Dream a Little Dream (11 page)

There’s no point bothering her with any of that.

Just let her think I’m a genius for a little longer while I guiltily enjoy her warmth.

I’m on the opposite side of the road from my childhood home, but instead of a road between us, there’s a river winding its way around the houses. I’m sat on its riverbank, surrounded by weeds and stinging nettles, unable to move.

Not that I seem too bothered about being stuck somewhere. I’m extremely content as I sit eating chunky chips in curry sauce from the local chippie. This masterpiece of the food world was a regular during my school days and eaten during most lunchtimes – nothing can beat the soggy chips and the spicy sauce as they warm your throat and tummy.

Mum would die if she saw me eating this,
I think guiltily, looking up at the house.

A lump of sauce drops down on to my puffy white dress.

I pull the fabric up to my mouth and suck on it, hoping it won’t leave a stain. It’s not mine. I borrowed it from Julie for the weekend.

Further up the river I spot Carly, Josh, Alastair, Natalia, Dan and Lexie, along with what looks like Tom from McFly through the trees. They’re all in yellow canoes, paddling quickly in my direction as though they’re having a race. There’s lots of shrieking, shouting and laughter as they go.

I stand up and wave, being careful of the nettles around my ankles.

‘Oi,’ I call, cupping one hand to the side of my mouth.

There’s no reaction. They can’t hear me over the fun they’re having.

‘Hey!’ I call again, this time waving my free hand in the air while the other continues to cradle my precious chips.

Nothing.

I huff and sit back down, deciding to wait for them there instead. They’re obviously coming to see me in the house, I reason. I’ll just wait.

Turning back to my childhood home, I notice it’s on fire. Smoke and flames are ferociously blowing out of every window, singeing Mum’s delicate lace curtains into nothing.

I get up to run to it but find that my ankles are clamped in iron clasps, meaning I can’t move from the spot I’m in at all. I can’t get there.

‘Mum! Dad!’ I yell, hoping the house is empty. Hoping they’re not in danger.

I feel helpless and confused as panic mounts within me.

I manically call out to my friends down the river. They have to hear me. They have to help.

Nothing.

In my hysteria I start waving my arms. Chips and curry sauce fly in the air and land all over Julie’s special white dress. I scream. Scream until my throat burns – but still nothing, they can’t hear me. They’re having too much fun.

My panic turns into anger, turns into rage.

I’m so angry that I yell to the heavens like Hulk, letting rip as my body is overcome with seething.

‘Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawh!’ I yell, my raspy voice visibly booming through the trees around me like a soundwave punching out through the atmosphere.

Suddenly I’m free from the bank and storming towards my friends, my newfound physical strength pushing me towards them, even though I know I should be going towards my home and putting out the fire.

My blood boils further as I spot them all messing around – no longer racing, but playing with their oars and knocking each other’s
canoes to make them wobble, or childishly splashing water – leaving them all soaked through. Their clothes cling to their bodies, hair hangs droopily about their faces and Tom’s round-rimmed glasses are steamed up with condensation from all their adventurous fun.

Their laughter is so loud it reverberates around my brain and makes my head pound, as though their jolliness is a physical being that’s come at my brain with an army of miniature hammers.

Their carefree fun mocks me in my time of need.

My feet find the water.

I wade through with purpose and an unquenchable anger.

I get to Alastair’s canoe first. Grabbing it by the nose, I pick the whole thing up – Alastair included – and throw him up in the air and down the river like a discarded toy I no longer want to play with.

The girls scream, scared of the monster in front of them.

‘Quick,’ Tom shouts, turning his canoe and paddling speedily in the opposite direction. The others do the same.

I’m about to go after them but one stays behind.

Natalia. Her boat gets stuck on weeds – meaning she is unable to row to freedom with the others. She’s trapped. She’s mine, I realize, reaching for her canoe.

‘Why did you ruin her dress?’ she shouts sobbing, stopping me mid-grab. ‘You know how important that was to her. Why are you such a bitch?’

‘What?’ I start. The anger sliding away, leaving me feeling fragile and confused.

‘I can’t believe you’d do that to her … to us. After everything we’ve all done for you. You’re not the best friend I thought you were. You’re nothing to us.’

She breaks free from the weeds that were holding her there with me, turns and heads after the others.

I look down at the dress covered in lumpy brown sauce and I weep.

I’ve ruined it.

I’ve ruined everything.

I’m left on my own, wearing a curry-stained wedding dress, with my childhood home burning behind me.

