Someone Else's Dream

by Colin Griffiths

  They sat on the veranda, overlooking the beach and ate dinner. The sun had made an appearance and it was turning out to be a beautiful evening. They didn’t talk about Charlotte anymore. Patricia talked of her husband, Daniel. She told Carla how she fancied the guy at the Bridge Club. She also asked when Carla was going to find a real man, instead of barren Darren.

  Carla got the giggles at that point and they continued talking about anything and nothing; just enjoying the company they both thrived on. It was 8pm when her mother left for home; back to the man she loved more than any other, her husband. She loved Daniel far more than she would ever care to admit.

  Carla put the plates in the sink and quickly showered, just enough to wash the stress of the day off, along with the sins of the day. She changed into her favourite Minion pyjama’s a present she had bought herself, when her first book was accepted. She topped off the outfit, with bear feet slippers with huge toe nails protruding out. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, so sexy, she smiled. She opened the cupboard where the 42” television was housed and pulled out her laptop. It was still a lovely warm evening and the winds were still; she could just hear the gentle waves of the waters splashing against the rocks. She flicked on the outside lights and sat on her favourite padded chair on the veranda. Opening her laptop, she typed in the password and opened the rejected document.

  Right let’s see how I can make her not die!

  She quickly got to the chapter, the last but one, in this case, where she had killed off Charlotte while being chased in a car by the paparazzi, whilst also trying to get away from a fan who was stalking her.

  She knew it had a feel of the lovely Princess Diana about it. She read the chapter over and over, she loved it. Charlotte had so many ups and downs in her life, within the two books she really didn’t think the reader’s would buy anymore. She already thought she was wavering on the edge of believability. She really didn’t know how much more she could fit in as she still wanted to leave in the scene of the chase and the accident. It was one of her favourite scenes and she decided there and then she would end it as a cliff-hanger, as to whether Charlotte lived or died. She made some notes in the note book she always had close to her, closing the chapter without writing or changing a word. The cliff-hanger idea was pleasing her; all she had to do now, was write it.

  She opened the document to the first chapter when Charlotte got intimate. She remembered it, oh so clearly. It was in chapter three of her novel; it was one of her favourites, with Charlotte being wined and dined before being taken away to five-star luxury, to be made love to. It was one of the good times in Charlotte’s life and it was also one of Carla’s favourite scenes. This was one of the scenes she hoped to experience sometime in her life. Someone would just take her away and make love to her, exactly as the character had made love to Charlotte, but maybe she would keep the lights off. She thought, if Charlotte was a real person and not a character in a novel, the hotel scene would be the one moment in her life she would never forget.

  How in the hell can I change that to porn?

  It felt like she was taking her own dreams away by changing the scene, so she shut down her laptop; she couldn’t be dealing with this tonight. She would try again in the morning she decided as her heart wasn’t in it right now. The rejection had taken a lot out of her, she was beat and she just wanted to chill.

  She poured herself a glass of Pinot Gris and went to sit out on the veranda. As she was about to walk out through the patio doors, from the lounge to the veranda, she thought she heard a noise from outside, sounding very much like footsteps. With her heart in her mouth she slowly and carefully walked onto the veranda, holding the glass in her hand, as if it were a weapon.

  Her stomach dropped when she saw who it was. Tonight she just wanted to be alone with her thoughts and at times like this she found her own company the best.

  “What are you doing here Darren?” the annoyance clearly showing in her voice.

  “I’ve come to see you babes, I missed you,” he slurred. He was holding a can of lager in his hand and had a big grin on his face, which Carla thought made him look younger than his twenty seven years.

  “How many you had?” she challenged, not wanting a drunk around her, not wanting anyone around her really. Darren was the only person she knew who made her feel she had to act like the adult, because, she guessed, he was just a little boy himself. She knew as long as she was with him, she would never be threatened by him. That was probably the only thing she loved about him.

  “Not many. We were drinking on the beach and you were so close, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, I just wanted to spend some time with you,” he said. He spread his arms wide, spilling the lager he was holding. “So here I am babe.”

  “I’m busy Darren! You can’t just keep coming around like this.”

  He plonked himself down on one of the patio chairs and immediately stood up again as if demonstrating that he could. “I loves ya babe,” he said, placing his half empty can of lager on the patio table. He went over to her and put his hands around her waist, drawing her closer to him and kissing her on the lips. He was a lot taller than Carla, standing at six foot, three; with Carla only five foot, eight. She looked up into his eyes, the eyes she had at first found attractive. It was the eyes that drew her in and she did not pull away, nor did she actually reciprocate the kiss.

  “And you’ve been smoking!” she said accusingly.

  He put his hands on the cheeks of her bum and started squeezing. She pulled away but still stood close to him.

  “No Darren I told you, I’m busy,” she said,

  He kissed her again and this time she accepted his kiss. “Go on you know you want to,” he said.

  She looked into his beautiful eyes, I need wine more than this, but he ain’t gonna go.

  “Right, if we do, we don’t see each other again until Saturday, deal?”

  “Deal!” said the excited Darren,

  “And you go home straight after!”

