Dream Paris (6 page)

FRANCIS CUPPELLO

I
’D LIKE TO
say that I wasn’t fooled by Francis, not for a minute. But that wouldn’t be true. I was wrong about him over and over again. In a way, that’s what this story is all about, I suppose. It’s what every story is about, the difference between the appearance and what lies underneath.

So we’ll start with the appearance. Francis looked
good
. He was almost a cliché: tall and dark, with a handsome chiselled face. Everything about him was clean and pressed and freshly shaven, that good old Army training (he told me later that the first thing the Army taught him was how to iron a shirt.) He was cocky and confident and charming and he gazed at me with the deepest brown eyes I’d ever seen and all I could think about was that fortune (
coming, again and again…
) and before I knew it I was blushing. He saw it, but he was too much of a gentleman to notice. Instead, he smiled a clear, innocent smile as he held out his hand.

I could feel Therese looking at me. She knew what I was thinking. It was only later it occurred to me that she was thinking it herself. I was inexperienced then, I still believed that others never thought about sex.

“Anna, I want you to meet Francis Cuppello. He’ll be accompanying you on your journey…”

I took his hand. Francis was so big, so broad, so… pumped. I could see the way his muscles moved under his green uniform jumper. All the boys back at the sixth form seemed so skinny and insignificant in comparison.

“Pleased to meet you, Francis.”

“And you too, Anna. Listen, I’ve got some food coming from the mess for us. I thought that you might be hungry.”

He was considerate, too. The perfect gentleman.

“Oh, I am.”

“There you are,” said Therese. “Well, Anna, I’ll leave you in Francis’s capable hands. Mr Twelvetrees, shall I escort you from the room? Oh, and by the way, Anna. How long will the effect of your truth scroll last?”

“About an hour.” I couldn’t meet her eyes. I felt hopelessly outclassed.

“An hour. I’ll delay getting back to the cabinet, then. It wouldn’t do to be in this condition amongst that bunch. Best of British, Anna.”

And she left, Mr Twelvetrees on her arm. They passed the food trolley as they exited.

Francis was really quite domesticated. He pushed aside the higgledy-piggledy chairs and pulled up a table from the wall, wiped it down with a cloth and then placed knives and forks and a salt cellar onto it. He set out the plates and removed the covers, then he fetched a jug of water and two glasses.

I smelled rich stew, I saw green beans, and my mouth began to water.

“Best I could do,” he said.

I didn’t reply. I hadn’t seen such good food in months, I picked up my fork and began shovelling it down. Francis sat across the table, watching me eat.

“According to your fortune, you’ll be in the
Café de la Révolution
in Dream Paris in four days time. We have to move quickly.”

“You’ve seen my fortune?” I blushed, fork half way to my mouth. C
oming, again and again…

“I’ve got a copy.” Francis patted his pocket.

“Did you volunteer to escort me, or were you chosen?”

“Ordered to. I think there are other fortune scrolls. I wonder if one of them suggested I was the best person for the job?”

I noticed that he said
best person
and not
best man
. That was good.

All too quickly, I’d finished my stew. Francis pushed his plate towards me.

“Oh, no! I couldn’t possibly…”

“I’ve already eaten. In a war, civilians never eat as well as the army.”

He thought there was a war still on?

“Eat as much as you can, we’re going to be busy. We need to visit the quartermaster’s and then it’s straight to bed.”

“Bed? But it’s barely eight o’clock.”

“We’ll be setting off first thing in the morning.”

“Tomorrow? So soon?”

“Like I said, we need to move fast.”

I wasn’t really listening. I was too busy forking up stew.

T
HE QUARTERMASTER WAS
a little man with a superior smile. His gaze wandered out from behind the counter and up to my chest.

“We’ve got these for you.” He indicated a pile of clothes on the counter beside him. “We had to send out for them specially. Do you want to try them on here?”

“In your dreams.”

Francis laughed, and I felt pleased at that. It was good to have a bodyguard who was on my side.

The quartermaster frowned at Francis. “They’re waterproof and warm,” he said, loftily. “We’ve got this backpack for you to put them in.”

“I could be away for weeks. That won’t be enough clothes.”

