Someone Else's Dream (6 page)

For that brief moment, for Hayleigh, it felt as if it was eight years earlier and the baby that was growing inside her was the man’s she was now with. Matt was the father, it was Aimee that she bore. She had gone back in time without realising it and was no longer in control of her emotions, and it was okay. For that moment everything was okay.

“Say goodbye to me properly, let me take you to my bed,” he whispered to Hayleigh. Matt took her by the hand and led her upstairs and they said goodbye in the only way they knew how, as they made love passionately, both knowing that they had finally moved on.

An hour later, Hayleigh left and after having another shower, Matt started his Lexus and pulled out onto the High Street towards Doncaster.
I haven’t had a shag for almost three years, now I’ve had three in sixteen hours.
He laughed out loud as he drove into town, feeling that somehow Marcia and Hayleigh had helped him to move on as well. He hoped he had returned the favour, but somehow, he didn’t think he had. There were always consequences for actions, and he didn’t think he would be the one who would have to pay.

His shopping spree in the indoor shopping centre went well; three pairs of jeans, two tops, two T-shirts and a new pair of trainers; all designer gear. Now, all he wanted was some flowers and bed-time reading. He bought the flowers from the mobile stall that was in the shopping mall and made his way to Waterstone’s Book Store.

He was delighted to see on display was Stephen King’s latest novel, ‘Finders Keepers’ and he immediately picked it up. King was his favourite author and he’d read everything he had ever published. The offer suggested, if you bought the hardback book, you could also purchase ‘Charlotte’s Dream’ by Carla Reid, in hardback, at a cut-price £4. He picked that up and read the blurb inside. It told him she was a Welsh author and this was her first novel. He thought how good that must feel, knowing how difficult it could be to get recognised. The blurb told him how delighted she was and she felt like she was living; ‘someone else’s dream.’ He liked that expression. It gave him an idea for when he wrote his own novel. The book was about a council-house kid made good; not his usual genre, but there was something about it that drew him in. He looked at the photo of the author and thought she was very beautiful. He took both books to the counter and paid.

He loaded his stuff into the boot, paid for his ticket and drove home to Hatfield. When he got home he unloaded the car and took his stuff in the house and just dumped it on the settee. Grabbing the flowers, he took the short walk to the Bluebell Pub. He hoped Marcia was working the same hours today. If she was, she would just be finishing.

As he walked into the Bluebell Pub Marcia had just finished and she was sat there with a half of lager, a ritual she would always perform at the end of her shift, before going home. Her face lit up when Matt walked in and handed her the flowers. He didn’t say anything he went to the bar and got himself a beer and sat down beside her.

“What are these for?” she asked, the delight showing on her pretty, but chubby face.

“For yesterday; you don’t know how much you helped me get through a difficult day,” he told her.

Marcia blushed. “I don’t mean that,” he laughed.

“So you didn’t enjoy it?” she mocked.

“I loved it and you know I did.”

“Fancy a repeat performance tonight?” she asked. Marcia had no idea where that had come from. It felt as if it was not her words and somebody else had spoken them for her. Whoever it was, who said those words; she was glad they did. He smiled, but she saw him take a deep breath and a look of embarrassment came over her face. She could also feel herself going red.

Matt did fancy it, but he was unsure where it was leading to. He didn’t want a relationship, he wanted his terms. Marcia was his for the taking whenever he wanted, he knew that.

“Look, just as fuck-buddies, I hadn’t had it for ages until last night. I just need a bit more of a seeing too and that should keep me going for a while”. She felt comfortable saying it; it was like Matt had helped her let her inhibitions down. She thought she had nothing to lose. He laughed at her mannerisms.

“Only if you come to mine and I cook for you.”

“Only if you have me for desert!” she giggled.

They drunk up and left. Matt cooked dinner and they both enjoyed their desert.

*              *              *

By 9pm Marcia had left, feeling very fulfilled and not expecting to have to be intimate with Matt for some time. He had fulfilled her needs and she quite liked using him for that. Her crush on him had gone, but she still fancied him like hell and every now and again she would let him fuck her brains out if that’s what he wanted. After all, he was very good at it. He had given her a new found confidence; he made her feel desirable once more. She didn’t love him, but loved him for making her feel as good as she did. She got her phone out and sent him a text.

Matt sat on his sofa in his lounge feeling more satisfied and tired than he had been in a long time; having had his fourth sexual exploit in less than twenty-four hours. Whilst Marcia was certainly addictive and her enthusiasm could not be faulted, the one he will remember most was with Hayleigh. Their moment of Farewell, when they both finally went their separate ways; the faint hopes of a reconciliation no longer hanging but fully quenched. He wondered what the consequences would be and thought he might be the one to instigate those consequences. He felt good, in fact, he felt better than he had for a long time. He thought maybe it was because he hadn’t taken his tablets and whatever was in those pills were getting out of his system, turning him into the man he was about to become. His phone beeped it told him he had a message, it was from Marcia, it read.

‘
Just to let you know I could hardly walk home, you animal... lol, the flowers look lovely. I got an idea to save any awkwardness. If you fancy a shag just text ‘dinner’ and if I do too ill reply ‘dessert’ if I fancy a shag ill text ‘dessert’ and if you want too, reply ‘dinner’. Whadya think fuck-buddy?”

