Summer Night Dreams

by Alison May

  ‘What?’

  ‘Time to get up.’

  No. No. At least she knew he was wrong about that. The one and only redeeming element of yesterday’s clusterfuck of horrendousness was that Helen knew she didn’t have to get up today. She wasn’t teaching. There were no departmental meetings. She had to collect something from the library for Emily but that wasn’t until this afternoon, and then there was the party this evening. She shut the thought down as quickly as she could. The Midsummer Party, where Dominic and Emily would be together, all shiny and fresh and perky and newly-engaged. Helen took a deep breath and felt herself gag on it. She decided not to think about the party. It wasn’t for hours yet.

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘You’ve got to get up. I’ve made coffee.’

  Interesting. ‘Proper coffee?’

  There was a pause. ‘Sure.’

  ‘You’re lying.’ Helen put her head back under the duvet.

  ‘I’m coming in.’

  The door opened.

  ‘Go away. Still sleeping.’

  ‘Are you decent?’

  ‘What?’ She stuck her head out. Alex was standing in the corner of the room with a coffee mug in one hand and the other covering his eyes.

  ‘Yes. I’m decent.’ She looked down. She was more than decent. She was still fully dressed in yesterday’s clothes. ‘Why are you waking me up?’

  ‘It’s time.’ He pointed at the clock. It was half past nine, which was late for Helen, but not the sort of time that justified a person’s lodger forcing them from their beauty sleep.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For Operation Win Back Your Man.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I thought about it after you’d gone to bed last night. It’s stupid. You should be with Dominic. You need to stop sitting around on your arse waiting for him to realise that. You need to make it happen.’

  Helen sat up in bed and held out her hand. ‘Coffee.’ He passed the mug and she took a sip. ‘This is instant.’

  Alex shrugged. ‘Not the point.’

  Helen closed her eyes and leant back on the headboard sipping the terrible coffee. She didn’t deserve proper coffee. She deserved to sit here, with small impish creatures banging hammers against the backs of her eyeballs, and have a good long think about what she’d done. She was a terrible person. She’d drunk everything there was to drink in the house, and been sick in the bin. She’d had to be dragged up the stairs to bed – literally dragged, having sat down halfway up and refused to move until Alex got hold of her under the arms and hauled. And she did all of that because someone who had absolutely no idea that she was in love with him, decided to get engaged, which he was entirely entitled to do, and he was entirely entitled to expect her to be happy about, because so far as he was concerned they were just good friends. Helen was a terrible friend, she decided, a terrible friend who was absolutely, definitely, with 100% certainty never ever drinking alcohol again.

  Something about what Alex was saying started to filter into her fuzzy aching brain. ‘Operation what?’

  ‘Win Back Your Man.’ He said it with a weird American accent.

  ‘Why are you saying it like that?’

  ‘It’s my Tammy Wynette voice.’

  ‘That was stand by your man.’

  ‘Same concept.’ He sat on the end of the bed. ‘The point is that you’re going to get him back.’

  ‘Dominic?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I can’t get him back. I never had him. Anyway I’m getting over him.’

  Alex raised an eyebrow. ‘How’s that going?’

  ‘It’s a work in progress.’ Helen took a deep breath, and dredged her memories of the night before. One thing rippled to the surface. Alex was a terrible person too. ‘I thought you said Emily was going to say no anyway.’

  He nodded. ‘She will.’

  ‘You haven’t heard from her?’

  He shook his head. ‘Think her phone must be off.’

  ‘Why does Operation Win Back Your Man have to start so early?’

  Alex looked at her. He was not making a happy face. ‘Well you need to be looking fabulous tonight if you’re going to lure him away from Emily.’

  ‘I thought Emily was going to say no.’

  Alex paused. ‘Then you need to look fabulous tonight if you’re going to lure him out of his post-dumping depression.’

  ‘What’s wrong with how I always look?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s fine. Well no. It’s horrendously middle-aged. You have cardigans older than me.’

