Sun of the Sleepless Read Online Free Page A

that paper and leather binding would feel twice as heavy during the last run and that she would probably be wheezing a bit; she really had to give up smoking.
    Hefting the load down the narrow flight of stairs, her footing was not helped by the narrow depth of each step and she cursed the lack of a lift in her building. At the bottom, she balanced the container on her raised thigh held steady with her knee cocked against the wall to take the weight. Fumbling with the latch, she finally pulled open the shared entrance door to the street where the sight of her Citroën 2cv van presented a very welcome finish line. Lugging the box a couple more paces, she lowered it somewhat heavily onto the pavement, swiftly unlocked the rear doors of the van and jerked the box back up, practically throwing it to slide into the cargo cabin. She looked up to the window of her apartment and puffed a sigh; only five more trips to go.
    By the end of the fourth trip, she was thankful that she had her second wind and was making good time, in spite of a couple of occasions where she had nearly lost her balance. After the fifth trip she was inspired by the simple fact that the whole task was almost over and the sixth and final run was completed with the grim determination of a sprint finish. She considered that she had been right; the last container had felt as though it was twice as heavy as the first.
    In spite of the cold weather she was sweating a little and so took a moment to cool down, inhaling and exhaling a couple of deep breaths to credit her oxygen deficit. After locking the doors of the van, she turned and walked steadily back to her apartment, relishing the airy lightness of step that her previous exertions had given her. She just had to fill a flask of hot coffee to see her through the morning and pick up a small bag of snacks to nibble as the pangs took her. At least she could get her breath back before driving.
    After locking up her apartment and skipping down the stairs for the seventh time that morning, she finally settled into the driver's seat and sat for a moment before switching the ignition. The tinny engine peaked and then settled into its familiar rattling thrum, sounding like some outrageously converted sewing machine on wheels.
    She loved her little van in spite of the fact that it was almost a decade older than her and could be temperamental in not only starting but also in running. Painted a deep purple colour and proudly illustrated with the name of her fledgling antiquarian book business, it held a special place in her heart. She had fallen in love with the van the first time she had seen it, advertised as fully restored and ideal for a business vehicle, although in truth, in dire need of some rust inhibitor and an extensive engine overhaul. Ignoring the disparity between the description and the reality, the price was within her budget and it made sense for her to go with an economical vehicle, although it was the imploring eyes of the headlamps that had decided the deal for her.
    Even before she had signed the paperwork, she had named her little van Willem after the Prince of Orange. It was a quickly conceived but convoluted decision, based on her reasoning that since she considered that the car looked like a frog and because she had always loved the Brothers Grimm's books of fairy-tales, the handsome little frog car might be a prince in disguise. Certainly, she regarded her van as a noble fellow and trusted him to look after her on the highways.
    Releasing the handbrake and slotting into first gear, she checked the mirrors and pulled out into the relatively quiet street. Although cold and frosty, she was sure that today was going to be a good day, the day that she could look back upon as the point at which her business took off. She smiled to herself as she gently motored away heading for the market and intermittently fumbled with the radio to find some songs that she could sing along to.



SUN OF THE