Dream Paris (12 page)

“Smells good,” said Francis

“Call me Lizzie, lover.” The barmaid picked up Francis’s napkin with one tentacle, shook it out and placed it on his lap.

I concentrated on my food.

The stew was delicious. Too delicious. There were too many flavours in there to process: the savoury of the beef, the fullness of the potatoes, the tang of whatever fruit there was in there, the richness of the gravy. It tasted so vibrant, so heady, so dangerous. There was no mistaking the fact I was back in the Dream World. Everything was so much
more
in this room; the reflections in the polished wood of the walls seemed so much deeper, the brasses glowed gold, the fishing nets were woven in strange patterns, the flames in the lamp danced to 5/4 time. Even the floorboards were over-elaborate, carved in odd patterns of fish-heads and stars. And the wire that stretched from the pack had faded into the background. I was sure that Lizzie had walked through it without noticing as she crossed and recrossed the floor…

“Here’s your tea, lover!” Two mugs were plonked before us.

“Ah, the best china, I see,” I said, looking at the chipped pottery.

Lizzie departed, looking hurt.

“Why are you being so rude, Anna? She seems like a good laugh.”

“I’m sure she is. She seems
very
friendly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Would you prefer it if she didn’t speak?”

“Perhaps.”

We ate the rest of our stew in silence. I was just scraping the last of my meal from the bowl when the door to the bar opened and three women in long velvet dresses pushed their way in. I saw the purple blackness beyond them and I realised that the day had ended. Between me and my home lay miles and miles of darkness. What creatures would be coming out this Dream Night?

The three women looked around the room, deciding where to sit. One of them was looking in our direction, eyes wide with surprise.

“Francis?”

“Mandy?”

And that was it for the rest of the evening. Any chance of the return of gentleman Francis was swept away in whirl of powdered and perfumed flesh, of hugs and kisses and exclamations and coarse laughter as each of the women embraced Francis in turn. With each hug that boyish swagger grew and grew.

“Aren’t you going to buy us a drink, then?” Mandy elbowed him in the ribs. “Some gentlemen you are!”

“Give us a chance, girls! Hey, Lizzie! Three rum and cokes! And I’ll have a pint. Anna, what would you like?”

“I’m okay with tea, thank you.”

I don’t understand why people need to drink to enjoy themselves. I hoped it would be different in Dream Paris. After all, the French knew how to appreciate alcohol, they don’t just use it as a means of getting pissed, like the English do.

“We’ve got no coke,” said Lizzie. “Got home-made dandelion and burdock, better than coke!”

“Rum and dandelion and burdocks all round then,” said Francis.

“We’ve got no rum, either. There’s brandy.”

“We’ll have brandy and dandelion and burdocks, then.”

“With an olive!” called one of the girls.

“Shove up, pet,” said Mandy in a broad north-eastern accent. She pushed her way onto the bench, forcing Francis to slide up.

“Tell you what, you stay there, pet. I’ll climb over you.”

The other girls giggled as she wriggled her purple velvet clad backside onto his lap.

“Ooh, is that a gun in your pocket?”

“Careful! It might go off!”

Another woman pushed in on the other side of Francis. A third joined me on my side of the table, and I felt as if the booth was suddenly filled with hair, teeth and cleavage. Francis saw me glaring at him and he remembered his manners.

“Hey, Anna! I want you to meet Taylor, Cheryl and Mandy. We used to be very good friends back when I was stationed in Catterick.”

I found myself on the receiving end of three appraising looks.

“And what were you doing in Catterick, Mandy?” I asked, drily.

Francis glared at me. Mandy didn’t seem to notice.

“We were all part of a dance troupe. Petra’s Pussycats. Did all the clubs in the area. We were doing alright until Petra started shagging our manager. The slag.”

“The bitch,” said Taylor.

“The cow,” added Cheryl.

