Dream a Little Dream

by Sue Moorcroft

  ‘Not surprised.’ Clinging on to her patience, Cleo guided Shona to one side and reached around her to open the door.

  Cleo and Justin beamed from the doorstep, wearing the glossy, languorous, loved-up look of a couple who had just spent two days in bed, a civilised amount of it sleeping, and had risen late and showered in peace. ‘Mummy! Daddy!’ shrieked Shona, hurling herself at her parents’ legs. ‘My tummy hurts.’

  ‘About time!’ Liza grumped. ‘I hope you had a scrumptious time, I’m late for work and there’s baby sick in my bra.’ She thrust Gus, gurgling and grinning now, at Justin.

  ‘Lucky you.’ Justin went to kiss his baby son but drew back at the unmistakeable whiff of vomit.

  Cleo turned Liza around and propelled her towards the stairs, much as Liza had steered Shona a few seconds ago. ‘We’ll pack up the kids’ stuff while you jump into the shower. At least he didn’t get your hair.’

  ‘Big comfort.’ Liza trudged back the way she’d come, way too tired to take the stairs at a run.

  ‘My tummy hurts.’ Shona began to wail. ‘Ow, Mummy, my tummy!’

  Behind Liza, Cleo tutted. ‘I suppose you’ve been playing “snakes slide downstairs”? How many times have you promised not to? You get carpet burns on your tummy and … No, don’t cry, sweetie. Mmm, poor Shona. I’ve got cream in my bag that’ll soon make the nasty burn go away.’ Cleo’s comforting maternal coos faded as Liza shut herself thankfully in her bathroom and dragged off her jeans and top, threw the top in a basin full of water and gave herself a two-minute scrub under the steaming needles of water, then hurried, towel-wrapped, into her room for fresh clothes. Cleo’s and Justin’s voices floating up the stairwell, cosy and warm as they talked to their children. Most of the time, she envied them their family life. But, right now, they could keep it. It was exhausting and smelly.

  From the bathroom, her phone began to ring. Swearing, she shifted into reverse and went back to fling up the lid on the wash basket and delve for it in the pocket of her jeans. ‘Yes?’ breathlessly.

  ‘It’s Dominic. Change of plan – BBC Radio Cambridgeshire has a cancellation and can get us on Morning with Rebeccah Stillwater tomorrow, which works really well as it’s your day off, so we need to be in the Cambridge studio by eleven. Which means we need to have our first planning meeting tonight.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit previous, to get on the radio? We’ll jinx ourselves if we do it before you’ve signed the lease. And I’m sleeping tonight,’ she added, firmly, stifling yawns as she whizzed back to her room, opened a drawer and grabbed clean underwear.

  ‘It’s never too early. I’m creating buzz. There’s no such thing as a jinx.’ A pause. ‘I meant the evening.’

  ‘So did I,’ she agreed, quickly, glad he couldn’t see her face heat up at the idea of him being involved with her night. ‘But I’m out on my feet and – um, OK, I suppose you know how that feels.’ She pulled fresh jeans off a hanger, awkwardly, with one hand, glancing at her watch. Eek! If she didn’t get dressed and leave now, her first client would be waiting for her. That was a discourtesy she never allowed to happen. The fastest way to get to her client was to get Dominic off the phone and the fastest way to get Dominic off the phone was to agree with him. ‘I finish at nine. Meet you at The Three Fishes.’ Ending the call and dressing as fast as a fireman, she sniffed down her top to check for parfum de sick and ran for the front door, calling to Cleo and Justin, ‘Glad you had a great time, give the kids my kisses, some of their clothes are up in the spare room, just shut the door when you go and it’ll lock.’

  ‘Kids, mess, and my sister rushing off,’ she heard her sister observe, before the door slammed. ‘Back to Earth.’

  By nine, Liza’s eyes felt as if they’d been dipped in egg and rolled in crushed biscuit. She hadn’t had a break from clients all day, which would normally be a cause for celebration. But, ohhh, she was tired.

  The last to leave, she set the alarm and locked the door to The Stables by the light from the security lamp, hunching against the wind, and blearily drove her little car to The Three Fishes. Inside, she spotted Dominic lounging at a corner table with a pad, a pen and a pint of dark beer, and dropped into the empty chair. She waved to Janice, behind the bar. ‘I need coffee or I’ll pass out.’

