Dream Guy

by Clarke, A. Z. A;

  The flight attendant came up and unfolded tables for them. Their walnut veneer matched the trim running down the cabin. She brought them food, but only Smokey helped himself, shoveling in sandwiches and chicken and lemongrass wraps as though he wouldn’t eat again for years.

  “Was it you who decided on Sardinia?” asked Joe. Nell nodded. He might have known. He’d have been astonished if Smokey had even heard of Sardinia.

  “Are we staying in a villa or a hotel? I’d prefer a hotel. Room service and that, unless the villa has servants. Does the villa have servants, Joe?” Smokey’s mouth was full.

  “I’ve got no idea where we’re staying unless Nell has fixed something up for us.”

  “I didn’t have time. I just found myself on the plane as it was taxiing for takeoff. Don’t you remember, Joe?” Irritation and anxiety infected her voice in equal measure.

  “Not a lot.”

  “Maybe the pilot can radio ahead and find something and check if there’s a car waiting for us. It’s weird how you don’t seem to know what’s going on, Joe.”

  Since this is your dream… She’d left the words hanging unspoken. Smokey was blithely unaware of the tension between his companions.

  “You’ve been a bit standoffish, Nell. It’s nice to see you back in circulation.”

  “I’m not in circulation, Smokey, I’m here because Joe must have wanted me here. And what he thought he was doing, I have no idea.”

  Joe looked out of the window, which began to expand, allowing more and more daylight into the cabin, warping the window, spreading to the next porthole. He wanted to vanish into the sky and leave the jet to go its own way, just so long as he could be back in his bed and far away from Smokey’s ramblings and Nell’s suspicions. But Nell stood up and grabbed him by the shoulders, giving him a ferocious shake.

  “Stop it, Joe! Stop that right now. We are in an exceptionally small plane. If you start any of your little tricks, we’ll all buy the farm. Do you get me?” She stood over him until he made the window gradually shrink back to the same size as the others in the fuselage. Then she sat down opposite him. She was clearly not going to leave him in peace now. “Why don’t you just wake up? If you don’t want to be here, just wake up.”

  Smokey looked from one to the other in perplexity. “Not want to be here? In a Learjet on his way to the Med with bucketloads of champagne? What’s he on?”

  “You’re the one who’s on stuff, Smokey. And you’re the one who set this up, aren’t you? God knows how or why Joe decided he needed me along for this ride, but probably it was to stop him from getting both of you killed.”

  “Here we go, Little Miss Righteous.” Smokey folded his arms in a huff.

  “What’s going to happen to us once we get to Sardinia, Joe? Can you make arrangements just like that? Do you think anything will be set up?”

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t want to be pushed any more. Nell chewed her lips, holding back a torrent of questions and abuse. But she did not badger him further, and each time Smokey tried to speak, she cut him off.

  “If you could just fasten your seatbelts, we’ll be coming in to land in about twelve minutes,” said the flight girl. She took her own seat and belted herself in.

  They landed, and there was a car waiting for them at the foot of the air stairs. There were no formalities, no passport control. Once their bags had been unloaded, they were simply driven away from the airstrip without ever setting foot in the airport.

  “Do you think this is how rock stars really live?” asked Smokey in wonder.

  “You are sooo trivial.” Nell sat curled in her corner of the car, vulnerable, despite her slick getup. Joe sat silently, wondering how the driver knew where to go—or even how he himself had known where to go. Since he’d never visited Sardinia, it was a bit weird how this whole excursion seemed so organized. He’d have to go to the real Sardinia one day to see if it was the same as his dream version. It must be, he supposed. It was dusk, and the hills were bathed in a rich apricot and crushed berry glow as the sun dipped into the sea to their right, which meant that they were driving south along the western coast of the island. After what seemed like an hour, they turned onto a rough drive and rolled down toward a house that was in darkness until a door opened and light spilled from it.

  Instead of entering the villa, Joe found himself walking alone toward a pool teetering on a cliff edge above a rock-strewn beach about a hundred feet below. Sunlight bounced and wavered off the chemically lurid water. In the distance a turquoise sea shimmered and hissed at the sand and rocks on the shore.

