Someone Else's Dream (9 page)

Darren would usually be tipsy by then, but he was always a nice, sweet, drunk. She sipped her wine, quite enjoying the banter going on around her, although not really taking part. Darren was goading some of the younger ones to get up to some antics but he never left Carla’s side unless it was to get her another drink. He felt like the cat who got the cream. He wanted everyone to see that Carla was his; she was his own special ‘winner’s medal’.

Over an hour had passed and Carla was on her third wine, thinking by the end of the night she was going to be drunk; as they were certainly going down too quick. She was beginning to feel a bit bored until her eyes caught the beautiful blonde who walked in through the door; and more importantly, the six foot four, hunk that was with her. She felt her eyes drawn inexorably to the hunk’s groin, as they both walked toward them. She immediately reddened; she had been inadvertently thinking of Donna’s comments about being ‘split in two’; she hoped they didn’t notice her red face.

Donna introduced him as Kelvin Lewis. He kissed Carla’s cheek and shook Darren’s hand. Kelvin asked what everyone was drinking but Carla gracefully declined, indicating that she had a full glass. Darren asked for a pint of lager and Donna a large G&T.

“He’s a good looking lad,” said Carla, referring to Kelvin.

Donna checking Darren wasn’t listening, before replying. “You know that scene I wrote in chapter four where Charlotte got the…”

Carla shushed her not wanting people to hear, she gave out a giggle.

“Well it works,” Donna told her and both girls burst into fits of laughter causing Darren to turn around, just as Kelvin came back with the drinks.

“What do you two find so funny?” Kelvin asked, which only brought on more laughter from the two girls.

Darren turned to Kelvin and said,

“Do you play C.O.D at all Kelvin?”

“Kindergarten,” whispered Donna to Carla.

They stayed a further hour, Carla only having one more drink whilst her companion had two. Kelvin was a perfect gent and tried to appear interested as Darren ranted on about his PlayStation games. Carla found it sweet, whereas Donna just found it annoying... and Kelvin? Well, he really didn’t care, so long as it made the blonde-haired beauty he was with, happy.

“Right I fancy a restaurant,” said Donna getting fed up of the antics going on around her. Yates wasn’t her usual type of place, at least not this one, as it seemed to attract the younger element.

“I know a lovely Indian and they do a good English meal too,” Kelvin told them.

“Sounds great to me,” Carla exclaimed excitedly.

Darren didn’t look so keen and his face dropped. Carla recognised the look and bent over and whispered in his ear.

“It’s okay, I’ll pay;” that was music to his ears, as he was down to his last tenner.

“Oh I do love you,” he whispered back; somehow, though, his words didn’t resonate with Carla. It always sounded hollow and that was just the way she preferred it.

Kelvin ordered a Chicken Madras; the two girls also going with chicken but a somewhat milder version. Darren ordered steak and chips; accompanied by four bottles of San Miguel. The restaurant was bustling, with couples enjoying the romantic surroundings before the late and rather intoxicated crowd adorned the premises.

They small-talked as they ate, Kelvin doing his best to keep on Darren’s wavelength, but he was finding it difficult. They were on desserts and sipping a glass of dessert red when Darren stood up; only to kneel in front of Carla. It was the moment he had been waiting for; he had finally plucked up the courage. He had butterflies in his stomach.

Carla had no idea what was happening. She thought for a moment he had fallen over drunk, until she saw him bent on one knee, tottering a little, but on one knee nevertheless. Kelvin and Donna knew exactly what was about to happen as Donna looked on open-mouthed, at the man she thought of as a big child, on one knee.

He took the package out of his pocket and opened it to reveal a ring. He was swaying from side to side, with the effort of staying on one knee.

“Will you marry me?” he slurred. By this time, most people in the restaurant had noticed and a lot had even started cheering for the happy couple. The waiters were about to come over and offer them a celebration bottle of wine on the house.

Donna, finally shrieked, as she looked at her friend. Despite the alcohol, Carla looked as white as a ghost. With her mouth open and tears starting to form, Carla put her hands to her head. She could only think of one thing; sobriety had amazingly returned during this earth-shattering moment.
How could he have gotten this so wrong?

She looked around the restaurant and all eyes seemed to be staring at her. It felt like the room was spinning and all she could see was people laughing and cheering. She felt the room was closing in on her and at that moment she truly thought she was going to suffocate. She looked at Darren still on his knees, waiting for her to say ‘yes’, as he was sure she would.

“No... no... no,” Carla spluttered; but not really in response to the question. It was the whole scenario she was saying no to, and besides, there were no other words she could think of saying.

She ran out of the restaurant in a flood of tears, not knowing where she was running to or what she was running from. Donna ran out after her and the waiter put back the bottle of red he’d had at the ready. The other customers went back to their meals, feeling slightly embarrassed at what they had just seen.

