Dream a Little Dream (22 page)

It’s a black and white picture of a young woman in a polka dot swimsuit, holding a Mr Whippy ice-cream in her hand. She’s grinning at the person taking the picture, which I’m assuming is Julian, rather than at the camera lens and her eyes are doe-like – filled with youthful love
and admiration. Written on the back in pencil, Julian has inscribed, ‘My girl Flo, September ’55’.

‘Isn’t she a beauty?’ Julian beams, turning the picture back to himself so that he can have another look. ‘And what a body.’

I sneak a glance at Real Brett and see him watching Julian in awe. It’s not just me our new friend has enthralled.

‘Seriously,’ says Julian, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘How on earth could I ever regret
that
.’

Quite.

When he takes the picture to his lips and kisses it, I have to dig my fingernails into my palms to stop myself from crying.

What a lovely man.

‘If you could go anywhere in the world,’ asks Real Brett. ‘Where would be your top choice?’

Julian puffs out his lips and blows a raspberry as he puts the picture of Flo back on his bedside table, his empty hands finding his pockets as his heels rock forward and back.

‘You know, I
should
say to go visit my son in America – he lives in New York. Got some important job over there. No idea where he got his brains from …’ he shrugs, tapping his head while simultaneously knocking on the wooden door of his wardrobe – trying to emulate the sound of his skull being nothing but an empty shell.

Real Brett guffaws beside me, clearly taken by Julian’s humour.

‘I’ve not seen him in a few years,’ he admits, winking at Real Brett through the sad admission.

‘Well, I guess you seeing him again would be nice,’ I
say, squirming slightly at the thought of the show becoming more of a
Surprise Surprise
segment where people get reunited with long-lost family instead of the inspirational thrill-seeking show I’d loosely intended.

‘But,’ Julian says, wistfully. ‘I don’t think many of these young travellers go to America, do they?’

‘Some do,’ shrugs Real Brett.

‘Hmmm … Well Patrick’s not like me and his mother, he’s not a performer and he’d hate taking part in anything like this,’ he says, pulling a face to express his disdain. ‘So why waste the ticket?’

‘Really?’ I ask, not wanting to change his mind but intrigued to hear more about this unusual family dynamic.

‘I can pop and see him on the way back …’ he says, seemingly enjoying the thought. ‘I could be a seasoned traveller by then. It would give me something to talk to him about. He’s always been quite the jetsetter, has Patrick.’

There’s a tinge of sadness to his admission, so this time I decide to leave it there and not prod further. I’m sure we’ll find out more in good time.

‘So, not New York – for now,’ I say.

‘No,’ he confirms, shaking his head.

‘Then where?’ asks Real Brett, smirking at Julian. ‘The world is literally your oyster.’

Julian puffs out a lungful of air and looks around his lacklustre room.

‘Anywhere,’ he says courageously. ‘Everywhere,’ he adds, the cheeky sparkle in his eyes returning as he boldly opens up a world of possibilities.

‘You know what, Julian,’ I say, elated to have found such
a wonderfully characterful man. ‘I think we might just be able to make that happen.’

The three of us stand grinning at each other – knowing that we’re on the cusp of an epic adventure.

I wake up to the sun shining through the gap in my curtains, spreading a thick strip of light across the room and on to my face. I lie there looking at the way the light bounces through the space, feeling calm and serene.

Turning on to my side, I’m aware of my skin sliding across the coolness of my silk sheets. I’m naked. Totally naked. Not like me – I prefer to wear a baggy old t-shirt and a pair of comfy knickers (Bridget Jones style) to bed, just in case something happens. Not entirely sure what I’m waiting for (a fire, burglar, my mum turning up unannounced), but it’s nice to know I wouldn’t have my foof and baps out if anything did.

So, my nakedness.

I look to the floor and see a pile of discarded clothes – an actual mound of clothes, some belonging to me and some belonging to … who?

A whistling in the kitchen causes me to hold my breath before my body dissolves and relaxes at the sound.

I groan and shimmy my bottom around, loving the sensation it sends through me of naughty sexiness as the sheets glide over my bare breasts and stomach. I’ve blatantly woken from a night full of satisfying sex as I feel glowing and wonderful.

‘Coffee?’ Dream Brett offers, his voice low and gravelly as he comes through my bedroom door bum first – although, sadly, it’s covered up in a pair of white Calvin Klein boxers, I still manage to admire its peachiness.

As he turns to face me I let out a sigh at the sight of his face. He looks deliciously dishevelled with his hair ruffled, creased-up face and the morning shadow of rough stubble on his face.

‘Thank you,’ I smile, delicately holding the sheets across my body as I reach up for the mug.

‘Actually,’ Dream Brett says, taking the coffee back from me and placing our mugs together on the bedside table. ‘I want to do this first.’

Joining me on the bed, he straddles me and cradles my head in his big, manly hands. Leaning over me, his hazelnut eyes twinkle as they gaze into mine.

