The Little Barn of Dreams

by Lucy Knott

  ‘Hi,’ Florence eventually managed, trying to look past Andy’s initial abruptness and give him a chance. After all, her nanna had taught her not to judge; maybe Andy was nervous too and where Florence was quiet, his nerves expressed themselves in a more outgoing manner. ‘Nice to meet you, Andy,’ she said. Not caring to be rude, she forced a small smile and twisted her body to face him.

  ‘Do you read all those erotic books that chicks like to read? What’s that guy, that Mr Grey?’ Andy said sliding into the booth next to Florence. Florence looked at him, then returned to viewing the menu. She had genuinely wanted to make an effort, but she would need food in her stomach if she was going to have to endure Andy’s questions all evening.

  ‘Not all chicks read those kinds of books, mate,’ Drew said surprising Florence. He never stepped in or engaged in book talk. Did Drew even know that there were different types of books? Florence could sense Drew simply trying to defuse the tension building at the table. Olivia gave a small chuckle and waved Andy’s comment away like it was nothing. Florence’s stomach knotted tightly.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with those books but Florence likes all kinds of books and theatre too,’ Olivia said trying to catch Florence’s eye and no doubt give her an encouraging nod, but Florence was not about to take the bait. Her mouth had gone dry and emotions were stirring in her stomach. Why did Olivia never listen? Andy sipped his beer unaware of his blunt and uneducated approach, but Olivia continued smiling, no doubt hoping she could save the evening and steer it from the gutter with a question about football that Andy ignored. Instead, he took another large gulp from his glass. Florence guessed the beer he was holding was not his first this evening. He did not take notice or apparent interest in what Olivia had asked; instead his eyes now lingered on Florence’s dress.

  Thinking of all the strong women she had read about in her books, Florence prayed for her brain to come up with at least a few short sentences to inform Andy that he should leave because she was not interested, but her head felt empty. She tried to swallow but her mouth had gone dry.

  ‘Is this part of the foreplay, all the fabric and glasses? Are you like the naughty secretary and then you take it all off…’ Andy didn’t get to finish that thought, for Drew stood up and reached across the table, grabbing at his shirt collar at the same time Olivia threw her wine all over a shocked-looking Andy.

  ‘Get lost, mate,’ Drew said, letting go and shoving him out of the booth.

  ‘I’m so sorry. He’s a jerk, please don’t listen to him,’ Olivia pleaded, dabbing at her wet hands with a napkin, for the wine had splashed over her in her haste to throw it. Florence sat quietly for a moment trying to calm both the anger and pain bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Both Andy’s crude remarks and Olivia and Drew standing up for her in such a way had been rather unexpected and could have been avoided had she gone home like she had wanted to after work this evening.

  ‘We’re not all like that, Florence,’ Drew said, his brown eyes kind and his forehead furrowed with concern. For a minute Florence appreciated his big-brother-like manner and felt grateful for both his and Olivia’s protectiveness over her in the heat of the moment, but there was no way she wanted to stick around and talk about it and have Olivia pass it off as just another frog. She placed the menu down.

  ‘Thank you. Look, I’m going to go home, make a cup of tea for myself and my nanna and curl up with my book.’ She told them, her voice soft and sweet but stern as she shuffled out of the booth. Where had that sternness been a moment ago, brain? she scolded. Florence could see a hint of worry on Olivia’s face, but it was overshadowed by a smile tugging at her lips. Florence was smart enough to know that Olivia wanted to laugh it off and spend the evening dancing and encouraging her to cast it off as a silly anecdote of “boys will be boys” and Florence was in no mood for that. She didn’t want to be made to feel stupid once more for feeling things more deeply and reading into everything; she just wanted to go home.

  ‘Drew, Olivia, no more blind dates please. I know your hearts are in the right place, but I’m fine. I like being on my own. OK?’ Florence nodded at her friends and offered them a forced cheerful smile before exiting the too noisy establishment, her books calling her name.

