Dream a Little Dream (17 page)

Oops.

‘We’ve actually hired a spot in one of the function rooms of a hotel around the corner. It’s a new place called The Nest,’ I tell Real Brett in a self-impressed manner, pleased with the plans Jonathan, Julie and I have made. It’s not often we all agree on the office parties – Jonathan prefers to do something cheap and cheerful, Julie likes
anything where there’s drink and loud music and I’m a tad more sophisticated with the whole thing – preferring the idea of it being on a par with the Oscars. I love seeing everyone in their finery sipping on bubbles and really celebrating the end of the year together. Usually my ideas are vetoed – but when I forwarded them both an email from The Nest telling us about their opening deals for the winter period they both jumped at the offer. It’s a fab place too – they’ve really managed to blend the lavishness of a London hotel with the cosiness of home. I love it.

‘A hotel?’ Real Brett scoffs.

‘Yeah?’ I question, surprised by his disbelieving tone.

He raises his eyebrows and puffs out his cheeks before shoving another chunk of toast into his mouth and gnawing on it.

I manage to stop a snarl appearing on my face – I love to see a man enjoying his food, but I’d rather they didn’t look so caveman-like doing so. At least he keeps his mouth closed, I guess.

‘What’s wrong with that?’ I ask, wondering whether we’ve made a mistake.

‘A work’s do in a hotel?’ he swallows. ‘Hotel rooms to run off to … ?’ he says, whilst nodding his head encouragingly, willing me to complete the rest of his thought. ‘You’re asking for trouble.’

A hot flush crosses from my cheeks down to my chest – even though I know he’s not suggesting for a second that the two of us book ourselves into a room and drunkenly bonk all night, it’s still a thought that shockingly enters my head and the space between us.

Not that I’d want to with Real Brett.

Obviously.

No thanks.

Right?

‘This is Red Brick Productions – the closest we get to any drunken antics is Julie downing shots of tequila and insisting everyone strut their stuff on the dance floor. She might not look the sort – but she’s got a seriously fierce twerk on her,’ I state.

‘And that’s how it starts,’ he laughs, his shoulders shaking as his head bows into his chest.

‘Hmmm … I’ll bear your concerns in mind, but I think it’ll be fine.’

‘Hopefully you won’t be wishing you’d gone with the Nandos option,’ he quips.

‘Right,’ I say in an authoritative tone before snatching up my notebook and putting an end to the conversation. ‘I’d better get cracking with this, but it would be great if you could start looking into the top gap year destinations. Find out what the young travellers of today are getting up to. I’m going to phone up Age Wise a little later and see if they’ll help us with case studies. I bet they have some wonderful characters that would be awesome for what we’re looking to create – they might even let us put up a little advert on their site or something.’

‘Do you think it’ll be seen?’

‘By grannies? Who knows – I’m sure some are quite computer savvy and the site is a place for them, so fingers crossed.’

‘I guess,’ he says, pursing his lips, seeming unconvinced and causing my belief in reaching out in this way to waver.

‘We could always send a few tweets out about it, too,’ I
suggest quickly. ‘I’m sure people will nominate others they know if they think it could be for something life changing.’

‘Sweet,’ Real Brett nods. ‘Anything else?’

‘Not at the moment.’

‘Great stuff.’

He nibbles on his bottom lip and looks down at the empty plate in his hand, before looking up and frowning towards the kitchen.

‘You okay?’ I ask – longing for him to bugger off back to his desk.

‘Just wondering if I want some more toast …’ he mumbles, his mouth screwing up with torment.

‘Go for it,’ I say decisively with much gusto – anything to get him out of my sight.

‘Really?’

‘Yep. Treat yourself.’

‘But I’ve already had three slices …’

‘Three?’ I almost squeal.

That’s a lot of toast and I wouldn’t have thought he’d be the sort to gorge on so many carbs, not with his athletic physique.

Bet his nan would be proud.

‘I had some before you arrived,’ he clarifies.

‘Oh.’

‘It’s the jam. Sucks me in,’ he says guiltily.

‘Your nan’s jam?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I say have another slice. Your nan made it for you to enjoy – think how sad she’d feel if she thought you didn’t love it. You owe it to her. It would be rude not to gobble it up.’

‘I think I will,’ he nods in agreement, rubbing his (no doubt) toned tummy hungrily as he ponders the thought of more going into it.

