Chapter 5

Charlie and I stayed by the stream for a long time while I told her everything I knew of Dad’s condition. When I finished, we thought our own thoughts and the lone sound was that of nature. The birds sang as though everything was cool and the stream flowed on like a mini edition of Ole Man River with Charlie and I echoing the sentiments of Paul Robeson.

I dragged myself out of my despond. “Each time we’re down, we must remind ourselves he’s not ill.”

“Yes, you’re right,” she agreed. “It’s not easy though.” She faced the stream, however I doubt she saw much through the mist in her eyes. “Sam, I miss him so much.” A tear slid down her cheek.

I sidled next to her and she rested her head on my shoulder. “He’ll be back,” I said, with little conviction.

She lifted her head and turned to me. “I’m sorry for my moodiness. When something as bad as this happens, it puts everything else into perspective. My moods are childish and I must grow out of them - fast.” She took my hands. “Friends?”

“Of course,” I whispered.

Her moodiness didn’t stop, except it occurred less often. From that time, when she went into a mood I gave her the knowing look that sisters interpret and often the ill-humour dissipated. From the trauma of the afternoon and the shared secret, a strong bond was formed between us.

We left and separated, Charlie back to the house and I to the swimming pool. The Devereaus and their equipment were gone and, on the lounger, was a single sheet of paper, held in place by one of my text books.

I unfolded it and the message was curt, ‘Bye. We finished earlier than expected. Maybe I’ll bump into you sometime.’ He underlined ‘you’ and the significance wasn’t lost on me. Ordinarily, I would’ve found it amusing, whereas at that moment, I didn’t. He signed it ‘Brad’ and added a single kiss under his name. Despite the shelter of the hedgerow, a cold breeze attacked and rustled the paper. I shivered and groaned, gathered my things and dawdled along the path to the house.

Back in my bedroom, I deposited the books on my work desk, pushed in a Jewel CD, threw myself onto the bed and scowled at the ceiling. I was partway through listening to You Were Meant For Me, (how apt, I thought, ) when Charlie put her head around the door. She told me Mum wanted to see me in the kitchen. I was irritable and in a serious mood, however after our recent conversation, I thought it would be uncivil to show it. I simpered instead.

When I joined Mum, she asked me to fetch her sun glasses from the ‘arboretum.’ It was an unusual request, however she was engrossed in a cook book and I did as I was told. The ‘arboretum, ‘ Colin’s appellation - it contained bonsai - had been built onto the sitting room, so I passed through the hall and pushed open the door. I hesitated and leered at the scene.

Brad stood in the doorway of the conservatory. My instinct was to shriek with joy and, although I stifled the impulse, I’m sure my face betrayed me.

He leaned at a slight angle with his forearm resting on the door post. He appeared pensive and moody - very sexy. It may have been staged, but staged or not, it worked for me. Earlier I’d determined if we ever met again, I would be forthright. He knew I was attracted to him so there was no point in being tedious.

Brad displayed a ‘come on’ look, so I cruised across the room as I maintained eye contact, and thankful that there was a clear passage to him. Without a free walkway, it would have been mortifying to throw him a smouldering gaze while I tripped over a low table.

I stopped micro millimetres from him. We all but touched, and I focused on my attempt to project an image of a defenceless, yet wanton girl. His expression convinced me of his approval.

“Hi, Sam.”

“Hi, Brad.”

“I waited for you...”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I broke in. “Girl talk. It took longer than I expected.”

“OK, no problem.” He swallowed hard, followed by a nervous cough. “I’d, I’d like to see you again ... soon?”

He was uneasy, as though I might refuse. I surmised if he was uncertain, I ought to notch up the flirting to compensate. His shirt was undone down to his waist, a clear invitation to excite. I put my hand on his bare chest and, as I stroked his skin, his muscles tautened, followed by a slow intake of breath.

“I don’t know about that ... I’m worried.” I hesitated, with an innocent trusting expression, and my famous eyes in sultry mode.

He appeared confused and a little unhappy, presumably due to the lack of a more positive response from me.

“Do you promise not to break my heart?” I asked with the slightest whimper.

He smiled broadly.

Thanks Dad. He told me that men love to believe they have the power to break a woman’s heart. I hoped it didn’t happen to me - my intuition advised me I could so easily fall for Brad.

