Dream - 14th September

(Josie Sayz: This is the dream that I had last night. As I have one before, I am going to tell this story through my ‘Jane Chronicles’ characters.)

Her eyes fluttered open. Looking down, she found herself sat at a round, rustic wooden table, with a lick of warm grey paint. As she leant back in her chair, her eyes flickered ahead to her surroundings. Two chairs, matching the table, with round backs faced her. A man and woman sat in the seats, looking towards her. A light frown furrowed her brow, as she stared at them. ‘You look familiar,’ she thought, as she observed them. ‘It’s like, I met you a long time ago, or I’ve seen your faces in an old photograph,’ she decided.

To the right, sat an aged version of a man that she felt she knew from her past, although he, somehow, seemed different. He sat with a straight posture and broad shoulders, with his shirt buttoned up to the collar. His hair was grey and neatly kept – trimmed to the millimetre. ‘His eyes are different,’ she acknowledged, deepening her frown. Beside him, to her left, sat a petite woman, with a short, mousey brown bob and black cat-eye spectacles, with a silver sparkle on the frame’s pointed tips. A chocolate-coloured cardigan draped around her shoulders. As their eyes met, she realised those were the kind eyes that she had expected to see on the man, kind brown eyes, with little green flecks.

“Mr and Mrs Pan, it’s so nice to see you again,” she found herself saying, as she gave them a warm smile.

“Jane, you don’t have to be formal with us, dear,” chuckled Mrs Pan. “You’re part of the family now. You can call us mum and dad.” As Mrs Pan said this, Jane felt a hand rest upon her left knee and gave it a squeeze. She held her breath, as she shot her head to her left. Sat beside her, Jane’s eyes locked with those same brown eyes with green flecks that she recognised. Her cheeks caught on fire, as she felt a blushing hue flush her face.

‘Peter?’ she thought, with a puckered brow. Her heart hammered to the front of her chest, as she gazed at his loving smile. Her expression softened. Dressed in a black, woollen jumper, with a grey t-shirt underneath and with his dark curls, stubbled face and narrow, dark spectacles, Peter looked the same as he had when they first met. A warm flutter of butterflies erupted from Jane’s stomach.

“You have a loving family now,” he told her, with his soft, warm smile, as he lowered his eyelids.

‘His secret smile,’ she beamed, as her eyes widened. Jane’s lips parted. A breath escaped her, as her eyes lay fixed with his. “Thank you,” she whispered back, smiling at Peter, before turning to his mum and dad. Jane’s tongue turned to sandpaper, as she forced a swallow at the lump in her throat. “Would you like a drink?” Jane asked the couple sat opposite her.

With the room in agreement of drinks, Jane jumped up from her seat. A soft smile spread across her face, as she took in her surroundings. Having been sat in the bay window, to the front of the room, she now found herself flickering a glance around at the room that was once very familiar to her. The hideous vertical striped cream wallpaper ahead of her and to the left, had since been replaced with smooth, plain white paint. The wall that she had hated most, the deep burgundy that covered the entire right wall was gone too. The same shade of white covered the main wall, with a warm grey, decorated with a few small dandelion clocks decorated the feature wall. The small, deep grey, tiled fireplace was still there, and on top of the mantlepiece sat her glass clear and transparent-apple-green pumpkin, her three-tier stack of ceramic pumpkins (with the largest one on the bottom being grey, the smaller one in the middle green and the tiniest one on top in white) and her favourite ceramic mint green pumpkin on the right. In the far-right corner of the room, where the dining table used to be, now sat a grey armchair, with a small red and white polka dot mushroom stool at the foot of the chair. Draped over the arm of the chair lay Jane’s favourite, cosy, olive-coloured throw. Behind the armchair, the back wall now had shelves, full of books and little trinkets. To her left, lay the settee. The previous beige coloured one, with the white stain that they had tried to scrub off many times, had also been replaced with a cool grey one, decorated with three mint green cushions.