We stay like that for a moment or two and I’m in heaven – enjoying the comfortable feeling of being utterly exposed, loving being able to admire every little fault and flaw on his perfect face – from the little wrinkles around his eyes to the tiny, almost invisible, scar below his right eye.

And he inspects me.

I glimmer at his scrutiny, knowing he won’t falter or wane at what he might find, knowing that every mark and blemish has a story to tell.

When he’s seen enough, he strokes his thumbs across my cheeks, his face lowering as his mouth finds mine for a soft, loving kiss.

‘Hmm …’ he groans.

I let out a chuckle as a fuzzy feeling invades my head.

‘That’s a fucking great way to start the day,’ he murmurs, placing both arms around my shoulders and pulling me into his chest, holding me tightly.

I feel secure, safe and loved …

I feel important.

Suddenly we’re up, dressed and out of the flat – looking like the perfect couple as we hold hands and walk along the sunny canal towards the station in our warm winter coats.

As we pass The Barge Café, Dream Brett drapes his arm around my shoulder and brings my body into his.

‘Our special place,’ he says, his lips talking into my hair and making my scalp tickle. ‘I’ve been wondering – what was your first impression of me?’

‘When?’ I ask.

‘When you saw me sitting in there.’

‘I was just grateful you weren’t reading porn like the schoolboys next to you,’ I smile.

‘Atrocious behaviour,’ he chuckles after a playful tut. ‘But seriously … ?’

‘Well, I’m here, aren’t I?’ I laugh, cuddling into him.

‘True.’ Pause. ‘I felt like it was meant to be. That we’d been drawn back together for a reason.’

‘Really?’ I ask, taken aback by the sentiment in his words.

‘Chance encounters don’t just happen for no reason,’ he shrugs. ‘There’s always some greater purpose behind them. People come into our lives because they’re meant to – they usually leave when they’re meant to too, but what does it mean when they come back?’

‘That they should’ve stayed away the first time?’

‘Or that they were never meant to leave?’ he asks slowly. ‘Food for thought.’

‘Yeah … I sigh.

When I open my eyes, my first thought is of Real Brett, not Dream Brett, and that terrifies and excites me all at once – I’m not sure how I feel about my dream feelings spinning into truth, or about how the line between reality and make-believe seems to be blurring with the two men merging into one romantic catch.

Do people really enter our lives for a reason? Is that
what I believe? If so, why have I been dealt the heartbreaking situation I’ve found myself in with Dan. Surely he’s served his purpose now (it was probably to break my soul into a million pieces so that I could claw my way back into society and find a desire to live life to the max – that’s what it would be in a film, anyway). Isn’t he meant to have buggered off again by now? Or is Real Brett here to repair the damage and make me see how beautiful opening up your heart to someone can be?

Destiny.

Fate.

Meant to be.

Written in the stars …

I’m not sure I believe any of it, and I’m doubly unsure over whether I need any guy swooping in to give me life lessons. I’m still hurting from the last wound, why would I open my heart for another so willingly?

It’s a thought I ponder as I shower, blowdry my hair and get dressed into the same blue swing dress I wore for my interview a few weeks ago.

‘Are you going to your quiz tonight?’ Real Brett asks later that morning as he settles a coffee on Julie’s and my desks.

Since learning which buttons to press on the machine (and that a cup should always be placed beneath the spout to collect the boiling brown liquid as it falls), Real Brett has taken it upon himself to become our personal refresher boy, bringing us drinks every few hours. It’s a kind gesture, and one that would be awkward if I were the only one benefitting from it – but seeing as Julie is being treated too (a fact she loves), I choose to just enjoy each new drinks
arrival rather than question it, even if it does give him licence to open up a conversation several times a day.

When Real Brett questions my evening plans, Julie looks up at me, grinning behind him – her eyes dancing with delight, obviously sensing a little bit of office gossip on the horizon.

‘Erm, that’s the plan,’ I say trying to ignore her as she performs a little celebratory jig with her arms. I make a mental note to correct her later on before nonsense gets whispered around about the two of us.

‘And who’s on the team?’ he asks.

‘Alastair, obviously. And then Carly, Josh, Natalia, Dan and Lexie.’

‘As in Dan your ex?’ he asks with a bemused frown.

‘I said we still saw each other,’ I shrug, feeling my cheeks redden a little bit at the unusual set-up.

‘And I take it Lexie is …’

‘The perfect one he left me for and is subsequently marrying in a few months’ time,’ I confirm, finishing his sentence for him in case he couldn’t quite fit the pieces of the fragmented puzzle together.

Julie dramatically flings her head forward on her desk, in mock despair at my tragic situation – ironic, as I feel like doing the same on a daily basis.

‘Nice,’ Real Brett responds, pursing his lips and looking baffled. ‘Anything else I should know?’

‘Carly’s pregnant with Josh’s baby.’