Darren was still crouched on one knee.

“I guess that’s a no then,” said Kelvin.

Carla ran down the road with tears in her eyes, having no idea where she was heading. Donna shouted for her to stop and on hearing her voice she did. The night had grown dark and they stood in a doorway of a local bank. Donna hugged her in the doorway.

“He was just a bit of fun, I never looked at him like that, and I never expected that.” Carla cried. Donna gave her some tissues and she wiped her eyes and nose. Donna hated seeing her friend upset.

“I never knew he felt like that and now, I’ve hurt him,” she cried.

“He’ll get over it, come on let’s get a taxi. I’ll take you home.”

She texted Kelvin,
‘Sorry, taking her home, chapter four will have to wait xxx’

‘It’ll be worth waiting for, call you tomorrow, what shall I tell crying boy’
came back the immediate reply.

‘Tell him he’s a dick-head’

“Come on sweetheart. I hope you got some vodka in,” consoled Donna, as she put her arm around her friend.

Carla was glad she had.

*              *              *

Donna poured two large vodka’s and cokes and took a large gulp of hers, Carla had taken one little sip. They were sitting in the lounge of the beach house on a, beige material, sofa, with various shades of scatter cushions. Donna had put the radio on low and Carla was still wiping the odd tear from her eyes. No words were necessary. Donna was just letting her take it all in before telling her Darren truly was a dick-head and now she could find a real man.

Carla was upset because she thought she’d led Darren on. She’d thought he realised it was just a bit of temporary fun and they would both move on to find someone more suitable. Donna was about to ask Carla if she wanted another vodka when she realised she hadn’t even touched it yet. So she poured one for herself and just as she sat down there was a tap on the patio doors leading out to the veranda. The only way you could get there was via the beach and a clamber over the retaining wall. Both girls instantly guessed who it probably was.

“I’ll go,” Donna pronounced, determinedly, but Carla immediately got up to stop her.

“No, I’ll go. He needs a proper explanation.” She composed herself, a little, before she opened the patio doors from the lounge and stepped out onto the veranda. Darren looked like a lost little boy and Carla’s heart went out to him. They both sat on the patio furniture.

“I’m sorry I got it so wrong,” he said sheepishly. “Maybe it’s just a bit soon, “he continued, probably in hope more than anything.

That was the problem for Carla; it wasn’t too soon, because there never would be the time. She put her hand over his and Darren looked down at her hand clutching his own. It was the same hand he’d wanted to put the ring on.

“I’m so sorry Darren, I thought it was just a bit of fun. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t love you, Darren. You know, I like you a lot and think you’re a wonderful lad... and...” she cut herself off, realising she was patronising him.

Darren pulled his hand away. “I’m just a dick-head, thinking I could ever marry someone like you,” he spat sorrowfully at her. The words clutched at Carla’s heart.

“You will find someone better than me, you’re gorgeous Darren.”

“Just not gorgeous enough hey?” She didn’t answer; she knew what he meant and really there was no answer to give him.

“Is it over?” he asked, knowing the answer before he even asked the question. Tears welled up in his eyes, as they did Carla’s. She just nodded.

“Kelvin had to pay the bill, I only had a tenner,” he told her.

“Don’t worry, I’ll sort it”.

He stood to leave, “I’ve loved every minute of it,” he told her; “and I do really love every inch of you.” He had to turn around and clamber down that wall then. He really didn’t want her to see him crying. If he had looked back he would have seen Carla leaking buckets of tears. She loved him too, in her own way.

She composed herself, once again, after a few moments; feeling like she had described Charlotte in one of her heroine’s worst moments. She let herself into her lounge.

Donna was on the laptop.

“Your book’s been live for just over an hour and you’ve sold eighteen bloody copies already, ‘Charlotte Fights Back’ is going to be right up there, my girl.”

Carla didn’t even have had the inclination or desire to listen. Donna stood and just pulled her close to her. Carla let the tears flow.

*              *              *

It was two young lads who found her, as they walked home from the Bluebell pub, literally stumbling across her as they too decided to take the short cut home. Marcia was conscious at that time but her head was woozy and she couldn’t stand. They had found her sat against the wall, after hearing her sobs. The two lads called the police and ambulance and managed to escort her back to the pathway where the streetlights lit up the street. They could see her injuries and the blood.

*              *              *

Matt Conner was just walking into the Bluebell pub to grab himself a pint before last orders. He had work to go to, in the Garden Centre, the next morning, if he could even be bothered to go in. He was looking forward to his bed and he stood and watched as an ambulance roared past, before he entered the pub. It bore him no concern when the ambulance pulled up a few hundred yards down the road.

The landlady poured him his beer and called last order’s. Matt ordered another to go with it, along with a whisky chaser.

“You look dead-beat,” she told him.

