Someone Else's Dream

by Colin Griffiths

  Dale was sitting in his office in the City Centre when he received the call. He knew who it was; he didn’t have his name in his contacts list, he wasn’t that stupid, but he recognised some of the digits.

  “You’re an idiot and an amateur!” Dale said into the phone. Crazy Cavan was quick to respond.

  “Call me what you like bro, you still owe me 500 quid.”

  “You stupid bastard you got the wrong grave you ain’t having another penny.”

  “We will see about that,” Crazy responded.

  The line went dead, which took Dale a bit by surprise, but he wasn’t going to let it bother him; the money he had already given out was meaningless to him. Crazy Cavan and his cronies were just two-bit criminals who would never take on the likes of him. Or would they? He rested his elbows on his desk and buried his head in his hands. It had all gone wrong, he had messed up big time. Just pay the money, he told himself over and over again. Unfortunately, as usual, his pride was bigger than his wallet. It may be time to reverse that.

  Crazy Cavan already knew he had got the wrong grave, as Doncaster and Barnsley shared the same local news channel and it was headlined at every broadcast. He blamed Mallethead for it, but it wasn’t a problem, these things happen. He had taken his eye off the ball just a little, but the truth was, the graveyard had unnerved him and he wasn’t fully comfortable decimating a grave. It didn’t seem right. Now, he was beginning to regret it but he didn’t think it was that big an issue until now when it was all over the news. Dale Simpson had done this to him. He had to pay.

  Sitting in his modest two-bedroomed Council flat in Carlton a suburb of Barnsley, where framed posters of Harley Davidson’s and the Son’s of Anarchy stars adorned the walls, he waited for Mallethead. He’d asked Mallethead and another bruiser called Towser to come over; another two amateurs in the world of thuggery and crime. It was only £500 he was owed and now he would have to pay the other two, at least, a £100 each, but principles were involved and, in any case, the price had just gone up. Neither of the three of them had ever been involved in kidnap before, but they were willing to give it a go. They were soon on their way to the village of Hatfield, in a perfectly legal Ford Focus. Crazy Cavan wasn’t one of life’s planners, unfortunately, he usually let his instincts take over; not always a good thing to do.

  * * *

  Hayleigh visited the graveyard the morning the decimation of the grave come out. She heard it on the local news and for one moment, when the name Amy was announced, her heart went into her mouth. She immediately thought of her daughter Aimee and left the house to take a brisk walk to the graveyard. She was surprised to see the amount of people who had congregated at the cemetery and wondered why people would want to come and see such a thing. She saw the decimated grave and the family tidying it up and her heart went out to them. The Church doors were open and a notice indicated there was a collection box inside. Hayleigh entered the Church and come across an elderly lady holding said box. Haleigh deposited £20 and went outside to visit her own daughter's grave, she didn’t know why she had felt relief that it was intact, but she knew it would be; it had been just the similarity of the names that had frightened her so much.

  She removed some faded flowers and made a mental note to pop into the flower shop to get some more. Kneeling by the grave, she talked to her daughter for a while, telling how much she still missed her and what a big influence on her life she had been. All Hayleigh could think about at that moment was how wonderful her life was with Aimee and Matt until the illness had taken over their daughter. It had devastated and changed both their lives. Matt had changed considerably, from being the gentle caring father and husband, to a man who bullied and struck his wife. She knew it was the trauma of the illness and ultimate death of their daughter that had caused it and destroyed him. Hayleigh knew she had changed herself; she had become hard and bitter. Now, as she sat by her daughter’s grave, with the tears strolling down both cheeks, she knew the only man she had ever loved was Matt. I still love him, she told herself. She put her hand on her stomach and thought about Dale and the baby that was growing inside her. This is not the answer, this is not what I want.

  Quite conveniently placed across the road from the Church was a small, local flower shop, She could see that it was quite busy and she watched for a moment as customers bought flowers from the shop and placed them on the decimated grave of Amy Shaw. She thought it was a lovely gesture and at that moment, she was thankful that she lived in such a friendly village. She went to the shop and purchased flowers for her own daughter’s grave and strolled back to the graveyard and placed them down. Kissing the headstone, she left to make her way back home. Walking in a daydream she never noticed the black Ford Focus that had suddenly started following her.

  The three occupants of the vehicle resembled the ‘Baldies’ from the film the ‘The Wanderers’, only with hair rather than some professional kidnappers. Bunging someone in a car, in broad daylight, on the main road into Doncaster was not a thing some professional would do. It was not a thing you would even expect some amateur to get away with. The fact that they were unseen doing it was more down to good luck than judgement.

  Hayleigh had no idea what was happening. She was walking slowly with her head in another world. She noticed the black car had pulled up alongside her and didn’t give it a second thought. Even when the passenger door opened and a scruffy man got out dressed in leathers, she still bore it as no concern. It was only when she was grabbed and bundled into the back seat did it dawn on her what was actually happening. The car drove off at a steady forty mph and the man sitting beside her in the back seat held her tightly. She was still confused and didn’t know whether to scream or kick out. When the man in the passenger seat turned around to face her, she chose to do nothing.

