Dream a Little Dream (32 page)

There have only been a handful of times in my life when I’ve had to phone Mum and confess to some sort of naughty behaviour – like when I drove home from uni one Saturday morning stupidly tired from an all-night party and got pulled over by the police (they’d been driving behind me for ten minutes and noticed I had my windscreen wipers on full, even though it was a scorching hot sunny day). Although I passed the breathalyser test (I’d responsibly stopped drinking at midnight), I was in no fit state to drive and the nice policemen made my parents pick me up from Milton Keynes. They weren’t impressed. Then there was the time I was caught stealing chocolate from Budgens by my friend’s mum (luckily not the shop staff), who then made me phone Mum and tell her what I’d been doing. And finally there was the time I’d played truant from school and went to Brighton with my friends. After getting too enthralled by the two-pence machine I got separated from everyone in the arcades and my friend Laura Ponsford wandered off with my purse. With no clue as to where I was or how to get home, I panicked. Thankfully I managed to phone them with the handful of two-pence pieces that I’d won, although their stony faces when they came to collect me will never be lost from my memory. Even Max was pissed off with me because them making the drive to Brighton
meant that he had to miss a karate lesson. It was a shit night, to be honest.

So, although on this occasion I know I’m calling with good news and that she’ll eventually be pleased with/for me, I firstly have to tell her that I’ve withheld the truth and never left the country. As you can imagine, my straight-talking mum doesn’t appreciate being lied to and I’m anxious as hell when I call her.

‘Hello?’ she welcomes, answering the house phone in her poshest voice.

‘Hi, Mum.’

‘Sarah, darling? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until you got back,’ she says, seeming surprised and impressed that I’ve made the effort to call home.

‘Yeah …’ For a second I waver and wonder whether there’s any need to tell the truth at all.

‘Where are you now? What time is it there?’

‘I’m not in Australia, Mum, and I’ve quit my job,’ I say – quick, clean and to the point – killing the lie and setting my conscience free.

‘Oh fuck.’

‘Yep,’ I say, not even surprised that my mum has dropped the F-bomb. Clearly the apple didn’t fall very far from the tree, despite how prim and proper she might seem. Well, I had to get it from somewhere.

‘What happened? What did you do?’

‘Long story short?’ I ask, not waiting long enough for her to reply. ‘Jonathan was having an affair with Julie. Jonathan sacked Julie. Jonathan stopped me from going to Australia so that I could stay and make him coffee. Jonathan then said he couldn’t guarantee a promotion. So I left.’

‘Wait,’ she responds, her mind clearly ticking away as she breaks down my quick ramble. ‘Why did you ask for another promotion?’

Oh crap, I forgot that white lie.

‘I didn’t actually get one before,’ I mumble, screwing up my face as I say it and wait for her response.

‘What?’

‘Well I did. I was in all the meetings Mum, and contributing – my idea
is
being made and there are still people out in Australia recceing for it – it’s just that I wasn’t getting paid for the work I was doing alongside looking after Jonathan.’

‘So he basically gave you a hobby?’

‘Sort of … just so he could hide his affair with Julie.’

‘I see. Well it sounds very
Jeremy Kyle
.’ Pause. ‘What now? Have you signed on for dole money?’

‘No, Mum,’ I say, amazed at her tactfulness. ‘I’m not claiming benefits.’

‘Thank goodness,’ she exhales. ‘I was worried there. You hear of all these people scrounging from the state and I’d never let a daughter of mine …’

‘I’ve got a new job,’ I say, cutting her tirade short. ‘I start next Monday.’

‘Already? Oh God. Doing what?’

I’ve no idea what she expects from me, but from the tone of exasperation in her voice I’m guessing she’s already presumed that I’ve turned to pole dancing – or prostitution.

‘Working for another television company. In Development this time.’

‘No.’ Pause. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘And this time you’re not lying? This is an actual job that you’re being paid money for?’

‘Yes,’ I confirm. ‘Good money too.’

‘Well, I’m relieved. You don’t need a boss like that. Onwards and upwards,’ she sighs, neglecting to congratulate me. ‘Actually dear, I’m glad you phoned. We have some rather unfortunate news.’

‘Oh?’

‘Well, we were all set to go to Dan’s wedding but Dad went to the GP about his knee back in December and it turns out he needs a little operation on it.’

