Dream a Little Dream (3 page)

‘Great!’ I interject with more gusto than necessary, not wanting to hear any more about Perfect Lexie. I’d love to say I’m not as bothered by her presence in our lives as I used to be (I’m aware how unhealthy it is to hold a grudge for so long over her perfectness – she can’t help it), but she’ll always be the girl who I got left for, so I don’t really want to sit here hearing my best mate Natalia gas about how fab she is. ‘Pub later?’

‘Of course,’ Natalia responds. ‘Where else would I be on a Wednesday night? We’ve got to win our crown back.’

When we first started pub quizzing we were pretty naff, but somehow over the years we’ve become semi-decent pub quizzers and (thanks to the world of twitter keeping us all up to date on current affairs – yes, I do use it for more than just stalking Jessica Alba’s beautiful Honest Life) we’ve managed to scrape our way to success. A grand total of thirteen times we’ve topped the leader board and won a free round of drinks – no drink tastes as good as a free one and the last time we received one of those was two weeks ago. Last week we lost to a team of local performing art students who we’d never even seen in the pub before. Tonight, it was time to reclaim our winner’s title.

‘Sweet. See you there!’ I chirp, putting down my phone, closing my webpages along with the ghastly Facebook invite and immersing myself in my to-do list – a collection of chores that I’m sure aren’t worth the time I spent slaving away at university – or the debt it put me in. The first three bulleted tasks are to pick up dry-cleaning (easy and I love an excuse to get out of the office), phone the DVLA to query the three points Jonathan’s wife Dianne accrued when speeding up the M6 in their Bentley (not entirely sure what they expect me to do) and look into getting Beyoncé tickets for Jonathan’s teenage daughter Harriet and her mates (a gig that has been sold out for at least six months). Not one of those are TV related at all, but I guess that’s the life of a PA – it’s my job to make Jonathan’s life as easy as possible so that he is able to perform to the best of his abilities in his job … which includes making his home life easier too. Well, it takes a pretty understanding wife not to mind the many late nights and weekends of unkept plans, a fact she constantly reminds him of.

I’m about to look up the number for the DVLA when Jonathan comes out of his glass cubicle and over to my desk.

‘Sarah … ?’ he starts with a frown as he looks down at his mobile phone, oblivious to the crumbs that have dusted his black sweater vest.

‘Yes, Jonathan?’ I smile, happy to be distracted, hoping he’s got a wonderfully exciting and creative task for me to take on.

‘Could you get me a cup of tea? Mine’s cold – oh, and two sugars this time, please,’ he adds, with what appears to be a conspiratorial wink.

Clearly that’s not something to tell his wife about. The extra spoonful of sugar I mean. Not the wink.

Eurgh.

After scrambling through rush hour on the tube and heading home to freshen up, Carly and I find Alastair, Josh and Natalia already sat at a table in the corner of our local that we’ve christened ‘our spot’. Surrounded by plum plush cushions and dimly lit in the dingy pub setting, the table is scattered with empty crisp packets and, judging by the empty glasses in front of them, the boys have moved on to their second pints of the night. Having already had a trip to the gym (lads) to play squash (not so laddy), they’re both in their comfy clothes, looking rosy-cheeked from the exercise and the gym’s piping hot showers – meaning they smell yummy and fresh, too.

Natalia, on the other hand, is still in her smart grey work suit (she loves a fitted jacket/skirt combo) and is perched to the side of Alastair, frowning into her iPhone – no doubt scouring the internet for an antique piece of furniture or discontinued piece of fabric made in the deep dark holes of some faraway place. Her petite frame is hunched over in frustration, but as Alastair nudges her to let her know we’ve arrived, the worry dissolves and she looks up with a beautiful smile, sweeping her long dark hair away from her tanned face and flicking it elegantly over her shoulder. She jumps up from her seat and wraps her arms around both of us at once.

We sway in our hug, all ‘Aahing’ at being reunited –
something that never fails to spread a tinkling of happiness through my weary workday bones.

‘Hiya,’ sings Carly with a grin, breaking away and plonking herself down next to Josh, who instantly pulls her in for a hug and kisses her on the head. My bearded blond friend is unquestionably the best hugger to have ever graced the earth – it’s one of his better qualities and makes up for the fact that he’s usually late for everything and is the messiest person ever. His hugs really surround you and make you feel safe – it’s probably aided by the fact that he’s not muscle-ready like Dan, or model-thin like Alastair. He’s simply wonderful.

