by T F Lince
Dean was getting nervous – his last insider deal hadn’t gone that well. For all he knew, he could have had a few bad dreams when he was in a coma. But Hugo Hodgkinson really existed; he couldn’t have dreamt that.
Dean spoke with Sarah, who had full faith in him, and they transferred all their savings to his trading account. Then he suggested selling the house.
“Dean, listen, I believe in you, but the house – it’s everything we have. What if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not wrong, Sarah, but perhaps the house is a step too far.”
“How much have we got?”
Dean looked at the account: £1.8 million.
“Where did that four hundred thousand come from?” asked Sarah. Dean looked uncomfortable.
“I cashed in the timeshare. I don’t like the South of France anyway.”
Sarah could see the spark in Dean’s eyes. He had one chance to sort things out and he wasn’t going to let it go by.
“We’ve haven’t used it for longer than a week in the last two or three years anyway,” she said. “Even bloody Dexter’s been more than us. At twenty-five thousand a year for twenty-five years, it was more of an expensive status symbol than anything else. So, should I have a word with my dad? I know he’s got money put aside for me.”
“No, Sarah, what am I thinking? This is madness. I’ll just go back and work for Dexter. At least then we won’t need to worry.”
Sarah put her fingers in the way to stop him closing the MacBook.
“The Dean Harrison I fell in love with would stop at nothing if he wanted something. Remember Baby Doctor?” She gave him a kiss on the neck. “I’ll call my dad. It’s my call, Dean, not yours.”
Sarah came back into the room after finishing her call.
“Right, Dad’s in.”
Dean tilted his head her way.
“What do you mean, your dad’s in? I lost millions on my last trade – I’m surprised he’ll touch anything I’ve suggested with a bargepole.”
“You know how bored he gets. He had some money put away for an old nag, and he thought with your 25/75% deal he might just get a thoroughbred this time. Dad knows you were stitched up.”
“I love your dad. Still surprised, though. Does your mother know?”
Sarah laughed.
“Are you mad? Of course not. He’s transferring four hundred thousand as we speak.”
“He’s crazy, your dad. Rich, but crazy. He’ll get it back, though. You know what, Sarah? He should tell your mam. I’m sick of secrets – remember Barcelona? He doesn’t want to end up like me.”
She stood behind her husband and placed her arms around him.
“I know he will get it back, Dean, and I’m sure he’ll tell my mum in good time. Dad always does; he just pretends he’s in charge. Anyway, she knows he’s got money put aside for a horse.”
Dean looked at the online account as Sarah’s dad’s money bolstered it up. “We have £2.2 million, give or take a few quid. Let’s hope it’s enough, Sarah.”
“And all the others – Jack, Oliver, and Martin’s in now, you said – when are they transferring in?”
Dean looked at his watch.
“The deadline is five pm tomorrow; it’s the big day on Wednesday.” As he said this, he saw £400,000 come in from Jack. Not long afterwards £75,000 arrived from Oliver, and Martin had stumped up £25,000.
At 5.05, Dean looked at the account. Staring back at him was £2,700,000.00.
Just before he put his MacBook away, Dean asked Sarah, “Have you heard of Sweet Dreams Nursing Home for Alzheimer’s?” He typed the name into a Google search as he said it.
“No, was that where your dad was?”
Dean laughed bitterly.
“There was nothing sweet or dreamy about where my dad was.”
Sarah shrugged her shoulders. “No, then. Why?”
“Remember I told you there was a couple on the top of Beachy Head who stopped me jumping?”
“Yes, Albert and…”
“Betty.”
“That’s right, Betty. Why?”
“Well it’s been bugging me ever since I got back. I saw the bus up there, a battered old minibus, but couldn’t remember the name on it. It’s just come to me. It was Sweet Dreams, definitely Sweet Dreams. I can see the logo now, all in blue.” Google did what Google does. “Have you seen this, Sarah? It’s on the same road as the hospital.”
“If you’re right about Hodgkinson, you can buy them a new minibus.”