‘What?’ shrieks Julie, her head pinging back up like a jack-in-the-box.

‘Oh yeah …’ I say, sheepishly, realizing too late that I’ve just announced their bun-in-the-oven news to my co-workers,
even though Carly and Josh are trying to keep it between close friends and family for now.

‘Wow …’ Real Brett says, clearly not having expected that reply.

In hindsight his question might actually not have been a question but more of a remark on the delightful circumstances of my friendship group.

Ah well.

‘I didn’t even know they were a couple,’ Julie gasps, reeling from the news, looking like I’ve just told her that Cheryl Cole is actually Simon Cowell and Louis Walsh’s lovechild.

‘Neither did we,’ I say flatly, not wanting to discuss the topic that I shouldn’t have mentioned anyway.

‘Well …’ she breathes.

‘Obviously don’t say anything, though,’ I say with a panic.

‘My lips are sealed,’ he winks.

‘And mine,’ says Julie, pretending to zip across her mouth.

If only that gesture could actually keep her from opening her huge gob, I think, knowing that it’s never stopped her before.

Real Brett glances back over his shoulder at Julie having a flap, before turning to me.

‘And we’re going to Bethnal Green?’ he asks.

‘That’s right,’ I nod, wondering if he’s thinking about changing his mind now that he’s learnt more about my wacky friends and the unique relationships we share – he probably thinks we’re a right bunch of bed-hoppers.

‘Well, why don’t I come with you after work?’ he asks
casually. ‘We could even stop for a drink on the way and mull over our plan for Julian.’

‘I’d love to, but …’ I say, not able to find an excuse quickly enough – my brain stranding me and leaving me to stare at him with my mouth wide open like a confused fish instead. We do have to work out the details of where we’re going to send our new friend, and then work on pitching the idea to others in the company, but the whole thing sounds more like a cheeky date than a casual brainstorming session and I’m still not certain I want that – despite what my dreams might be trying to tell me.

‘Right,’ Real Brett nods, unable to contain a smirk at my awkward response as he slowly puts his hand to his chest and bangs on it a couple of times. ‘Shot down twice. I’ll try not to be offended.’

I can’t help but laugh.

He
was
after a cheeky date.

‘I’ve got loads to do here,’ I shrug, gesturing towards my desk while tapping my pen against my luxurious notebook.

‘Oh …’ he says, his bottom lip pouting out. ‘Christmas party admin?’

‘Something like that,’ I nod, although I’m fairly on top of all that if I’m honest. I just know that if I say I’ve got to do anything on
Grannies Go Gap
he’ll offer to help or suggest we do it together … and I’d rather not have to worm my way out of that one too.

‘Actually, I should probably work on a few bits here anyway …’ he muses, rubbing his chin and looking around the office.

‘There we go then,’ I smile, picking up my coffee and taking a gulp.

‘We’ll both stay late to work and leave together a bit later. We can just head straight to see your bunch together,’ he nods decisively before turning on his heels and heading back to his desk.

I stare at the back of his head in shock, trying to block out the laughter that’s coming from Julie’s desk, and the fact I can see her shoulders shaking in my peripheral vision.

What I really wanted to do was slink off home and freshen up before heading to the pub later with my mates. Now, as if it’s not bad enough that Real Brett is coming along for an evening with them, I’m now going to have to stay at the office for an extra hour or so to stop me looking like a complete bitch.

Argh.

What a pain in the arse.

Even though I’ve been on the single scene (punch me now because I hate that term) for the last two years, I’ve never really dated. I’ve had encounters, but never in that time have I had to walk into where my friends are gathered with a guy in tow. Which is why I feel my face blush and my insides curdle aggressively as I walk into the pub with Real Brett by my side.

It’s not a date.

He’s not my boyfriend.

We are not romantically linked in any way.

Not really – even though I have a million romantic moments surging through my heart with someone that looks and seems a whole lot like him, all of which he’s totally unaware of.

It feels weird, especially as I decided not to tell any of them that he was coming with me. I think I was still living in the hope that he’d change his mind or remember some important poetry recital he had to go to (or something equally as riveting). Of course, I could’ve warned them when we left the office and made our way over, but by then I was feeling quite sick about the whole thing and didn’t want to make a huge deal of it. I figured this was the most casual way of turning up with our old fleeting friend and my current work colleague who my subconscious mind had turned into my boyfriend before he re-entered our lives.

When worded like that, I’ve no idea why I’d have an issue with it.

Alastair and the boys greet him as they would an old friend (because he is an old friend to a certain degree) – with man hugs and slaps on the back, although seeing Dan welcome him so warmly causes my nostrils to do a little dance of revulsion. Natalia coyly glances up from her iPhone long enough to throw a surprised little wave and a wink in his direction before looking back at her screen, and Lexie sweetly kisses him on both cheeks – happy to meet an old friend of Dan’s.