‘Beer?’ Josh asks, as Carly picks up his pint and takes a swig from his glass. There’s no need for polite etiquette here – there never is when you’ve seen each other in the worst states possible.

‘Please,’ Carly grins, her freckled face making her look like a naughty child. Even though she returned from travelling a couple of years ago (just in time to witness me get savagely dumped) she’s still managed to maintain her bohemian look – her white blonde hair looks continuously windswept no matter what she does with it, and her clothes always have that slight ‘rolled out of bed’ look about them. A look she manages to pull off effortlessly. If I tried out that style I’d appear ten sizes larger than I am and my mum would be chasing after me with an iron. Oh the shame that’s attached to a creased top in my family home!

‘That’s us, then,’ says Alastair in his warm Leeds accent, looking around the table once the drinks and food have been ordered. His thick long hair is pulled up into an effortless man bun, giving me serious hair envy. It seems so
unfair that my hair – which, as society has led us to believe, should always be down in lusciously flowing locks – is frizzy and uncontrollable, whereas his – which society denotes should be kept short and boring – is hair I’d sell my left foot for. Alastair really has that trendy East London look perfected with his man bun, tattooed arms (I could sit for hours looking at that inked artwork and still manage to find something new that I hadn’t noticed before – angels, aliens, clock faces, pin-up girls – they’re all in there), and his ability to pull off the double denim look with ease – I’d just look like I was auditioning to be in a B*witched tribute act if I attempted anything similar.

‘What about Dan and Lexie?’ asks Carly. ‘They not coming?’

Their absence hadn’t escaped my notice, obviously – I was busy enjoying my friends without them. Plus, I might put on a front of being okay with everything, but I’d never outright ask a question about them if it can be helped. Even now, after two years. I prefer to have them banished from my thoughts whenever possible.

‘Unpacking boxes,’ Alastair laughs in reply, his olive-coloured face creasing up around his dark eyes.

Josh and Alastair raise their thumbs in the air before pushing them down into the table and giving them a little twist – causing them to erupt with laughter.

‘Under the thumb?’ I question with a smile, raising an eyebrow at their charade skills and immature behaviour.

‘Totally,’ laughs Josh with a wink.

Has been from the day he met her, I think to myself – pleased that I manage to keep bitter or sad thoughts like that to myself. It’s somewhat comforting to hear the boys
have a little dig at my past love and the dude that left me behind when something better came along.

Relief floods through me knowing the perfect duo won’t be joining us tonight. I’m surprised to feel my shoulders noticeably relax at the news and the rest of my body soften – I wasn’t consciously aware I was still so tense about the whole thing. Although, perhaps the fact they’ve moved into their first proper home isn’t helping to ease my strained mind.

‘We all going on Friday?’ asks Natalia.

‘Bit soon for a house party,’ suggest Josh, opening another bag of salt and vinegar crisps along the seam so that everyone can tuck in – too hungry to wait patiently for the food that’s on its way to us.

‘That’s what I said,’ says Natalia, diving in for a crisp while looking at me with a satisfied expression.

‘And talk about last minute,’ adds Carly with a munch.

‘I know, how on earth can I find something to wear in just two days?’ Josh gently mocks as he raises his hand to his chest to highlight the ‘drama’.

‘Oi,’ Carly pouts as though insulted, making Josh pop his arm around her again in case he’s actually offended her – which, of course, he hasn’t.

‘He’s probably getting us round there under false pretences,’ says Alastair. ‘He’ll be handing out tools at the door and getting us to paint.’

‘I’m rubbish at decorating,’ I admit, wanting to join in the conversation somehow, even if it is about my ex and the lovely new home he’s bought. I’ve learnt over time that silence is the best way to draw attention to yourself around this bunch. Silence equals unhappiness – voiced
thoughts of any kind mean you’re fine, which is why I’ve been known to goofily join in with chatter that outsiders would rightly assume uncomfortable for me to be a part of. ‘Although sounds like Natalia’s perfect Friday night,’ I joke.

‘Bagsie the roller!’ shouts Carly with one hand in the air. ‘What? There’s only ever one and I’m not being told off for my shabby edge work. Dan won’t care but Lexie will be totally anal about sharp lines.’