Dean closed the laptop.
“Do you know what, Sarah? If all goes well, I might just do that.”
Chapter 40 – Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This
Sarah and Dean were woken up with breakfast in bed by Jodie, who wasn’t going to be appearing on MasterChef anytime soon. Something trying its best to look like scrambled eggs on toast sat on the tray next to two very strong coffees that could have made a spoon stand up on its own. It was the thought that counted, thank God, as it took a lot of thought to imagine it tasting any worse than it actually did.
All three of them sat on the bed, chatting.
“Seen much of Kyle, JoJo?”
Dean got a dig in the ribs from Sarah.
“Daaaaad.”
He pulled Jodie in for an unwanted hug. “Well, just asking. He’d better look after you. You’re very special.”
Another dig in the ribs from Sarah changed Dean’s line of questioning.
“Jodie, your mum and I are going to see a special friend today. He looked after me after I saw you at school that day.”
“OK, Dad. Are you enjoying your breakfast?”
Dean looked at the half-eaten breakfast and made a big effort to have another mouthful. “Lovely, Jodie. Where did you learn to cook, from your mother?”
He got another bigger dig in the ribs.
Jodie laughed. “You deserved that one, Dad.”
When Jodie had left for school, Dean and Sarah had another coffee downstairs to wash away the taste of the last one. Dean thought of Betty on her own when he’d met his guides for the last time on the roadside on Bad Bin Day. “Say hello for me if you see him,” she’d said. He guessed that meant Albert was still in this world, and if he was still here, he would be in Sweet Dreams.
“OK, let’s go. Sweet Dreams, here we come.”
Sarah drove the route she knew so well. Sweet Dreams was more or less next door to the hospital, and as they parked in the large driveway, Dean could see the minibus a couple of bays down.
“There it is,” Dean said as he got out of the car. Holding Sarah’s hand, he walked across to it. “They do need a new one.”
“One step at a time, Dean,” she replied.
Sweet Dreams Nursing Home was a Georgian building with a big driveway set back from the road. It had gargoyles up in the eaves and two large doors which were already open onto a grand black and white checkerboard tiled area.
They walked into the reception, Dean in the front, Sarah following behind him. Dean approached a woman in a blue nurse’s outfit sitting behind the desk.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Dean thought for a second.
“Well yes, we have come to see Albert and Betty.”
The nurse looked up at him.
“Are you family?”
“We’re old family friends.”
She looked in the visitors’ book.
“They are not expecting any visitors, Mr…?”
“Harrison. Dean Harrison.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Harrison, but if you’re not booked in, I can’t let you in.”
“But I need to see him, please.”
“Sorry, sir. Maybe if you contact a family member and book in as a visitor.”
“I only want to see him for a minute.”
Sarah could see Dean getting agitated and grabbed his arm.
“Come on, Dean, she’s not going to change her mind.”
Dean took a look at the door to the side of reception.
“Do I need to call security, sir?” the nurse asked sternly.
Dean backed off.
“OK, OK, I’ll go.”
As Dean and Sarah turned to go, a man with black hair and a thick well-groomed beard appeared from the door at the side of the reception. He was wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard.
“What was all that about?” he asked the receptionist.
“Mr Harrison here has come to see Betty and Albert. I told him that he needed to be booked in. He isn’t family.”
The doctor stroked his black beard and twisted his head to the side.
“Dean Harrison?”
The nurse looked at him.
“Yes, Doctor, do you know him?”
“Sort of...” The doctor turned to Dean. “It is you, Dean, isn’t it? Thank you for the donation.”
Dean’s mind flicked back to Beachy Head. He vaguely remembered a man walking up the hill to collect Betty and Albert. He also remembered putting money under the wiper blades of the bus.
“No problem, I hope it helped.”
“What donation?” said Sarah. Before Dean could answer, the doctor introduced himself.
“I’m Dr Rhodes. I run this place, and your husband made a donation last time we met.”
