From Ken Gregory: Dreams

Oscar was an early riser, which was odd considering he was also a dreamer. Each morning he would get out of bed as silently and slowly as possible so that he didn’t wake his long suffering wife Celia, but she was always awake when he slipped out from between the sheets. It was easier for her to lay still and try to get back to sleep rather than complain. Celia would have liked Oscar to stay in bed, feeling the warmth of his body in the early morning, and enjoy an extra hour of sleep, but she knew that he would never be able to break the habit and stay beside her.

Tiptoeing downstairs Oscar would make his first cup of tea of the day and it was then he would commence his dreaming, his day dreaming. Oscar had never been a man who was content with life. It was true that he had enjoyed a long and successful career as a buyer in a large engineering company, where his colleagues respected and valued his expertise, but it had never really bought him any joy or satisfaction. What Oscar yearned for was a job where he could make things, real things and be able to enjoy seeing the fruits of his labours in something he had made with his own two hands.

He flipped open the woodworking magazine he had delivered monthly and looked at the pictures of the elegant handcrafted furniture within that had been lovingly manufactured by gifted enthusiasts, enthusiast just like him. Oscar was a very accomplished carpenter, a hobby he had started in his schooldays, and had continued for over 30 years to become extremely skilled, as skilled as any full-time professional. And now, after working in a role he had never really enjoyed, that was what he now wanted to be. A full time carpenter, cabinet maker, working at home out of his own workshop and making bespoke pieces of beautiful furniture for discerning clients. Now was the time to make the jump he had decided. Oscar had spent the last two years putting enough money aside to tide hi and Celia over for a few months until the money starting rolling in from the many commissions he was sure that he would be getting. Now was the day he was going to tell Celia. He hadn’t slept that well last night as he thought about how he was going to broach the subject to her. As Oscar waited in the sitting room until Celia was up out of bed, he sat and dreamed of his new future.

Celia was shocked, but not that surprised. She knew how much Oscar was unhappy in his job, he had told her often enough. But Celia too wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about her role as a lowly office administrator, yet she never complained, she didn’t go on and on to Oscar about how boring her life was. No, Celia just got on with life, bringing in her share of the money to help pay the bills and never complained. She didn’t complain at weekends either when Oscar spent every minute in his workshop and she was left to do all of the housework on her own. But what could she do? Oscar had planned everything down to the last detail and saved enough of the joint account funds to see them through a few months of limited income he had told her. At the expense of last year’s Mediterranean holiday it now transpired. Oscar was happy, Celia wasn’t

It felt good handing in his notice and even though Oscar had to offer three months notice, he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. He was sure Celia would be in a much better mood when he returned home. He would be a much happier husband and if his plan came to fruition, just like he had dreamed it would, then Celia could give up work too and become his book-keeper maybe?

The house was quiet when he shut the door behind him. Celia was late tonight he thought, usually she would be in kitchen by now preparing dinner. He looked in each room to see where she might be, but there was no sign of her. After sitting and reading his woodworking magazine again he tried her mobile, but that went straight to voicemail. Oscar wasn’t sure what made him go upstairs to the bedroom and look in the wardrobes but he did it instinctively and saw the empty spaces where Celia’s clothes should be hanging. He saw the space on top of the wardrobe where they stored the suitcases for their Mediterranean holidays. Celia was gone.

The Eurostar carrying Celia to Paris sped through the French countryside to her own dream. A dream of pavement cafes, art galleries and elegantly dressed women. Celia dreamed of being an elegantly dressed woman, she could do that, her French was passible even if rude Parisians would tut-tut and pick her up on her mistakes. She’d get a job as a waitress on one of those pavement cafes she pictured in her mind. She’d serve customer with a laugh and a smile, happy to help. She also had enough money to see her through for a month or two until she became settled somewhere. When she noticed how much money Oscar appeared to be syphoning off from the joint account alarm bells started to ring. Whatever he was planning, two could play at that game she had reasoned. Celia had dreams of her own, and hers were about to come true.