‘We’ve booked a venue!’ shrieks Lexie before I’ve had a chance to take my coat off and sit down.

It’s pub quiz night yet again, and this week I’ve come alone because Carly’s managed to catch a tummy bug from someone at work. Natalia isn’t coming because she’s got a meeting with her boss about potential new clients and Josh has had to go back home to see his mum and dad for someone’s birthday. Therefore, for tonight’s pub quiz it’s only me, Alastair, Dan and Lexie.

While the boys chew each other’s ears off with some football chat, I’m paired with Lexie for a confab. While I’m glad to be given the chance to get to know her a bit more, I can’t help but think it’s a shame she has a wedding to my ex to talk about.

It requires a great deal of effort to suppress the feelings that I’ve promised myself I’d put to one side – especially as last night’s angry dream has put me in the strangest and weirdest mood. I’ve been a woman on the verge of exploding all day, something that’s not helped by this scenario.

‘That’s great!’ I smile, although aware that the expression hasn’t quite reached my eyes. ‘Where? Did you get Valentine’s Day?’

Thankfully, having been through the whole wedding process with Andrea and Max a couple of years ago, I know the standard questions to ask and, like most girls, I’m truly fascinated by weddings – although maybe not by this one.

‘Well, originally I wanted to go to the church that I went to growing up, but they’re fully booked – seems quite a few people shared my idea of using February the 14th, but were far more organized about it.’

‘Or gave themselves more time,’ I offer.

‘And that,’ she laughs hysterically, before continuing excitedly with her plans. ‘We’ve decided to go to the church near Dan’s parents instead. They got married there, so did his mum’s parents and Dan’s sister – plus, Dan and the others got Christened there when they were babies, so it’s pretty special anyway.’

‘I know the one,’ I say flippantly, wanting to rush her through the conversation that she’s obviously so desperate to have.

‘Oh?’

‘I’ve been there,’ I shrug, thinking back to Dan’s sister’s wedding and the few times we went Christmas carolling there.

Lexie’s face drops.

Oh fuck.

I’d been there as Dan’s girlfriend, and not as part of our friendship group. I mentally lift my foot and kick myself in the face. I didn’t need to say that and remind her that I’ve been there as Dan’s girlfriend in the past – before she knew him or the pretty little church even existed. It’s a shitty thing to do and I know it, so immediately feel bad.

‘Beautiful building. It’ll be absolutely perfect,’ I nod manically, feeling myself go a little pink and goofily back into my old ways as I try to dig myself out of the hole that I’ve collapsed into – or to at least make her feel better and
buoy her back to talking fun wedding chat. Because, oddly, now I really do want to hear it – she deserves to talk about it as much as she wants to after me being such a twat … and because it’s her wedding day, a day every girl has licence to talk about it as much as they like. It’s a fact. Even if said chat is with your partner’s ex who’s in a foul mood.

If Lexie is at all perturbed or taken aback by my familiarity with her special wedding venue in the remote village in Essex, she manages to pick herself back up very quickly.

‘It will,’ she smiles, regaining her excitement. ‘We’ve then opted to have a little marquee in Dan’s parents’ garden. Chilled and relaxed.’

‘Sounds great,’ I say, able to picture the entire scene and feeling sick at the thought of it all taking place in a spot I know so well – although at least I’ll have no reason to go back afterwards. ‘Now you have a venue and a date you can really get planning.’

‘Yes – I’ve got a huge checklist that I have to start making my way through.’

‘Lots to organize,’ I nod.

‘Yeah,’ she shrugs. ‘But I’m on top of it all. I have this huge folder to fill,’ she giggles, tapping a bag on the floor that has a pink folder sticking out of it, something Natalia would be extremely interested in – she’s insanely impressed by anyone’s ability to organize as efficiently as her. ‘I’ve just been emailing this company about invites. I guessed they should be one of the first things I think about, seeing as it’s so close. I’d love them to be personal to us, but they take a while to make and as the wedding isn’t ages away I’m worried about leaving it too late to tell people and then
finding out they can’t come because they’ve just booked holidays or something. So, it seems like a bit of a mad dash to get them out, you know?’

‘Yeah … you could do quick “Save the date” cards?’ I suggest. ‘They probably aren’t too expensive and it’ll give you some more time to sort out your real ones.’

‘You don’t think it’s too late for them already?’

‘No! Plus, if you were to send the real invites before the end of the year they’ll get muddled in with Christmas cards and possibly overlooked anyway.’