“Don’t worry, it’s all been taken care of.”

He opened the backpack and started to pack.

“Six pairs of knickers,” he leered at me as he handled them. “Three bras, six pairs of socks, two pairs of trousers, three tee shirts, two tops, a fleece and a waterproof. Oh…”

He reached under the counter and produced something with a flourish.

“One pack of sanitary towels. You see? We think of everything.”

“What else could a girl want? What about food?”

“I’ll throw some Mars Bars in just in case, but like I said, we’ve got something better.”

He produced a thick black wallet. “Will
you
sign for this?” He pushed it towards Francis.

I reached out and snatched the wallet away.

“
I’ll
sign for it. Once I’ve checked the contents.”

The wallet was divided into sections. The largest part was stuffed with currencies of all different colours and sizes. I ran a finger across them, rippling through the notes, noting the familiar British Pounds, the plastic Euros. I recognised Dream London currency, and then I was into the unknown. There were thin paper notes in lemon and white, squares of thick pink paper. There was something that seemed to be made of leather, a set of translucent notes that felt wet like onion skins, there were slivers of stone.

“We think we’ve covered all the major currencies,” said the quartermaster.

I turned to the next section of the wallet, pulled out a silver card, the name of a well known bank printed along the top.

“Five-hundred-pound-a-day limit. You’ll have to fill out an expenses form when you get back.”

“What are the other cards?” I was looking at one that had a picture of a starving child on the side. It was looking up, head too big for its shrunken body. There was something written beneath it in a strange language.

“No idea,” shrugged the Quartermaster. “They were brought back from the Dream World. Maybe one of them will be of some use to you.”

“Thanks a bunch.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. Look at the last section.”

He took the wallet back from me and pulled it open, showing me the last space behind the currency. A piece of parchment nestled in there.

“Dream London wasn’t something new, you know.”

I’d heard that. The Dream World had broken into our world many times in the past. There was just that something about our London that had enabled the Dream World to flourish in a way it had never done before.

“That parchment came from the archives. The bearer is guaranteed a good evening meal, a decent breakfast and a change of clothes. Every day.”

“How does it work?”

“How should I know? Now, take care of it. That thing is very dangerous.”

“Dangerous? How?”

“It would bring about the end of our society if it got into the wrong hands.”

That sounded like the sort of thing my father would have said. I folded up the wallet up and put it safely in my pocket.

“Is that it?”

“Two last things.”

He pulled them from behind the counter with a flourish.

“A lemon and a hipflask,” I said.

“A hipflask full of whisky.”

“I don’t drink whisky.”

“You can use it as a bribe or as antiseptic.”

He seemed to be waiting for something.

“What?” I said.

“Why aren’t you complaining about the lemon?”

“Because it’s the most sensible thing you’ve included, that’s why.” I hoisted the pack onto my back. It weighed more than I expected, and I was glad that I wasn’t going to have to carry more. A thought occurred to me.

“What about weapons? Don’t I at least get a knife?”

“You get what you can handle.”

And he smiled at that small victory over me. Oh, yes, that and the fact that he had got to handle my underwear.

Pervert.

“W
ELL DONE,
”
SAID
Francis, as he led me along a dull green corridor. “Joe’s a bully. You handled him well.”

I smiled despite myself.

“Thank you. Where are we going now?”

“To be issued with weapons.”

I glanced at him, but he wasn’t smiling.

“I was only joking about the weapons. I wouldn’t know what to do with a gun.”

“I doubt you’ll get a gun. They’ll issue you with something suitable.”

“Doesn’t the quartermaster give out the weapons? Obviously not. What do you call the guy who issues weapons? An armourer?”

“I usually call him Eddie.”

I laughed. He was trying to keep his face straight, but I could see the smile curling at the corner of his lips.

“Eddie will want to assess you. He’s a mate of mine. He’s not like Joe.”

We pushed our way into the armoury. It was similar to the quartermaster’s stores. The same long counter, but this time there were racks of guns, rifles and knives behind it. Dark, oily metal. I suddenly felt quite worried at the thought of having to carry a weapon. Carrying a weapon meant that I might have to hurt someone. I didn’t like that thought.

