Dream a Little Dream (24 page)

He swung on his heel, infuriated that the happy, enthusiastic Liza he’d spent the day with had morphed back into the snarky, spiky Liza he’d met in this very spot a month ago. ‘Fine. Stay here. I thought you might want a lift in case Adam might be hanging around outside.’

A long, trembling sigh made him hesitate and glance back. She looked delicate and vulnerable, in her treatment room all alone. She placed her mug on the desk, and smiled, slowly, apologetically. ‘I meant: thank you, Dominic, that’s really thoughtful and a lift would be great.’

‘Don’t confuse me by being pleasant.’ Waiting as she switched off the lights and shut the door, his hands ached to reach out to her.

Whether to hug her or shake her, he hadn’t decided.

Liza reached up to close her bedroom curtains.

And froze.

On the traffic island in the middle of The Cross stood the figure of a man, completely still. Tall and thin, his gaze seemed to be fixed on her front door.

Adam.

Glad she hadn’t yet turned the lights on, heart thumping, she pulled the curtains slowly shut, as if he might hear the rings moving along the curtain poles. Then she made a tiny gap and peeped out. He was still there.

She shut them tightly. She wouldn’t let him get to her. She wouldn’t think about the sadness in the depths of his eyes or the droop to his shoulders. Not wanting the brilliance of the overhead light to alert him to her location in the house, she switched on the television, glad the curtains were thick enough to disguise its lesser illumination. Flicking around until she found an episode of
Friends
she concentrated on the voices of Ross and Rachel as they stumbled through some excruciating convolution in their relationship, welcoming the sound of other humans. She turned up the volume to let the audience’s laughter fill the room, lying on her bed, trying not to think about Adam and feel guilt. Remorse. Anxiety. Horrible wormy feeling of culpability. So down. So trapped in her own house by the Spirit of Bad Stuff Past.

When she peeked out after two more episodes – Adam was still there.

Dominic frowned at his iPad, trying to make sense of an e-mail that had just pinged into his inbox from Smiths, the consultants and suppliers for some of the equipment he was poised to buy as soon as the lease was signed.
Re the message your Kenny King left on my voicemail, we need to do an on-site survey before quoting for the fan descender,
Wayne Smith (Director) had written.
Does this mean you’re ready to proceed? We can do the entire site survey at once, if so
. Dominic looked up at Kenny, who was standing at the front window to Dominic’s new flat, glaring at rain that blew in slanting sheets across the car park. ‘Kenny, why would you leave a message on Wayne Smith’s voicemail asking for a quote on a fan descender?’

Kenny’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t turn around.

‘Look.’ Dominic rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I know the ballpark figure for the fan descender and I know I can’t afford it yet, OK? I’m not sure it’s ever going to be worth its price tag.’

Muttering something that might have been, ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Kenny hunched his shoulders. ‘What you ought to be worrying about, Doc, is whether you can rely on Liza. You need to rethink. Find someone else to run the therapy stuff.’

Dominic dug deep for patience. He felt torpid and dull with inaction, fighting off the craving for a second nap of the day. Sleep hadn’t yet become insistent but it was probably only Kenny’s restless tension that was keeping him awake. When Kenny didn’t have enough to do he became a caged chimp – rattling his bars and ripe for trouble.

They’d had a week of waiting for Nicolas to resume negotiations, or even return phone calls. Now, the flat was sorted, furniture set out, possessions stowed, shopping done; they’d walked what felt like most of the countryside around, swum at the pool in Bettsbrough and tried a couple of gyms, but Kenny had been bored to boorishness so often that Dominic had begun to be pleased whenever Ken wanted to walk or run alone.

And, although blatantly bringing up Liza to deflect Dominic’s attention from his interference over the fan descender, Kenny was voicing Dominic’s own anxiety. Because, since Adam had showed up, Liza had yanked her head into her shell. Dominic had been for a treatment, called at her house, and taken her out for a drink. She’d been pleasant but quiet and had sidestepped any attempts to talk business.

Kenny didn’t seem able to leave the subject alone since Dominic had told him the bare bones of Liza’s history with Adam. It had seemed only fair, as Kenny, like Dominic, was looking for employment and income from the adventure centre and hadn’t bargained for its fruition being annoyingly dependent on the treatment centre running alongside – and, therefore, the person who ran it.

‘You saw the effect that Adam had on Liza,’ Kenny grumbled, spiking up his tawny brown hair in his reflection in the window. ‘I’ll bet she’s thinking about pulling out, now he’s hanging around like a fart in a car, not letting her conveniently forget what she did.’ He swung away from the glass and snatched up a pair of black weights that he’d left crossed on top of the bookcase, exhaling hard before beginning a series of bicep curls.

‘It’s a developing situation,’ Dominic agreed, stifling a yawn. With everything about the adventure centre whirling in his brain, he’d been lying awake too much. Narcolepsy really pissed him off, the way it could flip from an inability to wake to an inability to sleep. ‘I’m looking for a way of helping it develop in my favour. Team-building experience is telling me that I need positive engagement with Liza. You know the stuff. Break down barriers. Foster links. Offer trust. Communicate. Share a fun activity.’