  ‘That’s an exaggeration.’ Actually, she did have charity shop cardigans that might have been older than him. She tried a different defence. ‘They’re vintage.’

  ‘They’re ancient. And I thought maybe we could do hair and make-up. The whole deal.’

  Helen wasn’t really a hair and make-up sort of woman. She could imagine what Alex was picturing. He’d be working on the notion that if he dressed her up and made her perfect looking, Dominic would see her across the crowded party and their eyes would meet. Helen knew he shouldn’t have been allowed to watch so many romantic comedies at a formative age. Romance movies were at the route of a lot of people’s problems, Helen thought. It was no use going through life thinking that if you maintained a ditzy yet loveable persona then ‘happy ever afters’ would fall in your lap.

  That wasn’t the point. Her vodka addled brain struggled for a moment to remember what the point was. Oh yes. Alex wanted to do her hair. She wasn’t going to win an argument with him in his current mood. She could point out that he’d devised a whole plan, when a sensible and mature person would deal with the fact that they might not have got the girl, but he wouldn’t listen. She was going to be primped and preened and dressed up like a Barbie doll whether she agreed or not.

  ‘A bit of hair and make-up isn’t going to take all day.’

  Alex leant forward and patted her hand. ‘You didn’t see what you looked like last night. I sort of thought the first few hours would be jet washing the congealed sick off your face.’

  She closed her eyes again. She really was a terrible person.

  Emily

  Arden Manor is beautiful. It’s a rambling old stately home, with gardens and woodland all around it. I sip my champagne and take a half-hearted walk about the room. It’s annoying to know that it’s going to be so utterly tarnished by all the rabid Tania-ness that there’s absolutely no way I’m going to be able to have my own wedding here. ‘So is the building like Victorian or something?’

  Dom is sitting in the lounge. He glances up from his copy of the Guardian. ‘I think the oldest parts are medieval, but it’s been added to.’ He twists in his seat and peers through towards the function room, which armies of Mia’s little worker bees are currently decorating with ivy and wildflowers. I shudder thinking of all the bugs and spiders there must be in amongst the foliage. ‘I’d guess that was eighteenth century. It might have been rebuilt since then though.’

  I sit down next to him, and get my phone out. They’re late. It’ll be Tania’s fault. She’ll be cleansing her aura or balancing her chakras or something before she leaves the house. Maybe it would be better to tell him next week anyway, once she’s out of the picture.

  ‘Do you think we should tell them after the wedding?’

  Dom furrows his brow. ‘I thought you’d want to tell everybody straight away.’

  I nod. ‘I do. I do. I just don’t want to steal Dad and Tania’s thunder.’ That sounds reasonable doesn’t it? Not stealing their thunder is a nice thing.

  ‘But that’s why we came early. So we could tell them before anyone else got here.’

  Solid. Reliable. Secure. That’s Dom. Also stubborn, hard to distract, dogged. He’s right though. That is why we came early.

  ‘Sweetheart.’

  I stand up when Dad comes in and hug him, properly hug him. When he pulls away he goes straight to the other side of the table and sits down by Tania.

 
‘I thought you’d be here ages ago.’

  Tania shrugs. ‘The party isn’t for another two hours. We’ve got plenty of time.’

  ‘We’ve been waiting for you.’ To be fair, it’s not exactly been onerous. I told bored-looking girl that all my drinks would be on Daddy’s bill and she brought us champagne, which Dom doesn’t like anyway.

  ‘I’ll get some more glasses.’ Dom goes to the bar, and the three of us sit for a moment. Tania leans closer towards my dad and wraps her fingers around his. I take a big swig of my champagne. It’s a relief when Dom comes back and I can concentrate on the bustle of drinks being poured and handed out.

  So here we are. Dom takes hold of my hand. ‘Do you want to tell them what we’re celebrating, or shall I?’

