Dream a Little Dream

by Giovanna Fletcher

‘Don’t be daft,’ Real Brett says, elbowing her gently. ‘I know it seems like the worst thing in the world to happen but it’ll all sort itself out. It always does.’

  ‘Yeah?’ she asks. ‘You think so?’

  We smile encouragingly in reply.

  ‘Usually I’d agree with you, but I just don’t see how that can happen here,’ she says quietly.

  ‘I think it’ll all seem a bit clearer in the morning after some sleep,’ I reply. ‘We’ve all had a lot to drink.’

  ‘Why don’t we get you home?’ suggests Real Brett.

  ‘But my stuff …’

  ‘We can sort all of that out,’ I tell her. ‘Or do you want me to come home with you now?’

  ‘No,’ she says anxiously, sucking on her bottom lip as she considers it. ‘I think I’m better off on my own tonight.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I ask, looking behind me as I hear Poutmouth Louisa stepping out of the hotel with a couple of guys from Accounts – all clearly talking about what they’ve just witnessed as they chug on their free drinks and light up cigarettes.

  Julie looks past me and steps back into the crevice of the doorway, shielding herself from their sight.

  ‘Yes. Just get me into a taxi. Please,’ she pleads. ‘Oh, my bag …’

  ‘We’ll grab all your stuff and I’ll drop it over to you tonight,’ Real Brett tells her.

  ‘Do you have your keys?’ I ask, thinking practically.

  ‘There’s a spare one under the mat. I just need money for a cab …’

  While Real Brett gets his wallet from his back pocket and fishes out twenty pounds Julie hands me her room key.

  ‘Thank you so much for this,’ she says, fresh tears streaming down as Real Brett hails a taxi for her.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘Please call me if you need anything. Okay?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’ll be over soon with your stuff. We’ll be as quick as we can,’ says Real Brett, opening the car door and helping Julie inside. He closes the door and I wave sorrowfully as she leaves.

  ‘Shit!’ mutters Real Brett under his breath. ‘This is crazy.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  Fifteen minutes later we’re back down in the hotel lobby and Real Brett is carrying Julie’s belongings – it didn’t take us too long to gather it all, although the sight of Jonathan’s discarded underwear beside the unmade bed will stay with me for a long time.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay to do this?’ I ask, handing him a piece of paper with Julie’s address written on it.

  ‘Of course,’ he shrugs.

  ‘Will you come back after?’

  ‘I think I’ll stay with her for a bit – just to check she’s all right. This is heavy shit.’

  ‘I would come but I need to oversee things here,’ I say guiltily. ‘Just in case any more drama unfolds.’

  ‘I thought you said nothing happened at Red Brick.’

  ‘Well, that’s what I thought. Didn’t realize I’d been so blind to what was going on right in front of me,’ I admit, starting to question every time I saw Julie go into Jonathan’s room for a meeting or when he’d come back in a cheery mood after a working lunch. ‘This is not how I pictured tonight going,’ I admit, saying a firm goodbye to my fleeting thoughts of a steamy night of passion with the guy stood in front of me who, on reflection, is actually quite dreamy.

  ‘No, me neither,’ he says, firmly grabbing my jaw in his hand and gently pulling it towards his, his lips landing on mine.

  I breathe him in.

  ‘Enjoy the rest of your night and Merry Christmas. See you in January,’ he winks, pulling away from me and walking out of the hotel.

  Oh, how I swoon!

  29

  Christmas comes and goes, thankfully without any drama. I spend the shortest amount of time possible out in Tunbridge Wells with my parents and stay there for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day. I would’ve spent less time there if I could, maybe just popped in for the Christmas dinner before making a swift exit, but a major downside to being single at this time of year (as well as the lack of sex, companionship and presents) is that I don’t really have a valid excuse to be anywhere else other than in my old bedroom in my family home. My parents are highly accepting of this fact, especially as Max and Andrea have the excuse of wanting to be in their new home with Mavis Rose and don’t come at all.

