by Jon Jacks
‘Yes, thank you very much the History Channel – ouch.’
Jassy gives Dave another playful punch, but harder this time.
‘The thing is,’ I persist, ‘this Lamia supposedly lives in Soho. And when I heard that, I suddenly remembered making a trip to Soho for some important reason – but I can’t remember what that reason was, or much of what I did there.’
‘Doesn’t really mean anything,’ Dave insists. ‘When we end up here at Heartache High, there are all sorts of things about our past lives we file somewhere in the back of our minds, like they’re no longer important to us. As far as any student here is concerned, the only important thing in their past lives was the loved one they still lust after. Despite every possibly reason not to being thrown at them.’
‘If there were some contact with the world we’ve left behind,’ Jassy says brightly, ‘that would be amazing Steph – but I really can’t see that it’s possible.’
‘The longer you’ve been at Heartache High,’ Dave adds sadly, ‘the more you realise we’re cut off from what you’re calling the real world.’
*
Chapter 17
Despite Jassy and Dave’s assurances, its less than a day before I’m back talking to them again, insisting once more that my dreams are…well, something more than dreams.
Everything taking place is consistent, like it’s a well plotted story at the very least.
There is a steady, slowly running sequence of events. One happens after another in a perfectly logical order.
Unlike a story, sometimes the ‘dreams’ dwell on the really boring bits – such as when I’m in the school canteen picking at an unappetising meal (in that dimension, Heartache High’s refectory is light years ahead). Or I’m spending ages in front of a mirror, expertly putting on delicate layers of makeup that transform even the flaws in my face into enviable features.
We’ve booked, purchased and picked up the railway tickets for London.
We’ve even got ourselves a map of London, to work out the quickest tube trip to Soho’s China Town, where Lamia is apparently based.
And, see, her name still keeps cropping up in the dreams.
‘How many dreams do you know,’ I say to a perplexed and intrigued Jassy and Dave, ‘where you don’t just, say, fly off to where you’re supposed to be next? Why is it all taking place so slowly, over days, rather than just happening?’
‘So okay,’ Dave says with a nod of agreement, ‘so where are you up to now in this sequence of dreams – sorry, Steph, that word just crept up on me. I didn’t use it because I’m still sceptical.’
‘Last time I slipped into a daydream – I don’t really have any control over when they’re going to happen – was just a couple of hours ago. We were on the train, travelling down to London. We were getting some sandwiches from the bar; see what I mean about these hardly being dream-like? Oh, and things are a bit cold between us at the moment. Iain’s a bit moody.’
‘A man that’s moody?’ says Jassy with fake incredulity. ‘That doesn’t seem like reality at all Steph!’
‘So,’ says Dave, coolly ignoring Jassy’s little barb, ‘why do you think you’re seeing all these uninteresting bits? As you say, it’s hardly like a dream at all. Even the most boring film director would leave bits like these out.’
‘Yep, that’s what I’ve been saying; that’s why I think there’s something odd going on here. Perhaps they’re not dreams, but flashbacks to things that happened in my life; but things I’ve somehow and for some reason managed to completely forget.’
‘Could be,’ Dave nods.
‘But that would mean you really did behave like this with Iain, Steph,’ Jassy points out. ‘And, if you don’t mind me saying, it doesn’t seem like you at all; you’re far too nice.’
I chuckle bitterly.
‘Yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence Jassy. But I’ve got to face up to the fact that this might be my past; what other explanation could there be? Perhaps I’ve forgotten it all because I want to wipe out the memory of how badly I behaved.’
‘Well, if all this is a logical sequence, Steph,’ Dave says, ‘then you’re saying you reckon you’ll soon be seeing this Lamia, yes?’
I nod.
‘So far, everything’s happened in the order it should; I can’t see why we shouldn’t be meeting this mysterious Lamia, whoever she is, pretty soon.’
‘Soon? How soon?’ Jassy asks.
‘Going by how long we’ve been on the train, we should be London within the hour.’
‘You’ve seen the whole journey?’ gasps Dave.
I shake my head.
‘Nuh uh; just odd bits. Like with any other scenes, I can’t just tap into the sequences I want to; they just suddenly start appearing, or just disappear. But time seems to follow the same passage of time as here. So once we hit London, there’s whatever time it takes to get down to Soho – plus, of course, we might stop off for a coffee.’
‘But if you can’t control what you’re seeing – does that mean we might not get to see this Lamia after all?’
‘Possibly,’ I agree. ‘But I noticed you said we; just a slip of the tongue, yeah?’
‘No way!’ says Dave firmly. ‘I said we because when you get to meet her, I want to be there too! What about you Jassy?’
He turns to Jassy, his eyebrows quizzically raised behind his glasses.
‘Wouldn’t miss it – as long as you’re okay giving us a running commentary Steph?’
‘Sure; if it helps you begin to realise I’m telling the truth about these so-called dreams.’
‘Okay,’ says Dave, turning away from us. ‘I’ll get us some sandwiches – coffee anyone?’
*
We’ve finished the sandwiches.
We’ve drunk the coffee.
And still nothing.
