Dream a Little Dream (29 page)

I’m dumbfounded at her audacity to be such a cow on such a lovely evening – and the fact that she suddenly thinks Real Brett is attractive.

How dare she.

Bitch.

I’m frowning at her pert behind when Julie grabs me by the hand, ‘Let’s dance!’, she yells, dragging me and Real Brett along with her. We look at each other with worried faces as we nervously side-jig to the cheesy music being played.

The dance floor is empty when I’m thrown on it. However, all it takes is a bit of ‘Dancing Queen’, ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ and ‘Sex on Fire’ for people to get off their backsides (or to step away from the bar) and join us in making questionable shapes and shaking our booties. Then, as hit after hit plays, cheers of appreciation rise at the start of each song – keeping us on our feet as we belt out the tunes and boogie away.

Julie disappears soon after getting us there, no doubt to rally more victims on to her fun train, so Real Brett and I stick together. When ‘I’m Still Standing’ plays we partner up as though we’re on
Strictly
, shimmying our torsos and showing off with our wildest jazz hands, as we side kick and jump around.

It’s fun.

We’re fun.

Gone are the awkward side-stepping and the goofy shapes, we’re now working the room as though we’re in
White Christmas
, performing a lavish musical number. He holds me close in a manly embrace with his strong arms around my waist and twirls me round, spins me on the spot and guides me through the space.

The room is loud and boisterous, festive and joyous.

We’re gay and spritely, happy and bouncy.

I feel fantastic and giddy, free and light.

Fuck Poutmouth, I tell myself. Fuck her. She’s not going to ruin tonight for me.

And she doesn’t.

I’m every inch the old-school Hollywood movie star and, as the hours tick by, loving every second of it.

‘Drink?’ Real Brett asks, suddenly stopping us mid-flow before taking my hand and filling it with a glass from a waiter who magically pops up with a tray of refreshments.

‘Have you finished that pot of jam yet?’ Real Brett asks, leaning into me so that I can hear him.

With his mouth so close to my ear, his breath rushes past my neck and causes a tingling feeling to run all the way across my chest and down to my toes, the endorphins causing my brain to pleasantly shiver in my skull.

‘I’ve got a bit left,’ I tell him, my lips tingling.

‘So, you’ve probably got just enough left for the morning,’ he comments with an intake of breath, looking concerned. ‘Well, what a pickle … you promised you’d share it with me.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’

‘Yes. Looks like I’ll be coming home with you tonight then …’

‘Actually, I’m not going home tonight,’ I say, enjoying the flirt.

‘Oh?’

‘Jonathan’s booked me a room here …’

He hides his reaction well, but I notice the flash of a smirk before he pulls his poker face. ‘God, and there I was talking about employees taking advantage of the fact we’re in a hotel and getting up to scandalous behaviour.’

‘Thankfully I’m not like that.’

‘You’re a real lady.’

‘Just like you’re a real gent,’ I grin, my lips feeling bigger than ever as his green eyes cheekily sparkle as he stares at them.

His gaze remains there as his hand softly skims my bum before pressing into the small of my back. His tongue pokes out of his mouth a fraction, enough to wet his lips.

I mimic the action, my breathing becoming lighter as it rises to my chest.

He starts to lean forward.

I stop breathing.

He edges closer, still transfixed by my lips.

They tingle with desire.

His eyes flick up to mine so quickly that I gasp in shock.

He stops.

I swallow and hesitantly nibble at my bottom lip before deciding to remove the barely fifteen centimetres remaining between us.

Slow.

Teasing.

Wanton.

I.

Will.

Kiss.

Real.

Bre –

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

Our eyes widen at each other at the outburst, wondering what’s happening – the space between us growing wider as we move apart.

The commotion has caused the music in the room to be stopped, those on the dance floor have been halted mid-flow, those gossiping in the corners have been cut short.

The party has ceased.

The faces in the room all turn to one another in perplexed shock and a hint of excitement as we each try to locate the owner of the booming voice that’s exploded into our quaint and drunken little office party.

‘I said, what the FUCK do you think you’re doing?’

I know the voice, I’ve heard it before, but in that moment my brain can’t quite place it.

‘Get the fuck off her!’ the voice snaps. ‘Now!’

Heads whip round again, but this time the source is found and it doesn’t take a genius to work out the target of the fury.