  I don’t want Tania to be here. It should just be my dad. Me and my dad. That’s how it’s always been and it’s always worked absolutely fine. Everything’s changing. Even if he doesn’t marry Tania, that’s only a temporary solution. There could be another Tania along at any moment. I need security, and that means Dom. I take a gulp of champagne. ‘Well, we wanted to talk to you before the party, because we wanted to tell you that ...’ Another, bigger gulp of champagne. ‘... We’re engaged!’

  Apparently this is wonderful news. Dad shakes Dom by the hand. That leaves me with Tania. ‘Congratulations.’

  She leans forward to hug me. I turn my head and keep my arms down by my side, forcing her to lightly kiss my cheek and then back off. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You must be very excited?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And the ring?’

  I hold my hand out for her. I can’t help but keep thinking that it could be sparklier.

  ‘Oh. It’s beautiful. So elegant.’ She steps back and addresses both of us. ‘So when’s the big day going to be?’

  ‘No hurry,’ I say.

  ‘Soon.’ Dom answers simultaneously. There’s a moment of silence before we remember to laugh.

  ‘I meant no hurry until after this wedding.’ I carry on the laugh, but now everyone else has stopped, it’s just me giggling manically. I stop. I suppose there’s no reason to wait, is there? There’s a voice in my head telling me I’m young, that I don’t need to be settled down anytime soon. I don’t want to listen to that voice. It sounds a lot like Alex. This is my choice. Me and Dom, and a nice home, a flat nearby for my dad, and four beautiful children. I’m going to fill my time with wedding plans, and supper with friends, and book group, and mother and baby coffee mornings. If I fill all my time then there’ll be no space for the darkness and the worry to get in, and I’ll be tired, but good, happy tired so I sleep every night without fear.

  We all sip our champagne, and I let the conversation carry on around me. That’s it then. It’s official. Telling people makes it real. I like that idea. It sort of implies that things you don’t tell anyone about aren’t real. Those things can fade away into nothingness if you never speak of them, if you never tell.

  Helen

  Helen had been brushed and teased and plumped up and squashed down, to the point where Alex finally deemed her party-ready. The medieval Maid Marian dress she was squeezed into was underpinned by some fairly serious boning and lacing. There were bits of Helen she hadn’t previously known she had fighting for air out of the top of her corset. Alex had also done her hair, in a style selected by the method of Googling ‘Medieval party hair’ and then spending an hour watching YouTube clips of American teenagers demonstrating how to do post graduate level plaiting. She was sporting a hair do that her housemate promised said “Medieval maiden” but risked tipping over into “Princess Leia on a bad day”. ‘I feel silly.’

  ‘You look great. Can we go in yet?’

  Helen peered through the windscreen. They were parked outside Arden Manor. ‘Not until I see someone else in costume.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘What if we’re the only ones?’ This was why Helen didn’t do fancy dress. It was stomach-churning. It reminded her of walking to school on non-uniform days looking out for other kids, terrified that she’d turn up and realise that she’d got the wrong day.

  ‘We won’t be the only ones. And anyway, we look cool.’ Alex used the rear-view mirror to set his Robin Hood hat at a jaunty angle. ‘Come on.’

  The entrance hall was lovely but they were the only guests around. Helen kept her coat pulled tight around her, pending sightings of further costumes.

  ‘Welcome to Arden Manor. My name is Nick. Are you attending the Midsomer-Highpole wedding?’

  The young man looked familiar. ‘Nick? You were on my first year module last year?’

  The boy leant forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘I’m like working Doctor Hart. We’re not supposed to like ...’ He paused, searching for a word. ‘Fraternise.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Helen stifled a giggle. ‘Yes. We’re here for the wedding.’

  Very good. Will you be staying with us overnight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He gestured behind him. ‘My colleague ...’ He tailed off and looked around for his colleague. ‘Frankie!’ he yelled. A young red-headed woman appeared, apparently from nowhere.

  ‘What?’

  ‘My colleague, Frankie, will find your keys. You are welcome to go up to your room, or make your way directly ...’ On the word directly he pointed smartly towards some double doors to his left. ‘... into the Midsummer Ball.’

  Helen leant forward. ‘Are other people dressed up Nick?’

