So I toss and turn all night and end up feeling disgruntled and irked when I walk along the canal towards the tube station the following morning.
When I walk past The Barge Café I even feel my nostrils flare at the memory of our first dream encounter there – I spotted Brett sat sipping on an espresso after being served by Dermot O’Leary.
My body is slumped and heavy, resulting in me feeling like my teenage self. Filled with drama and angst.
Argh.
He didn’t call and he didn’t text.
How shit.
When I get into the office, I throw my bag on my desk, pick up my red notebook and head straight into an end-of-year meeting with the rest of the team and the bosses.
Surprisingly, the meeting takes us all the way up until lunchtime. When I get back to my discarded bag and am reunited with my phone I’m greeted with two missed calls and two texts from Brett. The first reads:
Morning, gorgeous. Sorry I didn’t text last night. Got in late and didn’t want to wake you. Thought you’d value your sleep after the morning’s weird dream … xx
The second simply reads:
Hey – you OK? xx
Just as I’m about to write out a light and breezy reply (because I am nothing but light and breezy in this current situation), my phone starts flashing, telling me he’s calling again.
‘Hello,’ I sing – see, light and breezy.
‘There you are. I was worried,’ he puffs.
‘Why?’
‘Because you hadn’t been in touch … ?’
‘Oh?’ I reply, as though I’m not aware of my silence or the fact that I’m acting like a total bunny boiler just because he didn’t instantly say that he wants to watch me grow old and wrinkly.
‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing – just been in a meeting. How was last night?’ I ask nonchalantly, as if I’d forgotten all about it.
‘All right, I guess.’
‘Yeah? No gossip to report?’
‘Nope. It was a quiet one really.’
‘Nice,’ I say, knowing that he’s telling the truth – I would never expect anything sordid or disloyal from him. ‘Are you OK?’ I sigh heavily, feeling foolish as I ask.
‘In what way?’
‘Every way.’
‘Cryptic!’ He laughs. ‘Yes, I think I’m OK in every way.’
‘Good.’
‘Chinese tonight?’
‘Yours or mine?’ I ask, relieved that he wants to spend time with me while mentally slapping myself across the face for making myself worry so much – he’s being nothing but lovely.
‘Yours,’ he says quickly. ‘Mine’s a dump.’
‘Really? But you’re always so tidy?’ I say, hating the suspicious feeling that’s still rooting away inside.
‘Your Christmas presents are out and unwrapped,’ he says, smiling into the phone.
I laugh – what girl doesn’t like getting presents? Unless it’s some tacky underwear that she wouldn’t be caught dead in, of course. Yeah, I find men buying undies creepy and weird. The thought of them stood in shops perving over it all, wondering what they’d like to see their lady in – it’s odd. I’d much rather decide that for myself, thank you very much. Although, it’s not like it ever stays on for very long anyway, is it? Whipped off within the first few seconds with me.
God, I hope he’s not bought me some lacy negligée.
‘I’d hide it somewhere, but it won’t fit in any of the cupboards,’ Brett teases.
‘Really?’ I say, smiling that the frilly knicker idea has been erased from the equation – well, unless he’s bought a mountain of the stuff. ‘Fine, you can come to mine,’ I gush – surprised that I’m feeling like such a giddy kid over getting a present.
‘See you later,’ he says.
‘Love you.’
‘You too.’
I sigh at my phone and nibble on my bottom lip – he really is a dream.
‘I spoke to Julian today,’ Brett says as we’re stood at the kitchen counter serving up our Chinese takeaway from the clear plastic tubs on to our square white china plates.
‘Really?’ I ask.
Julian is the other love of my life. When I was working at Red Brick Productions with Brett, I came up with a concept for a show called Grannies Go Gap – all about getting elderly people out of their comfort zones and showing them that it’s not too late to explore the world and make the most of the life they have left. When we were researching and looking for our case studies to pitch the idea to the bosses, we found Julian. In his late seventies, Julian had moved himself into an old people’s home when his wife had sadly died. Unsure how else to spend the rest of his days, he figured that at the very least he’d have company on a daily basis. Well, he’s such a ball of sunshine that we basically invited him on to the project straight away.
