Dream a Little Dream

  ‘Nothing,’ I shrug, not wanting to tell someone I barely know how I’m feeling.

  ‘Right …’ he nods, licking his lips and pursing them together. ‘My sister has a little baby. A boy, called Matthew. I was going through some really shitty things when he was born, but I met him and it blew everything else out of the water … it won’t make things better for Carly, but you’ll be amazed at the magnitude of the love you feel pouring out of you when you meet Mavis Rose.’

  ‘I just keep thinking about Carly and what she’ll be feeling today. I’d feel guilty having that rush of love when I know what a state she’s in,’ I answer truthfully.

  ‘I get that,’ he nods, offering a sympathetic smile. ‘It’s a horrible situation all round. However, Carly and Josh? They’ll probably have other children – they’ve got a whole future together to decide exactly what it is that they want. But your niece? Well, she’s here now, and she’s waiting to meet her aunty.’

  ‘Oh fuck,’ I mutter as my eyes start leaking for the hundredth time today.

  27

  Her tiny button nose is what makes me adore her instantly.

  Her ickle mouth, lips and chin make me want to kiss her continuously.

  Her fragility and the fact that she weighs next to nothing make me want to protect her for evermore against the brutality of the world she’s yet to discover.

  Her dainty fingers, when all of hers wrap around one of mine and tightly squeeze, make me love her with everything that I am.

  And when she opens her eyes …

  I am floored.

  My love is limitless.

  My love knows no bounds.

  ‘She’s perfect,’ I say repeatedly, meaning it every time the words come out of my mouth.

  ‘Isn’t she just,’ coos my mum, coming over and sneaking another peak at her granddaughter.

  ‘She really does look like Dad, though,’ I laugh, screwing my face up at Andrea, who’s in her nightie, resting in the hospital bed. She looks fantastic, as though she hadn’t been in labour throughout the night. Her honey-streaked brown hair is tied back in a scrunchie and her make-up-free skin looks flawless. She smiles over at us looking serene and in love.

  Love.

  The room is filled with it.

  ‘Can you believe you made this?’ I ask her.

  ‘It all feels so surreal,’ she says, shaking her head.

  With Dad and Max out of the room fetching coffees, we persuade Andrea to close her eyes and rest while we talk quietly next to her, cuddling Mavis Rose.

  ‘Nice of Jonathan to give you the time off,’ Mum says, as she strokes her granddaughter’s face and chuckles when she yawns. I’ve never seen her like this – all gooey and warm. ‘He’s been working you hard.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agree, deciding not to tell her that I’m effectively skiving off work.

  ‘Is it all coming together, though?’

  ‘Seems to be,’ I nod.

  ‘How’s Carly?’

  ‘Not good,’ I say, looking down at Mavis and holding on to the miracle of life a little tighter. ‘She lost the baby last night.’

  Mum doesn’t say anything, but she puts her arm around my shoulder as we continue to look down at the bundle in my arms.

  I stay at Mum and Dad’s over the weekend. We go to visit Max, Andrea and Mavis Rose, watch a lot of zombie TV (not The X Factor – they still can’t stand it) and then Mum and I go on long walks together (Dad stays at home because his knee’s continuing to play up), and just take in the Kent countryside. Surprisingly I don’t feel like killing Mum at the end of it. She doesn’t push, prod, moan or rile in the way I usually expect from her. Instead she’s strong, silent and present – which is just what I need. Someone to just be there for me without loading all their own thoughts and feelings on to me.

  I check in with Carly and Josh every so often to see how they are. They’re coping, they say – which I believe as I even hear laughter during one call, which reassures me that their hearts are on their way to healing somewhat.

  The following week whizzes by in a blur as the final full week before Christmas means we have to cram in as much planning as possible before everywhere closes for the holidays. We have met several old people – Real Brett interviewed a cracking old Welsh lady called Gwyn who had him in stitches during their whole encounter (it was fun to watch back), so we went to visit her together and confirmed her for the trip, as well as shortlisting four others who are all on board for leaving late February for their trip of a lifetime when finalized. We’ve phoned around to various Australian locations from Sydney to Whitsunday, Melbourne to The Great Barrier Reef and Perth to Adelaide – plus we’ve added New Zealand as a possibility, depending on what we find when we head out there for the recce. It’s been non stop and I breathe a sigh of relief when the 22nd of December rolls around and it’s the final day at work and the day of the Christmas party – which doesn’t really count as a working day as I’m sure pretty sure there’s going to be drinking over lunchtime as well as an afternoon of fooling around thanks to the aforementioned lunchtime drinks.