          As she headed through the archway into the kitchen, lines puckered Jane’s forehead as she stepped inside. ‘This is Peter’s house,’ she reminded herself, ‘But this is my mum’s kitchen.’ Shrugging, Jane pushed that thought from her mind, as she walked towards a cupboard.

“Need a hand?” came a voice from behind her. Smiling, Jane spun around on her heels, to be greeted with a bearhug from Peter.

“Ow, thank you,” she hummed, hugging him back.

“I love you,” he whispered, as his stubbled cheek brushed against her ear.

“I love you too,” replied Jane, with a soft giggle, as her eyes fluttered closed. “Oow,” she sang, feeling her feet raise from the floor, as Peter lifted her into the air. As Peter returned her to the ground, Jane stroked a hand to his cheek.

“Did you like that?” he asked, with a laugh.

“Yeah,” replied Jane, in an excited whisper.

“Yeah,” he chuckled.

With a beaming smile stretched across her face, Jane returned her attention to finding drinking glasses. Opening the cupboard, Jane’s eyes skimmed across the contents on the shelves. “I think we’ll try these,” Peter suggested, as he scooted up behind Jane, rested his right hand on her shoulder and stretched over her head to reach the flute glasses on the top shelf.

“Are you sure?” Jane asked.

“Today’s a fancy occasion,” replied Peter, with a wink. Jane smirked and felt her brow wrinkle, as Peter passed her two of the glasses. Swinging the cupboard door closed Peter turned the remaining two glasses upside down and slipped the flute stems between his fingers as he took a side-step slide, in his socks, towards the fridge. “Today calls for the special stuff,” he said, as he retrieved a large bottle of white wine from the inner door of the fridge. “Come on,” he smiled, leading the way back into the living room.

Entering the living room, Jane’s eyes darted straight towards the window bay, where the dining table was situated. The grey, faux wooden venetians that she had fallen in love with, since working at a blinds shop, lined the window. A small smile poked into the corner of her mouth, as she followed Peter towards the table. “Champagne for celebrating,” Peter told his parents, as he placed the two glasses that he had been carrying, down in front of them. “Jane picked it out,” he added, flashing her a smile. Placing a glass down for herself and Peter, Jane felt her cheeks tingle. Lowering her sight from Peter and his parents, Jane’s eyes widened, as she noticed the bright green cushions, with white polka dots that were fastened to the seat of the chairs. As Jane sat back in her seat, her smile grew.

Having poured everyone a drink, Peter held his flute glass, in his left hand, up towards the centre of the table. “A toast,” he announced, as he turned towards Jane. Scooping the fingers of Jane’s left hand, in his right, Peter lifted Jane’s hand to the table. Jane’s eyes widened, as a twinkling, on her ring finger, caught her eye.

“What about my drink?” came a male voice from Jane’s right. A puzzled expression puckered her brow, as she turned to face the voice. A man appeared beside her. Sat at the rounded table between Peter’s father and Jane, the newcomer was sat on a fifth chair that matched the dining table.

‘Who’re they?’ Jane wondered. ‘And how did they just appear? And where did the extra chair come from?’

“Dear!” gasped Mrs Pan. “You’re late,” she scolded.

“Late?” Peter repeated. “Uninvited’s more like it,” he muttered under his breath, lowering his glass. “Martin,” he grumbled, “You remember Jane, right?”

“Hi Martin,” Jane found herself saying, as she forced her biggest smile, desperate to hide that she did not recognise the man sat beside her. ‘Does Peter have two brothers called Martin?’ she wondered. ‘That would be strange, but this looks nothing like the Martin that I know. He looks more like a tall, thinner version of Moriarty from Sherlock.’ As conversation built, Jane’s puzzled expression remained for some time, as she stared at the Moriarty imposter.

While the conversation amongst the group grew, Jane felt a warmth spread from her chest. ‘This is nice,’ she told herself, as she noticed that her cheeks were aching from smiling. “I’d best go check on dinner,” she told the room, as she got up from her seat and wandered back into the kitchen.

