Dream a Little Dream

by Sue Moorcroft

  When Kenny parked the car in the yard beside a red VW at The Stables, the day was fading to grey. Liza opened the passenger door and hopped out as Dominic climbed from the back. ‘I suddenly feel nervous,’ she confessed. ‘I hope they’re OK about it.’

  ‘They should be, you’re going to help them get more clients.’ Dominic gave a reassuring smile, then halted, brows clanging down into a straight line over his eyes. ‘Oh crap, here’s—’

  ‘Hello, Liza,’ said a soft voice.

  Liza’s heart lurched as she swung around to stare at a gangly figure that had materialised from beside the red car in the winter afternoon gloom. ‘Adam!’ Never more than wiry, now Adam was thin. Gaunt, even. His eyes looked too big and heavy for their sockets and his coat, a long dark grey one that Liza remembered shopping for, hung off his shoulders. Even his teeth seemed too big for his mouth. ‘I was driving out of Bettsbrough when you came on the radio. It was so good to hear your voice. I thought I’d stop in and say hi.’

  Dumbstruck, she swallowed. She’d chosen not to tell him where she was living or working, then … Mentally, she smote her forehead. She’d gaily let Rebeccah Stillwater broadcast the location of The Stables to the entire county.

  ‘So, what I was just thinking—’ He cleared his throat. ‘I could take you out to dinner or something? So we can catch up? Just for old times’ sake,’ he added, swiftly, while Liza felt the old guilt rising as she saw in Adam’s eyes the soul-crushing grief she’d put there. He managed another smile. ‘I feel as if—’

  He glanced at Dominic. Kenny was no longer in the car but had turned his back, as if to give Adam privacy. Dominic stood his ground, as if not to. Adam stooped closer. ‘There’s so much stuff we didn’t say, Lize. That I didn’t say, anyway. I need to talk things out.’

  She hesitated, wondering, wretchedly, whether he was right. Everything in her protested against the idea of cosying up to Adam over the dinner table. But was that a selfish wish to avoid confronting sadness at close quarters? Or did she owe it to him, to give him a chance to draw a line under ‘them’ and move on? Closure, it was called. She’d attained it in that awful moment on stage when her instinctive reaction to Adam’s proposal had been revulsion and the relationship, for her, had crashed and burned. But Adam, he’d never understood why his fabulous gesture had gone horribly wrong.

  ‘Well …’

  Instantly, Adam added, ‘At least one more time.’

  She felt the tug of Adam trying to make her a thread in his life tapestry, fastening her in with family gatherings, work parties, shared friends. The intensity of his love. And his need. Meeting him might be a sop to her conscience, but his expectations would be raised. Look how he’d subtly repositioned his request when she’d uttered just one Well … instead of an instant refusal.

  She took a step away. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘Adam, I’m so sorry.’ Then she whirled blindly for the door to the treatment centre, aware of Dominic falling in beside her and working the door handle for her when she fumbled it. And of nothing else but the crashing of her panicked heart, making her dizzy, hot, unable to get her breath, air hitting an obstruction in her chest, hurting, suffocating, frightening.

  Indoors, she homed in on her treatment room and its carefully cultivated serenity. But when she tried to snap the door shut behind her, she found Dominic in the way.

  ‘I need—’

  ‘I know.’ He smiled, crookedly. ‘You need to be left alone. But I need to be happy that you’re not going to faint or hyperventilate. Sit down and I’ll go to the kitchen and make you some of that calming jasmine stuff, and if you’re breathing normally by the time I get back, that’s when I’ll go.’

  Slowly, she lowered herself into her chair, willing her heart steady, forcing her breathing to come from her abdomen, resenting Dominic’s refusal to be shut out but also glad of it. Breathe. Breathe. Let the abdomen rise. Fall. By the time he returned and she took the steaming mug, she was thinking normally. ‘Thanks. But it’s camomile tea that’s calming, not jasmine.’

  He quirked a brow. ‘If you’ve recovered enough to be ungracious, I’ll leave you to whatever the hell jasmine tea is meant to do for you while I try and grab Nicolas. Will you be OK?’

  ‘Fine,’ she muttered. She watched him leave as steam rose over her face. Her eyes burned. It was probably the tea.

