Dream a Little Dream

by Sue Moorcroft

  Tenzeds: It’s hard when N affects my mates. But then when they’re tactless …! Grr.

  Sleepingmatt: Some people are *rses, mate. They can’t help it.

  Girlwithdreams: Is it sympathy or empathy that’s the prob?

  Tenzeds: Empathy, lack of. Sympathy, if there’s too much!

  Dominic tried not to feel pissed off that, last night, Kenny had abandoned the heat and noise of the nightclub for the delights of a drunken, giggly, high-hemline, low-neckline woman with short black hair and smudged black eyeliner, leaving Dominic to queue on his own at the rank for a taxi back to Middledip.

  Now it was Sunday afternoon, just when he’d planned to take Kenny to Port Manor and show him the location for his dream, and Kenny still hadn’t made it back to Miranda’s house. His phone was off, as if Dominic didn’t already have enough frustrations.

  So, here he was, staring out of Miranda’s sitting room window at the scudding clouds and bending trees, on his feet because last night he’d drunk too much and slept too little and he knew that if he sat down he’d be gone. Despite his lunchtime nap, his head was shadowy and he was already full to the brim with coffee.

  Negativity washed over him like dirty water. Maybe this was all just too hard. Taking Crosswind out after lunch had been the only time he’d felt alert today, and now the little dog slept on the rug before the fire, twitching with dreams. Perhaps he should start a dog-walking service. Or maybe he should forget his dreams and look for an employer to set goals and make allowances for him.

  He searched inside himself for strength. Determination. Motivation. For even the minor kind of energy that had Miranda singing to herself in the kitchen and Jos doing something under the bonnet of the family car. Nope.

  Slowly, he turned away from the window. Giving up, giving in, he let himself drop into a fat floral armchair and his eyes rest on the flickering flames behind the fireguard.

  ‘Read to me, Dommynic?’

  Dominic turned, blinking. He’d missed Ethan coming into the room but now the little boy was leaning over the chair arm, candid blue eyes hopeful. ‘’Kay,’ Dominic managed, heavily.

  Weight on his lap. Ethan’s chatter, distant. Distance. Falling. Head tipping. He snapped it back. Sounds. Front door? Someone coming … Head tipping …

  Then Dominic was trying to read a huge book, though the words meant nothing. The book was the one that Miranda’s mum, Aunt Louise, used to read to him and Miranda, about dogs with eyes like saucers and toy soldiers with one leg. Three dogs, their eyes growing larger and larger and Kenny, wanting Dominic to read to him. ‘You know I can’t read, Doc—’

  Ethan, whining. ‘Dommynic isn’t reading—’

  Miranda’s voice—

  Dogs and soldiers—

  A bell, loud and tinny. Dominic opened his eyes. Adjusted his head so that his neck stopped hurting. The bell rang on. He gazed around, trying to work out what was happening – did his phone make that sound?

  On the table beside the armchair was a white device like a big bottle top with numbers all round it and the noise seemed to be emanating from that. He wiped his face, rubbed his eyes. Picked up the white device and pressed a button marked ‘off’. The ringing stopped.

  Crosswind had pushed himself up to a sitting position on the fireside rug, blinking away sleep, one ear folded back. He yawned and shook his head, looking as bleary as Dominic felt.

  In the other fat floral armchair sat Kenny, staring. ‘Fucksake, Doc,’ he said, quietly.

  Dominic felt a hot flush of mortification. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I mean, fucksake. I walked in and just watched you flake out. It’s like you have no control. You just, like, fall unconscious.’

  ‘Welcome to my world. But next time, wake me, OK? Don’t just …’ Don’t just watch, you freak, he stopped himself from snapping. He glanced down self-consciously, checking for morning glory or disarranged clothing, waiting for the weight of a sleep attack to slither off him, for the prickling anger to disperse. Knowing that it soon would, that he only felt like that in the first horrible minute of waking and discovering he’d shown weakness in public. Waiting for it to be safe to stand up, he let his mind admit his surroundings: Ethan’s high piping and Miranda’s voice coming down the hall.

  Then they were there, Miranda holding Ethan on her hip. ‘Now Dominic’s woken up, look.’

  Ethan frowned accusingly at Dominic, finger and thumb hooked damply into his mouth. ‘You went to sleep.’

  Dominic managed a smile. ‘Sorry, Ethe, I think you asked me to read to you just as I was dropping off. Do you want me to read your story, now?’