Eddie looked like Francis’s older, only slightly less attractive brother. He didn’t bother to introduce himself, he merely started asking questions straight away.

“Okay, can you speak French?”

“I got a C at GCSE.”

Eddie and Francis raised their eyebrows to each other.

“Only a C,” said Eddie. “I thought you were meant to be clever?”

“I’m not that good at languages. Anyway, a C isn’t bad.”

“I thought everyone got As for everything nowadays.”

“Did you? That’s interesting.”

I assumed a sweet smile and left him a silence to fill. Always a good tactic.

“Okay. What other skills do you have?”

“I’ve got grade 8 cornet.” I managed to say it without grimacing.

“Is 8 good?”

“It’s the highest.”

“Got any
useful
skills?”

“I’m an expert shot with a bow and arrow.”

He perked up at that.

“Really?”

“Oh, yes, I used to go hunting with my father in Hyde Park when I was a kid. We were very poor, I learned how to shoot squirrels so I could put food on the table.”

“I thought your father was a banker…?”

I rolled my eyes, and finally he caught on.

“Do you know any martial arts?”

“I got an orange belt in karate when I was little. Then again, everyone did. To be honest, it was more like dancing than karate.”

“Do you know how to defeat someone in a fight?”

“I have the power to silence the less intelligent with withering sarcasm.”

“Was that sarcasm?”

“No, of course not.”

“Funny. What would you do if I challenged you to a fight?”

“I’d run away.”

“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said since you came in here.” He turned to Francis and said, “She’s not getting a weapon.”

“Did you seriously think she would?”

“No.”

I felt quite let down.

“Couldn’t I at least have a knife?”

“Do you know how to handle a knife?” asked Eddie.

“It’s a knife,” I said. “It cuts things.”

He walked behind the counter, came back with a knife, handed it to me. I felt the weight of it in my hand. This was a real soldier’s knife. It didn’t have a saw edge blade or a camouflage handle or any of the other things that you saw on knives in films or in the pictures I occasionally saw the boys looking at school. This knife was nothing more than a handle and a sharp blade.

“Do you like it?” he said.

“Oh, yes.”

His next movements were a blur. I felt him touch my arm, I felt myself turned around, I felt the cold point of the knife I had held in my hand now pressing against my cheek. And then he released me.

“That’s why you’re not getting a knife. I’m not arming your attackers.”

It was a fair point.

Eddie looked at Francis.

“You picked up your equipment earlier. How’s it going?”

Francis held his hands apart, palm up.

“You tell me. It seems to work okay.”

They looked at each other.

“What’s up?” I said.

Francis looked at his watch.

“Nothing. Look, we’re all done. Really, you should go to bed, but it’s a bit early. We could try for a mug of cocoa at the mess. Do you fancy it, Eddie?”

Cocoa. It was an odd thing to suggest, but maybe this was normal for the Army.

“Cocoa would be nice,” I said. I guessed that as Francis and I would be spending some time together over the next few weeks, we should get to know each other. “Is it far to the mess? Only I need the toilet.”

“Down the corridor, on the left,” said Eddie. “We’ll wait here for you.”

As the door closed I heard Eddie speak.

“She’ll be alright,” he said. “She’s got balls.”

I smiled.

I
FOUND THE
toilet, used it, washed my hands, looked at myself in the mirror. The face that looked back wasn’t the face of someone who would be heading off into another world in the morning. It wasn’t the face of a heroic daughter, off to rescue her mother. All I saw was a thin, rather frightened young woman with greasy hair. I wondered if there would be a shower later on. A shower with hot water, that would be a luxury.

I picked up my backpack. It was well made, packed with clean, new clothes. Her Majesty’s Government seemed to want to look after me. I thought about Francis. I was pleased that Francis would be accompanying me. Not because he was so good-looking – don’t think I’m that shallow – but more because he seemed so steady, so competent. Better than that, he seemed like a good man, not like some of the pigs I’d known in the past. I remembered Captain James Wedderburn, who’d stayed at our house just before the end of Dream London. It all came back then. Captain Wedderburn, Mr Monagan the orange half man/half frog. Shaqeel, my father’s gay lover… Where was my father? Why was only my mother mentioned in the fortune?