Dream a Little Dream (11 page)

PWNsleep message board:

Tenzeds: Conundrum: always want more energy. Never want more meds.

Girlwithdreams: Avoiding high GI foods and keeping hydrated helps energy levels.

Tenzeds: *Whispers* Wtf’s GI food? Something to do with American soldiers?

Girlwithdreams: *Sighs but
* The glycemic index is a measure of how carbohydrates affect blood sugar levels. Eat low or mid GI foods for energy.

Tenzeds: Just as long as I don’t have to eat nettles and lentils …

Girlwithdreams: No! *exasperated face* Exercise should help, too.

Tenzeds: Happily, I like exercise.

Crosswind circled expectantly, tail quivering, eyes glowing with canine intelligence, as Dominic tramped across the village playing field beside Miranda’s husband, gentle, dreamy Jos. Jos had seemed happy enough to leave Miranda watching a rerun of
Ground Force
while he and Dominic braved the raw October afternoon, but being happy was Jos’s thing. He was colossally happy with Miranda and Ethan, judging by the undisguised worship in his dark brown eyes when he looked at either one. He was content to restore old cars at the village garage, and satisfied any need for variety in his life via his facial hair experiments, presently a goatee that ended in a tiny plait, echoing the thick plait that snaked down his back.

‘Hope you don’t mind coming to meet Ethe from this party at the village hall,’ Jos remarked. ‘He really wants you to show the other children Crosswind doing tricks.’

‘Crosswind likes playing, that’s all,’ Dominic reminded him, just as he had reminded Ethan. But Ethan had brushed such purism aside with joyful pleas for ‘tricks’ and Dominic, having helped Jos sandpaper and paint a window frame and Miranda to rake up leaves, had had a sad absence of better plans.

Helping to dispel any lingering bad feeling from his dream, this morning he’d received an e-mail from Kenny.

Doc, finished this coarse and im heading home how are your plans going because i need a job lol.

Heart soaring, Dominic had sent back:
My plans aren’t finalised but they’re looking good. Can you come up and have a look at the premises I’m trying to get? I’ll get Miranda to let you crash on her sofa.

The reply:
Cool ill ring you

The exchange had made him restless, raring to go but spinning his wheels. He shifted the diagonal strap of his long narrow black backpack to a more comfortable position and Crosswind danced closer, tail a blur, eyes eager. ‘In a minute,’ Dominic promised.

Kicking through the grass, as if reading his thoughts Jos turned the conversation to Dominic’s business plans. ‘So, who goes to action-and-challenge centres?’

‘Weekend Rambos. Weekday corporate teambuilding – you know the stuff, when CEOs think that their staff will soar to new heights if they learn how to build a raft together.’

Jos looked vaguely surprised. ‘Do they? Why would it?’ The closest he ever got to the corporate world was driving past business parks around the edges of Peterborough.

‘Teamwork,’ explained Dominic. ‘Problem solving, conceptualising solutions, planning, communicating. Or, sometimes, they send their staff out to have fun at a kart track.’

Jos’s eyes gleamed eagerly. ‘Are you going to have a kart track?’

‘No, it would be a bit hairy, considering the slope. Mountain biking would be possible … I’m still working on my ideas. But I’m going around in circles until I can get permission from the hotel to buy the lease – if Nicolas hasn’t decided not to sell, meantime. Or to sell to someone else.’

They reached the car park that ran around two sides of the village hall, presently more occupied by adults rocking buggies and keeping beady eyes on children racing around the tarmac than by parked cars. Dominic called Crosswind to sit by his feet so no parent would be nervous that he might turn out to be a frothing pitbull dressed up in curls and a square-faced doggy grin.