‘True …’ Lexie says with a smile. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.’

‘Ah, you’ve got lots to think about,’ I say, brushing it off.

‘Ooh, I have something for you!’ Lexie says, reaching into her bag.

‘Oh?’

‘It’s nothing major, but …’ she stops as she hands me two wrapped presents.

‘What’s this for?’ I ask, looking at the gifts in my hands.

‘To say well done for … well, now that you’re going to be taking on so much more at work, I thought it might be good to keep all the new stuff and ideas in something nice,’ she says as I unwrap them to find a personalized red moleskin notebook and a beautiful gold pen.

‘That is so thoughtful of you,’ I say, genuinely touched, surprised and feeling like a total fraud. ‘I’m really going to look the part when I turn up to my first brainstorming session.’

‘You are,’ she smiles.

‘Right, I have one chicken salad, one bangers and mash and two prawn curries,’ says Bex the barmaid, juggling our
dinner plates in her hands before putting them down in front of us.

I went for a prawn curry. It’s a sorry state of affairs when your cravings are led by your dreams, isn’t it?

We’re tucking into our meals when our pub quiz nemeses arrive.

It barely causes a stir – just a group sigh.

‘I don’t know why we’re even bothering tonight,’ I mumble, munching on a prawn. ‘There’s no chance we’re going to win with half our team missing.’

Alastair grunts into his chicken salad with a shrug.

‘When did you become so pessimistic?’ Dan asks.

It’s a question I’d rather not answer – because he definitely wouldn’t like my response and I definitely wouldn’t like the ginormous atmosphere it would place in the room for evermore.

‘Let’s just have a laugh with it,’ suggests Lexie with a shrug.

And that’s exactly what we do. Once the game gets underway we laugh at the questions we don’t know and make up the most ridiculous answers we can think of.

It’s lots of fun, but obviously we don’t win. In fact, we actually manage to attain the worst score in our group’s pub quiz history – an epic fail. However, I did manage to relax and actually enjoy myself in Lexie’s company … something I didn’t think would ever happen.

The space around me would be pitch black if it weren’t for the millions of bright glistening dots dancing and occasionally whizzing around me. Little balls of light that magically glow and sparkle, radiating warmth.

My feet are treading air, yet I’m fine – not fazed by the fact there’s nothing solid to grip hold of. Instead I revel in the lightness of my body as I take in the breathtaking view around me. The vastness of it is something to be marvelled at. The vibrant silence is something full to listen to.

I feel fingertips placed on my shoulder and turn to be greeted by a familiar face, with two huge hazelnut eyes staring at me.

I stare back – his eyes sucking me in like a big pool of chocolate, or like a newly opened jar of Nutella, so gorgeous that you can’t wait to grab your spoon and dive in.

I watch as his eyes move over every part of my face. Every detail is absorbed – his gaze lingers on every crack, blemish and mark witnessed. His expression is forever changing at what he finds; my dark eyebrows, the mole on my left cheek, the little red mark under my eye that springs up in winter (something I notice but no one else ever does, even when I point it out), the scar on my forehead from being hit by a rounders bat in junior school (I needed stitches), the wrinkles around my eyes that are increasing daily as I edge closer to my thirtieth, my frizzy brown hair that’s currently floating around uncontrollably, my own dark brown eyes, my ski-slope nose, my peachy pink lips. All of it.

He sees me in a way that doesn’t make me feel exposed or want to hide.

He accepts it all as a part of me as we float there, gazing at each other, the space around us continuing to dance with the little balls of light oozing wonderment.

The tip of his tongue pokes out of his mouth briefly and licks his top lip.

I wish that were my lip
, I think, looking longingly at him.

Our eyes lock and we just hold each other’s gaze – plenty being communicated through our unspeaking lips.

He reaches out and gently puts a hand on my waist.

I’m naked.

He’s naked.

Something I hadn’t noticed before.

His hand nudges me slightly and guides my body to his, our bare flesh meeting in the air. My knees knock against his before sliding through to let our thighs and calves meet, the tops of our free feet glide along each others’ before hooking hold, my breasts bouncing on his toned chest … I’m aware of every part of his body as it comes into contact with mine, and the weight of his warm piece as it rests against my pubic bone.

I wrap my arms around his tanned body and pull him close, drawing him in so that more and more of our bodies are touching as we float around in circles.

His stubbly cheek is rough against the side of my face – I nuzzle it, my cheek, lips and nose tingling as they explore his beautiful face.