‘What? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ she says, shrugging me off. ‘Nothing major. We didn’t want to worry you seeing as you were going out of the country – we were going to wait until you got back and tell you then. Anyway – the letter’s come through from the hospital and it’s scheduled for the Wednesday before the wedding. He’s not going to be back up on his feet in time and I don’t really want to travel all that way without him.’

‘Oh no,’ I say, genuinely concerned for my dad but quite delighted that they won’t be at the wedding – that’ll give me something less to worry about.

‘Ghastly timing.’

‘Yes, but Dad’s health comes first,’ I say.

‘Obviously, darling,’ she says flippantly. ‘Although I want to hear about every single detail of the day – you must take photos. The official invites came through and I noticed the reception is being held in Pat’s back garden. Well … I’m not sure what I think of that. Are they using a tent?’

‘You mean a marquee? No Mum, they’re just going to chuck all their guests outside in the middle of February.’

‘Well I don’t know, do I?’ she tuts.

When I eventually get off the phone I walk into Carly’s room, who’s getting ready for a date night with Josh. Thanks to them ducking and diving around London keeping their relationship secret, and then Carly feeling ill whilst pregnant, they never really got to go out and enjoy each other’s company without worrying – so tonight they’re off for a date on the river. It’s all very romantic and it’s now my turn to lounge and watch her get ready for a change. I jump on her bed as she’s finishing off her make-up on the floor.

‘How’d that go?’ she asks, looking at me in the mirror, before sucking in her cheeks and applying her blusher.

‘Better than I expected.’

‘See, she’s never as bad as you think she is.’

‘I think she’s getting soft as she gets older,’ I say.

‘So, next on the list – when are you going to tell Brett?’ she asks, turning to me.

‘I already have,’ I admit.

I hadn’t wanted to tell Real Brett about leaving the company until I had another job to move on to. Just leaving with no solid plan seemed a little skittish and worrisome – I wanted to wait until my future looked promising and full of potential. Gosh, maybe my mum’s views and morals have seeped in somewhere, because those words could’ve popped right out of her mouth.

‘Whoa,’ sounds Carly. ‘When?’

‘Right after I got the news,’ I smirk.

‘And?’ she asks, raising her eyebrows at me.

‘What?’

‘Has he replied?’

‘No … but when I next went on Facebook Louisa had posted a few dozen pics of them out at some beach party looking really drunk and dancing together.’

‘Essssshh …’ she sounds, turning back to the mirror and picking up her lip balm.

‘Yeah. My thoughts exactly,’ I groan, rolling my eyes.

‘It might not mean …’

‘Hmm … it might not, in fact it probably doesn’t – but it doesn’t look like he’s missing me too much right now,’ I shrug, trying not to let the situation tempt me into becoming a bunny-boiling loon.

‘You never know. Have you heard from him at all while he’s been over there?’

‘Not really. Only to let me know they’d got there and met the tour guide.’

‘Well, he is in the middle of nowhere,’ she says running her fingers along her lips.

‘No he’s fucking not,’ I moan at her for using the exact excuse I was going to give my mother when she didn’t hear from me for three weeks. ‘He’s in Australia – there’s phone signal in every place they’re staying. I’ve checked.’

As if by magic my phone pings to tell me I have an email – it’s from Real Brett. Bizarrely I feel nervous as I click on it.

WOW WOW WOW! So chuffed for you. Now you’ll never have to make coffee again. ;-) Look forward to celebrating with you when I’m back. x

P.S. She’s doing my nut in.

I feel myself physically gush at my phone and laugh out loud.

‘What? Who’s that?’ asks Carly, glaring at me in the mirror.

When I don’t reply she turns to me, a big grin on her face.

‘YES!!!’

I find myself stalking Poutmouth’s Facebook page for the next few days, but thankfully find no further pictures of Real Brett – just the standard ones of her pouting in the sunshine. I’m guessing there’s more to the pictures she took than I’d fleetingly thought. She was probably trying to make her ex jealous as I’ve not seen her post a single picture of him since being over there. Or she could be trying to make me jealous – which I wouldn’t put past her.