He was serious for a moment. “Yes, I promise. I would never do that to you.” He lowered his head and, as he whispered direct into my ear, the softness of his breath teased my skin. “But, if you trust me, you’ll give me the chance to break it.”

He brought his head back, and his face was so close, I was unable to focus. What followed was one hundred percent impulse. I moistened my lips and raised my head until our mouths all but touched. We paused before our lips met - it was a delicious moment in time. His arms slid around me and I encircled his waist with mine. The kiss went on and on, it was soft and smooth. There was a gradual separation and we drew breath and kissed once more. I lay my head on his chest as he fondled and smoothed my hair.

“Sam, are you free this evening?”

I relaxed my grip around his waist and raised my head. “Mmm, for you, yes.”

We wandered onto the lawn with arms around waists and strolled while we arranged the collection time for the evening. Soon afterwards came the admission. “Sam, I have a confession.”

“Go on. Tell me. How many?”

“Just the one wife,” he admitted, “or did you mean the number of our children?” He chuckled. “Strictly speaking, I shouldn’t call it a confession. Mostly it was your fault.”

“What was?”

“When I smashed the patio.”

“My fault?”

“Yes, the first time I saw you, you were looking out of the kitchen window at Dad. Moments before, he and I had been chatting, so I know it was him. You couldn’t see me, I was on the side of the house, but I spied you through the kitchen window.”

“Uh, uh.” I guessed what was coming. The kitchen window was next to the dining room - and those patio doors.

“When you left the kitchen...” He grinned. “I couldn’t resist you. It was unfortunate - you not only stole my heart, but also my brain.”

I grimaced. Oh, that was so corny. “Carry on.”

“My thinking wasn’t clear, and as I tramped over the lawn, I craned my head to watch you and ... well, you know the rest.”

He stopped, stepped in front of me and put his hands on the tops of my arms. “Am I forgiven?”

“You said I had your heart. Do I really?”

“Yes, honest.” He stared into my eyes. “Sam, you’re adorable.”

Ooh, wow!

“In that case, you’re forgiven,” I whispered. “But, please, whatever happens, never repeat that story or Mum will banish you forever. I don’t think I would like that.”

We held hands as we strolled to the top of the drive, where his car was parked. I waved goodbye and scrunched through the gravel towards the house. As I did, I spun with outstretched arms, à la Maria in the opening shots of The Sound of Music.

I went to find Mum to tell her I wouldn’t require dinner. She was with Dad, fussing around like he was a child as she played him a tape; one which she brought over from his house. Dad often copied plays from the radio and I recognised the dialogue; it was an old favourite. I picked up the box and read the title he’d neatly written. Private Lives by Noel Coward, starring Stephen Fry as Elyot and Imogen Stubbs as Amanda. I saw from the Radio Times cutting, he’d taped the programme in January ‘95.

It was great to observe Mum as she cared for him. When we were young, we loved to see them being affectionate. Admittedly, by now it was one sided, however it gave me a thrill to see her as she exhibited her old sensibility. I began to wonder what had gone wrong in their marriage, and then whoa; I pulled myself back from such thoughts. I never discovered why they split and didn’t want to know. I avoided the knowledge, not because I was concerned which of them I should or shouldn’t support, but because of my own hurt. Until then, their separation had been the worst thing in my life and, if I knew the details of the split, I would perceive who was to blame for my misery. I didn’t want to risk resentment entering my life.

I left Mum to her nursing and knocked on Charlie’s bedroom door. I received no answer, so I entered. She wore headphones and thrashed around as she listened to Nirvana, borrowed from me without my knowledge. If it was possible for me to identify the artiste and she was the one with the headphones, I wondered at the damage it was doing to her eardrums. I realised with horror, I must be developing into an adult. I never paid it any attention before.

She noticed me and removed the headgear. “Hey Sam, how’s Brad?”

I couldn’t hide my delight and I grabbed her hands, squeezed them and rolled my eyes as though I was a lovesick teenager. “He’s incredible. He’s taking me to dinner, so I mustn’t be long.”

My joy departed. “I forgot to mention another thing connected with Dad’s notes.”

She regarded me with suspicion.

“No, honest,” I explained. “I forgot due to the upset; I’ll never hide anything like this from you again.”

“I know.” She tittered. “I love to wind you up, it’s so easy.”