‘And go on then, I’ll have one too,’ I shrug, making out as though I’m doing him a favour – although, clearly, I’m just being a greedy cow. Let’s be frank, I’ve been wanting to munch on Brett’s piece for the duration of this chat – I’ve even contemplated licking his plate as it had a discarded dollop of jammy goo on its rim this entire time. Luckily I do have an ounce of self-control somewhere in my being that has stopped me stooping to that absurd level of class and shamelessness. So far.

‘Righto,’ he grins, laughing as he plods off to fetch us our grub.

‘Oh. My. God,’ I groan a few minutes later when my teeth sink into the crunchy sweetness that is Real Brett’s nan’s raspberry jam spread on freshly cut buttered and toasted sourdough bread. ‘This is delicious.’

‘Told you.’

‘I mean … seriously, fucking amazing.’

Real Brett pauses his own intake of heaven to grin at me.

I grin back warmly.

No wonder he was eating it in such a feral way – this jams needs to be eaten at superfast speed, your tummy basically begs for its arrival in your gut as soon as your taste buds are pinged into applause.

‘Don’t suppose your nan has been confined to the UK her whole life and would consider being one of our case studies?’ I ask in hope, as visions of dozens of jam jars lining up around my desk fill my head – I’d never have to or want to eat anything else ever again.

‘Sadly not. Nan was well before her time in that department. Took off in her twenties to see the world.’

‘Did she meet your granddad afterwards then?’ I ask nonchalantly with a munch.

‘Nope. Met him before … he asked her to marry him and then she absconded to India.’

‘Wow. Bet he was gutted,’ I chew.

‘Not really. Her spontaneity was one of the things he adored about her.’

‘Oh.’ Pause. ‘So what did he do to win her back?’

‘Nothing. Just waited,’ he smiles. ‘Three years later she returned to England with an answer for him … and they’ve never spent a day apart since then.’

‘Ever?’

‘Ever,’ he confirms.

‘So romantic,’ I sigh, feeling myself melt into the enchantment of it all.

‘Very.’

‘Does it run in the fam – ’

‘What you two gassing about?’ interrupts Julie, using the journey from the front door to her desk to remove all of her outer garments. Once stripped, she gets a brush from the top drawer of her desk and quickly gives her hair a once-over before turning and smiling manically at us both.

‘Family stuff,’ I mutter, pulling myself together and snapping out of the trance Real Brett’s wonderful grandparents have pulled me into. Note – I said his grandparents, not him.

‘Ooh …’ Julie replies distractedly, her eyes scanning the rest of the room.

‘You okay, Julie?’ I ask. It’s not like her not to want to
be told every part of every conversation, no matter how big or small – she loves to know everything there is to know, whether it concerns her or not. It’s part of her nosy mumsy quality.

‘Oh yes. Absolutely,’ she smiles, her cheeks blushing pink as she turns on her computer. ‘Tea?’

‘No thanks,’ I frown, feeling as though I’m missing something as I watch her head towards the kitchen.

‘Catch you later,’ winks Real Brett, grabbing my empty plate from my desk and walking off with it.

My mind flicks back to the perfectness it once held.

I can’t help but let out a sigh.

I’d have asked for another slice if he’d offered. Now I’m left wanton for more – WANTING. WANT-ING. Definitely not wanton.

No.

Not wanton.

Nope.

‘Here you go,’ Real Brett says after lunch, plonking a half-full jar of jam on my desk (its contents make it a half-
full
situation, definitely not half-
empty
).

‘What’s that for?’

‘It’s yours.’

‘Huh?’

‘You can have the rest of it,’ he shrugs.

‘What? Why?’

‘Told Nan you enjoyed it so much,’ he laughs, his eyes glistening at me. ‘She called at lunch to see what I thought of this batch and was thrilled to hear I’m making new friends at work.’ Cue blush and a roll of the eyes. ‘She then
told me I’d made a faux pas by not offering you the rest of this, seeing as you liked it so much.’

‘She seems sweet.’

‘Pushy,’ he grins.

‘Old people are,’ I grin back. ‘They’ve earned the right to get whatever they want.’

‘Well this’ll get her off my back,’ he says, nudging the jar and moving back towards his desk.

‘You could’ve just left it in the kitchen for everyone to use,’ I call after him.

‘And lie to my nan? She’d know. She always does,’ he says, turning and smiling at me, continuing to shuffle backwards.

‘What about you?’