‘Just junk her.’ Kenny breathed in between words as he worked his muscles.

It looked as if Kenny and Liza could use a little bonding, too. But Dominic needed to get one-on-one with Liza first, to cut out distraction. Or give her nowhere to hide. Or have an excuse to spend time with her. ‘I’m not going to junk her,’ he said, mildly. ‘I’m going to show her the benefits of being on my team.’

Kenny snorted, breathed, curled. ‘Admire your philosophy. But a team’s only as strong as its weakest member, so pick the best team while you still can.’

Dominic heaved himself to his feet, feeling sleep retreat just an inch, as soon as he was up. ‘Why don’t you put your wet-weather gear on and go out?’

Kenny began pumping the weights faster. ‘Because there’s – nowhere to – dry it in – this fucking flat.’

Leaving his friend to take out his frustrations on his weights, Dominic went to his bedroom to phone Liza. He really liked the room; bright and airy even when the rain was spattering on the window in fistfuls, and there was plenty of space for his new king-sized bed. He sat with his back against the coolness of the wooden headboard because he knew the sleep monster was waiting for him if he let himself get too comfortable. Then, tonight, it would be easy for it to play its current favourite joke – he could buy a bed but couldn’t buy sleep. The bed made him think of sex and sex made him think about Liza and he wondered, fleetingly, whether, if he could just get her under him, he could love the sadness out of her. That was a thought to stop his eyes from closing. If he suggested they met—

But then he realised that Kenny had followed him and was standing at the door. He hesitated. Should he put off the phone call? Mentally, he shrugged. Ken had invested a lot of time in the action-and-challenge centre and if it made him feel in the loop to listen while Dominic set up a bit of bonding with Liza, it couldn’t do any harm. It was surprising and worrying how quickly he and Kenny had got on each other’s nerves, over the past few days. They were to work together, so tension couldn’t be allowed to develop.

Ringing Liza could be frustrating, her availability depending upon clients and her whim but, this time, Pippa was able to get her to the phone.

‘What are your plans for the weekend?’

Her voice was flat. ‘Taking Saturday off because I’m doing a pamper thing on Sunday for a WI in Bettsbrough.’

‘So Saturday afternoon would be the best time.’ He waited.

A note of interest crept in. ‘For …?’

‘To promote better understanding of one another’s areas of operation.’

‘How?’ One wary word, but at least he’d piqued her curiosity.

‘I’m going to give you a taste of action and challenge. Wear jeans, sensible boots that keep your feet dry, and an outdoor coat.’

Silence. He crossed his fingers. Whether it was for the good of his nascent business or just for his soul, he had to shake Liza out of her Adam-remoteness.

‘OK,’ she agreed, sounding interested. ‘As long as I can give you a taste of something treatmenty in return. You don’t have any open wounds on your feet, do you?’

His heart hopped at this glimmer of the real Liza. If she wanted to give him a reflexology treatment, he was fine with that. In fact, he was tingling just at the thought. ‘My feet are in perfect order. What time do you want me?’

By ten on Saturday morning, having dropped Crosswind at Miranda’s, he was wishing he’d developed athlete’s foot or a nice big verruca, because, it turned out, the treatment on offer wasn’t reflexology.

‘We’re having a what?’ he demanded, following Liza’s behind through the glass door painted with the word ‘Nibbletastic’.

‘Fish pedicure.’ She smiled at a redhead in daffodil yellow behind the reception desk. ‘Hello, Dana. I’ve booked two for ten o’clock. But be careful with my friend, here. He’s fresh meat.’

Dana gave Dominic a sparkling smile. ‘Let’s get you initiated, then.’ She led them up a few steps into another room, where padded chairs stood behind rectangular tanks full of bubbling water. And darting little fish.

He stood back, warily. ‘This is a joke, right?’

‘Why should it be a joke?’ Liza took one of the cream leather seats and bent to the laces of her blue boots. ‘I want to screen off part of reception for a fish spa, at The Stables. Pippa should be able to look after the fish spa as well as run front desk, which would mean I could keep her on. Set up and running costs are reasonable. Garra rufa fish pedicures are becoming incredibly popular.’ Her feet were bare now, and she took some wipes from the redhead and began running them over her feet. ‘I think four tanks would really bring people into The Stables.’

Gingerly, Dominic took a seat. ‘So what do I do?’ The sound of the oxygen feed to the tanks bubbled through the room.

Dana took over. ‘Put your feet in the tank – the fish will do the rest. Fish pedicures originate in Thailand, where people realised that the garra rufa fish eat dead skin. At the end of the half-hour, your feet will feel smooth. And most people feel relaxed, too, because it’s such a pleasant sensation.’

‘Half an hour?’ Dominic watched Liza slip her high-arched feet into the water in front of her, and dozens of fish shot from all corners of the tank to swarm – could fish swarm? – all over them. Each fish was dark greeny-brown and about three inches long, pulsing with delight at attaching its mouth to Liza’s feet. His toes curled in his shoes.

Dana held out a handful of wipes. ‘Ready?’