  Three

  The curtains were wide open, the windows pushed open a crack, allowing the birds’ morning chorus to fill the room, which lay in a soft dim glow, for the sun had not yet come out to say hello. Florence was sitting in her spot on the cushy settee that after years of wear now had the comfiest of indents that fit her bottom perfectly. She was reading under the light of a lamp that loomed over her loyally while her nanna flicked through a book over in her armchair. The antique armchair was another well-loved feature in the small living room that one could not possibly be blamed for mistaking for a library. Books filled the shelves, covered the floor by Margot’s chair and Florence’s settee and stacks were piled high on the coffee table. It was Florence’s sanctuary.

  Slowly the room became brighter, the dust on the books more prominent as the sun rose high in the sky. Florence stretched out her legs and released a yawn. ‘Should we have our usual Saturday morning breakfast?’ Florence asked, looking over at her nanna to find that Margot was already looking at her. ‘Tea and pancakes?’ Florence asked, raising her eyebrows, and smiling, knowing too well the look on her nanna’s face and not wanting to address it.

  ‘I think you should go on holiday,’ Margot said. Her face was engraved with wrinkles telling of a happy, fulfilled life, but one that had not been without tragedy and deep pain. It was a face that had worn both smiles and frowns throughout Florence’s life. The face that gave Florence her most favourite smile in the world while also capable of displaying a stern glare so strict Florence had never failed to do her homework or respect her elders. Her nanna was an extraordinary lady and she and Florence shared a bond more special than most. It was this bond that meant Florence had to muffle a laugh at the ridiculous suggestion Margot had just made, for her nanna’s features were serious and Florence knew better than to laugh.

  ‘Where would I go?’ Florence enquired, just to play along but knowing full well that she would never take a real holiday and leave her nanna on her own. Margot had an imagination that rivalled her own and so Florence sat up in the belief that Margot might just be playing the game she used to play when Florence had been a little girl. They would lie on the carpet amongst the piles of books on the rug, look up to the ceiling and talk of all the worlds that they wished to explore and if they had a magic carpet where they would have it take them.

  ‘Anywhere, my dear, you can go anywhere.’ Her nanna smiled, placing her book on her side table and turning off her lamp, the sun now lighting up the room more boldly.

  ‘Shall I go somewhere hot or cold? Anywhere is quite overwhelming. You’ll have to help me narrow it down,’ Florence teased. When her nanna’s face softened, it put her own mind at ease. Maybe her nanna wasn’t being serious after all and she had just wanted to play. Florence knelt up; tucking her feet underneath herself. She leant over and turned off her own lamp before resting her bookmark neatly in the pages of her book.

  ‘Why don’t you pack a small suitcase and your heart will answer that one for you?’ Margot said. This had been Florence’s favourite part of the game as a child. They would each take out a small suitcase and her nanna would say: “Do not overthink, follow your heart and let it pick out what it likes,” and if Florence’s suitcase held jumpers and knits, they would dream up the snowy mountains they would hike and name the polar bears they would meet. If Florence’s suitcase was filled with dresses and sandals, they would be riding camels across the desert or splashing in the grandest swimming pool with giant floats.

  ‘Arrgh but before I can do that, I require sustenance. One’s heart cannot work if one’s belly is empty and one’s mind is crabby,’ Florence replied. As her nanna pushed herself up from her armchair, Florence heard her stomach growl and immediately jumped up out of her chair to
go and help her.

  ‘I can do it myself, you know. You go and pack,’ Margot said, unnerving Florence. Was she being serious about this holiday? Florence knew her nanna thought of herself as a spring chicken and rightly so. At eighty years old she was holding on to her independence – cooking, cleaning and constantly fussing over Florence to stop fussing over her. Florence didn’t want to see her as old and less so as vulnerable but after a fall last month, her invincible nanna had been shaken and forced to slow down a little and Florence was now fussier than ever. She took her beautiful nanna by the arm and they walked slowly into the kitchen.