  Dominic knocked on Nicolas’s half-open door and stuck in his head, aware of the slight body odour that hung around wherever Nicolas did. ‘Sorry to wander in unannounced, but do you think we could arrange this meeting?’

  Nicolas was leaning over his desk, pen in hand. His face shone. It was impossible to tell whether it was fresh sweat caused by Dominic’s unscheduled appearance, or a constant coating resulting from keeping his office like a sauna. ‘Sorry. I don’t know when I’ll have time.’

  Dominic remained in the doorway, itching to reach around and throw open the window. ‘How about we arrange it now?’

  Nicolas glanced at his watch. ‘Sorry.’ He put the top on his pen and laid it on the desk. ‘I have plans.’

  Dominic chose not to take the hint. ‘It would only take a moment. Or don’t you want to sell the lease any more?’

  ‘I do.’ Nicolas at least sounded positive about that. A long pause. ‘But you want me to drop my price and I need to think about that. Ring me in a couple of days.’

  Reluctantly, Dominic accepted that there was a point past which there was nothing to be gained by pressing. He let himself back into Liza’s treatment room, trying not to feel uneasy at Nicolas’s froideur. ‘Come on. We’ll drop you off.’

  She was sitting exactly where he’d left her, frowning at her cup, now empty. She didn’t look up. ‘Is that an order? Give a man an inch and he turns into a ruler.’

  He swung on his heel, infuriated that the happy, enthusiastic Liza he’d spent the day with had morphed back into the snarky, spiky Liza he’d met in this very spot a month ago. ‘Fine. Stay here. I thought you might want a lift in case Adam might be hanging around outside.’

  A long, trembling sigh made him hesitate and glance back. She looked delicate and vulnerable, in her treatment room all alone. She placed her mug on the desk, and smiled, slowly, apologetically. ‘I meant: thank you, Dominic, that’s really thoughtful and a lift would be great.’

  ‘Don’t confuse me by being pleasant.’ Waiting as she switched off the lights and shut the door, his hands ached to reach out to her.

  Whether to hug her or shake her, he hadn’t decided.

  Liza reached up to close her bedroom curtains.

  And froze.

  On the traffic island in the middle of The Cross stood the figure of a man, completely still. Tall and thin, his gaze seemed to be fixed on her front door.

  Adam.

  Glad she hadn’t yet turned the lights on, heart thumping, she pulled the curtains slowly shut, as if he might hear the rings moving along the curtain poles. Then she made a tiny gap and peeped out. He was still there.

  She shut them tightly. She wouldn’t let him get to her. She wouldn’t think about the sadness in the depths of his eyes or the droop to his shoulders. Not wanting the brilliance of the overhead light to alert him to her location in the house, she switched on the television, glad the curtains were thick enough to disguise its lesser illumination. Flicking around until she found an episode of Friends she concentrated on the voices of Ross and Rachel as they stumbled through some excruciating convolution in their relationship, welcoming the sound of other humans. She turned up the volume to let the audience’s laughter fill the room, lying on her bed, trying not to think about Adam and feel guilt. Remorse. Anxiety. Horrible wormy feeling of culpability. So down. So trapped in her own house by the Spirit of Bad Stuff Past.

  When she peeked out after two more episodes – Adam was still there.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Dominic frowned at his iPad, trying to make sense of an e-mail that had just pinged into his inbox from Smiths, the consultants and supp
liers for some of the equipment he was poised to buy as soon as the lease was signed. Re the message your Kenny King left on my voicemail, we need to do an on-site survey before quoting for the fan descender, Wayne Smith (Director) had written. Does this mean you’re ready to proceed? We can do the entire site survey at once, if so. Dominic looked up at Kenny, who was standing at the front window to Dominic’s new flat, glaring at rain that blew in slanting sheets across the car park. ‘Kenny, why would you leave a message on Wayne Smith’s voicemail asking for a quote on a fan descender?’

  Kenny’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t turn around.

  ‘Look.’ Dominic rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I know the ballpark figure for the fan descender and I know I can’t afford it yet, OK? I’m not sure it’s ever going to be worth its price tag.’