One of the adults was a woman almost hidden by a yellow bear-ears hat and a dark green coat that ended around her ankles. She was wearing something that looked like a backpack worn on her front, as if she were a London tourist wary of pickpockets. As Dominic watched, she dropped her face to the backpack and went, ‘Nom nom nom! Nom nom nom nom
nom!
’

For a startled instant, he wondered whether it was a nose bag, not a backpack. But then Jos laughed and the girl lifted her head and turned, the plaited woollen ties of the ridiculous hat swinging in time with the pom-poms on her suede boots. The ‘backpack’ had a baby in it, and the baby’s downy head was what she’d been pretending to eat. Judging by his gummy smiles and crinkled eyes, it had sent the recipient to baby utopia. He kicked and laughed, one tiny arm looped neatly around Liza’s left breast, the mittened hand resting on the flesh visible in the V of her coat. Dominic was reflecting that he’d smile, too, if his hand were so fortunate, when he realised that he was being glared at, reminding him of his new place in Liza’s life as The Competition.

‘Lucky little chap,’ he said, gravely, ignoring the glare. Then, ‘Lovely little chap,’ with exactly the same inflection, as if that’s what he’d said the first time. He took the baby’s hand – the one that was flailing loose, not the one that had possession of the smooth foothill of Liza’s breast – and shook it solemnly. ‘Good afternoon. I’m Dominic Christy.’

Liza defrosted enough to reply on the baby’s behalf. ‘He’s Gus, my nephew. Hello, Jos.’

Jos gave her his shy smile. ‘You on auntie duty?’ They fell into conversation about children that Dominic didn’t know, although it became apparent that one was another Sunday afternoon partygoer, Shona, Liza’s niece. Dominic unhooked his arms from his backpack and Crosswind immediately bounced, barked, and began to whirl on the spot. ‘Sit, Crosswind,’ Dominic murmured, and Crosswind did the excited-dog thing of pseudo-sitting, bum not quite touching the ground because his tail had become a propeller. His gaze was fixed on Dominic as he unzipped the sides of the pack to ease out a green-and-red, double-kick skateboard, battered graphics and pitted wheels bearing testimony to much use.

A sharp bark:
Get on with it, boss!
and Crosswind shuffled on his bottom.

‘Won’t be long.’ Dominic spun the wheels with his palms, then put down the skateboard. He straightened, and saw Liza watching, eyes full of questions, which was better than her glaring knives at him. Giving her his sweetest smile, he went back to examining his skateboard.

Then the double doors at the front of the village hall banged open and children spilled into the grey light, half into coats and clutching clown-strewn goodie bags, smiles outlined in chocolate and blackcurrant. A small partygoer in a black-and-red dress raced over to Liza, windmilling her arms. ‘Aunt-ee Lie-zah!’

Dominic watched Liza crouch down and scoop the excited child against her. ‘Hiy-ah, Sho-nah!’ And carefully present the baby’s head to be kissed.

Then Ethan came charging through the pack. ‘Dommynic! Did you bring …?
Yeah
! Maff-yoo, Maff-yoo, Dommynic brought it! Show Maff-yoo, Dommynic!’ People turned to watch the excitement as ‘Maff-yoo’ evaded an expectant parental hand to run behind Ethan.

Crosswind, forgetting his doggie manners, shot off to round up Ethan and escort him to Dominic with shrill barks of joy.

‘Stand still, then,’ said Dominic, quietly to Ethan. And, more sharply, ‘Crosswind! Quiet!’ He picked up the skateboard and, selecting a smooth and empty section of the car park, bowled it across the surface with a practised underarm. Yapping with glee, Crosswind raced in pursuit and sprang into the air, landing with three paws on the board, ‘scooting’ manically with the other, whilst the parents laughed and the children clapped, goodie bags spilling onto the damp ground. ‘The dog skateboarded! Mummy! Daddy! That dog skateboarded!’

Dominic ran after the slowing board, scooping it up as Crosswind jumped off and raced a circle, tongue out, eyes alight and tail an almost invisible indicator of waggy doggy joy. Dominic launched the board once more. Two sharp barks and a nail-clicking scurry from his bandy legs and Crosswind hurled himself back onto the deck, scooting furiously. ‘Yeah, yeah, see the doggie!’ squealed the children, while the adults laughed and clapped.

It generally took about a year for Crosswind to get tired of the skateboard and Dominic jogged relentlessly from one end of the car park to the other to retrieve and relaunch the board. He probably would have called it a day much sooner if it hadn’t been for Liza holding hands with the golden-haired little girl, dancing and laughing, clutching her bear-ears hat and baby Gus joggling like a doll.