I’ve no idea how, but I’m pretty sure she was behind Jonathan and Julie’s exposé at the Christmas party – someone had clearly spoken to Dianne and pointed her in their direction, and, as far as I can see, the only person set to gain from the whole thing was Poutmouth. She’d have wanted to rock the boat somehow and scupper my chances of Oz … She’s a total witch and I’m glad to be seeing the back of her. I’m just sad that Julian and my gorgeous elderly folk are going to have to put up with her while on their big excursion. Although, at least I know they’ll have Real Brett.

Just as I’m about to leave the office of Red Brick for the very last time after four weeks of wrapping up loose ends and handing over my job to Jonathan’s next skivvy, I find myself going over to Real Brett’s desk, scribbling a note
and leaving it in his drawer to find on his return from New Zealand (yes, sadly their trip got extended). It reads:

‘No more half measures.’ Breaking Bad

I smile at the quote, sigh at the office I’m hoping never to walk into again, turn on my heels and leave to meet my nicer work colleagues and my gorgeous besties in the pub for a very drunken ‘So long, farewell’ drink.

I get lost in the whirlwind of my new job. New office, new people, new names to remember – I hardly stop at all during the first week. I want to totally absorb myself in my new surroundings and forget all the negativity I’ve been wading through lately.

However, on Monday morning, on the first day in my new job, at eight thirty-two, just as I sit at my desk with a coffee I’ve brought in with me from The Barge Café, I get an email.

Wow, mornings are dull here without you. Want some toast? I’ve got fresh jam! ;-) x

I smile at my screen.

It’s also Real Brett’s first day in the office since landing back from New Zealand at the weekend and it warms my heart that the first thing he’s done is contact me.

Yes please! Don’t scrimp on the good stuff, though. I want a decent sized portion. x

Size doesn’t matter, Sarah – it’s what you do with it that counts. You should know that. x

I receive similar emails around the same time over the next couple of days. None of them saying much, just having a little flirt about nothing extraordinary, but still – they
each make my face crack into a grin and are a lovely note to start the day on.

Tuesday:

Fun fact: when Twister was first introduced in 1966, it was denounced by critics as ‘sex in a box’.

Wow, I didn’t know that … Thanks Brett.

Want a game? ;-) x

Wednesday:

Fun fact: otters sleep holding hands …

he writes, along with a Youtube link to a video of a pair of otters doing just that.

That’s so cute.

I’m glad you think that … because I sleep like an otter.

Cheese …

Best you know from the start. I’m very snuggly. x

I think of the dreams spent lying in Dream Brett’s arms and find myself sighing longingly at the screen …

‘So, are you going to remind him about the weekend?’ Carly asks on our way to the pub for our final quiz night
before the wedding – the last one before our group contains a married ‘grown-up’ couple.

‘I’ve thought about it – but I don’t want to push it.’

‘Why not?’ she asks as we sidestep around a gaggle of teenage boys outside Londis who’ve gathered to look at their mate’s new bike and glug on cans of Dr Pepper.

‘It’s on Valentine’s Day so it’s hardly a day that’s going to pass him by unnoticed. He’ll know it’s coming up. I just don’t want him to feel like he has to come … I don’t want to force him there.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘No it’s not.’

‘It is. How’s he meant to know where to go or any of the details? He’s your plus one.’

‘He’s not my plus one,’ I protest, pulling my coat around me a little tighter. ‘That’s just what Dan and Lexie have called it so that she doesn’t get into a flap about the numbers.’

‘Babe, he’s your plus one,’ she grins, throwing her arms around my waist and resting her head on my shoulder. ‘You’re meant to at least pass on the details and see if he wants to be lumbered with your company for the day.’

‘Thanks,’ I reply with an eye roll, tapping her cheek.

‘He might have a date anyway,’ she shrugs, lifting her head and screwing up her face as though she’s not bothered about the whole thing suddenly.

‘Oi,’ I say, slapping her on the arm.

‘What?’ she asks innocently.

‘Don’t you play that reverse psychology thing on me, bitch …’

She starts cackling then and squeezes into me. ‘God, you’re hard to manipulate.’

Walking into the pub, we see all of our mates already gathered with drinks, crisps and nuts that are waiting to be consumed.

‘Are we late?’ I ask, looking at my watch.

‘No, only just got here,’ says Alastair, standing up and giving each of us a hug. ‘Got you both a drink each.’

