While You Were Dreaming

LOLA JAYE

While You Were Dreaming

If friends are the family you choose–

this one’s for my sisters!

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Lola Jaye

Copyright

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

I tried my best not to puke up my lunch, standing in the doorway, watching the man I was supposed to love having sex with another woman.

A cauldron of emotion sloshed about within me–disbelief, denial, anger–before the inevitable star of the show, Acceptance, finally appeared, letting me know that this was real and it was happening. To me. With my boyfriend and with a woman I had trusted.

If only it was possible to teleport back in time, say, to twenty minutes ago, when I was sitting in a cafe across the road, tucking into a giant piece of chocolate cake and daydreaming. Well, in fact I’d been daydreaming most of the day–in between thinking about all the massive things that needed changing in my life. Things I had previously been so scared of discussing but suddenly felt more ready than ever to talk about.

But here I stood, watching my boyfriend’s Oscar-winning porn performance, and all those so-called plans began to shatter into miniature shards of hopelessness.

I felt for the notepad and yellow fluffy pen in my back pocket as a shiver sprinted through my entire body; the forgotten half-empty can of ginger beer fell from my hand, its contents spilling out over the hard wood floor. That’s when they both stopped, opened their eyes and whipped their heads round, like the girl from The Exorcist.

‘Lena?’ Justin gasped, sounding like a complete stranger and not the man I’d spent the last two years with. I lifted my face up and felt my eyes betray me and begin to moisten. My mouth widened to speak, but nothing came out. I just knew that I had to get out of that flat and as far away as possible. I had never witnessed anything so painful in my entire thirty years on this earth.

Backing out of that door, my knees were ready to buckle. I reached for the banisters to support myself as Justin called out to me in a pathetic, yet desperate-sounding voice. ‘Lena!’

My legs were turning to blancmange. I had to get out of there. To refocus. To think. My mind was jabbering something incoherent and silly, as my body was too damn numb to respond. I was now moving in slow motion, heading for the stairs, placing one foot on the first step in front of me.

I needed to think.

Second step.

I needed to be alone.

Third step.

I needed space.

I suppose, in normal circumstances, I’d have noticed the sparkling sandal that clearly wasn’t mine, jutting out from the fourth step and glistening in the sunlight that was pouring in from the window. I’d have kicked it out of the way in rage, or at the very least avoided it. But in my current state I wouldn’t have noticed an elephant dressed in a tutu; all I could focus on was the rapid beating of my heart, very runny nose, and the tears that were now coursing down my cheeks. So I’d no chance against that sandal as it attacked my left foot and sent me flying down those stairs. My stomach juices swished about like the inside of a washing machine: porridge, plantain chips, lychees, the giant slab of chocolate cake–all conspiring together to form one big indigestible mass.

My body finally landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs in a position that would rival any advanced yoga devotee. And then I waited. My mind entering a place where nothing could get to me any more.

I waited for the onset of pain that was sure to come.

I was ready.

Go on, hit me with it. It’s not as if the day could get any worse.

My eyes slowly flickered shut like a malfunctioning antique television. I knew it was coming. It was definitely coming…Yes…it was almost here, now…

The pain.

So much pain.

And then. The darkness.

ONE

Cara would always remember where she was and what she was doing the day she found out about Lena.

She was where she’d always been on a Tuesday evening–serving some pig of a customer who this time was insisting she’d incorrectly handed over change for a ten-pound note when he’d actually given her a twenty.

‘It was a tenner, I can assure you,’ she said plainly, at the same time indulging in a fantasy that involved ramming said ten-pound note down his throat.

‘I suggest you check at the till and see the last note you placed inside, Miss,’ he said pompously.

Cara rolled her eyes, unable to care if he noticed. Ade was always going on about the customer always being right and, in all honesty, she’d always taken great offence to that line. This was her bar (well, hers and Ade’s) and the only person who was right (in this instance especially) was her, and she was about to prove it.

She pressed the button and the till drawer opened.

‘Unless it’s one of those rare magical and invisible ones, it isn’t here and you gave me a tenner. Would you like anything else, sir?’ she said sharply, hoping this particular customer wouldn’t be back. Ever. It wasn’t as if the bar needed him. After three long years of hard slog, sleepless nights, and some tense meetings with their teenage bank manager, A&R was finally turning over a profit. Everyone, especially her sister Lena, had warned her that such a move was going to be tough and a high risk. But Cara and Ade had poured their heart and soul as well as blood, sweat, tears, and everything else they had into making it work. Even as the world seemed to be sinking into a global recession, Cara and Ade were still holding their own as East Dulwich fast became a more convenient and cheaper option to the West End. And A&R could compete with the best of the West End bars, with its relaxing and cool décor–low lighting provided by mini-chandeliers, miniature booths with cosy leather sofas, separated by diamante-encrusted muslin curtains. Away, but not too far away in Overhill Road, Cara and Ade lived in her dream flat, which had a beautiful view of what seemed like the whole of London. She was ‘sorted’, basically. Everything was the way it should be in her life: great boyfriend, beautiful flat, and a thriving business.

