He is a tall Asian man, good looking, dressed in a white robe, a large black beard, and a small white hat. A Muslim man. Young. Strong. I would guess about thirty-five years old. Probably just a little older than the terrorists who blew themselves up.

  I step away from him, my reaction taking the man a little by surprise. I stare at him, my eyes wide with fear, scanning him from head to toe and noticing a large rucksack beside his sandaled feet. A rucksack…

  “Excuse me Sir,…Are you well? Can I help you?” he asks me.

  “Help…help me?” I ask, breathing in and trying to take control of myself.

  “Yes. Please, here, would you like some water?” the man asks, reaching towards the rucksack.

  “Stop!” I shout aloud, letting go of the pole and stretching out and trying to grab his hand before it sets off the bomb.

  Too late, …his hand is already inside the canvas bag…

  The man turns back towards me and looks at me, surprise showing on his face. He withdraws his hand from the rucksack, pulling out a fresh, unopened bottle of sparkling water.”

  “Water…?” I stutter in disbelief.

  “Yes, it will do you good, my friend. And please, would you like to sit down?” he asks, turning to some children on some nearby seats and waving at them to stand up. One of them jumps up obediently, obviously his son, and the Muslim man gently takes my arm and helps me to sit down.

  “I am sorry…” I whisper, “I think I am having a panic attack.”

  “I thought so. I used to suffer from them a while ago. And now ever since the terrorist attacks, I have to confess that I have started being rather worried about travelling by tube as well. Still, it’s the only way you can really get around London, isn’t it? ”

  “…You’re nervous too…? I was beginning to think it was only me.” I feign a small, pathetic laugh.

  “Nowadays I think all of London is nervous. Anyway, my family and I have no choice. This is the best way for us to get up to the Royal London Hospital. Our daughter is there…she was injured in one of the attacks on the underground.”

  I stare at the man.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, the panic slowly subsiding. I take a large drink of the water and wipe my mouth. “My friend is there as well. She was also injured in one of the attacks. In fact, I’m on my way to see her just now too. She’s getting released today.”

  “Then we are two strangers both connected by the same terrible tragedy and the same evil madness. There is nothing more precious than life, my friend.. Nothing…I wish your friend as speedy a recovery as possible. Unfortunately, my daughter will not be getting out as quickly as your friend.”

  He tries to smile at me, but I see a shadow of sadness appear within his eyes and for a moment I forget about my own fears and want to ask this kind stranger how his daughter is and when she will be better, but something tells me that to go there would just bring pain to the man. Instinctively I know that the daughter’s injuries must still be life-threatening.

  Almost as if he is sensing what I am thinking, he says, “Don’t worry. She will survive, but it was touch and go for a while. What we must be grateful for is that Allah Subhana wa ta'ala' gave us back her life, and that is the most important thing of all. Life is the most precious gift we have, my friend. And that is why when we have it, we must live it to the full, and not spend the precious time we have in worrying or fearing that which has not yet happened and will probably not happen at all. Fear and worry do nothing for us but steal from us the happiness that we can find simply by enjoying the time that we have now. Do not fear the future. Enjoy the ‘now’ and in this way we will all find happiness. Ask youself this question, my friend, “Why waste our time and energy worrying about ‘what if something bad happens to me?’ when we could equally well ask, ‘what if something good happens?’ ”

  I search this gentleman’s eyes, and I see only kindness and compassion there. In return, I see that he is studying me, and as I watch him I see the shadow lift from his eyes and his half-smile become full-blown.

  “Aha…” he says. “And now, my friend, I think your panic attack is over. You are looking better.”

  …and he is right. The fear has subsided, and what’s more, I do not think it will return.

  .

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  .

  We talk for the rest of the journey to Whitechapel tube station, and when I excuse myself from his company so that I can run the rest of the way to the hospital, I shake him by his hand and thank him for his kindness and for being my Good Samaritan.

  Taking the stairs up the escalator two at a time, I burst out into the sunshine and sprint the rest of the way to the hospital, eventually turning into the grand forecourt and dashing up to the entrance with my shirt soaked through and sweat pouring from every pore of my body.