  He realized that he was in trunks. He was alone. Beneath his bare feet, the wooden decking around the pool was warm but not burning. In each corner of the deck were huge potted plants, their fronds waving in a slight breeze. Three wooden sun loungers lay under a canvas canopy at the far side of the pool. Joe turned to look back at the villa. A light curtain billowed out of an open French window, perhaps one leading from his room. He stood, soaking in the warmth of the sun and savoring the silence. He walked to the edge of the pool and launched himself into the water. He swam along the bottom, surfacing at the far end with a great surge, releasing the breath he had held then taking in a great gulp of air. He floated, his eyes closed, conscious only of the heat of the sun and the warmth of the water. When he opened them, he saw a man standing at the shallow end of the pool, his back to the villa. The man wore a cream linen suit with a dark-red shirt, open-necked. Sunglasses concealed his eyes, but there was something about him that seemed familiar. The man stood, legs apart, hands behind his back, dark hair gelled back, face inclined toward the sun’s rays. Joe pulled himself out of the pool and sat at the edge, the precipitous drop down to the beach only a few feet away.

  The man took off his sunglasses. Joe recognized him now—the thief from the nightclub. The guy folded up his shades, eased them into the breast pocket of his jacket and stood watching him. Joe did not move. He simply met the stranger’s gaze. The man shrugged, smiled and turned his back on Joe. He took two steps away then dissolved. The last thing Joe saw of him was a sort of X-ray image of his bones, fading in the bright sunlight. When he opened his eyes again, he hastily hoisted himself out of the pool, for it had become clouded and he could distinguish the silhouettes of frogs—what looked like hundreds of frogs—propelling themselves through the water. His skin quivered in reaction, as though he were still in the water, but sharing it with the jewel-like creatures, all neon reds and yellows and lime greens.

  Next he saw Nell, standing in the same position as the nightclub guy, wearing the most unlikely clothes—a leopard-print skirt and crocodile-print halter top, her midriff bare and tanned. She looked as though she’d just been filming a pop video, bling dripping from her neck and wrists, her fingernails long, gilded talons. Smokey’s fantasy babe. Joe stood up. She came around the side of the pool, apparently oblivious to its inhabitants.

  “You’ve got to do something about Smokey. He’s getting totally out of hand. He’s wasted all the time. Where does he get the money for the gear, Joe? Where does the money for any of this come from?”

  “I’ve got no idea.”

  “Joe, you’ve got to wake up. There’s going to be serious trouble. Smokey’s bringing weird people here. Please, try to wake up and get us back home.”

  “Wake up?”

  “We’re in your dream, Joe. We’re living your dream. Get us out of here before something goes seriously wrong.”

  Joe struggled to understand Nell. A frog sprang from the pool and plopped onto the wooden deck. As the sun hit its back, it shriveled and blackened until there was only a faint scorch mark on the wooden decking. Joe ran for the French window, ran for the shower, leaving Nell behind.

  In the shower, Joe curled himself into a ball, letting the water bounce off his back and skull. He kept his eyes tightly closed and tried to remember his room at home, the light over the desk, the bed, the walls, the trousers lying in a heap in the corner, the book bag he had just
upended underneath the drawing table. He dragged himself back into the room, reaching high above his head and trying to haul himself up first by the fingertips, then by the hands, until he managed to get one elbow back into his own room. Then he felt the hand on his foot. He tried to shake it off, but the grip was firm, and he heard Smokey’s voice protesting strenuously.

  “No way, man. There’s no way I’m going back, which means you can’t go back either. Come on, Joe, just a couple more days. This has been the best holiday I’ve ever had. I’ve found some really great stuff. You’ve got to try it.”

  Joe kicked, but Smokey was stronger and now had him by the waist, pulling him back from his room and back into the shower stall, back into the villa and the sunlight—and the frogs. Joe fought back in earnest, prying away Smokey’s hands and lashing out at him with fists, legs, feet.

  He scrambled up and with a final lunge, tumbled onto the floor and lay there panting. It was dark.

  The light came on and Ben was there.

  “Joe, what the hell is going on? You’ve been yelling your head off about frogs.”