  Unsurprisingly there’s quite a buzz surrounding tonight’s bash as a few people have realized they can get as wasted and debauched as they like, knowing they’ve not got to face anyone else in the office for another two weeks. Well, it is meant to be a chance for them to let their hair down and I know a fair few of them are going to grab that opportunity by the horns and pour as many free drinks down their gullets as they can manage – which I’m sure shot-pusher Julie will encourage.

  Jonathan calls us in at the start of the day to see how we’ve managed to get on with our plans. Even though we’ve cc’d him in on all the important emails, as his PA, I know most of those have been left unopened in his inbox or just skimmed through. Luckily we’ve not needed his input seeing as Damian has kept a close eye on the project, happy with how we’ve been progressing.

  ‘Everything organized?’ he asks, jamming a creamy chocolate éclair into his mouth, which makes my mouth water hungrily.

  ‘We think so,’ I nod.

  ‘And when do you leave?’

  ‘We leave for Oz on the ninth for three weeks,’ I say with a nod, swallowing hard at the thought of being away for so long and also spending that much time with Real Brett. He’s been a real sweetheart over the past week and a real friend – but being together in such close proximity for that long has certainly given me something to think about when I can’t sleep at night. ‘There’s lots to see and sort through.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jonathan agrees, not giving the slightest grumble that we’re going to be away from the office for that length of time. ‘It’s best all the technical stuff gets sorted before you’re out there with the OAPs and camera crews, et cetera. People get huffy when they have to wait, and the costs start rising quickly. Plus, the heat over there – that’s what you’ll be up against. It’ll be a busy three weeks.’

  ‘We’re still not sure about New Zealand yet,’ Real Brett informs him. ‘We’ve made contact with a few different companies and tour groups over there, but we’ll know more once we’ve seen a bit of Australia.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Jonathan nods, licking cream off his fingers before wiping his wet hands on his trousers to dry them.

  Somehow I manage to resist screwing up my face in disgust at the sight.

  ‘You two both seem to know what you’re doing. A great project to end the year on. What a wonderful team you make,’ he says, standing up and extending the hand he’s just sucked cream off out for a handshake.

  I go along with it, all the while trying not to vomit, thrilled when he finally lets us out of the room.

  ‘Kitchen?’ Real Brett mutters in my ear.

  ‘To fumigate my hand? Oh, yes please!’ I grimace, as we charge through the office and into the little kitchen area.

  ‘Me first,’ he says snatching up the soap and rubbing it between his hands, lathering it up so that his hands are white and foamy.

  ‘My turn, my
turn,’ I quietly squeal with a giggle, shaking my offending hand out to the side.

  ‘Ahhhh …’ Real Brett groans, stamping his feet and continuing to friction burn the soap.

  ‘You’re hogging it,’ I moan like a petulant child. ‘It’s my turn!’ I say, playfully grabbing at his hands and trying to extract the white bar.

  My attempt fails. Instead, it slides from Real Brett’s slippery grasp, ricochets off my foot and flies underneath the kitchen cabinet beside us.

  ‘Fuck!’

  ‘Ha!’ Real Brett smugly laughs, swirling his creamy hands in my face.

  Without thinking, I grab his hands and run mine all over them, so that the soap covers my hands too. As my fingers glide between his and our palms meet, my mind flashes to my bedtime encounter with Dream Brett – in the hot tub that David Beckham and Justin Bieber sat in before Dream Brett and I had crazy wet sex in it.

  I look up to see Real Brett’s green eyes sparkling in my direction and realize I have a sudden urge to kiss him.

  My face gets all flustered as I gasp in shock and whip my hands away.

  ‘You okay?’ he asks.

  ‘Me? Yeah, yeah … hate germs,’ I mumble, running the tap and washing off the soapy bubbles from my arms, feeling like an absolute moron as I shake them off and go back out to my desk.

