Dream On Page 13

  No-one could make love to her like he just had if he wasn't actually in love with her, could they? She gazed at the ceiling and smiled; how wonderful it was going to be, to tell their children how they'd met, how they'd bumped into each other in a pub on Christmas Eve, looked into each others' eyes, and just known.

  Shane was the best looking bloke she'd ever been out with - well, slept with - and he had a decent job in that plastics factory, too. No, she wasn't letting this one slip through her fingers. No way. Noooo way!

  ***

  In Marsham, a few miles outside Fennington St Mary, Max Stark curled up with his dog, Sam, to watch 'The Godfather II' for the seventh time, and wished he could have a drink.

  ***

  Melodie Waters, soon to be Melodie Valentine, or Melodie Joy, or just Melodie, was in her childhood bedroom at her mother's house, applying a pore cleansing face mask, trying not to think about all the chocolates and wine downstairs, and cursing local radio DJ Brendan Shanks for giving her a love bite on her neck. She cursed herself, too. She must have imbibed about eight hundred calories worth of wine the night before, but it seemed that the whole bucket of sauvignon blanc had gone not to her hips but straight to her head, as she'd had virtually nothing to eat all day. She had scant memories about the latter end of the evening; damn, what was the point of going to bed with a hunk like Brendan Shanks if you couldn't remember the effect of your performance? At the beginning of the evening her idea had just been to chat him up a bit, get him to mention Raw Talent on his show. But then the wine had started doing its work, and he was so super fit, after all, that she'd decided to break her rule about not sleeping with a man unless he'd taken her out and spent money on her first. Might as well not have bothered - grrr!

  In a way, the fact that she'd gone to bed with a man in a drunken stupor was even more annoying than the wine calories. That just wasn't her style, was it? Melodie Joy Valentine (yes, that was the right name!) just didn't do that sort of thing, did she? And, worse still, she'd fallen asleep with her make-up on! Dear oh dear, she could almost feel her pores clogging, just thinking about it!

  ***

  In a house in Chatteris, Cambridgeshire, everyone but Ariel was watching some blockbuster film on television. Her dad had been fine about her bringing her guitar with her (Pam less so), and she was sitting in a room upstairs, picking out the chords of a new song that had been taking shape for the last couple of days; she'd been eager to spend time alone with it. The song was about the need to be free to go where she wanted, do what she wanted, without feeling responsible for the emotions of other people - even if that meant she was sometimes lonely, or might even end up alone. A thrill rushed through her as she strummed her guitar and sang out loud the lyrics that swirled around her head; this was even better than sex. Even better than sex with Dave.

  ***

  At Linda Brown's house in Fennington St Mary, Dave Bentley was asleep on the sofa with Harley curled up on his lap. Janice was wide awake, her legs across Dave's, just like they always used to sit together. When she looked at her son and his father a strange melancholy washed over her. Might this be the last Christmas they would spend like this? What if Thor won that talent contest, the one he'd been telling her about earlier? What if they became famous, a proper successful rock band, and ended up in London, New York, LA, international superstars?

  Maybe Ariel would win it, instead, and she would be the one to up sticks and leave, for a bright new world.

  Janice felt as though she was clutching onto the end of something, like the last day of a lovely holiday, or the sunset at the close of a perfect day.

  Drink, she shouldn't drink. It always made her think such silly stuff.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Happy New Year!

  The second Saturday morning of 2008 was freezing, dark, dank and miserable; the cold was the sort, Janice thought, as she looked out of the window of the Sunrise Café, that crept into your bones. The sort that Evelyn used to moan about; said it played merry hell with her arthritis. It was the sort of day when, rather than be at work, she would have been quite happy curled up at home with Harley, having a pyjamas and DVD day - but, despite this, her mood was oddly bright.

  "D'you want to wait tables or do the till today?" asked Lisa, the other waitress, flopping down in a chair. "Eight o-bloody-clock in the morning; what time is that to start work on a Saturday, eh?"

  Janice grinned at her; Lisa always had a hangover on Saturday mornings. "Your choice," she said.

  "I bagsy the till then," said Lisa. "At least if we're quiet I'll be able to sit down and read the paper, preferably with an intravenous coffee drip."

