The Sleepwalkers, page 23
I began noticing the people you probably never see, the quiet cleaners, and the invisible staff washing up in the backs of kitchens, and I wondered how they’d got there. I tried Debbie and Marcus a couple more times. I drank a lot. I sat in the hotel bar, hating myself and the world I’d been born into. I stared at the curious framed prints in the airport lounge, the ones that depicted happy balloon rides and picnics, all in the same two-dimensional sunlit world.
There was nothing left for me in the UK. I stayed for only three days before flying back to Auckland. I didn’t even have a window seat.
And now here I am, back on the balcony of the Swordfish Club, looking out at the pohutukawa tree and the jetty, as I was when I began this letter. The tables here are comfortable to write on, and I am inspired, somehow, by Zane Grey and all his novels and his many large fish. Right now I am trying to spend as much time as possible in public, and not simply because I am afraid of what might be slipped under my door when I am alone. I keep thinking I’ve seen him here, Annabelle. The dapper little man. I know that sounds crazy. But I was almost certain it was him—a white linen napkin tucked into his paisley waistcoat—in the classy hotel just yesterday when I was running past, and I balked, and ran faster. And then this morning I thought I saw him coming out of the public toilets near the museum. He was holding his brown briefcase with the bronze clasp.
So I must finish this quickly, and send it sooner than I’d like.
I don’t even know what I expect you to do with all this material. But I hope you understand it, and give me back what is rightfully mine. If Richard is out there somewhere, don’t you think he needs his bank account as well? But please, Annabelle, give me my money. The proceeds from the sale of my house would be a good start. Whether you like it or not, Richard married me, and I didn’t kill him and I am not dead, so what he left behind should be mine, however cleverly you have hidden it. I’m unlikely to earn any money from this story. Marcus and Debbie decided not to go ahead with any version of The Sleepwalkers in the end. They said it wasn’t clear enough whose story it was, and what actually happened. They felt it was too experimental and too dark. They said they still didn’t know who the sleepwalkers really were and who, if anyone, had killed them.
“This story,” said Marcus, when I finally got him to speak to me, “is missing something. You gotta make it clearer what actually happened. And I have to admit, sweetheart, I don’t like trafficking. Tragic love—that I do like. But trafficking? Does anyone really care? And even if they do—which I doubt—is it even your story to tell?”
“But Hamza,” I said. “He wanted to tell it, and you—”
“That kid didn’t know how to pick his moment,” said Marcus.
You know what I keep asking myself, Annabelle? Why did Richard drink the coffee? Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he poured his away too. Now I’ve read the transcript I can see that he was telling me he knew about the trafficking. Did he escape? Is he out there somewhere? It’s worth keeping an open mind on that, don’t you think? But then again, maybe he was so ashamed he just wanted to die.
I don’t even blame Isabella anymore. Where had she come from, with her disguised Texan accent and her layers of costume and armor and other people’s kink? When I think of Isabella now she blurs in my mind with Chloe, the girl from Richard’s story, who disappeared into the back streets of Europe. Chloe returned in the end, but I wonder if there are people waiting for Isabella back in Texas, or wherever it is she came from. Or maybe not. Maybe that’s why.
Of course, I sent an anonymous email to Interpol as soon as I got back to New Zealand. Is that why the dapper little man is haunting me now? I imagine all kinds of ghastly weapons in his briefcase, plus his sketch pad and sticks of charcoal, to record the way he kills me. Whatever authorities ever arrived on Kathos, I imagine he will have got away with everything, and Isabella too. They are white, Western, silver-tongued. I hesitated before I reported their crimes at all, thinking it most likely that poor Hamza would take the blame like the whipping boy he always seemed to be. But then I remembered the sleek heron girl with her “Istanbul is Contemporary” bag, and how happy she’d appeared that day, and how much I’d longed to be her, because I didn’t understand who she really was.
There are tsunami hazard warnings everywhere here. They freaked me out when I first arrived, with their image of a stick figure frantically clawing his way up a steep cliff, a jagged wave rearing up behind him like the open mouth of a shark. There is absolutely no way he’s going to make it, but he scrambles for high ground anyway, wanting to stay alive, as we all do. I do hope you’ll read all of this, or even if you don’t read it, please keep it safe, for
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my family and all my friends for your love and support. In particular, I’d like to thank Rod, and also Mum, Gordian, Sam, Hari, Nia and Ivy, for your constant encouragement. Couze and Ruth, you are loved and remembered. Marion and Lyndy, thank you for the wonderful late-night chats about the Matariki. Kat, David and Amy, thank you for your unfailing friendship and camaraderie. Rosa, Sarah, Charlotte and Emma, thank you so much for reading an early draft of this with such love and care. I am so grateful for my brilliant agents, Dan and Veronique, and my editors, Olivia and Chris. Many thanks also to Ella and Brittany. Without you all, I would never have been able to get this book into the world. Blessings to every one of you.
More in Romance and Suspense
Denial
Untraceable
Blue Moon
Darkness
The Drafter
Burying Water
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
© ED THOMPSON
scarlett thomas was born in London. She is the author of highly acclaimed contemporary cult-hit novels including The End of Mr. Y, which was longlisted for the Orange Broadband Prize for Fiction; Oligarchy; The Seed Collectors; PopCo; and the Worldquake series of middle grade books. Her novels have sold more than half a million copies worldwide and have been translated into twenty-six languages. Scarlett is professor of creative writing and contemporary fiction at the University of Kent. Find out more at www.scarthomas.com.
SimonandSchuster.com
www.SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Scarlett-Thomas
@simonbooks
PREVIOUS BOOKS BY SCARLETT THOMAS
Oligarchy
The Seed Collectors
Our Tragic Universe
The End of Mr. Y
PopCo
Going Out
Bright Young Things
Seaside
In Your Face
Dead Clever
We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster ebook.
Get a FREE ebook when you join our mailing list. Plus, get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster. Click below to sign up and see terms and conditions.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
Already a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2024 by Scarlett Thomas
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Simon & Schuster Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition April 2024
SIMON & SCHUSTER and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, LLC
Simon & Schuster: Celebrating 100 Years of Publishing in 2024
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or business@simonandschuster.com.
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
Jacket design by Natalia Olbinski
Jacket art by Master1305/Getty Images and Payllik/Adobe Stock
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBN 978-1-6680-3298-5
ISBN 978-1-6680-3300-5 (ebook)
Scarlett Thomas, The Sleepwalkers