  28

  I get ready for the evening in my own room at the hotel – a lovely treat for Julie and me, from Jonathan and Derek, for all the help we’ve given them this year. I’d rather have had the money as a nice little bonus for the work I’ve pulled off in Development, but I know I shouldn’t be such a cheeky bitch and that I should be thankful for the gesture – especially as the hotel room is all kinds of epic.

  ‘What have you decided to wear?’ asks Carly as she lounges on the lavish white sheets of the humongous bed in my enormous room.

  I called her as soon as I got here and, seeing as she only works up the road, she decided to come check it out. I’ve been amazed at her strength. Sure, I still see the glimmer of sadness in her eyes when she’s looking thoughtfully off into a world of her own, but she seems brighter eighty per cent of the time – and she appears to have stopped crying … at least in front of me.

  ‘It’s got to be the black number,’ I say to her, opening the wardrobe and pulling out a slinky floor-length gown.

  ‘Eurgh,’ she groans, flinging herself into the piles of pillows placed on the bed.

  ‘What? Is it awful?’

  ‘It’s fucking amazing,’ she cries. ‘It’s just totally unfair that I’d look like a total goth if I tried that with my blonde hair. I bet you look stunning in it though with your dark mane and eyes.’

  I flash her a cheeky smile because, for once, I know I do. I look hot … shit hot! The way the material cascades down and around my curves makes me feel sexier than ever – and the dainty, barely there straps give the illusion that my body is doing all the work to keep this dress on – but that it might just slip off with ease if I wanted it to. The dress might cover up ninety per cent of my body, but it really brings my sex appeal up to a whole new level.

  ‘You’re going to sleep with Brett!’ Carly exclaims, her jaw dropping as though the thought has just entered her head.

  ‘What? No I’m not!’ I exclaim.

  ‘You’re smirking – you so are.’

  ‘Carly!’

  ‘Okay, fine,’ she says walking around the bed and standing by my side to inspect the dress a little closer. ‘Oh this hem is lovely …’ she mumbles, bending down to touch what I’m sure is a normal seam with nothing special, before whipping out a hand and stroking my smooth leg. ‘I knew it!’ she yells.

  ‘What?’ I ask, running away from her with a squeal.

  ‘You’ve shaved your legs! Girls only shave their legs if they’re going to have sex. It’s a fact.’

  ‘Carly, I can’t remember the last time I had sex – if that were the rule then I’d be like a chimp by now.’

  ‘But you’ve also put cream on them.’

  ‘They were dry,’ I shrug, willing my cheeks not to redden.

  ‘It’s the expensive smelly stuff you asked for last Christmas.’

  ‘I’m allowed to treat myself,’ I whine.

  ‘Fine,’ she huffs, crossing her arms and scrutinizing me with her eyes. ‘Show us your foof.’

  ‘What?!’ I laugh, pulling the gorgeous white hotel bathrobe around me a little tighter.

  ‘You definitely wouldn’t bother shaving that unless you were hoping for some action,’ she decides, lunging for me, her hands grabbing at the white material.

  ‘Carly, get off!’ I scream, slapping her hands away.

  ‘Show me your foof,’ she demands, continuing to reach for my clothes.

  ‘No, you twat.’

  ‘I want to see it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because … because I look like a pubic hair model from the seventies. It’s a proper bush down there. Big. Bushy … nasty. A forest! Can barely see through the trees.’

  ‘You fucking liar,’ she giggles, as we grapple around on the floor and slap each other some more before coming to a breathless giggling mess of a heap in the middle of the room.

  ‘You’re nuts,’ I breathe, closing my eyes and wiping the laughter tears from my face – thank God I hadn’t started putting on my make-up yet, it would’ve been totally ruined.

  With my hands preoccupied, Carly laughs and whips open my robe, catching a good view of my freshly shaved bikini line.

  ‘I knew it!’ she shrieks.

  ‘You bitch,’ I laugh in shock, pulling the material back around me.

  ‘You’re gonna get some, you’re gonna get some,’ she sings, while waving her arms and shaking her hips around in a way that I hope is not how she performs in the bedroom.

  ‘It doesn’t mean we’re going to have sex,’ I exclaim.

  ‘It means you’d like to.’

  ‘It means that if we were to be totally unprofessional and ended up making the most of this fucking amazing room then at least I would be prepared.’