“Yeah, it’s been a long day,” he replied. He sat and drunk his two pints, thinking of his ex-wife, thinking of Marcia and thinking of his next chapter. He was feeling tired but somehow his mind would not shut down and he was feeling a bit on edge.

*              *              *

Badly bruised and beaten with a closed swollen eye, but no serious injuries, well not physical anyway. Mentally, the injuries may last a little bit longer, Marcia lay in the hospital bed after being admitted for a concussion. It was the next day before the police interviewed her. She tried to recall the events but couldn’t recall much, other than she was sure it was a man. She was asked if she knew of anyone who had a grudge against her, anyone she may have barred from the pub that she worked at. Marcia could think of no one that she had upset or would harbour a grudge. It was not in her make-up, she was the pub’s most popular barmaid; always had a smile on her face and a nice word to the customers. Everyone knew Marcia from the Bluebell, no one would ever bear her a grudge?

The next morning showed the extent of her injuries and when her mother and father visited the next day they both had to take a step back in horror. Her eye was completely swollen and closed. Her top lip was cut and had doubled in its size. She assured her parents she was okay; “nothing’s broken,” she said, “just swollen”.

Her parents stopped there for a couple of hours and were there when the Doctor did his rounds. He had confirmation from her x-rays that everything was as it should be, however, they would be keeping her in for another night, just for observation. Marcia was kind of glad of that, she didn’t want to go home just yet.

The tears didn’t flow until her parents left. When she cried, those tears literally stung her eyes. She tried to recall what had happened. She remembered walking through the alley thinking, at first, she heard rats, then realising it was just somebody walking the other way. All she could really remember after that was pain and then two boys tending to her. She closed her eyes and voluntarily re-lived the night before, in her mind, going over it again and again. Nothing came!

It was like someone had just come from nowhere to inflict the pain on her that she had felt. She felt vulnerable as she sobbed; vulnerable and alone. She lived in a nice peaceful village on route to the Doncaster town centre. Her purse had not been taken or anything stolen. Whoever had done this, had done it purely to hurt her and that pained her more than the injuries she’d suffered.

It was early afternoon when he stuck his head around the cubicle of the ward Marcia was lying in. She could see the grapes in his hand along with a box of chocolates. She immediately thought it would be a while before she was able to eat them, but it was nice to see a friendly face she recognised, despite the awkwardness that may occur.

“Dinner!” was his first word. Marcia wanted to laugh but she couldn’t, it would hurt too much, but it did make her relax a little. She briefly recalled their exploits and at that moment, she wished she was in his arms now, naked and safe and not beaten.

Matt stopped for an hour. With difficulty, she told him what happened, as he sat on the edge of the bed. He gently kissed her forehead before he left, telling her to text him when she was allowed home and he would pick her up. Marcia thought it was a sweet thing to do until he had bent down to kiss her. That aftershave! It was a familiar smell. She laughed to herself when she thought of it, she had been having rampant sex with him for two days.

Still beaten and bruised, with pain racking her head, she drifted off into a dreamy sleep. She dreamt of dark alleys, with a distinctive smell of aftershave.

*              *              *

After a morning at the Garden Centre, having decided to go to work after all and visiting Marcia at the hospital, Matt got himself off home. After having a shower and a naked conversation with himself in the mirror, he cooked himself some pasta. He had noticed the half-full medicine bottle in the waste bin and he took the container out and placed it back in the cabinet. He didn’t take any, as he was sure he was okay without them, but it brought him some comfort knowing they were there if he needed them.

Matt was a bit of a loner, preferring to have associates rather than friends. He always had plenty of those, even during the years that he was married. He knew a lot of people in his local pub, people he would say ‘hi’ to and pass the time of day with. He was a likeable chap in the village and would be more often than not be seen, stood at the bar, chatting with the ladies. He was very much a ladies man. He was always chasing a dream when he was young and he thought he had caught it when his wife and daughter had come along.

He soon awoke from that dream, however, realising it was someone else’s. Then the tablets had seemed to take all his dreams away, until now. No one knew of his strict religious childhood, nor would Matt ever share that childhood with anyone, other than the demons that still remained in his head.

He ate his pasta in the lounge of his large home, the tray of food sat on his lap. He was distraught, in some ways, after seeing Marcia at the hospital. It had been a shock to him when he saw how badly she had been beaten. He wondered what she had done to deserve such a beating.
Perhaps she led someone on?
He thought.

Washed his plate in the kitchen, he sat back on his sofa, staring at his small desk in the corner. On it lay his laptop and two books stacked on top of each other; the unread Stephen King novel and the novel by rookie author Carla Reid. Walking to his computer, he picked up the Carla Reid book and looked at the author picture on the back, stroking the picture with his thumb. A feeling overcame him, a feeling that somehow he had to meet this girl. She would be the answer to his dreams, indeed, the end of his nightmares.

