Daniel's Dream (18 page)

‘I am pleased to meet you,’ said Kostas, his voice deep and resonant.

‘Likewise,’ said Daniel, who could not help glancing discreetly at the man’s groin. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see; a suggestion, perhaps, of something larger than life lurking behind the folds and creases? Daniel chided himself for his prurience; this place, he thought, is playing havoc with my imagination.

But greater flights of fancy lay ahead. Sitting beside Kostas was one of the most beautiful women Daniel had ever laid eyes on. She was dressed in a short, pretty cotton dress that revealed long, shapely, deeply tanned legs. She had glossy, shoulder-length hair, jet-black and gleaming beneath the fairy lights. Her dark-brown eyes were almond-shaped, giving her a slightly oriental look, and her full red lips were shaped in a perfect cupid’s bow. She could easily have been a fashion model, and indeed Daniel thought he had seen her before on the cover of a magazine or plastered across a billboard somewhere.

‘This is Marianne,’ said Kate. The woman nodded and smiled. It was all Daniel could do to avoid staring at her; she was sturming, and Daniel did not doubt that she and Kostas were a couple; they looked perfect together.

At that moment another figure stepped out of the shadows from beyond the patio and walked to the table. When Daniel caught sight of the woman’s face he felt his heart shift into overdrive. She was the spitting image of the girl seated opposite him.

‘And this is Veronique,’ said Kate.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Daniel, rising to his feet swiftly. He wasn’t sure why he had stood so abruptly; it just seemed an appropriate response. However, now that he was standing he felt a trifle embarrassed, so he tried turning the move into a chivalrous gesture by pulling a chair out from the table so that the young woman might sit down more easily. Veronique smiled graciously and accepted his offer.

‘Sisters?’ he asked, looking from one to the other as he took his seat again, then flinched at the stupidity of the question.

‘How can you tell?’ said Marianne, making no attempt to disguise the sarcasm in her voice.

Daniel burst out laughing. My dream’s a cliché! he thought to himself. Beautiful sisters! No doubt before long there would be a mysterious Prospero-like figure inviting him to participate in a bizarre series of games...

No one seemed bothered by his outburst, and neither of the sisters had taken offence. Daniel was convinced that nobody in Atheenaton ever took offence at anything. It was all so easy here; no one sought to explain themselves or their actions, no one seemed hassled or bothered or angry or upset. It wasn’t like real life at all. Daniel resisted the impulse to endorse it as preferable, although that was exactly how he felt.

He looked from one sister to the other and nodded slowly. Now that he could study them both it was clear that, although strikingly similar, they were not identical. They were both, however, quite beautiful, and if Daniel had had to choose between them he would have been hard pressed to say which of the two was more attractive, although even after such short acquaintance he found something harsh, even aggressive, about Marianne, which was a little intimidating.

‘You are from England?’ The young Greek man leant forward in his chair and rested his forearms on the table. Daniel nodded. ‘Good, that is good. Perhaps you can help me to improve my English?’

‘Sure,’ said Daniel, with difficulty shifting his attention to Kostas. ‘But I don’t know how much use l could be; your English sounds pretty good already,’ he added politely, although the man’s accent was, in truth, almost impenetrable.

‘You are kind, but there is always room for improvement I think, yes?’

Daniel looked across at Kate, who seemed to be enjoying the exchange with unnatural enthusiasm. ‘Kostas dances at one of the other tavernas,’ she said, seeing Daniel’s eyes upon her. ‘You’ll have to go along one evening to watch him.’ She took a long swig from her glass, then sat back, a warm, satisfied smile illuminating her face.

‘Dance?’ said Daniel.

‘Greek dance,’ said Kostas. ‘You have seen this I am sure.’ Daniel nodded. He remembered the dancing from his first trip to Greece, had admired the men’s synchronous movements as they linked arms and, wedded to the wonderful bouzouki music, eased their way through the complex series of steps. It was appealing to eye and ear, and Daniel - who liked to dance - had always wished he might learn the steps one day. It looked so fluid, so joyful.

The warmth of the night and the effect of the drinks had made him very relaxed. He watched attentively as Kostas leant back in his seat. Marianne leant towards him and, interlacing her fingers with his, whispered something to him. Daniel wondered if she were talking about him, but thought it unlikely; there was something intimate about the act, even though it had been performed in full view of everyone.

He turned to Véronique to gauge her response, but she did not seem to have noticed.

‘Have you been staying long in Atheenaton?’ he asked, leaning back in his chair. He wanted to appear calm, casual, but even talking to her made him nervous. He hoped she wouldn’t notice.

Veronique turned to face him. ‘Well, to be honest, I have no idea. One tends to lose track of the days in this place. You’ll discover that for yourself, after a while.’

Daniel found Véronique”s rich, melodic voice engaging. It lacked the overt sexuality of her sister’s but was lifted above the ordinary by the inflexions of accent and the warm, seductive timbre that was somehow soothing. Daniel wanted to hear her talk more; he didn’t care what she said. He tried to prompt her into conversation.

‘And are you far from home?’

This time it was Marianne who replied. ‘A million miles, maybe more,’ she said softly, and gave Daniel a small, knowing smile.

The music played on; more drinks arrived, seemingly without anyone actually ordering them, and once these were consumed, the empty glasses were swiftly replaced with full ones. A stream of people - individuals, couples and occasionally groups of three or four - came and went during the evening in a continuous ebb and flow of new faces, but at the corner table Daniel and his new acquaintances were left undisturbed.

There did not seem to be any particular or obvious traits that connected these visitors; nothing to suggest where they came from. They were of all shapes, sizes and colour, and of differing ages, although curiously there were no children. Could he really be responsible for all these people? wondered Daniel. Had he really created the four characters who sat around the table, chatting like authentic, discrete individuals, with their own personalities, histories and - apparently - independent thoughts?