  “Please don’t be scared, no one is going to hurt you, we just need a bit of insurance and you will be home soon,” Crazy Cavan smiled in a way that was both assuring and sorrowful. He looked at Mallethead who was sitting in the back holding Hayleigh.

  “Leave her go.” he told Mallethead.

  Mallethead did; he didn’t want to be holding the girl anyway and was wondering how he got involved in a kidnap. He was promised £100 if he bundled the girl into the car. It didn’t sound like kidnapping, at the time, to him. Now he was scared to death. Hayleigh rubbed her arm even though it didn’t hurt, it was if she was wiping something dirty off it. Her heart raced and her stomach churned. She stuttered a few words.

  “Wwwwhere... are yyyyou... taking me?” Crazy Cavan was still staring at her from his front seat.

  “Just to our local for a little drink,” he told her.

  If that was true, Hayleigh rather felt like she may need more than one.

  * * *

  Matt Conner had heard the news that morning and just like his ex-wife his heart went into his mouth for a moment. It was with great relief when he realised it was not his daughter’s grave. He couldn’t fully comprehend why anyone would want to do such a thing. He didn’t know Amy Shaw and he couldn’t recall knowing any of her family. He just hoped they found out who did it and they got what they deserved.

  He’d woken up in a cold-sweat once more, but he couldn’t recall any dream and that disturbed him a little. He’d performed his usual morning routine; showering, trimming and edging his designer beard, before looking at himself naked in the mirror. Telling his penis that he would soon be having some company, he dressed and packed just enough clothes for the weekend. He was pleased to see it was going to be a pleasant day and the weekend forecast was pretty good. He had a bounce in his step as he got into his Lexus. It felt more like he was going on a romantic weekend in Paris, rather than a weekend in a caravan at the Welsh holiday resort they called Porthcawl. He took the short drive to Marcia’s and beeped his horn.

  * * *

  Marcia looked at herself in the mirror on her dressing table. She had already packed and had decided to wear a flowery, summer dress, as the forecast was goo
d and she knew she would be cooped up in a car for a while. She was looking for marks and bruises on her face and was thankful they hadn’t developed as much as she thought they would; with the make-up applied you could barely see them. She felt like she was getting back to her old self. Any doubts she had over Matt were long gone, he had always been a perfect gentleman since she was attacked. When he first asked her to go to Porthcawl she had her doubts that she could really spend a weekend with him. She imagined he would be wanting lots of sex and the fact that she was with him, might make him think that he was entitled to it, but Marcia was feeling a lot better lately, and a lot hornier also, to the point where she would be disappointed if they didn’t have lots of dinner and dessert. Okay it’s only Porthcawl, she thought, but its sun, sea, sand and lots of sex, sounds perfect.

  She heard the horn beep and then the front door buzzer go. Rushing to the hallway, where her bag was, she looked at the camera. She could see it was Matt and pressed the switch to let him in.

  “I’ll be two minutes,” she shouted as she went into the kitchen to swill the coffee cup she had used. Matt caught a sight of her, in her dress and followed into the kitchen.

  “God, you don’t half look sexy, I could have you right now.”

  Marcia was shocked, but flattered by his words and turned around to see Matt standing there with his trousers and pants around his ankle; his penis, proud and erect.

  “Bend over that table, I gotta have you!” he growled huskily and helped her do just that as he bent her over the table and pulled her panties down. Marcia didn’t resist, it all happened so quickly and she had been thinking about sex with him just before he came to the door. That had put her in the mood. It didn’t take long for them to both climax before cleaning themselves up and climbing into the car; Marcia thinking it wasn’t a bad start to the weekend at all. At the back of her mind, though, she was thinking what might have happened if she hadn’t wanted it. She tried to put it from her mind, but the question never completely went away.

  As they drove, she wondered why there was always this lingering doubt about the man she was sitting next to. He had only ever been helpful and friendly and given her good sex. She hoped this weekend wasn’t going to be a mistake and chided herself for even thinking that way. There was a niggling doubt, though... always that niggling doubt.

  * * *

  The Nag’s Head was empty apart from the barman; they had only just opened up, after hearing Cavan knock on the door. Towser had gone home as instructed by Cavan. It had taken them just thirty minutes to get to the pub, from the moment Hayleigh was ushered into the car. Mallethead stood by the bar with a beer while Cavan had gotten two beers and sat at a table with Hayleigh. No further words had been spoken on the journey and when they got out of the car in the pub car park, Hayleigh had been allowed to get out of the car by herself. She could have easily had made a run for it, but as Cavan gestured for her to go to the pub, she instinctively did so. The pub was located amid a Council Estate, in a very public place. Even as Cavan got the drinks Hayleigh thought she could easily leave and just walk out of the place. Curiosity had got the better of her and as Cavan placed the beer in front of her, a young man and girl walked in and that made Hayleigh feel somewhat safer.