  Muttering something that might have been, ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Kenny hunched his shoulders. ‘What you ought to be worrying about, Doc, is whether you can rely on Liza. You need to rethink. Find someone else to run the therapy stuff.’

  Dominic dug deep for patience. He felt torpid and dull with inaction, fighting off the craving for a second nap of the day. Sleep hadn’t yet become insistent but it was probably only Kenny’s restless tension that was keeping him awake. When Kenny didn’t have enough to do he became a caged chimp – rattling his bars and ripe for trouble.

  They’d had a week of waiting for Nicolas to resume negotiations, or even return phone calls. Now, the flat was sorted, furniture set out, possessions stowed, shopping done; they’d walked what felt like most of the countryside around, swum at the pool in Bettsbrough and tried a couple of gyms, but Kenny had been bored to boorishness so often that Dominic had begun to be pleased whenever Ken wanted to walk or run alone.

  And, although blatantly bringing up Liza to deflect Dominic’s attention from his interference over the fan descender, Kenny was voicing Dominic’s own anxiety. Because, since Adam had showed up, Liza had yanked her head into her shell. Dominic had been for a treatment, called at her house, and taken her out for a drink. She’d been pleasant but quiet and had sidestepped any attempts to talk business.

  Kenny didn’t seem able to leave the subject alone since Dominic had told him the bare bones of Liza’s history with Adam. It had seemed only fair, as Kenny, like Dominic, was looking for employment and income from the adventure centre and hadn’t bargained for its fruition being annoyingly dependent on the treatment centre running alongside – and, therefore, the person who ran it.

  ‘You saw the effect that Adam had on Liza,’ Kenny grumbled, spiking up his tawny brown hair in his reflection in the window. ‘I’ll bet she’s thinking about pulling out, now he’s hanging around like a fart in a car, not letting her conveniently forget what she did.’ He swung away from the glass and snatched up a pair of black weights that he’d left crossed on top of the bookcase, exhaling hard before beginning a series of bicep curls.

  ‘It’s a developing situation,’ Dominic agreed, stifling a yawn. With everything about the adventure centre whirling in his brain, he’d been lying awake too much. Narcolepsy really pissed him off, the way it could flip from an inability to wake to an inability to sleep. ‘I’m looking for a way of helping it develop in my favour. Teambuilding experience is telling me that I need positive engagement with Liza. You know the stuff. Break down barriers. Foster links. Offer trust. Communicate. Share a fun activity.’

  ‘Just junk her.’ Kenny breathed in between words as he worked his muscles.

  It looked as if Kenny and Liza could use a little bonding, too. But Dominic needed to get one-on-one with Liza first, to cut out distraction. Or give her nowhere to hide. Or have an excuse to spend time with her. ‘I’m not going to junk her,’ he said, mildly. ‘I’m going to show her the benefits of being on my team.’

  Kenny snorted, breathed, curled. ‘Admire your philosophy. But a team’s only as strong as its weakest member, so pick the best team while you still can.’

  Dominic heaved himself to his feet, feeling sleep retreat just an inch, as soon as he was up. ‘Why don’t you put your wet-weather gear on and go out?’

  Kenny began pumping the weights faster. ‘Because there’s – nowhere to – dry it in – this fucking flat.’

  Leaving his friend to take out his frustrations on his weights, Dominic went to his bedroom to phone Liza. He really liked the room; bright and airy even when the rain was spattering on the window in fistfuls, and there was plenty of space for his new king-sized bed. He sat with his back against the coolness of the wooden headboard because he knew the sleep monster was waiting for him if he let himself get too comfortable. Then, tonight, it would be easy for it to play its current favourite joke – he could buy a bed but couldn’t buy sleep. The bed made him think of sex and sex made him think about Liza and he wondered, fleetingly, whether, if he could just get her under him, he could love the sadness out of her. That was a thought to stop his eyes from closing. If he suggested they met—

  But then he realised that Kenny had followed him and was standing at the door. He hesitated. Should he put off the phone call? Mentally, he shrugged. Ken had invested a lot of time in the action-and-challenge centre and if it made him feel in the loop to listen while Dominic set up a bit of bonding with Liza, it couldn’t do any harm. It was surprising and worrying how quickly he and Kenny had got on each other’s nerves, over the past few days. They were to work together, so tension couldn’t be allowed to develop.

