Daniel's Dream (30 page)

Daniel nodded. Although he had not expected to hear it put so unambiguously, especially not from anyone in Atheenaton, everything Kate said rang true. 

‘I do realise that. You think I don’t appreciate it?’

‘No, no, it’s not that. It’s just that... how can I put this? You have an ingenuous, rose-tinted view of Atheenaton, which is touching but quite misleading. You believe Atheenaton is a paradise, a promised land, some undiscovered holiday spot where you can settle down and live happy ever after. Despite appearances, it is none of those things. You didn’t stumble in here by accident, Daniel. You came because you had to. Because you’re sick.’

‘I’m not sick...’

‘Yes, Daniel, you are; you’re very, very sick. You’re suffering from a debilitating guilt that has robbed you of the will to live. You feel guilty for cheating on your wife, and you feel guilty because the woman with whom you had the affair was killed in an accident, an accident in which you survived. Loose endings, see?’

‘Now wait a minute-’

‘And you can no longer see good in anyone or anything. You’ve forgotten how to love.’

‘That’s not true! I love Véronique?’

‘I think not. Your feelings for her may be very strong, very exciting, very potent, but it certainly isn’t love.’

‘How can you say that? How can you possibly know? That’s an outrageous claim!’

Kate held her hands out as if in appeasement. ‘Perhaps, but it’s what I believe. More to the point, in the matter of Véronique, it is less important how you feel than how she feels. She is, quite obviously, deliriously happy to have met you - it’s a turn of events for which we’re all delighted. She deserves this last chance of happiness.’

Kate dropped this last comment into the conversation so casually that Daniel, still preoccupied with his own affairs, almost missed it.

‘What do you mean? What last chance? What on earth...’

‘She’s dying, Daniel. Véronique is going to die.’

‘I can’t believe what you’re telling me; first Alex, now... Please, Kate, tell me it’s not true.’

Daniel’s voice was cracked and frail. He had not moved from the patio, and sat with his back against the villa wall, the evening sun drying the tears on his cheeks.

‘I know what a shock this must be for you, and believe me, if there were any way... you can understand now why I didn’t want to answer your questions. I didn’t want to upset you this way.’

Daniel shook his head in sorrow. ‘How long has she got?’

‘No one knows. Atheenaton is Véronique’s sanctuary, her retreat from the pain; not just emotional, but physical too. She’ll remain here until the end; it’s just too painful for her back home.’

‘And there’s nothing anyone can do? I can’t believe that in a place like this there’s nothing you can do!’

‘It’s terminal, Daniel; even in Atheenaton we have to learn to accept death, no matter how hard it may seem.’

Kate took Daniel’s hand and held it tightly. ‘Véronique has been living with the knowledge for a year. Six months ago, the pain became too much, and she found herself wandering, like you, along the beach.’ 

‘And Marianne?’ 

‘Marianne and Véronique - despite all appearances - are very close. When Marianne discovered the truth about her sister, she had what amounted to a nervous breakdown and, in effect, followed her here. It happens only very occasionally. I expect she’ll remain for a while, once Véronique has gone.’

Fresh tears rolled down Daniel’s face. It wasn’t just the terrible truth that hurt now; it was the injustice of the whole situation.

‘I did tell you that some things were best left alone, Daniel,’ said Kate gently. ‘We tried to keep it from you, but you just had to know. And you can’t blame Véronique; after all, you’re her last chance of any real happiness. We thought it might be good for both of you. We were all counting on the fact that you’d return before... well, we didn’t expect you to be staying too long. You might never have had to know.’ Kate reached across and stroked Daniel’s hair.

‘Return? To Lisanne you mean?’

‘Eventually, yes. Once you were healed.’

‘You still don’t understand, do you, Kate. I don’t
want
to return. I don’t want to leave Véronique. Ever,’ said Daniel, aware of the pointlessness of his words. ‘I just don’t want to. What am I going to do?’

‘There’s nothing you can do except make the most of whatever time you have left together. Véronique’s very special, and she’s so fond of you, Daniel. You could be good for each other.’

‘It’s not enough,’ said Daniel, shifting so as to lie back on the patio. He was confused, uncertain of his emotions, his motives, his feelings.

Kate’s confession had shocked him deeply. He didn’t want to think any more; he didn’t want to do anything any more. 

‘I’m so tired, Kate. I’m so tired of having to deal with all this...’ 

‘I know, Daniel, I know. But think how it must be for Véronique. I know this is the last thing you want to hear but, tired as you are, you have to be strong. Not just for you, but for her too.’

Daniel nodded reluctantly. Suddenly it seemed as if the weight of the whole world were on his shoulders. Death did that to you, he thought to himself: it made everything feel so heavy.

He closed his eyes. Sometimes - just sometimes - even dreams, it seemed, were not enough.

‘Can you put me through to Dr Fischer?’

‘Just a moment please... I’m afraid Dr Fischer is with a patient at present. Perhaps I can help?

‘No, it’s okay. I’ll try to catch him later.’

‘Do you want to make an appointment to see him?’

‘No, no, I just wanted some advice.’

‘Well, surgery is very busy today; perhaps you could call tomorrow morning after ten?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

Lisanne put the phone down and sighed. Where were they when you needed them, your friends, your advisers? Where were they hiding? Wasn’t it always the way? She stood up and went over to the window. On the streets below thousands of City workers were pouring out of doorways, their coats, umbrellas and briefcases lashing and slicing the air as they jostled for position on the crowded pavements. How sure they all seemed, how certain that their lives were unfolding as they should, according to strict timetables and accepted patterns of behaviour. How uncertain and unsteady her own life seemed in comparison.