‘And so she should be,’ frowns Natalia, shaking her head as though trying to eradicate the thought of a badly painted wall before it lingers and gives her nightmares. ‘We’re not going to be painting.’

‘Yeah, I was only joking. I’m pretty sure they’re getting a team in for that,’ says Alastair, sniffing as he pulls his pint to his lips and knocks it back. ‘And I don’t mean us!’

‘Oh shit,’ Josh mutters under his breath.

We all follow his gaze and spot the cause for his interruption – it’s the winning team from last week, the performing arts bunch. We were hoping their arrival last week was a one-off, but judging by the theatrical way they’re pirouetting through the door, it looks like their victory has given them a thirst for more. How annoying.

‘Eurgh,’ snarls Carly, one side of her upper lip curling up in disgust.

I can’t help but laugh at the serious expressions on my mates’ faces as their hope of a free drink is put at risk – it’s not like we’re all students, still living off our student loans like the opposition! We all have actual jobs. We can actually afford to buy them – and generously pay for theirs if we wanted to!

For me, the reason I love quiz nights is not about the free pint or glass of wine (depending on my mood).

It’s not about winning.

It’s about being here with my best mates, totally united against the rest of the room. Having my friends all in one spot (especially without certain people) pleases and relaxes me. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be but in their company with this feeling of unwavering togetherness.

Who would’ve thought that some crappy questions on naff topics could evoke such a powerful feeling?

I’m caught in an unexpected downpour on my way to work. I reach into my bag for my emergency umbrella – always there, just in case (Mum would be proud) – but as I go to put it up I discover the whole thing is made of giant pink feathers. I faff and shake it, trying to get the blooming thing to work and protect me from the rain in some way, but it’s no use. Instead I release a puff of fluff into the air as the feathers become loose and eventually fall to the ground.

I squirm and shudder as cold water trickles down my neck and finds its way to the inside of my coat – soaking my work clothes and, more uncomfortably, my knickers.

It’s pouring. Like, torrential rain. Big dark clouds have graced the skies from nowhere and I can hear the rumblings of angry thunder in the distance.

Looking up, I spot The Barge Café and decide to take refuge. I don’t really have time – I’ll definitely be late – but there’s no way I’m walking to the station in this weather, I decide. Plus I had my hair sorted at the hairdressers the day before – a new head of caramel highlights and an angular sixties bob that Vidal Sassoon would be proud of – so I’d rather get it out of the wet in the hope that it’ll go back to the pristine style it was in when I left the hairdressers and not curl into a frizzy mess. It’s unlikely, but it’s worth a shot.

At the counter I continue to battle with my useless umbrella while ordering a vanilla latte (full fat, extra syrup). Once the umbrella is finally down (the feathers are all crushed and disfigured, but at least
I won – it’s now compact, at least) and I’m handed my coffee, I look up and realize there are no free tables, although there are the odd spare seats scattered around. Clearly, I’m not the only one hiding from the awful downpour.

I look around at the other customers and wonder which of them I wouldn’t mind sitting next to. Not being snobby, but I don’t fancy sitting next to the two schoolboys who are clearly looking at some lad’s mag while excitedly munching on their bacon butties.

Then my eyes land on him.

Brett Last, flicking his shaggy blond hair out of his face with a quick movement of his head.

It’s quite a beautiful sight.

I’m still ogling his perfectly structured face, his square jawline and thinly formed lips when he looks up with his gorgeously sexy hazelnut-coloured eyes, all stripy and golden brown, and sees me staring.

I’m pretty sure my mouth is open in a gawping fashion.

I might even be dribbling.

Yep.

Just a bit.

Okay, a lot.

‘Sarah Thompson?’ he calls over in surprise, his face awash with delight.

I nod. It’s all I can manage.

‘I’m Brett – we met a few years ago? At that party?’ he says as though it’s a question, perhaps thinking the gawping expression I’m currently wearing means I don’t have the foggiest who the Adonis sat in front of me is.

‘Yes, yes. I remember,’ I reply, brushing my soggy hair away from the side of my face with the back of my wrist while I juggle with my useless umbrella and hot coffee.

‘Come sit down,’ he insists, pulling out the empty seat next to him and patting it.

