A Dream to Die For

by Nicholas Faulkner

  ‘That would kind of make sense I guess,’ said Andrea. ‘Perhaps we connect when you need someone inside your head to speak with, to share problems. That may trigger our meetings.’

  ‘Well I have tried to connect with you before, only it hasn’t really worked. Perhaps I need to do so subconsciously if that makes sense.’ Mike was trying to understand it as he was speaking. He had not been thinking of Andrea for a couple of weeks, he had not dreamt again.

  ‘You’ve had a lot of aggravation recently haven’t you? You and Vicky are not getting on too well.’

  ‘How the hell do you know that? Are you inside my head or watching over me?’ Mike could not help but sound accusing. Andrea’s statement had taken him by surprise and he tended to respond quickly when he felt threatened, his legal training kicking in.

  ‘And she hates to be called Vicky, as you bloody well know.’ Mike instantly regretted snapping back.

  There was a rush of hot wetness on his legs, he lurched up, slipped and fell against the table in front of him

  ‘Oh my God I am so sorry!’ A rather large woman with two bags had just managed to spill the majority of her latte. ‘Oh your legs!’ Clearly the woman was in shock at being as insensitive as she saw Mike trying to first steady himself and then move in his customary lurches by gripping the top of the seats.

  ‘I hope that did not burn you, or perhaps you cannot feel?’ She was going red in the face and clearly digging a hole so large she would never get out.

  ‘Madam, my bones in my legs were shattered in a car accident when I was 21. That does not mean to say that my nerve endings have yet failed! Yes your bloody coffee was hot! My suit is soaked and it will need to be dry cleaned. Your manner, I am assuming, is down to embarrassment at your inability to climb onto a train clasping more than one thing in your fat hands at a time.’ At times of stress Mike usually became eloquent and, if Victoria were to be believed, cutting and viscous. ‘I suggest you go to the lavatory and fetch as many paper towels as you can so we can stem the tsunami that is flowing across the table.’

  The woman did as she was told and after ten minutes of wiping, the area looked almost clean. Mike settled himself into a dry seat and was pleased his suit trousers did not seem to be too wet after the towel drying.

  Mike closed his eyes – there were still 15 minutes of travelling before Waterloo. He thought of Andrea. Now why had he snapped at her, was the coffee incident to blame for him waking up or had she left because he has been rude. How could she have left the dream? She was dead and yet he had spoken with her twice while asleep. Was she in my head, or was he able to communicate with the afterlife as long as he was dreaming? Was dreaming the afterlife anyway? Perhaps it was the way people were prepared for it, by experiencing it a little bit all through their lives? If that was the case, then life must seem to just merge into death, with people just spending all their time eventually in the dream state and not in the waking living state?

  Questions cascaded through Mike’s mind as the train lumbered towards its terminal. How did Andrea distinguish between him as being alive and the other people she met in the afterlife? She said she felt and didn’t really see him? Mike wanted so much to see Andrea again, to sit down for a couple of hours and talk through these matters while enjoying the company of his dear friend and confidant.

  ‘I really am most awfully sorry for the suit, I can understand why you were so upset with me. I really should not have said those things, about your legs I mean. Oh and there I have gone and done it again.’ The lady was standing up reaching for her bags from the rack over the seats. The train was stationary at Waterloo and people were filing out to start the daily routine of work, meetings, emails, telephone calls… until they could climb back onto the same trains that would whisk them home to a gin and tonic at 6.20pm that night.

  ‘Please don’t worry, I’m not feeling myself. I was rude back then and you had been very apologetic, it could have happened to anyone. Let’s put it down to experience and try and have a nice day, I shall.’ Mike was magnanimous in response. Life was too short to worry and get irritable over such things he thought to himself.

  Mike lurched onto the platform on his sticks and the conductor was there with his wheelchair.

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you do not look your usual smart self today,’ said the conductor as he held the wheelchair whilst Mike lowered himself into it. ‘That suit could do with a dry clean.’

