Lynsey James - A Season of Hopes and Dreams

‘Honestly, Mum, I’m fine. In fact, I should probably get home; I’ve got an early start tomorrow and the house is an absolute wreck. I-I’ll be round for dinner this week, OK?’

I make a mad dash for the door before either of them can stop me. I’m down the path and across the village green in minutes, my beautiful little piece of Silverdale looming large on the horizon. As soon as I’m home, the fear will stop. I can control things there, in my tiny slice of heaven.

I crash through the door and my first port of call is my bedroom, namely the shoebox on top of my wardrobe. I snatch the lid off and throw it carelessly to the floor, revealing my extra-secret stash of chocolate. Everything I need to take the pain away is in this tatty old box.

Then I stop.

Nestled on top of the bags of sweets is a folded piece of paper. I recognise it instantly and take it out to look at it. I hold it in my hands like it’s made of glass, all thoughts of bingeing melting away.

‘Haven’t seen you for a long time,’ I say softly as I unfold it.

Cleo Jones’s Ultimate Bucket List

Become a world-famous dancer

Move to New York City

Perform in the West End AND on Broadway!

Visit every country in the world

Learn a new language

Go bungee-jumping

Swim with dolphins

Do something utterly extraordinary

Snog someone famous

Fall hopelessly in love

Looking at the list brings a lump to my throat. I haven’t looked at it much in the twelve years since I made it; it was written just before the accident that changed everything. Back when I felt like anything was possible, that all my dreams were within touching distance. Now, more than a decade later, I haven’t accomplished anything on the list. My ultimate dream of being a dancer has moved that little bit further away today, and I almost just undid a year’s worth of good work. And for what? For some junk food that’ll make me feel sick and sluggish later?

Two thumbs up for Cleo Jones.

Then again, I reason, like my mum said, I’ve had a horrible day. Maybe one tiny treat won’t hurt. Just a little one, though…

I pick up the box again and pull out a huge bag of chocolate buttons, my absolute favourite. The bag’s almost too easy to tear open and when I reach in to grab a handful, I don’t even think about it. Chocolate’s been clinically proven to make you feel better, so really this is medicinal, right? My mouth waters at the sight of them, imagining how sweet and creamy they’ll taste. In just a few seconds, everything will seem so much better. My dreams won’t seem so broken and I’ll be happy, if only for a little while.

I grab my “ultimate bucket list” and look at it as I stuff my handful of buttons into my mouth, savouring the rich, sweet taste.

Where did those big dreams go?

Where did I go?

Chapter Two

When I wake up the next morning, the bucket list is stuck to my cheek and I’m clutching my empty bag of chocolate buttons. I let out a groan and roll onto my back, screwing my eyes tightly shut. I’d only meant to have one handful, which had turned into two then three. Before I knew it, the whole bag had been snaffled.

Nice one, Cleo. Way to go. Ten out of ten once again.

I roll out of bed and run a hand over my tired face. Although I know it’s not a good idea, I look at the list again. Seeing all my dreams written down makes my heart plummet. Back then, I thought I could do anything.

‘Where’d you go, eh?’ I wonder out loud. ‘What happened to that girl?’

The more I look at the list, the more I realise something has to change. I’m a million miles away from the girl who made the bucket list; the fourteen-year-old me wouldn’t recognise the current me. I glance over at the empty bag of chocolate buttons and decide enough is enough. As the saying goes, once you hit rock bottom there’s nowhere to go but up. Slowly but surely, a fire begins to stir within me. If fourteen-year-old Cleo could make a bucket list full of big dreams, twenty-six-year-old Cleo certainly can. It’s time to start dreaming again!

*

Creating a new bucket list is on my mind as I head to work. I’m one of two bakers at The Pastry Corner, Silverdale’s premier (and only) bakery. As I pull on my baker’s whites, my imagination goes into overdrive as I wonder what dreams I might include on this new and improved list. Leaving Silverdale would be a good start, since I’ve barely been out of the village. The thought of spreading my wings and seeing new places makes my heart do a happy dance. And there’s nothing to say I can’t use some of my original dreams too. There’s something pretty special about the idea of falling in love…

‘Penny for ‘em.’ My colleague Fred’s voice startles me and brings a swift end to my musing. ‘You looked like you were daydreaming there!’

‘You know me, I’ve always got my head in the clouds!’ I say with a cheery smile as I ice some lemon cupcakes. ‘Fred… did you always want to be a baker?’

He adjusts his glasses and taps his chin thoughtfully. He’s almost seventy, but the age gap has never caused a problem before. Whenever I need his help with something, he always comes up with excellent advice.

‘For as long as I can remember, yes,’ he replies with a dreamy smile. ‘My dad was a baker, as was his dad before him. Couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Why do you ask?’

For a moment, I consider telling him about my latest dance studio rejection, but I decide not to. Although Fred and I have formed a close-knit unit here at The Pastry Corner and I know he’d be supportive, I don’t want to dwell on the rejection for any longer than necessary. It won’t change anything and definitely won’t make me feel any happier about it.

‘No reason,’ I say with a shake of my head. ‘I was just wondering. How are those bread rolls doing?’

Fred turns his attention to the batch of rolls in the oven, leaving me free to return to my own thoughts. He won’t want to burn the bakery’s top seller, after all. Holding the piping bag in my hand, I pick up a cupcake and create a perfect lemon swirl on top. I can’t help but smile at my handiwork; although I didn’t plan to become a baker, I’m glad I did. Creating tasty cakes and breads gave me a purpose after my car accident ruled out a professional dancing career. Pirouettes and arabesques turned into operations and physiotherapy sessions after my friend’s mum’s car veered off the road. Baking was there for me when dancing couldn’t be any more. I fell into a comfortable job at The Pastry Corner and the rest, as they say, is history. Yet, as I continue to ice the cupcakes in front of me, I can feel my mind begin to wander, as though it’s ready to tackle new, bigger dreams. Maybe, after all these years, I’m finally ready to spread my wings and realise my full potential.

I almost don’t feel bad for eating those chocolate buttons any more. Almost.

*

Trips to the gym really aren’t my idea of fun.

You’d think, being an ex-dancer, that exercise and I would go hand in hand. No such luck. Since my accident, I’ve made loads of attempts to find fitness classes I enjoy, but to no avail. I tried ones related to dance, like Zumba or Salsacise, but they didn’t quite give me the same sense of enjoyment as my other dance classes had. When I joined Carb Counters, I also got myself a gym membership in hopes of becoming a fully fledged gym bunny. However, it didn’t quite work out that way. Every time I go, I feel everyone has a secret workout manual except me.

That sort of manual would definitely come in handy today. I’ve made one of those once-in-a-blue-moon trips to the gym, and I’m stuck on the rowing machine.