Heartache High (7 page)

Darling
?
Since when did I use words like that?

‘There
is
a cure for it, you know.’

‘Cure? Cure for
what?’

‘Why, your
insecurity of course! Untreated, it’s going to tear us apart you
know, can’t you see that? Your jealously is already getting way out
of control! All those silly fights!’

‘I don’t need a
cure, I–’

‘Then it’s over,
Iain! It’s over between us!’

‘Over? But
I–’

‘But you won’t
get your jealousy treated! That
shows
you don’t really love
me!’

‘Huh, how can I
get what
I’m
suffering from treated?’

‘There’s a woman
I read about, a woman in Soho; a woman called Lamia!’

*

Lamia?

Where did I get
that
name from?

I mean, is it
really
a name?

Perhaps I really
did read about it, in a magazine or somewhere.

Yeah, yeah; come
to think of it, I think I can remember reading something about some
woman in Soho who promised to…

Promised to
what?

I can’t
remember.

Perhaps I didn’t
read it anywhere after all.

Wow, now I’m
trying to put some sort of interpretation to something as trivial
as a name that crops up in my dreams?

How
real
was that dream though?

I could have
been
there.

I
was
there.

*

‘I really really
don’t think these are dreams anymore. I think that, somehow,
they’re a contact with the real world.’

As I say this to
Jassy and Dave, they glance at each other sceptically.

‘Think about
what you’re saying here Steph,’ Dave says. ‘Even if it were
possible to form some sort of contact with the world we’ve left
behind, how could it possibly be through any of us here at
Heartache High? We’re
here
, not
there
.’

‘In my defence,
I’d like to point out that when I’d first asked you both for your
advice, I’d said I know this isn’t going to seem to make much
sense, but…’

‘Sure, sure you
did Steph,’ Jassy says sympathetically. ‘But Dave’s right – how
could you make contact like that when
you’re
here?’

 ‘
Yeah, I know; it was just that when this name Lamia came up
I–’

‘Lamia? That
does
seem to ring a bell.’

‘Yeah, such an
unusual name,’ Dave agrees. ‘Yet there’s something right at the
back of my mind trying to scream at me that it means
something.’

‘You’ve both
heard of it? I thought so too.’

Dave
shrugs.

‘Could be it’s
just a brand name; you know, not quite so famous we can figure out
what it is, but something we’ve heard of so it sticks in the back
of mind until someone mentions it. Tyres, maybe? Lamia lingerie,
anybody?’

Jassy gives him
a playful shove to pay him back for his cheek.

‘I think I might
have heard of it simply because it’s a Greek legend–’

‘Just how many
legends did the Greeks have, eh?’ Dave sighs. ‘They seem to have a
legend for anything. Is there one about someone who gets fed up
hearing about legends?’

‘Nope, but
there’s plenty about idiot men mistakenly putting their faith in
their own powers of thought!’ Jassy retorts with a giggle. ‘Lamia,
as I was saying, was renowned for devouring children. So I don’t
think – I hope – it’s not the one Steph’s talking about. Curiously
though, her children, the lamiae, were succubae, the female
equivalent of the incubi I mentioned earlier whe–’

‘Yes, thank you
very much the History Channel – ouch.’

Jassy gives Dave
another playful punch, but harder this time.

‘The thing is,’
I persist, ‘this Lamia supposedly lives in Soho. And when I heard
that, I suddenly remembered making a trip to Soho for some
important reason – but I can’t remember what that reason was, or
much of what I did there.’

‘Doesn’t really
mean anything,’ Dave insists. ‘When we end up here at Heartache
High, there are all sorts of things about our past lives we file
somewhere in the back of our minds, like they’re no longer
important to us. As far as any student here is concerned, the only
important thing in their past lives was the loved one they still
lust after. Despite every possibly reason not to being thrown at
them.’

‘If there were
some contact with the world we’ve left behind,’ Jassy says
brightly, ‘that
would
be amazing Steph – but I really can’t
see that it’s possible.’

‘The longer
you’ve been at Heartache High,’ Dave adds sadly, ‘the more you
realise we’re cut off from what you’re calling the real
world.’

*

Despite Jassy
and Dave’s assurances, its less than a day before I’m back talking
to them again, insisting once more that my dreams are…well,
something
more
than dreams.

Everything
taking place is consistent, like it’s a well plotted story at the
very least.

There is a
steady, slowly running sequence of events. One happens after
another in a perfectly logical order.

Unlike a story,
sometimes the ‘dreams’ dwell on the really boring bits – such as
when I’m in the school canteen picking at an unappetising meal (in
that dimension, Heartache High’s refectory is light years ahead).
Or I’m spending ages in front of a mirror, expertly putting on
delicate layers of makeup that transform even the flaws in my face
into enviable features.

We’ve booked,
purchased and picked up the railway tickets for London.

We’ve even got
ourselves a map of London, to work out the quickest tube trip to
Soho’s China Town, where Lamia is apparently based.

And, see, her
name still keeps cropping up in the dreams.

‘How many dreams
do you know,’ I say to a perplexed and intrigued Jassy and Dave,
‘where you don’t just, say, fly off to where you’re supposed to be
next? Why is it all taking place so slowly, over days, rather than
just happening?’

‘So okay,’ Dave
says with a nod of agreement, ‘so where are you up to now in this
sequence of dreams – sorry, Steph, that word just crept up on me. I
didn’t use it because I’m still sceptical.’