  Joe looked around his room. His duvet was crumpled and he was wearing swimming trunks. His hair was wet, but the rest of him was dry. Ben knelt beside him and put a hand on his forehead. Joe tried to knock it away, but Ben was stronger.

  “You’re burning up, kiddo. I’m going to get Mum.”

  Joe sat on the floor, still dazed. He didn’t ever want to see Smokey again, but he had to know if Nell was safe at home. He stood, but wobbled and sat abruptly back down on the floor. Sue Knightley came in. Like Ben, she held her hand to his forehead.

  “Baby, you’re sick. You’ve got to get back into bed.” She hadn’t called him baby in years. She tried to coax him off the floor and under his duvet, but Joe broke away from her and headed for the door.

  “I can’t, I’ve got to find Nell. You’ve got to let me find her.”

  Ben blocked his path and his mother clutched at his arm and held him back. He wanted to shake them both off, get rid of them.

  Sue Knightley whispered urgently, “Joe, it’s nearly two o’clock in the morning. Nell will be safely tucked up in bed, where you should be.” Joe saw her glance over at Ben. “Check my bathroom cabinet. There’s some ibuprofen in there. Hopefully it will sort out this fever, at least until the morning.”

  Ben watched as his mother propelled Joe back to bed, shook out his duvet, covered him up and sat beside him, stroking his forehead just as she had done when he’d had chickenpox. He began shivering. She tucked the duvet in close around his body and rubbed his arms. Ben went to get the pills and a glass of water.

  They managed to get two Nurofen down him. He kept muttering about Nell and the frogs, but his murmurs were increasingly slurred and subdued. He still shivered periodically.

  Mrs. Knightley looked up at Ben, leaning on the wall near the head of Joe’s bed. He pushed himself away from the wall and helped her to her feet.

  “I’ll stay with him, Mum. You try to get some sleep. If he’s still like this tomorrow, I’ll stay at home with him. I’ve only got one double lesson, and I can easily catch up. Zahid will get the notes for me.”

  His mother brought up Ben’s bedding. Together, without speaking, they unrolled the single futon so it lay alongside Joe’s bed. Then they shook out the sheet and duvet. Joe was still restless and shuddering.

  “He’ll need to go to the doctor, if he’s not back to normal.” She seemed to shrink before Ben’s eyes. He reached out and drew her into his great bear hug. Her head barely reached his shoulder now. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and eased her out of the door.

  “Try to get some sleep. We’ll work out what to do in the morning.” He waited, listening, as she took each step down to her own room. Then he switched off the light before stumbling onto the mattress on the floor where he lay, listening to Joe and watching the minutes glowing past on the clock radio.

  Chapter Ten

  Gear

  The sun woke Joe, not the alarm. He lay there watching it stream through the Velux window and thinking it must be really late. He sat upright and saw the bundled form of Ben on the floor, curled up on the futon. They were both meant to be in school. Friday was double biology followed by triple art. He leaned down and shook Ben’s shoulder.

  “Wake up! Wake up. We’re late again, Elphick’s going to kill me.”

  Ben pushed an ineffectual hand at Joe then tried burrowing deeper under the duvet, but when Joe wouldn’t stop jiggling his shoulder, he emerged, his normally immaculate hair wildly askew, his eyes bleary and his face puffy.

  “Mum rang us in sick. You’re not going anywhere today, and I’m keeping an eye on you.”

  Joe leaped out of bed then stopped as he looked down and saw he was wearing his swimming trunks. “Why?” He pointed.

  Ben shook his head. “You tell me.”

  “I’ve got to see if Nell’s okay.”

  “Nell?”

  “Yes. Nell Brennan. Something happened last night, and she might have been affected.”

  “What happened? You haven’t been anywhere, Joe. You went to bed really early. The next thing we knew, you were yelling your head off about frogs, and you were so hot we could have fried eggs on you. What happened?” Ben was standing with his hands on his hips in a spooky echo of their mother.

  Joe ignored Ben and headed for the shower. By the time he’d come out, he could hear the shower going in the downstairs bathroom, which meant that Ben was getting ready too. He threw on his clothes and rummaged around his bag for his notebook. At the back was a list of phone numbers. He did have one for Nell. She’d had a mobile since she started secondary school. He went downstairs to the kitchen and phoned the number, but he only reached the answerphone.