  CHAPTER 3

  WEDNESDAY 13th February arrived and Mike had managed to have enough work to do quietly from home, so that he did not need to go into London. That way he would be on hand for Victoria, although it was a fine balance he had to make. He had to appear to be busy and let her manage her business without interfering, yet be helpful if needed when it all started to get too much for her. At least he would not have the call in his office that he dreaded most years and the rush to catch the quickest train home. His travel arrangements in his wheelchair usually went smoothly, but that was because they had been planned and he gave himself enough time to get around. Charging out of the office and trying to find a cab, then the slalom course around passengers on the concourse at Waterloo were frankly rather stressful for Mike. Working at home and being close were in some ways selfish choices Mike had made to help his wife if he were needed.

  ‘Right then, I am off to the shop.’ Victoria was standing in front of him in her usual skinny jeans and top. It was 6.30 in the morning. ‘And you’re working from home then today? Another case to prepare no doubt. I hope you have not done that on my account. I have Sophie in and so will have everything covered.’ She sounded confident and Mike was pleased.

  ‘Of course I haven’t changed my diary around to work from home to assist my lovely wife if needed on the busiest day of her year.’ Mike wanted to make it sound light-hearted, so Victoria knew she could call on him if needed.

  ‘Thanks, see you later, I’ll bring home an Indian take away around 8. Won’t be able to face cooking after the day I’ll have had.’ With that Victoria turned and walked out of the front door, leaving Mike in his chair in the hall.

  Mike worked in his study during the morning, topping up with coffee every hour or so. He was pleased with what he had managed to cover by lunchtime. Still no call from Victoria so perhaps everything was going to plan.

  Then the mobile started to vibrate. He saw the shop number on the screen.

  ‘Mike, Victoria has asked me to call you.’ Sophie’s voice sounded young and soft in his ear. ‘We could really do with another pair of hands here, it’s starting to go a bit crazy, and she wondered how your work was going? If it’s OK, I can drive the van back to yours to collect you and you could come down to the shop for the afternoon.’

  ‘Sophie sure, I did everything I needed to and I would have only spent the afternoon on the web.’ Mike wasn’t lying. He had managed to do all his work, but he had been intending to search online for details of a clinic in Atlanta that had started to carry out some pretty drastic surgery to accident victims. When he had been hurt more than twenty years ago the theory had always been about keeping the limbs and then spending your time in a chair. Now the cutting-edge approach was to amputate and fix prosthetics and have everyone running around like a South African sprinter. Mike did not have long to wait until his lift arrived so he could start his afternoon as a shop assistant.

  ‘The clinic research will have to wait for another day,’ he thought to himself as he shut his computer down.

  Sophie pulled into the drive and jumped out of the driver’s side of the little van, her long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders. Her jeans were tight and the T-shirt even tighter. Mike smiled, that was a sight to lift the spirits of any mid-forties man, he thought to himself.

  ‘Hi Mike. You jump in and I’ll fold the chair up and pop it into the back.’ Mike was happy to oblige and soon they were driving along the leafy suburban roads on the outskirts of Winchester towards the shop.

  ‘Thanks for helping out
Victoria this week.’ Mike had been worried about the pressure on his wife without Sophie on board. Selfishly it relieved him.

  ‘It’s fun actually. I was back home studying for a land law paper and if I read about Black Acre or Stokes v Cambridge much more I’ll go mad. Also, to be honest the money comes in handy. Uni is rather expensive if you want to get the most out of it and next year I really want to move out of halls and rent with a couple of girlfriends, which will mean more dosh.’

  ‘Sophie, your dad must earn a fortune. Don’t kid me you are feeling the recession! I’m sure uni is a struggle for some.’ Mike had always had an easy-going relationship with Sophie and seen her grow up. At one stage they had lived just five minutes away, but then Jules and Gerald had moved to a mini country pile in a village about five miles out of Winchester. There were still the regular weekend meets for drinks or BBQs in the summer and Victoria and Jules had their regular Pilates one evening during the week.

  ‘Dad is really concerned that I learn the value of money. He says it will teach me to respect money and work harder. Sometimes I even wonder if he would leave everything to some bloody charity rather than see me inherit! Not that I want Pops dead of course.’ She was clearly worried that she had said too much and coloured a little as she tried to cover her embarrassment.