  "Oh no, you won't," said Max, coming through the front door with two carrier bags filled with loaves of bread from the Tesco Local round the corner. "The big fridge needs cleaning out, and all the sauce bottles want filling up. Come on, sweetie, chop chop." He turned the door sign round to 'open'.

  "Let me have coffee first," said Lisa. She winked at Janice. "Any chance of a bacon and egg sandwich before the rush starts, Max? Pretty please?"

  Max grinned. "I'll make you both one. Janice?"

  "Yes please!" She hadn't even had time for a cup of coffee that morning before she took Harley round to her mother's. Max smiled at her, and she felt another, strange little warm flutter of something very pleasant that she couldn't quite define. Although she'd been working for Max for a year, now, she'd sensed a strange, new intimacy with him since she'd poured out her problems with Dave, and since he'd arrived on his white charger to rescue her from that awful date with Psycho Tom. Max had become a true friend, now, and you could never have too many of them, could you?

  Inside the Sunrise café the atmosphere was warm and cheerful; three painter and decorators came in first, ordering the Belly Buster breakfast to set them up for the day, then there were a couple of early morning shoppers wanting tea and sausage sandwiches, a pensioner or two for a toasted tea cake. Janice chatted away to them all, hoping her mood wouldn't plummet as the day drew on and she faced another Saturday evening at home, alone, with only the television and MySpace for company - though MySpace had lost its appeal, somewhat, since the Tom incident.

  It was the New Year, that was what it was. New years signalled new beginnings and the possibilities of new friends, new adventures - even new lovers, who could tell? Janice always felt glad when Christmas was over and she could wipe clean the slate of the last year and begin anew. She and Harley both had their birthdays in late January - she liked that they were both friendly, forward looking Aquarians; she was glad her son was not a head in the clouds dreamer like his Piscean father.

  Janice knew she would not see Dave that weekend. On Sunday he would go down to London with the rest of the band, Ariel, and that ghastly airhead Melodie Waters who had, apparently, decided she was the missing Pussycat Doll, or something. Dave would be busy preparing for the auditions all Saturday; she felt relaxed, knowing she wouldn't see him, not on tenterhooks as she usually was at the weekend, wondering if and hoping he was going to turn up without warning. This feeling of relief made her consider that she might, in fact, be becoming resigned to her and Dave being a thing of the past.

  Janice had always prided herself on being practical; now, as she cut and buttered the mound of bread to go with the Belly Buster breakfasts, she wondered if that practicality was helping her to say, okay, this hurts, but I need to get over it. It hurts now, but it won't always, and every day that passes is a day nearer to it not hurting anymore. Okay, I can't be with Dave, so what am I going to do next?

  The feeling was good, whatever its cause.

  ***

  "I've booked three double rooms at the Travelodge on the North Circular Road," Ariel had said - and Dave's immediate thought was, who's sharing with who?

  Six of them. Four blokes and two girls. Yeah, of course. He'd be sharing with Shane, and she'd be sharing with Melodie, wouldn't she? Unless Shane could manage to persuade Melodie ... unlikely.

  That meant
three whole days away with Ariel, like a holiday, but he wouldn't be able to sleep with her. How much of a joke was that? A pretty lousy one.

  "You're going to have to give me a bit of 'do not disturb' time in the bedroom, mate," he said to Shane, when they were heading down to the station on Sunday afternoon.

  "No worries, dude, just say the word!" said Shane. "I bet once I get into Melodie's frillies she'll be up for all sorts, anyway - she's got 'foursome' written all over her."

  "Get lost, you prat. You haven't got a hope in hell, there."

  "Yeah, but I bet you'd like to see her and Ariel together, wouldn't you?"

  Dave hardly dared let his thoughts stray into that area, not in a public place. He concentrated on looking down the road as he waited for the lights at the crossing to change.

  "Fuck off. I'm serious about Ariel; don't talk about the woman I love in the same breath as your smutty fantasies!" He laughed, just the same.

  "Yeah, yeah, you soft git! You need to lighten up a bit, have some fun!"

  Dave gave a snort. "What, you mean fun as in knocking off some poor little chick over Christmas, who now thinks you're going to marry her and won't leave you alone?"