  ‘Slut,’ she grins.

  ‘It would be such a bad idea though,’ I groan, hating myself for thinking through the matter logically and wondering whether the champagne at lunch might’ve gone to my head for the thought to even be in there anyway.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because, we’re going to Australia together for three whole weeks. Imagine if it’s really shit sex and horribly awkward – we’re then going to have to pretend it didn’t happen and the whole thing would be so embarrassing.’

  ‘That could happen. Or it could be mind-blowingly good and you could spend that whole three weeks doing more of the same.’

  ‘Carly!’ I say, giving her arm a slap.

  ‘Don’t act like the thought hadn’t crossed your mind.’

  ‘It could just be really disappointing and awful.’

  ‘Because you’re used to having space sex?’ she asks smugly, raising both her eyebrows at me. ‘Babe, everything is going to be shit compared to that – you just have to face facts there.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘It’s the truth. You’re rusty and he’s not the guy you’ve been fantasizing about. Doesn’t mean it can’t be orgasmic, though,’ she grins.

  ‘It won’t happen … it really shouldn’t.’

  Before Carly can retort with a reply there’s a loud banging from above and the sound of distant groaning.

  ‘Well, looks like someone’s getting it,’ she shrugs. ‘Now, what’s on the room service menu? I’m starving.’

  Over the next hour, Carly sits on the bed (wearing the other white dressing gown she’s found in the wardrobe) and eats her burger and fries while watching me get ready. When my make-up is as near to perfect as it’s going to be (it’s drastically flawed, but it’s a smudgy black eye look so I think I’ll get away with it), I put on my dress and step into my heels.

  ‘Holy shit!’ Carly gawps when
I walk out of the bathroom. ‘I’m so glad Josh can’t see you right now – he totally picked the wrong friend to shag. I need to take a picture.’

  She grabs her phone and starts clicking.

  ‘Stand over here,’ she bosses, while I walk around and pose like a model, grabbing on to the chair, table and bed – using them all as my props as I giggle my way across the room. ‘So stunning.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I gush, feeling giddy. ‘Right, I’d better get downstairs and check everything’s ready for everyone – I’d planned to do it before people started arriving but someone’s made getting ready a task and a half.’

  ‘Or you spent too long shaving your fanny hair into a heart shape and lost track of the time?’ she suggests with a cheeky grin.

  ‘Ha-de-ha,’ I say, rolling my eyes at her while chucking a pillow in her direction.

  She catches it and hugs it to her chest.

  ‘Are you going to stay here?’ I ask. ‘You’re more than welcome to – I’m going to be downstairs anyway.’

  ‘Only for a bit,’ she sighs, stuffing a chip into her mouth – her face screwing up when she realizes it’s cold. ‘Josh is going to come pick me up and we’re going to head back to ours.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘God, this has been fun,’ she says, sliding the room service tray away from her and climbing into the bed. ‘Feel like I haven’t laughed like that in ages.’

  ‘You foof hunter!’

  ‘You should totally pitch that as a new TV show,’ she gasps.

  ‘Bye, Carly,’ I sing, giving her a kiss on the forehead, grabbing my bag and walking out of the door.

  I’m not even at the lift before my phone bleeps, telling me I have a new Facebook notification ‘Carly Pearson has added a photo of you’. I click on the link to see it’s one of me from minutes ago – laughing while holding on to the chair, my shoulders forward, highlighting my collarbones and giving a great view of my ample cleavage. ‘A beauty, inside and out,’ is what she’s written alongside it.

  ‘Love you,’ I comment, to which she replies with a big red heart.

  I’m delighted when I see the function room. Battered brown leather sofas have been moved to the edges of the room, all gathered in groups for people to sit on, with miniature twinkly Christmas trees used as the centrepieces for each of the wooden coffee tables placed amongst them. Along the bar there’s a garland of holly and ivy – stuffed with festive chocolates and sweets for people to pick and nibble at while waiting to be served. Above the makeshift black and white dance floor, in the centre of the room, is a collection of beautiful arrangements made out of mistletoe – far more pleasing on the eye than haphazardly sticking springs of the stuff up here and there, which is what Jonathan suggested doing when Julie insisted we needed the kiss-inducing twigs. The room is dark, atmospheric and subtly festive.