Someone Else's Dream (11 page)

“Do not come into work today. I will tell them you’re sick.” Dale grabbed his briefcase from the side and prepared to leave.

“What do I do now?” she asked.

Dale told her to ‘prepare for a wedding’, then he left. Anger was building up inside him and he didn’t want to show that to Hayleigh. Matt bloody Conner was not going to ruin it for him, but, equally, Matt Conner had to pay. He didn’t notice the man standing on the other side of the road as he drove out of his drive.

*              *              *

Matt knew they’d got his card and he knew they usually left for work together; he had watched them often enough. He smirked when he saw Dale leave on his own.
Job done!
He told himself,
she will always be mine.

Hayleigh sat at the kitchen table with a box of Kleenex, hating her ex-husband for doing what he had done, but hating herself even more. She took the offending card that had been thrown on the table and tore it in two. She let out a silent scream when she saw Matt; he had climbed over the back wall into the garden. Hayleigh could see him as plain as day as he walked past the fishpond towards the patio doors. She immediately got up and locked the doors and then stood back with her mobile in her hand, preparing to dial 999.

She noticed what he was carrying in his hand and the smirk on his face as he approached the patio doors. Matt placed the bunch of flowers he had brought on the step of the doors and left the same way he had come, over the wall. Hayleigh felt a churning in her stomach and a pent-up feeling of disdain. She felt her legs going weak and had to sit down on the kitchen chair, thinking she had probably ruined her life. She knew what Matt was like. He would never let go.

Matt had walked to Hayleigh’s house that morning with the flowers and had stood and watched as the postman delivered the card. He laughed, like a drain, to himself when he saw Dale leave on his own sometime later. That was his opportunity to deliver the flowers. With the job done he started his walk back home, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He had begged Hayleigh to have another child when Aimee was ill, but she wouldn’t even consider it. His want for another child, as his daughter fought for life, was the main reason their marriage broke down and as he walked home he thought he had achieved some retribution. He thought of Karma and what a wonderful thing that was.
Why should she be happy and have kids?  When all I get is a fat tart!

*              *              *

Smithy had woken up that morning with the hangover from hell. He had gone on to a club and had not seen Darren until he woke up and found Darren sitting on the sofa, in the lounge of their small flat. It looked like he had been there all night. He made them two hot drinks and sat beside him; the sofa being the only place to sit in the small room, which just housed a coffee table and a TV. He was aware of Darren’s plans to ask Carla to marry him and had even tried to talk him out of it.

He guessed by the look on his face that things hadn’t quite gone to plan. He sat in his Batman pyjamas, wondering how he could help his best friend. Darren just sat forward, his eyes red, Smithy presumed from crying.

Smithy sipped his tea and licked his lips as if that would somehow make his words easier to say. He didn’t want to ask the question, his head was aching. He just wanted some paracetamol and to sit in silence until he came round.

“It didn’t go too well then?” he eventually asked.

“She finished with me,” Darren flatly stated, just staring into space looking at nothing in particular. It was a vacant expression that Smithy wasn’t familiar with. His friend was always so jovial with a look of a smiling child.

Smithy wanted to say something, some consoling words; to tell him things would get better. But, in truth, all he really wanted to tell him was, ‘I told you so’, so instead, he chose to say nothing.

“She ran out of the restaurant Smithy, just left me there looking a fool. I went over to see her, but she told me she didn’t love me,” he added, his voice shaky and his eyes watering. Words were at a loss to Smithy.

“I’m sorry mate,” was all he could think of saying. Then as if he thought of something really comforting to say, he blurted out; “You can get your money back for the ring!”

Darren still sat there staring straight ahead, as if he had not even heard those words. “I know she loves me, I want her back.”

Smithy went out to the kitchen to get some Ibuprofen to go with his paracetamol. Sometimes he just didn’t understand Darren’s world.

*              *              *

Carla took no interest in the pending sales of her latest novel that night. Instead, she took herself off to bed, lying there, tearful; thinking about the hurt she had caused Darren. She thought about why she was with him in the first place. The only answer she could give herself was; she needed the company. It wasn’t the sex, as good as his body was, he was no earth-mover. He had given her all that she really wanted. He had made her feel safe, but now she realised that ‘safe’ wasn’t enough. She drifted into a sleep, as Donna dozed on the sofa, in a drunken stupor.