I feel his heavy breath in my ear and it makes my heartbeat quicken.

He wants me.

I want him.

Suddenly his lips are on mine, giving me quick, hard kisses.
Kisses of desire, kisses of passion, kisses that say more than words ever could. His tongue is in my mouth probing, licking, roaming – exploring, before his teeth find my lips and nibble gently.

He pulls away but continues to kiss and lick his way to my ears – gently sucking my earlobes before finding my neck.

Oh my neck.

My body sings and sighs in wanton need.

I run my fingers through his blonde hair, pulling at it as I enjoy the sensations firing through my body.

He moans, swallowing hard, spurring me on.

Slowly my fingertips swirl down the back of his neck, over his torso and lower to what I want.

I find it.

Find him.

Sliding my legs up around his waist, I rotate my hips so that we meet – the tip of him circling me slowly. Teasing us both.

I look at him.

He wants me.

I want him.

I make us wait a little longer, despite the pleading his eyes give me. Willing me to let him in.

Not yet.

Round and round and round I go, enjoying the need in his eyes. Loving the power he’s given me.

I give in just a little, his eyes widening with pleasure as I do so. He places his hands on my bare bottom and tries to speed me up and pull me in further. I push him out and away – going back to how it was before, round and round and round … my hips rotating, my body alive with sexual need – enjoying this feeling of liberty as we float around entwined.

Then I’m done. I can no longer wait.

He’s in me and we both gasp for air from the mounting desire that’s been eating away at us – relieved to give into its cries.

We’re fast and desperate, quick and wild – throbbing, pulsing, thumping. His arms are around me, on me – grabbing my breasts, groping my thighs, caressing my bum. I marvel at the whole thing, how crazy it makes me feel – how primitive and free. This is heaven.

This is everything.

And then he stops and pulls me away, his hands cradling my face, his thumbs rubbing against my cheeks. Then he leans in and kisses me gently on the lips – soft and loving, a stark contrast to the frantic behaviour of moments before.

It makes my heart melt and my body ache.

I’m confused when I open my eyes and look around the room. What just happened? Or didn’t just happen? Did I really have the best sex of my life while floating around in space, with some guy I knew almost a decade ago – in my sleep? Why would the world be so cruel?

I let out a moan, a big fat groan of dissatisfaction.

I must be really sexually frustrated
, I reason, realizing that my last sexual encounter was over eleven months ago, at Alastair and Josh’s New Year’s Eve party – with one of Alastair’s old school friends. He only lived down the road so I stumbled back to his after the big countdown and had to do the walk of shame the next morning … Highly embarrassing, seeing as Alastair was aware of the situation, but thankfully I haven’t seen his friend since. I think he has a girlfriend now. Lucky him.

I can’t believe I haven’t had sex since then, though. How utterly depressing. Because it was really rubbish – and I don’t mean that he was bad necessarily, I wasn’t on top
form either. It was all too drunken and sloppy for it to be anything great. It certainly was nothing to write home about … unlike that little cosmically orgasmic dream I’ve just had about Brett.

‘Argh!’ I moan again, bashing my pillows in protest at life’s unfairness.

‘You okay?’ Carly shouts, banging on the door.

‘Yeah …’ I call back with a sigh.

The door opens and Carly pops her pasty little face around the doorframe.

‘Still feeling rough?’ I ask.

She nods with a pout. She really does look the worst I’ve ever seen her. And that’s saying something.

‘Poor love,’ I say, pulling back the duvet cover on her side of the bed. ‘What time is it?’

‘Six-thirty,’ she replies, accepting my invite and scrambling into the bed.

‘That is early …’

‘Very.’

I realize my alarm clock is set to go off in thirty minutes for work, and as soon as work and the office enter my thoughts a swarm of butterflies takes hold of my tummy. Today is a very important day at Red Brick Productions. Following Dominique’s departure last Friday (we all went to the local pub and got hammered together) it’s time for her replacement to join the team – and for me to meet whoever it was that beat me to her position. But, even more fun than that – I’m hoping it’s also the day that I step away from my desk and into the boardroom of meetings, ideas and magic. Jonathan did say something about having me learn the ropes and the Red Brick way of doing things
at the same time as the newcomer (to save him going over everything twice). Fingers crossed he follows through with that plan, but, either way, Dominique’s out and I’m one step closer to promotion myself. What an exciting day.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ she asks, cutting into my vision of the perfect work day.

‘Huh?’