  Shane let out a groan, almost as if he was in pain. He shook his head; his blond curls blew across his face, and he pushed them away as an oncoming car veered forth. "Whoa, slow down, mate! Yeah, I take your point. Jesus, how much do I wish I hadn't taken advantage of that little free offer?"

  "She hasn't got the message yet?"

  "No such luck. I mean, I don't even fancy her. She ain't that bad to look at or nothing, but she's a bit thick, you know?"

  Dave gave an even bigger snort. "What, you mean, not as intelligent as Melodie?"

  Shane laughed. "Man, I wouldn't care if Melodie hadn't got a brain. Come to think of it, I wouldn't care if she hadn't got a head. A tenner says she's got her snatch done in one of those Brazilians - will you ask Ariel to have a look?"

  Dave laughed. "Animal."

  "Too right! That's what that Kerry calls me. She says my hair's like a lion's mane and calls me her Lion King. She actually fucking texts me that, you know? How's my Lion King today? All the time. Wish the bloody woman would leave me alone."

  Dave gave Shane a sideways glance; yes, as he'd expected, he was looking rather pleased with himself, despite his complaints.

  "I bet you're still going there, for all your talk, aren't you?"

  Shane hoisted his guitar case further onto his back and grinned. "Needs must, mate, needs must."

  They reached the station; the others were already waiting outside. Ariel was smoking a last cigarette before getting on the train.

  She smiled when she saw him. She looked so beautiful, like some sort of urban fairy, standing there in her denim jacket, combat pants, black woolly gloves and huge thick scarf around her neck, her perfect rosebud lips pale with cold, white blonde hair still shining in the fading winter sunlight, and those huge, sapphire blue eyes looking straight at him.

  Dave put his arms around her and kissed her; he couldn't help it. He wanted to pull her inside his jacket and protect her from the cold, protect her from everything.

  She hugged him back for a moment, under his jacket, and then she stood back and looked around at everyone, grinning.

  "Okay, chaps, are we all ready? Fags smoked? Train leaves in ten minutes - follow me, I'm in charge!"

  Of course. Ariel didn't need protecting, did she? She was perfectly capable of looking after herself. And everyone else.

  ***

  Melodie was driving her nuts.

  After checking in at the Travelodge yesterday they'd dined at a cheap pizza and pasta restaurant, where Melodie proved to be one of those people who didn't just diet, but wanted to remind everyone of this fact at every possible moment, talking about the calories of every single dish that came out, making sure everyone was aware of the benefits she would reap by adding sparkling water to her one glass of wine. Once they'd got back to their rooms - after the guys had agreed, under Boz's guidance, that tonight was definitely not one for going out on the lash - Melodie had begun her night time beauty routine, detailing every procedure to Ariel without first ascertaining whether or not she was remotely interested.

  "It's a pity your hair's not a bit longer, or you could have had extensions," she said.

  "I don't want extensions," Ariel said, strumming the opening chords to 'Hotel California' on her guitar.

  "Long hair's so much sexier," Melodie said, brushing out her own black, waist length locks in front of the mirror, then picking up her magnifying mirror to check for stray eyebrow hairs.

  "I like it short," Ariel said, and tucked it behind one ear. "I got fed up with it when I was out in Asia, it was so hot; I had it screwed up in a knot all the time, anyway, so I thought I might as well just get rid." She laughed, and looked off into the distance, remembering. "I actually did, too; I just took a pair of scissors to it one day and hacked it all off."

  "Really? Bloody hell!" Melodie looked at her in horror, as if she'd just told her that she'd performed her own appendectomy. Then she turned to look in the mirror. "I think I'd have braids if I went travelling, like Katie Price did in the jungle. Mind you, you're pretty enough to get away with short hair."

  "Oh - thank you!"

  "Yeah, I'd give anything to have eyes like yours," Melodie said, looking round and smiling. "Everyone always remarks on them, don't they?"

  "Oh, I guess so. I've got my mother to thank for them, God rest her soul."

  "Must've been hard growing up without a mum," Melodie replied, nodding. Then she stood up, looked at herself sideways in the mirror, and pulled her stomach muscles in. "It's a pity you haven't got any tits, or you'd really knock 'em all dead, you know?"

