Someone Else's Dream

by Colin Griffiths

  She stood on the porch of Alton house and went to pull her collar up on her jacket before she realised she didn’t have one. She hoped nobody was watching as she pulled the imaginary collar up, guessing she looked like a fool. She realised her top buttons on her blouse were still undone and she quickly fastened them. She pulled her skirt down, even though it didn’t need it, cursing herself once again for not wearing her jeans. Then crazily, she imagined she had pulled too hard and her skirt was around her knees and she was stood there in her tights and knickers. Pulling her skirt up a little, she checked for umbrellas in both directions. The coast was clear and she stepped out into the footpath, into the drizzle. She imagined people were watching her, pointing at the failed author, until she looked around and realised no one was paying her any attention at all. Where do you get these crazy thoughts from? She asked herself.

  It only took her four minutes to get to the pay and display car park. She walked briskly, whilst looking out for the umbrella kids. During her walk she cheered up a bit when she realised how lucky and successful she had been, and how fortunate she was to have even had one novel published. She could now legitimately call herself a novelist. She decided she would re-visit ‘Charlotte Fights Back’ and give them what they wanted, only this time it would be bigger and better. Opening the driver’s side, back door, she laid her jacket on the seat, along with her bag. She was feeling so much better, and it felt like this was the kick-start she needed to get her going again.

  She opened the driver’s side, front door and sat at the wheel, where she changed into the flat shoes she kept in the passenger side-well. Turning the key, she started the engine just as the passenger’s front door opened and Darren sat down. He was dripping wet and looked as if he had been waiting in the rain for a long time. Carla’s initial shock quickly turned into frustration and annoyance, as he fiddled with the heater controls in her car. She loved her car as much as she hated umbrellas.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked not at all pleasantly. Darren didn’t seem to notice her harsh tone.

  “I knew you were meeting the book guys so I came to wish you good luck. I missed you, as the bus was late, so I thought I’d wait for you and then I found your car.” He said it all, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “You been waiting in the rain all that time?” she asked, her face distorted with confusion,

  “Yeah!”

  Carla admired his dedication, but she really didn’t want it at that time, nor the dripping wet, man who was currently soaking the front passenger seat of her car. She was thankful, though, he hadn’t taken an umbrella that day.

  “I told you I was busy today. I thought we had arranged for Saturday,” she said, wishing she had said it more tactfully.

  “I only wanted to wish you good luck,” he replied sheepishly,

  Seeing the look on his face, Carla immediately felt a pang of guilt. She had let her own frustration boil over and taken it out on him. She leant over and kissed him on the cheek.

  “You should have brought a coat,” she said, smiling at him, sitting there; looking like a lost, wet, little boy. He was dressed in a white T-Shirt and it stuck to him like a second skin. Carla thought it made him look sexy, showing off all his muscles.

  “It was dry when I left!”

  She rolled her eyes and gave him a smile that showed all her beauty; the same smile that had first sent Darren weak at the knees, when she’d smiled at him, over a table, in a Porthcawl bar.

  They had been dating for five months. Darren was five years younger than Carla. He was a builder by trade and had the body to go with it. He worked out in the gym to tone his muscular frame, whenever he could. He had the clean-shaven, baby-boy pop star look; pretty instead of handsome. He looked younger than he was and had blonde hair that he wore in a 60’s Beatles style, with a fringe that was always just a tad too long. He wasn’t a lady’s man, far from it. He’d had had very few girlfriends before Carla and only a few sexual encounters. He could have had many more as the girls marvelled at his great physique, but Darren didn’t want any of it. All Darren wanted was love. He lived with his best friend, in a flat, in the centre of Porthcawl. Carla had met his friend Smithy, but had never stopped over at his flat. Darren was besotted with Carla and forever trying to please her, but his timing was usually lousy, as he was proving today.

  Darren just hadn’t quite been able to grow up. As well as having those boyish looks, he still had, in some ways, a boy’s mentality about him; spending all day on the Play Station, when he was not at work. His mother still did his washing and ironing, even collecting it and returning it for him. If she ever forgot, or simply did not have time, well, there was always Smithy to do it for him. He was always having to be told when to have a haircut or what to wear, whatever the occasion.

  Darren however did have one thing going for him, however. He was very likeable, everyone adored him because he was such a friendly lad; a little immature, like some mixed up child, but always friendly...and, of course, he had a body to die for. He was very difficult to love, but easy to like. He was also generous and liked to please others, whilst being very easily pleased himself. He loved spending his money on friends and then having to go and ask mum and dad to sub him. They always did too; they adored their only child. If there was a nasty bone in his body then it simply hadn’t been discovered yet. But, like all timid cats there is a lion inside, waiting to escape and roar.