Cara ran her fingers through her short crop. She was tired and her feet were starting to ache, which was probably due to a combination of being on them all day without a break and the fact that she was wearing a new pair of satin purple high heels that she’d yet to break in. That was another thing her thriving business afforded her: a pick of shoes. She was on first-name terms with the girls in Kurt Geiger and Bertie, owned a pair of Christian Louboutin’s, a pair of Sergio Rossi’s and would soon be holding a beautiful pair of five-inch orange and black Gina’s. The higher the shoe, the more confident she felt–especially as she was only five foot.

‘Cara! Cara!’ Ade was calling out to her from across the bar. His voice was urgent, impatient. This wasn’t like Ade. He was always the calm to her chaos. The sweetness to her (and she could admit this) abrasiveness. What was going on with him?

‘Ade?’ They both started heading towards each other, almost as if they were in slow motion. Ade was clutching the cordless phone, his hand placed over the mouthpiece. ‘It’s for you,’ he whispered with a sombre expression.

Her heart began to race. Something was up. All sorts of horrid thoughts ran through her mind. Maybe they weren’t as flush as she’d thought. Maybe her business was about to fall victim to the recession after all. She could cope with anything except that. Please, no. ‘Who is it?’ she whispered, unable to take the phone from him.

‘It’s Fen Lane Hospital. They…they need to…to speak to you urgently!’ He seemed to be talking in tiny bursts, breathing in short breaths, as if he’d just swum twenty lengths. His eyes were wide and alert.

Cara felt her heart leap into her stomach as she stood rooted to the spot. The Stylistics belted out ‘Betcha By Golly Wow’ through the state-of-the-art sound system.

‘The hospital?’ she repeated in a whisper that was drowned out by the music.

‘It’s…its Lena…’ Ade said.

TWO

Millie was in the middle of what could only be described as a monumental state of bliss as one set of larger-than-average toes jutted out from the end of a very messy bed.

‘Wake up sleepy!’ she said, the rest of her body emerging from under the duvet. The foot stirred a bit in response and she leaned over to the side table, switching on the tiny pink digital radio. The beginning of a muffled yawn escaped from the snugness of the duvet as the silky voice of the DJ kicked in. ‘We’re nearing the end of drive time–here’s something from back in the day!’

‘Millie,’ moaned the drowsy voice from inside the duvet, as ‘Firestarter’ blasted over the airwaves.

‘Morning, handsome,’ she beamed. She rarely felt this happy and complete: it made a nice change.

‘What the…?’ Rik was still half asleep; he rubbed his eyes frantically.

‘It’s almost evening, time to get up!’ She said brightly, prising the covers away from his head and flashing him a beaming smile. Her untamed shoulder length curls bounced around her oval-shaped face.

‘Mmmmm, I’m hungry,’ Rik sighed. She’d been seeing him for the past month and she really, really liked him…In fact…‘Any chance of some food, Mille?’ he went on, twirling his hand in the air.

And then there was the way he said her name, the way he scrunched his nose just before he laughed; even his massive feet were cute. She’d fallen for him hard and, looking at Rik now, she knew exactly what she needed to say.

‘I…’ she began warily.

Rik leaned over to switch off her tiny pink radio–a twenty-fourth birthday present from Lena only a few months ago that matched Millie’s CD player, along with the card inscription: ‘To my irresponsible, loving, and beautiful little sister, Millie. Happy Birthday. You’re a star. Love, Lena.

‘I’ll see what’s in the fridge, but it’s probably going to be cold pizza from last night. Unless you want me to put together something from Lena’s stash. Warning though: it’s only going to be healthy stuff like aduki beans and apples. Oh, but I think I know where she keeps her secret store of Toblerone,’ Millie said excitedly.

‘Actually, don’t worry about the food,’ Rik said, suddenly changing his mind. He jumped out of bed, sliding his perfect frame into his Diesel jeans.

Her heart leapt. She wanted to say it. She really had to tell him she loved him. And now, before it was too late.

‘Rik,’ she began, realizing her lips had to move fast if she was to get the words out before he left the flat. He hardly called as it was, and they never went out to places (unless you counted the fish-and-chip shop last Saturday), so she didn’t know when the next ‘perfect’ time would come about again. He now had his shirt in his hands, after all, and his trainers had magically slipped onto his feet; she had to work fast or else the moment would be lost.

She had to tell him now.

Now.

Now! ‘I love you.’

And then silence. In fact she couldn’t hear anything but the ticking of her Betty Boo alarm clock as they stood facing one another as though they were in some type of face-off, his belt unbuckled, muscular six-pack tantalizingly naked.

