NORLAND NIGHTMARE
by Carol Rallings
The middle-aged woman perched on the edge of the Chesterfield and smiled broadly.
‘’If you don’t mind me saying you have a beautiful home Mrs Beaumont” she said in a broad Scottish accent.
“Thank you it’s what I do for a living” Jenny answered. The Nanny nodded knowingly and handed over a concertina file, conscious of being under the Nanny’s gaze Jenny flicked through the credentials quickly.
“That all seems fine – well you certainly come highly recommended”
“25 years devoted to the wee ones! ” Eunice exclaimed.
‘You were a Norland Nanny I believe”.
“We were called the Silver Cross Brigade we’d all meet in Hyde Park with our charges”
“I’m very pleased I found you Eunice may I call you Eunice – you wouldn’t believe the problems I’ve had with younger nannies”
“ I can imagine’, The Nanny cleared her throat ‘Miss Molly if you don’t mind the children find it easier to say”
“Okay Miss Molly, I would like to offer you the position”. Patting the sides of her neat French pleat the woman gave a little nod, Jenny exhaled loudly.
“Phew, would you like a cup of tea”. Eunice unfastened her lapel and produced a pocket watch.
“After 3, tea will be fine strong with one sugar please”
In the kitchen Jenny replaced the mugs she had lined up by the kettle and laid up a tea tray, at last she felt she could think straight next week’s work almost seemed achievable.
The Nanny held her saucer in midair and sipped at the piping hot tea ; then helped herself to a third shortbread finger, while Jenny was barely able to nibble her way through one.
“Any questions?” asked Jenny
“When can I meet Abigail ? ” Eunice asked carefully replacing the Kath Kidston teacup back on the tray.
“Oh of course! Ramona is minding her, another treasure, she’s our daily …please come through” The Nanny’s Gaberdine rasped noisily as she followed Jenny to the kitchen.
A smiling Brazilian lady sat cradling an auburn haired child in her ample lap, Eunice went straight to the little girl and held her chubby fingers.
“Pleased to meet you Abigail, may I ? ”, she lifted her up and the little girl gurgled contentedly. After brief introductions the eager Jenny asked when she would like to start.
“No time like the present” Eunice replied briskly.
Barely able to believe her ears the mother picked up the bulging Gladstone bag monogrammed EDM and led the way up to the attic. Eunice was shown a huge bright loftroom, still holding Abigail she walked over
to the window.
‘I hope you’ll be very happy here with us” Jenny said keen to find the right words.
“This will do Grand! – but the only thing I would say is, do you find it a wee bit far from Abigail’s room? ”.
“Oh don’t worry Miss Molly I don’t expect, you to do the night shift” Jenny laughed.
“That never bothers me Mrs Beaumont – classified as part of the job – I’m sure you have plenty to do while Abigail and I get to know one another”.
“Are you sure, I am a bit busy this afternoon – got terribly behind you see”.
“Don’t worry about us Mrs Beaumont we will be just fine” reassured Eunice.
“Call me Jenny please” the mother called over her shoulder.
“ * *
Jenny stretched out her long legs and was pleased she’d lost a few more pounds, she still had a bit of overhang but that was covered up neatly by the long mohair jumper.
It had been an extravagant buy, but she loved the way it hung seductively off one shoulder it had made her feel youthful again. The ‘Mumsy’ label had started wearing a bit thin, she’d almost finished the last
emails from her long list, then she remembered she’d better message Norland Nannies and tell them she was hiring Eunice. She had been in her study over three hours and hadn’t heard a peep from her
daughter, conscious of not taking advantage of her new employee she thought it time to log off.
Jenny had been running her design business for eight years before Abigail was born, three months ago she’d organised a Relaunch and at last the two page spread in the Evening Standard together with the Harrods hampers ,she sent her old clients at Christmas, had started paying off as she had been swamped with enquiries.
When she arrived in the kitchen she found Miss Molly in the rocking chair, by the Aga, sewing what looked like a small patchwork cushion.
“I’m sorry – I just had so much to do, alot more than I thought”.