  They didn’t speak during the twenty-five minute drive; Darren fiddled with the car radio until he found classic FM and turned the volume up as he sang along to the radio, as Carla drove. His singing didn’t normally annoy Carla, even though Darren was tone deaf, but she wanted to drive home with her own thoughts and not have them doused by a wannabee pop singer. He was annoying her and she hated that; how someone she was so fond of could annoy her so easily.

  She pulled up outside his place thankful she had gotten there; she needed some peace and quiet. His flat was a second floor conversion of a terraced house, looking up she saw the lights were on and guessed Smithy was in.

  “I’ll see you at around seven Saturday,” Carla said as Darren opened the door to get out.

  “You not coming in for a coffee?” he pleaded, as he stood on the pavement.

  “No babe, too much to do,” Carla replied. She really didn’t want to see the inside of his bachelor pad. She imagined it full of takeaway packets and unwashed crockery as well as porn videos all over the floor. She had never seen a porn video in her life and had no intention of starting now.

  “We could skip the coffee,” Darren said with a wink. She gave him a weak smile, momentarily thinking of Charlotte, in that hotel room.

  “See you Saturday babe”. She blew him a kiss and off she drove. It was Wednesday 5pm and that would give her some peace and quiet to get some writing done. She turned the radio off and headed for home. It wasn’t until she had driven around the corner that she realised Darren hadn’t even asked her how she got on at the publishers.

  She thought of umbrellas and where she would like to insert one. Then she shuddered, as memories came flooding back, wondering what part of her brain made her even think about that

  * * *

  She drove on; to her idyllic treat, her home that she loved so much. It was only two miles from where Darren lived, but you would swear it was a different world. It felt to Carla that Darren was a million miles away and she liked it like that. From the home, she had worked so hard to achieve, she could see Trecco Bay and Sandy Beach. The lights from the fairground could be seen in the distance, the hundreds of holiday caravans looking out onto the sea were something she loved to look down on and the whole place always seemed to be bustling with people, except in the cold winter months.

  From where she resided she could see all those things, but all she could hear was the sound of nature and the gentle rustling of the sea crashing against the rocks. It wasn’t the Costa del Sol or the English Riviera, but it was her own retreat and
she loved it. It could be any place in the world she desired, she just had to close her eyes and imagine. It had been eighteen months since she’d purchased it and each day she loved it a little more. It was Carla’s own little sanctuary; it was where Charlotte was born.

  She could see her beach house in the distance, as she drove and it always gave her butterflies, not quite believing that it was hers. Small sand dunes lay between her home and the beach. She could see children climbing the rocks and searching for crabs, as she approached. She drove up the small single-car lane that she also felt belonged to her, for the only place it would take you, was to her special retreat; used only by her, her visitors, or those who had a reason to be there.

  Carla had given up her job as a senior secretary, for a trade union. It was a job she’d loved doing, but she took a redundancy package to concentrate on writing; something she had done since being a small child, always penning short stories and poetry. She wanted to become an author; she wanted to be the next Jackie Collins, or maybe even hit the heights of J.K.Rowling.

  When she had her first novel published, she thought then, it was exactly the right thing to do. Most of the money she’d received from her redundancy and savings had gone towards the purchase of the beach house. She owned it one hundred percent now and nobody could take it away from her. She still had a little put by, so she wasn’t desperate yet. There was still a trickle of royalties coming in for her first novel, but if she didn’t get the second one published and recognised she would have to re-visit her original career. She was going to re-invent Charlotte and they were all going to love her. It was either that, or she would be back, sat behind a desk, applying her skills for the benefit of others.

  She could see the SUV in the drive as she drove closer and a smile came to her face, for this was one visitor she was always pleased to see; the only other person allowed a key to her retreat. She was the only ‘real person’ she looked up to, like no other, although her friend Donna came close. She was thrilled to see that SUV in her drive, feeling it would be just the tonic she needed. As she drove closer she could see her sitting on her veranda, a coffee in one hand and a paperback in the other. They waved stealthily at each other, as Carla approached. Carla marvelled at how this woman could still be mistaken as her sister at fifty two years of age. She was stunning, her body had lost none of her shape and although her skin was not as smooth as it once had been, her smile was so wide and her eyes, so blue and bottomless, that was all she needed. Carla could see she was in her usual attire, black slacks and sandals. She knew how lucky she was to have her in her life. Not all mothers were as supportive of their daughters as she was. At that moment she felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

  Carla parked up next to the SUV and quickly walked around the front of the beach house to greet her mother. The front of the house over looked the sea, but the road led you to the back. They hugged each other and air-kissed before sitting down on the teak patio furniture. Her mother could see the look on Carla’s face suggesting all did not go well. She knew she had been to see her publisher and had even offered to go with her, but Carla had refused. She knew her daughter better than anyone, and could read her better than the novel that she had written.

  “I put a casserole in the oven as I know you won’t eat,” said Patricia Reid, her mother.