  Darren nodded in agreement.

  She couldn’t help but smile, as she looked at him. He looked just like a kid who had won a lucky dip and it was always safe sex with him; nothing too daunting.

  “Come on then,” she said and took him by the hand to her bedroom. He followed like a lap dog. Deep down, she was hoping that this time it might be something special. She closed the curtains and turned the lights off. When she was satisfied he couldn’t see her naked she took her Minion’s pyjama bottoms off and Darren took his jeans and boxers off. Carla lay on the bed naked from the waist down and parted her legs slightly, to invite him in.

  “Come on then Sunshine,” she goaded.

  Darren did as he was told and was soon thrusting inside her, leaving Carla to just lie there motionless, letting Darren have his fun. This wasn’t going to be her hotel dream, she realised. She was feeling a bit like Charlotte, in that car accident, wondering whether she should wake from the coma or not...

  * * *

  2. Matt Connor: Doncaster, South Yorkshire.

  Matt Conner, once again and with great difficulty took the sharp right turn off the High Street, where he lived, into the small lane that led to his hard standing. He cursed, as he always did, trying to negotiate the two brick pillars either side of the gap he was aiming for. He would swear it was getting smaller. It appeared barely wide enough to fit his Lexus in. He daren’t leave it on the road, not with all the Lorries, en-route to Doncaster Town Centre. He was sure to have his wing mirror clipped at the very least. Oncoming traffic had to slow down as he negotiated the turn and eventually the traffic came to a stop, some tooting their horns as he slowly negotiated the sharp turn. Cars were parked either side making the gap to the lane seem even smaller. He didn’t care, they would just have to wait; he wasn’t going to damage his pride and joy. Even when he got it through the gap and the traffic behind him started moving once more, he then had to negotiate, after twenty metres or so, a sharp left into his drive. This was sl
ightly easier now, as he had widened the entrance into his drive, even if it meant it was devoid of gates at present. He parked the Lexus just outside the cream patio doors that lead into his kitchen. Getting out of his car, he checked his dream machine over. He hadn’t caught anything, he knew that, but still, he had to check.

  He opened the patio doors on the side of the house and entered the kitchen. The doors opened up into the dining area of the kitchen. Walking around the dining table and avoiding the stairs leading to the basement, he had to literally squeeze past the opening and railings that led to the basement, because of the kitchen cupboards he had installed. Every time he squeezed past, he smirked; hardly design of the century was it? He had gotten his measurements disastrously wrong when he’d purchased the units and the gap between the last unit and the stairs to the basement was barely big enough to squeeze a body through; unless, of course, you fell into the basement itself. Still, he’d done it himself and he was proud of his achievement.

  He made his way through the smallish living room, considering it was such a vast house and opened the door leading up to the staircase. The staircase was extra wide, one of the things he loved about this house. He had no idea why, as all he did was walk up and down them. All the way up the stairs were pictures of his daughter Aimee. He softly touched each one as he passed; a ritual he had grown accustomed to and would do almost automatically. It made him feel as if she was still there.

  Another feature of the house, he loved, was the shower. It was the biggest shower-head he’d ever seen and kept the water flow constant, at whatever temperature it was set. He took off his gardening overalls from the Garden Centre he worked at and threw them on the bedroom floor. Naked, he walked into the bathroom and turned on the electric shower. Opening the medicine cabinet, he unscrewed the bottle of prescription pills and washed one down, with a glass of water. He studied the bottle of tablets in his hand for a few moments, wondering how long he would have to take these and what the consequences would be if he stopped. He had, after all, been feeling okay lately. Maybe it’s time to give them a rest! He checked himself in the mirror; his body, in his opinion, still looked like the powerful man he was three years ago. The designer stubble he thought still suited him, but his eyes had grown crow’s feet from all the sleepless nights and he looked a lot older now. He stared for a moment, looking at his naked form, in the mirror, thinking his body was still toned and fit.

  Ain’t seen much action lately, though, have you buddy? He laughed out loud at his reflection, but it was a sad kind of laugh. He always expected that one day the mirror reflection would not laugh back at him. This time it did, so he got into the shower.

  He had a half-day at work. It was August the eighth. He hated that day. He always would; he certainly would never forget. He was tempted to take the whole day off, but that would have only made the day appear longer and he didn’t want that. He wanted August the ninth to come as quickly as possible.

  Having showered quickly, he chucked some jeans and a black T-shirt on and made his way down the stairs. He went to his Lexus and got the flowers that had been lying on the back seat. It was the most beautiful bunch of flowers he had ever seen, featuring all colours of the rainbow and Aimee’s favourite; lilies. A colleague at work had arranged them for him but he had insisted on paying, even though they were offered for free. He didn’t want this day to be cheapened in any way and not paying for the bouquet would have done just that.

  There was no need to dress smart; there were no airs and graces necessary, for that’s not what she would have wanted. So, in his jeans and T-shirt and his favourite black trainers, he walked out of his small front gate, into the High Street of Hatfield, holding the flowers in his arms, trying to look normal, something it was very hard for him to do.