Finally, parents began to turn children for home and Dominic paused, breathing hard, to rub Crosswind’s ears. ‘That’s enough, fluff face.’ Crosswind laughed up at him, panting, but obviously game for hours more fun.

Jos had fallen into conversation with a man with twin girls and Ethan, eyes beginning to puff with fatigue, had opted for a perch on his daddy’s shoulders. As Dominic prepared to slide the board back inside its carrier, a pair of black suede boots appeared beside him, pom-poms swinging, with a niece-sized pair of party shoes alongside. ‘Shona wants to know if she’s allowed to stroke your dog.’

Dominic smiled down at Shona. ‘You bet. His name’s Crosswind. Put your hand out for him to sniff, first.’ Opportunistic when it came to jelly and cake residue, Crosswind licked Shona’s fingers, making Shona giggle, and Liza crouched down to stroke his curls back from his eyes. Crosswind flattened his ears and half-closed his eyes in tongue-lolling rapture.

Liza glanced at Dominic. ‘Can you ride the board, too?’

‘A bit.’ He pulled the lead from the front pocket of his backpack and snicked it onto Crosswind’s collar, earning him a canine dirty look, and offered Liza the human end. ‘He’ll pull, so hold tight.’ Then he gave the nose of the board an expert nudge with the toe of his trainers to point it towards a clear area of asphalt, planted his left foot over the front axle and launched with his back foot, enjoying hearing the familiar
whizzzzzzzzzuzzzuzzz
, got both feet on deck, adjusting his stance with a tiny bunny hop. Then he put his back foot on the tail and popped it, keeping his front foot just behind the front axle to snap the nose from side to side. Dropping down, he got back to speed then, back foot on the tail, popped up into an ollie, caught the deck, ollied one-eighty frontside, popped it again and, using the side of his front foot, kickflipped and landed it several times, once with a double rotation.

‘Look at Dommynic!’ he heard Ethan roar. Crosswind yapped,
Why can’t I play
? One-eightying, Dominic raced back through a series of ollies and kickflips, until he popped it hard with his front foot, nollie flipped, and landed it in front of Liza.

Shona was clapping. Liza was laughing. She cocked one eyebrow at him in the last of the autumn light. ‘Not bad.’ She reached up, pulled his head down so that she could put her lips against his ear, her words no more than a breath, making the pit of his stomach judder. ‘OK, I’m impressed. But that lease is still mine.’ Then she produced a small pink bear-ears hat from her pocket and plopped it on Shona’s head. ‘Come on, let’s take Gus-Gus home and see what Mum’s made for tea.’

And she slapped on her own stupid hat and turned to march away across the playing field.

He watched her go, wondering whether he’d just met the real Liza Reece for the first time. She’d been fun. Dancing eyes and cocky comments, joggling the baby while she poked fun at him. No temper. No ungraciousness. No pain on her face, or strain. On the other hand, she hadn’t cuddled up and rolled her head on his shoulder, exposing the soft curve of her neck and making him burn to swoop on it, either …

He watched the swing of her coat, the turn of her head as she looked down to talk to Shona and cuddled that lucky baby to her breasts. It was a damned waste that a woman with such an obvious capacity to care should have thrown up so many walls between herself and men.

Jos, still wearing Ethan on his shoulders, grinned and clapped him on the arm. ‘Put your tongue away, skateboy. You showed off all your best tricks but it got you nowhere. It’s a serious bummer but let’s go home for tea.’

PWNsleep message board:

Brainwave: I need to change something. My office is so quiet and stuffy … even the normals are getting sleep attacks! I’m thinking I need a new job.

Tenzeds: I’ve got similar plans. Have hopes they’ll work out.

Girlwithdreams: I wish mine would.

Dominic claimed his spot at the kitchen table with his phone, iPad and notepad, as Miranda baked and talked and listened to the radio and Ethan eeked, whooped and eeeee-owwwwed his way through a game of ‘parachuting’ off a chair with a tea towel.

Dominic rang Nicolas and got straight to the point. ‘Now you’ve had a few days to consider, what are your thoughts about me taking over your lease? Do you have a figure for me?’

A hesitation. ‘I’m still talking numbers with my advisor, because there’s someone else interested.’