She bit her bottom lip nervously and waited.

Rik merely sighed and then averted his gaze to his jacket–hooked on the edge of the wardrobe door, which was itself hanging off its hinges. He slipped into his shirt, still saying nothing, and Millie grabbed the duvet, hugging it close to her as she suddenly felt quite cold.

‘Aren’t you going to say anything, Rik?’ she asked hopefully.

‘Millie, I do like you…But…’

And there it began. A jumble of words that, once strung together, all amounted to the same thing.

He. Didn’t. Want. Her.

‘I think we need time apart,’ he muttered finally.

She pretended not to hear him, desperate to shut out the words she’d been hearing for as long as she could remember. From guys, mainly. Ex’s who clearly weren’t as perfect for her as Rik. And he was perfect for her. Rik, who spelt his name without a ‘c’. Rik, who made her feel a lot less lonely. Rik, who looked out for her. Of course she had Lena and sometimes Cara (very rarely, Cara), but it was so nice to have someone like Rik around and she needed to remind him of just why they were so, so, so, so perfect for one another. She loved him. He was the one for her and she for him.

She needed him–didn’t that count for anything?

So, what Millie did next came naturally.

‘No, stop it Millie,’ he murmured, pulling away from her tight kiss. This was futile, of course, as she was clinging onto him oh-so-desperately. Her hands digging into his arms as he attempted to extract himself from her grip and possibly from her life forever. And she couldn’t have that. Not this time and not again. She didn’t know if her heart could cope with yet another crack.

He gripped her shoulders firmly. ‘I said no, Millie!’ His voice was strong, firm, like a father telling her off, she suspected.

The mixture of pity and coldness she clearly recognized, though.

‘Don’t,’ he said, as he gently moved her face away from him. ‘Don’t do this, Millie.’

A huge feeling of rejection washed over her, threatening to devour every one of her senses if she didn’t begin some sort of damage limitation.

‘I get it, you’re knackered, I shouldn’t have woken you up! Go home, get some rest and I’ll see you later?’ she said breathlessly, but he returned a look she couldn’t quite read–or didn’t want to.

‘No, I don’t think it’s a good idea, seeing as though–’

‘No! Don’t say it!’ she snapped, jumping off the bed and leaving the bed shaking in her wake.

‘It has to be said because you clearly weren’t listening earlier, Millie,’ he replied gently.

She silently begged him not to say the words again. Yes, she’d heard something in the early hours of the morning after a lovely evening together but, as usual, her natural refusal to absorb or process any of the hurtful words had kicked in.

‘It’s over,’ he said.

She placed her hands over her ears, wanting to switch the radio back on, needing to block out what he was saying to her.

‘We are over. I thought I made myself clear before.’

She threw her hands back down. ‘But, I thought–’

‘You thought that if you managed to get me into bed again, have a few drinks, everything would be all right. Well, it isn’t, Millie. I wanted to make sure you were all right, you know…. You said you wanted me to hold you, so I did and then we…I’m sorry. I really am.’

‘So, if you’re sorry, then don’t do it. Please don’t leave me!’ Millie didn’t care how desperate she sounded; she didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t want to get dumped again.

But Rik’s eyed were darting frantically around her room; taking in the stained mugs, half-read magazines and lip-gloss-covered towel. Millie’s mind attempted to separate and communicate the whirl of questions, answers, protestations, and pleadings that were rushing around in her head like an out-of-control carousel. ‘So…so, are you really going?’

Rik now had his jacket on and was picking his way through the clutter of boxes that Millie had not yet unpacked since her move from the Bow bedsit, three months ago.

‘This room is in such a state,’ he said as he scanned his eyes over two fat bags of washing that still hadn’t made it to the launderette.

‘Thanks.’

‘I’ve lost my watch,’ he said circling his left wrist. ‘If you find it, can you let me know, please?’

She was glad that the place was a mess, that he’d misplaced his beloved, stupid watch. That way at least she had something of his to hold onto and he’d have to come back for it sometime. And perhaps when he did come back, she’d answer the door in that New Look chiffon minidress she’d bought a few months ago. She’d also pile on that new Rimmel mascara her mate Nikki was always going on about and, if she could afford it, she’d splash out on a trip to Monique’s to get her hair straightened. Actually, on second thoughts, Rik liked her soft curls: he’d told her that once.

‘So, you’re really going then?’ she asked, her voice breaking.

‘Yes, Millie. I’m sorry. I mean, you’re a great girl and everything but nothing’s changed since last night. I’m sorry, Millie,’ he replied, buttoning up his jacket.

And with that, he slipped out of her bedroom, quickly. And although she had pretty much used up any last scrap of dignity, all she could do now was listen as he hurried down the stairs, each step he took feeling like one more chip away at her heart.