Daniel didn’t like thinking about it; the idea that this was all a phantom world of his own creation made him uncomfortable. So, instead, he sat back and treated the whole affair as if it were real, and he was one of a number of holiday visitors enjoying a drink or two among new friends. It was easy enough to do so.

The evening passed slowly, languidly and with an ease and simplicity that Daniel had felt lost for ever from his life. The drinks continued to materialise before them as if by an invisible hand, and as the company loosened up they took turns telling stories and amusing anecdotes - the sort of traveller’s tales told in thousands of late-night bars and cafés the world over. And for the first time in half a year, Daniel laughed freely, unselfconsciously, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

In particular, Véronique’s presence entranced Daniel, and he could not keep his eyes off her. Her mellifluous laughter lulled him into a relaxed mood. In contrast, Kate’s percussive giggles provided the necessary energy to keep everybody from falling into an alcoholic stupor, while Kostas’s attempts to relate stories of his childhood kept everyone in hysterics, Even Daniel contributed a few stories of his own, something he had not done for a very long time.

Eventually the crowds thinned out and Barry, released from his duties as barman, joined them for the remainder of the night. He brought food from the kitchen: juicy black olives, piquant feta cheese, sweet, ripe tomatoes, warm, crusty bread, slices of refreshing watermelon. He brought bottles of young, fragrant retsina and thick, oily ouzo, and the company of six drank and ate their way through the night. Daniel had never known food and wine to taste so good.

Barry also brought his own unique brand of story-telling, full of sly wit and a carefully crafted cynicism that marked out East Coast Americans from their counterparts in other parts of the country. Every now and then he would nip back inside the taverna and return with another bottle of retsina or a tray filled with hunks of bread and bowls of delicious dips. The combination of drink and the casual ease of his companions made Daniel unusually garrulous, and he entertained them all with stories concerning his photo assignments in Asia.

He did not, however, mention India, Alex or the accident. Even though he told his stories for everyone to enjoy, it was clear - at least in his own head - that what he most wanted to do was impress Véronique. It was a long time since he had flirted so effortlessly, without fear of reprisals or compromise; after all, it was all just a dream, wasn’t it? And if so, then whom was he trying to impress? Himself? A bit of himself? If he stopped to think about it all became confused. So rather than deal with complex philosophical issues, he ignored the occasional stab of conscience, dismissing it as an inappropriate reflex, and just enjoyed himself. That Veronique responded to his tales with pleasure and amusement delighted him.

The inky black night eventually gave way to the amber and crimson dawn. Kostas carried Barry - who had fallen asleep - into the taverna and laid him down gently on the bed in the back room. Marianne and Veronique took their leave and disappeared to wherever they slept, and Kate kissed Daniel on the cheek and led him to her villa on the beach.

As the sun rose over the motmtains, she guided Daniel up the pathway, through the doorway, and showed him into a small, white-walled bedroom, with a desk, two beds, and slatted wooden shutters.

‘This is your room,’ she said. ‘You may use it whenever you like; you may stay as long as you wish.’ Daniel looked round the room, but took none of it in; he was too tired. His gaze rested on the inviting bed set beneath the window, and he fell on to it, exhausted.

‘Thank you, Kate,’ he murmured, as tiredness overtook him. ‘I had a wonderful evening.’

Kate smiled. ‘Sleep well, Daniel,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

Daniel nodded sleepily. ‘I hope so, Kate,’ he said, his eyes shut fast. ‘I really, really hope so.’

Daniel awoke not to brilliant blue skies and the sounds of the sea, but to a dull, cloudy monochromatic after- noon filled with the noise of heavy traffic thundering past the window.

He sat up in bed, shocked and disoriented. He did not reach for the pen and notepad, neither did he grab the glass of water on the bedside table. Instead he cursed out loud and collapsed back on to the bed, nearly hitting the back of his head on the wall in the process.

What the fuck is going on? he wondered, the odours of ouzo still redolent in his nostrils. What am I doing back here?

Daniel glanced at the clock. He had been asleep for just two hours, and yet it seemed that a whole night had passed. Frustrated and confused, he got out of bed and wandered downstairs.

He switched on the kettle and sat at the kitchen table, waiting impatiently for the water to boil. Daniel knew, with absolute certainty, that at some point earlier that day he had fallen asleep in a strange bed in a simple villa on a Greek beach that may or may not exist anywhere other than in his head, but that he had woken to the familiar and increasingly soul-destroying surroundings of a bedroom in grimy north London,

He also knew that the boundaries between this reality and the other reality, as he now thought of it, were becoming steadily more blurred, and that the definitions by which one distinguished reality from illusion, waking from sleeping, and true from false, had begun to lose their meaning.

Daniel peered into the clouds of water vapour which, erupting from the kettle spout, formed shifting, nebulous shapes in which one could, momentarily, divine other, more solid objects. He had done this dozens of times before, conjuring all manner of things from the most mundane (flowers, faces) to the surreal (mutilated moonscapes, melting animals) but today he saw only demons and devils, omens of bad luck and portents of evil.

Whenever he returned from Atheenaton to his waking world Daniel felt wretched and dejected. Far from being delighted by his new world, Daniel was more exasperated than ever. There was no telling when - or even if - he would return, at what point in time he would turn up, or for how long he would stay. He also knew that his ‘waking’ hours were plagued with misery, composed of endless hours of inactivity and depression and filled - for the most part - with people who didn”t understand him. Whereas during his ‘sleeping’ hours, he was a man without a past, without worry, and, perhaps most significantly, without fear. Yet he seemed to have no control over his access to this other, preferable world.