A Season of Hopes and Dreams

by Lynsey James

  ‘Me too,’ I admit, hoping Scott won’t ask me to go into too much detail. ‘Still, onwards and upwards, eh? How does that saying go: the best people give you memories and the worst ones teach you lessons?’ I pause and wince a little, lifting my hands to cover my face. ‘Sorry, that sounded like something you’d read in a cheesy greetings card!’

  Scott leans over the table and gently prises my hands away. ‘You worry way too much, you know that?’

  I peek up and look into his eyes, hoping my cheeks don’t turn crimson again. I’m all too aware he’s holding my hands in his; his touch feels new and tingly against my skin.

  ‘Sorry, I… I guess I’m just used to second-guessing myself!’ I chuckle, hoping to defuse the sizzling tension that’s building between us. I can almost hear the air crackle and hiss.

  Scott looks down at our hands, does an awkward chuckle and takes his away. He glances at his watch and raises his eyebrows. ‘So, by my reckoning, we’ve got about another thirty seconds in each other’s company, and if I don’t ask this now I’ll kick myself for the rest of the night. Would you like to have dinner with me sometime? Or we could grab a drink together after this if you like. It’s totally up to you.’

  I feel every part of my body freeze and my mouth drops open of its own accord. I can’t believe what I’ve just heard and, for a minute, I think about asking him to repeat himself.

  ‘Um… yeah, I’d love to,’ is what comes out instead. ‘That sounds brilliant!’

  Scott looks slightly surprised by my response, and a broad grin sweeps across his face. He probably expected me to dither and second-guess him or something. To be fair, I expected me to do that too.

  ‘Nice one,’ he replies. ‘It’ll probably have to be here since I don’t think there’s another pub in the village. Is that OK?’

  ‘You got it, dude!’ For reasons I can’t fathom, I reach over to punch him in the arm. I really have been out of the dating game for far too long. ‘Looking forward to it.’

  It’s only when people start to stare that I realise just how loudly I’m speaking. I flash everyone an apologetic glance and feel myself shrink a little in my seat.

  ‘Sounds good to me! We can meet out in the main bar when we’re done here.’ I nod and hope the smile on my face doesn’t look too manic. My brain’s working overtime to process what’s just happened. I, Cleo Jones, have been asked out on an actual date by a hunky personal trainer.

  If there were an item on my bucket list that said get a date with gorgeous gym guy, I’d definitely be able to tick it off.

  *

  I manage to make it through the rest of the speed-dating event unscathed. I decide not to pass my number on to any of the guys I’ve met; hardly surprising when my choices are either married, nasty about their mum and job, or permanently glued to their phone.

  However, none of that bothers me. I am going for a drink with a lovely guy whose smile makes my insides do funny things. It’s official: I’ve become every rom-com heroine in existence.

  Before I can go and meet Scott in the main bar, Emma pulls me to one side.

  ‘You’re my best friend and I love you, so listen to what I’m about to say.’ Uh-oh, this sounds serious. ‘If Scott tries anything weird, go to the toilet and ring me or go to the bar and speak to Ben. I’ll text him and let him know you might need him, so it doesn’t look too suspicious. I was reading about this drink you can order if you’re on a date and you want the barman to give you a hand. It’s called an Angel Shot or something.’

  ‘All right,’ I say, shaking my head, ‘but I really don’t think he’s the type to do anything too strange. He works in a gym, he’s not bloody Jack the Ripper!’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Emma agrees, ‘but what kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t make sure you were safe? In all fairness, Scott seems absolutely lovely, so go and have a good time. I’m off home for the night, so you can fill me in tomorrow after work.’

  We exchange hugs and goodbyes before Emma slips off into the night. This is it; I’m on my own now and it’s time to go on an actual date with a lovely bloke who seems to like me. I take a deep breath, roll my shoulders back and head out into the main bar. In my head, I’m automatically running through a checklist: is my dress sitting right, is it caught in my knickers, have I smudged my make-up or has my hair gone haywire? Will I say something stupid or unintentionally offensive? Will I ask the wrong question about his dating history or laugh so hard I do that weird snorting thing that happens at the worst possible moments?

  What I see next puts those worries firmly to the back of my mind.

