Dream a Little Dream

by Giovanna Fletcher

  In the distance I hear the buzzer go off and Shirley welcoming someone in.

  ‘There he is,’ chimes Julie, beginning to totter over to reception excitedly. ‘Told you he wouldn’t be last.’

  I glance over at reception to watch Julie greet the man who squandered my chances of promotion, and my heart stops.

  Surely not.

  How?

  I must still be dreaming.

  This can’t be happening.

  This has to be some sort of weird dream within a dream – I’ve had them before and it’s incredibly freaky when you think you’re awake but you’re not. Surely that’s what’s occurring now, because the truth is too baffling to comprehend.

  Brett Last is standing in the reception of Red Brick – in the office, where I work – and is shaking my colleague Julie’s hand.

  Actual.

  Brett.

  Last.

  ‘This is Sarah,’ I hear Julie say as she turns back to me with Brett’s hand still in hers.

  I’ve no choice but to walk over to them.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, my voice shaking slightly as I animatedly wave my hands in the air like an early-morning CBBC presenter.

  I immediately hate myself.

  And there he is … Brett Last, Real Brett, looking over at me and holding out a hand for me to shake.

  I put my hand in his and offer the flimsiest of handshakes – it’s appalling and droopy – but my mind is elsewhere, trying to absorb him and make sense of the situation I’ve somehow found myself in and trying not to hyperventilate over the fact that I’m having actually physical contact with Brett Last. My subconscious mind has turned him into a celebrity – I might as well be stood in front of the god that is Ryan Gosling and having him recite lines from The Notebook to me, I’d be just as gormless and awestruck.

  Although this Brett is different. Not hugely, but there are tiny differences that I can’t help but notice – he’s a smidge smaller in both height and body-mass, for a start – he’s still tall (and taller than me), but as I stand next to him I’m aware that he’s not the six-foot-five guy from my dreams. Maybe more six foot one or two … His blond hair has turned to a mousey brown with age, and there are definite flecks of grey running through it.

  And then there are his eyes …

  His hazelnut eyes aren’t how I remembered them at all – they’re still sparkly and friendly, but they’re green. Green. Just Green. Not the stripy pools of golden brown that make my heart skip a beat. And then there are the wrinkles that crease around them, reminding me, along with those grey flecks, that he is ten years older than he appears in my memory and in my dreams …

  He’s a man. A really hunky and attractive real man that I’ve been sort of dating during my sleeping hours.

  Well, that’s a headfuck.

  Even though he’s not exactly the guy I’ve been dreaming of, he is the guy I’ve been dreaming of and the expression on his face tells me that I am most definitely looking at him in a way that is peculiar and making him feel uncomfortable.

  I collect my jaw from the floor and swallow the saliva that’s gathered in my mouth.

  ‘Do we know each other,’ he asks slowly whilst squinting at me, waving his finger between us in confusion.

  ‘Erm …’ I say with a frown and slight shake of the head, trying to buy my discombobulated brain some time.

  ‘Did you go to UCL?’

  ‘No, Sarah went to Leicester, didn’t you, dear,’ offers Julie with a wink when I’m too baffled to answer.

  ‘Leicester! That’s it,’ he nods thoughtfully, putting his hands back into the pockets of his suit trousers. ‘My mate’s brother went there and we trekked up a few times. Ned, you know him – Alastair’s brother.’

  That’s it! Alastair’s brother Ned! He used to go up to see Alastair all the time in the first year before Ned got a job abroad – no wonder I thought Brett was a friend of someone’s at the university.

  ‘Yes, I know him,’ I manage, swallowing again. ‘We’re still good friends.’

  ‘Ah, do you know how Ned is? I hardly see him any more, I just catch up with him on Facebook every now and then.’

  ‘You’re on Facebook?’ I ask, startled. Having looked him up several times and found nothing, I was sure he wasn’t on there. I’m flummoxed that my natural stalking abilities have missed him.

  ‘Isn’t everyone?’