  ‘So, pancakes it is. You know, change it up a bit,’ Florence joked, getting back to the topic of their Saturday treat. Saturday was their day to have a leisurely morning where they stayed in their pyjamas, read their books, and indulged in pancakes and copious amounts of tea.

  ‘Why not,’ Margot said with a chuckle. She glanced up at Florence with a look of pure love, her crystal eyes large and all knowing. Distracted in her haste for pancakes and to get her nanna safely to the kitchen, Florence missed those special eyes studying her face and her nanna trying to read her. It was not often that Florence kept things from her, but Margot knew something was amiss.

  Florence allowed Margot the dignity of taking the last few steps to the dining table on her own. It was true that she was capable of seating herself, so Florence saw to flicking on the kettle and retrieving all the ingredients and pans she needed for their Saturday tradition.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what happened last night?’ her nanna asked, as she poured the tea from the delicate teapot Florence had just placed on the table. Florence went back to stirring the pancake batter.

  ‘Nothing happened last night. I just caught up with Olivia and Drew for a minute after work,’ Florence said, not thinking of it as a lie. In her defence she had only agreed to go out on the premise that it was just her, Olivia and Drew having dinner. She hadn’t known until the last second that that had not been on the agenda from the start.

  ‘I always said you would make a fine actor, but Flo, my dear, I am your nanna and you buried your head so quickly in Little Women both last night and this morning that I would say something is very much amiss and I care to know what it is, please.’ Florence could not help the smile that tugged at her lips, one for the way in which her nanna spoke – she always sounded so elegant and sophisticated – two because her nanna never missed when Florence reached for her comfort blanket that was Little Women, and three because her nanna was the only person who truly saw her and loved every inch of her, so much so that Florence could never not tell her the truth, eventually.

  ‘I’m way out of my depth in the real world, Nanna. Men seem to think I’m either a dainty dame who will succumb to their every whim, for they are to be my very own Romeo, rather forgetting the charm and romance they should possess if that were the case, might I add. Or…’ Florence paused to flip a pancake as her nanna watched on, sipping her tea ‘…or they think I’m this kinky erotic type who spends my days fantasising about millionaires in suits who have a contract for me to sign and that they just have to say the word and I will rip my glasses off and devour them, with whips, tassels and all.’ Florence blushed a little but laughed a lot and out loud over her last qualm. Margot had never been one to sugar-coat anything and her nanna’s rendition of the birds and the bees had been delivered with a mix of beauty and poetic prose that was not shy in its explanation of love in all its forms. Florence had known of the many bells and whistles long before she read Fifty Shades of Grey.

  ‘Not to worry, my angel, not to worry,’ her nanna said, chuckling into her teacup. ‘Not all men mean to be so foul or cause you harm. When we do not understand something, we tend to misjudge it. The world these days is so full of variety and fancy packaging, it is hard to pause and we often forget what we are really looking for. Take our beloved books; nowadays, so much goes into the pictures on the covers that it cannot be helped that some will forget to look deeper or take the time to step in between the pages. Some men, and women mind you, see a pretty cover and they dare not ask what is inside it. All they are programmed to know is that they want it and some will go to any means necessary to get it without careful thought. They think they know what the cover is presenting them, or they misjudge it based on society’s stereotypes. They do not take the time to study within.’

  Florence flipped two pancakes on to her nanna’s plate and made an “mmm” sound, both for the deliciousness of the golden-brown pancakes and Margot’s words.

  ‘How did you get to be so wise?’ Florence asked knowing all too well the lessons her nanna had learnt over the years. Not wanting to bring up her painful past, she tried to keep the mood light.

  ‘Age is both a beautiful and harsh teacher,’ Margot replied, picking up her knife and fork to tuck in. But before she took a bite she paused, letting her fork hover at her lips as she watched Florence take her seat, adding fluffy pancakes to her own plate. ‘Promise me that you will keep that mind of yours open to all possibilities and not pass judgement on others. I taught you better than that.’ The old lady’s blue eyes locked with her granddaughter’s matching blue ones when she spoke, and Florence nodded.