  He furrowed his brow. ‘The ball is in historical times. Guests are dressed historically.’

  Helen couldn’t stop herself pursing her lips. The boy was a history student. ‘Which historical times Nick?’

  He shrugged. ‘Like olden days, but with fairies and that.’

  ‘Thank you Nick.’ Alex dragged her away. ‘It’s a party. You’re not going to be examined on the authenticity of your costume.’

  They collected their room keys, after a brief bit of haggling to explain that they’d definitely booked separate rooms. ‘So check out the room?’

  Alex screwed up his face. ‘Party!’ He handed their bags to the red-headed girl, and wrestled Helen out of her coat.

  Nick’s official pointing sent them towards a pair of heavy wooden doors, standing open. She ran her fingers over the grain. Alex pointed at the carving above the doors.

  ‘The Green Man.’

  Helen nodded.

  ‘You know that term wasn’t even coined until just before World War Two?’

  She turned. Dominic was standing behind them. She scanned his face. Did he look happy or sad? Newly engaged or newly rejected? Maybe he hadn’t proposed. Maybe he’d got cold feet.

  Alex shook his head. ‘Really? Green Man sounds like it should be proper old.’

  ‘Proper old?’ Dominic raised an eyebrow.

  Helen was still staring at Dominic. She ought to greet him. She ought to ask how last night went, although the fact that he was here and not weeping into a pint somewhere a very long way away from Emily could probably be interpreted as a strong hint. What should she do about that? Whatever Alex thought there was no way Dominic was going to take one look at her heaving bosoms and fall into her arms. She’d been all set to let him marry Emily. She was going to be a good friend and buy a hat and everything, but now she knew what Emily had done. She knew what Alex had done. She was losing track of who she was supposed to be a good friend to at each given moment. Thinking about it was too much. She turned her attention through the doors and towards the party.

  The room was huge and had been covered in ivy and wildflowers. At the far end the doors opened onto a garden, and revellers were spilling outside into the evening sun. The guests, Helen was relieved to see, had embraced the costume theme and the room thronged with medieval damsels sipping cocktails with elven lords, and fairies chatting happily to chainmailed knights at the buffet table.

  ‘Shall we?’ Alex pushed past Dominic and put his hand on her e
lbow. So, apparently that was the plan. They would to be each other’s moral support, plus one, and physical buffer zone to ensure the maintenance of a safe distance from any fellow party guests who might represent a source of potential emotional disquiet.

  She took his arm. ‘Let’s.’

  They stepped through the double doors and into the throng. A black-shirted girl appeared in front of them with a tray, and Alex grabbed two glass cups of suspiciously pink liquid. Helen put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Summer fruit punch.’

  ‘What’s in it?’

  ‘Well fruit.’ She paused. ‘Mostly.’

  Alex pressed both cups into her hands and took two more. ‘Excellent. Fruit is good for you.’

  Helen took a sip of the punch. It tasted pink. ‘I said I was never drinking again.’

  Alex glanced back over his shoulder towards Dominic. ‘Trust me. You can start that tomorrow.’

  ‘Find the lady?’

  ‘What?’ There was a fairy, or possibly elf – Helen was not a fully paid-up expert on the distinctions – sat at a small table, sliding three playing cards around and around in front of him.

  ‘Find the lady and win a prize?’

  ‘What sort of prize?’

  He laughed. ‘It doesn’t matter. You’re not going to win.’

  He flipped over all three cards to show the Queen of Hearts sitting serenely in the middle, before turning them over again and starting to slide them, face down, across the table. Helen watched his hands, trying to keep an eye on the middle card. Round and round they went. Her eyes moved in time with his hands. It was almost hypnotic. Eventually he came to a stop.

  ‘So find the lady.’

  She still had a cup of punch in each hand, so no finger free to point. After a moment’s fluster she downed the contents of one cup and set it on a passing waiter’s tray. She pointed at the nearest card.

  The elf flipped it over. Two of spades. He laughed. ‘Bad luck. Try again?’