  Scott’s sat at the bar chatting to none other than Amanda Best.

  Chapter Eleven

  My first instinct is to run. Neither of them has seen me, so I could slip out of here undetected and come up with an excuse for the next time I see Scott. He’ll probably be firmly under Amanda’s toxic spell by then, if he isn’t already. Her reptilian charms have a remarkable success rate.

  A sharp, piercing cry of ‘Cleopatra Jones, is that really you?!’ puts a halt to my escape plan. I look up to see Amanda gliding towards me with outstretched arms. She has the elegance of a ballet dancer and the sincerity of a politician on Election Day. I can’t hide my surprise or terror as she envelops me in a very tight hug. Scott follows and stops a couple of steps back, oblivious to the fact my worst enemy has just confronted me.

  ‘I… can’t… breathe…’ I choke out as she continues to squeeze the life out of me.

  She lets me go and I breathe in hefty lungfuls of air. I notice the cat-like grin on her face; as usual, it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

  ‘Darling, I haven’t seen you in forever! How are you doing?’

  I frown. ‘But I saw you—’

  She grabs my arm and yanks me forward, cutting me short before I can say I saw her in the baker’s last week. ‘Scott, have you met Cleopatra? We were at school together.’

  The penny finally drops; this is all an act for his benefit. She’s been chatting him up and is doing the whole fairy princess act to cover up the fact she’s basically Maleficent.

  ‘I have actually,’ Scott replies, not taking his eyes off me. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Amanda’s sugary smile shrink a little. ‘We were just about to have a drink together and, if I remember correctly, she actually prefers to be called Cleo.’

  I kind of want to punch the air like they do in the movies and shout out “hell, yeah, we are!” but I’ll probably end up looking like a complete chump. I’m also really flattered he’s remembered I like to be called Cleo. I take a couple of steps over to Scott and summon up the courage to throw Amanda one of those cat-like grins she likes so much. It feels pretty good, better than I’d care to admit.

  ‘Let me tell you something, Scott, this girl is an inspiration! You wouldn’t believe how much she’s changed since we left school.’ She looks at me with an odd expression on her face. I can’t quite tell if it’s genuine admiration or if she’s being catty. Knowing her, probably the latter. I feel my insides twist; this isn’t how I want Scott to find out about my body and food issues, and I know Amanda won’t hesitate to talk about something so personal.

  ‘Oh really?’ He grins at me. ‘I have to hear about this!’

  Amanda opens her mouth to tell him everything, but I beat her to it. ‘We can talk about that another time! We’d better go and grab a table before they’re all taken.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right, we’d better move quickly. It was really nice meeting you, Amanda,’ says Scott. ‘I’ll see you next week for your personal training session.’

  I feel my stomach sink a little and hope it doesn’t show on my face. Knowing Amanda, she won’t have exercise in mind for her gym session.

  It’s her turn to do that Cheshire cat smile. ‘You certainly will. See you bright and early!’ She turns to sashay her way out of the Bell and Candle, but turns back to look at me. ‘Oh Cleo, it really was lovely to see you. Looks like you’re turning into
a real social butterfly nowadays. So different to when you were at school. Catch you later!’

  Ouch, there’s another one of Amanda’s zingers. To Scott, it probably sounds innocent, but I know the real meaning behind it. Anger bubbles up inside me as I see the satisfied look on her face. She’s not doing this to me, not this time.

  ‘Hey, Amanda!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re right; I have changed a lot since high school. It’s good to see you’re still exactly the same, though. You haven’t changed a bit.’

  It turns out Amanda isn’t the only one who can deliver a subtle insult. She’s under no illusions about what I think of her and, judging by the sour expression on her face, knows exactly what I mean.

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ she replies through gritted teeth. ‘I’d hate to think I was trying to be someone I’m not. Anyway, I’d better get going.’ She turns her attention to Scott and throws a sexy glance in his direction. ‘Hope you bring your A game next week, mister. Ciao!’

  Treating the Bell and Candle’s main bar as her personal runway, she strides across to the door, treating Scott to a smouldering pout that lasts just a little too long. I don’t know why I’m even surprised; she always did know how to get men to fall for her. I peek up at Scott to see his reaction, but he doesn’t have the lovestruck expression on his face that men usually have when she’s around. In fact, he isn’t even looking through the pub window at Amanda’s retreating frame disappearing into the night. He’s looking at me.