‘ It’s been no problem at all Mrs Beaumont, its given Abigail and I time to get to know one another… and then after her boiled egg and soldiers I bathed her and put her to bed”.
Jenny quite taken aback hadn’t expected her daughter to be in bed already.
“Boiled egg – I thought she might need dinner”,
“I don’t recommend a heavy dinner before bed for small children Mrs Beaumont promotes nightmares” Eunice added.
“She loved dipping her soldiers in the runny yoke – oh yes and I’ve made a jelly and blancmange for tomorrow, they are in the fridge. Well if you don’t mind I’ll retire for the evening - it’s been rather a long day”.
“Of course Miss Molly, Abigail went down okay?”
“Sleeping like an angel” the Nanny said as she headed for the door.
Jenny was relieved Eunice had gone to her room before Jake got home he’d be too tired for polite chit-chat this evening.
She checked the time on her phone, Nigella’s Nut Rissoles had gone out the window , it would have to be a ‘ M&S Bung in the Oven’ again instead: Moroccan Chicken and Dauphinoise Potatoes. Not too bad and they’d get to eat it in peace for the first time in ages, she thought. Just as she laid the table she heard Jake’s key in the lock.
“Hi Jen” he called, she quickly went into the hall and signalled for him to be quiet.
“Abigail’s asleep” she mouthed
“You are kidding me” he whispered as he got in earshot.
* * *
Jenny’s mobile text ringtone sounded loud enough to wake her up, she instinctively groped around on the bedside dresser for it and while she clicked for the message she caught sight of the time.
“ Damn! Gone nine” she’d overslept
Met nanny, what a character quite a find J x
Scrambling to get into her fleecy dressing gown and shuffling into her moccasins, she raced downstairs to find her daughter, before she got to the second landing she could see Miss Molly’s rear end as the woman was bent double fiddling with the pushchair in the hallway.
“Good Morning” called Jenny
“Good Morning, Mrs Beaumont I think I’ve done it now these new contraptions, always puzzling to start but I think I’ve cracked it -Abigail and I are going to Hyde Park to feed the ducks before the band of wet weather comes over! ”
The Nanny gave a shrill whistle and two salivating retrievers came obediently to call, slipping their double lead on expertly she manoeuvred the pushchair and headed for the door.
“Sorry ... I was up a bit late this morning Miss Molly”
“That’s no problem Mrs Beaumont, Abigail and I’ve got on just fine”
“Please call me Jenny” she called out as the door closed.
* * *
“I can’t put my finger on it Jake it’s just well , she’s different”
“Yes that’s obvious Jen, but at least you’re getting to spend more time in the office – and everything seems so much more organised with her around’
“Yes I know and I hope you don’t think I’m complaining it’s just”
“It’s just you worry too much”, he said placating his wife and pecking her on the cheek,
‘At this rate we might even get that week away on our own we’ve been promising ourselves’. Jenny sank down onto the blue leather backed bar stool and smiled as she imagined what that might be like, she couldn’t deny she loved the idea.
Taking off her glasses and rubbing the indentation on the bridge of her nose, she sighed, then put down her Schaeffer.
“That’s enough for one day... Abigail time” she announced.
As Jenny approached the nursery, she could hear Eunice’ s shrill voice
“Time to tidy the nursery, would you like to help Miss Molly fill up this toy box Abigail’ Jenny leaned on the door frame as she watched her daughter playing contentedly with some Play-Doh.
“You can take the rest of the day off Miss Molly if you’d like, I can put Abigail to bed this evening” as she spoke she wasn’t sure why she felt so awkward.
“Och there’ll be no need for that Mrs Beaumont, I’m sure you could do with just putting your feet up for a while” Eunice replied Jenny could feel the beginning of a headache, but was determined to continue.
“No it’s fine really I can’t remember the last time I read Abigail her bedtime story, and I’m sure you could do with a break”
“You’re looking a bit pale, would you like me to fix you a drink Mrs Beaumont”
“Jenny its Jenny” her head screamed, but instead tempted by the promise of a sugar pick me up, she said in a controlled voice
“That would be lovely”
“Abigail was about to have Hot chocolate with Mallows, I’ll make that two”
The Nanny took out a twisted wrap of greaseproof paper from her pocket and tapped a few grains of white powder into the My Little Mermaid Beaker, then emptied the rest into an elegant mug. She stirred the
steaming drinks furiously when all the contents had dissolved she decorated the froth with pink and white mallows.