I was gutted that walking out on Red Brick meant that I was leaving Julian and the project behind too, but it was complex and I knew it was in safe hands with Brett at the helm – keeping charge of my baby.
The duo (and a whole production team) scooted off to Australia and New Zealand for a whole six weeks in March. Since then the series has been promoted and aired (to fabulous reviews and has been tipped to bag a National Television Award in a few weeks), with Julian capturing the hearts of the nation. He’s not stopped and is currently working on a book deal with Penguin Random House that’s seen him take on even more travelling around the globe and documenting his findings. There’s no stopping him now he’s got the travel bug.
‘He’s in Thailand at the moment,’ Brett tells me.
‘Really? Sunning himself on the beach?’
‘Actually, doing some volunteer work at an elephant sanctuary.’
‘No way!’ I laugh, the thought making me feel emotional.
‘I know – he’s got more excitement in his life than us right now.’
‘Our life is exciting,’ I snap, hastily pouring sweet and sour sauce over my egg-fried rice.
‘Of course it is,’ Brett smirks, chuckling to himself.
‘What?’ I sulk, frowning at him.
‘We’re sat indoors on a Friday night feeling elated over a takeaway and some beers – he’s living life on another level, babe.’
‘I find this exciting,’ I mumble, forking a pork ball into my mouth to shut me up.
With my plate loaded, I wander into the lounge and curl my feet up under myself on the sofa.
‘I never said I didn’t,’ he winks, continuing the conversation as he walks into the room and switches on the TV, falling on to the sofa next to me. ‘I’m just saying – we found a really inspirational guy.’
‘We did.’ I nod in agreement, hating myself for taking everything Brett says to heart like some hormonal teen. ‘Just don’t pack up and leave me one day to travel the world.’
‘As if I would do that!’ He laughs.
I munch sadly on my chow mein, hoping he’s right.
‘You, Nat and Carly are Christmas shopping tomorrow, right?’ he asks.
‘Yes – although God knows why we’re going to Oxford Street and haven’t just ordered the lot online. It’s going to be chaos.’
‘Full of panic buyers,’ he nods. ‘So glad I’m not joining you.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Just seeing some friends.’ He shrugs.
‘Who?’
‘Uni mates,’ he says, gulping on his bottle of Tsingtao. ‘Mark, Gary … Rob.’
‘Right. Well, that will be fun, won’t it?’
‘I’m dreading it, to be fair.’ He frowns, putting the bottle back on the floor by his feet.
‘Why?’
‘They’re not really my sort.’
‘Really?’
‘We’ve just grown apart – we’re not like you lot.’
‘But everyone’s your sort,’ I say, making him laugh.
‘You’ve got to explain that one,’ he says with a cheeky smile.
‘I mean, yo
u’re friendly and outgoing – you get on with everyone.’
‘Ahhh, I love you.’ He beams at me, picking up the controls and flicking through the channels. ‘What do you fancy watching? Elf is about to start.’
‘Sold,’ I grin, knowing the one thing that’s bound to bring me out of my grumpy ways is Buddy singing loud for all to hear. ‘Are you staying over tomorrow night after seeing your mates?’
‘I was planning on it.’
‘Great. Don’t forget we have my mum’s on Sunday …’ However, he’s zoned out and is occupied with taking his ringing phone out of his pocket instead. He cancels the call and puts it face down on the arm of the sofa, acting blasé as he picks up his fork and spoons a mouthful of food into his gob.
‘Who was that?’
‘Wrong number,’ he muffles, putting his hand over his full mouth to stop rice spraying everywhere as he hastily swallows.
He doesn’t look at me, instead his attention turns to Buddy as the tops of his cheeks start to burn slightly red.
He’s hiding something.
And now, even worse than that – he knows I know he’s hiding something.