  ‘I am!’ Julie interrupts, popping her hand in the air with a smile. ‘We can add each other later. Do you want to come with me, Brett? I’ll show you to your desk and you can get settled in before Jonathan arrives. He won’t be long.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he says, taking a hand out of his pocket and picking up the rucksack at his feet, which has a black cycling helmet dangling off it. ‘What a small world,’ he muses to himself with a smile and a shake of the head.

  I go back to my desk in shock. I’m not entirely sure how I pass the time, but ten minutes later Jonathan is shaking Real Brett’s hand and showing him to his office.

  ‘Coffee please, Sarah,’ he booms to me as he strides passed.

  ‘Certainly,’ I say, happy to be walking away from my desk and to have a menial job to occupy my brain with.

  It doesn’t work.

  I daydream while making the coffee and think of all the adventures I’ve had with Dream Brett over the past few weeks. Worse than falling for a fictional character, because at least then you know you’re never going to actually meet them because they don’t exist, my subconscious has taken the body of someone I used to know and turned them into my ideal man. Said ideal man is now in my actual life and I have an overwhelming attraction towards him thanks to all these memories of us wandering through Covent Garden hand in hand, or running away from overgrown reptiles … but none of it ever happened. I can’t actually be attracted and emotionally connected to the man sitting in Jonathan’s office because I don’t know him.

  It’s all utterly ridiculous.

  My thoughts turn to Carly and I wonder how she’s feeling now she’s offloaded to someone else. I should’ve just stayed at home and not bothered coming in today. I wish I had.

  After taking a deep breath I wander into Jonathan’s office with my tray of beverages. I hand Jonathan his milky coffee with two sugars, then steel myself as I give Real Brett his.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asks, frowning at the cup and looking utterly confused.

  ‘Espresso, one sugar,’ I mumble, realizing my error too late.

  ‘Oh no – I couldn’t drink that,’ Real Brett laughs, holding his hands up and refusing to take the drink from me. ‘I hate coffee. Sorry, I would’ve said only you ran off so quickly. Too efficient,’ he adds with a pursed smile.

  Real Brett doesn’t drink coffee … well, that’s mildly confusing and bizarrely disappointing. But then, he isn’t Dream Brett – that really is a fact that I’m struggling to comprehend.

  ‘Oh, silly me!’ I flap, putting the drink back on the tray. ‘Would you like something else?’

  As I catch his eye there’s a glimmer of something, a little spark of amusement. For a fleeting moment my heart surges as it occurs to me that I’m possibly living in some twisted universe where dreams and reality collide to make some weird augmented reality – and that Brett is just playing games with me and pretending to be this slightly altered figure of himself who hasn’t had those memorable encounters with me in the past few weeks.

  ‘No, I’m good with just water thanks,’ he says with a polite shrug, turning back to Jonathan.

  Maybe not.

  ‘Sarah,’ Jonathan interrupts. ‘I know I said about you being in with Development today, but as it’s Brett’s first day, would you mind if he settled in first?’

  ‘No,’ I almost scream, relieved that I won’t have to be in the boardroom with a guy who I’ve had space sex with – even if he hasn’t the foggiest that the event took place.

  Space sex.

  Oh gosh, my face turns crimson as I think about it with Real Brett
stood next to me. My breath gets caught in my throat as my body reacts to the memory.

  ‘Are you okay, Sarah?’

  ‘Huh?’ I ask – worried they can read my mind and see all the devilishly horny and naughty things living in there.

  ‘You look like you’re burning up,’ adds Real Brett with concern.

  ‘Oh, my flatmate – she’s been ill. Probably caught something off her,’ I blurt.

  Not bloody likely – unless it’s possible to get pregnant from dream sex, which I highly doubt.

  ‘Oh dear,’ frowns Jonathan, looking from me to Real Brett. ‘If it gets worse just let Julie know and head home – we can’t have everyone catching it.’

  I’m not sure whether his offer is because he genuinely cares for my wellbeing, because he really doesn’t want to catch my faux bug, or because he’s just hoping to look good in front of Real Brett. Whatever it is, I’m thankful for the offer and smile feebly at him as I exit the room.

  I manage a further forty-three minutes and seventeen seconds of clock watching before leaving to head home, promising to do some work from there instead.

  Well, this little turn of events will certainly make Carly laugh.