After inspecting the food, in the oven, Jane turned the tray around and slid it back inside and side-stepped to the hob, where she removed the lid form her saucepan and stirred the contents with her spatula, before lowering the heat to a simmer. Satisfied with how her cooking was coming along, Jane turned to the opposite side of the kitchen. Placing her hands on the tabletop, Jane let out a happy sigh, as she realised, ‘Peter’s parents make me feel so comfortable and at ease. I usually hate hosting, but I’m really enjoying today.’ A pair of arms wrapped around her, from behind, as Peter hugged her and placed a kiss on her right cheek. Leaning back into Peter’s embrace, Jane giggled against him.

“It’s your special day too,” Peter told her. “I don’t want you struggling back here all on your own.”

“Thank you,” she sang, wrapping her arms around Peter’s, at her waist, and giving his arms a squeeze.

With dinner almost ready to plate, Jane began rummaging around in the cupboards for some crockery. Having not found what she was looking for in the lower storage compartments, Jane turned her search to the cupboard doors over head. Opening the double doors out, Jane’s shoulders sank. Four round mugs, each the size of a small bowl, that could fit snuggly inside both of Jane’s hands lined the bottom shelf in front of her, but they were different colours ‘None of the mugs match,’ she thought with a pout, as her eyes flickered from the blush pink one, to the sage green one, to the dark grey one, before resting upon the off-white mug. Arching her head over her shoulder, Jane flickered Peter a glance exaggerating her pout. As her sulk went by unnoticed, Jane let out a sigh, as she grabbed the four bowl-mugs and clattered them to the countertop. Jane retrieved her tray of food from the oven and began dividing the food up, evenly, between the mugs.

“Pot’s done,” Peter told her, as he took the saucepan off the hob and drained the water into the sink.

“Thank you,” replied Jane, as she took the pan and sprinkled in some more herbs, before dividing the contents into the mugs.

“You’re an amazing cook, you know” Peter said, as he appeared at her right ear, leaning over her to examine the Quorn pieces, sprinkled with basil, oregano, sage, thyme and parsley. “I’d have never of thought to use all those herbs… or put those ingredients together.”

“That’s what you get for dating a chef,” Jane replied with a smirk, as she used a knife and fork to position all of the ingredients just right in the bowls.

Backing away from Jane, Peter’s posture sank, at her words. His heart gave a pang. With a sniff, Peter lowered his head, as he shuffled back from her. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, sinking his hands into his pockets, as he shuffled back to the opposite side of the kitchen, observing Jane all the while, as she dished up their meal. He sniffed again, as his heart gave another twinge. ‘I’ll make it up to you,’ he said to himself. ‘I promise, I’m going to put things right.’

“Oh no,” Jane cried, as she took a step back from her cooking. Her arms flopped at her sides, as her shoulders sank. With a gasp, Peter leapt to her aid.

“What’s wrong, my love?” asked Peter.

“I only made enough food for the four of us,” Jane exclaimed, as her brows slanted up, towards each other. “I didn’t realise your brother was going to be joining us.”

“Neither did I,” muttered Peter. “Let him starve,” he chuckled. “I am joking,” he confirmed, with a weak smile. “Can we make him something else?” he asked. Jane ran to the fridge and began rummaging around. “I could order him a takeaway,” Peter suggested, with a shrug. “I mean, he did turn up uninvited.”

Oblivious to Peter’s suggestions, Jane returned from the fridge, cradling the remainder of a red cabbage, part of a cauliflower, a jar of beetroot and a packet of frozen peas. “Give me five minutes,” Jane muttered, as she crumbled the cauliflower up onto a baking tray and spritzed it with olive oil. “Could you turn the oven, back on please?” she asked Peter, as she shook the cauliflower about in the oil. With a nod, Peter slid towards the oven and turned it back on. “Could you keep an eye on this for me, please?” she asked, as she handed the tray of cauliflower over to him.

“Of course,” replied Peter.