  ‘Poor thing.’ Janice pushed a tall white mug into the front of the coffee machine.

  Dominic frowned. ‘What’s up?’

  Folding her arms on the table, Liza propped her chin on them and tried to keep her eyelids up. ‘Tired. Beyond tired. I looked after Shona and Gus. Gus thinks sleep’s a waste of time.’

  He smiled, faintly. ‘I agree with him.’

  ‘Suppose,’ she sighed. ‘You often feel that if you don’t get sleep in the next few minutes you’ll just fall down, don’t you? I’m beginning to empathise.’

  ‘I do fall down, occasionally. Here’s your coffee.’

  With a groan, Liza levered herself up and folded her hands around the hot mug that Janice deposited before her. Fixing her eyes owlishly on Dominic, she made herself concentrate as he began to talk about The Stables, tapping his pad and making little ticks as he covered each subject, rent first. ‘This is the figure I suggest, if I can get Nicolas down to something halfway between what I want to pay and what he wants me to.’

  She knew the total of what the therapists currently paid Nicolas, and what Dominic needed from her was a shade less. ‘I can make that,’ she said, half-surprised that his earlier forecasts hadn’t proved to be ridiculously optimistic. She tried to listen as she sipped coffee and he rattled on about radio, local press, free press, newsletters, website, Facebook, Twitter, and when he hoped to take over the lease. ‘I’ve asked Nicolas for a meeting to renegotiate the premium, but he hasn’t got back to me yet. Then it should be all systems go.’

  She nodded.

  His eyes were on her. ‘You’re exhausted.’

  She nodded again.

  ‘You’re not concentrating.’

  She shook her head. Then nodded, unsure which was appropriate.

  He drained his glass. ‘Come on. I’ll see you home.’

  ‘Got my car.’

  ‘You drive, I’ll pinch you to make sure you stay awake.’

  ‘But then you’ll have to—’

  ‘—walk home to my new flat! For all of ten minutes, yes.’

  ‘So where’s—?’ She had to break off to yawn.

  ‘I’ve rented a place in Bankside.’ He hooked his arm under hers and steered her out to her car. In a few minutes they were drawing up outside number 7, Liza still yawning.

  Once he’d checked she could steer her key safely into the lock of her front door, he made arrangements for the radio interview. ‘Kenny will be there, too, to show everyone that we have all the expertise we need. He can drive us in the Jag.’

  She yawned. ‘’Kay.’

  He kissed her lightly on her forehead. ‘Go to bed.’

  And her fatigue fled for a second as she got a flash image of her bed – him in it, hair tousled, hard, naked body gleaming as he moved against her, inside her. His hands. Tongue. Heat flickered.

  As if she were transmitting her thoughts, he paused. His palm brushed her cheek, gentle as breath. Then he kissed the corner of her mouth. And, for an instant, caught her lower lip gently between his teeth.

  ‘We’re going to be able to do this, aren’t we?’ she asked, hoarsely.

  ‘What?’

  She swallowed. ‘Work together. Without … stuff getting in the way.’

  Slowly, he withdrew. ‘We both have dreams to make come true, remember? We’re adults. We can cope with “stuff”. “Stuff” happens and—’

  ‘And goes wrong.’

  ‘If you say so.’ He retreated another step. ‘Let’s keep the focus on realising dreams. See you tomorrow.’

  The village was still as Dominic strode towards Bankside past the eclectic mix of houses that had grown up in Port Road over a couple of centuries.

  The new flat w
as in chaos, but as soon as the beds had been delivered Dominic had moved into the capacious master bedroom, Kenny into the cell-like spare, though Ethan had cried because Dommynic wasn’t to live at his house any more. It was good to be in his own place again, but to reassure Ethan that Dommynic wasn’t dropping out of his life, he’d call in tomorrow when he walked Crosswind before the radio interview.

  With Liza.

  He tried to concentrate. Promotion, organisation, administration. Nearing his goal was energising him, driving him, making it easier to accept the infuriating need to take naps and keep to his routines. And, most of the time, that Liza was out of bounds even though, minutes ago, her nearness had grabbed him by the groin and demanded that he kiss her mouth, dizzy from wanting it so much.