‘I was just about to vom again and I heard you having a right strop.’

‘Oh … dreams,’ I say, suddenly remembering where I spent last night and feeling giddy as the image of Brett nibbling on my earlobe flashes in front of me and sends a shiver through my body.

‘With Brett still?’

‘You don’t want to know,’ I laugh wildly.

‘Yeah I do! Go on.’

‘Carly, I love you dearly – but seriously …’

She leans over and looks and me, her eyes inspecting mine for clues.

I can’t help but blush.

‘Nooooo! You had a sex dream!’

I cackle into my pillow hysterically.

‘What was it like? Was it all
Fifty Shades
with bondage and whips? Is that why you’re blushing so much?’

‘No!’ I scream, wondering how to explain that I had the best sex in the world whilst suspended in air, surrounded by millions of stars. It’s a tad more soppy and romantic than the hardcore porn she’s expecting.

‘Hmmm … I’ll get it out of you eventually,’ she laughs before adding, ‘You filthy bitch.’

We both crack up then. We laugh until our eyes start to
stream with tears and we’re sighing with the exhaustion that too much giggling gives you.

‘You going into work today?’ I ask, still sniffling as I climb out of bed and go to my wardrobe to check on the outfit I’ve already pre-picked – a black shift dress with gold detailing that I’ll pair with a chunky mustard knit, some tights and ankle boots. The dress and cardigan are new. Having looked in my wardrobe on Saturday morning (Yes, I planned my outfit today two days ago – that’s how important it is), I was still majorly underwhelmed by its offerings so decided to go on a mini shop. Totally justified seeing as today isn’t just a normal working day … it’s the start of my future.

‘Nah, think I’ll be able to wrangle another day,’ says Carly with a sigh.

‘Bet they’re going nuts with the amount of people off with this.’

‘Yeah …’ she exhales quietly, cuddling into my pillows.

‘I hope you don’t give it to me,’ I say, turning to her in mock distress as though she has the lurgies.

‘Doubt I will.’

She closes her eyes as though she’s about to go off to sleep again, but they close just a smidgen tighter than normal and cause her forehead to crease into a frown. When she bites the corner of her bottom lip, I know for certain that she’s trying her hardest not to cry.

‘Oh chick, you okay?’ I ask, going over and putting my arms around her.

She stops fighting it then and lets the tears flow freely as she sobs.

Carly never cries. Ever. Even when she was left stranded
in Thailand with no purse or phone, after being mugged outside a temple, she remained calm and collected.

‘Oh, I’m sorry …’ she cries, flapping her arms in front of her eyes to stop herself from crying. It doesn’t work.

‘You don’t have to be sorry, Carly!’

She takes a deep breath and exhales loudly, lifting her hands over her face.

‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing,’ she sobs.

‘Seriously? You’re going to try and tell me that nothing has made you bawl your eyes out?’

‘I’m just feeling emotional.’

‘Yeah, I gathered that …’

‘Argh,’ she moans, pulling the duvet cover up over her head and hiding her face. ‘I just don’t know what to do.’

‘Carly, I might be the dumbest person in the world right now – but what’s going on?’

I’m greeted with silence as her body shakes along to her quietening sobs.

‘Please tell me,’ I ask softly, realizing she needs a softer approach than normal. ‘Maybe I can help.’

‘You can’t.’

‘You don’t know that.’

She brings down the duvet cover so I can see her face again. Scrap what I said earlier – now she
really
does look the worst I’ve ever seen her. Not only does she look sick and tired, her face is now red and bloated from her meltdown.

‘Come on,’ I encourage, sweeping her blonde hair off of her face. ‘You can tell me. Promise I won’t judge … in fact, I can’t judge – I’m just a dirty slutbag who has sex dreams about strangers. I’m disgusting.’

‘You are,’ she nods with a pout, managing a slight smile.

I grab hold of her hand and pull her into my arms for a hug, meaning her head is resting just above my boobs – bad time not to be wearing a bra, but I’m guessing my free boobs are the last things on her mind right now.

‘I’m so stupid,’ she exhales.

‘You are,’ I agree, hoping to make her laugh.

‘Thanks,’ she says, squeezing into me.

We don’t talk for a few minutes. Instead, I let her lie there while I play with her hair – even though I know this delay means that I’m eating into my preparation time. However, thanks to us getting up so early I’m sure I won’t be late – it might just mean I have to chuck my hair up in a messy up-do rather than blowdry it … which is totally fine because my friend clearly needs me.