Dream a Little Dream

by Sue Moorcroft

  He wanted her out of that damned green uniform so that he could explore her body, in turn. He was definitely a gentleman, like that.

  He could smell—

  And then he was sitting up in the darkness and Liza had gone. His heart was pounding, his body was throbbing, but he was alone except for the shape of Crosswind curled into his doggie beanbag on the floor. The rectangle of light that outlined his bedroom door was from the lamp that burned on the landing so that Ethan wouldn’t be frightened if he woke in the night.

  He was in Miranda’s spare room.

  ‘Damn.’ He fell back onto the mattress. His heart was trotting and his skin damp. His groin was heavy. He flipped his pillow, closed his eyes and tried to fall back into the erotic, arousing world he’d just left, where Liza Reece worked him over with her soft, supple, knowing hands.

  Those skilful fingers could read his feet … what could they do to the rest of him? He ached to find out.

  But dreams weren’t like that. His mind just fell into blackness.

  Chapter Four

  PWNsleep message board:

  Tenzeds: I’m finding a career break difficult. Unless there’s something to stimulate my interest, I can lose hours.

  Nightjack: Set your alarms and get up at the same time every day, like you’re at work. And if you’re snoozy in the day, set your phone alerts to go off every half hour.

  Sleepingmatt: Outdoors! Get out there.

  Miranda’s and Ethan’s voices filled the kitchen as Dominic paced around the table, into the hall and back. After the noontime thirty-minute nap his neurological consultant recommended as “scheduled sleep” – Dominic, less clinically, called it catching zeds – he’d been refreshed. But, as the afternoon was wearing on, the now-familiar wooliness was trying to cloak his mind. Resist it.

  Patiently, Crosswind paced after, nails clicking on the quarry tiles. Named for the fact that anything could happen when there was a Crosswind about, his square face, amber eyes, tan-patched body and upright tail were all fox terrier, but his sandy bandy legs betrayed a mixed marriage somewhere in his pedigree.

  ‘Take you out after dinner,’ promised Dominic, bending to ruffle the dog’s wonkily folded ears. Crosswind had been all Dominic had bothered about holding onto as his relationship broke and failed. Natalie hadn’t put up a fight. Crosswind knew who his human was.

  Ethan’s small-boy laughter burbled into the air and Crosswind turned to listen. Crosswind approved of Ethan, always good for a bit of needless charging around or a carelessly sported biscuit.

  Ethan had lately joined a playgroup and was all high-pitched excitement about it. ‘Dommynic!’ he shouted as Dominic paced back into the kitchen, shouts being Ethan’s usual conversational mode. ‘Today I painted my hands, then I pressed yellow paper and every time it made a hand shape!’

  Dominic grinned. ‘Wow! Every time?’ Ethan’s pint-sized personality had kind of snuck up on him. Until Dominic had moved into the spare room of Miranda and her husband, Jos, Ethan had just been Miranda’s kid; they’d met every few months and forgotten one another between times. But now he was coming to appreciate the developing brain, the entertaining child’s eye view, the cute pronunciation, the importance of packing a red Cars backpack with ‘stuff’ for outings.

  ‘Your hand’s always hand-shaped, Ethan,’ Miranda pointed out, reasonably, which somehow prompted Ethan, the natural enemy of silence, to thunder down the hall screaming, ‘Cheee-arge!’ Crosswind raced, barking, behind him.

  In front of the Raeburn, Miranda stirred a sauce of tomatoes, courgettes, red cabbage and sweetcorn, a pan of pasta verde bubbling on the next burner. Mentally, Dominic sighed. Miranda was a great cook and he must be incredibly ungracious, but he just couldn’t share her joy in vegetarianism, even if he knew that fruit and water-rich vegetables were great for energy levels. Pity Liza Reece hadn’t agreed to have dinner with him. His mouth watered at the thought of a huge, overdone steak. Or a big, juicy mixed grill. With garlic bread. Bread made him drowsy but that didn’t stop him wanting it.

  His mouth watered at the thought of Liza Reece, too, but that was a waste of good saliva. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d rather eat rat salad alone than eat steak with him. He hoped it had more to do with the stupid remark she’d overheard than with his health or employment. Lack of. Or maybe he’d just opened up to her about the goblins too soon.

  So that Miranda wouldn’t think he was hanging around just to sound her out, Dominic began to set the table with three full-sized place settings and one smaller set, red, Ethan’s ‘favouritist’ colour. ‘So, what do you know about Liza Reece?’

