Daniel's Dream (28 page)

Daniel sipped his coffee and stared into the middle distance. There were times - times like this, when he moped over a cup of steaming coffee - when it seemed that nothing would ever change. Even Atheenaton, for all its evanescent delight, could not help him here, here in the real, wide-awake world. And no matter how he felt about Véronique and Kate and Barry and the rest of the spectral misfits that peopled his other world, in the end he was destined, it seemed, always to return to this, to normality, to misery.

In the end, he mused, Atheenaton was nothing more than a wonderful distraction, and it wasn’t real, was it? Because, thought Daniel, if there’s an acid test, then surely that is it. Real things, people, events, they’re not perfect. They’re faulty. And Atheenaton isn’t... it isn’t... there isn’t...

Daniel slammed his hand down on the coffee table. That was the problem in a nutshell. Atheenaton, Véronique, Kate, Barry, Vangeli, Kostas... it was all too good, too damn perfect. Nothing in real life is that good, ever. Reality is people who interfere, friends who abandon you, wives who don’t understand you, telephones that don’t work, instant coffee that tastes awful, filthy old drunks on Tube trains who threaten you. Reality is boredom, frustration and helplessness.

And death.

Most of all, perhaps, reality is all about coming to terms with death, with the shocking, unpalatable truth that beautiful young people in their prime may have their lives snuffed out without reason, without sense. Reality is everything you despise. And everything else is pie in the sky. Everything else is just a dream.

There had been a time, once, when life was good, a time when he was very happy. If he dared to, Daniel could remember the good times; the small victories, the great triumphs, gained in more innocent days, before the accident, before life had revealed its true character.

Daniel had once been foolish enough to believe that life was a miraculous thing, that it was something wonderful. But now he thought differently; now he knew better. Life was not beautiful: it was a lottery, a tightrope walk, a constant struggle against dangers and risks that you didn’t even know existed.

If you were lucky, you survived. You survived the traumas of birth, the whooping cough and measles that threatened to finish you off before you’d learnt to read and write.

If you were lucky, you survived the host of viruses floating around in the atmosphere which could murder you before you’d experienced your first kiss.

If you were lucky, you survived the countless accidents that nearly happened, the endless near-misses, the myriad moments when you came within seconds of copping it, but didn’t: the flight you missed that crashed into a mountain killing everyone on board, the hotel you should have been staying in that was bombed by terrorists, the ship you should have sailed on that hit a reef and sank.

You survived all these, the ones that you read about and the dozens you didn’t even know had passed you by, and you survived it all only to deal with a hundred heartbreaks and disappointments, a thousand day-dreams that never came true, a million wishes left unfulfilled. If, in between these set-backs and let-downs, if every now and then you managed to succeed, to pull something off against the odds, to create something beautiful or make something happen, then maybe you celebrated.

But it was always short-lived. The victories, the triumphs, only ever lasted a short while. Then it was back to the daily grind, back on the survivial merry-go-round, cheating death with your ducking and diving, and working and hoping and praying that you’d make it through another day.

But not everyone made it through the day. Alex hadn’t. And what had she done to deserve such a fate?

What had Véronique said? That some questions were meaningless? It was beginning to feel as if all questions were meaningless. If only he hadn’t woken up so soon; if only he had had a little longer to talk to Véronique. Now all he could think about was returning to Atheenaton and being with her; not just temporarily, but for good. If she could stay permanently, why couldn”t he? Or was that another meaningless question?

Daniel picked up the handset and dialled again. He heard it ring three times and then...

‘Hello, Lisanne Cokely speaking...’

Daniel swallowed noisily. Suddenly the inside of his mouth was completely dry, as if he’d been chewing blotting paper for half an hour. He gave a throaty cough before speaking.

‘Hello,’ he said hoarsely. ‘It’s me.’

Lisanne replaced the receiver and stared worriedly at it. She was still staring at it when Jane, her secretary, brought in her morning coffee.

‘Lisanne? Is something wrong?’

Lisanne looked up and shook her head. ‘No... that is, yes, but I don’t know what it is.’

‘Daniel?’

Lisanne nodded sadly. ‘It’s getting worse, Jane. I’m at my wits’ end.’

Jane put the coffee mug on Lisanne’s desk and, seeing she was in need of a confessor, casually sat down in the seat opposite, the one usually reserved for visiting authors.

‘He’s started talking complete gibberish,’ continued Lisanne, picking up a pencil and twirling it between her fingers as if she were hand-rolling a cigarette. ‘That”s the second time he’s phoned me at work sounding completely frantic, only to spout some nonsense at me before apologising profusely and hanging up. You know, on top of everything else... he was a total shit last night. I can’t tell you. Just unbearable.’

Lisanne gave a loud, heartfelt sigh. It sounded like the final breath escaping from some dying animal: it made Jane shudder.

‘I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.’

Jane nodded uneasily. ‘Why don’t you get him to see someone... if he’s, you know...’

‘No, he won’t do it. It’s difficult enough getting him to see Dr Fischer, and even then he only ends up being rude to him. If I suggested that he see a therapist he’d go mad. Oh God, what have I said.’ Lisanne sighed again and shook her head. ‘I’m beginning to think I’m the one that needs professional help.’