  He crossed the road, passing houses in darkness or lit only upstairs, and turned into Ladies Lane. A dog barked, a car rumbled, its headlights sweeping over him. Liza. Smelling of coffee. Eyes fatigued, blonde hair flipping as she moved her head. He’d been on the brink of kissing her deeply, his carefully evolving business plans vanishing from his mind at the need to feel his body wrap around hers. Her shape was so right. Just right. For a lustful moment, he’d let himself think about them climbing the stairs to her bed.

  But, even in exhaustion, her lust radar had bleeped, as if triggered by a sensor on the front of his boxers, and she’d warned him off.

  He turned left, between the last two stone houses and into the modern brick, appropriately named, New Road that opened into Bankside. It was like stepping into a different world, a Narnia of symmetry and tidy blocks of houses all of the same design.

  Well, OK. Liza obviously needed absolute reassurance that their relationship was going to be a working one, unsullied by blazing attraction or red-hot sex.

  Turning into Great Hill Road, he hopped the wall into the Copse Corner Court car park, passing the dark hulk of the Jag, fishing out his new keys.

  So, obviously, the only way forward was to keep everything strictly business.

  Strictly.

  Business.

  For now.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Liza had never been in a radio studio and it was much more laid-back than she’d imagined. A smiley, calm broadcast assistant, Beth, escorted them from reception through a succession of doors opened via passes, introduced them to Harriet, the golden-skinned producer, and showed them into Studio 1 where Rebeccah Stillwater beamed from behind a bank of monitors, keyboards, and panels of fader controls, amber hair pushed behind black earphones. Behind her, a green on air sign was illuminated but a red mic live was dim. At the guests’ side of the desk a colourful array of microphones sprouted, yellow, blue, green, red. The walls were red and one enormous window gave a view into the next studio, where a squat older guy could be seen apparently talking to himself, and another to where Harriet and Beth were seated, in the main office.

  ‘Hi!’ Rebeccah beamed, pulling her earphones away from one ear. ‘Thanks for coming in. If you can take the blue, green and yellow mikes …?’ They sat in a silent row facing her, Liza in front of the blue microphone, Dominic on her right. ‘Great. Is this your first time on radio? Nothing to worry about – hang on.’ Rebbecah brought up the music that had been playing in the background, voice mellow as she moved closer to the large black mike that hung before her face and the red mic live light lit. ‘Isn’t that a fantastic song? One of my favourites. So, let’s see what the traffic’s doing today. With the travel news, here’s Callum.’

  ‘Thank you, Rebeccah. The A14 seems to be OK, but I’m afraid those of you heading for Cambridge city centre from the A10 might be in a queue—’ The unseen traffic announcer’s voice faded as Rebeccah moved a control, paid attention to her monitors and clicked her mouse.

  Rebeccah took over again from Callum. ‘And my guests in the studio today are going to be Liza, Dominic and Kenny, who’re here to tell us about their exciting new venture, right here in Cambridgeshire.’ Apprehension shivered suddenly up Liza’s spine. She often listened to BBC Radio Cambridgeshire and it was weird to think she would be the one speaking in other people’s cars and kitchens. She swallowed a need to cough, assailed by a sudden panicky conviction that her voice would roll itself into a ball of dust in her throat. Rebeccah moved sliders, clicked her mouse and watched her monitors. ‘After this …’ Then the music swelled, sank to background again, mic live dimmed, and Rebeccah dropped her earphones around her neck and became a normal person, instead of a radio presenter. ‘Great to have you in the studio, your venture sounds wonderful.’ She spent the next few minutes getting them to relax, making sure she was putting the right name to the right person, asking about The Stables and sounding really, really interested.

  Dominic, on the green microphone, seemed comfortable. Liza let her butterflies be tranquilised by his steady body language and the way he talked to Rebeccah as if the mike wasn’t there. Maybe all those years of talking to unseen pilots over the airwaves made this a familiar environment for him. She swallowed some of the water that Beth had provided and found that she could answer naturally when Rebeccah asked her off air about the treatment centre. Now she just had to do the same thing when mic live applied to the blue microphone.

  In fact, once on air, Liza began to enjoy herself. Some of the questions that had been asked off air were asked again, giving her a comfortable feeling of familiarity, but Rebeccah bowled the interview along with fresh material, too, drawing Kenny, on the yellow mike, into the conversation, ‘So, Kenny, you’re the guy who’ll be showing folks how to paddle their own canoes?’

  But giving the lead to Dominic, who remained chatty and chilled. ‘We’re going to be a great venue for team builders, weekend adventurers, and even stags and hens. That was Liza’s idea.’