  Ethan shook his head, fingers still in his mouth. ‘Mummy readed it to me, anyway.’ Then he laid his head on Miranda’s shoulder and screwed his eyes shut. ‘I’m ’sleep, now.’

  Miranda grinned at Ethan’s elaborately unrealistic ‘nap’, but her eyes were shadowed. ‘I gave you about twenty minutes, because you’d already had thirty at lunchtime, was that OK? I set the oven timer.’

  ‘Resourceful.’ He felt strength return and rose to his feet, moving away from the chair, the scene of his embarrassment. He’d talk to Miranda alone, later, explain that, although he was grateful, it would have been better to rouse him and give him the chance to get himself some privacy. ‘Thanks.’ He yawned and stretched.

  Then he was feeling OK. Everything was becoming bright and clear. He grinned at Kenny. ‘So you finally found your way back? The light will soon be gone today so I’ll take you to Port Manor tomorrow. How about we take Ethan and Crosswind over to the playing fields, now, to make up for my failure in the storybook department?’

  ‘Yeah!’ shouted Ethan.

  Crosswind jumped to his feet, shook himself hard, collar and identity disc tinkling, and was eyes-bright awake.

  Good trick. Dominic wished he knew it.

  It was one of way too many lulls in the week’s bookings. Liza kept finding reasons to pass through reception so she could check whether the big black car was still parked in the stable yard. An hour ago, Dominic Christy and another man had climbed out of it; she happened to have been at Pippa’s desk and had watched them. The other man had gazed around at the buildings, nodding while Dominic talked, pointed, explained.

  Zipped into jackets, hair blowing, both men looked alive and purposeful. Occasionally, Dominic said something that made the other man laugh. Then they turned their backs on the buildings and walked to the crest of the slope down to the lake. Dominic indicated the vista, portioning off part of the landscape possessively with his arms. Then they stepped onto the grass, disappearing in horizontal slices as they strode down the steep incline.

  Huh.

  Back in her treatment room, which looked out in the opposite direction, towards the hotel, Liza looked at the grey flags of clouds the sky was flying and wondered whether rain dances worked. And if there was a dance for particularly torrential rain to make Dominic and his friend race back to the car, preventing Dominic from showing off what he obviously saw as his new kingdom. Or maybe the grassy slope could cave in under the torrent and he’d shrug and move his planned outdoorsy centre to … somewhere else. A really good somewhere else, she thought, generously, where he would be happy and fulfilled and make lots of dosh.

  And then Liza would have no competition for the lease and Nicolas would have to let it go – to her – for some affordable sum. She could make a huge success of her new venture. And also lots of dosh.

  Sorted.

  Except, it wasn’t raining. There was no landslip. He probably wouldn’t even get mud on his shoes.

  She looked across at Nicolas’s door. Shut again. Some suit had gone in first thing this morning, armed with laptop and briefcase. Nicolas had given the same suit a tour of the centre three days ago, without introducing him to anyone. Liza suspected he was valuing the lease and had returned today to help Nicolas decide on an asking price.

  Or he could be another person interested in taking the lease. The idea collided uncomfortabl
y with the walls of her stomach. Her hands clenched and she wanted to shake Nicolas until he spat out how much he wanted for his precious lease, so that she could make an appointment with the bank and set the ball rolling.

  When Pippa appeared, tall and leggy, ‘Here’s your eleven o’clock, Liza,’ for an instant Liza wanted to tell the client to go to hell. Her head was whirling too hard for her to feel like giving, accommodating. But dragging her thoughts from Nicolas’s office and Dominic striding the grassy slope, she pinned on a smile. ‘Hi! Come in – I’m Liza Reece.’ The client was new, in her twenties, hair, nails, make-up and clothes good, exactly the core area that Liza saw providing the additional clients she would need for her treatment centre.

  New clients would be crucial, if she was successful in buying the lease.

  She closed her mind to the spectre of failure while she talked to the client and treated feet that spoke to her of migraine and eye issues.

  And when her client had left, enthusing about how amazingly relaxed she felt and clutching a handful of cards to pass out to her friends, Nicolas finally shouted across the corridor, ‘Liza! Can you come in a minute? I’ve got a number for you.’