What’s she got that I haven’t?
He thought. He put the book in his bookcase on the bottom shelf. He would grade them like that. His bookcase had five shelves. Each shelf would signify a rating. Five stars for the top shelf, down to one star for the bottom.  Carla Reid’s ‘Charlotte’s Dream’ lay on the bottom. He booted up his laptop, printed out the first chapter of his novel and sat and read it; marking with a highlighter and noting any errors, he found, or changes he wanted to make. It felt that he had rushed it and needed to spread it out a little, give it some more thought.

After he had highlighted the changes necessary, he got out the congratulations card that he had bought earlier. On it, he wrote;

‘To Dale and Hayleigh.’

‘Congratulations on your good news and forthcoming marriage, love Matt.’

He stared at the words for a moment, before adding; ‘What a lovely way to be told.’

He put a stamp on it and left the house to post it. The night was drawing in; he fancied a walk and a pint. He was feeling good. Life was picking up. There was something in the air that told him things were going to change.

*              *              *

After telling her ex-husband the news of her pregnancy, Hayleigh Conner’s days and hours were racked with guilt. She lived on the outskirts of Hatfield, a small town in Doncaster, with a population of just over sixteen thousand. Her husband to be, Dale Simpson, was fifteen years older than Hayleigh at forty-seven. This was to be the second marriage for both of them. Dale having two grown up children. Dale was the senior partner in the law firm Hayleigh worked for; an office affair turning into something far more significant.

They were both delighted that Hayleigh had become pregnant. Hayleigh, at first, feeling the guilt; of perhaps trying to replace her first daughter, but that never would be the case. In Hayleigh’s mind, no one could replace Aimee. To some extent having the blessing of her ex-husband who had told her she would have Aimee’s blessing, lessened the guilt and allowed her to look forward to the baby. But now she had a further guilt, one that was racking through her body at such a rate she sometimes thought she would burst; that of sleeping with her ex. It wasn’t intentional; she’d certainly had no plans of doing it. She had just wanted to do him the courtesy of being told personally about her pregnancy. Her husband told her it was the right thing to do.

Seeing him there in the house had brought back so many memories. It was the house they both brought Aimee up in. It felt that everything was like it used to be, when she’d made love to him. It was like she had been taken back in time and at that time no one else existed other than him and her; it felt like that when they made love.

There was something different about him at that time, it was like he was the Matt she’d fell in love with and had his child. It was only when she was sat in her car, pulling away from the home she once shared with Matt did it dawn on her what she had done and now the guilt was cutting her up inside. She had been drawn into his world, once again and this time, she was hating it. She somehow knew this wouldn’t be the last she would hear of it. Matt would never let go now.

Dale and Hayleigh were sitting in the kitchen of their four-bedroomed, lavishly furnished, detached house. The kitchen was their favourite room; the dining table was a large mahogany antique piece of furniture, highly polished, which seemed to reflect everything in the kitchen, including those that sat at it. The chairs were high-backed, but padded and luxuriously comfortable. It looked out into the garden, through two large patios doors and the extravagant garden was vast, with herbaceous borders and a large fish pond full of koi. The pond would be lit up at night, casting the shadows of rippling water over the house.

Most nights they would sit there, sharing their glass of wine after dinner. Tonight was no exception as they sat next to each other; a television quietly showing News at Ten, stood on one of the kitchen worktops. The guilt racking through her mind like a headache that would not ease, she knew painkillers would not release her of this particular pain. She just wanted to forget it, put it at the back of her mind, but, her mind wouldn’t let her. She stared through the patio doors, along with her husband to be.

“Did you see that?” she suddenly squealed. Dale, who was staring out the window, in his own world of work and legal cases, jumped from his thoughts, almost spilling his wine as he did so.

“See what?”

“There’s someone out there,” she said, “See!” she added, as the shadow could clearly be seen passing one of the lights around the fish pond. Dale got up. He did see it and opened the patio doors, shouting obscenities while running into the garden, just as the intruder climbed over the six-foot wall, where he had obviously come from. Dale, convinced he had gone, went back to the kitchen.

“Bloody kids, I bet they’re after the koi; the bastards!” he told Hayleigh.

“Have they gone?” she asked nervously, still staring out of the patio doors.

“Yeah, they’ve gone; we won’t be seeing them again.”

Hayleigh involuntarily shivered and a feeling came over her body; a feeling that told her the words of her husband to be,  were somehow, in vain.
He won’t let go now!
She repeatedly told herself.

*              *              *

“You don’t look much better,” Matt told her; “in fact you look worse.”

And she did, Marcia’s eye was now completely closed and her lip swollen and split. It was the bruises coming out that made it look worse. Her pretty face was temporary blighted by her unknown attacker. She was just thankful there was nothing broken and no lasting damage. She knew she would heal; what she didn’t know was how long it would take for the memories to fade.