  ‘You’re going to be doing all the holistic stuff, Liza – for the hens?’

  ‘For everybody,’ she answered, firmly. ‘My team will do everything from single or series treatments to pamper evenings or even pamper weekends.’ Then they paused for Rebeccah to feed in the weather report and play another record. A buzz of fresh questions, and then Liza was shocked to realise that almost twenty-five minutes had passed and Rebeccah was winding up their segment.

  ‘So that’s The Stables, at Port-le-bain, in the grounds of Port Manor Hotel. From December, if you feel like having an adventure or a treatment, a hen night, stag party or birthday treat, The Stables will be the place to go!’ Rebeccah moved on to her next segment, waving goodbye, as Beth waited to show them out past Harriet, through the office, through the door to reception, and into the car park outside.

  Suddenly, they were grouped in the winter sunshine, grinning at each other. ‘Well, that seemed to go OK,’ observed Dominic, zipping up his jacket.

  ‘It was easy,’ Liza agreed, almost sorry that the fizz of being live on air had to be left behind. ‘I can’t believe how well it went. I woke up this morning petrified that I would dry up.’

  ‘Me, too.’ Kenny wiped his forehead. ‘You were the star, Doc, as always. The man who gets everything he wants.’ His eyes flickered to Liza. She flushed, and, for the first time, wondered whether the friendly rivalry between Dominic and Kenny was completely friendly.

  Well, there was no room now for that macho-pride bloody nonsense! The three of them had bound their immediate futures together and the only way it was going to work was if sexual tension and egos were set aside. Wasn’t that why she and Dominic were busy forgetting ‘that night’?

  ‘Shall we stop for lunch?’ she suggested. They needed to establish trust, Cleo would say, whisk away vestiges of wanting or jealousy from the dark corners of everybody’s minds and overlay them with cordial co-worker relations.

  And, perhaps because Dominic was enthusiastic about the ideas and expertise that Kenny brought to the business, there was no clashing of horns during their pub lunch and celebratory glass of wine, though Kenny’s brow did darken when he declared, ‘But we do need that fan descender, Doc,’ and Dominic just grinned and
said, ‘Sorry, Kenny. Not right away, anyway.’ Which emphasised Dominic’s role as the man with the money, who made the decisions. Liza could see from Kenny’s eyes that he still had to get used to that. She might even have a few similar moments herself. Working with people could be—

  She jerked up, checking her watch. ‘Whoops. We’ve announced to the whole of Cambridgeshire that things are going to change at The Stables, but I’ve just realised that I haven’t told Imogen and Fenella.’

  Dominic cocked an eyebrow. ‘Are you worried about how they’ll react?’

  She shrugged. ‘Neither of them were interested in sharing the management of The Stables, so I hope they’ll react well, but I don’t want them miffed because everyone else knows before them.’

  ‘OK, let’s head to The Stables. I’ll give Nicolas a nudge about our meeting.’

  ‘I might just tilt my chauffeur’s hat over my eyes and wait outside. Leave the business stuff to the business people,’ Kenny said, idly, his gaze following the curvy young waitress who had just brought their bill.

  For a moment, Liza thought it was a barbed comment. But Dominic only nodded, and she remembered what he’d told her about Kenny’s strengths being in action. And Kenny seemed perfectly at ease on the half-hour journey back, chatting to Liza in the front of the big black missile of a car, as Dominic headed for the back seat and almost instantly became silent.

  Kenny peered into the rear view mirror and shook his head. ‘It’s weird to see him like this,’ he whispered. ‘Going off to sleep everywhere.’

  Liza spoke at normal volume. ‘It’s just a medical need.’

  Kenny agreed too quickly. ‘’Course. He always enjoyed his sleep, did Doc. But all kids get drowsy sometimes and all teenagers don’t want to get up in the morning, students would rather sleep than work. We’ve all been through it. I just don’t know how he let this thing get a grip.’

  She laughed, to cover up a lancing irritation. ‘It’s not an addiction, Kenny, a craving for alcohol or drugs that he’s let get the better of him! It’s just that his hypothalamus has stopped producing enough orexin to regulate his sleep. If he’d stopped producing insulin and become diabetic it wouldn’t be weird, would it?’ And she changed the subject, asking Kenny about his time in the States, until Dominic’s phone alert went off and, after a couple of minutes, he joined in the conversation.