‘Very organized, Alastair, that’s what I like to see.’

Once hellos and hugs are out of the way I’m relieved to perch my butt down into a seat and grab for my large glass of red – it’s become my must-have drink over the winter months.

‘Is everything coming together?’ I ask Dan as he sits down opposite me – surprising myself when I don’t feel my body stiffen or my jaw clench.

He nods in response and puffs out his cheeks. ‘We’ve spent the last few nights wrapping up the favours. I’m exhausted.’

‘Exhausted?’ laughs Lexie in disbelief. ‘That’s not even the start of it – we’ve got the place cards to go yet and the seating plan to finalize – and even then we’ll still have a million more jobs to master over the next few days.’

‘I’m surprised you’ve been allowed out,’ laughs Josh.

‘Nearly wasn’t, mate,’ Dan admits, rolling his eyes cheekily.

‘All those little touches are worth the extra effort, though,’ says Natalia, her eyes wide and sincere. ‘They really make the difference.’

‘At least I know you’ll appreciate the time I’ve spent painstakingly tying delicate little bows,’ he says to her.

‘Mate,’ Alastair says, shaking his head at the fact that his best friend has become so emasculated.

Thankfully Lexie laughs along with the rest of us.

Dan throws his arm around her shoulder and pulls her into him. ‘You know there’s nothing I’d rather do,’ he says, lowering his voice.

‘Oh, don’t worry. I know that,’ she giggles. ‘Actually, if it’s okay with you all – I’d like to say a few words,’ she squeaks, shuffling forward in her chair.

Dan gives her a questioning look, clearly in the dark about what she’s about to say or do. The rest of us just sit quietly as we sip on our drinks and munch on our snacks – we’re a contentedly captivated audience. Even Natalia puts her phone in her bag earlier than normal to avoid being distracted by a client calling with a pillow dilemma.

‘Right … I know I’m probably not going to see all of you before the wedding, so I wanted to use this last time of us all being together to say thank you,’ she says, her eyes glistening. ‘I thought it was going to be tough joining a bunch of people who’d been friends for years and shared so much together, but you all made it easy from the get go. From day one I’ve felt nothing but welcomed, even though there might’ve been cause to hate me.’

She looks up at me then with a pensive look and a nibble on her bottom lip, which is wobbling with emotion.

I wink slowly at her – and hope the look conveys enough.

She looks down at her glass of wine and takes a deep breath.

Dan reaches under the table and takes her hand, something I’m grateful for.

‘You might’ve been introduced to me back then as friends of Dan’s, but I’m so happy that each and every one
of you is now a friend of mine too. I know we’re going to make lots more memories together – and I promise to never turn into the nagging wife.’

‘Unless it’s necessary,’ interjects Carly. ‘Got to give yourself a bit of movement there so you can keep him in check.’

‘Was almost looking like the perfect marriage there, man,’ laughs Josh, his arm moving around Carly.

‘Knew it was too good to be true,’ sighs Dan, turning to Lexie and flashing her one of his mega-watt smiles. ‘Not that I mind in the slightest, of course.’

Alastair gives a little fanfare as he slowly lifts his arm skyward, his hand forming into a thumbs-up sign, before dramatically slamming the single digit down on to the table in front of us.

Dan turns bright red with embarrassment as the rest of us laugh around him.

‘Let’s toast,’ I say, raising my glass in the air, smiling happily for the duo sat in front of me. ‘To being happily under the thumb.’

‘Happily under the thumb,’ the table choruses together before we all swig from our glasses.

Dan catches my eye and bows his head, throwing a pensive smile of thanks in my direction.

Thursday:

Fun fact: Leonardo da Vinci could write with one hand and draw with the other at the same time … Who says us guys can’t multitask?

Are there any tasks you can do at the same time?

I reply, wondering where he’s heading with this one.

Only rude ones. ;-)

Friday:

Fun/disturbing fact: twenty per cent of office coffee mugs contain faecal matter.

I’ve just spat out my coffee.

Good job …

My hands loiter above the keys, wondering if I should say anything about the wedding that’s two days away. Before I really have a chance to mull it over, my new colleague Debbie (she’s my age, super cute and all kinds of amazing – nothing like Poutmouth) comes over for a catch up. The morning slips away along with my working lunch and the afternoon and, if I’m totally honest, I don’t have a chance to think about Real Brett for the rest of the day.