‘Last time I
slipped into a daydream – I don’t really have any control over when
they’re going to happen – was just a couple of hours ago. We were
on the train, travelling down to London. We were getting some
sandwiches from the bar; see what I mean about these hardly being
dream-like? Oh, and things are a bit cold between us at the moment.
Iain’s a bit moody.’

‘A man that’s
moody?’ says Jassy with fake incredulity. ‘
That
doesn’t seem
like reality at all Steph!’

‘So,’ says Dave,
coolly ignoring Jassy’s little barb, ‘why do you think you’re
seeing all these uninteresting bits? As you say, it’s hardly like a
dream at all. Even the most boring film director would leave bits
like these out.’

‘Yep, that’s
what I’ve been saying; that’s why I think there’s something odd
going on here. Perhaps they’re not dreams, but flashbacks to things
that happened in my life; but things I’ve somehow and for some
reason managed to completely forget.’

‘Could be,’ Dave
nods.

‘But that would
mean you really did behave like this with Iain, Steph,’ Jassy
points out. ‘And, if you don’t mind me saying, it doesn’t seem like
you at all; you’re far too nice.’

I chuckle
bitterly.

‘Yeah, thanks
for the vote of confidence Jassy. But I’ve got to face up to the
fact that this might be my past; what other explanation could there
be? Perhaps I’ve forgotten it all because I want to wipe out the
memory of how badly I behaved.’

‘Well, if all
this
is
a logical sequence, Steph,’ Dave says, ‘then you’re
saying you reckon you’ll soon be seeing this Lamia,
yes?’

I
nod.

‘So far,
everything’s happened in the order it should; I can’t see why we
shouldn’t be meeting this mysterious Lamia, whoever she is, pretty
soon.’

‘Soon? How
soon?’ Jassy asks.

‘Going by how
long we’ve been on the train, we should be London within the
hour.’

‘You’ve seen the
whole
journey?’ gasps Dave.

I shake my
head.

‘Nuh uh; just
odd bits. Like with any other scenes, I can’t just tap into the
sequences I want to; they just suddenly start appearing, or just
disappear. But time seems to follow the same passage of time as
here. So once we hit London, there’s whatever time it takes to get
down to Soho – plus, of course, we might stop off for a
coffee.’

‘But if you
can’t control what you’re seeing – does that mean we might not get
to see this Lamia after all?’

‘Possibly,’ I
agree. ‘But I noticed you said we; just a slip of the tongue,
yeah?’

‘No way!’ says
Dave firmly. ‘I said
we
because when you get to meet her, I
want to be there too! What about you Jassy?’

He turns to
Jassy, his eyebrows quizzically raised behind his
glasses.

‘Wouldn’t miss
it – as long as you’re okay giving us a running commentary
Steph?’

‘Sure; if it
helps you begin to realise I’m telling the truth about these
so-called dreams.’

‘Okay,’ says
Dave, turning away from us. ‘I’ll get us some sandwiches – coffee
anyone?’

*

We’ve finished
the sandwiches.

We’ve drunk the
coffee.

And still
nothing.

‘Perhaps the
dream’s not going to tap into the visit to Lamia,’ I say
apologetically.

‘Maybe they
stopped off for more than a coffee…’ Jassy says
hopefully.

‘Or, maybe, they
have an appointment, so they can’t just turn up just like
that.’

‘Ah, at least
you’re beginning to talk about these dreams like they really are
connected with the real world Dave!’

He
shrugs.

‘They’re odd,
I’ve got to admit to that.’

‘They might have
already seen her of course,’ I point out. ‘In which case, we’re all
waiting around here for nothing.’

‘The sandwiches
were nice.’ Dave balls up the sandwich wrappers and tosses them
into a nearby waste basket.

‘Perhaps it’s
because we’re here, preventing you drifting off into a day
dream.’

‘Jassy,’ I
laugh, ‘I’ve slipped into a dream while amongst a full class of
people.’

‘Ah, but you
haven’t been asked to give a running commentary; it might not be
possible to dream and let someone else know what’s going
on.’

‘Maybe,’ I
agree.

‘Let’s give it
another hour,’ Dave says, turning to urgently wave at a group of
student’s languidly making their way to the refectory.

‘Oi, Ben; could
you fetch us back coffee and sandwiches for three?’

*

It’s China Town
in Soho right enough; I recognise it from pictures I’ve seen in
magazines.

Paved
streets.

Elaborately
carved decorations, painted bright red.

Oddly flattened
chickens roasting in the windows.

Flags and
banners hanging from the buildings, fluttering and snapping in the
breeze.

Iain’s very
subdued, like he’s angry, holding all his emotions in check in case
he’ll explode if he begins to say anything.

I don’t seem
particularly bothered by this. Somehow, I get the impression I’m
just a little tired with his childish behaviour.

It looks like
we’re stepping through the door into one of the larger restaurants.
But once we’re inside, instead of taking the glass door to one side
leading into the restaurant itself, we head up a narrow flight of
stairs.

A few more
flights follow, until we must be at least five floors
up.

I seem to
remember clambering up a similar set of stairs, but if I ever did,
it must have been in some other building.

‘Unless this
really is your past,’ Dave points out. ‘In which case it’s just
something you’ve filed to the back of your mind. But now your
conscience is gradually –
very
gradually – forcing you to
remember it.’

I knock on a
small door decorated with whirling images of dark green and
red.

‘Please come
in!’

Inside, it’s the
same dark greens and reds, giving a vague impression that we’re
underwater.