Vince’s phone call had unnerved her. Not only was she shocked to hear about the contents of Daniel’s dream, but she was also highly distressed that Daniel had not seen fit to talk to her about it. Surely she would have been a more appropriate listener than Vince? Why wouldn’t he confide in her any more? What had she done to become such an outcast?

Lisanne tried hard to recall an occasion - any occasion - on which she had betrayed Daniel’s trust, but nothing came to mind. She may not have been the ideal partner; no doubt there were times when she behaved selfishly or thoughtlessly, or perhaps even cruelly, but one thing was certain: she was, and had always been, completely loyal to Daniel. It was inconceivable that he could think her unreliable. Besides, if what Vince had told her was true, there seemed to be nothing that warranted keeping the truth from her: after all, it was just a dream, albeit a bizarre and obsessive dream.

At least, this is what she told herself by way of reassurance. The fact was, she had been unsettled by the undeniable tremor of panic in Vince’s voice, which, despite his constant assertions that there was ‘probably nothing to worry about’, suggested just the reverse. She couldn’t even be sure that he was telling her the whole story. Whatever, if Vince’s reaction was anything to go by, there was reason to be concerned. From what he had said, it sounded as if Daniel was suffering some sort of delusional psychosis - not that she was an expert, hence her impatience to speak to Fischer. Does he know about this? she wondered.

In any event, it went part way to explaining Daniel’s increasingly bizarre behaviour. If he was living his life only to explore this “Atheenaton” place in his dreams, no wonder he showed little interest in her or indeed anything in “real life”. Why bother even being awake if your dreams are so enticing?

This last notion was not something Lisanne believed, but then she had no real idea of what Daniel was experiencing. She could barely envisage a dream that was preferable to reality, let alone this serial affair that had taken over Daniel’s life. But why hadn’t he told her about it? Why had he excluded her, especially when it was so clearly important to him?

And then there was the matter of the book. As soon as Vince started to describe Daniel’s dream, Lisanne saw the connection:
Greek Idyll
, Robert Jameson’s first novel. It was eerie, uncomfortable.

Down below the crowds were swelling, the movements of the anxious commuters, viewed from this distance, increasingly random as queues of matchstick men and women did battle with newspaper vendors, traffic wardens and lost tourists, everyone desperate to get away from everyone else, away from the numberless strangers whose lives meant nothing to them and back to the arms of their loved ones, their families and friends, their parrots and pooches... or perhaps just to a cramped living room with a television and a comfy chair.

How many of them, she wondered, were heading for anything other than the routine, anticipated dimensions of everyday life? How many of them would arrive home to find that the dog had died, or that the parrot had flown the coop, or that their spouse had, without a warning of any kind, upped and left? Or jumped off the roof. Or gone mad...

Ever since Daniel’s return from India, Lisanne had been haunted by the fear that his increasingly unsociable and odd behaviour was not just a response to his terrible misfortune, but an indicator of a deeper malaise. Were there types of madness that one just didn’t recognise? Were there varieties of dementia that dressed themselves up as lesser complications, disguising their true nature? Or types of lunacy that were so subtle as to go virtually unnoticed, even by close observers?

Lisanne paused for a moment and checked herself. She wished she could be certain that her response was not simply paranoia. Since the first signs of Daniel’s aberrant behaviour, she had wondered about the possibility of madness more often than she dared admit, but had never felt confident about pursuing the matter. Besides, what could she do? Daniel was not about to entertain such ideas, and Fischer had never intimated that Daniel was anything more than very shaken and suffering from post-traumatic stress. There had never been any suggestion that he was truly unbalanced.

She stared at the telephone, wondering if she should perhaps call Janice and talk to her about it. Even though Vince had not mentioned her, it seemed unlikely that they had not spoken about this most recent revelation. Perhaps Janice - frequently the voice of reason in Lisanne’s increasingly delusory life - might have some words to comfort or console her. Perhaps she could shed some light on the whole subject; Janice had some understanding of these things.

Lisanne dialled Janice’s work number, but there was no answer. Rather than drive herself to distraction with endless attempts to contact her, she tried to put all thoughts of Daniel aside and get on with the work in hand: Robert Jameson’s new novel.

She fished the manuscript out from under a pile of papers and, sitting well back in her chair, turned to the first page and started to read.   

They drove in convoy, two open-topped jeeps cruising up the mountainside, following the winding track past lemon groves and vineyards, higher and higher, towards the peak. Kate, Véronique, Barry and Daniel led the way; Marianne, Kostas, Vangeli and Imogen - a new arrival in Atheenaton - followed.

It was festival time in the mountains; every village they passed through had been suitably adorned for the holiday. People waved and shouted greetings as they drove by, beckoning them to stop for food and drink, to celebrate the feast.

Daniel sat in the back with Kate, assimilating the rush of images and sounds that assaulted his senses from every angle; the sun flickered through overhead branches, birds sang out from the bushes and trees. Everywhere, life erupted in a cacophony of noise and colour.

Every now and then the jeep would round a bend in the road, and the views down across the hillside to the coast were breathtaking. The sense of festivity hung in the air like a  potent, heady perfume: a sense of celebration tinged with a hint of sobriety, as if there were more to the occasion than just a party.