  ‘Shall we grab a table then?’ he asks with an easy smile. It’s as though Amanda was never even here. ‘It’s pretty busy in here, we’ll be lucky to get a seat!’

  I glance over at Ben and an idea pops into my head. ‘Wait here, I think I can find us somewhere!’

  I skip over to the bar, where there’s a temporary lull in customers. The initial chaos has died down and now everyone’s sitting nursing their pints. Ben comes over to me, bringing some glasses he’s cleaning with him.

  ‘All right, Cleo, how’s your date going?’ he asks. ‘Are you sending out wedding invitations yet?’

  I roll my eyes. ‘I take it Emma’s been opening her big gob again!’

  ‘Yeah, she texted to let me know you might need a bit of help if Lover Boy turned a bit funny. What’s an Angel Shot, by the way?’

  ‘Oh, don’t ask, it’s a long story. Anyway, he hasn’t turned funny yet. I just wanted to know if there are any of those booths available? You know, the ones you like to keep reserved to impress Emma.’

  There’s a brief pause before Ben gives in and sighs. ‘Am I really that obvious?’

  ‘Yup, I’m afraid so.’ I do my best puppy-dog eyes at him. ‘If you let me have one of the booths, I can put a good word in for you with her.’

  ‘You’ve got me there,’ Ben admits. ‘I put the reserved sign on the one at the back, just in case she wanted to stay for a few drinks after speed-dating. Did she… meet anyone nice?’

  ‘Not really, but don’t tell her I told you that. She’ll want to maintain an air of mystery! Cheers for the booth; I promise I’ll tell my best mate what a lovely, upstanding guy you are.’

  I grab Scott and we head to the booth at the back of the pub. It’s quieter here; the buzz of activity in the main bar can hardly be heard and the cluster of people is just a collection of sketchy figures. If there were such a thing as a “happy place”, this would probably be mine.

  ‘Here we are,’ I say, gesturing to our cosy little spot. ‘What do you think?’

  Scott’s eyes travel over his surroundings for a moment then settle on me. I feel a little uncomfortable being in the spotlight and shift around a little in my seat.

  ‘I think…’ He pauses for a moment and leans closer to me. ‘That you look absolutely beautiful tonight.’

  My gaze drops to the table as I attempt to hide the smile spreading across my face and the blush creeping into my cheeks.

  ‘Thank you,’ I reply, looking back up at him. ‘You look really nice too.’

  Scott stares down at his outfit. ‘I look like I’ve stepped out of a Burberry catalogue or something! I was going to go for jeans and a T-shirt, but Chris persuaded me to dress up a bit more.’

  ‘Well, it suits you. You look very… debonair!’

  Debonair? Did we just take a wrong turn and end up in the forties?

  ‘I’m probably going to sound like an absolute idiot saying this, but I’m really glad you came tonight, Cleo.’

  The compliment catches me off-guard and, for a second, I’m not sure how to react.

  ‘You know something,’ I say, ‘so am I.’

  There’s something about being in Scott’s company that helps me come out of my shell a little more than I usually would. Whether it’s his laid-back nature, sexy smile or those gorgeous hazel eyes of his, I’m not sure, but whatever it is, I like the effect it’s having on me.

  *

  As the evening progresses, I gradually start to relax more. The fun Cleo who’s comfortable in her own skin begins to emerge, even if the process is painfully slow. She’s been locked away for a long time, so it’s only natural she’s taking some time to come out again.

  ‘Here’s an idea,’ Scott says, setting his pint glass down. ‘Why don’t we play Truth or Dare?’

  I freeze mid drink and my eyes widen. The wicked glint in his eye tells me he doesn’t have innocent dares on his mind.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I say, flashing him a cheeky grin. ‘I’m a bit of a pro at that game.’

  This revelation intrigues Scott, who leans across the table to be closer to me. ‘I bet you set the dirtiest dares.’

  ‘Oh, you have no idea,’ I shoot back. ‘I don’t think you could keep up with me.’