6
I’m sat up high (really, really high), looking down on a bunch of green branches and spikes, all frosted with twinkly lights, metallic shiny rope and huge red balls swinging in the cold breeze that swirls around us.
I’m on a Christmas tree.
Not only that, but, looking down at my clothes (I’m in a cream puffy dress that would’ve looked great on one of my old Barbie dolls but makes me look like a frumpy lump), I realise I’m the fairy perched up high – sprinkling down her festive magic and overlooking the jolly proceedings, making sure the room is filled with love and happiness. Although, that being said, there’s no one else in the room. Just me, a whole heap of presents and a table overloaded with food.
I wait a few minutes to see if anyone is going to enter, but quickly become unable to stop my tummy rumbling because of the gorgeous aroma from the feast below.
Slowly, I unhook myself from the branch behind me and start to clamber down. I’ve almost made it to the bottom when my stupid fairy skirt gets caught on a bauble hook. I yank at it – ripping the fabric and causing the fragile decoration to ping from its spot and tumble towards the ground. It lands with a crash as shards of glass scatter everywhere.
I wait anxiously, looking to see if the noise is going to alert anyone to the fact that the fairy has absconded from her spot up high.
No one comes.
I jump from the bottom branch and scurry along the floor and up the table leg where I am greeted with the most beautiful sight ever – gigantic food bowls filled with everything a fabulous Christmas dinner requires: turkey (although quite terrifying in its mammoth size), rosemary roast potatoes, brussel sprouts coated with butter and sprinkled with bacon, pigs in blankets (all crisp and mouth-watering), stuffing (the regular Paxo sort – no point ruining a good spread with anything else), fluffy Yorkshire puddings, honey-glazed parsnips and carrots … it’s all there looking totally scrumptious.
I dive into the potatoes first – munching on their crisp outer skin before whipping out their soft insides … I’m in heaven. Best of all, I’m on my own, meaning I don’t have that Christmas Day guilt of eating more white potato than is socially acceptable in this day and age, where eating anything white is considered a diet sin.
Bugger that! Orgasmic noises spill from my mouth as I shove more and more in.
I’m about to move on to the juicy-looking pigs in blankets when I hear laughter coming from outside the room.
I freeze. Aware that I’m not going to make it back up to the top of the tree in time, I dive under the table and watch as three pairs of bare feet come wandering into the space.
It’s Carly, Natalia and Lexie – all carrying more presents to put under the tree. Sensing I’m not in too much danger, I quietly tiptoe forwards to get a better view while keeping myself out of sight. They may be my best friends – but I’m still a miniature version of myself and I know they’ll totally freak out if they see me.
‘Oh no, where’s the fairy gone?’ Natalia asks, looking around the room with confusion. ‘Did we forget to put her up there?’
‘No – she was definitely there when we left,’ says Lexie with a frown.
‘Weird,’ says Carly. ‘She must’ve fallen down.’
‘She’s here!’ Natalia says as I see her face peering under the table. She grabs my leg and pulls me towards her before lovingly cradling me and brushing off all the fluff, dust and crumbs I’ve accumulated since leaving my designated spot. ‘That’s better. Let’s put you back where you belong.’
As she walks back towards the tree, I suddenly remember the fallen bauble – the splatter of glass on the floor.
But there’s nothing I can do.
‘Owwwwwww!’ Natalia screams in pain, dropping me to the ground face first.
I’m left in darkness, but I can feel the vibrations of Natalia hopping around on one foot and Carly and Lexie running to help her. I can hear the cries of agony from my wounded friend and the thick drips of blood as they come crashing down on the wooden floor next to me.
The upbeat rhythmic synths of Pharrell’s ‘Happy’ fills the room before the drums kick in along with his velvety voice – filling the room with happiness. I used to wake up to The Killers with Mr Brightside, but being in a relationship made me do the ultra giddy thing and change it to this obscenely cheerful and catchy tune.
Usually it sets the tone for the day – I find myself dancing in the shower, smiling at strangers and even helping tourists with their suitcases on the Tube (rather than just tutting when I’m caught behind them struggling on the stairs).