  “Oh thanks Mum, my favourite. Are you stopping for some?” Her mother’s words were music to her ears. She certainly wasn’t going to cook for herself tonight, she had far too much thinking to do.

  “I think I will hon, that father of yours can fend for himself for once. He thinks I was put on this earth just to feed him.”

  “How is he? Is he ok?” Carla asked, trying to think of the last time she had seen him. It was over a month ago and she subconsciously made a note to go and see him.

  “Oh he’s fine, just as useless as always. I keep telling him he’s only good for one thing, does he listen? Does he heck as like!”

  Carla rolled her eyes and smiled, she loved her mother’s euphemisms, and she sometimes wished she could be like her. Her mother was confident and sassy; whilst she was timid and sometimes, just too afraid.

  “Mind you, he’s not up to much in that department either lately; he just doesn’t understand a woman’s needs. I’ve told him he will have to step up or I’ll trade him in for a younger model.” Patricia laughed fondly at the man she was chiding and Carla caught her giggles.

  “What are you like mum?” she told her mother, as a soft breeze came over them and Carla took a deep breath to suck it in.

  “I love this place,” she said,

  “I told you, you should have moved to Mumbles, by us; much more inspiration then this place”.

  Carla smiled again. She remembered her mother trying to talk her out of buying the beach house and move closer to her in Swansea.

  “Anyway, I’m a fool, that’s what I’m like,” added Patricia. She looked out at the sea, thinking it wasn’t such a bad place after all. She was proud of her daughter and all that she had achieved. She could still remember her daughter’s teenage years when she suddenly turned into a recluse. She never thought she would turn out as well as she had done, or as successful.

  “When I think of all the men I could have married...” She looked up into the skies and let out an over exaggerated sigh. “Oh well,” she said.

  “You love him to bits,” Carla told her.

  Patricia pieced her lips together in an almost pout and gave Carla a funny look. There was a minute or so of silence, but not an awkward silence. Both mother and daughter looked out onto the beach; Carla was right, from a short distance they could be mistaken for sisters. They saw tiny images of children playing in the sands. For Patricia, it reminded her of her own daughter many years ago, when they used to take her to the beaches. Carla, though, was thinking about the children she may never have, as life was catching up with her. Patricia eventually broke the silence.

  “Well, how did it go?” asked her mother already guessing the answer.

  Their eyes met and Carla bit her bottom lip, her eyes started watering. Patricia just wanted Carla to let the tears flow and to not hold anything back, but she knew her daughter wouldn’t.

  “Don’t tell me they didn’t accept it,” Patricia added.

  Carla shook her head desperately trying not to let the tears flow.

  “Why ever not? What was wrong with it? I’ve read it and it was every bit as good as the first, if not better!”

  Carla forced a smile. She knew it wasn’t as good and she knew her mother knew that also, but isn’t that what mothers do? She asked herself.

  “They said it wasn’t racy enough and they don’t want her dead. They want to turn her into a porn star, they want X-rated stuff. I had so many other ideas but they just want sex”. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked out at the sea, as if seeking answers.

  “Well, is that really so bad? They haven’t totally rejected it,” asked Patricia, trying to put a good spin on it, but Carla just let out a sigh.

  “No they haven’t totally rejected it. I didn’t want to be an erotic writer, and Charlotte was my hero, not my porn star.” She put her finger against her teeth, as if cleaning them. Her mother recognised the motion as a sign of hiding her disappointment.

  “Well, just have her screwing around a bit, give them what they want and a lot more. Create the best erotica you can; have them gagging for more, then you can dictate your own terms, when it smashes the charts.”

  Carla loved the enthusiasm of her mother; it was contagious and immediately cheered her up. A smile came to her lips and she caught her mother’s eyes; they were still deep and beautiful.

  “I can’t write all that graphic stuff!”

  “Just imagine it’s you and Darren and...” She saw Carla’s face of non-approval.

  “Well, perhaps not! How is dick-head, anyway?” she added.

  Carla giggled, loving her mother’s terms of reference. “I can try, I suppose. I don’
t want Dad reading it though.” She didn’t want to tell her mother that her and Darren’s sex life was… well... certainly nothing like Charlotte’s.

  Patricia tutted, “Him! He’s so damn lazy I bet he’s forgotten how to read,” referring to her husband. Patricia leaned over the table and put her hand on the top of Carla’s arm; “if you get stuck, I could help you with a few juicy chapters. Did I tell you about the night I met your father…”

  Carla interrupted with a look of horror on her face.

  “MUM!!!” she screamed, followed by a wry smile.

  Her mother stopped, with a grin all over her face, remembering only too well the first time she met Carla’s father.

  “I’ll dish up that casserole shall I? I’m starving.”

  Carla followed her into the kitchen, feeling a whole lot happier. Her mother’s ambience was so infectious she felt like it should be bottled and sold as a medicine.