  Miranda gave him a malicious grin. ‘Breasts about the size of grapefruit.’

  He winced. ‘I’m surprised she didn’t call the police.’ He took out the wooden pepper grinder from a cupboard – Miranda didn’t believe in salt, which was another good reason to eat out, and soon.

  ‘Actually, I only know her to chat to if I see her around the village. Hope Jos comes soon, the dinner’s ready.’ Miranda stirred the pasta, fished a twist out, blew on it, then popped it in her mouth. ‘I’m friends with Liza’s sister, Cleo, so I know that Liza was in a relationship that ended badly.’ Reaching down the colander from its hook, she peeped at him questioningly over her glasses.

  He put three plates to warm and fixed Ethan’s red bowl to the table with the rubber sucker that stopped it from whizzing off under the stresses of inexpert chopping and shovelling. Crosswind, an expert at recognising behaviours, took up strategic station under the table. ‘I asked her to dinner. She couldn’t have turned me down flatter.’

  ‘Dom! Are you nuts?’ A cloud of steam enveloped Miranda as she plopped the colander into the sink and poured in the contents of the pasta pan.

  ‘What?’ Innocently.

  ‘Tomorrow, you’re going to meet the owner of The Stables with a view to buying into it! It’s a business – not a personal harem.’

  He blinked in mock surprise. ‘In that case, I’ll have to reconsider.’ Then he became serious. ‘Miranda, you know and I know that I’m not going to buy into a holistic treatment centre – it’s you that’s into all the complementary stuff. It’s just one of several business opportunities that the crap Peterbizop agency has waved under my nose, in a misdirected attempt to earn a commission. I’m only looking at The Stables because I like where it is, not what it is.

  ‘Liza treated me like a predator, and now you are. Get over yourselves! She’s hot and I’m single. The whole point about being single is that I can date anyone I want. Except if I’ve offended her with “macho bullshit”, of course,’ he added, reflectively.

  Miranda laughed, wiping steam from her glasses with her cuff. ‘Actually, I think Cleo mentioned that Liza’s on some kind of celibacy kick. Cleo thought it was stupid – completely foreign to Liza’s personality.’

  He winced. ‘And a crime against nature. She’s amazing.’

  ‘She’s an intelligent and capable young woman,’ said Miranda, severely, as if Liza being amazing was something it was not politically correct for Dominic to notice. Then her voice softened. ‘Aren’t you interested in the treatment centre, really, Dom? It would be fantastic to have you living nearby.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, neutrally. Of course, Miranda intended to train in therapy when Ethan was older and so Dominic having a therapy centre would be convenient. Before motherhood she’d had an incredibly sensible – read: soul-destroying – job as a supervisor in a call centre, and had no intention of returning to it after a career break in which she’d embraced all things holistic, complementary, green, alternative or conservationist. But Miranda also had mother-hen tendencies and he hoped she didn’t want him nearby so that she could cluck over him, because, much as he appreciated her, another benefit of being single was avoiding conversations that began, ‘How are you?’ and progressed through, ‘Taking your meds? How difficult are the mornings? How hard is the daytime sleep hitting you?’

  ‘Miranda,�
� he began. He paused to soften his tone; she didn’t know about all the irritating things she’d just said in his head. ‘Mi, I’ve lost my ATCO licence, my driving licence has been suspended, my GP won’t pass me medically fit for scuba until “we’ve had a good look at how you go on” – and I can’t imagine an insurance company wanting to cover me or a divemaster wanting to take me down – and almost all my friends were in aviation, my lost world. It’s incredibly nice of you to want me living locally and invite me to stay while I try and sort myself out, but I’m not going to shoehorn myself into some touchy-feely business that so isn’t me. Can you really see me as part of the new-age music and pretty uniforms?’

  Miranda tipped a tiny amount of sauce onto a teaspoon, to taste it. ‘I didn’t think the uniform was particularly pretty. And not all your mates are in aviation. What about Kenny King?’ Kenny was Dominic’s oldest and quirkiest friend, the yin to Dominic’s yang, Dominic excelling at maths, science and technology and Kenny compensating for his dyslexia with superhero performance on the sports field. Being brought up within a few streets of both Dominic and Kenny, Miranda had known larger-than-life Kenny King since childhood.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Dominic. Pulling out a kitchen chair, he dropped into it. ‘What about Kenny? An Outward Bound instructor in North Carolina, every day a new adventure. Loving life and getting paid.’