  ‘Of course,’ Florence chirped innocently, feeling a knot of guilt in her stomach and trying her best to hide it. Confident as she was in her ability to not judge others based on appearance and even some actions, she didn’t quite feel as stellar in the keeping her mind open to all possibilities department. It had been five years since she had broken up with Ryan and she still could not find the confidence to join in with Olivia’s enthusiasm when her friend came across possible suitors. Granted every time she had been tricked into going along, they had not gone very well as Friday could attest, but there was no denying that Florence predicted their demise before the date had even gotten off the ground. She really did try though; she dreamt of meet-cutes and she fell head over heels with the heroes in her books, but when it came to real life, the “L” word was not something she let herself believe she could have anymore. She had been burnt too many times in more ways than one and it downright terrified her. And anyway, she didn’t need a man when books had proven far superior time and time again.

  ‘Now, you must make sure to pack your bag. I want to see what your heart desires.’ Her nanna spoke up after they had enjoyed their pancakes in a comfortable silence and were on their third pot of tea.

  Florence’s shoulders tensed. She had thought the game from earlier had been forgotten and that Margot had been joking. ‘My heart desires an adventure with Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy today, Nanna. Can we play that another day?’ Florence asked, hoping to put it to rest with a yawn and a stretch. She felt sleepy after her hearty breakfast and was ready to climb back into her dent on the settee, with nowhere else she or her nanna had to be today.

  The elder of the two motioned for the living room, causing Florence to jump up and offer her hand. Once comfy in their rightful reading places, her nanna spoke again. ‘Florence, you need a break and I will not take no for an answer. I cannot remember the last time you had a holiday and one should not go through life with all work and no play,’ Margot noted.

  Florence was listening but was determined to put Margot’s thoughts to bed. ‘You did not just quote my favourite book and use it against me?’ Florence quirked an eyebrow. Her nanna smiled devilishly.

  ‘You work far too hard Florence. You have been looking after me since you were a child and you have been working every day since it was legal for someone to hire you. I am putting my foot down this time, honey. I want you to take a holiday, like we used to, like we all used to.’ Her nanna was tenacious, Florence knew that much but what concerned her was the note of desperation in her tone and her inviting a trip down memory lane. A trip that Florence did not wish to take. Florence didn’t remember a great deal of her childhood before she turned five. She had a few golden nuggets she treasured and Margot ensured that Florence knew it was indeed a happy time
where they had been like any other family, going on holidays, laughing and playing without a care in the world, but Florence’s vision had become a touch blurry over the years.

  Florence sat up, her feet on the giant rug. ‘Nanna, please, I’m doing just fine. I don’t need a holiday. I like work; I can’t just take off. Now, can we please get back to our Saturday? I can stay right here on this couch and take as many holidays as I would like,’ she said, waving her book at Margot, keeping her voice light, and turning away to indicate that the conversation was now over.

  So, enamoured by the pages of her book, Florence paid no mind to her nanna watching her disappear into the pages of her treasured book. She was oblivious to the old lady’s heart filling with a ferocious pride and a strong wave of protectiveness. Margot had tried over the years, but Florence’s stubborn mind would not give in. Just a little push now – that is all she was going to give, and the rest would fall into place. For Margot was stubborn too and she was not about to give up where her granddaughter was concerned.

  Four

  ‘I’m sorry about Friday night,’ Olivia said, passing a sneaky custard cream to Florence under their desktops. The look on Olivia’s face the moment she had walked into the office this Monday morning told Florence that her friend had been riddled with guilt all weekend. Olivia looked at her with fluttery lashes and her chin tucked to her chest. When Florence accepted the biscuit her brows unfurrowed, and when Florence smiled and took a bite of the biscuit Olivia’s shoulders relaxed from around her ears and her head tilted upwards more confidently. This was Olivia’s sweet side, one that always gave Florence hope that one day she would listen to what she had to say and try to understand her a little more, but Florence had yet to see it last longer than any given week before Olivia was scheming again at the weekend.