Free In Pieces by Nick Hopton Page B

it’s still going.’
    Eamon at the pub knew that he was looking for a new place. The Sleeper suspected he’d be able to sort something out. Eamon knew everyone and took pride in helping out fellow countrymen in trouble. He’d been here for a long time. Twenty years by his reckoning, since he was the Sleeper’s age.
    Eamon returned from the back room where he’d been phoning. ‘That’s fine. She says go over tomorrow and see her. Here, I’ll write down the address for you.’
    â€˜Eamon, you’re a good man, you know that.’
    â€˜Aww, just shut up and take your pint before it goes off.’ He handed over the warm glass which he’d been filling. ‘That’s one thing about the English. They do have good beer. I know I’m not meant to like it really being an Irishman, but I do prefer it to the black stuff.’
    When the Sleeper got back to Mrs Donnelley’s, he found she’d already gone to bed. That was good because he didn’t really want to tell her about the new accommodation until he’d finalised it.
    He sat down at the small table in his bedroom and opened the right hand drawer. He ripped a page out of an exercise book and wrote a letter to his ma telling her about the new house he was going to live in and about his friend Eamon. He sent love to his brother and two sisters as usual, and signed off
Your Loving Son
. She liked that. It’d keep her happy for a couple more months, then he’d write again.
    When he’d addressed and sealed the envelope, he looked again in the drawer and took out a small metal box. The tiny key in his pocket opened it. He pulled out a folded scrap of paper. He ripped out another sheet of paper and in block letters carefully transcribed the address Eamon had given him. At school the teacher had always said how well he printed. It didn’t look bad, even now after so little practice. He held up the note and admired it. Then he took an envelope and sealed theletter before copying out the address from the scrap of paper. No name, just a PO Box. Finally, he put the paper back in the box and locked it. He closed the drawer and slipped the envelopes into his pocket.
    The next day, the Sleeper posted the letters as planned. Later that morning, when the postman emptied his bag, he dropped one of the Sleeper’s letters. But before he noticed it lying on the ground, the bitter wind caught it up and carried it into a thorn hedge by the side of the pavement. It lodged there for several days until a small dog saw it and tried to take it in its teeth. But he only managed to dislodge it. Once again a gust seized it, and this time succeeded in blowing it twenty yards away into a shop doorway. A passer-by picked it up and put it in his pocket to post later. It then disappeared for four months.
    ~
    Si came out of the restaurant and regretted that he had to return to the office. He’d passed a couple of gourmet hours with a pleasant guy from a PR company. The PR company had paid, which made Si feel vaguely self-important. In fact, this was one of the first business lunches that he hadn’t had to pay for. He must be getting somewhere if people considered him worth lunching.
    The PR executive had predictably pushed his client, but after Si had expressed some interest and promised to keep in touch about progress, they’d moved on to discussing football. The businessman clearly felt satisfied that the lunch had been worthwhile, and Si had got away without committing himself to putting anything in the Diary. It had all been a bit of a doddle.
    Si wandered along the leafy street for a while, looking in at the shop windows. He stopped when he saw a piece of paper fluttering at his feet. Still feeling rather mellow, he stooped gently and picked it up. It turned out to be a letter for a London address. Someone must have dropped it. Si slipped it into his coat pocket to post later.
    ~
    The gaunt eyes stared back.