“I’d like to read Abigail her bedtime story” she said mimicking Jenny’s voice, to Bobby who was at her feet hoping for a sugary treat to drop.
* * *
Jenny tried hard to remember the last time she had heard Abigail cry; infact she was struggling to remember anything much at all this morning .Nanny was once again wrestling with the I Candy Super Stroller , as she clipped the waterproof shield around the little girl.
“It’s raining cats and dogs out there, Miss Molly – maybe it’s a bit too wet to take Abigail out today” The woman stiffened, turned to face her and gave determined eye contact.
“It’s her daily constitutional, a little bit of weather builds up the system – but if you don’t mind Bertie and Bobby can stay behind today”.
The two enormous dogs were standing between the buggy and the door.
“Boys! Jenny called irritated. The knocker clanged loudly as the door slammed . The mother moved into the drawing room and cleared the misted glass of the bowed window, and watched the Nanny marching through the downpour.
* * *
Abi’s cold worse taking her 2 Dr. at 5.30 won’t be able 2 come 2nite
Can’t Nanny take her ?
No I want to!
Every 1 expecting you 2 come Want u there
Soz J think Abi ill cos Nanny took her out in rain on Mon
Jen it’s prob a virus
Temp over 100
R u sure Nanny can’t take her
OMG J No
Eunice bent down and picked the blue envelope up from the coconut matting, Abigail teetering was holding onto her hemline.
“Miss Abigail Beaumont, Och it’s addressed to you Abigail , an invite to Peter Symonds Birthday Party” The Nanny showed Abigail the gold embossed card
“Next Saturday , now won’t that be lovely, I’m sure you’ll be well enough by then’. The little girls curls bounced as she nodded at Nanny’s words.
* * *
“It’s a great finish Lucinda, definitely the defining piece! Well worth waiting for”
“We are very pleased with it all Jenny” The raven haired woman said running her hand along the marble worktop.
“Oh yes, here’s the reply from Abigail she’d love to come to Peter’s party”
“It’ll be a great chance for us to catch up too, I haven’t seen so much of you lately” said Lucinda
“Been so busy, the phone hasn’t stopped–you’re right it’s about time I had the afternoon off”
“Just you and Abigail Jen, your Nanny is not invited”
“Oh I can’t do that she’d hate to be left out of doing something with Abigail”
“I want us to have a chat and I don’t like the idea of her listening in” said Lucinda folding her arms.
“She’s not like that Lucinda honest”.
Jenny bustled around the kitchen putting things back in their original places. Somehow things had got so muddily, suddenly she was aware of someone standing behind her she jumped when she turned around and found Nanny staring down at her. “
“Abigail is already for the party Mrs Beaumont”
“Jenny please call me Jenny” the mother found herself snapping back.
“That’s not the dress I laid out for her Nanny”
“Well this is the dress Abigail chose herself for Peter’s party”
“ With respect at 22 months I don’t think Abigail is old enough to choose her own wardrobe”. Sensing the tension Abigail who was in Miss Molly’s arms began to cry.
“Oh come to me now AbI it’s nearly time to go so let’s quickly change” as Jenny reached out for her daughter the little girl began to squirm and a tantrum grew, grabbing hold of her firmly a sort of tug-of-war
began between the two women.
“Abigail and I won’t be long now Nanny, back in a few hours” Jenny hissed through gritted teeth.
‘Don’t you look a pretty princess today” Lucinda complimented the pouting girl who was wearing a pink paraphernalia of puffball skirts. Two-year-old Peter ran down the hall and danced around his mother’s legs
pointing at the large box the little girl was clutching.
“Come on through to the party Abigail ” . Following the Birthday Tea the doorbell chimed out all over the Georgian mansion.
‘I’ll get it ‘ offered Lucinda’s mother.
“Oh yes come in” Jenny heard her saying from the hallway somehow she wasn’t surprised to see Miss Molly coming into the Dining Room.