  Anticipation trembled up from the soles of her feet.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Liza opened her door to find a shivering blond devil wrapped tightly in a red shiny cloak on her doorstep. ‘Bit old for trick or treating, aren’t you?’

  The devil clutched his wired and padded red-satin tail against a sudden gust of raw October wind that caught his cloak to allow her a glimpse of a bare chest beneath. He glared from under knobbly black horns affixed somehow in his hair. ‘You’re wearing jeans! Are we going to be the only morons to turn up in fancy dress?’

  If the devil on her doorstep had never expressed interest in The Stables, she would probably have got the lease for a song – rather than the figure Nicolas had come up with, more the price of an entire music shop – so Liza toyed with letting him think that, yes, he was going to be that moron. But as Rochelle would have a hissy fit if Dominic turned red satin tail and ran from her Halloween party, she shrugged into her cosy ski jacket and swallowed her malice. ‘My costume’s at Rochelle’s. We’re going as the three witches of Macbeth.’ She stepped out of her house and halted, staring in dismay at the black hulk drawn up to the kerb. ‘That’s not your car, is it? It’s a tank!’

  Dominic opened the rear car door. ‘Kenny will drive there and the roads will be empty by the time you drive us home. Just get in, Liza. I’m freezing my horns off.’

  Slowly, Liza slid into the black interior. ‘Wow. It’s huge.’

  ‘Music to the ears of any man,’ declared a voice, and Liza saw that there was another devil in the driver’s seat, a devil with hair the golden brown of muscovado sugar, twisting in his seatbelt to gaze at her. ‘Hi, I’m Kenny. Dominic didn’t mention that you’re a supermodel.’

  Diverted from rising panic over the prospect of driving what seemed to her a stretch limo, Liza grinned. ‘I think they’re taller. But thanks.’

  Dominic groaned theatrically as he leapt into the front passenger seat and slammed the door. ‘Just drive, Captain Bullshit.’

  Kenny didn’t shift his smouldering gaze from Liza. ‘Know what, Doc? If Liza’s driving back later, I think she ought to sit in the front, so she can get a better feel for the car.’

  Aggravation burning over the lease, Liza agreed sweetly. ‘That’s a good idea.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ growled Dominic. ‘Drive.’

  Calmly, Kenny turned off the ignition and folded his arms. ‘Move to the back, Doc, or we’re going nowhere.’

  By the time they arrived at Rochelle’s, Liza felt a smidgeon more cheerful. Dominic had glowered through all of Kenny’s jokes, making her feel that by pinching the front seat she’d made him pay, in some petty way, for his inconvenient desire for The Stables. They climbed out of the car and music thrummed down to the street.

  Kenny executed a few hip-hop steps on the pavement. ‘I hear a party.’

  Dominic just wrapped his cloak and tail around himself silently whilst Liza, who knew the code, got them through the main entrance door.

  At the top of the stairs, Rochelle’s front door was propped open by a vampire distributing glasses of red wine. ‘Bat’s blood?’ he offered, thickly, around his fangs, raising his voice against the racket emanating from behind him. Then to Liza, severely, ‘You don’t get any until you’re properly dressed. Only people in cool Halloween costumes are entitled.’

  Behind the fangs, Liza recognised Jack, one of Rochelle’s workmates, young and biddable, which was probably how he’d ended up manning the door. She kissed his cheek, careful of his make-up, which smelled of cold cream and powder. ‘Make sure these guys get a drink, then.’ Dominic and Kenny had certainly earned their bat’s blood, red Lycra-covered legs and black boots showing below their cloaks, tridents in their hands and pointy tails bobbing behind them. ‘Where’s Rochelle? She’s got my— Whoa! Cool witchy costume, Rochelle.’ Her friend, appropriately magically, appeared from the crowd. Her madly tousled blonde hair, short black dress and star-spattered pointed hat was teamed with a shimmering black cloak, silver-tipped wand and spike-heeled, lace-back PVC thigh boots. ‘I suppose you know that Macbeth’s witches are meant to be ugly?’

  Rochelle assumed her prettiest pout. ‘I’m sure Shakespeare would be the first to grant poetic licence. But, erm, Liza – there was a problem with your costume. You have got one,’ she added, quickly. ‘You just can’t be a witch, because the dress we’d reserved came in needing repair. But I’ve got you something so cool. You’ll look so hot. It’s in my bedroom, on the hanger behind the door.’