  When I get back to the flat I hear muffled voices coming from Carly’s bedroom.

  ‘I’m home,’ I shout, not wanting to hear anything I shouldn’t. Any other time I’d be all up for earwigging, but not today. Not with the bombshell she’s dropped.

  Josh comes out of Carly’s bedroom looking sheepish with his head bowed.

  ‘Josh?’

  ‘Hey …’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I just came to talk to Carly.’

  ‘Oh …’ I think before saying this, but am pretty certain I’m okay in doing so – especially if he’s been looking after her. ‘So you know?’

  ‘Yeah …’ he sighs.

  ‘Massive,’ I reply.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Huge.’

  ‘Ah-ha …’

  ‘Sarah,’ Carly shouts before joining us in the hallway. ‘Stop being so stupid.’

  Now I’m thrown – how did her being up the duff become about my intelligence?

  ‘What?’

  ‘Josh.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Josh?’

  ‘What?’ I frown, getting annoyed – it’s already felt like an extremely stressful day and my brain can’t cope with being ridiculed.

  ‘It’s Josh!’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Josh is the dad.’

  Now I’m floored.

  ‘What? How?’ I stammer. ‘I mean, I get the how part … but, how?’

  ‘We’ve been getting closer for a while,’ starts Josh.

  ‘But you’ve always been close,’ I blurt, remembering the amount of time the two have spent together over the years. There’s been nothing to suggest that anything had happened between them or that their relationship had advanced beyond just friends.

  ‘Yes, but … it became more,’ says Josh.

  ‘Since when?’ I squeal, still trying to make sense of what is happening.

  ‘It started about a year or so ago.’

  ‘What? Why didn’t you say anything? Why keep this from all of your friends? From your best friends?’

  ‘We didn’t want things being awkward if it all went wrong,’ says Carly, as Josh takes her by the hand and pulls her into him. ‘We’ve all been there before and it’s horrible – we thought if we could contain it then – I don’t know …’

  ‘We just thought this would be easier, at least until we worked out what this actually is and where it’s going.’

  ‘It’s really not a big deal,’ adds Carly.

  ‘Not a big deal? You two have been off having sex in secret and making babies! That’s a fucking huge deal.’

  ‘We realize that …’ sighs Josh. ‘It’s not been easy – any of it. Hiding that we’re a couple – or figuring out what to do now. This is the kind of stuff we go to you guys for.’

  ‘This morning you said the dad needed some time to think,’ I say to Carly.

  ‘I did,’ nods Josh. ‘I went home for a few days to clear my head. I’ve been a bit of a shit, to be honest.’

  ‘I’d say,’ I reply flatly. I can’t help but be pissed at him for not being by Carly’s side supporting her, regardless of his own inner turmoil.

  I look at the two of them – two of the greatest people I know – and shake my head in disbelief.

  ‘Fuck,’ I whisper forcefully.

  They look at me expectantly.

  ‘Fuck!’ I shout, starting to laugh, my hands slapping against my face. ‘This is bonkers!’

  ‘Yes,’ nods Carly, on the verge of tears again.

  ‘Are you really going to be crying for the next nine months? Because I think we should put out some sort of flood warning.’

  Josh squeezes her closer and kisses the top of her head. It’s the cutest darn thing I’ve ever seen.

  ‘Oh you guys …’ I weep, walking over to them and muscling in on their hug, overcome with emotion as our arms hold on to each other. ‘I love you three so much.’

  It’s then that Josh’s body begins to shake.

  ‘Oh shit – that stuff’s contagious,’ I joke, holding them both a little tighter. ‘Wait, what about the others? When are you going to tell them?’

  ‘I think Alastair suspects already,’ says Josh.

  ‘Really?’ asks Carly, looking up at him.

  ‘Well, we’ve had some heated discussions on the phone,’ he shrugs.

  ‘True.’

  ‘Actually, I think he knows I’ve got someone pregnant, he’s got no idea it’s you though … I think that’ll be the shock.’

  ‘I think that’ll be a shock for everyone,’ I say. ‘When are you going to tell them?’