‘Liza Reece?’

Nicolas was clearly taken aback either by Dominic’s knowledge or his willingness to share it. ‘That’s right,’ he agreed, cautiously. ‘And in many ways, I’d prefer the place to go to her and to continue, however approximately, to be a treatment centre.’

It was a transparent attempt to play Liza off against Dominic but, though Dominic’s dream was fresh and compelling, he wasn’t about to be negotiated into paying unfeasible sums to make it real. He made his voice polite but bored. ‘Would you like me to withdraw my offer? If I need to start looking elsewhere, then I’d like to get that underway.’ Through the window, he watched the trees in the garden stretching their black arms to the clouds, summer’s green-leaf clothes turned to brown autumn rags.

Nicolas answered stiffly. ‘I’ll get back to you soon.’

Dominic ended the call with a casual acknowledgement, as if not fizzing with frustration at Nicolas’s indecisive, clumsy parrying.

‘Cheee-arge!’ Ethan bowled across the kitchen, ricocheting off Dominic’s chair. ‘Dommynic, can you play with me?’

For an instant, Dominic yearned for the calm atmosphere of the control tower and the relatively stress-free task of stacking inbound air traffic before clearing them to land, thousands of airline passenger lives in his hands. ‘A bit later, Ethan, OK?’

‘OK. Cheee-arge!’ Ethan screamed off down the hall.

Dominic picked up his notebook and pen. He was fairly certain that he could outbid Liza but he tried never to be careless when reacting to situations. He wrote
Liza
in the middle of his page. Her image flashed across his brain, blue eyes gleaming, blonde hair flying.

‘Cheee-arge!’ Ethan raced back in and paused beside Dominic’s chair, breathing heavily. ‘Got a sword, Dommynic?’

‘Sorry, I’m afraid I haven’t.’ Dominic ruffled Ethan’s fair hair, hoping Ethan wasn’t going to try too hard to drag him into a game, because he would really rather think about Liza Reece. In fact, though he didn’t want to injure Ethan’s feelings by pointing it out, there were quite a lot of things he’d rather do than race around yelling ‘Cheee-arge!’

Miranda came to the rescue. ‘Dominic doesn’t have a sword because they’re not nice things, Ethan, because they hurt people. But if you wash your hands, you can paint the egg on the pastry for me. Then we can put the pie in the oven, ready for lunch.’

Ethan shouted, ‘Yeah!’ and began screeching a kitchen chair over to the sink.

Dominic turned back to his pad. When Liza laughed, all trouble vanished from her face. Her laughter was like musical notes tumbling from her lips, spangling her eyes, flushing her skin a perfect, palest pink. He enjoyed making her laugh. He began a spider plan around her name.
How big a loan can she get
? And,
Is there family money
? She’d said she wasn’t close to her parents, but it would be unsafe to assume they wouldn’t help her. And, for all he knew, her sister could be a closet millionaire.
Does Nicolas want her to get the lease
?
Does Nicolas
not
want her to get the lease
? There was definitely antipathy.
Is she likely to chicken out? (Prob not.)
Is she capable of running the centre? (Probably.)
With more thought, he added,
Probably capable of anything.
And grinned, remembering her trying to face him down about the lease, as if she were big and scary. As if he hadn’t just held her whilst she broke her heart about Adam, her body against his, boneless with sorrow, her tears soaking through his sweatshirt. To his skin, making it hot and damp.

What a mixture she was: wary, sad, angry, funny, quirky, bright. Grief stricken. Radiating ‘don’t touch’ signals that he was sure were self-defence, not froideur. But she was like an air traffic controller who’d been in radio contact with an aircraft when it fell from the sky. She hadn’t made the decision that led to disaster, but she hadn’t reacted in a way that would avert it. She was tormented by guilt.

He must be crazy for being so attracted to her.

Potentially, she stood between himself and his goal.

And he was a goal-oriented man. Had been. Would be again. Was. But when she’d demanded that he leave The Stables to her, fight written all over her tearstained face, he’d been within a breath of saying, ‘OK.’ Which was stupid. Unless, on some level, he’d hoped that capitulation would prompt her to haul him off to bed. Not that he would have taken much hauling … In his imagination, he let his arms slide around that waist that looked as if he could wrap himself around it twice, and waft her smoothly up her stairs.