“Hi, well, I’m Dean, as you know already, and this is my wife, Sarah.”
The man gave Sarah a nod.
“Pleased to meet you. So, you have come to see Betty and Albert?”
“Well, we wanted to, yes.”
“OK, I think you’d better come with me.”
As Dr Rhodes walked towards the back of the reception area, Dean turned to the nurse behind the desk.
“Sorry about earlier, I just need to see them. I owe my life to them.”
She accepted his apology in her own way.
“Only doing my job, Mr Harrison.”
Dean shrugged his shoulders and mouthed, “Sorry,” again as he followed Dr Rhodes.
The doctor took them through the double doors and into his office.
“Take a seat. Coffee?”
“No thanks, we’re OK. Are Betty and Albert both here, then?”
The doctor smiled.
“They have been here for about five years now. Betty has Alzheimer’s really badly; her mind is elsewhere – well, you saw her on the cliff, Dean. Albert has good days and bad days. Today’s a good day. I’m sure he’d love to see you; I’m sure they both would.”
Dean stood up. “Can we see them now, please, Dr Rhodes? I’ve got some big thank yous to dish out.”
“They have been telling me since they got here that they had to be on Beachy Head on 11 May to save Dean Harrison. They also told me how they knew you would be there.”
Dean remembered giving them the beermat in Welnetham Hall on his second visit.
“You’re not the first, you know, Dean.”
“The first to what?”
“You stayed in Room 119, didn’t you?”
Dean gave Sarah a glance to see if she was keeping up. The more Dr Rhodes said, the more explaining he would have to do.
“How do you know? Who else has been here?”
“Two others I know of, and you make it three, so glad you made it back. I think I need to show you something.” Dr Rhodes stood up too. “Dean, do you believe in miracles?” Before Dean could answer, the doctor opened the door. “Follow me.”
Sarah grabbed Dean’s hand.
“Dean, Welnetham Hall? Room 119? What the hell is going on?”
“Sarah, I don’t know. I thought I might have dreamt it until now.”
The doctor opened the door to the common room. Dean could see lots of wheelchairs and patients in the room, some looking better than others. Some were playing cards and draughts, others were vacant and obviously in a more advanced state of Alzheimer’s.
Sarah then broke free of Dean’s hand and ran to an old man in a wheelchair. “Dean, it’s him. It’s Benjie the clown. He’s here.”
“Oh my God.”
Sarah was giving the old man a hug. “Dean, it’s Benjie. Jodie said he helped her win the chess game. He showed her what to do. Thank you, Benjie, thank you.”
Benjie showed no reaction apart from a slight curling of his mouth upward.
“That’s his happy face, Sarah.” Dean held Benjie’s hand. “Thank you, Benjie, I couldn’t have asked for a better guide.”
Dean started to cry. Sarah gave him a hug.
“He was a good clown, Dean. Hey, you weren’t so bad yourself.”
Dr Rhodes joined them. “This is Benjamin Grimaldi. Do you know him, Dean?”
Dean wiped away a tear.
“Know him? We are practically partners. We once did an act together.”
“He was apparently a very good clown back in the day.”
“He was the best, Dr Rhodes, and still is.”
“We used to have Robert, Benjamin’s partner, here as well. Benjamin called him Bobo. Robert sadly left us a few years ago; they used to have the place in stitches. Benjamin went downhill soon after Robert died, I’m afraid. He never really reacts to anything now.”
As the words came out, a tear formed in Benjie’s eye. It slowly weaved its way down his wrinkled face. He moved his head towards Dean and smiled.
“Sarah, I’ll only be a minute. Stay here with Benjie.”
Dean walked to the other side of the room, which opened out to overlook the gardens. The doctor went with him.
“I don’t really know what goes on, Dean. Sometimes it feels like they are elsewhere while they are in this state. Let me introduce you to some of our patients.”
Dean laughed.