  Dominic followed Kenny into the party, turning his shoulders to ease between werewolves and wizards, welcoming the warm fug of crowded bodies after the dismal chill of outdoors, letting his eardrums relax against the clamour of voices raised over loud music. Angie, wearing the twin to Rochelle’s cutie-sexy witch costume but with ankle boots, paused in handing out a plate of chocolate witch hats. ‘You made it!’

  ‘Just got here. This is Kenny,’ Dominic shouted.

  Angie batted her eyelashes at Kenny when he kissed her cheek, and introduced the nearest partygoers: two skeletons, a heavily bandaged invisible man, a few zombies, vampires of both genders, a pretty woman dressed as a bat and having trouble with her oversized wings, Sick Superman, Undead Barbie and Willie Wonka’s evil twin. Undead Barbie, with blood-matted blonde hair, sultry blue lips and a push-up black bra that was doing a heroic job with her major assets, made an instant hit with Kenny. Dominic looked around, not really listening to Kenny’s enthusiastic launch into tales of white-water rafting and abseiling, all the more impressive for being true.

  Evidently, Rochelle took Halloween seriously. Pumpkin lanterns burned on tables, hairy spiders descended from light fittings, a noose dangled in the hall-slash-alcove that housed doors to other rooms. So many people were sardined together that he had to hook up his tail to prevent it being stepped on. Now he knew why Crosswind carried his straight up in the air.

  Angie fought her way back, this time with white marshmallow ghosts and dough witches’ fingers, complete with flaked almond fingernails. ‘Where’s Liza?’ she shouted over the music.

  ‘Think she went off to change,’ he shouted back.

  She nodded. ‘Have you finished your bat’s blood? There’s wizard’s brew in the kitchen.’

  ‘What’s in it?’

  ‘Vodka, lime and apple juice. Or there’s dragon’s puke, if you prefer. It’s mainly advocaat, with chopped up jalapeño peppers in it.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s a bit ick, to be honest, but Rochelle thought it would be funny. Last year we did dragon’s diarrhoea, with Tia Maria and chocolate Angel Delight, but nobody would touch it.’

  ‘No?’ He pulled a face of mock astonishment, and Angie giggled as she turned to offer others the ghosts and witches’ fingers. She threaded her way through the throng and Dominic acce
pted a mission to secure wizard’s brew for himself, Kenny and Undead Barbie. Liza still hadn’t reappeared when he returned, drinks held high to avoid the worst of the jostling. He’d left off his watch as it didn’t really go with Lycra leggings and a cloak, but it seemed as if she’d been gone a long time. He’d planned to grab a quiet word with her but, at this rate, the party would be over before he managed it.

  Suddenly, Rochelle was in front of him. ‘Love the devil costume. You wear it well.’

  The room was getting warm and he’d pushed his cloak back over his shoulders, finally feeling the benefit of an outfit that bared his chest. ‘Glad you recognised the devilishness. My cousin’s three-year-old said I look like red Batman.’ He let his gaze drop. ‘Love your costume, too.’ Her dress was tighter and shorter than Angie’s and she filled it more … well, just more.

  ‘Good,’ she said, complacently, ‘that’s the idea.’ And she began to ask about his nascent business project, drawing her head close to hear his answers, taking his arm, skin on skin, so they wouldn’t be parted by people buffeting past. He liked Rochelle; she looked great and was funny and direct. Her bright eyes were emitting a primary radar signal of interest and appreciation and there was no reason that he shouldn’t bounce it right back at her. He could forget Liza Reece, refuse to be sucked in by her blue eyes and curvy little body, and enjoy being with someone who wasn’t afraid to show interest in him.

  Breathing in the mixed scents of woman, apple juice and vodka, he tilted his head to dodge the brim of her hat and catch Rochelle’s artfully artless suggestion that they should meet up for dinner some time so he could tell her more about his plans. She produced her phone from the belt of her dress. ‘Put your number into my mobile, then I’ll ring you and you’ll have mine.’

  But, as he reached for her phone, he glanced over her shoulder. And a ton of hot lead hit him in the chest.

  Liza was stalking towards them looking totally, murderously pissed off. But, also, absolutely mouth-watering in a tight black-and-gold striped fuzzy strapless dress with some kind of voluptuous black bulbous thing around her behind, and stiff transparent wings. Dominic heard himself make a noise in the back of his throat. Behind him, Kenny went, ‘Wow!’