  Luckily for me I’m not the only one who finds too much time with their family difficult. The gang, minus Dan and Lexie (who are with his parents this year – he is the golden child of the family and therefore loves going home), all reconvene back in the big smoke of London at the earliest opportunity. We mooch. We eat. We drink a gallon load of wine and eat a shit load of cheese. In fact, I stuff my face with cheese in the hope that it’ll bring on some dreams because I find myself in serious need of some Brett time. Dream Brett, Real Brett, Any Brett – because Any Brett in my dreams is better than No Brett … and that’s the void which I seem to have entered. I realize I’ve not dreamt of him since he was adamant that him coming back into my life (albeit via dream form) meant something. Ironic that he should then disappear on me.

  The cheese doesn’t help. Obviously it gives me the strangest and trippiest dreams I’ve ever experienced, but sadly there’s no Dream Brett, just lots of clowns looming in my face and being eaten by sharks wearing goggles and snorkels.

  I’m devastated, not to mention extremely petrified at where my dreams have taken me instead.

  Following our lip-smack at the dramatic works party, I do hear from Real Brett. He sends a few texts during the time off, from his family skiing holiday (couldn’t think of anything worse, even if me and my mum are on better terms now), but they’re mostly polite and cordial – none telling me that he wants to rip my clothes off, but perhaps he’s waiting to tell me in person … or in Oz! Either way, I try not to get disheartened by his reluctance to even mention our quick kiss. After all, I know he’s been flirting with me and I’m pretty sure that’s not all been in my head – although I am starting to doubt myself.

  With regards to the office saga I’m returning to work none the wiser. I tried emailing Jonathan over the festive period but, from looking at his inbox, I know he wasn’t checking them. I also tried calling him but he didn’t pick up. When I phoned Julie, it continuously went straight to voicemail. Whilst I’m sure one of them would’ve been living in denial and pretending it never happened (if his wife let him), I know the other would’ve been stewing in her misery and having an awful time of it.

  Half of me is dreading returning to work and seeing the fallout, the other can’t wait to get there and lay down the final plans for the Australia trip before flying to Sydney in just a few days’ time.

  I’m up early (surprisingly difficult after having a two-week snooze-fest) and, thanks to a major pampering session, looking my best – there was no way I could follow up my gorgeous black party dress with a baggy Disney jumper over some jeans. No, my mum would be proud if she saw me in my red skater dress, thick black tights and ankle boots. I really have made an effort and am feeling great for it despite all the yuletide overindulgence.

  I feel positively filmic as I stride by the frosty canal, glide my way through the Underground and float into the office.

  I know that my happy cloud is going to be burst to smithereens as soon as I see Julie’s desk completely empty and Derek and Poutmouth Louisa sat in Jonathan’s office, with her pouting along to whatever it is Jonathan’s saying.

  When Jonathan spots me at my desk he opens and closes his mouth like a clueless goldfish, before shaking his head and continuing with their meeting.

  When Real Brett walks in five minutes later, I’m spying on their conversation from the kitchen with a huge frown on my face.

  ‘Happy New Year,’ he grins before mirroring my frown and looking into Jonathan’s office. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘God knows, but I think I’m about to find out,’ I say as I spot Jonathan sta
nding from his chair and looking out at my empty desk.

  ‘You’re here,’ he says, noticing Real Brett. ‘Would be good to talk to you both. Come in.’

  I take an almighty deep breath before following Real Brett.

  Poutmouth Louisa looks up at us innocently when we enter the room, and Derek barely acknowledges us other than to send a nonspecific wave in our direction.

  ‘Welcome back,’ Poutmouth says, giving a solemn smile, as though she’s really sad about whatever it is that’s about to happen. ‘I hope you both had excellent Christmases.’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ nods Real Brett brightly, although refraining to ask the question back.

  I ignore her entirely and remain silent, keeping my eyes on Jonathan as he heads back into his seat.

  ‘I trust the break has done you both good,’ he says, shuffling awkwardly in his seat before looking at us gravely. ‘I’m not willing to make a big deal of this, so I’ll just tell you exactly what’s happening and we can stay professional about it. Julie’s left. Her possessions have been packed up and sent to her home, she will not be coming back to the office,’ he says flatly, his face showing not a flicker of emotion or embarrassment for his accountability in the matter.