‘Don’t be daft. You’re the most well-balanced person I know.’

‘But I’m lost, Jane. I just don’t know what to do any more. Do you know, we haven’t made love in six months.’

Jane blushed. ‘Well, perhaps... what with the accident...’

‘Dr Fischer says there’s nothing to stop him from having “an active life”. It isn’t that he can’t; it’s that he won’t. If I didn’t know better I’d think he were having an affair.’

Jane wondered momentarily whether she should ask if this were, indeed, a possibility, but thought better of it. ‘Perhaps you just have to give him a bit longer. It can’t have been easy for him. After all, he nearly died, did.n’t he?’

Lisanne frowned and said nothing for a moment. ‘That is the line, isn’t it?’

Jane shrugged. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

‘What we’ve been saying all this time... how he nearly died, how close he came and all that. But you know, it’s not really true. Not really.’

‘But the accident...’

‘...that never happened.’

‘What? But I thought...’

‘Oh yes, there was an accident. But it wasn’t the accident that everyone was told about.’

‘You’ve lost me.’

‘Perhaps that’s just as well.’

‘No, go on. It’s obviously bothering you, whatever it is.’

Lisanne shook her head. ‘It’ll just make me sound like a heartless cow.’

‘Well, that’s okay; I already know you’re a heartless cow. Come on, spill.’

Lisanne took a sip of coffee and pondered a moment. She wasn’t sure whether she dared to express her thoughts out loud. At the same time, she feared that if she kept such notions bottled up inside her, then they might fester like an untreated wound.

‘Well, it’s just a matter of semantics I suppose. There are two accidents, if you like; the accident that did happen - a horrible, tragic affair in which a young woman called Alex was killed - and an accident that didn’t happen, in which both Alex and Daniel were killed. That was the accident that nearly happened, in which Daniel nearly died. If Daniel had been in the car when it smashed into the tree, then yes, God forbid, he would almost certainly have been killed like that poor girl. But he wasn’t in the car. He was thrown free and sustained some bad bruising, a broken collar-bone and some trauma to his neck and vertebrae; nothing that could be remotely thought of as life-threatening. If he’d been severely injured, rushed to intensive care, operated on, been close to death’s door, then made a recovery, yes, then it would be fair to say he’d nearly died. But none of that happened. Nothing like it happened. All I’m saying is... well, someone nearly mowed me down today while I was crossing the road opposite Marks & Sparks. A great big Merc, driver not paying attention. Missed me by inches. In an accident that
nearly
happened, I
nearly
died. Does that entitle me to go around for the next six months making everyone’s life miserable? Does it?’

Jane shrugged. ‘Perhaps he feels responsible for her death. Were they very close?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t know! All I know is that it’s like living with a fucking zombie! I can’t go on with it, Jane. I just can’t!’

Jane stood up and walked round the desk, put a comforting arm around her employer, and allowed her to cry bitterly on her shoulder until her blouse was wet through and the coffee had turned stone cold.

‘And I think we should tell her.’

Janice looked up from her newspaper. ‘It’s not our place to interfere.’

Vince reached forward and pulled the newspaper down from in front of Janice’s face. ‘Janice.’

‘What?’ she said, irritated. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Vince, what do you want from me?’

‘I want you to phone Lisanne and tell her that her husband is having delusions.’

‘But I don’t know that he is.’

‘I spoke to him Janice. Believe me, he’s cracking up.’

‘I spoke to him too, remember? And as far as I’m concerned, he’s perfectly okay - a bit disturbed, perhaps, but that’s no surprise when you consider what he went through.’

‘You don’t really believe all that guff about the dream?’

‘Believe what? That’s he’s having the dream? Of course I do.’

‘No, dummy, believe that this place really exists. I mean you can’t...’

Janice grimaced and folded the newspaper in two, laying it down on the seat beside her.

‘It’s not important what I believe. What’s important is that it really exists for Daniel, and frankly that’s all that matters.’

‘And you don’t think there’s anything wrong with a grown man believing that in his dreams he goes to the land of Oz?’ 

‘Why do you have to be so dismissive? Just because you don’t understand...’

‘Oh, let me guess what’s coming next: I can’t possibly understand because I’m an insensitive, unimaginative boofhead and Daniel is Mister Delicate and Vulnerable. Well I don’t buy it.’

‘How can you be so closed-minded?’

‘Because it helps me to keep my head when all around are losing theirs.’

Janice sneered. ‘Very poetic.’

‘See, not so insensitive after all. Kipling.’

‘I know...’

‘Do you like Kipling?’ said Vince with a leer that gave credence to almost any accusation of insensitivity or boorishness that Janice might hurl at him.

‘Please, Vince, not now.’ Janice picked up her newspaper again, hoping it might shield her from his tiresomeness.

Vince pulled a face. ‘Just trying to inject a little light humour into the proceedings. So, are you going to tell her or what?’

‘If Daniel wants Lisanne to know about it, he’ll tell her. You suggested he speak to her, I suggested he speak to her. I don’t think we’ve any right to interfere beyond that.’

‘You’re talking about Daniel.’

‘So?’

‘He’s my best mate. I can’t just sit around and do nothing while he plans his route to the funny farm!’