  Ringing Liza could be frustrating, her availability depending upon clients and her whim but, this time, Pippa was able to get her to the phone.

  ‘What are your plans for the weekend?’

  Her voice was flat. ‘Taking Saturday off because I’m doing a pamper thing on Sunday for a WI in Bettsbrough.’

  ‘So Saturday afternoon would be the best time.’ He waited.

  A note of interest crept in. ‘For …?’

  ‘To promote better understanding of one another’s areas of operation.’

  ‘How?’ One wary word, but at least he’d piqued her curiosity.

  ‘I’m going to give you a taste of action and challenge. Wear jeans, sensible boots that keep your feet dry, and an outdoor coat.’

  Silence. He crossed his fingers. Whether it was for the good of his nascent business or just for his soul, he had to shake Liza out of her Adam-remoteness.

  ‘OK,’ she agreed, sounding interested. ‘As long as I can give you a taste of something treatmenty in return. You don’t have any open wounds on your feet, do you?’

  His heart hopped at this glimmer of the real Liza. If she wanted to give him a reflexology treatment, he was fine with that. In fact, he was tingling just at the thought. ‘My feet are in perfect order. What time do you want me?’

  By ten on Saturday morning, having dropped Crosswind at Miranda’s, he was wishing he’d developed athlete’s foot or a nice big verruca, because, it turned out, the treatment on offer wasn’t reflexology.

  ‘We’re having a what?’ he demanded, following Liza’s behind through the glass door painted with the word ‘Nibbletastic’.

  ‘Fish pedicure.’ She smiled at a redhead in daffodil yellow behind the reception desk. ‘Hello, Dana. I’ve booked two for ten o’clock. But be careful with my friend, here. He’s fresh meat.’

  Dana gave Dominic a sparkling smile. ‘Let’s get you initiated, then.’ She led them up a few steps into another room, where padded chairs stood behind rectangular tanks full of bubbling water. And darting little fish.

  He stood back, warily. ‘This is a joke, right?’

  ‘Why should it be a joke?’ Liza took one of the cream leather seats and bent to the laces of her blue boots. ‘I want to screen off part of reception for a fish spa, at The Stables. Pippa should be able to look after the fish spa as well as run front desk, which would mean I could keep her on. Set up and running costs are reasonable. Garra rufa fish pedicures are becoming incredibly popular.’ Her feet were bare now, and she took some wipes from the redhead and bega
n running them over her feet. ‘I think four tanks would really bring people into The Stables.’

  Gingerly, Dominic took a seat. ‘So what do I do?’ The sound of the oxygen feed to the tanks bubbled through the room.

  Dana took over. ‘Put your feet in the tank – the fish will do the rest. Fish pedicures originate in Thailand, where people realised that the garra rufa fish eat dead skin. At the end of the half-hour, your feet will feel smooth. And most people feel relaxed, too, because it’s such a pleasant sensation.’

  ‘Half an hour?’ Dominic watched Liza slip her high-arched feet into the water in front of her, and dozens of fish shot from all corners of the tank to swarm – could fish swarm? – all over them. Each fish was dark greeny-brown and about three inches long, pulsing with delight at attaching its mouth to Liza’s feet. His toes curled in his shoes.

  Dana held out a handful of wipes. ‘Ready?’

  Slowly, he removed his shoes and socks, wiped his feet and rolled up his jeans. His feet were inspected and passed fit to fish with. Unfortunately. He’d been hoping that it would be against Fish Rights.

  ‘Put both in together,’ Dana advised, ‘so you get an even number of fish on each foot.’

  Resisting the temptation to screw up his eyes, Dominic slid his feet into the cool water. And then needed every morsel of his willpower to resist the urge to snatch them out again as the garra rufa latched onto him with unsettling enthusiasm. It was like a fizzing, wriggling electric shock, as if the water was alive. His toes twitched convulsively. He wasn’t worried by the fish, of course; he’d been an enthusiastic scuba diver.

  But it tickled. Ooo-oooh, it tickled.

  Liza didn’t seem to be having a problem, so he clenched his fingers around the arms of the chair as a fish worked its way industriously up his instep.