She shut her bedroom door and sank down onto her bed. Men broke up with her all the time, but she hadn’t a clue why. She was attentive, respectful, loving, sexy, and could usually pass off one of Lena’s delicious dinners as her own. What was wrong with her?

She took a deep breath, wanting to pull herself together, but knowing she couldn’t yet. Yes, she was twenty-four. A big girl now. And she was used to this; but, nevertheless, she was no less tired of it all. Just over two months ago, Olu informed her it couldn’t, ‘wouldn’t work’, and a month before that, Kenny stopped returning her calls. She wiped her eyes just as her mobile phone belted out a rubbish version of the theme tune to The Simpson’s. She stood up quickly, her little toe banging against the edge of the bed.

‘Owwww!’ she cried as the pain shot through her body. The phone stopped ringing and she threw herself onto her bed as the tears came freely. She wasn’t crying because of her toe (though that had bloody hurt!) but she sobbed for the loss of Rik and every other man she’d longed to have a relationship with.

What was wrong with her?

Both her sisters had great relationships.

Why did this only ever happen to her?

Ten minutes later, she was still crying when the phone rang again. This time she answered it.

It was her sister Cara, who normally texted her short, sharp messages–when she wasn’t nagging or shouting at her, that was. Lena was the sister that always tried to keep them from decking one another. Always wanting them to ‘be close’.

Being the youngest meant that Millie grew up bearing the brunt of Cara’s ‘jokes’ when she was irritated or just bored. Like the invention of Spiralicious the sea monster, which was ready to eat her at any moment if she didn’t do as Cara said. At five she’d believed ten-year-old Cara as she regularly threatened her with ‘it’, frightening her into doing extra chores and basically scaring the shit out of her. She’d regularly go and hide, usually under the stairs, and it was always Lena who would find her and try and convince her that Spiralicious didn’t actually exist.

In fact, it was always Lena who would come to her rescue and pick up the pieces. Soothing her, comforting her, and promising her that bar of Toblerone she’d always keep under her bed.

‘Hi Cara,’ Millie sighed, ready to be told off for something or other.

‘Are you sitting down?’ said Cara, her voice uncharacteristically gentle and quiet. It sounded as if she’d been crying. Actually, she’d never heard or seen Cara cry before.

‘What is it?’ Millie asked, sitting up straight, suddenly terrified.

As Cara spoke, Millie gripped the phone tightly to her, her chest heaving with loud, frightened sobs. She knew that by answering that call, her life had just taken a startling turn. In fact, she felt she’d do anything to go back in time to her childhood, find a corner and just hide, until someone told her that this new state of horror didn’t actually exist.

THREE

One Week Earlier…

‘You’re my Prince Charming, dear!’ Enthused, the silver-haired old lady thanking him as he handed her the last of the coins that had toppled out of her purse and onto the pavement.

‘Don’t worry about it, you just take care,’ he said with a straight smile. Now that was a first, he thought. Prince Charming. Women usually made references to his ‘lovely bushy eyebrows’ (that he hated), long girly eyelashes, (which he detested) and the chiselled (chiselled?) jawline, but he’d never once been described as Prince Charming before. This was definitely a first. He rubbed his stomach consciously. A diet of greasy takeaways and fizzy drinks had meant he was beginning to develop a slight gut, but somehow he’d not plucked up the courage to take a leaflet from one of those muscly types who stood outside the station handing out ‘free gym trials’, probably because he just wasn’t that motivated to do anything that involved leg lifts, sweat and pushy instructors. What energies he did have were reserved for trying to improve his financial situation and well, his future. He had plans and was going to stick to them. Of course he hadn’t always been a ‘miserable git’ as his sister Charlotte sometimes liked to call him. He liked to think he had his ‘moments.’

But for now he was on his way to the job he detested, where he spent the bulk of his time regularly checking sales figures on products he just didn’t care about, and every 4.5 minutes checking his computer clock, which only told him he had too long to go until he was allowed back into the flat he also hated, next door to a bunch of neighbours–the noisiest neighbours in the world–that he hated almost as much as his job. So, as Michael headed towards the bus stop with a million things on his mind and, again, with a complete lack of motivation to start tackling them, he did so with a heavy heart. Of course, at thirty-one he knew he couldn’t continue feeling the way he did about…everything. Feeling half the man he wanted to be. Feeling that anything great, any major accomplishment, seemed to be easily within the reach of others but way out of his. Everyone in his life–family, boss, mates–seemed to expect him to act like a performing seal, when all he really wanted to do was go away and get things done, his way. Not that he begrudged his family anything at all. He actually felt useful when he did odd jobs for his mother and fixed things for his sister and the kids–he just wanted a bit of a rest from some of the bad feeling sometimes. Just so he could focus on all the plans he had. But then his sister Charlotte would often say he had too much time on his hands and why didn’t he go out more?