Dream Guy (13 page)

“I don’t know. It was like I had a script in my head, and I just repeated what was there. But you know something?”

“What?”

“It must be real.” Nell loosened her tie and unbuttoned her shirt a little. Joe pushed his chair away from the table. Then she reached into her shirt and pulled out a chain. Attached was a pendant in the shape of her name, covered in shining stones. She fingered it then slipped it over her neck. She placed it on the table then slid it across to Joe. “I took this to a jeweler. These are real diamonds.”

Joe shoved the pendant back toward Nell as if it were molten. He didn’t know what to say.

“How long has this been going on?” asked Nell.

“Just since Monday. When I dream, it comes true, just like I told you when I got you back to your room. Sometimes I can control it.”

“Like how?” Nell was both skeptical and curious. Joe stood up and led her to the garage. He opened the door and switched on the light then let her go ahead of him. She stepped down and stopped. Then she walked up to the Lamborghini and walked around it. She reached out and touched it. She looked across the roof of the car at Joe.

“Real car. Real diamonds. Real cocaine. Real shit. You are in really deep shit.”

Joe ran a hand through his hair. “I guess so.”

Nell came around the car, stroking its gleaming surface. She stood at the bottom of the two steps leading back into the house. “Do you want help?”

“How can you help?”

“I don’t know unless you tell me you need help. Do you need help, Joe?”

He swallowed. “Yes. I need help.” Nell came up and he stepped back to let her through the door. Joe followed her into the kitchen. She sat to finish her tea. When she plunked the empty mug down on the table, she took another look at him.

“Okay. Time to tell me the whole story. How many dreams have you had, what have they been about and why do you think this is happening?”

It occurred to Joe that Nell was even more frightening than his mother, but he started talking, hesitantly, nervously then with greater assurance and a sense of relief that he had someone to talk to.

He told Nell about the fish, the car, the nightclub, about struggling to escape from Smokey and waking up this morning with only the dimmest notion of what had been going on in Sardinia, then fell silent. She had been watching him, but once he stopped talking, her glance veered away as she thought through all she had been told. She chewed a little at her lips, scrunching her mouth, her eyebrows wiggling and knitting as she concentrated on what she had heard. It made Joe feel comfortable watching her mobile features, a sight that he had seen in the classroom daily since they were four and five.

Ben came through to tell Joe that he was off to collect Liesel from her dance class. He seemed relieved that Nell showed no sign of disappearing and said before Joe could stop him that he hoped she wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on Joe until he was back. She grinned and said, “Of course not,” somewhat to Joe’s irritation.

The front door slammed, and Nell focused once more on Joe’s situation.

“There are some things you’ve got to sort out. Smokey’s the number one problem. That coke came from somewhere, and someone is going to want it back. Then there’s this carpet. I don’t think you should hang on to it. And finally, there’s this bloke, the thief guy. If he’s turned up twice, my guess is he’ll turn up again.”

Joe wanted to ask Nell how she could think so clearly. She had always been like that. She had the brain of a chief executive trapped in the head of a child—a ruthless, manipulative, driven chief executive. She stood up and put the kettle on, then collected the mugs, dug out tea bags and milk. She thought aloud as she moved around the kitchen.

“So, you could take out Smokey’s stash by dreaming about it and getting it off him. But the chances are you’ll lose control of the dream and get into even more trouble. I don’t think there’s anything you can do about the pickpocket until you dream about him again. Once you do dream about him, you need to find out his name and where he comes from. It may be that he’s connected with Smokey, since he’s appeared in both the dreams you had for Smokey. That’s such a stupid name.” She brought two mugs of tea back to the table.

“What were you doing with your hand on his thigh?”

Nell rolled her eyes. “Trying to calm him down and stop him from asking that flight attendant for a blow job. He is such a plonker. Aren’t you embarrassed having such a complete tosser for a friend?”