“Happy birthday Peter” the Nanny offered a spongy gift tied with coloured string to the little boy. He snatched the present and tugged impatiently at it tearing the paper , a home-made woollen Dragon rolled out.
Peter was instantly taken with his new soft toy, Lucinda wasn’t so impressed as she looked at the evil button eyes and scarlet red wool emulating blood dripping from the furry mouth .
“Every Peter must have a Dragon” Eunice announced and didn’t take her eyes off Lucinda as she spoke, Jenny laughed nervously.
“Nanny can make a cuddly toy out of anything”
“Make do and mend was my Mother’s motto”
Lucinda shot her friend a glance and wondered when she’d started calling her Nanny.
“Come on wee one we’d better be getting you back” she said bending over to pick up Abigail.
“Oh it’s fine – Abi can stay abit longer” said Jenny
“Wouldn’t do to break Abigail’s routine, and besides I promised her a trip to the zoo tomorrow and we don’t want you all gristly do we” Nanny spoke softer in her baby language, as she scooped the little girl up.
Keen to get back on the right side of Miss Molly Jenny said nothing, but Lucinda gave her a sharp dig in the ribs . At that moment Lucinda’s mother wafted in balancing a pyramid of cupcakes.
“Haven’t heard a Glaswegian accent for a long time which area are you from?” she enquired.
“I’m from Edinburgh, never been to Glasgow in my life” Nanny bristled; turning her back on the woman.
“Well Abigail it’s time we were getting you in the bath, I’m sure you’ve had quite enough excitement for one day”
“Be a good girl! now and thank Peter for inviting you”.
Eunice unzipped the pocket concealed in the folds of her Gladstone bag and pulled out a long gold pendant she clicked the locket, it opened like a book to reveal a faded photo of a little girl; in the other leaf was a curled up lock of blonde hair.
“Abigail reminds me so much of you now Rosie, I think it’s the way the wee lass puts her arms around my neck and coddles in, she loves me reading to her just like you did”
“Rosalind My Sweet Rosalind ” she began to sing softly, noticing the frayed edge of a newspaper clipping The Nanny stopped.
GLASGOW HERALD
COT DEATH CLAIM
LACK OF EVIDENCE
MOTHER ACQUITTED
She reached for the lighter that she used to light one of the numerous fragranced candles Jenny had decorated her room with. The corner of the Glasgow Herald curled up as the words began to scorch
“Better be safe than sorry Rosie, just incase the likes of Lucinda and her Mother start prying”.
* * *
“I can’t wait!” said Jenny as she double clicked on the mouse to enlarge the image of the hotel bedroom. Jake bent down to look over his wife’s shoulder, then he kissed the back of her neck ; He was relieved she liked his surprise.
“We’ve been talking about it for so long” he said as he straightened up then moved towards the couch. Jenny spun round on her office chair to look at him.
“Do you think Abigail will be alright?, we’ve never left her before” He loosened his tie and frowned;
“Jen, Eunice has been looking after her for six months now – Abi loves her, she’ll be fine” His wife nodded and spun back round to her Desktop.
“It does look divine”
“It will be” Jake said relaxing his head against the armrest.
“Goodbye sweetheart, be really good for Mummy” said Jenny kissing her daughter’s cheek and hugging her tightly, she could hear Eunice bustling about in the kitchen preparing Abigail’s favourite Hot Chocolate and Mallows. The house seemed empty almost echoey without Bobby and Bertie, she missed their hairy tails banging against her leg.
Jenny had been quite surprised when Nanny had insisted the dogs go to the kennels as she’d find it “quite enough with Abigail”, and with Ramona having returned to Brazil, for a holiday, she hadn’t had any choice. She placed the little girl down on to the laminated floor delicately when she heard Jake beep the horn again impatiently outside. Suddenly comforted by Abigail’s incomprehension she ruffled her child’s golden curls and headed for the door.
* * *
Abigail’s whining was beginning to annoy Eunice, she dropped the comb in the basin, pushed the ensuite door open and marched towards the nursery. Red hair dye spotted on the amber wool carpet as she approached the cot.