Why bloody not, I think to myself as I make my way over – gliding past the other customers – my eyes firmly set on the seat next to Brett …

Brandon Flowers has a lot to answer for, I groan, as his rocky crooning takes me away from The Barge Café, away from that seat and away from Brett’s unbelievably magical eyes that I was just about to gaze into.

So odd
, I think, the thought of the handsome near-stranger making me smile as I cuddle into my pillow dreamily, wishing it could physically morph into the beautiful Brett.

I sigh longingly at the thought.

If only …

I wonder if I could actually pull off a bob now that I’m an adult. My mum decided to chop all my hair off when I was nine because I’d been chewing gum at a friend’s house (I wasn’t allowed it at home) and it somehow ended up tangled in my hair when it fell from my mouth as we were playing (on reflection that’s probably why Mum banned gum indoors). Apparently there was no alternative but to lop off my almost-bum-length hair to just below my ears, creating a nasty nest on the top of my head.

I looked like a little boy with a crazy afro …

It was tragic.

Would I be tempting fate to repeat itself if I took the plunge and chopped it all off now? Probably. My frizzy, unruly, straw-like mane would enjoy the weightlessness far too much and go crazy.

What a shame.

But Brett …

I laugh as I give the pillow another squeeze at the thought of him.

‘Sar,’ calls Carly, walking through the door without knocking with her phone to her ear – she’s wearing off-white cotton knickers and a pink vest top that’s struggling to contain her huge boobs. Plus, I can see her nipples through the fabric – not that I’ve not seen her totally naked on multiple occasions, but it’s still a sight first thing in the morning. ‘Nat’s on the phone. What are you wearing tonight?’ she asks, leaning on the doorframe with her hand on her hip.

‘God knows,’ I frown, a knot forming in my stomach from the thought of having to go to the housewarming.

‘Casual though, yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ I reply, my fingertips digging into the pillow in my arms.

‘Told you,’ Carly says into the phone before laughing at Natalia’s reply. ‘Are you coming here to get ready? Oh okay, we’ll just meet you there then.’

Carly gives me a wink and then leaves the room, shutting the door behind her as she goes.

Frustrated, I tense my elbows into my ribs, tighten my hands into fists, clench my butt and bring my knees into my chest. Opening my mouth, I give an almighty voiceless scream, my body shaking as I do so.

Once it’s out, and my body is no longer scrunched in rage, I take a deep breath and feel my head ringing from the pressure.

I feel sick when we arrive at Dan and Perfect Lexie’s house. It’s as wonderful as I’d feared and I can’t help but
feel deflated that it’s not mine and that I have to be there to witness the milestone while giving lots of friendly supportive chatter.

I’d already been online and checked out the property on Rightmove as soon as they said they said they’d put in an offer (don’t judge me, I’m just a nosy ex with nothing better to do than dream of the house I might’ve lived in once upon a time) – but this two-bed house is even more beautiful in real life. Don’t get me wrong – it’s not a mansion or anything grand – but it’s homely, snug and theirs. No wonder I’m smacked with jealousy once we land on their ‘home sweet home’ doormat.

Dan answers the door with a megawatt smile that would make Mickey Mouse proud. His dark hair has been freshly cut – short at the back and sides with a bit of length on the top. It’s the same style he’s had since I first met him – actually, he did have a skinhead at one point, but that was only because the trainee at the barbers totally messed it up and ran a pair of clippers too far up the back. Dan was mortified and wore a snapback for a whole month. He even tried sleeping in it at first until I managed to persuade him otherwise. Still, I guess it’s nice that he cared what I thought.

Back then.

‘Ladies,’ he grins, moving to one side and welcoming us in. As soon as the door is shut he makes the lunge for a hug – humming as his strong arms really squeeze me into his soft blue jumper and crush my Remembrance Sunday poppy, before finally releasing me and moving on to Carly. It kills me that he still smells of Issey Miyake – a scent that lingers for eternity. I make a mental note to take my coat
to the dry cleaners first thing – or to douse it in Febreze before I go to bed. There’s nothing worse than getting an unexpected whiff of an ex and being transported back to a time you’d long since forgotten … or wish you could forget.

Thankfully Carly and me aren’t the first to arrive from our bunch – Natalia and Alastair are already loitering in the kitchen when we get there, talking to a few of Perfect Lexie’s best mates – Hannah, Alice and Phoebe.

I smile outwardly, but internally my insides groan.