  ‘Well it’s difficult for me to comment as Victoria and I have never had children, but it does sound as though your dad has the right approach.’ Mike suddenly thought he sounded as though he were over 50. Where had all the years gone?

  ‘I suppose after the accident you couldn’t.’ Sophie’s question did not sound accusing, more factual and Mike did not find himself upset by her apparent insensitivity. She did not seem to think it was too direct as she slowed the van carefully to a stop at a roundabout.

  ‘Actually, it’s no real secret, Victoria can’t have kids. We tried for years and after we gave up on the different options we got the shop five years ago. VFs is really our little one I suppose!’

  ‘Sorry I didn’t realise and just assumed… silly of me really.’ Sophie looked a little flushed and Mike felt sorry for her. Perhaps she had just realised how direct she had been.

  ‘Don’t worry, not a problem at all.’ Mike tapped his hand on her thigh in a comforting way and instantly regretted his actions.

  ‘What are you thinking of you idiot,’ he told himself. He felt too relaxed in her company – that was dangerous. Sophie didn’t say anything and did not seem to even notice his overfamiliarity. The van pulled up into the car space behind the shop and he climbed into the chair that Sophie had got out of the back. He wished he had not touched her thigh. He was not some dirty old man, he told himself.

  ‘God,’ he thought to himself, ‘I have enough emotional crap going on trying to maintain a relationship with my dead friend and jump-start my faltering marriage.’ Mike realised he had not been consciously thinking about addressing his marriage before. Perhaps all marriages go through a sort of drifting stage after the 20 years that he and Victoria had been together. He knew he should make more of an effort. Being there for Victoria during this busy time was perhaps the first step.

  ‘Right then let’s go and play florists!’ Mike said as he pushed the chair towards the short ramp that led up to the open back door of the shop. ‘Yes I should be here to help Victoria and I am pleased I am,’ he thought to himself. ‘Mike if you make an effort then perhaps things will all turn out OK. Andrea is dead, God damn it, Victoria is here, alive and, for most men, still a damn good looking woman.’ Mike smiled as he entered the back of the shop

  ‘The 7th cavalry has arrived, darling, just point me in a direction and I shall do whatever!’ Mike really wanted to sound enthusiastic and helpful. Victoria turned and looked at him, the bottom of one leg of her jeans was soaked and a bucket that had been full of water was leaning against it with the rest of the contents on the floor. Her hands had scratches on them, her hair had fallen out from his neat bun and she looked about to burst into tears.

  ‘I don’t need the fucking 7th cavalry, I need some help from my crippled husband.’ With that the tears flooded from Victoria, a damn had been breached by a bouncing bomb and water gushed.

  Mike pushed his chair towards her, held out his arms and held his wife. ‘Sophie, please get a mop and bucket from by the back door and clear this mess up.’ After ten minutes calm was restored and then, after a strong cup of tea, Victoria was back to her normal self, a little stressed but happy with her help around her.

  Mike however was left reeling inside. Victoria’s comment had hurt, perhaps he rationalised to himself he had been a little insensitive over his charging to the rescue comments, but still ‘crippled husband’ did sting rather.

  The rest of the afternoon passed without much incident, Victoria hurried around the shop looking increasingly flustered and then being calmed by more strong tea. Mike dealt with the paperwork and took phone calls and helped at the counter as much as he could to let Victoria and Sophie make up the flower arrangements.

  The following day arrived and Mike had already agreed to take it off and help in the shop. Victoria would be driving around Winchester most of the day with deliveries. His role was to take the money from the people who came in to collect their flowers that had been pre-ordered.

  The bouquet for Jules was truly magnificent and was ready to go out in the second delivery run of the day.

  ‘That is a fantastic arrangement for your mum,’ Mike commented to Sophie as they arranged the flowers by the back door waiting for Victoria to return in her little van. ‘Your dad really knows how to show how much he loves his wife!’