“So that was Petra’s Pussycats down the shitter. And that was it for the money we were owed. If I ever get my hands on those double-crossing bastards…”

She paused as Lizzie arrived with the drinks. Five glasses were set out. Lizzie had brought me a brandy and dandelion and burdock too. There was a green olive floating in each, looking up with a red pimento eye.

We all took a drink. We all grimaced.

“I’ve tasted better piss!” said Cheryl. “It’s awful!”

“Of course it’s awful!” said Taylor. “It’s a fucking brandy and dandelion and burdock with an olive in it. Whose stupid idea was that?”

I pushed mine away. The others drank up anyway. Mandy continued the story.

“So there we were, broke and without a manager. We were fucked, weren’t we, girls?”

“Chucked,” said Taylor.

“Fucked
and
chucked,” said Cheryl.

“And then we heard about Dream London. It opened all sorts of opportunities…”

It took me a moment to understand what she was saying.

“You mean you went there deliberately?”

“Of course we did,” said Mandy. “You’ve got to go where the work is, haven’t you?” And she stared at me, all the girliness gone. All of a sudden, I didn’t feel the Dream London sophisticate I’d thought I was. Mandy and the rest had been there too.

“You went there for work?” I stammered. “What… to dance?”

“Yes. And we had a canny good time of it until the gangs moved in. The Daddio and all the rest of them. Then Cheryl’s boyfriend heard about jobs out along the river, heard you could make quite a good living doing the circuit.”

“So that’s we did,” said Cheryl. “Caught a barge heading out through the Lowlands. That wasn’t so good. Always damp, there were brown eels behind the walls, under the floors. Then we headed down through the Porcelain Cities…”

“Very pretty, but so uncomfortable. Your arse went to sleep every time you sat down,” said Taylor. She slurped at her brandy, covered her mouth and burped.

“Down into Dream Orleans. We made a lot of money there…”

“But now we’ve had enough. We’ve got a bit put by. We’re trying to make our way back to the Mundane World.”

I was rather impressed, despite myself. These women had been out there, making it happen.

“What have you got put by?” asked Francis. “Will it have any value back in the Mundane World?”

“We’ve got the only thing that matters. Deeds to property, back in Mundane London.”

“How did you get that?” I asked.

Mandy tapped the side of her nose.

“Ask no questions, pet.”

Francis seemed delighted.

“Good for you, Mandy. I’m glad it’s all worked out for you.”

I sat up straighter, remembering what Mr Twelvetrees had said. All that property back in Mundane London, still unaccounted for, and here was evidence that the ownership was being traded, here in the Dream World. This world still had a toehold in ours.

T
HE BAR HAD
slowly been filling with customers. They dressed alike in dark knitted jumpers and denim trousers and stood speaking to each other in low voices, occasionally glancing over to where we sat, eyeing up the girls in their opulent velvet dresses, the conversation becoming louder and more exuberant. Francis was a different person in their company. He was the big man, the centre of attention of those dancers, fully aware, as I’m sure were all the other men in the bar, that under those velvet clothes were lithe bodies.

Francis rubbed his hands together.

“Well, ladies. Tonight is your lucky night!”

The locals shook their heads, muttered darkly. Francis seemed oblivious.

“It just so happens that I know the way back to London. I’ve got it all mapped out for you, in fact. See my pack, over there by the bar?”

We looked. And Francis and I stood up.

“What’s the matter?” asked Mandy.

“My pack! It’s gone!”

We both saw it, laid in the middle of the room, straps splayed out around it.

“Someone must have knocked it over,” said Francis, hurrying to replace it in its position by the bar. Mandy and the rest smiled as Francis returned to us. Was I the only one to notice the sullen expression on Lizzie’s face?

“See the wire that comes from the back of the pack?” said Francis. There was a murmur as they all noticed the wire, as if for the first time. “Well, that wire leads all the way back to London.”

The whole bar was listening now. They were looking at the pack with a thoughtful expression. Francis ploughed on, oblivious.