  It was only a five minute walk and he took it slowly, not noticing any of his surroundings or people who may have been in the street. Someone on the other side of the road, waved, but he did not acknowledge them, for he did not see them. He had made this walk hundreds of times. Today was one of those days, one of those walks he wished he didn’t have to take.

  As he reached his destination he stood and looked down at the head stone that read ‘Aimee Conner aged 5’. There was a lovely bunch of flowers already there and that came as no surprise. He guessed who they were from and also knew there would be more to come. He checked the name card on the flowers.

  ‘To our little angel Aimee, hope you’re still playing with the angels in the sky’.

  It was simply signed, ‘Mummy’.

  His ex-wife Hayleigh had never missed an anniversary, just like him. He knelt down and nestled the flowers against his ex-wife’s bunch. His instinct was to remove the other flowers and just leave his own there, but it was his daughter’s grave and he knew she would be watching him. She wouldn’t have liked that. He touched the gravestone softly and ran his fingers over his daughter’s name. When that was done, he did what he always wanted to do, and that was cry.

  He let the tears flow for a long time but when they stopped, he talked to his Aimee for over an hour. He talked to her about all the things she used to love doing before her illness. He told her about the horses they used to go and watch; when he used to sit Aimee on top of the gate and the two horses would come over to her. He talked about everything they had done together, for there was very little he would ever forget.

  It was three years since Aimee had died from leukaemia. Matt Conner had cried, inside, every single day since the 8th of August 2012. The pills were supposed to have helped with that, but he was beginning to feel they were just contributing to his grief.

  * * *

  He left the graveyard just after 5pm and now he wanted to do what he’d done every 8th of August, since his daughter’s death. Get legless drunk! Of course, it wasn’t only that particular day he got drunk. There were plenty of other days, in between, when he got absolutely plastered, but the 8th of August was a guaranteed drunken day.

  He walked into the ‘Bluebell Pub’, just a few hundred yards from where the graveyard was situated, between his house and the cemetery. It had proved to be a very convenient stopping-off point, whenever he visited his daughter’s grave, which in fact he did two or three times a week; it was just that today was significantly poignant. It had become his local drinking hole. He had not really been much of a drinker until the death of his daughter, but now it was his way of dealing with his grief. It had become a very important part of his life.

  “Hello sweetheart,” said Marcia from behind the bar. She knew what anniversary it was, having got to know Matt over the years, since the death of his daughter, when he started frequenting the pub. She was a pretty, dark, curly-haired, plump girl, who had once fancied the hell out of Matt. His daughter’s illness had put a strain on his marriage and he and his wife split before Aimee passed. He and Hayleigh had remained in contact and were still bonded by that one tragic event. Matt took solace in Marcia’s comfort at the time and they had made love back at his place, after a night on the booze. It was what he’d needed at the time, but he still felt guilty about it. He guessed Marcia had a big-time crush on him and he didn’t want to give her any false hopes. Then again, sometimes Matt Connor would think that most girls had a crush on him. That was nearly four years ago now and there had never been a repeat performance. Actually it wasn’t something Marcia was craving for, but certainly she wouldn’t have turned it down, as she had no partner in her life at this time.

  She handed him his beer before he asked for it. Matt acknowledged a couple of regulars, he knew, with a wave as they sat at a table. He took a long sip of his pint, knowing it would be the first of many that evening.

  “I’m fine,” he lied to Marcia. “How’s you?”

  “Oh I’m okay,” she answered. “Still looking for my dream man,” she added, with a grin on her face. She looked around the pub, as if she was expecting him to be there. Matt found himself looking too and they both giggled. He downed the rest of his pint and put the gl
ass down in front of Marcia. It hadn’t touched the sides. Matt knew Marcia was still single and she came across as being lonely, desperately wanting to find her ‘Mr Right’.

  “Take it easy Matt, you got all night,” she said, whilst refilling his glass and Matt thought, that was the trouble. He had all night to drink himself into a stupor, just wanting this day to end.

  “Get yourself one,” he said to Marcia.

  “I’ll wait for it. I finish in a minute. You sit down and I’ll come and join you.”

  Matt picked up his pint and took a sip.

  “If that’s okay,” she added, realising she may have imposed herself on him.

  “Of course it is,” he replied and went and took a seat at one of the many empty tables. He wouldn’t mind the company, and he thought it just might take his mind off what day it was. Within five minutes Marcia had sat beside him, with her drink. Matt watched her coming towards him and thought she had lost a bit of weight. They had three more drinks each and chatted for about an hour, enjoying each other’s company, as they giggled over silly things. The pub was filling up a bit and every time a guy came in Matt would say “what about him?” then Marcia would shake her head and point out all the things wrong with him, or all the things she imagined was wrong with him. In truth, Matt was glad Marcia had joined him. She had taken his mind off the anniversary he dreaded, though Aimee was never completely out of his mind. Considering what day it was it was turning out to be a pleasant evening and he felt a little guilty about that; not sure if he should be enjoying himself on the anniversary of his daughter’s death.