  ‘Well I guess that is one way to guarantee he gets a blowjob from her this evening!’ Sophie’s candour shocked Mike, who was not a little embarrassed by the thought. Such comments he thought should best be kept for a few drinks after a rugby match at Twickenham.

  ‘Sophie, that’s not the approach I would expect from such a well brought up young lady. And frankly I don’t care if I sound like I am 60, although I definitely am not!’ Mike actually meant it, this was not a conversation he wanted to have. He had been pleased to get up this morning with the idea of helping Victoria out in the shop and he wanted to try and make things work between them. He was not certain how long that feeling would last or even if he would be successful but he knew he was approaching things in the right way. He did not want a personal or sexually charged conversation with a fit young law student.

  ‘I’m sorry Mike, it’s just that people seem to get so hung up on sex and love and confuse the shit between them! I know that Mum and Dad have real feelings for each other and have been together for simply decades but we all know that Dad drifts occasionally.’

  This was getting too much for Mike. He was having an intimate conversation with a friend’s 19-year-old daughter whom he had known since she was a little more than a toddler! What was more, her low cut T-shirt left very little to the imagination as she bent over the flower stands in front of him. He would try and look in a different direction but somehow it was not always easy to pretend to himself he did not enjoy the view.

  ‘Sophie, I really don’t want to have this conversation with you. I find it rather embarrassing frankly.’

  Sophie looked up and straight into his eyes.

  ‘Sorry, you are right, but I have noticed you are enjoying the view, I thought I would wear this top for you today!’

  Mike did not know where to look or what to say and he felt himself going red for the first time in decades. At that moment, he thought his life had been saved when Victoria turned the van in off the road and jumped out.

  ‘Soph, love, a quick coffee please as Mike and I load this lot. Thanks both of you for getting everything to the back door. Don’t suppose you got it in delivery order for a sensible route around town?’ Victoria was in her organising mood!

  The van loaded, Victoria drove off with a cheery wave from the open window. Mike had been so relieved to see his wife arrive and now was dreading b
eing left alone with Sophie in the shop.

  In fact, Mike need not have felt so worried, nothing else risqué was said and the day passed pleasantly enough. By the end of the week the madness that had been this year’s Valentine’s Day had passed into history. Mike was back commuting and he settled down into his seat on the 6.20pm home run on Friday. He was looking forward to opening a bottle of red wine that night and enjoying supper with Victoria before a very lazy weekend. He felt they had deserved it.

  ‘I am sorry I got the hump with you the other day.’ Andrea was laying on a bench in a park with a hand wrapped around a glass of red. Mike was sitting at the end of the bench, her hair just touching his trouser leg. He was not stroking her hair or touching her at all. The sun was out and it was warm. He could hear insects and birds but not see anyone else. It was as if they were in a lovely park, there were trees in the distance swaying in the wind. The scenery seemed to roll into undulating partially maintained grounds.

  ‘I am sorry I snapped too, I didn’t know if I was woken up with a lap full of coffee or if you had just left because we were both annoyed with each other.’ Mike was matter of fact with his reply, a little conciliatory in fact. He wanted to talk without upsetting Andrea.

  ‘I suppose this is just really difficult for you, I can see. I mean I sense everything in your life and I feel sort of protective about you. I like you Mike, a lot, and always have done although we never really got past pleasantries in life.’ Andrea seemed at ease in chatting to him.

  ‘Well if you are there all the time, do you feel whatever I am feeling, I mean seeing? If I get angry do you feel angry?’ Mike was also feeling far too relaxed in chatting to her, this was the third time he had communicated with his dead friend. ‘You’re dead though!’ Mike blurted it out again without thinking.

  ‘For the love of God, I thought we have got past that point! Yes I am, and yes I enjoy coming back to communicate with you. This is so relaxing, isn’t it?’ Andrea sipped her glass of wine. ‘I do find it a little upsetting when you remind me I’m dead, that word seems so final but when you arrive here you realise that it isn’t final at all. I think it works like this, I feel a real connection with you, I want to spend time like this with you, I can sense when you are upset or anxious and I like it when you feel happy. I can feel that now, you are happy now. I would love it if you stroked my hair.’