The Dreamers (2 page)

Arianwen lies still on her brass bed and gazes up at her ceiling. The moon shines in through the gap in her curtains and she feels relaxed.
But her breathing is quickening. She closes her eyes, feels a flush across her cheeks.

She can see Blodwyn’s white face before her, smiling down at her. She reaches out, strokes her cheek.

Hot skin beneath her fingers.
Long blonde hair falling over smooth white breasts.

Arianwen strokes downwards, exploring her own body, exploring Blodwyn’s in her mind.

Soft flesh of breasts, fingers trailing lower, finding dimpled skin. It roughens under her touch. She cups both breasts, feeling the points harden to press against her palms. Their bellies rub together as they find their rhythm.

She gasps into the silence of her room, fighting hard to keep the scene in her head.

Blodwyn smiles at her. It does not feel real. Her fingers brush Arianwen between her legs. Her hand should be soft but it is not. It feels like Arianwen’s own hand.

It is Arianwen’s own hand. Her eyes open. She is alone in her bed, alone in her room. She is always alone.

She turns over, presses her face into her pillow and lets out a long, unsteady breath.

Jennifer was in the kitchen, halfway up a stepladder cleaning windows. As she scrubbed, light filled the room. She began to hum as she worked, oblivious to her surroundings and focused on her work.

She didn’t notice the piano playing along with her humming.

She stepped back from the window and grinned. The kitchen window was only small but, clean, it filled the whole room with light. She hummed along with the piano.

Then she stopped humming.

The piano
.

She was definitely hearing music this time. She wasn’t imagining it.

Jennifer whirled around and strode towards the sitting room. She burst inside. There was the piano, standing alone against the wall. There was nobody there and the lid was closed, covering the keys.

Yet she could still hear the music.
Soft, sad and slow. Jennifer stared intently at the piano stool. There was nobody there. Nobody at all. Yet the music kept playing.

She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I’m not scared,’ she murmured. ‘This isn’t real. My house is
not
haunted.’

The music stopped. Jennifer opened her eyes and knew she was alone.

J
ENNIFER HAD BEEN IN
her house for a month and was feeling settled. She’d made the cottage into a real home. She’d bought a squashy new sofa and a rug for the sitting room; she’d decorated her walls with paintings and photographs. Her bedroom was now complete with a dresser, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. She’d made the spare room into both a studio and a reading room. Half of it was taken up with her small writing desk and her easel. On the other side of the room, the walls were lined with bookshelves and her comfy old armchair sat in the corner. She’d set up her computer along with her scanner and her printer. She even had the internet now.

It was a Sunday and she hummed as she arranged her photographs on her desk. She had built up quite a collection of photographs taken around the town, some better than others. Cilfachglas had no shortage of beautiful views, quaint buildings and ordinary people.
The cheerful gallery owner was eager to get the exhibition set up. Her favourites were the photographs of the chapel, which seemed to signify so much about the village. It was simple prettiness and solid faith, surrounded by beautiful countryside. The chapel would provide the centrepiece to her exhibition.

She stopped humming and leaned over her photos. There was one in particular which caught her eye. It showed the cross on the gabled roof, backed by the blue sky. The sun shone brightly down on the building, as if God himself was blessing it.

Cenwych
yn llafar i’r Arglwydd, yr holl ddaear!

Gwasanaethwch
yr Arglwydd mewn llawenydd!

She froze. She could hear singing. She didn’t understand the Welsh but the words were filled with quiet joy. She went to her front door, opened it and looked out into the early morning light. She could hear nothing.

She closed the door and walked slowly into her living room. The windows
were all shut. Not even the gentle swish of the sea could be heard in here.

Deuwch yn ei wydd ef mewn gorfoledd!

Gwybyddwch
mai yr Arglwydd sy Dduw!

The singing was louder now. She realised that she could hear soft lilting piano music joining in. It was filled with gentle joy. The music came to her as an echo. It put pictures in her head. She could see a family, gathered around the piano, singing a hymn in praise of their god.

She stared hard at the piano. It stood still and silent, untouched.
But she could still hear the music and the singing. It couldn’t be real. Yet she knew it was.

‘I don’t believe in ghosts,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t, I don’t.’

The singing faded away. The piano played its music softly. The joyful noise faded to a slow melancholy tune. She didn’t recognise it but it made her chest ache. The notes throbbed with loneliness.

She sank to the floor and watched the still piano in its dark corner, listening with rapt attention to the music she knew could not be real.

‘Who are you?’ she whispered.