  ‘Soon, I guess. We haven’t really thought about it,’ frowns Josh.

  ‘We’ve been so consumed with working out what to do and then, before that, hiding what’s been happening, that actually telling everyone seems a bit daunting,’ says Carly, biting her lip.

  ‘Yeah … they’re a vicious bunch, our mates,’ I wink. ‘They’ll never understand something like this.’ Pause. ‘Bunch of wankers.’

  Carly laughs.

  Once Josh has headed back to work we throw on our PJs and snuggle up under the duvet in my bedroom with bacon sandwiches and some salt and vinegar crisps while we watch back-to-back episodes of The Real Desperate Housewives of Beverly Hills – reality shows, aka zombie TV, are the cure to all ills. It’s a fact.

  We’re always in my bedroom. Firstly, because it’s the brightest room in the house thanks to the large windows, but secondly, Carly’s room is an absolute dump. You literally have to wade through piles of discarded clothes to get to the bed. Plus, I have a TV in my room and she doesn’t, so it makes more sense for an afternoon of lounging and telly watching if we want to be in bed rather than on the sofa in the living room. This is more comfortable and it’s been a tradition to get through stressful times and hungover days in this manner ever since Carly moved in two years ago. The only thing missing from this little scene is lovely Natalia, although I guess we can’t all skive off work.

  ‘Why are you home anyway?’ Carly asks, munching away.

  ‘Argh,’ I groan, rolling my eyes.

  With all the drama here with Carly, Josh and their baby-making, I’d totally forgotten the horrors of this morning.

  ‘Sounds interesting,’ she says, turning to me while continuing to stuff food in her gob. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘The new person started today.’

  ‘Yeah … and?’

  ‘Well, guess who it is.’

  ‘No idea,’ she shrugs, not even attempting to guess.

  ‘Brett Last.’

  Carly’s jaw drops so dramatically that a piece of her semi-chewed sandwich comes rolling out of her mouth and on to the bed in front of us.

  ‘As in the one you’ve been dreaming of?�
�� she whispers dramatically, popping the lost food back where it came from, unashamedly.

  ‘Yes,’ I nod. ‘That’s the one. Although he’s not quite the same, I guess.’

  ‘Dreams do that,’ she nods sadly. ‘I once only dated a guy because I dreamt he was good in bed … he wasn’t.’

  ‘Tragic.’

  ‘I know,’ she sighs, shaking her head free of the memory. ‘So what’s he like?’

  ‘I don’t know. I freaked out and left.’

  ‘Not surprised.’

  ‘I was shell-shocked but dealing with it at first, praying that I wasn’t going to have to spend too much time with him, and then last night’s dream and space sex flashed before my eyes and – ’

  ‘What was that?’ Carly asks with a smirk on her face.

  ‘Oh crap, I didn’t tell you that bit, did I?’ I blush.

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ she cackles.

  ‘I just don’t know how I’m going to face him.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘No, seriously, I know things about him, but I don’t. For instance, I went to make him a coffee – Dream Brett always has an espresso with one sugar – then gave it to Real Brett and he doesn’t even like coffee. In fact, he was quite disgusted that I’d put one in front of him.’

  ‘What a mindfuck.’

  ‘Exactly. His accent’s different too – it’s got an ever-so-slight cockney twang.’

  ‘Ooh, like Tom Hardy or Jude Law,’ she asks giddily, seeming to enjoy my woeful tale. ‘That’s nice. So manly and sexy.’

  ‘It’s not quite as prominent … but yeah – like that and a bit deeper than I thought it would be. It’s just not how I’m used to hearing him talk. Well, hearing Dream Brett talk, I mean.’

  ‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ she nods. ‘So odd.’

  ‘And I found out how we know him – Ned. Alastair’s brother.’

  ‘Really?’ she asks with a frown, clearly working her way through her memory bank of names and faces. ‘Ohhhh … That Brett Last. Now I know who you mean. Oh, he was well fit,’ she nods while pouting her lips. ‘So he hasn’t aged well then?’

  ‘It’s not that, he’s just … not Dream Brett,’ I sigh, hitting the palm of my hand into my forehead at the absurdity of the whole thing.