“Rosie, Mummy’s busy she hasn’t got time to read to you now” Abigail was stunned into silence at her Nanny’s harsh tone and dropped down onto the mattress.
“That’s it, I told you Rosie this is quiet time”, she went over to the blackout blind and pulled it down sharply, then with the same force yanked the carousel mobile above the small child’s head.
Humming the lullaby she headed back to the bathroom and began searching through the cabinet for the scissors to finish her transformation.
Eunice rocked herself lazily in the chair running the small patchwork cushion edged with broderie anglaise lace through her fingers, her midnight maroon polished nails neatly filed now matched the colour of her sleek bob which included kiss curls that bordered her plump cheeks. Abigail had been sleeping peacefully for hours, easing herself up slowly not to make a sound The Nanny moved over to the cot, and bent over the little girl.
“Sleep tight my beautiful Rosie” she whispered.
Only the Cabbie who had just dropped off some partygoers at Number 6 noticed the woman walking hastily along Portland Street, she took as big strides as she could manage in her tightly fitted pinstripe suit and stilettos. A clutch bag was tucked firmly under her arm containing her new passport and flight ticket. Eddie slowed to see if she needed a lift all he got was an icy stare as she waved him on and disappeared into the early morning mist.
Nightmares
By Pálína Dagný Guðnadóttir
It’s a friday night and it feels like you might be dreaming, but it’s not the kind of dream in which you know you’re dreaming and can do whatever you want but the kind of dream that just hasn’t turned into a nightmare yet. And it rains, not a little nor a lot, and you’re kind of tipsy but not drunk, and you’re trying to cross a street with a couple of lost tourists cramped under a small umbrella when a bus goes by, and it’s not one of the shiny new ones nor one of the cool old ones, just a red double decker trying to live up to its own standards. And a bike has been carelessly chained to a streetlight that gives off a loud kind of yellow light, and neither of the bike’s tires have been stolen yet but you wonder how long it will be. You get on a bus and it’s full of drunk people who are neither teenagers nor adults and they are not going home, because even though the night isn’t young anymore it still isn’t over. And the rain causes fog on the windows so you see nothing but you know exactly what life is passing you by.
You doze off on the bus but when you close your eyes all you see is a vacant street with a lone streetlight and even though there are no clouds in the sky and the night is dark, there are no stars and no moon, just darkness and buildings and a rustling sound in the distance and you know it’s just the sound of the bus. And you look up and you see a pair of legs visible in the light and nothing more and you’re startled by the sight and open your eyes but you decide that your slumber was just disturbed by the loud young people in the back of the bus.
You’re walking on a busy street and it’s midnight and it’s foggy and wet and you wish the streetlights were blue and not yellow, and you want to put your headphones in but you don’t because you want to be aware of your surroundings for the sake of your safety, when a man dressed in leather smoking a cigarette in front of a pub whistles behind you and asks where you’re going, why don’t you stop for a drink, what’s the matter with you cunt fucking bitch and then spits in your direction, you wish you hadn’t heard any of it. And you’re surrounded by the world and its darkness and wetness and cold light and traffic with its beeping and screeching and roaring and people with their laughter and shouting when you turn a corner and suddenly you’re not in the world anymore.
It’s quiet, so very quiet. The sky is a great dark blanket over the world and it has stopped raining and the streetlights are a soothing kind of blue. A gentle gust of wind feels chilly on your skin and your blood feels warm underneath. The stillness sends a chill down your spine but you’re not cold anymore. You’re warm. It’s a warmth you can only feel under your skin but the air you breathe is still the same cold air. Your heart is beating faster and your blood is running thicker. There’s a buzzing in your ears and it’s the only sound you can hear until the world starts intruding at the end of the street where you first turned a corner. The world is represented by a man on a motorcycle and for a minute that feels like an hour you think it might be the man from the pub and you wonder what he will do if it is. You feel like you’ve insulted his being by not giving him an answer even though his question wasn’t really a question. You suddenly feel very hot and you start sweating. You wonder if he might even be following you because you disregarded his speech. The buzzing in your ear grows louder and louder. Any minute now the man on the motorcycle will ascend the crescent and see you standing on the sidewalk. You think maybe you should hide, maybe you should knock on a nearby door or jump behind a fence and maybe you should cross the street and try not to be seen under a broken streetlight on the other side but it’s too late. You know that no matter what you do he’s going to see you and you freeze on the spot and you’re sweating and shivering and breathing heavily and the buzzing grows louder and louder and you’re exposed to the world when the man on the motorcycle sees you and just when he catches you you’re awoken by the loud young people as they get off the bus.