Will her bid drive the premium up? How can you prevent that?

He could prevent the premium being driven up – for her – if he dropped out. He stared at his plan. Getting the lease represented a giant stride towards his dream. But it had never occurred to him that realising his dream might mean trampling on someone else’s.

His phone rang, vibrating against the table top like a giant bee.
Kenny
said the screen. He answered with a lift to his heart. ‘Ken!’

Kenny’s voice hadn’t changed since the days of school detention, loud and brash. ‘Hey, Doc, there’s a big black Jag been left in my garage. I’m thinking of putting it on eBay.’

Dominic laughed. ‘You leave my Jag alone. So you’re back in England?’

‘Got in yesterday. All ready to join you on your great adventure.’

‘I’m still in the working-towards-adventure phase.’

‘Have you asked your wonderful cousin if I can surf her sofa? Remind her how much she loves me.’

Dominic laughed and glanced at Miranda. ‘Kenny wants to know if you love him enough to let him sleep on your sofa.’

Miranda grinned over her specs, cutting surplus pastry from the edge of a pie with efficient little chops. ‘Always,’ she declared. And, with the wisdom of long acquaintance, ‘But he has to behave.’

Dominic relayed the information. ‘How about you drive up in the Jag? Then we’ll have transport up here.’ After Kenny had hooted with glee at the idea and the call ended, Dominic realised that he’d been phone doodling, making the L of Liza heavier and more ornate, going over and over that one letter.

Ignoring it, he worked at his plan for a bit longer, making to do lists and contingency lists and every other kind of list that seemed useful.

His eyes began to get heavy.

His mind began to slow. Ethan’s shrill commentary on how to paint a pie with egg became pleasantly soporific. He sighed. Looked at his watch. Nearly midday. ‘Time for some zeds.’

‘OK, lunch will be ready not long after you wake up.’ Miranda had flour on her chin and her smile was fond and understanding enough to make him slightly uncomfortable with it. Pity Natalie hadn’t been half so accommodating. About half would be a reasonable level.

Upstairs, he set a phone alert for thirty minutes, then, grudging the time and resenting the necessity, dropped onto the single bed and let the darkness have him.

Then there were stars in the darkness, dancing with shadows, flickering, glimmering as he rushed towards them or they rushed towards him, fast and flying and exciting—

He woke with the alarm and pushed himself up to sit on the side of the bed, feeling giddy but strangely at peace. There were definitely times when the weirdness of narcolepsy was fantastical enough to be enjoyed. The vision of stars had been amazing.

Not as good as the vision of Liza Reece making love to him, of course. He wished for that one to return every time he shut his eyes.

Liza enjoyed the quiet that normally came before her first client. She looked over her Monday appointments, checked supplies and generally centred herself.

So she was irritated when Nicolas strolled into her room.

He smiled.

She raised her left eyebrow. Being able to move her eyebrows independently was surprisingly useful – the left made her look quizzical, and the right confused.

‘Good weekend? Nice rest? Calmed down a bit?’

She took a deep breath and squelched the desire to spit fire at him. ‘Sorry?’

‘From your tantrum. On Friday.’

She changed eyebrows. ‘What I remember about Friday is you being a shit.’ Turning to her filing cabinet, she picked up her appointment list.

Behind her, Nicolas’s laugh sounded forced. ‘Come on, Liza! You provoked me.’

She would not erupt. That’s what he wanted, to make her look like a hysterical babe. ‘How?’

A pained pause. ‘You know how you’ve been.’

‘No? Tell me.’ Her fingers walked over the alphabetical tabs, pausing to pick out Yvette Elmoor and Enid Round.

‘Just, you know. Difficult. Unreasonable.’

‘I wasn’t remotely. I asked you a civil question and you threw a giant strop.’ Wow, serenity was satisfying.

Nicolas fell silent.