Today though, the happiness doesn’t sit well with the imagery of my dream. Instead, it jars and leaves me feeling uncomfortable.
That’s the second dream in only a few days where hastily yanking at a body part or my clothes has resulted in an accident and physical pain. Obviously Natalia getting glass stuck in her foot doesn’t quite carry the same horrific sight as all my teeth falling out, but those cries of pain were something else.
I lie there thinking through the possible meaning hidden behind the two events and wonder if there’s a life lesson in there – to stop and evaluate a situation when I find myself in a sticky spot, rather than ploughing forward and hoping for the best … If I bend and manipulate that enough, I can definitely mould it to fit and give meaning to what is (or isn’t) occurring between me and Brett.
Perhaps that’s a friendly way of my dreams telling me the same thing Carly warned me about – essentially to make sure I don’t become a twat and ruin things. Well, I’ve certainly been in danger of doing that with my brattish behaviour. Seriously, I haven’t even liked myself over the past few days. I don’t know how Brett hasn’t ducked out and run for cover.
‘Hmmm …’ he croaks, pulling me into him and nuzzling his light morning stubble against my cheek.
Funny, whenever Dan used to grow his beard out I would have a complete hissy fit and threaten to go on a shaving strike myself. Stating that if I had to put up with his rough hair giving me a rash, then he could put up with me looking like a gorilla. Needless to say, he never listened and I never carried through with the threat (I like being smooth), but there’s something about Brett’s coarse stubble tickling my face that I rather love – perhaps it’s because he never rubs it harshly against my face like cheese going through a grater.
‘Sleep well?’ he asks, his eyes still shut.
‘I didn’t even hear you come in,’ I say, slightly stunned that I slept through a man getting into my bed – albeit my man.
‘You must’ve been knackered from all that shopping.’
‘Not so much the shopping but dodging the huge crowds. Seriously, that should be part of the Winter Olympics. It was chaos.’
‘I can see it now – elbows at the ready,’ he grins, kissing my neck.
‘The worst was Hamleys
. I only wanted to go in there to get something cuddly for Mavis Rose. I didn’t think I’d make it out alive through all the kids and pushy parents barging everywhere. Seriously, I didn’t realise being an aunty would be so life-threatening.’
‘Hmmm …’ he groans, giving my neck a deeper kiss and pulling on my hip so that it slides closer into the curve of his body.
‘How’d it go with you and your mates?’
‘Great,’ he shrugs, still on a one-man mission to get a bit of morning action.
‘You know we haven’t got time for this,’ I giggle, wriggling slightly.
‘Why not?’ he croaks. ‘It’s a Sunday. This is what we’re meant to do on a nice lazy Sunday morning.’
‘Except we’re going to my mum’s and I need time to make myself presentable,’ I say with a smile, my body tingling at his touch.
‘What are you on about?’ he mumbles, nibbling on my earlobe and causing my breath to rise giddily.
‘What? My mum’s?’ I say with a little laugh as I hear him on delay, sure he can’t have forgotten our plans.
‘Yeah,’ he says, suddenly stopping on his quest.
‘We’re going to my mum and dad’s today to have a Christmas get-together because Max and Andrea are spending the actual day with her parents,’ I explain, the atmosphere shrivelling up as I twist around to look at him.
‘Oh,’ he says, looking sheepish.
‘You knew that,’ I say flatly.
‘I didn’t realise it was this weekend …’ he mumbles, frowning as he avoids eye contact with me.
‘It’s the last Sunday before Christmas, when else were we going to do it?’ I ask, starting to get annoyed.
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s not a problem though, is it? You’re here, so –’
‘Actually –’ he starts, cutting me off.
‘What?’
‘I can’t go.’ He squirms.
‘What the fuck do you mean you can’t go?’ I shout. I wouldn’t normally raise my voice in the flat, but seeing as Carly went and stayed at Josh’s last night after our shopping trip I feel free to do so – plus, it’s flipping necessary. ‘My mum will be furious.’
Dream a Little Christmas Dream Page 4