I’m sure they’re all fantastic girls, but they love to get drunk and tell me how weird it is that I can’t let go of Dan – especially as he’s clearly so happy and well suited to their wonderful friend Perfect Lexie.

Alice in particular freaks me out a little – she’s so cute and innocent the majority of the time, but having been jilted by her ex-fiancé a few years ago she’s super untrusting and highly suspicious of me – it’s a side of her that loves to come out when she’s been on the vino, which is a little unnerving as she’s currently stood nursing a glass of red as she leans against the kitchen side and talks to Alastair in an animated fashion.

Yes, I understand how strange it must be for them all to have Dan’s ex floating around whenever there’s a social gathering, but I’m pretty sure I lost my grip of him and any hope of our future together when he dumped my wobbly arse and went off with their mate a couple of years ago.

I seriously hope I’m not cornered by any of them tonight and lumbered in any sort of awkward conversation. Although, like I said, I’m sure they’re great when they’re not wined up and ready to give a lecture.

By the time Josh joins us an hour later, we’ve moved into
the living room and the party is in full swing with around thirty of their mutual friends sipping wine and catching up on the dramas life has graced us with since our last social gathering – which I believe was Dan’s birthday last month. I’m thankful that our little group has taken ownership of Dan’s spanking new bright orange sofa, meaning I’ve been able to wedge myself in between Alastair and Natalia – making the prospect of having to talk to others outside my friendship group relatively low. Hurrah.

‘I can’t get over how gorgeous this place looks already,’ gushes Natalia to Perfect Lexie, who has been floating around the room serenely since we arrived, like a chuffed little fairy. There’s not even a hint of apprehension that someone might mess up her freshly decorated pad with muddy footprints or by clumsily spilling red wine on their newly restored wooden floor. It’s almost as though her mind is off somewhere else (albeit a happy place). I’d be having major anxiety if it were me. Especially as they’ve clearly worked so hard on the place. In just a week, it’s already changed drastically from the pictures I saw online during my stalking session. I’m surprised that it’s not been decorated in a twee and girlie manner like I had expected with Perfect Lexie in charge – instead it’s vibrant, bold and strong. The walls remain neutral with dull greens, greys and creams, letting the furniture and accessories bring the room to life with blocks of colour. I wouldn’t have put Dan down as the sort to have bright orange and purple sofas – but in this room it works in a non-feminine way. It’s certainly a home for both the sexes.

‘It’s stunning,’ I say honestly, hating myself as the words come out.

‘Thank you,’ giggles Perfect Lexie. ‘We’ve had the week off so have managed to get loads done.’

‘Poor Dan,’ laughs Alastair, subtly circling his thumb around the tip of his nose. Perfect Lexie is clearly unaware of the gesture, but I’ve clocked it and, judging from the grin on his face, Josh has too.

‘I’m in shock,’ smiles Natalia, continuing to look around the room. ‘You two could become a decorating master team with this speed. I’d hire you.’

‘Well, we wanted to make sure it looked decent before having everyone over – but there’s still so much left to do. Especially upstairs – you should see the state of our bedroom!’

While the thought of their bedroom lingers in my mind, bringing on a nauseous feeling, Dan comes over and puts his arm around Perfect Lexie’s waist. Running his hand under her cream knitted cardigan and over the flowery fabric of her blouse, he bends to whisper something in her ear.

She looks up at him with the same serene expression she’s been wearing all night and then nods with a glowing smile.

I watch as Dan takes her hand and turns to face the room.

‘Okay everyone,’ he calls above the chatter and the sound of Ke$ha’s ‘Tik Tok’ playing in the background.

It takes a moment for everyone to adhere to his request and for the music to be turned down, during which time Dan turns to our group and grins manically.

‘While we’re all here and coherent,’ Dan starts, looking at Perfect Lexie and flashing her a slight raise of his eyebrows, causing her to giggle into his chest before turning
around and smiling at the room. ‘We just wanted to thank everyone for coming along tonight. No doubt some of you are just here for a little snoop around, but it means a lot to us to have you here helping to create some new memories in our new home.’

He pauses then and his cheeks begin to flush. If I didn’t know Dan I’d think it was the fact that he’s decided to wear a jumper even though we’re indoors, in a heated home that’s filled with people – but I do know him, and I know that flush of colour means that he’s about to say something of great importance. Something that means a lot to him.