Lola Jaye - While You Were Dreaming

The one saving grace in his life seemed to be his sister Charlotte and her two kids, but at times even she would make him feel on a downer. Of course it wasn’t her fault. It was just that when he saw how hard she struggled to bring up two kids on her own, it irked him massively that he couldn’t put his hand in his pocket and really help her out. Bung her some cash to pay the latest set of bills or give her a few hundred pounds to go away with the kids for a break. He was a totally useless brother and seeing Charlotte and the kids just seemed to amplify his inadequacies. However, he’d promised to fix the light switch in George’s bedroom and he was sure he could do that much.

‘Glad you came over; the kids miss you!’ his sister said warmly as soon as he entered the house.

‘How are the little ankle-biters anyway?’

‘My beloved children are great. Actually George has been playing up lately and I kind of hoped…’

Michael hated it when Charlotte expected him to act as disciplinarian to her four-year-old son George.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, hoping it didn’t sound too much like a whine.

‘The matter is, when he’s with his father, he’s as good as gold. But when he gets back home to me, he’s a complete sod.’

‘I’ll have a word with him.’ Or perhaps just buy him a packet of chocolate buttons, Michael said to himself. He didn’t want to ‘discipline’ the little man any more than he desired a teeth extraction. What the kid really needed was his dad around–even Michael could see that or even just a male to look up to…Once things got better for Michael, he’d take George every other weekend and they could have a boy’s night in, hitch up a tent in front of the telly and pretend to hunt dinosaurs. But for now, he never wanted George setting foot in his dingy flat in Dog Kennel Hill. He’d have to wait until he bought a house. Perhaps one with a garden and they could go camping for real. He couldn’t wait for that!

For the time being, Michael did manage to mumble a few things to George that sounded mildly stern, confining him to his room as punishment, satisfied with his work until he remembered that said room contained a box full of toys and possibly a bag of Haribos.

Uncle duty done, Michael headed back to Charlotte and Serena in the lounge.

‘Did you sort him out?’

‘Yes, I did,’ he replied, sitting on the sofa and absently sorting through the pile of magazines on the side table. Charlotte was forever reading self-help books, magazines, basic tosh.

‘So, you’ve finished with Jen then?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, as his eyes glanced over a couple of psychology magazines.

‘So, you’re a commitment-phobe?’

‘No, Charl.’ Michael picked up a day-old newspaper from the sideboard, revealing a stack of papers and leaflets beneath it including some money-off coupons for Tesco and an Argos catalogue followed.

‘You were together with Jen all that time and I didn’t even meet her! Oh I take that back–I saw her in the supermarket once!’

‘It wasn’t anything personal,’ he insisted, to no avail. He knew Charlotte had already made up her mind. He was used to Charlotte analysing him every time he came to visit.

‘Mumma!’ wailed fourteen-month-old Serena again and again, repeating it in blocks of ten, effectively drowning out Charlotte’s voice.

‘Yes, I know it’s your new word, but I’m trying to speak to your uncle!’ laughed Charlotte. ‘I can’t believe she now calls me Mumma instead of just Dadda. Result!’

‘It is,’ said Michael, genuinely touched by his niece.

‘And you, my love, have a stinky nappy,’ she said, lifting Serena’s bottom in the air and sniffing it. Charlotte headed out of the room, her daughter tucked under her arm.

The silence did not last long. ‘Hello, Uncle Mike, Mummy says I can come back,’ said George, walking in, looking remarkably composed after his ‘telling off’. ‘You dropped this,’ he added as he bent to pick up a small card.

‘Must have slipped out from one of the magazines. Your mum has loads of them.’

‘She said when Dr Phil comes back on, she won’t read lots. What’s Dr Phil?’

Michael shrugged as he took the card from George.

‘Your sister’s asleep in her cot, so keep the noise down,’ said Charlotte when she returned. ‘Knocked out by her own pong, that one. Now where were we?’

Michael was busy studying the orange card–for Kidzline, a children’s charity–and felt a pang of familiarity as he flipped over the card and studied the caption: ‘Only a phonecall away’ .

Cara sat on a bench, overlooking the entrance to the hospital.

Ade had given Cara the warning that her mother was on her way. He’d even predicted how long it would take the taxi to arrive from the airport–and he’d been almost spot-on. The black cab pulled up outside Fen Lane Hospital and Cara watched as a woman, just a bit taller than herself, stepped elegantly out of the vehicle like a movie star at a premiere. But instead of the paparazzi flashes, the sky lit up with small bolts of lightning. Instead of the roar of an adoring crowd, there was the wailing of an ambulance siren getting louder and louder as it approached Accident and Emergency. The woman was in her sixties, but looked at least fifteen years younger, complete with a sassy walk of someone half her age.

‘Keep the change, darling,’ she said to the taxi driver in a fake posh accent, smoothing down her bobbed hair.

From the bench Cara was sitting on, she could tell the cabbie was delighted as he placed the shiny silver case and black weekend bag onto the pavement with a cheeky wink.

‘Thanks, luv,’ he said.

The woman pulled out a mirror and lipstick from a tiny silvery handbag and applied a fresh coat. She then looked down at her flat black shoes and grimaced; perhaps missing the feel of a good pair of stilettos against her feet, the way they automatically shaped calves into something sexy and alluring. Possibly the one thing Cara would ever agree on with her.

The woman wiggled slowly towards the reception, her case making a loud, annoying squeak as its wheels rolled along the ground. Cara was tempted to stay put outside, a break from the bleak hospital room, but the sky was darkening as the cracks of thunder grew louder and she knew she’d have to go in and face her mother.

‘Hello, Kitty,’ said Cara, acknowledging how ridiculous it sounded, but determined never to call her mother anything but Kitty.

‘Cara?’ She turned away from the lift and faced her, palm flying across her chest dramatically. In times like this, her mother really reminded her of Millie.

‘Darling, I just got a flight in from Rio. How are you?’

Cara winced at the term ‘darling’.

‘Fine.’ She cleared her throat and made no attempt to embrace her mother.

‘It’s so good to see yer!’ Kitty said, suddenly switching into the not so posh accent Cara was more used to. Kitty opened her arms for an embrace but, as Cara wasn’t moving, the older woman enveloped her in a stiff hug.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ asked Kitty.

‘I said I’m fine. It’s Lena we have to worry about.’ She was definitely fine, even if her tummy was in the middle of some type of semi-spasm. ‘Where have you been?’ she asked curtly.

‘I was in Brazil.’

‘Lena’s been in here for over two weeks.’

‘I only got the message about twenty-four hours ago. Hortense had heard from Ade. Luckily, I was just about to leave the hotel and move on to…well, that doesn’t matter…I’m here now and I just want to see my daughter.’

They had reached Lena’s hospital room now, and as Cara pointed to the door, Kitty slowly opened it, with Cara following slowly behind her. A good position it would seem, as she was the one to catch her as Kitty’s whole body collapsed towards the freshly cleaned hospital floor.