‘I’m hoping you’ll still share it with me,’ he says coyly, his eyebrows tilting skyward as a cheeky expression befalls his face, making him look at least five years younger and just the tiniest bit even more like Dream Brett.

‘So I can’t take it home?’ I pout sadly, the thought of having to share it with everyone else in the office making me panic.

‘You could.’ Pause. ‘I don’t mind eating it there,’ he winks, swivelling around and striding away from me.

The suggestive wink.

Now, there’s no need to call me Sherlock fucking Holmes – that was most definitely a flirtation. A huge one.

And these are unquestionably butterflies in my tummy.

Fuck.

Major fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

Fuck.

‘What if he doesn’t actually have a nan and this is all a big ruse to get you to fancy him?’ Carly asks as we make our way to the pub. We’ve decided to go back – despite having fun away from the place last week we’re attached to our grubby little local and enjoy having the quiz to focus on, even if we don’t always win.

‘Would guys actually stoop to that level?’ I ask, not sure anyone would bother to go that far just for a date with me.

‘You never know,’ she shrugs. ‘I’ve heard of some doing worse.’

‘Fair point,’ I frown, mulling over her suspicions. ‘I can imagine him now, stood outside work, pouring a jar of Essex’s Wilkin & Sons’ finest into a different jar, just on the off chance I’m a fan.’

‘Weirder things have happened,’ she muses, rubbing her tummy.

‘Can you feel anything?’

‘Not yet,’ she says, screwing up her face in disappointment. ‘Actually just feel a bit bloated – like I’ve had a mammoth curry session and need a big poo.’

‘Sounds just as magical as they say in the films.’

‘Oh definitely … shame they leave out the bit about you having to trump all the time as well.’

‘And you’re such a ladylike thing, too. I don’t know how you’re coping,’ I say, opening the door to the pub for her.

‘Exactly,’ she laughs, walking through and heading straight to our group’s favourite spot.

‘You’ll never guess who’s started at my work,’ I say to Alastair as soon as I sit down next to him. I’d been meaning to mention it to him the week before at our flat, but Carly’s dramatic outburst pushed all thoughts of Real
Brett from my mind. I’m surprised I haven’t thought about texting him about it – although I’ve been trying to convince myself that Dream Brett and Real Brett are two different people, and not wanted to blur that line with the truth, but I guess I knew I’d have to address the link with Alastair at some point – especially as I know Carly is dying to spill the beans and drop me in it.

‘Who?’

‘Brett Last,’ I say, managing a smile at the blast from the past I’m giving.

‘No way,’ he says in surprise. ‘Ned’s mate?’

‘Yeah! Him,’ I nod.

‘I’ve not seen him in years,’ he says, looking bewildered at the connection. ‘How is he?’

‘Good, I think. I haven’t really spoken to him much,’ I lie, annoyingly feeling myself blush and trying to ignore Carly stifling giggles at the other end of the table.

‘He’s a great guy,’ says Alastair with a nod.

‘Seems it,’ I shrug.

‘I think he was the only one of Ned’s mates that I genuinely liked. Shame they grew apart really. The others could be right tossers at times,’ he says, squinting as he remembers. ‘It’s no wonder Ned had no qualms leaving them all behind.’

‘How’s he getting on?’ Natalia asks, looking nicely relaxed as she breathes in her glass of wine. ‘He’s not been back over since the wedding.’

Unlike Real Brett, we were all invited to his intimate gathering in Leeds a few years ago – funny to think our paths would’ve crossed again then had they still been close.

‘Great,’ shrugs Alastair in response. ‘Loving the sunshine Dubai brings.’

‘I bet,’ Natalia replies. ‘You know my boss has been on about me doing some work over there? A load of the properties I’m working on here are actually just holiday homes for our clients to come over for a week here or there …’

‘Oh, how the other half live,’ Alastair smirks, rolling his eyes before winking at me.

‘Tell me about it,’ Natalia nods, curling up her top lip. ‘But because they’ve loved working with us so much they’ve been talking about us doing up their main homes too – a total renovation. Big contracts. Huge.’

‘Don’t you dare leave us,’ I grumble, reaching over and taking her hand in mine.

‘Well, I’ll probably just be shipping everything I source over there for someone else to take the glory – but a girl can dream.’

‘And so she should,’ nods Carly, tapping our friend’s other hand in support.

‘It’s a totally different life out there,’ Josh ponders, nodding his head. ‘Maids, drivers – it’s nuts. I’d love it.’