  Miranda halted, spoon halfway from her mouth, eyes full of compassion. ‘Sorry. I’m so used to you being stubborn that I forget that sometimes you might have a point. I’ll shut up about you buying into the treatment centre. The premises are in a fantastic spot, though, aren’t they? Must be a lovely leafy place to spend your days. Fantastic views.’ She lifted her voice. ‘Eth-an, din-ner!’

  ‘Couldn’t agree more. Although I’m more interested in actually being outside than just looking at it.’

  ‘You outdoorsy guys. It’s not enough just to stroll around the park in your lunch breaks?’ She grinned as Ethan raced in, ‘Cheee-arge!’, Crosswind skittering to meet him and escort him to his chair. ‘Would you put Ethan on his booster seat, for me?’ She took down the plates with a tea towel.

  Swinging Ethan up, Dominic didn’t bother reminding Miranda that being outdoors made it easier for him to be alert. ‘C’mon, Ethan, bend.’ Ethan had a strange habit of making himself the wrong shape for the seat by pointing his toes and sticking his legs straight down, like a human golf tee. Dominic’s training having involved a lot of problem solving, he simply tickled Ethan’s legs to make him giggle his knees up to his chest, ‘Eep!’

  Miranda made sure Ethan’s food was in manageable pieces before putting it before him with an affectionate pat to his round cheek. ‘But I am sad if you’re still prejudiced against alternative therapies, Dom.’

  ‘I’m never prejudiced, it’s unscientific.’

  ‘Didn’t you enjoy the treatments?’

  Dominic took the chair next to Ethan’s and prepared to help him dig pasta out of his red bowl with his red spoon. Beneath the table, Crosswind edged closer. ‘I didn’t enjoy the ear candling nonsense.’ Dominic laughed as he watched Ethan tutting over the challenge of capturing pasta on a spoon. ‘Use your fingers, Ethan, it’s more efficient. I did enjoy the reflexology.’ Oh yeahhhhh …

  ‘Yes, well, Liza’s a lot prettier than Fenella.’ Miranda ladled pasta and sauce onto the rest of the plates.

  And then Crosswind barked and whirled to face the back door an instant before Jos, dark hair tied at the nape of his neck, walked in, bringing with him the scents of rain and engine oil. Crosswind woofed and wagged and Ethan squealed, ‘Daddee! Dad-deeeee!’

  ‘Hey, my little Ethan!’ Jos made a kissy noise at Crosswind and grabbed Ethan up for a cuddle, dislodging several pasta twists from various nooks, which Crosswind snaffled before they could even bounce.

  ‘Hiya, Jossy!’ Miranda gave her doe-eyed husband a dazzling smile, a soft kiss on the lips and a plate in his hand in a flowing series of movements, and the subject of Liza Reece was forgotten.

  Except by Dominic.

  Chapter Five

  PWNsleep message board:

  Tenzeds: I want to just sleep without my brain talking to itself. Dreams are vivid and weird right now.

  Inthebatcave: Lucky you! I get dreams that are mainly dull But dropping really quickly into REM sleep is what makes our dreams difficult to tell from reality.

  His new alarm clock was shrieking, beeee-beeee-beeee-beeee. He slapped at the black plastic box until he hit something that stopped the racket.

  In the silence, he jumped up, threw on a sweatshirt with his boxers and padded along the landing to where a small white goat watched him with malevolent eyes. Natalie stood with a hand on the goat’s curling left horn, staring, her hair a sheet of silk over one shoulder. Every nail on every finger was inches long and bleeding. Apprehension broke sweatily on his chest and put pressure on his lungs. His breathing faltered—

  Brrrrrrrr! The next alarm. Ringing. Drilling into his ear. ‘Shit.’ Landing, goat and Natalie flickered as he dragged himself towards wakefulness. The weight on his chest stood up and became Crosswind, and Dominic tamped down the now familiar wave of frustration as he realised he’d sunk back into sleep after the first alarm and not jumped out of bed at all.

  He tried to haul an un-cooperative arm free from a ton-weight quilt. A snuffling cold nose touched his chin and the prospect of being French kissed by Crosswind gave Dominic the incentive to heave his upper body sideways from the bed. Gravity took over and he banged uncomfortably onto the carpet. Crosswind landed lightly beside him, giving him a ‘job done’ lick on the ear and running to the bedroom door. Rolling onto his side, Dominic fought against the warm fuzzies coming back to shove him under. The alarm was still blaring. The carpet had grazed his knee. But, on some level, he was awake.