“Yes,” admitted Joe and smiled. Nell smiled back. Then she chuckled. Joe chuckled too, and Nell began laughing uncontrollably and Joe couldn’t help laughing too. Then they couldn’t stop, and it began to hurt, but each time they caught each other’s eye, they fell into another river of laughter that brought tears to their eyes and an ache to their ribs. Joe knocked over his tea, and they laughed even more. Gradually, they calmed down as they mopped up the tea and cleaned the floor where it had dripped. Nell sat back on her knees by the table, her hands full of soggy paper towels.

“I haven’t laughed like that for ages.”

“Me neither.” Joe paused. “I’ve missed you, Nell.”

“Yeah. Likewise.” She dumped the paper towel in the bin, then sat down again. “You need to give that carpet back. Try to dream up this Karabashi man. It’s the simplest dream.”

“Why give the carpet back?”

“It doesn’t belong here. It’s like Dill. He had to go back in the book, and you found a way to do it. You have to do the right thing.”

The front door clattered as Ben came back with Liesel.

Nell collected up her stuff. She made swift, polite conversation with Ben and Liesel, who went into the kitchen. Joe followed her to the door. “I’ll try not to get you involved in any more of this. The thing is, I couldn’t help it. You just came.”

She tilted her head and examined his face. Then she blinked and nodded, confirming something for herself. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.” He watched her leave, walking down the street toward the bus stop with a bounce to her step, head held high.

Joe closed the door and went to the kitchen. He felt uneasy, but he had to thank Ben for looking after him all day.

Liesel was at the table, and Ben was standing there with the carrier bag Nell had left behind. “Nell’s left this behind. If you run, you can probably catch her up.”

“That’s okay. It’s mine. She wanted to give it back to me.” Joe reached out, and Ben handed the bag over. “Thanks, Ben. Thanks for everything today.”

Ben smiled. “Any time. You know that, Joe.”

Joe nodded and headed upstairs. Nell’s words came back to him.
‘You have to do the right thing.’
Telling Smokey about the dreams had been so wrong. Maybe giving the carpet back would make things a little bit more right.

Chapter Eleven

Karabashi

When Joe next opened his eyes, he was in an orchard. It was walled and enormous. He was close to a gate, and spreading out before him were rows upon rows of trees, carefully tended. Their branches were thick with blossoms, and the air was rich with scent. The place was silent, apart from the slight rustle as a breeze meandered through the trees and there was a subdued drone of bees. Underfoot there was grass and, in every direction Joe looked, there were simply more and more trees stretching into the distance in ranks as regular as an army. At first, he could only see apple, and possibly cherry, but otherwise, they just seemed one great mass of tight-packed flowers in shades of pink and white, as though the trees were preparing to be married off. He stepped forward into the mass of flowers, winding his way through the branches until he had lost track of where he had come from and where he was going. He looked down. He was wearing a light, open-necked cotton tunic and trousers in the same material. He was carrying the golden carpet he intended to return to Karabashi. His feet were bare, but the grass was so soft and rich underfoot that he might have been walking on silk.

There was no need to panic. The trees were planted in such orderly rows that sooner or later the corridors between them must lead back to the orchard walls then to the gate. So Joe wandered farther and farther into the trees, randomly swinging from left to right, caressed by the soft petals and soothed by the delicate susurration of leaves against leaves. He recognized the blossoms. Now, he could identify cherry and apple, peach and plum. He’d helped his parents collect the fruit from their garden often enough, but he didn’t think he’d be able to distinguish the different types of nut trees. The almond he did know. There was a tree in the garden, though it had never produced any nuts. But as he walked, he was able to tell the difference between pistachio and walnut, as if he’d known this place all his life. A bird began calling, a honeysweet trill into the blue sky, perhaps warning its fellows that their territory had been invaded, perhaps simply singing for the joy of the fresh day.

Gardeners would have to tend this orchard from time to time, but it would be weeks and weeks until the next harvest. Joe knew exactly what would happen, as though he’d watched the harvest himself every year that he could remember. Hundreds of slaves would be driven into the orchard and there they would spend backbreaking days collecting fruit for the sultan—peaches and cherries, pistachios, walnuts, almonds and plums. The orchard would resound with men calling to one another, hefting up great baskets and carrying them away for cleaning and serving to their monarch. In the meantime, the orchard was left to itself, its blossoms forgotten by all but one man.