  Whilst I’m incredibly sad to see her go, it’s hardly surprising given that she’s been publicly humiliated in front of all of her work colleagues for something that the boss instigated.

  ‘And there lies the problem,’ he sighs, glancing at Derek before continuing. ‘The coming weeks are going to be extremely tough as we interview for someone to fill the position and then train them up to the standard we require and have come to expect. To be a single PA down is not a position we relish being in, and, unfortunately, being two PAs down is just not feasible.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ I ask, my jaw clenching at what’s to come.

  ‘You’re not going on the recce.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘I can’t give you the time away from the office – three weeks, possibly more?’ he asks, as though the thought is absurd. ‘Come on, Sarah – you know that it’s highly impractical for you to leave the office right now.’

  ‘But the recce?’ I stammer, too stunned at his decision to react quickly and come up with an alternative solution that doesn’t involve me being left behind. ‘We’re meant to be leaving this Saturday!’

  ‘And that will still be happening,’ he nods. ‘It’s not ideal, but I’ve spoken to Louisa and she’s graciously agreed to step in and go along with Brett.’

  I bet she has, I think to myself as I feel my temper start to rise at the injustice.

  ‘But it’s Sarah’s project,’ argues Real Brett, thankfully put out by this new arrangement and not thrilled that he’s going to be spending those three weeks with Poutmouth instead. ‘She should be there.’

  ‘Yes, but she’s not actually a part of the Development team,’ points out Poutmouth with a coy smile that makes me want to punch her in the face. ‘It would probably be quicker with me anyway.’

  ‘Well, there is that too,’ nods Jonathan. ‘Louisa knows how to dot the i’s and cross the t’s.’

  ‘That’s shit,’ I murmur, my mouth wide open in shock. ‘That’s utterly shit.’

  ‘Now Sarah,’ Jonathan warns, visibly getting flustered that I’ve not immediately complied and then gone off to fetch him a coffee and pastry. ‘I’m not saying that you won’t be out there for the actual filming. But, I can’t excuse you from the office right now, given the shift in staff.’

  ‘I’ll keep you updated,’ purrs Poutmouth, her face looking increasingly satisfied the more agitated I get. ‘I’ll even send you a nice postcard.’

  I resist the urge to fly across the room and rugby tackle her to the ground like the ninja warrior I suddenly feel I’ve become. Instead I stand up, glare at Jonathan and exit the room.

  ‘I’ll go,’ I hear Real Brett mutter as he runs after me, takes me by the arm and leads me to the boardroom.

  ‘I don’t believe that,’ I hiss as soon as he’s shut the door. ‘He’s the one who’s been having a bonkathon with his employee and I’m the one who gets punished for it. What an absolute bellend.’

  ‘I know, I know. But stay calm,’ Real Brett says, grabbing me firmly by the shoulders and anchoring me to the spot.

  ‘Calm? How can I just stay calm? It’s not fair.’

  ‘No, I agree. It’s totally unethical, but …’

  ‘But what?’ I stammer.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says helplessly. ‘The matter’s been taken out of our hands. I don’t think there’s much we can do about it.’

  ‘I could quit!’ I say boldly. ‘I could walk in there and tell him to go fuck himself and leave him and his shitty job behind.’

  ‘You could. But then you walk away from your project, too,’ he says matter-of-factly, moving his face close enough to mine so that I’m forced to look at him. ‘I think that’s something you should take time to mull over. At the moment it’s still yours,’ he reasons, his eyes imploring me to locate my rational-thinking-head and screw it back on.

  ‘It doesn’t feel like it,’ I whine, just like a child. ‘He’s taken it off me.’

  ‘No he hasn’t. Don’t let your hard work go to waste,’ he whispers, his hand moving from my shoulder to my neck. ‘You’ll be out there for the filming.’

  ‘He hasn’t guaranteed that.’

  ‘You will be.’

  ‘Do you really believe he won’t suddenly change his mind about that too?’ I ask, staring at him with a distressed look on my face – my eyes heavy and miserable. ‘Five days, Brett. He’s taken me off this five days before we’re meant to be leaving – after I’ve poured so much into it. How cold can one guy be? Nobody should trust a single word that comes out of his mouth. We saw what he did to Julie.’