Matt laughed out loud he texted her back. He thought it was an excellent idea; the simplicity of it had sent his head in a whirl.
‘Dinner’.

His phone beeped again.
‘Animal!’

He texted back;
‘Good night fuck-buddy.’

‘Nite Nite till next time.’

His eye caught the two books he had bought earlier and placed on his book shelf. He picked up the book by Carla Reid titled ‘Charlotte’s Dream’. He admired the girl from Wales. He stared at the picture of the author on the back for a while and closed his eyes to imagine her naked, lying alongside him. He opened the book to the first chapter and started reading. It was two hours later before he put the book down not quite half way through. He’d got so absorbed in it, the time just flew by. It wasn’t so much the story that captured him, but the writing style. He wondered how a two-bit author, from a rain-sodden country, could have made it so big in the world of literature. He felt there was nothing spectacular about it, yet he couldn’t put it down. Now he was struggling to keep his eyes open and as good as it was or wasn’t, whichever way he looked at it, the words were becoming jumbled as he struggled to focus. He put his book marker in the book and laid it on the table, wanting the next day to start so he could continue reading it. For some reason he wanted to get inside this author, find out what made her tick. There was something about her that had got to him; something that just didn’t fit. Reading the book was just the first stage to finding out what.

It took him less than a minute to fall asleep; a real deep, satisfying sleep that he hadn’t had for a long, long, time. His first dream was of Marcia and the wild sex they’d had. In his dreams they were trying it in all positions, but what started as a passionate dream quickly changed to violence, as he began forcing her to do things she wasn’t keen on doing at all.

Then he dreamt of his wife, in which the dream was intimate and passionate. There was no sexual violence in this dream, just passion and he let out a satisfying moan as he slept. His next dream was a common dream; it was of his daughter, but this dream was different. It wasn’t about him pushing her on the swing, or watching her play with her dolls; his daughter was talking to him and she was telling him to write that book that he had always wanted to. She was telling him to stop mourning for her; that the angels were looking after her; that she was pleased for Mum and now she wanted him to move on also. ‘Write that book Daddy’ was the last thing he heard her say in his dream. He would not remember that advice when he awoke in the morning.

His final dream of the night was about a lady in Wales. She had written a book, but that lady was being stalked by a disgruntled fan, someone who believed she didn’t deserve the success she’d had. That made him shift in his bed, uncomfortably. He woke up in the morning refreshed, having had one of his best sleeps in a very long time. Some of the dreams were still vivid in his mind. He didn’t always remember his dreams, but this time, he was glad he did.

He showered with a big smile on his face, not bothering to talk to his penis in the mirror. He knew Johnny was just as satisfied as he was. He had no work; choosing not to go in and he simply wasn’t bothered if there were ramifications due to his absence. He somehow felt that morning that his Garden Centre career was probably over. He had another career to think about now. He made his coffee and cornflakes and decided to settle down on the sofa to finish the book he had started to read the night before.

Three hours later he had finished one of the most satisfying reads he’d had for a long time. He had felt close to the author as if they had something in common. A bond had been formed, he realised that now. The book, “Charlotte’s Dream”, had become part of his life, along with the person who wrote it. He certainly would be looking out for her future novels. He felt that it was so enthralling that it inspired him to write. He thought of his own success and his own books displayed on the shelves at Waterstones. Carla Reid was in his head now and he was no longer taking the tablets that may have removed her.

He booted up his laptop and soon had a blank page staring at him. He already had the basis of a novel in his head. A lot of it had come in his dreams. He sat looking at the blank screen for at least five minutes as he went through his thought process. He just needed the Title and a hundred different ones went through his head. He wanted something simple but that would stand out; something to lure the reader in. Then he typed down one word in bold and underlined.

Stalker

He then started to write.

Chapter One:

Coral Reece finished work at 5pm that day…

He sat and wrote for a further three hours, at times pausing for thought and making a coffee, only to soon be back typing again. He typed his last word for that session and let out a big sigh as a big smile creased his face. He had finished Chapter One. He shut his laptop down and sat grinning idiotically to himself. He had finally done it and the first successful novel he always wanted to write was finally underway. It was a feeling he had never felt before and could only imagine what it would feel like when he finally finished it. It was far better than anything he had recently read. Stardom loomed and it was just a few brief chapters away.

He did some household chores and then spent some time tending his beloved flower beds, weeding in between the annuals and the perennials. He mowed his lawn and trimmed the borders, all the time thinking about the last book he read. Occasionally his thoughts went to his latest novel with Chapter Two already firmly fixed in his mind.

Suddenly, he realised he hadn’t eaten all day. He also felt like celebrating his achievement, in the only way he knew how, with the only person in his life at that moment. He got out his phone and sat and deliberated about it, wondering if it was too soon or was he already getting too involved? It was only fun and he really wanted to celebrate. He could not think of a better way, so he finally sent the text.
‘Dinner?’

He was feeling excited and realised he would have to shower and change before she got there; he was still grubby from his gardening. Then his phoned beeped and his smile grew wider as he thought of the wild sex he was about to embark on. He thought of his dream and the things he had forced Marcia to do. He read the text then threw his phone on the sofa. The text had read.

‘Sorry not hungry.’