Someone Else's Dream (3 page)

From where she resided she could see all those things, but all she could hear was the sound of nature and the gentle rustling of the sea crashing against the rocks. It wasn’t the Costa del Sol or the English Riviera, but it was her own retreat and she loved it. It could be any place in the world she desired, she just had to close her eyes and imagine. It had been eighteen months since she’d purchased it and each day she loved it a little more. It was Carla’s own little sanctuary; it was where Charlotte was born.

She could see her beach house in the distance, as she drove and it always gave her butterflies, not quite believing that it was hers. Small sand dunes lay between her home and the beach. She could see children climbing the rocks and searching for crabs, as she approached. She drove up the small single-car lane that she also felt belonged to her, for the only place it would take you, was to her special retreat; used only by her, her visitors, or those who had a reason to be there.

Carla had given up her job as a senior secretary, for a trade union. It was a job she’d loved doing, but she took a redundancy package to concentrate on writing; something she had done since being a small child, always penning short stories and poetry. She wanted to become an author; she wanted to be the next Jackie Collins, or maybe even hit the heights of J.K.Rowling.

When she had her first novel published, she thought then, it was exactly the right thing to do. Most of the money she’d received from her redundancy and savings had gone towards the purchase of the beach house. She owned it one hundred percent now and nobody could take it away from her. She still had a little put by, so she wasn’t desperate yet. There was still a trickle of royalties coming in for her first novel, but if she didn’t get the second one published and recognised she would have to re-visit her original career. She was going to re-invent Charlotte and they were all going to love her. It was either that, or she would be back, sat behind a desk, applying her skills for the benefit of others.

She could see the SUV in the drive as she drove closer and a smile came to her face, for this was one visitor she was always pleased to see; the only other person allowed a key to her retreat. She was the only ‘real person’ she looked up to, like no other, although her friend Donna came close. She was thrilled to see that SUV in her drive, feeling it would be just the tonic she needed. As she drove closer she could see her sitting on her veranda, a coffee in one hand and a paperback in the other. They waved stealthily at each other, as Carla approached. Carla marvelled at how this woman could still be mistaken as her sister at fifty two years of age. She was stunning, her body had lost none of her shape and although her skin was not as smooth as it once had been, her smile was so wide and her eyes, so blue and bottomless, that was all she needed. Carla could see she was in her usual attire, black slacks and sandals. She knew how lucky she was to have her in her life. Not all mothers were as supportive of their daughters as she was. At that moment she felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

Carla parked up next to the SUV and quickly walked around the front of the beach house to greet her mother. The front of the house over looked the sea, but the road led you to the back. They hugged each other and air-kissed before sitting down on the teak patio furniture. Her mother could see the look on Carla’s face suggesting all did not go well. She knew she had been to see her publisher and had even offered to go with her, but Carla had refused. She knew her daughter better than anyone, and could read her better than the novel that she had written.

“I put a casserole in the oven as I know you won’t eat,” said Patricia Reid, her mother.

“Oh thanks Mum, my favourite. Are you stopping for some?” Her mother’s words were music to her ears. She certainly wasn’t going to cook for herself tonight, she had far too much thinking to do.

“I think I will hon, that father of yours can fend for himself for once. He thinks I was put on this earth just to feed him.”

“How is he? Is he ok?” Carla asked, trying to think of the last time she had seen him. It was over a month ago and she subconsciously made a note to go and see him.

“Oh he’s fine, just as useless as always. I keep telling him he’s only good for one thing, does he listen? Does he heck as like!”

Carla rolled her eyes and smiled, she loved her mother’s euphemisms, and she sometimes wished she could be like her. Her mother was confident and sassy; whilst she was timid and sometimes, just too afraid.

“Mind you, he’s not up to much in that department either lately; he just doesn’t understand a woman’s needs. I’ve told him he will have to step up or I’ll trade him in for a younger model.” Patricia laughed fondly at the man she was chiding and Carla caught her giggles.

“What are you like mum?” she told her mother, as a soft breeze came over them and Carla took a deep breath to suck it in.

“I love this place,” she said,

“I told you, you should have moved to Mumbles, by us; much more inspiration then this place”.

Carla smiled again. She remembered her mother trying to talk her out of buying the beach house and move closer to her in Swansea.

“Anyway, I’m a fool, that’s what I’m like,” added Patricia. She looked out at the sea, thinking it wasn’t such a bad place after all. She was proud of her daughter and all that she had achieved. She could still remember her daughter’s teenage years when she suddenly turned into a recluse. She never thought she would turn out as well as she had done, or as successful.

“When I think of all the men I could have married...” She looked up into the skies and let out an over exaggerated sigh. “Oh well,” she said.

“You love him to bits,” Carla told her.

Patricia pieced her lips together in an almost pout and gave Carla a funny look. There was a minute or so of silence, but not an awkward silence. Both mother and daughter looked out onto the beach; Carla was right, from a short distance they could be mistaken for sisters. They saw tiny images of children playing in the sands. For Patricia, it reminded her of her own daughter many years ago, when they used to take her to the beaches. Carla, though, was thinking about the children she may never have, as life was catching up with her. Patricia eventually broke the silence.