  ‘Sarah, I believe you’ve got to fight for what you think is right, I really do. But for now, you’ve just got to sit tight and not blow this up into something that can’t be backtracked,’ he sighs, before pulling in his bottom lip and sucking on it – his face looking just as weary and miffed as mine as he releases me from his grasp and puts his hands on his hips. ‘Use the time while we’re faffing over lighting and sound control to make the show even better. Make it impossible for Jonathan not to give you the promotion you deserve.’

  ‘Do you really think I’ll get one?’

  ‘He’d be foolish not to.’

  ‘And what if he doesn’t?’ I ask, knowing that it’s a possibility.

  ‘Only you can answer that one,’ he says, offering an encouraging wink and sympathetic smile all at once.

  I hate the uncertainty of the whole thing, but decide he’s right – I shouldn’t act rashly. I’ve got to think carefully about what I want from my future at Red Brick and whether I want to jeopardize what I’ve worked hard to achieve. When I asked Jonathan for a promotion all those weeks ago I was looking to ignite a passion within me and to prove my self-worth. I’d achieved that just by coming up with the pitch and then developing it further. Jonathan’s seen that, I’ve seen that. If I am on the cusp of getting somewhere within the company, then I’d be stupid to walk away now … right?

  I’m deflated, punctured and mournful when I eventually return to my desk.

  I don’t say a word to anyone for the rest of the day.

  Not even Real Brett.

  I deliver Jonathan’s coffee and apricot Danish in silence – calmly hoping he chokes on it.

  ‘What the actual fuck?’ asks Carly when she gets home and I fill her in on the wonderful news, her jaw falling so low I’m worried she’ll never be able to pick it up again. ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’

  ‘Nope,’ I confirm, my miserable head against my pillow while I hibernate in my bed, feeling sorry for myself. ‘I’m not going to Oz in five days’ time. Instead I’ll be here training someone up to be a skivvy to ungrateful bastards.’

  ‘Oh shit!’ Her voice punches, as she sits on my bed.

 
‘Yep.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Not tell my mum for a start.’ I say with certainty.

  ‘How are you going to do that?’

  ‘Turn my phone off.’ I shrug, pulling the duvet into myself. ‘I’ll say we’re somewhere with really bad reception and email her every now and then saying I’m in an internet café.’

  ‘You don’t think she’d be suspicious? There are phone lines in Oz, you’re not going to the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘She doesn’t know that. I’ll tell her we’re going somewhere really remote. If anything that’ll impress her,’ I say, enjoying my plan. ‘And hey, not having to get an ear-bashing from her for three whole weeks could be my silver lining to the whole disastrous thing.’

  ‘She’s not that bad,’ Carly says, raising her eyebrows at me and telling me off for being mean about the woman who brought me into the world.

  ‘No, I know. She’s not,’ I admit, actually feeling bad seeing as Mum’s been great with me over the past few weeks. ‘But she’s only just told me she’s proud of me. Now, Carly, after twenty-nine years. Do I really want her taking that back and telling me she knew I was a waste of space after all?’

  ‘She wouldn’t say that,’ Carly tuts. ‘She’d probably storm into Jonathan’s office and smack his bum at the ordeal he’s putting you through, though.’

  ‘Maybe I should tell her then,’ I joke.

  ‘And Louisa’s going instead?’

  ‘Yep. How fucking brilliant is that?’ I shrill, starting to put on a stupid accent while waving my arms in the air theatrically, ‘Oh yes, so Sarah can’t come but here you go Brett – ogle Louisa in a bikini for long enough and you’ll forget she even existed.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that,’ Carly frowns. ‘He seems like a nice guy.’

  ‘They all seem nice until they’re faced with temptation. Then they’re quick to jump ship and act like arseholes. Face facts – if Mark Owen could do it then none of us are safe.’

  Carly gasps through her teeth. ‘Still not over that betrayal,’ she mutters.

  ‘Ditto.’

  ‘Oh Sarah …’ she sighs, joining me in the bed. ‘This is really crap.’