  As I run up to the large entrance doors I am scanning all around for any sign of Sal, but find none.

  Pushing open the doors and hurrying inside, I look all around me but am no more s
uccessful. She is not standing waiting at the entrance, or sitting waiting on any of the chairs. She is nowhere to be seen.

  I am too late.

  Chapter Forty Seven

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  .

  “Andrew,” I hear a voice from behind me, and I turn to see Sal walking slowly out of a disabled toilet, supporting herself with her free hand on her walking stick and carrying her hospital bag awkwardly across her shoulder. “It’s good to see you, but I was expecting Guy. Is he okay?”

  Just as I start to walk towards her I see a taxi pulling into the semi-circle driveway in front of the hospital, and I recognise Guy in the back seat.

  “Quickly, come with me!” I urge Sal, hurriedly but gently grasping her unbroken arm, turning her around and walking her back into the toilet. “Guy has just arrived in the taxi and I need to speak to you in private before he sees us.”

  “What about? What’s the matter?” she asks me, limping back to where she just came from.

  We step back inside the cubicle, a large unisex toilet for disabled people, and I quickly shut the door behind us and lock it.

  “…the thing is Sal, I gave you the wrong advice. I woke up this morning and I realised that the absolutely last thing you must do is to tell Guy the truth. Sometimes the best thing to do is to lie.., or at least sometimes we have to do our best to avoid any situation where we might have to tell the truth.”

  “I don’t understand. I’ve been thinking all night about what you said and I realised that you were right. Especially when you said that ‘the truth will always out’. It’s true. The truth always finds a way of being discovered. There’s no point in covering it up.”

  “Listen, that all sounds great in principle. But life is a hell of a lot more complicated than that. I’m sorry, I don’t know what planet I’ve been living on for the past few years, but no one should ever take my advice or listen to me. I have less of a clue about anything than anyone else.”

  “So why the sudden turn around?

  “Let’s just say that something happened which made me realise that it is possible to sleep with someone else and still love the person you are going out with.”

  “You slept with someone else? But you’re in love with Slávka! You can’t stop going on about how lovely she is. You must be crazy.”

  “And Guy? What about him? I thought you thought he was lovely too?” I immediately reply, probably with too much of a hint of aggression. “Anyway the thing is, it’s Slávka that I love now…, and I’m not saying that I did sleep with someone else, but what I am saying is that I can easily understand now that it isn’t all black and white and that there are plenty of shades of grey in between. And I know that if you tell Guy that you slept with someone else…”

  “…but I didn’t really sleep with…” she immediately interrupts me.

  “Fine, whatever you did do, or didn’t do. The fact is that if you tell Guy that you got into bed with another man and you were intimate with him the night before he proposed to you, it doesn’t matter what reason you have for doing it. He just won’t understand. He’ll do just what I did to Kate, and your relationship will be history. And who is going to lose out? Everyone. Both of you. You and him. You both end up with lots of pain and hurt and you’ll both be lonely and heartbroken and suffering from a lot of unnecessary confusion which will last for years and years… And you won’t be together any more. And the fact is Sal, that I can’t think of anyone else who has more capacity to make Guy happy in this entire world than you. You belong together. You really do. So, what I am asking you to do, is to forget everything I’ve told you, and just walk out there and meet Guy and tell him nothing about what happened. And if you don’t tell him, then you have my promise that I won’t either. Just make him happy and make yourself happy too, ok? You deserve it.”

  She is looking at me intently, and I see a tear appear in her eye. She leans forward and kisses me on the cheek.

  “Thanks Andrew. I love you. I really do.”

  “No,” I smile back, wiping the tear from her eye. “Love Guy… Now off you go. I’ll stay in here until you’ve gone. He mustn’t see me,” I reply, opening the door for her and ushering her out, then locking it quickly behind her and hoping that no-one else is waiting outside.

  .

  About ten minutes later, I walk out of the hospital, the coast comfortably clear.

  “Big issue?” a voice cries out at me as I emerge from the driveway onto the main road.

  “How many have you got left?” I ask the man, who doesn’t recognise me from yesterday.

  “Why? About fifteen?” he says, rapidly counting them.