Through the screen of leaves and petals, Joe made out a white parasol thickly embroidered with thread the shade of lapis lazuli. Only the stark incongruity of the blue thread gave away the existence of this artificial canopy. Joe walked quietly toward it, then some small sound gave him away and a deep voice asked who was there. Joe said nothing, simply drew closer to the parasol.

Beneath it was sitting the scholar Karabashi, cross-legged on a rug that seemed to weave together every shade of red. His turban was smaller and less snowy than when Joe had previously seen him. He wore a simple gown of blue damask with a pink sash embroidered in gold. He held a book but was no longer reading it, watching out instead for Joe’s approach.

“Our host and our wise counsellor.” He did not seem surprised to see Joe again. He put his book down and indicated that Joe should sit down. “We followed your advice.”

Joe wasn’t quite sure what to do. It didn’t seem right to walk up and plonk himself down beside the scholar. He bowed before Karabashi. After all, he had to apologize for hanging on to the carpet, even if it hadn’t been intentional. He handed over the neatly folded package which Nell had tied with string, probably so she could control it as she’d wrestled it into a carrier bag. Joe had pulled the carpet out of the bag and had held it as he’d gone to sleep, hoping that would ensure it came with him if he managed to get to Karabashi. It had worked.

Karabashi took it, unfolded it on the rug and stroked it.

He looked up at Joe.

“Come. Sit. You have made a great journey to return this to me. Take some refreshment.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt.” It seemed strange that they could understand each other. Surely Karabashi must be talking Turkish, yet Joe understood everything, and even though it felt as though he was speaking English, he couldn’t be, because Karabashi understood everything he was saying. Karabashi brushed aside Joe’s hesitant comment.

“Come.” He indicated once again that Joe should join him on the rug. “You relieve me of the need to read a wearisome text.”

Joe sat down under the shadow of the parasol.

Karabashi reached behind him into a wicker basket and drew out an earthenware bottle, cup and a little box. He poured a glass of some liquid into the cup and handed it to Joe. Never the most adventurous eater, Joe was slow to put the cup to his lips, but when he did, he found it was simply mint tea. He drank a little then set the cup down. Karabashi proffered the box. Inside were delicate pastries made of nuts and honey. Joe took one and swallowed it in a gulp. Karabashi had kept the box at the ready and offered him a second. Joe took it, but this time he nibbled at it with a little more refinement. He vaguely remembered his father saying that in the Middle East, it would cause offense to refuse food or drink and that the best thing to do was to eat very slowly so that you didn’t keep having your plate refilled.

“What happened when you told the emperor where the bowl came from?” Joe asked.

“He was astonished. At first he was angry, but then he was delighted that his own craftsmen had acquired the gifts that the infidels from the east sought to conceal from us. So your advice was just, and we are in your debt.”

“I didn’t mean to keep the carpet. It just stayed behind.” Joe looked around the orchard. “This place is very beautiful. What year are we in?”

“We are in the year 1004, in the month of Sha’ban. Does this mean anything to you? I believe that in the calendar of the popes, it is the year 1596 after Christ.”

It felt safe, being over four hundred years away from school and Smokey and all the other niggling irritations of his daily life. Karabashi was a restful person to be with. He did not bombard Joe with questions or even talk at all. They simply sat and contemplated the trees and the blossoms, taking occasional sips of mint tea as bees hummed and birds sang.

Joe fiddled with the grass. It felt lush and thick and real, like the carpet on which he sat and the tree trunk against which he leaned. Time evaporated. Other worlds evanesced. For the first time in a week, there was space. Joe lay back and gazed up at the sky, as blue as the embroidery of the parasol under which Karabashi sat, once again immersed in his book. Eventually, Joe levered himself up on one elbow and asked, “Excuse me, but what are you a scholar of?”

“History. My friend Lokman, whom you met the other night, and I are engaged in a history of our sultans.”

They fell silent once again, but after another half hour, Karabashi closed his book and wrapped it up in a silk cloth before placing it in a basket. Then he started asking questions of Joe. Where had he come from? By what means had he traveled? Why had he come?