It was the same dream to begin with. She was being chased again, but just as before, her legs were not taking her anywhere. She could never see the person chasing her in her dream, and in the dream he was just behind her, neither gaining nor losing ground; always just short of an arm’s reach away. Always holding the book ‘Charlotte’s Dream’. The dream ended the same, with no conclusion and she woke in a cold sweat, only to drift off again after a short while.

She tossed and turned as she struggled to sleep. It felt like something or someone was niggling at her. She awoke with some disconcert; or, at least, she thought she was awake. It was still dark but she didn’t know if she had her eyes open or not. She could not move a muscle as she lay there paralysed, the only feeling she could feel was a feeling of fear. She tried to wriggle a finger but found she could not. She wanted to scream, but her lips would not move; no sound came out. It was as if she was paralysed, paralysed with fear.

There was a sense she was going to die, she could feel a malevolent presence near her. In fact, it was lying next to her in her bed. She couldn’t touch it or hear it, but she just knew something was lying beside her. She knew it was a man and the man had a designer beard. She had no idea how she knew all these things for she could not see anything at all. Something absurd, like some paranormal entity, was telling her this. Although she felt he was lying beside her, before long, it also felt he was sitting on her chest, crushing the breath out of her. She struggled for breath, as she tried to move her toes, fingers, anything, to try to break the paralysis she found herself in. She was unable to fight back for she was unable to move. She lay there waiting to die, expecting to die. It was like it wasn’t her dream and it was someone else’s nightmare. She just lay there, paralysed, with an unknown being lying beside her whilst at the same time smothering her breathing. She thought it was time to die; someone had got into the house and was killing her.

Suddenly, in a flash, the room was alight, with sunshine pouring in through the curtains and she sat up so fast, she felt she would crick her neck. There was no one lying beside her, no one sitting on her chest; she was alone and safe, sat up in her own bed sweating and shaking. The sheets were soaking wet with her own perspiration. For a split-second, she thought it may have been her own blood, where her assailant had left her to die.

It took her a few moments to compose herself and try to understand what had happened, as normality slowly restored. There was no one lying beside her, no one sitting on her chest; she sat there alone, with just her fears for company. It had felt so real, not like she was asleep at all. She was sure she had been awake and felt it all, felt the man lying beside her.

She went to relieve herself in the bathroom and looked at her face in the mirror. The look on her own face shocked her, as it still showed the fear she was feeling only moments ago. Suddenly remembering that Donna was here the night before, she wondered if it was actually her that had been by her side. She rushed into the lounge to find it empty, but there was a note left on the coffee table; it read:

‘Fell asleep on the sofa, you were fasto when I looked in. Got Kelvin to pick me up, ring you later, luvs ya babe.’

Carla made herself a coffee and sat outside on her veranda. There were no sounds of the sea hitting the rocks, as the tide was out. It felt as if she had never seen the sea so far away and the rocks stood alone with no water splashing against them. The sun shone, making the rocks and the wet sand glisten. At that moment, her idyllic retreat felt like the loneliest place on the planet. There were no children to be seen playing in the sands; no people walking their dogs. Even the sea appeared to have deserted her.

Then the memories of the night before came flooding back... and Darren’s proposal. She took a shower trying to wash the night's fears away, crying softly to herself, whilst regretting the hurt she had caused to a charming, young, man. A young man, who, in her own way, she had loved very much.

She sort of ambled along for the rest of the day in a bit of a daydream. In such a short time her life had appeared to have changed. She had finished her second novel and had been looking forward to having it published; only to have found her new found confidence evaporated when it was rejected by her publishers. Darren was on her mind as she sat down to eat her pasta and salad.

On three occasions she had picked up her phone to text him that she was ‘sorry’ only each time she put it back down without doing so. Yet she still kept picking it up to see if he had text her. She imagined he would be heartbroken and bombarding her with texts. In a way, it hurt her that he hadn’t done so. Not that she wanted him to, as she didn’t want him to be hurt, but she felt saddened that a man had proposed and had accepted her rejection so easily. She thought she was worth fighting for. In a way, she was pleased that Darren had, by the look of it, accepted it, but she couldn’t get over the feeling that she herself had been rejected. The feeling in the pit of her stomach felt as if she had been the one who was turned down.