  “Good. I’ll have the lot. Here’s twenty pounds. I going home now, and I need something to read on the tube.”

  .

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  .

  When I get home, without having a single panic attack in spite of the fact that we were stuck in a tunnel for five minutes between Temple and Embankment, Slávka is fast asleep in my bed.

  Trying not to wake her, I strip off and slip in beside her, cuddling up alongside her and drawing her close.

  “Andrew,” she whispers. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too, Slávka. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  We sleep for an hour, make love, have lunch, shower together, and then make love again. About five o’clock we are just planning to go round to her flat, when the phone rings.

  It’s Guy.

  “…so, is the answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’?” he asks, laughing his head off, more happy than I have ever heard him before. “Are you going to be my best man or what?”

  “Fantastic!” I reply. “She said yes then? Guy, that is absolutely brilliant news. We are so happy for you!”

  On the other end of the phone I can hear Sal kissing Guy and in one of those purely ‘Walton Family’ moments, I reach out and pull Slávka towards me, wrapping her into my arms and kissing her too.

  It’s fantastic. Out of the jaws of depression, despondence and disaster, somehow it has all come together perfectly.

  Sal has got her health back and she and Guy are getting married, I’m with Slávka and madly in love, I’ve conquered my fear of terrorists and London, and Hannah now has a boyfriend too.

  Who says there is no such thing as a happy ending?

  . .

  Part Four

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  Chapter Forty Eight

  One week later

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  .

  .

  For the next week Slávka and I alternate between her place and mine and are almost inseparable, save for the daily requirements of work and bread winning.

  Life it seems, is good. In fact, life is actually the best I have ever had it. Strong words, I know, but for the first time in my life I am in love with someone I can trust, and I am allowing myself to trust her, which is something I have never been able to do in my life before. As the Americans might say, ‘I’m in a good place right now, somewhere that I have never been before,’ and I’m loving it.

  Every. Single. Second. Of it.

  I am in love, and I don’t care who knows.

  It was an almost perfect week, except for one very uncomfortable moment on the Sunday evening after my reunion with Slávka, when Gail had called me on my mobile, …wanting to talk.

  Panicking that Slávka may overhear the conversation I had to discretely disappear into the toilet to apologise for sneaking off that morning and then to break the news that Slávka and I were back together. When I told her about Slávka, she pretended to take it well, but I could tell that she was upset again: I think she was probably hoping that I would possibly be stepping into the emptiness that Ben had left behind.

  Ben never came into work on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday and on Thursday morning when we arrived at the office, we found that his desk had been cleared. An email went round the office later that morning, informi
ng everyone that Ben had transferred to our office in Italy. Which, on the face of it, was probably the best thing for him. A subsequent conversation with James over a pint in the Lemon Tree that Friday evening added the icing to the Ben-Transfer-Cake when a rather tipsy James let slip that he thought that Dianne knew nothing about the transfer, and had apparently been calling both the HR department and him to try and find out where he had gone.

  .

  On Thursday morning, Slávka received a first class parcel from Slovakia and when she opened it in front of me, it turned out to be the official job offer from the hospital in Bardejov, confirmed it in writing and offering her even more money than she had expected, along with a cheap flat provided by the hospital at nominal rent in one of the best locations in the town.

  By this time such was the state of my new found ‘loved-inspired-blind trust’, that I did not worry for one moment that she might accept the gilded carrot being dangled in front of her. A blind trust that was confirmed later that morning when Slávka called me at work and asked me to check my inbox for a copy of the email that she had sent to the hospital, officially turning the job offer down. Although I didn’t understand any of it, I had no problem in taking her word that it basically said ‘No thank you.’

  “I love you, my Andrew. And I stay here in London, so that you can teach me best English!”

  “Better English.”

  “Okay, so that I can speak butter English.”

  .

  When I called Slávka and asked her to join me on Friday night at the Lemon Tree-after first making sure that Gail was unlikely to turn up too-, I proudly introduced her to James, whereupon later that evening he gave the official seal of Euro.com approval by nudging me rather drunkenly in the ribs and winking at me. “She’s very lovely, Andrew. Very lovely. Look after her.”