‘Perhaps the dream’s not going to tap into the visit to Lamia,’ I say apologetically.
‘Maybe they stopped off for more than a coffee…’ Jassy says hopefully.
‘Or, maybe, they have an appointment, so they can’t just turn up just like that.’
‘Ah, at least you’re beginning to talk about these dreams like they really are connected with the real world Dave!’
He shrugs.
‘They’re odd, I’ve got to admit to that.’
‘They might have already seen her of course,’ I point out. ‘In which case, we’re all waiting around here for nothing.’
‘The sandwiches were nice.’ Dave balls up the sandwich wrappers and tosses them into a nearby waste basket.
‘Perhaps it’s because we’re here, preventing you drifting off into a day dream.’
‘Jassy,’ I laugh, ‘I’ve slipped into a dream while amongst a full class of people.’
‘Ah, but you haven’t been asked to give a running commentary; it might not be possible to dream and let someone else know what’s going on.’
‘Maybe,’ I agree.
‘Let’s give it another hour,’ Dave says, turning to urgently wave at a group of student’s languidly making their way to the refectory.
‘Oi, Ben; could you fetch us back coffee and sandwiches for three?’
*
It’s China Town in Soho right enough; I recognise it from pictures I’ve seen in magazines.
Paved streets.
Elaborately carved decorations, painted bright red.
Oddly flattened chickens roasting in the windows.
Flags and banners hanging from the buildings, fluttering and snapping in the breeze.
Iain’s very subdued, like he’s angry, holding all his emotions in check in case he’ll explode if he begins to say anything.
I don’t seem particularly bothered by this. Someho
w, I get the impression I’m just a little tired with his childish behaviour.
It looks like we’re stepping through the door into one of the larger restaurants. But once we’re inside, instead of taking the glass door to one side leading into the restaurant itself, we head up a narrow flight of stairs.
A few more flights follow, until we must be at least five floors up.
I seem to remember clambering up a similar set of stairs, but if I ever did, it must have been in some other building.
‘Unless this really is your past,’ Dave points out. ‘In which case it’s just something you’ve filed to the back of your mind. But now your conscience is gradually – very gradually – forcing you to remember it.’
I knock on a small door decorated with whirling images of dark green and red.
‘Please come in!’
Inside, it’s the same dark greens and reds, giving a vague impression that we’re underwater.
The mainly dim lighting seems to have been designed to add to this watery grave effect. The only bright spots are sharp beams highlighting a collection of samurai-style arms and armour spread around the edges of the room.
A woman comes across to greet us, smiling, her hand out in readiness to be shaken.
‘I’ve been expecting you,’ she says gaily.
*
Chapter 18
‘She’s Chinese?’ Dave asks.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ I answer honestly. ‘Mixed race, probably. Very beautiful. Incredibly glamorous.’
Iain’s taken aback by her beauty. Lamia notices his unease.
‘Let me guess, Mr Sinclair; you were expecting an older woman, yes?’
‘Well, yes,’ Iain admits uncertainly. ‘I’m sorry; I don’t know why.’
She smiles brightly as she indicates that we should take the two chairs placed in front of a large oak desk.
‘Everyone does. When it comes to helping those in love, people always expect potions to be involved, or at least some form of magic; and they always have to be administered by some old crone, don’t they?’
Ian nods his agreement as we take our seats.
‘I suppose so; yeah, I’d never really figured out what you might look like. But whenever I did try and conjure up some image of you, I suppose it did fit into some sort of idea of you being a…well, witch-like character.’
Lamia elegantly slips behind the desk, easing into a high-backed, heavily carved wood and leather chair.
‘Witch-like?’ She laughs gaily. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m in any way witch-like now, Mr Sinclair!’
‘Oh no no, of course not! You’re very…very…’
‘Very very? I’m very very?’ she teases. ‘A compliment indeed, Mr Sinclair! But, you know, I never can work out why people come here expecting this wizened old woman doling out her love potions. I can’t say that I’d have much confidence in any love potion handed to me by such a woman, would you Mr Sinclair?’
‘No, no; I suppose not.’
She’s holding Iain’s gaze like he’s almost hypnotised.
She’s hardly looked my way, I realise.
Have there been conversations over the phone, other than one just arranging the appointment? Or does she instinctively realise that Iain is the one perceived to have the problem that needs resolving.
Or is it just that she realises she has an incredible power over men?
Her eyes sparkle in the room’s dim light like they’re the brightly lit waters of an aquarium. I could almost imagine luminously coloured fish floating by in there.
Thing is, I don’t think I’ve seen her blink yet.
They’re just holding Iain’s gaze like a snake would entrance the rabbit it’s about to strike out at.
‘That figures,’ Jassy says quietly in my ear, as if the people sitting around the desk might be able to hear, ‘Lamia couldn’t shut her eyes; a punishment of the gods, so she would always have to dwell on the death of her own children.’
‘This would be the mythical Lamia, yeah?’ Dave says sceptically. ‘As opposed to the Lamia living in Soho.’
‘The Lamia appearing in Steph’s visions or flashbacks or whatever they are, actually.’