As she shoved her pasta around her plate, her phone did beep, indicating a text message. She quickly picked it up to look, thinking that
finally someone realises I exist.
She was surprised to see that it was from Smithy. Darren had insisted they shared numbers in case they couldn’t get hold of each other for some reason. They had never actually communicated in any way before. She opened the message, it read: ‘Hi, it’s Smithy. Just wondering if you’re okay? Darren told me what happened.’

Carla studied the message for a while, wondering why Smithy would be asking about her. She imagined him to be calling her names, accusing her of leading his mate on and then breaking his heart..
And of course, he would be right,
she told herself. She was pleased, in some ways that he was asking about her. She studied the message for a moment before typing back. ‘I’m fine, thanks for asking. How’s Darren?’ her finger hovered over the button before pressing send. Her phone soon beeped again.

‘He’s gutted, not sure where he is. I went for a shower and he had gone. I wondered if he had come over yours.’

Carla wondered why, knowing he was gutted, made her feel slightly better; then she thought of him being hurt and chided herself for her own feelings. She texted back. ‘Haven’t heard from him, hope he’s ok’, she received an immediate reply.

‘And me, if you hear from him let me know, I’m kinda worried.’

She sent back a simple ‘will do’ as a tear fell onto her cheek. A few minutes ago she was annoyed he wasn’t hurting, now she was wondering why she felt so awful when he was.

She walked into her lounge and through to the kitchen, where she emptied the contents of her uneaten meal into the bin and put her plate in the sink, running hot water over it and leaving it to soak in the bowl. She went from the kitchen through the other door, leading to her bedroom and her heart missed a beat as she recalled her nightmare. The duvet was on the floor and she could still see the sheets were damp from sweat.

It all came flooding back to her; the feeling someone was lying beside her and the feeling someone was pushing down on her chest. She remembered the paralysis and being unable to move, she recalled how frightened she was and that she thought she was going to die. It had all been so real; she had never had a dream like it before. She involuntarily shivered, as she stripped the bed and ran into the smallest room in the beach house where she kept her washing machine. Ramming the sheets and duvet cover in the washer, she turned it on as if she was washing something evil away.

Slamming the door of the small room shut, her mouth felt dry, so she went into the kitchen to get herself a drink. She could hear the water running as she walked into the kitchen. Firstly she thought it was because the washer was on until she saw the tap in the kitchen sink running. She took a glass out of the cupboard and filled it from the tap, taking long gulps before emptying the glass and refilling it. Turning the tap off, she cursed herself for being so forgetful, leaving it on in the first place after she‘d left her plate to soak. Her hand tightened it as far as she could before she walked onto her veranda to sit in her favourite chair.

The glass fell from her hand and smashed on the wooden decking as a haunting feeling came, similar to the one she’d felt in her dream when she realised;
I soaked my plate with the hot tap!

As her phone beeped, her heart leapt into her mouth. She quickly picked it up and looked at the message, as if it would be the answer or reason why the cold tap was running. The message was from Darren. ‘Are you ok?’ it simply read.

She held the phone in her hand, still shaking.

*              *              *

Donna had left through the front door that morning, when Kelvin had come to pick her up, making sure the Yale latch clicked shut behind her.

At around the same time Darren had left the flat, in a bit of a daze, whilst Smithy showered. There was a feeling in the pit of his stomach that felt like he had eaten something nasty. The feeling seemed to be travelling from his stomach until it reached his head. That feeling would then tell him he had to get her back and it would keep telling him, over and over, until his head pounded. It was worse than any hangover he had ever had. With his stomach churning, feeling the need to vomit and his head pounding him into submission, he left the flat and in a daze walked across the sands to where Carla’s dream home stood.

He walked up to the side lane towards the front of the house. He heard the four by four coming up the lane and hurriedly hid in the bushes that run along the side of the lane until it went past. Knowing that the only destination the vehicle could possibly be going was to Carla’s, he watched, as the man he had been dining with the night before got out of the vehicle and stood waiting. He saw Donna close the door and both of them got in the vehicle. They did a U-Turn in the clearing outside the front of Carla’s house and drove past him as he hid behind the bush.