Extracting the notes for the last two on her list, Marcie Yeo and Abby Andrew, she closed the drawer and carried her neat pile of notes to her desk. Silence grew thick and prickly. Nicolas stared at the ceiling, as if the secret to conversing with women might be written there. Or maybe he was praying. Finally, he sighed, and sat down. Liza neatened the notes, took her seat and looked him in the eye, controlling the conversation by speaking before he could. ‘If you’d been my employer, I would be taking you to a tribunal about your unacceptable behaviour. If you don’t want to sell your lease then say so, and I’ll look elsewhere. Don’t yell insults and try to intimidate me.’

‘I think you’re exaggerating.’ But Nicolas looked down at his hands. Even this early in the day, his shirt collar was curling.

Liza checked the time. ‘Pippa will be bringing my first client in.’

He climbed to his feet. At the door, he hesitated. ‘So, when I get a valuation on the lease, we’ll talk again?’

Absently, she nodded. ‘Let me know the figure and I’ll decide whether I want to go any further.’

The door clicked shut behind him. She counted to ten, to give him time to get into his own office.

Then she leaped out of her chair, punching the air and swinging her hips to a whispered, ‘
Yes! Yes! Yes!
’ She was one step closer to her goal. Only a teeny step. But a step.

As she was scheduled to work until eight, Rochelle and Angie had agreed to meet her in The Three Fishes.

Her optimistic mood had carried her through the day and she fairly danced up to the table and plumped down beside her friends. ‘I’m going to try and buy Nicolas’s lease off him and run The Stables myself,’ she announced, breathlessly.

But almost before Rochelle and Angie could arrange their expressions into surprise or pleasure or wonder, Dominic turned from the bar and said, ‘That’s funny. So am I.’

Angie and Rochelle’s attention flipped from Liza to Dominic.

Liza glared at his grin, his hair flopping back from his eyes, aggravated that she hadn’t noticed him standing nearby, gilded by the lights over the bar, before she went into broadcast mode.

He picked up his beer and sauntered to their table. ‘Hello, Liza.’ He dropped another of those annoying kisses on her temple – not even a proper kissy-cheek thing. ‘Hi, I’m Dominic Christy.’ He extended his hand first to Rochelle and then to Angie. ‘As this seems to be the blonde table, do you mind if I join you?’

Rochelle and Angie predictably – if traitorously – chorused, ‘That would be lovely!’ and Liza cursed under her breath. All day she’d looked forward to springing her plans to revolutionise the treatment centre on her friends, enlisting their help to brainstorm funky treatments until clients burst The Stables at its seams. But not in front of Dominic, as his own plans would work out if hers didn’t. And hers would work out if his didn’t. Dominic reached a stool from another table and settled in to chat Rochelle and Angie up quite blatantly while Liza went to buy herself a drink, as she was the only one without.

Janice, the barmaid, was alone behind the bar and Liza had to wait, breathing in the beery smell, while Janice pulled foaming pints in her smiling, unhurried way. In fact, it took so long that Rochelle called over, ‘Get me and Angie another spritzer, Lize!’

And Liza was forced, by good manners, to ask, ‘Dominic?’

Amusement flickered in his eyes as he glanced at his emptying glass and smiled lazily. ‘A pint of Guinness would be great. Thanks.’ Evidently, he wasn’t above accepting offers made through gritted teeth

By the time she’d got her order, Dominic, Rochelle and Angie were chatting like old friends. Liza slid the tray onto the table, bumping Dominic’s elbow and not saying sorry. ‘So,’ he said, passing the spritzers to Angie and Rochelle with a smile, which meant they both said thank you to him, instead of to Liza. ‘You and Nicolas sorted out your differences?’

‘Some,’ she said, briefly. ‘Great shoes, Ange.’

Angie lifted a foot to display tan leather flatties with extravagant tooling and thick yellow overstitching. ‘I got a bonus last week. So, what’s going on, Liza? How come you and Dominic both think you’re going to run The Stables?’

Dominic got his answer in first. ‘Unfortunately, I’d already expressed interest in the lease before Liza mentioned that she had her own plans.’

‘But, unfortunately, Dominic didn’t realise that if Nicolas couldn’t make the treatment centre pay, I was willing and able to step up.’

Rochelle’s eyes shone with mischief. ‘So, you two are going into partnership?’