  A knock fell on his bedroom door. ‘Dom?’

  ‘Um up,’ he managed, thickly.

  ‘You’re up? OK.’ Then, ‘But your alarm—’

  He forced his arm into the air and finally landed it on the big blue clock button with all the dexterity of a baby trying to play Pin the Tail on the Donkey. The brrrrrr stopped. ‘Goddit.’

  A pause. ‘Are you still up?’ Miranda’s voice was muffled, through the door.

  ‘Yeah.’ Just leave me alone a minute for FUCKSAKE! But he didn’t let the anger become real words. It wasn’t Miranda’s fault that mornings could be so miserable. Crosswind scratched the door and whined.

  ‘Shall I let him out into the garden?’

  Slowly, his stone legs began to flex. ‘I’ll do it. Thanks.’ In a minute. Gradually, Dominic forced himself to his knees and onto his feet, checked that he was really wearing boxers, pulled the sweatshirt he’d left out last night over his top half, and fumbled with the blister packs he kept on a shelf out of reach of Ethan for his first tablets of the day, one yellow, one white. Swallowed the yellow one, dropped the white one on the bed. Sucked it up directly from the sheet. Waited, whilst his head cleared some more, and opened the bedroom door. Crosswind whipped past and galloped downstairs.

  Miranda was lingering on the landing, her eyes smiling through her specs. ‘I don’t mind letting him out for you if—’

  Battling the impulse to snap, ‘I’LL DO IT!’, when snapping would probably be impossible, anyway, he managed, ‘Um fine. Ull do it.’ And, ignoring his own need for the bathroom, he followed Crosswind past where the last tendrils of his dream still wanted to put the goat and Natalie, holding on to the handrail as he persuaded his gradually cooperating feet to take the stairs.

  Ethan shouted, ‘’Lo Dommynic!’ from amongst the toy-car traffic jam he was happily creating on the floor in the sitting-room doorway.

  ‘’Lo, Ethan.’ Dominic trod his feet into the trainers he’d left in the hall before attempting the frozen wastes of the kitchen’s quarry tiled floor. Pushing open the back door, he knew he was really awake when a frozen blast of rain slapped into him. ‘Whooh, shit!’ He checked behind him to se
e if Miranda had heard him swear within Ethan range. Nope. Safe. He turned back to the frigid morning. He could have sheltered behind the door while Crosswind cocked his leg over Miranda’s statue of the green man, but, instead, he let the wind sear the sleep from his mind and dispel the remnants of anger that something as simple as getting up in the morning should feel like struggling out from under a hot, heavy monster.

  OK. Brain was engaging. Today was Thursday and he had an appointment with Nicolas Notten of The Stables at half-ten, which created welcome feelings of focus and anticipation. He turned to check the kitchen clock: eight-fifteen. So far, so good. He had something to do and he was awake in time to do it. Result. His aggravation with the getting-up process began to subside.

  The leather of his trainers chilled his sockless feet as he reviewed his situation. Peterbizop had proved to have an inadequate level of personal service behind their flashy website, the agency/client interaction consisting of e-mail and telephone contact. Empathy and common sense were absent as other businesses they’d suggested included rodent control and modular building erection – don’t think so.

  But perhaps they’d inadvertently done him a favour, reinforcing what he’d long suspected: he’d have to start his business from the idea up. He tingled with the need to find something to replace the precise, focused and rarefied atmosphere of the air traffic control tower. He’d taken courses in business start up, management and finance. Now he was bursting to put what he’d learned into practice, to create something worthwhile. What he’d done at The Stables so far had been time inefficient, but today that might just change.

  By the time Miranda had walked Ethan across the playing field to the village hall for playgroup and Dominic had taken Crosswind for a run, showered and dressed in something approximating office clothes, the appointment with Nicolas Notten was approaching. Miranda had dusted off a dress and jacket that were not ethnic print and, whisking her mouse brown hair up in a bronze butterfly thing behind her head, looked as if she attended business meetings every day. Dominic felt a twinge of regret that he wasn’t going to be able to buy into the treatment centre, a ready-made opportunity for Miranda to begin the new career she saw for herself in her not-too-distant future. He smiled at her calmly, although he was feeling an unexpected humming of his nerves. ‘All set?’