Dianne, Jonathan’s wife, is stood holding open the door to an unused cloakroom – behind which Jonathan and Julie look like shocked children with their hands behind their backs and heads bowed. Their pallid faces, dishevelled clothes and sorrowful body language help the room to fill in the blanks.

There’s a gasp, followed by muttering and then shuffling, as people move to get a better view.

It’s a pitiful sight.

The room is silent and expectant. Waiting for more.

‘I’m sorry,’ snivels Julie, unable to raise her gaze higher than Dianne’s expensive Jimmy Choos.

‘Who even ARE you?’ asks Dianne, not waiting for a response. ‘What on earth would he want with YOU?’

‘You know who she is,’ barks Jonathan. ‘She’s Derek’s – ’

‘Oh shut the fuck up, Jonathan. For once just shut it. If you were going to play away I’d have rather you’d done it with a cheap bit of skirt like your own secretary – not someone who dresses like your mother and isn’t much to look at,’ she spits.

Real Brett reaches over and takes my hand in his.

Julie bursts into tears.

‘Dianne!’ Jonathan hisses, going to put his hand on Julie’s shoulder before thinking better of it.

‘What?’ Dianne asks, calmly. ‘I’m sorry, was that unkind? God rest your mother, Jonathan. I shouldn’t have compared her to THAT. At least she had class.’

‘Stop it,’ Julie sobs.

‘Stop it? I haven’t even begun.’

I’ve heard Dianne lose it before on the phone to me, I’ve seen her when she’s come into the office and had a diva tantrum over me not getting her coffee order right, I’ve watched her throw a plate of dinner at Jonathan because he couldn’t get her an invite to the royal wedding. When she says she’s not even begun, I believe her.

‘Dianne, I’m warning you – ’

‘Warning me, Jonathan? What are you going to do? Divorce me, darling?’ she gasps, pretending to be shocked or upset at the thought of it.

‘Why are you here?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it? Surely the WIFE of the boss should be invited to the Christmas bash. Isn’t that the perk of being the wife at home – getting to put on a pretty designer dress once in a blue moon and making small talk with your minions? Isn’t that one of my roles?’

‘Partners weren’t invited,’ Julie mumbles feebly, as though that justifies the whole thing.

‘And who’s idea was that? Yours?’

‘No, I – ’ Julie stammers.

It was mine, I realize – one I’d simply made because I hate being reminded of just how desperately single I am, and that, at the time of planning this, my only potential boyfriend was a fabrication of my dreams.

‘Was that your plan? To eliminate me from the equation so you could make your move?’

‘I didn’t plan – ’

‘Oh, you didn’t plan to kiss my husband. Is that why his cock was in your filthy mouth when I first opened the door?’

My jaw drops.

The room takes a collective sharp gasp.

I will Julie to walk away and remove herself from the situation, but she doesn’t. She stands there, accepting this humiliation as her punishment for having it off with the boss.

‘Is that the kind of woman you want, Jonathan? Is it?’ she barks, letting him know that silence is not an option.

‘No, no – of course not.’

Julie winces at his response.

‘You have a daughter! What will she think?’

‘You can’t tell her,’ Jonathan grovels.

‘Did he tell you he’d leave me for you?’ she asks Julie.

Julie remains silent but looks up at Jonathan, visibly willing him to speak.

‘No point looking at him. He’d say anything to get a quick shag or blowie. Shame on you for falling for it,’ she snarls. ‘What kind of a woman does that? How could you possibly stoop so low – a lady of your age? Do you have no self-respect? No dignity? No pride? Are you that much of a common whore that you need to gallivant in hidden nooks – ’

‘That’s enough,’ I hear myself mutter as I feel my body moving towards the drama. ‘Come on, Julie,’ I say, side stepping around the bat-shit-crazy wife to retrieve the office mum from the naughty step.

‘YOU!’ Dianne rages at me, clearly recognizing me as Jonathan’s worthless PA, aka the cheap piece of skirt. ‘Where do you think you’re taking her?’

‘Away from you,’ I reply curtly, wrapping my arms around Julie and pulling her away from the spot she seems glued to.

‘Are you going to go after her, Jonathan? Start your new life with the slut on her knees?’

‘Of course not,’ we hear him say as we make our way through our gathered work colleagues and out of the function room.

‘Air. I need air,’ Julie gasps, running for the front door of the hotel and out into the frosty December night.

