Dream a Little Dream Read Online Free Page A
Author: Giovanna Fletcher
something to tell his wife about. The extra spoonful of sugar I mean. Not the wink.
Eurgh.
2
After scrambling through rush hour on the tube and heading home to freshen up, Carly and I find Alastair, Josh and Natalia already sat at a table in the corner of our local that we’ve christened ‘our spot’. Surrounded by plum plush cushions and dimly lit in the dingy pub setting, the table is scattered with empty crisp packets and, judging by the empty glasses in front of them, the boys have moved on to their second pints of the night. Having already had a trip to the gym (lads) to play squash (not so laddy), they’re both in their comfy clothes, looking rosy-cheeked from the exercise and the gym’s piping hot showers – meaning they smell yummy and fresh, too.
Natalia, on the other hand, is still in her smart grey work suit (she loves a fitted jacket/skirt combo) and is perched to the side of Alastair, frowning into her iPhone – no doubt scouring the internet for an antique piece of furniture or discontinued piece of fabric made in the deep dark holes of some faraway place. Her petite frame is hunched over in frustration, but as Alastair nudges her to let her know we’ve arrived, the worry dissolves and she looks up with a beautiful smile, sweeping her long dark hair away from her tanned face and flicking it elegantly over her shoulder. She jumps up from her seat and wraps her arms around both of us at once.
We sway in our hug, all ‘Aahing’ at being reunited –
something that never fails to spread a tinkling of happiness through my weary workday bones.
‘Hiya,’ sings Carly with a grin, breaking away and plonking herself down next to Josh, who instantly pulls her in for a hug and kisses her on the head. My bearded blond friend is unquestionably the best hugger to have ever graced the earth – it’s one of his better qualities and makes up for the fact that he’s usually late for everything and is the messiest person ever. His hugs really surround you and make you feel safe – it’s probably aided by the fact that he’s not muscle-ready like Dan, or model-thin like Alastair. He’s simply wonderful.
‘Beer?’ Josh asks, as Carly picks up his pint and takes a swig from his glass. There’s no need for polite etiquette here – there never is when you’ve seen each other in the worst states possible.
‘Please,’ Carly grins, her freckled face making her look like a naughty child. Even though she returned from travelling a couple of years ago (just in time to witness me get savagely dumped) she’s still managed to maintain her bohemian look – her white blonde hair looks continuously windswept no matter what she does with it, and her clothes always have that slight ‘rolled out of bed’ look about them. A look she manages to pull off effortlessly. If I tried out that style I’d appear ten sizes larger than I am and my mum would be chasing after me with an iron. Oh the shame that’s attached to a creased top in my family home!
‘That’s us, then,’ says Alastair in his warm Leeds accent, looking around the table once the drinks and food have been ordered. His thick long hair is pulled up into an effortless man bun, giving me serious hair envy. It seems so
unfair that my hair – which, as society has led us to believe, should always be down in lusciously flowing locks – is frizzy and uncontrollable, whereas his – which society denotes should be kept short and boring – is hair I’d sell my left foot for. Alastair really has that trendy East London look perfected with his man bun, tattooed arms (I could sit for hours looking at that inked artwork and still manage to find something new that I hadn’t noticed before – angels, aliens, clock faces, pin-up girls – they’re all in there), and his ability to pull off the double denim look with ease – I’d just look like I was auditioning to be in a B*witched tribute act if I attempted anything similar.
‘What about Dan and Lexie?’
Eurgh.
2
After scrambling through rush hour on the tube and heading home to freshen up, Carly and I find Alastair, Josh and Natalia already sat at a table in the corner of our local that we’ve christened ‘our spot’. Surrounded by plum plush cushions and dimly lit in the dingy pub setting, the table is scattered with empty crisp packets and, judging by the empty glasses in front of them, the boys have moved on to their second pints of the night. Having already had a trip to the gym (lads) to play squash (not so laddy), they’re both in their comfy clothes, looking rosy-cheeked from the exercise and the gym’s piping hot showers – meaning they smell yummy and fresh, too.
Natalia, on the other hand, is still in her smart grey work suit (she loves a fitted jacket/skirt combo) and is perched to the side of Alastair, frowning into her iPhone – no doubt scouring the internet for an antique piece of furniture or discontinued piece of fabric made in the deep dark holes of some faraway place. Her petite frame is hunched over in frustration, but as Alastair nudges her to let her know we’ve arrived, the worry dissolves and she looks up with a beautiful smile, sweeping her long dark hair away from her tanned face and flicking it elegantly over her shoulder. She jumps up from her seat and wraps her arms around both of us at once.
We sway in our hug, all ‘Aahing’ at being reunited –
something that never fails to spread a tinkling of happiness through my weary workday bones.
‘Hiya,’ sings Carly with a grin, breaking away and plonking herself down next to Josh, who instantly pulls her in for a hug and kisses her on the head. My bearded blond friend is unquestionably the best hugger to have ever graced the earth – it’s one of his better qualities and makes up for the fact that he’s usually late for everything and is the messiest person ever. His hugs really surround you and make you feel safe – it’s probably aided by the fact that he’s not muscle-ready like Dan, or model-thin like Alastair. He’s simply wonderful.
‘Beer?’ Josh asks, as Carly picks up his pint and takes a swig from his glass. There’s no need for polite etiquette here – there never is when you’ve seen each other in the worst states possible.
‘Please,’ Carly grins, her freckled face making her look like a naughty child. Even though she returned from travelling a couple of years ago (just in time to witness me get savagely dumped) she’s still managed to maintain her bohemian look – her white blonde hair looks continuously windswept no matter what she does with it, and her clothes always have that slight ‘rolled out of bed’ look about them. A look she manages to pull off effortlessly. If I tried out that style I’d appear ten sizes larger than I am and my mum would be chasing after me with an iron. Oh the shame that’s attached to a creased top in my family home!
‘That’s us, then,’ says Alastair in his warm Leeds accent, looking around the table once the drinks and food have been ordered. His thick long hair is pulled up into an effortless man bun, giving me serious hair envy. It seems so
unfair that my hair – which, as society has led us to believe, should always be down in lusciously flowing locks – is frizzy and uncontrollable, whereas his – which society denotes should be kept short and boring – is hair I’d sell my left foot for. Alastair really has that trendy East London look perfected with his man bun, tattooed arms (I could sit for hours looking at that inked artwork and still manage to find something new that I hadn’t noticed before – angels, aliens, clock faces, pin-up girls – they’re all in there), and his ability to pull off the double denim look with ease – I’d just look like I was auditioning to be in a B*witched tribute act if I attempted anything similar.
‘What about Dan and Lexie?’
Readers choose
Mark Sakamoto
Celia Aaron
Joseph Robert Lewis
Matthew Costello
Lily R. Mason
Hank Phillippi Ryan
Chris Ryan
Raymond L. Weil
Susan Price