“Dad kept a buff folder, in which he kept records of his dreams, the lucid ones, that is. I think we should investigate for clues. Look for any trends that may explain why he’s stuck in this effin dream.”

“Sounds a great idea. Could be fun.”

I didn’t agree and held serious doubts if someone else’s dreams would make an interesting read. “Possibly;” I said, “either way it must be done.”

I glimpsed the time, swore and apologised for my rush as I fled to my bedroom. I needed to change.

England

The Ferrari growled as I meandered slowly through the village. I was scared, in addition to my concern over what I would or wouldn’t find at home, I was conscious of the last time I was with Sam.

Four days earlier, the evening before Monté-Carlo, we had a row. When she was younger, we never argued, not once. But, in the previous twelve months, we fought on a regular basis.

The last time, the night I left, was the most reprehensible argument of them all. Frustrated by what I considered was her criticism of my relationship with Nina, I lost all reason. By the end of my tantrum, I was shouting. When I stopped, there was an uneasy silence.

Charlie had abandoned her book, as she gawped at me, while Sam, cross-legged on the carpet, blinked up at me with those huge dark eyes. The tears formed, welled up and trickled down her cheeks. Her eyes mixed sadness with disappointment, as though my words had broken her.

In an instant, I was ashamed. I leaned over to embrace her, apologies and remorse gushing from me, but she scrambled up and ran off. I followed and begged her to open the bedroom door, but soon realised my efforts were futile. I slouched downstairs to the lounge. Charlie had also rejected me and was in her room, hence I was alone. I cursed my stupidity. It was one quarrel too far.

What’s more, I knew Sam was right. She could see what I wouldn’t admit to. I was using Nina. I liked her, but there was no passion - I could never love her. So, why did I keep her on a lead, like some adoring puppy? Sam knew. I knew, but I couldn’t admit my guilt. If I was fair, I’d tell Nina not to waste her life on me. Damn!

My guilt over Nina was trifling compared to that which I felt over my treatment of Sam. Had I finally pushed her over the edge? Was that the evening I forever exiled her affections?

From her earliest years, we enjoyed a powerful bond built on love and I never expected it to change and yet, over the past year, there was a deterioration of that affinity. What heightened my anguish was that I took her to that point, it was my foolishness.

I went to bed, but not to sleep. It was many hours before I rested as the doubts twisted my mind. Have I lost her love, so precious to me though twenty years? Does she despise me?

Next morning, I woke in Monaco.

I drew up at the kerbside and inspected my home through the trees. An extra front door was built into my cottage and the trailing ivy no longer wrapped my cottage walls. Both were to be expected. Dreams have subtle changes to real life and, for a would-be lucid, they are useful. Most people are unaware they are in a dream at the start, so learners train themselves to recognise the abnormalities and often, this recognition is enough for lucids to know they’re in a dream.

At random, I selected the entrance on the right and wandered around. As expected, it was my house, my furniture, but it was empty. I knew I wouldn’t find me, but I was reminded of my favourite paradox in time travel, the danger of meeting oneself in another time.

I checked the hour as I left. The fingers aimed at 6.20. I knew the girls would go out later, as was normal on a Friday evening. I shoved the car into gear and roared off towards Colin’s manor. I parked in front of the gates and wiped the sweat from my face. The air conditioning worked fine - it was me. I was scared of what I would find. I left the car, but my legs didn’t function properly. They were shaking.

The gates were locked and my hunt for the intercom found it set into the brickwork of the arch which spanned the gates. I pushed the button and, while I waited, I took stock of Colin’s home, at least the part which was visible through the tree lined drive. It was an impressive, red-brick house, built in Tudor times with dark brown roof tiles and two massive chimneys, each with three brick stacks. The original Elizabethan lattice windows had been removed and replaced with double glazing panes, characteristic of the more recent Elizabethan age. Typical of Colin he was flying a flag from the roof. In the centre was the stone porch entrance which led to the grand wooden front doors with their iron handgrips.

The intercom buzzed. The woman spoke with a Spanish accent and my heart sank as Colin didn’t have a maid, he had Sandra. There was no harm in asking, although within seconds I realised the occupants were strangers.

It was confirmed by the arrival of a Jaguar which screeched to a halt behind the Ferrari. An overweight gent in a business suit jumped out and lambasted me for blocking his entrance.