Slowly, he removed his shoes and socks, wiped his feet and rolled up his jeans. His feet were inspected and passed fit to fish with. Unfortunately. He’d been hoping that it would be against Fish Rights.

‘Put both in together,’ Dana advised, ‘so you get an even number of fish on each foot.’

Resisting the temptation to screw up his eyes, Dominic slid his feet into the cool water. And then needed every morsel of his willpower to resist the urge to snatch them out again as the garra rufa latched onto him with unsettling enthusiasm. It was like a fizzing, wriggling electric shock, as if the water was alive. His toes twitched convulsively. He wasn’t worried by the fish, of course; he’d been an enthusiastic scuba diver.

But it tickled. Ooo-oooh, it tick-led.

Liza didn’t seem to be having a problem, so he clenched his fingers around the arms of the chair as a fish worked its way industriously up his instep.

Her eyes began to dance. ‘You’re supposed to relax.’

‘Right,’ through gritted teeth. Another fish whisked along his sole and began munching between his toes. He fought the urge to kick clear. He had to do this. It was teambuilding. Bonding. And his sweating discomfort was at least amusing Liza out of the remote place she’d inhabited recently.

‘Just chill,’ she cooed. ‘Put back your head, close your eyes. Listen to the music and the rhythm of the bubbles.’

He tried, and the tickling grew marginally more tolerable. At least there was no possibility of his falling asleep. He tried to distract himself from the nibbling that was progressing with excruciating thoroughness across the sensitive centre of his arch. ‘So how has your week been?’
Is Adam still a problem
?

‘Not very interesting. Except a woman came to The Stables, asking for Kenny.’ Her voice was soft and slow, definitely relaxed, but it said:
I’m not ready to talk about Adam
.

He opened his eyes. ‘Who was she?’

She shrugged. ‘She didn’t give a name. She sounded a bit surprised that he wasn’t there and that Pippa had no idea who he was.’

‘Odd.’ He shot a glance at his watch. Only five minutes had passed. Hell. His instep twitched. ‘Kenny has been known to be economical in giving his contact details to women. Could she have been Undead Barbie, without undead makeup?’

‘Too tall. Very striking, kind of upmarket.’

He laughed. ‘Kenny does have a weakness for “a posh bird”. Expect he talked about working at The Stables to one of his clubbing adventures and she tracked him down.’ He looked at his watch again. This was torture. Even with Liza in the next seat, blonde hair swishing every time she turned her head to regard him with those pretty blue eyes, he couldn’t wait for the session to end.

An hour after leaving Nibbletastic, they were standing on the breezy bank of a river. Liza gazed at the great white hulk in front of her. ‘It’s a boat.’

‘It’s a Viking 28 fibreglass river cruiser,’ he agreed, as he unpopped the navy blue canopy at one side. ‘I’ve hired her for the day. Jump on.’

She stayed where she was, gazing about at the ranks of boats bobbing in the sunshine where the river widened beside an old mill. ‘Can you drive it?’

‘Yes.’ He swung one leg and a blue coolbox aboard, then held out a hand. ‘Hold on here – no, not to the canopy rib, to the hand hold. Put your foot next to mine and shift your weight forward. There.’ He guided her smoothly into the cockpit. ‘Welcome aboard the
Dreaming Desdemona
.’

She laughed, sandwiched between him and a tall chair in front of a steering wheel and knobs and dials. He’d forgotten to let go of her hand, but it felt warm and secure as she got used to the sensation of the boat moving beneath her. ‘Dreaming?’

‘Yes, how could I resist her? The clue is probably in “cruiser”. Cruisers cruise, they don’t go very fast. Let’s explore.’ He brought his other leg on board and guided her past the tall seat and down two steps to unlock a low wooden door.

The inside – the cabin, Dominic called it – held sofa things upholstered in pink, facing each other with a table between, and then a little oven, hob and sink, and a cupboard that turned out to house a chemical loo and a wash basin. In the pointy end was a separate space with two converging sofas. ‘These will make up into a bed, and so will those,’ he said, indicating each set of sofas. ‘And, look behind you, there’s a double berth under the cockpit.’

She stooped to look. ‘It’s only about two feet tall!’

‘It’s for lying down in. You make use of all the space, on a boat.’

She was pleased with the compactness and cleanliness of everything and, outside the windows, the lazy sliding of the khaki water. ‘I’ve always thought boats would be bare boards, dampness and oil. But it’s just like a Wendy house.’

He looked pained. ‘I’ll turn the gas on in the cockpit so that you can play house and make the coffee. I’ll get the engine warmed up.’

‘Where are we going?’ she shouted, as the engine huh-huh-huh-chug-chugged into life before steadying to a loud grumble.

He shouted something that sounded like, ‘To the pond,’ which made no sense to her, so she set about opening cupboards until she located mugs and coffee for him and jasmine tea, which he’d thoughtfully provided, for her, and waited for the kettle to boil. By the time the drinks were made and drunk and Dominic had turned the bottled gas back off, Liza had found her river legs and adjusted to the sensation of standing on the back of some rolling, ponderous creature, so she joined him in the cockpit, zipping up her ski jacket and sniffing the fresh air.