Lola Jaye - While You Were Dreaming

‘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.

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?