  Ariel grinned to herself. "Yeah. Shame, that. Right, have you got your song sorted for tomorrow? You're still going to do 'Beautiful', right?"

  "Yes, I thought it would show off my caring side; the words to it are really deep, aren't they?" said Melodie, and then she turned away from the mirror, took off her t-shirt and unhooked her bra. Ariel did a double take; Melodie's tits were astounding, almost like separate entities, as if they weren't part of her body but had just been fixed on. Which, in a way, they had.

  She slipped on a white vest, then took off her knickers and replaced them with white shorts; of course, she'd had a Brazilian wax, too. Ouch. Then she climbed into bed.

  "Okay, so we have to be at the studio for nine, which means I need to be up at six," she said, and checked the alarm on her phone before putting on a sleep mask. "Got to get my eight hours! Night night, darling - I hope you don't snore!"

  Unfortunately, Melodie did snore. As loudly as Dave did, which amused Ariel at first, less so as night crept into early morning. Finally dropping off to sleep at around one a.m., Ariel thought about Dave, and wished she was sharing a room with him. No; on second thoughts, she needed her sleep, too.

  "I thought it would be like on The X Factor, with barriers and people being interviewed, and cameras, and everything," said Melodie, as they queued outside the back entrance of the studio.

  "Melodie, this is a minor satellite TV station with a hired studio," Ariel said.

  "Well, I hope we go in soon. My hair's going to frizz up if we have to wait around in this damp atmosphere for much longer."

  Ariel felt something grasp at her arm, so tightly it hurt. She looked up; it was Ritchie, who was looking back down the queue, an expression of mirth and incredulity on his face.

  "Ariel! Look!" He carried on staring, apparently unable to utter another word; he was going red and kept on squeezing her arm.

  "Get off!" Ariel said.

  "What's up, man?" said Shane, as they all followed his gaze. "You look like you're straining on the khazi!"

  "Down there!" he hissed, and nodded his head southwards.

  They all looked.

  Wrapped up in turquoise mohair, smiling from ear to ear at no-one in particular, doing a cutesy little jog on
the spot to keep out the cold, was Glynis Tooke, she of the Creative Workshop.

  "Fuck!" said Ritchie. "I can feel me creativity being nurtured even as we stand here!"

  Ariel put her hand over her mouth. "She's the last person I'd have expected to see here. What's she going to do, sing them a merry little ditty about domestic violence?"

  It was at that moment that Glynis saw her.

  "April!" she called out. "Yoo hoo! Great to see a familiar face!"

  She bounced away from her place in the queue, ballerina pumped feet tripping along like a dancer's.

  "Fuck!" said Ritchie again, and hid behind Dave, Shane and Boz.

  "Hi there," said Ariel, and walked over to where she was standing. "You're auditioning, then, as well?" Duh.

  "Yessiree!" She put her hands at either side of her face, palms outwards, and jiggled them from side to side, wiggling her fingers. "And she sings, too!" She laughed, and gave Ariel another ear to ear smile. "Yes, I had some of The Sassy Monologues put to music, what do you think of that? It's all very experimental, very free and innovative; I've brought my bodhrán with me to add a little colour, too!" She reached over and whisked some sort of Celtic looking drum and its beater out of a khaki coloured knapsack that was lying on the ground, then gave Ariel an impromptu demonstration. Ariel didn't dare look around at the others; she could see them out of the corner of her eyes and had the distinct impression that they were clutching each other with laughter.

  "This contest is just the best, isn't it?" Glynis continued. "A real celebration of self-expression!"

  Ariel swallowed hard. "Yes, it's a great idea. Um, which of your, er, monologues will you be doing for the audition?"

  Glynis threw back her head, gave a little laugh and said, "Oh, don't worry, I'm not doing 'One Thump Too Many'! No, I'm doing a new one called 'Killer Heels'. It's about men who think we're oh so sexy in our 'fuck me' shoes - when really we're using our Killer Heels to walk all over them!" She made a fist. "It's about strong women for strong women - yeah, it's sassy and quirky, but it's so emotive, too!"