  Cavan sat his huge frame on the stool and took a swig of his beer; the glass tiny in contrast with his hands. Hayleigh took a sip of her beer and screwed her face up at the taste, sliding her glass over to Cavan.

  “Do you want anything else?” he asked,

  “An orange juice would be nice,” she responded, amazed at her own calmness. Cavan turned his head towards the bar.

  “Get the lady an orange juice,” he shouted out. In no time at all, Mallethead laid the orange juice in front of her. Hayleigh sipped at the warm liquid. Cavan finished his pint and started on the one Hayleigh had slid over to him.

  “Why have you brought me here and what’s stopping me from just leaving?” she asked him. Cavan grinned and placed his half full glass, gently in front of him.

  “Nothing, nothing at all, I’ll even call you a taxi if you want.” He put his pint to his mouth then set it down without drinking. “The jobs done you see, as long as that husband of yours knows I can get you anytime I want to.”

  Hayleigh stood up to test his theory. Hearing her supposed husband mentioned had fuelled her curiosity, although it didn’t completely surprise her. She made her way over to the exit and looked back at Cavan who was still sitting there watching her. She found herself outside looking at the busy street. No one had tried to stop her, so she walked back into the bar. Crazy Cavan was still there, staring at the doorway as if expecting her to return. She sat back down opposite Cavan.

  “Now you’re going to tell me what this is about, “she instructed him. Cavan smiled again.

  “He owes me money from a little job we done and I’m just letting him know I want my money.” The revelation didn’t surprise Hayleigh as much as she or Cavan thought it would. She’d always guessed there was a darker side to Dale.

  “Why does he owe you money?”

  “You wouldn’t want to know sweetheart,” Cavan grinned at her. He looked over at the bar for Mallethead to bring him another beer; it was there in no time.

  “Tell me,” Hayleigh appealed, “and I’ll leave enough money for your beer all night.” Cavan let out a loud guffaw; he did so like this woman.

  “He paid us to desecrate a grave in Doncaster, you must have heard it on the news; all your husband’s doing.” The look of shock on her face indicated to Cavan she indeed had no idea what Dale had been up to.

  “Wwwwhy.. but why on earth would he want to do that?” she stuttered

  “I’ve no idea. But now he won’t pay up. Says we got the wrong grave, it should have been one Aimee Conner’s gravestone.

  Hayleigh immediately threw what was left of her juice into Cavan’s face. His first instinct was to get up and smash Hayleigh and he almost did so; until he saw the look of horror on her face. Mallethead came over with a bar cloth and Cavan wiped his face. Hayleigh just sat there, tears rolling down her face. Cavan looked at her, the anger now gone from him, unsure what was actually happening, unsure what it was he had said that disturbed her so much.

  “That’s my daughter’s grave,” Hayleigh sobbed.

  Those words disturbed Cavan greatly. His immediate thought was of pain; the pain he was going to inflict on Dale Simpson for putting him in this predicament.

  “Why would he want to do that to his own daughter?” he asked gently.

  Through her tears Hayleigh replied, “It’s not his daughter, she was mine.”

  Cavan rang Towser and asked him and Mallethead to take Hayleigh home. He refused Hayleigh’s offers of money for beer, or otherwise. He also promised Hayleigh he would not pursue Dale for money, but he couldn’t promise that one day he wouldn’t seek him out and inflict some pain on the man. Hayleigh was quite fine with that, in fact, she encouraged it. Cavan gave her his phone number and told her to call him if she ever needed him. Hayleigh’s story had touched what few heart-strings the thug still had left. He felt responsible for some of it and felt he owed her. Cavan may not be the consummate professional, but he always repaid a debt.

  As soon as Hayleigh got home she called the locksmiths. It had cost her a small fortune but the locks were soon changed. Now she just had to wait for her husband-to-be, or not-to-be, as now was the case, to come home.

  Dale Simpson walked into the Nag’s Head some thirty minutes after Hayleigh had left. Cavan was still there. Dale went over to him and laid down an envelope with £500 inside and left; with no words passing between them. Thirty minutes after that Towser and Mallethead returned,

  “You need to go back to Doncaster,” Cavan told Mallethead.

  “Awwww... why man, I need a beer,” he whinged at Cavan. Cavan handed him the £500 pound he had received off Dale.

  “The church we went to, the lady said there’s a fund box there and I want you to put that in it.”

>   Mallethead didn’t ask why, He always did exactly what Cavan told him; he hadn’t gotten the nickname, Crazy, for nothing. Cavan wasn’t bothered about the money.

  Dale drove home thankful he had sorted out that little problem. Now he would have to think of another way to get revenge. Matt Connor had to pay.

  * * *

  “So why have you chosen Porthcawl?” asked Marcia. They were sitting in a Costa Coffee on the services of the M4, having a coffee and cake, after having made some excellent time. The sun was beating down and it was turning out to be one of the nicest days of the summer. Matt brushed off the crumbs of his cake from his shirt, onto the table and wiped his mouth with a serviette.