“Follow that wire and it will take you up the cliff face and across the grass to the fields. Go through the fields and you’ll come to the edge of Dream London, then follow it through the streets. Watch out for the clowns! Keep following until you come to a canal. Jump in and follow it until you get to the tunnel under the white bridge with the octopuses on it. Go through that tunnel and you’ll be back in London!”

I seemed to be the only one who noticed the silence in the bar. Mandy and the others were too taken by the thought of going home.

“We need another drink!” called Mandy, turning to the barmaid. “Have you got any Baileys? It’s been that long and I’d love a glass.”

“The last bottle got drunk last week. We’ll have to wait for more to get across here.” Lizzie suddenly smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. “I’ll tell you what, though. Dream Breizh is back on the roads. I’ve got some Brittany cider back here…”

“Five glasses of cider,” said Mandy. “And can we have some stew too? We’ll need to keep our strength up with Francis here.”

They all thought that was hilarious.

“I’ll just have tea, please,” I said. “I don’t really drink.”

“Go on, have a cider with us. We’re celebrating.”

“So, Anna,” said Taylor, seemingly noticing me for the first time. “What are you doing here with Francis? I hope he’s behaving himself!”

“I’m looking for my parents. I’ve been given a lead about my mother. She’s lost in Dream Paris.” A thought occurred to me. “Have you been there?”

Taylor shook her head.

“No way. We wouldn’t go near the place. We’ve heard the stories…”

“What stories?” asked Francis.

“The place is like a prison. You need papers to get in, papers to move around. Papers to get out. They’ve got this people’s committee running the place; if they take a dislike to you, they send you to the guillotine.”

Cheryl interrupted.

“They’re so superior! I heard that when they speak to you they always put you in your place. They have different ways of addressing you…”

“Oh, that’s just
tu
and
vous
, they have that back home.” I couldn’t keep the edge of superiority from my voice.

“I know about that,” grinned Taylor. “
Mon français n’est pas si mal que ça.
”

I felt quite chastened. Clearly Taylor wasn’t as stupid as I’d assumed.

“But no, I don’t just mean
tu
and
vous.
There’s more to it than that. When they speak they have a way of saying just how important you are. I don’t know… you’ll hear it.”

“So what do you do at home, Anna?” asked Cheryl. She seemed the most friendly of the three. Her accent was certainly the broadest.

“I’m studying for my A levels. I want to go to university.”

“Which A levels?”

“Maths, Physics, Chemistry.”

“I was no good at Maths,” said Cheryl, impressed.

“I could have been,” said Mandy, “but my teacher was rubbish. She couldn’t keep control… I wanted to study English. I love reading.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. I loved Thomas Hardy. He was my favourite. And poetry. RS Thomas. And Dylan Thomas…”

“I like those Andy McNab books,” said Francis.

Cheryl stared at him.

“What?” he said.

Lizzie arrived, carrying a tray of tankards. She placed them on the table one by one.

“Now, this is from Dream France,” warned Mandy. “Be careful…”

“I lived in Dream London,” I said. “I’m used to these sorts of drinks.”

I watched Francis sip cautiously at his drink. I took a deep draught, showing off.

… and suddenly I wasn’t quite there in the room. I was still sat in my chair, it was true, but now I could see myself sitting there, I could see the building we were sat in, and I could see the sea, dark and churning and flecked with black and white shapes. I could see land, and then I could feel the land, I could feel what it was like to be white dunes whipped by the wind, to be trees twisted towards the land, I could feel the pattern of roots that held onto the soil that was me, the cold of the water that soaked into me…

And then my attention was suddenly snatched back over the sea to the black and white shape cutting through the water, heading towards the town, sliding into the harbour, climbing out onto the harbourside…

I was back in the pub and everything had gone quite. Everyone was staring at the man who had burst through the doorway.

“Liopleurodon!” he shouted “Liopleurodon! In the town!”