You realize that you have already passed your stop so you get off as well. The street is busy and it’s midnight and it’s raining and you don’t mind the streetlights being the cold kind of yellow anymore because you know that even if they were blue it would make no difference. You see a crowd of people standing in front of a pub ahead and you cross the street so you can pass unnoticed. There is no man in motorcyclist’s clothing in front of the pub, just a group of men in suits smoking cigars and laughing at some joke. The world is loud and bright but when you turn a corner you notice that it has stopped raining. You look up in the sky to make sure that there are stars and even though you see only three because it’s a cloudy night, you accept it as evidence.
The street is quiet and the streetlights are blue. A gentle gust of wind feels chilly on your skin and your blood feels warm underneath. The stillness sends a chill down your spine but you’re not cold anymore. You feel warm under your skin but the air you breathe is still the same cold air. Your heart is beating faster and there’s a buzzing in your ears. You decide to walk on the other side of the road to take advantage of the broken streetlight if you should need to hide but you find that it’s not broken. Just when you’re under the streetlight that was broken in the dream you hear a vehicle ascending the crescent and you wonder if it might be the man. You suddenly feel very hot and start sweating. The buzzing in your ear grows louder. You wonder if you should hide, just in case, but it’s too late. You know that no matter what you do he’s going to see you and you freeze on the spot and you’re sweating and shivering and breathing heavily and the buzzing grows louder and louder and you’re exposed to the world when a blue Volkswagen passes you by and the buzzing goes silent.
And even though it may not have been the man from the dream, even though he did not stop, even though he did not come for you, even though maybe he did not even see you there, and even though the streetlights are blue they are cold and the wind blows into your face, carrying screeching and beeping and laughter from the main street and you think you might have imagined the buzzing the whole time.
And you get home and you go to bed and you’re lying awake and you’re painfully aware of the world outside your window because everything in your being says that you should be asleep: the aggressive yellow streetlight pushing through the curtains; the suddenly obvious ticking of a clock somewhere; and someone’s slow, deep breathing beside you. And yet you know that even if you were asleep you would feel the same and you might as well be sleeping for all you know. And when at last you fall asleep you find that you have been caught by the man and he has tied you up in a chamber somewhere deep beneath the city. And when he approaches you with a dagger in his hand you do not see his face, you do not understand why nor do you question it, you just accept that you are going to die and you stare at the dagger as the man cuts your wrists and then leaves you there to bleed out in a chamber far below the city. And you know that you could be happy if you could stop debating whether to fall asleep and never wake again or continue living your life knowing that even when you have the kind of dream in which you’re aware that you’re dreaming it just hasn’t turned into a nightmare yet.
You doze off on the bus but when you close your eyes all you see is a vacant street with a lone streetlight and even though there are no clouds in the sky and the night is dark, there are no stars and no moon, just darkness and buildings and a rustling sound in the distance and you know it’s just the sound of the bus. And you look up and you see a pair of legs visible in the light and nothing more and you’re startled by the sight and open your eyes but you decide that your slumber was just disturbed by the loud young people in the back of the bus.
You’re walking on a busy street and it’s midnight and it’s foggy and wet and you wish the streetlights were blue and not yellow, and you want to put your headphones in but you don’t because you want to be aware of your surroundings for the sake of your safety, when a man dressed in leather smoking a cigarette in front of a pub whistles behind you and asks where you’re going, why don’t you stop for a drink, what’s the matter with you cunt fucking bitch and then spits in your direction, you wish you hadn’t heard any of it. And you’re surrounded by the world and its darkness and wetness and cold light and traffic with its beeping and screeching and roaring and people with their laughter and shouting when you turn a corner and suddenly you’re not in the world anymore.