‘Julie,’ I call, going after her.

A hand stops me.

‘Wrap her in this,’ Real Brett says, giving me his blazer. ‘I’ll go get her a drink,’ he adds, striding back to the bar purposefully.

When I find Julie, tucked in the doorway of one of the delivery entrances, she’s shivering manically from a mixture of the freezing cold and shock.

‘I don’t even know how it happened,’ she sobs, her teeth chattering together.

‘When did it start?’ I ask, unable to help myself as I throw Real Brett’s blazer over her shoulders and rub up and down her arms to warm her up.

‘Years ago,’ she mumbles with a whine. ‘When he first tried it on I told him I was flattered but happily married. Then, once Brian left – turns out we weren’t so happily married – he tried again and I was glad of the attention. Happy that
someone
wanted me.’

‘Oh Julie …’

‘It was harder before, but when I started doing some of your work and looking after Jonathan things became easier – it gave us more of an excuse. No one would question us spending time together if I was directly working for him too.’

‘No wonder he was so keen for me to spend as much time as I liked out in Oz with Brett.’

‘Sorry,’ she sighs. ‘God, I don’t know how he can stand her. She’s a bitch.’

I raise my eyebrows in agreement.

‘
I’m
such a bitch.’

‘No you’re not. Just a bit … foolish.’

‘Thanks,’ she mumbles, stamping her feet to tread out the cold.

I do the same – my pretty dress wasn’t made for standing on street corners in frosty weather and my toes are quickly turning to ice.

‘Here you go, ladies,’ whispers Real Brett as he hands out two shot glasses.

‘Shots?’

He shrugs in reply as Julie snatches one of them and throws it down the hatch before grabbing the other and knocking it back in the same hasty manner.

‘Thanks,’ she says, handing the glasses back and bending over to put her hands on her knees. ‘What do I do now?’

We both look at her and each other helplessly. I can’t even imagine how she must be feeling.

‘Why don’t we go up to your room? You can get into some warm clothes and I’ll make you a tea or something,’ I suggest.

‘Oh, I can’t go back in there,’ she groans, standing up and shaking her head adamantly. ‘I can’t stay in that room, I don’t even want to look at it.’

‘Why not?’

‘His stuff’s in there,’ she says, looking down at the floor shamefully. ‘He was in there with me earlier.’

Real Brett takes in an audible breath at the confession, before blowing it out, causing his lips to raspberry.

My mind goes back to the couple Carly and I overheard bonking earlier – never in a million years had I suspected it would be Julie and Jonathan.

‘Well, you can’t stay out here all night,’ I say.

‘Why not? Because I’d catch my death? Pneumonia seems a pretty good option to me right now,’ Julie says glumly.

‘Don’t be daft,’ Real Brett says, elbowing her gently. ‘I know it seems like the worst thing in the world to happen but it’ll all sort itself out. It always does.’

‘Yeah?’ she asks. ‘You think so?’

We smile encouragingly in reply.

‘Usually I’d agree with you, but I just don’t see how that can happen here,’ she says quietly.

‘I think it’ll all seem a bit clearer in the morning after some sleep,’ I reply. ‘We’ve all had a lot to drink.’

‘Why don’t we get you home?’ suggests Real Brett.

‘But my stuff …’

‘We can sort all of that out,’ I tell her. ‘Or do you want me to come home with you now?’

‘No,’ she says anxiously, sucking on her bottom lip as she considers it. ‘I think I’m better off on my own tonight.’

‘Are you sure?’ I ask, looking behind me as I hear Poutmouth Louisa stepping out of the hotel with a couple of guys from Accounts – all clearly talking about what they’ve just witnessed as they chug on their free drinks and light up cigarettes.

Julie looks past me and steps back into the crevice of the doorway, shielding herself from their sight.

‘Yes. Just get me into a taxi. Please,’ she pleads. ‘Oh, my bag …’

‘We’ll grab all your stuff and I’ll drop it over to you tonight,’ Real Brett tells her.

‘Do you have your keys?’ I ask, thinking practically.

‘There’s a spare one under the mat. I just need money for a cab …’

While Real Brett gets his wallet from his back pocket and fishes out twenty pounds Julie hands me her room key.

‘Thank you so much for this,’ she says, fresh tears streaming down as Real Brett hails a taxi for her.