The music faded into the silence of the living room. Jennifer sat with the peace and the stillness, knowing without a single doubt that she wasn’t alone in the little cottage.

Arianwen rises early and alone. Sunday mornings bring prayer, singing, and praise for the Lord. For Arianwen, they bring her music. Sundays give her an excuse to play her piano for hours.

She dresses in her sprigged muslin and takes her seat at the piano. The stool creaks under her. She strokes the piano’s smooth lid,
then lifts it, exposing the black and white keys. They are hers. She is the only one who can stroke beautiful music from those keys. She is the only one who can touch and press and caress, bring the piano to life.

The tips of her fingers stroke the keys,
then she raises her hands and begins to play. She knows the tune well. She plays it each Sunday; they start the services with it every week.

She begins to sing, her soft voice filling the sitting room with quiet joy. Her faith has always brought her joy and so has her music.

Cenwych
yn llafar i’r Arglwydd, yr holl ddaear!

Gwasanaethwch
yr Arglwydd mewn llawenydd!

Deuwch
yn ei wydd ef mewn gorfoledd!

Gwybyddwch
mai yr Arglwydd sy Dduw!

She feels peaceful here at her piano, quietly joyful.
Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the lands! Serve the Lord with gladness!
The words of the hymn express the way she feels about her faith and the music she sends up to her Lord.
Come into his presence with singing! Know that the Lord is God!

Her fingers still. She feels as though she
is being watched. She looks around, looking in every corner, through every window. There is no one there.

She hears humming, a soft voice vibrating her ears. She listens. Almost of their own accord, her fingers begin to pick out the tune she can hear, following it easily though each rise and fall.

The humming is sweet, soft, distracted. It is the sort of humming one does when one’s mind is otherwise occupied. She is not frightened. It feels right that she can hear the humming. It seems to belong here. The presence she can feel belongs with her.

Her fingers still. Silence falls and she sits motionless on her piano stool and feels the presence wash over her. For the first
time in her memory, she does not feel alone.

Jennifer welcomed her bed at the end of the day. It was a soft, warm, comforting place. It was also an erotic place. She had been having these dreams for weeks now, each one deeper and more erotic. She lay down, drew the covers over her naked body and closed her eyes. She knew the dream would come.

Warmth, softness, supple fingers caressing.
A kiss, firm and claiming. Gasps fill the room, hot breath on skin. Heaving chests press against one another.

Jennifer lay on her back, opening her mind and her body to the images which came from the still, not empty, darkness of her bedroom. Her mind had never given her images as rich, nor as real, as these. They didn’t belong to her. They were being gifted to her.

Wet mouth on hers, hair caressing skin as they move with each other. Smooth body against her, pressing close with need. Gentle curves, roundness of hip to claim with a firm hand.

Her gasps filled the room for real and it
was
real. She could feel those soft touches on her face, on her body. It was real.

Arms wrap around shoulders, bodies moving together, a whispered word, ‘please’. They tremble with the need to achieve release in each other’s bodies.

She opened her eyes to gaze into the face of her lover.

Bright eyes, a sweet mouth, long hair framing that pretty face.

There was no one there. She was alone. Jennifer sighed into her empty bedroom. ‘Oh, come back,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

But
there was nothing.

Arianwen is thinking of Blodwyn. She knows she
cannot have her. She knows she loves another yet still she wants her. She craves her fiercely.

She thinks of her smile, that sweet mouth curving so gently. Blodwyn never smiles at Arianwen though. Arianwen needs that smile like oxygen. She will die soon if she cannot get just one smile.

She lies on her bed, on her side, imagining Blodwyn there with her.

Caresses on warm skin, hot breath filling the room. Reaching out, threading fingers through blonde hair.

Arianwen can feel those soft strands against her fingers, like pale satin against her skin. The locks shine for her but darken as she gazes at them. It is not straight blonde hair but dark wavy hair, the same colour as her piano.

Pressing her mouth to warm skin, feeling the breathing quicken beneath her touch. The rounded belly pulses with the fast breaths of arousal.

In the dark, hot, close space under her blankets, she can feel her lover pressing close to her.

A kiss claiming her, hand on her hip, no air between their bodies.

But it is not Blodwyn. The face is new.

Soft face bright with pleasure, mouth gasping, fingers flexing with pleasure.

The eyes are closed. Arianwen thinks that if she could only see her eyes, her lover would become real. She could have her forever, if only she could see her eyes.

‘Please,’ she whispers.

The eyelashes caress flushed cheeks and the eyes flicker open.

Arianwen stares. There are no eyes gazing back at her. Her lover is gone
; she was never there.