‘Semantics.’
‘Shush you too; I need to concentrate, remember?’
‘So, what can I do for you Mr Sinclair?’ Lamia turns towards me, smiles. ‘I hope I’m right in presuming that it is Mr Sinclair who needs my help, rather than you, Stephanie dear?’
‘Stephanie?’
Iain, like me, notices the familiarity in the way Lamia uses my name.
As if she knows me.
It could just be the phone calls I made to her, of course, but…there’s something more to it than that, I’m sure.
Not that I can think what it could be. I’ve never met her before.
Never heard of her before, until I heard her name come up my visions.
‘Oh, I’m sorry Mr Sinclair; didn’t Stephanie tell you?’
‘Tell me? Tell me what?’
‘Stephanie?’ Lamia glares at me admonishingly. But she uses a jocular tone, not a serious one. ‘You haven’t told him?’
I reach across from the chair I’m sitting in. I clasp one of Iain’s hands in mine.
‘Sorry, Iain; I should have told you, shouldn’t I? But I was far too embarrassed.’
I don’t sound embarrassed. I sound amused.
I leave it to Lamia to explain.
‘You see, Iain, Stephanie has visited here before, requesting my help.’
*
Chapter 19
‘Is that true? Have you been here before?’ Dave asks.
‘I’d never heard of her until all these dreams.’
‘Though it might be something else you’ve forgotten,’ Jassy reminds me.
The way they’re now both talking, they seem to accept that I’m experiencing something other than a mere dream.
Are they flashbacks?
Like when you’ve placed things that hurt you deep down in your subconscious, but at some point they can come back to haunt you, to confuse you.
‘Please don’t be angry with her Iain,’ Lamia says to a shocked, betrayed looking Iain. ‘Oh, you don’t mind me calling you Iain do you, Mr Sinclair? Stephanie came because of you, of course.’
‘Me? Why did she come here because of me?’
‘Why, because she loved you of course!’
‘Loved me?’
Iain says it with a bitter laugh, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s heard. He turns to look at me, bewilderment painfully etched across his face.
I hang my head, but not in shame.
It’s an act; I’m acting as if I’m ashamed.
I don’t know how I know this. I just do.
Hanging my head like this hides my wicked smile.
‘You sound surprised Iain,’ Lamia continues. ‘Surely you must have realised? When Stephanie came to see me, the pain she was suffering was quite obvious to me, even before she even began to explain her situation.’
‘Pain?’
All this is confusing to Iain, I can see that.
But I’m surprised he’s so confused.
No, I don’t mean the girl sitting there, pretending to be me.
I mean me, the real me.
Why wouldn’t the pain of my unrequited love be obvious to him?
If he hadn’t noticed, if he was too busy doing other things to notice or to care, it was common knowledge amongst most people at school that I was besotted with him.
Surely his friends would have told him?
That’s what had always made me so angry with him. Well, when I wasn’t wasting my life sighing over him, anyway. He must have known; yet he continued to ignore me, without making even the slightest effort to help me get over him, t
o let me down gently.
‘Such a beautiful girl, Iain! A girl, I think, who could have had almost any man she wanted – yet it was you she wanted, Iain. And yet you refused to return that love, or even give her the courtesies of a friend.’
‘But…but I didn’t know!’
He manages to sound genuinely surprised.
He must have known!
How couldn’t he see it?
The way I always made a fool of myself whenever he was around!
The way I couldn’t get two words out without managing to mangle them.
‘You didn’t know?’
Yes, Lamia says it exactly the way I’d have said it!
Hard and disbelieving.
‘Were you blind?’
Yes! She hits the spot yet again.
‘You know, this Lamia could be your subconscious,’ Dave whispers. ‘Only you’re getting your own back on Iain.’
‘I’m sure Stephanie tried to give you every clue she could think of. At least, without putting herself in a position where you could openly humiliate her by turning her down.’
I’m still hanging my head. Still secretly grinning.
‘Is that right dear?’
I give a shy nod.
‘Yes,’ I say quietly, the hurt little girl voice again, ‘but he always ignored me.’
Iain’s mouth drops open in surprise.
He reaches out for me.
‘But Steph, I–’
‘Reaching out for her now is easy Iain; but when she needed you most, you ignored her! She was in agony, Iain! In agony because you refused to return or even recognise her love for you!’
‘This does sound like your subconscious Steph,’ Jassy says, agreeing with Dave.
‘I didn’t know,’ Iain insists again, more forcefully this time. ‘If I had, of course I would have returned her love!’
He holds my hand tightly.
‘Ah, well of course you say that now, Iain! But then, Iain, then you let her suffer. You let her cut herself off from her friends, and all because she preferred to retreat into her mind, where she could imagine being with you.’
‘Yeah, yeah, subconscious,’ Dave and Jassy hiss as they nod in full agreement with each other.
‘She cut herself off from life, was incapable of concentrating on her schoolwork – and all because she chose instead to spend her time thinking only of you.’
‘I never knew; I’m so sorry Steph!’
‘And you never would have known, Iain, if poor, lovelorn Stephanie here hadn’t decided to come and see me.’