It’s quiet, so very quiet. The sky is a great dark blanket over the world and it has stopped raining and the streetlights are a soothing kind of blue. A gentle gust of wind feels chilly on your skin and your blood feels warm underneath. The stillness sends a chill down your spine but you’re not cold anymore. You’re warm. It’s a warmth you can only feel under your skin but the air you breathe is still the same cold air. Your heart is beating faster and your blood is running thicker. There’s a buzzing in your ears and it’s the only sound you can hear until the world starts intruding at the end of the street where you first turned a corner. The world is represented by a man on a motorcycle and for a minute that feels like an hour you think it might be the man from the pub and you wonder what he will do if it is. You feel like you’ve insulted his being by not giving him an answer even though his question wasn’t really a question. You suddenly feel very hot and you start sweating. You wonder if he might even be following you because you disregarded his speech. The buzzing in your ear grows louder and louder. Any minute now the man on the motorcycle will ascend the crescent and see you standing on the sidewalk. You think maybe you should hide, maybe you should knock on a nearby door or jump behind a fence and maybe you should cross the street and try not to be seen under a broken streetlight on the other side but it’s too late. You know that no matter what you do he’s going to see you and you freeze on the spot and you’re sweating and shivering and breathing heavily and the buzzing grows louder and louder and you’re exposed to the world when the man on the motorcycle sees you and just when he catches you you’re awoken by the loud young people as they get off the bus.
You realize that you have already passed your stop so you get off as well. The street is busy and it’s midnight and it’s raining and you don’t mind the streetlights being the cold kind of yellow anymore because you know that even if they were blue it would make no difference. You see a crowd of people standing in front of a pub ahead and you cross the street so you can pass unnoticed. There is no man in motorcyclist’s clothing in front of the pub, just a group of men in suits smoking cigars and laughing at some joke. The world is loud and bright but when you turn a corner you notice that it has stopped raining. You look up in the sky to make sure that there are stars and even though you see only three because it’s a cloudy night, you accept it as evidence.
The street is quiet and the streetlights are blue. A gentle gust of wind feels chilly on your skin and your blood feels warm underneath. The stillness sends a chill down your spine but you’re not cold anymore. You feel warm under your skin but the air you breathe is still the same cold air. Your heart is beating faster and there’s a buzzing in your ears. You decide to walk on the other side of the road to take advantage of the broken streetlight if you should need to hide but you find that it’s not broken. Just when you’re under the streetlight that was broken in the dream you hear a vehicle ascending the crescent and you wonder if it might be the man. You suddenly feel very hot and start sweating. The buzzing in your ear grows louder. You wonder if you should hide, just in case, but it’s too late. You know that no matter what you do he’s going to see you and you freeze on the spot and you’re sweating and shivering and breathing heavily and the buzzing grows louder and louder and you’re exposed to the world when a blue Volkswagen passes you by and the buzzing goes silent.
And even though it may not have been the man from the dream, even though he did not stop, even though he did not come for you, even though maybe he did not even see you there, and even though the streetlights are blue they are cold and the wind blows into your face, carrying screeching and beeping and laughter from the main street and you think you might have imagined the buzzing the whole time.
And you get home and you go to bed and you’re lying awake and you’re painfully aware of the world outside your window because everything in your being says that you should be asleep: the aggressive yellow streetlight pushing through the curtains; the suddenly obvious ticking of a clock somewhere; and someone’s slow, deep breathing beside you. And yet you know that even if you were asleep you would feel the same and you might as well be sleeping for all you know. And when at last you fall asleep you find that you have been caught by the man and he has tied you up in a chamber somewhere deep beneath the city. And when he approaches you with a dagger in his hand you do not see his face, you do not understand why nor do you question it, you just accept that you are going to die and you stare at the dagger as the man cuts your wrists and then leaves you there to bleed out in a chamber far below the city. And you know that you could be happy if you could stop debating whether to fall asleep and never wake again or continue living your life knowing that even when you have the kind of dream in which you’re aware that you’re dreaming it just hasn’t turned into a nightmare yet.
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