  “Nell, call me to let me know you’re okay.”

  He glanced around the room. It was nearly ten, which meant he’d have to wait an hour until break time, then, maybe, she’d turn her phone on. Unlike other girls, Nell would absolutely never keep her phone on during lessons, perhaps because she knew that scarcely anyone would call her. She wasn’t exactly Miss Popular.

  Ben came into the kitchen and insisted on checking Joe’s temperature. It was still high, although Joe could feel nothing but a surge of energy that demanded an outlet. He felt as if he could run the two and three-quarter miles to school then do sixty press-ups. Ben somehow persuaded him to sit down and have some juice, but Joe could not keep still. His legs jiggled, his fingers drummed and his toes tapped. Ben brought more ibuprofen and stood over his brother until he’d swallowed the pills.

  The medicine did slow Joe down. The brothers sat at opposite ends of the sofa, Ben holding the remote, the television blaring daytime nonsense that neither really registered. After the juice and pills, the energy drained out of Joe. His head sank lower and lower until it was resting on the arm of the sofa and his eyes closed again.

  Ben watched until he was sure his brother was asleep then fetched a blanket.

  Before draping it over Joe, he stretched out his brother’s limbs and checked his forehead again. It was damp with sweat and his pulse was thrumming, but Joe was in a deep sleep. Ben remembered some platitude about sleep being the best cure for a sickness, and he hoped it was true. He covered Joe up, then fetched some books and settled in an armchair, trying to make notes for his next history essay.

  The phone rang at ten-forty. It did not rouse Joe. Ben caught it on the second ring, hoping it would be their mother. A hesitant voice spoke.

  “Hello?”

  “Knightley residence. How can I help you?”

  “Is that Ben?”

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “Nell Brennan. You probably don’t remember me, but I used to be a friend of Joe’s.”

  Ben sighed. “Don’t be daft, Nell, of course I know who you are. What’s up?”

  “How’s Joe?”

  “He’s running a high temperature, but I reckon he’ll survive.”

  “Woul
d it be possible to see him? Could I call around this afternoon? I’ve got something of his. I think he may need it.”

  Although it sounded a bit weird, Ben remembered how insistent Joe had been about wanting to speak to Nell, needing to know that she was okay. He watched Joe steadily for the next two hours, but when the phone rang again, Joe woke up, his face flushed and ridged where he’d been lying against the sofa fabric.

  Ben spoke quietly. “Joe has been asleep since around ten. The temperature seems to be coming down, and it’s a really deep sleep, so I think he may be on the mend.” Joe stirred, causing Ben to turn around. “He’s just woken up. I’ll get him some lunch, then he can ring you himself.” After a little more nodding and hemming and “yeah, right,” Ben put the phone down and asked Joe how he felt.

  Ben watched carefully as Joe woozily put his feet to the floor, rocking a little as he sat up.

  Then Joe asked him, “Who was that on the phone?”

  “Mum. You gave us quite a fright last night. Are you feeling better?”

  “I don’t know.” Joe sat with his head in his hands for a few moments, then he stood up. He moved slowly toward the door.

  “Can I help you?” Ben offered.

  “I’m just going to the loo. I feel really odd still. My head’s all furry on the inside.”

  It took Joe a little time to come back, and he shuffled as if he needed a hip replacement. He clambered onto the sofa without Ben’s help, but he lay down immediately and reached for the blanket. Ben went over and shook it out, then felt Joe’s forehead again.

  “It’s definitely coming down, but you’re still pretty hot.”

  “Did anyone else call?”

  “Yup. Nell Brennan. She’s coming around after school.” Ben waited, but Joe scarcely reacted, just whispering something about ‘Nell’ and ‘a relief’ before falling back asleep. Ben rang his mother to tell her the latest then settled down again for another bout of reading. Now that Joe seemed to be calmer and cooler, it was actually quite pleasant to sit there quietly doing some work and chilling out. It was the first time in ages that Joe hadn’t fled at the sight of him. Of course, it would have been better if he were choosing to be with Ben while fully conscious, but it was perhaps a start to rebuilding their relationship.