Returning to the other, random ingredients, Jane’s hands raced at super speed, as she diced up the remained of the red cabbage. Her heart raced, as her eyes shot open wide. ‘Another mug,’ she told herself. Although Peter did not own a fifth bowl-sized mug, Jane grabbed a narrower, taller white mug, with brown edging, from the cupboard. With a spoon in her left hand and a fork in her right, Jane began sieving out ingredients from all four of the mugs and adding bits to the fifth. ‘Sorry Martin, but this one’s yours,’ Jane said to herself, as she prodded some sweet potato into the white mug with brown edging. Having removed a quarter of the food from the blush pink mug, Jane filled the space with red cabbage, as she decided, ‘This one is for Peter’s mum.’ Scooping some beetroot out of the jar and finely slicing it, Jane added it to the sage mug, as she noted, ‘This one is his dad’s.’ The grey mug was already missing the sweetcorn that was included with the others. ‘Peter’s is almost done,’ she told herself as she swiped the packet of frozen peas. “Can you defrost these?” Jane asked, as she tossed Peter the bag of peas. “I need something to fill all the gaps with.” Without questioning her, Peter caught the bag of peas and put them into the microwave, while Jane checked on the cauliflower pieces in the oven.

With Jane’s creations completed, Peter helped her carry the bowls to the table. Jane led the way, carrying Mr and Mrs Pan’s sage green and blush pink mug-bowls, while Peter carried in Jane’s and his brother’s. “Thank you dear,” beamed Mrs Pan, as Jane placed her creation in front of her.

“I am so sorry the mugs don’t all match,” Jane announced, as she placed Mr Pan’s meal down in front of him. “These were all I could find,” she confessed.

“Nonsense,” scoffed Mrs Pan. “These look wonderful.” Jane’s eyes widened and a smile prodded into her cheeks, as Peter placed hers and Martin’s bowls in front of them.

“Yeah, great job,” Mr Pan added, as Peter scooted back into the kitchen to retrieve his own meal.

“Thank you both,” beamed Jane. Feeling her face flush, Jane took her seat and lowered her head, to her own bowl.

“Doesn’t Jane’s food look wonderful, sweetie,” said Mrs Pan, as Peter rejoined the table. Looking up at Peter, Jane’s heart sank to her stomach, as he plonked a plate down on the table. He grabbed his bowl-mug and tipped it upside down, slopping his meal onto the plate. Eyes wide, Jane forced a swallow, hiding a heartbroken gasp.

‘I tried so hard with that,’ she cried to herself, lowering her sight to her own food.

“Peter,” his mother scolded. “Jane worked hard making that and you’ve just made a mess.”

“So?” Peter shrugged, through a mouthful. “It’s only food. It isn’t going to taste any different on a plate.” As Mrs Pan gave Jane a sympathetic smile, Peter added, “It’s easier to eat this way.”

“Peter,” his mother sighed. “Sometimes presentation can be just as important. You wouldn’t turn up to work looking like a scruff, even though it doesn’t change how hard you work.” Rolling his eyes, Peter let out a growl. “Jane put in a lot of effort,” she huffed at her son. Turning to Jane, Mrs Pan told her, “Jane, dear, you shouldn’t let Peter destroy your confidence. I know you worked really hard today to make this special for us. Letting Peter know if he’s done something to upset you, regardless of how petty it may seem, is an important part of an honest relationship.”

“It’s okay,” replied Jane, forcing a smile at Peter’s mum. Jane dropped her eyes to a knot in the table’s wood, before flickering a glance at Peter. Forcing a swallow at the lump in her throat, Jane felt her intestines knot, as her heart dopped to her stomach. “Peter’s right,” she mumbled, with a sniff, as she looked at her own meal. “It’s only food,” she replied, forcing another swallow, before smiling at Peter. “I love Peter and that’s all that matters,” she said, through sparkling eyes. Shovelling another forkful of food into his mouth, Peter grinned back.

“I like this girl, Peter,” beamed his father. “Jane is much more tolerable than that other girl you were dating.”

“Thanks dad,” Peter grumbled, rolling his eyes. Cupping a hand to her mouth, Jane attempted to hide a silent giggle, as Peter looked towards her and smiled. Then I woke up.

 

- Josie -