“No need, Dr Rhodes. This is David, and he is the best barman in the land.” Dean went down on his knees to shake David’s hand. “Hi, David. Not only is he the best barman, Dr Rhodes, he also saved my life.” Dean then turned to his right. “And this is Molly and her dog, Oscar.” The dog was sitting loyally at her feet.
“He has not moved since she slipped into her trance. He only goes out when we feed him. We have a ‘no dogs’ policy, but we make an exception with him.”
“Hi, Oscar.” The dog came out from under Molly’s chair, wagging his tail and jumping all over Dean as Dean stroked him. “Have you been looking after your mam for me?”
Dr Rhodes looked on in astonishment.
“How do you know them, Dean? They have been here for years, nowhere else.”
“OK, Dr Rhodes…”
“You can call me James.”
“OK, James, what if…” Dean paused, looking for the right words. “Try to clear your mind for a second. What if while their minds are no longer in a fit state for this world, they are guiding people who need help in another place?”
Dean looked for a reaction. James murmured, “Welnetham Hall,” and Dean nodded and smiled.
“They are my guides, James. They guided me back to my wife and daughter. They pointed the way and helped me grasp a second chance.” He gave Molly a kiss on the head. “Have you got a big man here who likes trains? I don’t know his name, but he knows everything about locomotives and train lines.”
James shook his head, trying to make sense of it all.
“That will be Bill. This way.”
The smiley guard, dressed in his black jacket complete with his pocket watch, was sitting in a chair across the room.
“He has ten outfits and they are all the same,” said Dr Rhodes. “His family say he has to be dressed this way every day, complete with pocket watch so he’s never late.”
Dean smiled.
“He’s the best train guard I have ever met. He saved my life too.” Dean shook Bill’s hand. “I’m honoured to have travelled with you, Bill.”
Dean turned to James. “And Mrs McCauley?” he asked. James pointed to the corner of the room.
“The staff are scared stiff of her. Used to call her a battle-axe.”
“She’s a little pussycat when you get to know her.” Dean ran over to her. “Hi, Mrs McCauley, ho
w’s things?” Mrs McCauley moved her head slightly and gave Dean a smile. “I’ve made it back. Thank you so much.”
Dean looked over to Sarah and asked her to come across to him. One by one, he introduced her to each of his guides. They were making their way back to Benjie when Dean said, “James, we actually came to see Albert and Betty.”
James pointed to the patio doors. A couple in wheelchairs were sitting outside, hand in hand.
“They sit out there together all the time. Never apart.”
Dean held Sarah’s hand as they followed the doctor.
“Sarah, I want you to meet a very special couple. I met them a long, long time ago. Before I was born.”
James and Sarah gave each other a ‘he’s gone a bit mad’ look, but they both ran with it for now.
Dean walked out into the garden with its well-manicured lawns and stopped in front of the couple. Betty had a vacant stare, as if her mind was elsewhere. Dean knew exactly where it was. He’d been there. Albert was asleep, holding her hand.
“Betty.” Her expression morphed into a smile. She didn’t look at Dean, but he took it as acknowledgment. “Sarah, this is Betty. She’s a very good friend of mine.”
“Hello, Betty.”
“And this young fellow is Albert. Albert?” Dean shook the man’s shoulder lightly to awaken him. Albert’s eyes slowly opened and he saw Dean in front of him.
“Dean, is that you?”
Salty water was filling Dean’s eyes again.
“Yes, Albert, I made it back and I can’t thank you enough.” Dean wiped the tear from his cheek.
“I knew you’d get back. Betty told me you would get back.” He looked lovingly at his wife. “She told me you’d make it. She comes to see me in my dreams; she said you were a fighter.” Looking up, Albert added, “You must be Sarah.”
“Pleased to meet you, Albert.”
James spoke. “I told them, Albert, that since you have been here, you’ve been pestering me to take you to Beachy Head. You were quite specific about the date and the time, weren’t you?”
Albert chuckled. “That’s Dean’s fault. He made us promise all those years ago – remember, Dean? We had just got married. You haven’t changed a bit.”