  His lips are tantalisingly close to mine and, for a brief second, I think about reaching over and kissing him. I stop myself just as I’m about to do it; this date’s going way better than I expected and I don’t want to ruin it by going in for the kill at the wrong moment.

  ‘Maybe not,’ he says, ‘but I’m willing to give it a go. Why don’t you go first since you’re the master?’

  My heart skips a little when that sexy smile of his comes out to play. This may turn out to be the best game of Truth or Dare I’ve ever played.

  ‘Fine, I pick truth.’

  Scott bites his bottom lip for a moment while he thinks of something suitable to ask me. I hope it’s nothing too intrusive or personal.

  ‘OK, let’s start with something easy. Tell me something about you I wouldn’t know from looking at you.’

  Dammit. There’s only one thing I can think of in response to that, and it’s the thing I least like to talk about. Then again, this whole evening has been about being brave…

  ‘I used to be a dancer when I was younger,’ I reply with a wistful smile.

  ‘Really?’ Scott’s response is laced with warmth. ‘What type did you do?’

  I can feel sadness pricking the edges of my thoughts as the memories of the life I used to live are brought to the surface again. Yet it’s not an all-consuming sadness this time. I still feel a certain amount of grief for the opportunities I didn’t get to pursue, but, for the first time in such a long time, it feels like my life is moving forward. That feeling takes some of the sting away.

  ‘I did all types – ballet, jazz, tap, modern, flamenco – you name it, I was into it. It was like I had this rhythmic energy flowing through my body; when I danced, it felt like I was… I dunno, more than myself. That probably sounds stupid, but it’s the only way I can really describe it. Anyway, I had all these grand plans to leave Silverdale, study dance, and become a worldwide superstar. I got an audition for a great performing arts school in London; all I had to do was go, dance my heart out and hope for the best. If things had worked out, I’d have done my last couple of years of school there, along with dance classes, and moved on to their three-year dance programme afterwards.’

  I pause for a second; the painful part is coming up nex
t and I need some time to gather myself. I glance up at Scott, who’s looking at me and listening intently. His rapt attention makes me a little uncomfortable; since he’s not distracted by something in the corner of the room or listening to someone else’s conversation, he’s going to hear every word. Every last awful detail, the ones I’m holding back, he’ll be privy to them all. I’ve come this far, though, so I can’t stop now.

  ‘Keep going,’ Scott says, reaching over to take my hand. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  It’s a simple gesture, but it warms my heart and takes the edge off the pain I’m feeling. His warm, strong hand around mine makes me feel almost like I’m part of something.

  ‘A couple of weeks before my audition,’ I continue, ‘my friend and I were on our way home from our ballet class. Her mum was driving us because I was going back to hers for tea. I don’t really remember much about what happened; I think her mum swerved to avoid a dog that ran out into the road. She lost control of the car and we ended up crashing. My friend and her mum weren’t badly hurt, but I was. My left leg snapped in two places and the doctor told me I wouldn’t be able to dance professionally any more. After that, I just sort of… gave up, really. Dancing was all I’d ever wanted to do and I couldn’t imagine my life without it.’

  Scott squeezes my hand. ‘Cleo, that’s awful. You must’ve been devastated, losing your dream like that.’

  I nod. ‘It could’ve ended up a lot worse, but it was pretty horrible to be told I’d never dance again. Things got… well, complicated for a while. When I couldn’t dance, I felt lost; it had been my whole life since I was three and, without it, I didn’t really know who I was. For eleven years, I was a dancer and that was it. While I was recovering, I couldn’t dance and I ended up comfort eating to block out how bloody awful I felt. By the time I went back to school, I’d put on nearly two stone and it just kept going from there. I had all these dreams I wanted to accomplish – I even wrote out a bucket list just before my accident – and when I hurt myself, it felt like none of them were possible any more. The worse I felt, the more I ate. Before I knew it, I was seventeen stone and absolutely miserable. I felt like I’d eaten away my dream life. Then, one day, I just decided enough was enough. It hasn’t been easy and I’ve had loads of wobbles, but I’m three stone down so far! For me, it’s never been about becoming a size six and wearing crop tops in the summertime. It’s about being comfortable in my own skin, regardless of the number on my clothes label. I don’t know how close I am to that yet, but I’m hopefully getting there.’