“Well, how did it go?” asked her mother already guessing the answer.

Their eyes met and Carla bit her bottom lip, her eyes started watering. Patricia just wanted Carla to let the tears flow and to not hold anything back, but she knew her daughter wouldn’t.

“Don’t tell me they didn’t accept it,” Patricia added.

Carla shook her head desperately trying not to let the tears flow.

“Why ever not? What was wrong with it? I’ve read it and it was every bit as good as the first, if not better!”

Carla forced a smile. She knew it wasn’t as good and she knew her mother knew that also,
but isn’t that what mothers do?
She asked herself.

“They said it wasn’t racy enough and they don’t want her dead. They want to turn her into a porn star, they want X-rated stuff. I had so many other ideas but they just want sex”. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked out at the sea, as if seeking answers.

“Well, is that really so bad? They haven’t totally rejected it,” asked Patricia, trying to put a good spin on it, but Carla just let out a sigh.

“No they haven’t totally rejected it. I didn’t want to be an erotic writer, and Charlotte was my
hero
, not my porn star.” She put her finger against her teeth, as if cleaning them. Her mother recognised the motion as a sign of hiding her disappointment.

“Well, just have her screwing around a bit, give them what they want and a lot more. Create the best erotica you can; have them gagging for more, then you can dictate your own terms, when it smashes the charts.”

Carla loved the enthusiasm of her mother; it was contagious and immediately cheered her up. A smile came to her lips and she caught her mother’s eyes; they were still deep and beautiful.

“I can’t write all that graphic stuff!”

“Just imagine it’s you and Darren and...” She saw Carla’s face of non-approval.

“Well, perhaps not! How is dick-head, anyway?” she added.

Carla giggled, loving her mother’s terms of reference. “I can try, I suppose. I don’t want Dad reading it though.” She didn’t want to tell her mother that her and Darren’s sex life was… well... certainly nothing like Charlotte’s.

Patricia tutted, “Him! He’s so damn lazy I bet he’s forgotten how to read,” referring to her husband. Patricia leaned over the table and put her hand on the top of Carla’s arm; “if you get stuck, I could help you with a few juicy chapters. Did I tell you about the night I met your father…”

Carla interrupted with a look of horror on her face.

“MUM!!!” she screamed, followed by a wry smile.

Her mother stopped, with a grin all over her face, remembering only too well the first time she met Carla’s father.

“I’ll dish up that casserole shall I? I’m starving.”

Carla followed her into the kitchen, feeling a whole lot happier. Her mother’s ambience was so infectious she felt like it should be bottled and sold as a medicine.

They sat on the veranda, overlooking the beach and ate dinner. The sun had made an appearance and it was turning out to be a beautiful evening. They didn’t talk about Charlotte anymore. Patricia talked of her husband, Daniel. She told Carla how she fancied the guy at the Bridge Club. She also asked when Carla was going to find a real man, instead of barren Darren.

Carla got the giggles at that point and they continued talking about anything and nothing; just enjoying the company they both thrived on. It was 8pm when her mother left for home; back to the man she loved more than any other, her husband. She loved Daniel far more than she would ever care to admit.

Carla put the plates in the sink and quickly showered, just enough to wash the stress of the day off, along with the sins of the day. She changed into her favourite Minion pyjama’s a present she had bought herself, when her first book was accepted. She topped off the outfit, with bear feet slippers with huge toe nails protruding out. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror,
so sexy,
she smiled. She opened the cupboard where the 42” television was housed and pulled out her laptop. It was still a lovely warm evening and the winds were still; she could just hear the gentle waves of the waters splashing against the rocks. She flicked on the outside lights and sat on her favourite padded chair on the veranda. Opening her laptop, she typed in the password and opened the rejected document.

Right let’s see how I can make her not die!

She quickly got to the chapter, the last but one, in this case, where she had killed off Charlotte while being chased in a car by the paparazzi, whilst also trying to get away from a fan who was stalking her.

She knew it had a feel of the lovely Princess Diana about it. She read the chapter over and over, she loved it. Charlotte had so many ups and downs in her life, within the two books she really didn’t think the reader’s would buy anymore. She already thought she was wavering on the edge of believability. She really didn’t know how much more she could fit in as she still wanted to leave in the scene of the chase and the accident. It was one of her favourite scenes and she decided there and then she would end it as a cliff-hanger, as to whether Charlotte lived or died. She made some notes in the note book she always had close to her, closing the chapter without writing or changing a word. The cliff-hanger idea was pleasing her; all she had to do now, was write it.

She opened the document to the first chapter when Charlotte got intimate. She remembered it, oh so clearly. It was in chapter three of her novel; it was one of her favourites, with Charlotte being wined and dined before being taken away to five-star luxury, to be made love to. It was one of the good times in Charlotte’s life and it was also one of Carla’s favourite scenes. This was one of the scenes she hoped to experience sometime in her life. Someone would just take her away and make love to her, exactly as the character had made love to Charlotte, but maybe she would keep the lights off. She thought, if Charlotte was a real person and not a character in a novel, the hotel scene would be the one moment in her life she would never forget.