After a manic (but hugely enjoyable) week, I breathe a happy sigh as I wrap myself up in my winter warmers and step into the dark, cold London night.

‘I thought I might find you here,’ a familiar voice says in my ear.

‘Brett,’ I grin, turning round and, without thinking, throwing my arms around him – either I’ve missed him more than I’ve realized or I’m in a much brighter place than I was before and giddily loose with my PDAs. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to give you this,’ he says, pulling a small
cardboard box from behind his back. ‘You look lovely, by the way,’ he adds, looking down at my new black dress, tights and heels combo – I went out and bought lots of new clothes to go with my new job. In fact, I went a bit credit-card crazy, so it’s good to know it’s money well spent.

‘Thank you,’ I smile, taking the gift from him and wiggle it slightly. ‘What is it?’

‘Open it,’ he shrugs.

I lift the lid and pull out a mug with
World’s Greatest Nan
written on it. ‘Whaaaaat?’ I giggle, looking bewildered at the mug that’s identical to the one we saw Ethel using when we went to visit her.

‘After today’s fun fact I didn’t think you’d be wanting to drink out of any old mug lying around the office, so thought I’d get you your own.’

‘I’m not a nan,’ I point out, pursing my lips at him.

‘No, but I thought it would make you smile every time you used it.’

I do just that as I hug him once more, pulling him tightly against me.

‘Thank you.’

‘It’s nothing …’ Pause. ‘So, what do you think? Want to try Wagas again?’

‘I’m meant to be going home to a microwave dinner and a nice long soak in the bath … but sod it. Yes. Let’s,’ I say, looping my arm through his as we walk through Soho, feeling my cheeks blush every time he looks over at me to talk.

‘Well, I’ve got to ask,’ I say, when we’re eventually sat down at the wooden benches and have ordered an obscene amount of food for just two people. ‘How was it?’

‘Honestly?’

‘Yes …’ I say with a squirm, part of me hoping he’s going to say he hated the whole thing and wishes he didn’t have to go back over there for filming.

‘It wasn’t what I thought it was going to be – but then, I had thought that you were going to be out there,’ he says, his brow rising with disappointment.

‘Well. You and me both.’

‘I’d have enjoyed that much, much more,’ he tells me, his green eyes dancing in my direction as our knees flirtingly touch underneath the table.

I try to hide a smile but it doesn’t work as all I can think about is the fact that our legs are touching and that I can feel the heat of him through my tights and his trousers. It’s a simple, little, thing – but it makes my breathing lighten and rise to my chest.

‘Was Louisa a nightmare?’ I ask, ignoring my voice as it catches.

‘To be honest, I thought she was going to be a lot worse than she was. She got savagely duped by her ex over there so I don’t think she was quite up to being the bitch we know her to be.’

‘Why? What happened?’

‘She went over to surprise him at the address she had for him but he wasn’t there. It was his family home, so it’s not like he gave her a fake address or anything, but apparently he’d moved out and into his girlfriend’s place a long time ago.’

‘Whaaaat?!’ I ask as my jaw drops.

‘Yep,’ he nods, matter-of-factly, almost as though he’s enjoying delivering the gossip even though he feels bad for
her. ‘Turns out he’d been dating and living with this girl for years but just came over here for a few months working or something. Needless to say he’d never told either of the women about the other one and had simply left Louisa in London and carried on with his old life in Oz.’

‘Playa’s gonna play,’ I say like some rude girl before slapping myself around the cheeks and burying my face in my hands.

‘Are we ignoring you just said that?’ he laughs.

‘Please,’ I squeak, bright red.

He laughs again, leaning forward and placing a hand on one of my shoulders, giving it a reassuring squeeze to let me know he doesn’t think I’m a total twat. Not a
total
one …

‘Anyway, Lou was quite cut up about the whole thing and spent the rest of the trip crying or taking selfies – mostly to show him what he’s missing out on,’ he frowns. ‘You know what you girls are like.’

‘That’s crap,’ I say sadly, ignoring the fact that he’s just called Poutmouth ‘Lou’ and that he’s just bracketed me with her – he knows I don’t do selfies!