out of bed like a Jack in the Box. Mum?
The act of plunging my brain into unexpected motion is against my laws of nature. A slow unravelling of my mental faculties is always my preferred method of starting the day, particularly after such a late, stressful night.
‘Don’t forget we’re going to the travel agents at ten. Will you be back by then?’
‘Love, I’m taking the dog for a walk, not a bloody hike. ‘Course I’ll be back by ten.’
Hopefully the boundary between dreaming and wakefulness will be dissolved by shaking my head and rubbing my eyes. This must be the vivid dream that Majique’s website had stated would happen, because what on earth would Mum and Dad be doing here with the dog?
Hang on! What dog? They don’t have a dog. What’s going on?
‘I’m thinking a cruise this time, darls. Perhaps the one around the Mediterranean. What do you think?’
‘Sounds great.’
‘Or maybe the one around Alaska and the North Pole?’
‘Sounds great.’
They’re going on a holiday? Mum and Dad have never been away on holidays, except to Sorrento for two weeks each Christmas. They’ve never been able to afford one, or the time away from their small businesses.
‘Rodney! Which one? Help me choose.’
‘I am perfectly happy with either one. Just as long as I’m with you,’ Dad says.
‘Aww, Rodney,’ Mum’s voice softens. ‘You’re such a romantic.’
‘Happy wife, happy life, love,’ Dad says and then whistles loudly. ‘Gonzo! Gonzo, come on boy, let’s go for a walk. Back soon, love.’
There is a loud kissing sound, a delighted squeal and some quiet mumbling.
‘Ohh, Rodney! You’re such a devil!’
Urgh! The dream has shifted into nightmare territory.
My eyes travel around the room. It’s familiar, too familiar. My old bedroom had been transformed into an office when I moved into my cottage, but here it is, in its former state. What a dream! It feels so real.
I launch off the bed, open the door and walk outside.
‘Ah, there you are, Lou. I thought I was going to have to come in and wake you up. It’s nearly six thirty, darls. You’d better get a move on. You’re normally fed and watered and out the door by seven.’
My eyes continue to travel around the lounge room and kitchen. It’s been renovated and now looks less of an 80s hangover and more like something from Belle magazine. The colour palette is beautiful, similar to my own cottage with whites, browns and aquamarine. The floors are covered in high gloss white tiles, the walls adorned with beachy abstract art and a sense of calm prevails, which is odd because calm is not an adjective that could be used to describe Mum.
God, this is so surreal! There must have been some mighty powerful magic released last night to make me feel so floaty and real at the same time .
‘Love, did you hear me?’ Mum asks and grabs my upper arm with her cold, wet, sudsy hand.
The sensation snaps me out of my dreamy fog. I reach out to touch Mum. Is she real? No one is supposed to feel anything in dreams, particularly not the wet, soapy hands of their mother. Soap suds rest on my arm and tickle as they pop.
‘Mum?’
‘No, it’s Duchess Kate. Who else would it be?’
Well, it certainly sounds like Mum.
‘No, I mean…’ I try to gather my thoughts but they were scattered around me in so many pieces that it would be impossible to pick them up again. ‘This isn’t a dream?’
Mum cackles with laughter. ‘Livin’ the dream. Yes, Dad and I certainly are. But you are not. You have to get ready for work. Mr Fancy Pants Executive won’t like to be kept waiting, I’m sure.’
I freeze, not wanting to ask the next question, but it falls out of my gaping mouth anyway.
‘What job?’
I’m a teacher, second grade at St. Andrews. I’ve been there for six years. How could I have a new job and not be aware of it?
Mum continues, ‘That agency sure keeps you busy. You must be a favourite of theirs for all this work to keep
The act of plunging my brain into unexpected motion is against my laws of nature. A slow unravelling of my mental faculties is always my preferred method of starting the day, particularly after such a late, stressful night.
‘Don’t forget we’re going to the travel agents at ten. Will you be back by then?’
‘Love, I’m taking the dog for a walk, not a bloody hike. ‘Course I’ll be back by ten.’
Hopefully the boundary between dreaming and wakefulness will be dissolved by shaking my head and rubbing my eyes. This must be the vivid dream that Majique’s website had stated would happen, because what on earth would Mum and Dad be doing here with the dog?
Hang on! What dog? They don’t have a dog. What’s going on?
‘I’m thinking a cruise this time, darls. Perhaps the one around the Mediterranean. What do you think?’
‘Sounds great.’
‘Or maybe the one around Alaska and the North Pole?’
‘Sounds great.’
They’re going on a holiday? Mum and Dad have never been away on holidays, except to Sorrento for two weeks each Christmas. They’ve never been able to afford one, or the time away from their small businesses.
‘Rodney! Which one? Help me choose.’
‘I am perfectly happy with either one. Just as long as I’m with you,’ Dad says.
‘Aww, Rodney,’ Mum’s voice softens. ‘You’re such a romantic.’
‘Happy wife, happy life, love,’ Dad says and then whistles loudly. ‘Gonzo! Gonzo, come on boy, let’s go for a walk. Back soon, love.’
There is a loud kissing sound, a delighted squeal and some quiet mumbling.
‘Ohh, Rodney! You’re such a devil!’
Urgh! The dream has shifted into nightmare territory.
My eyes travel around the room. It’s familiar, too familiar. My old bedroom had been transformed into an office when I moved into my cottage, but here it is, in its former state. What a dream! It feels so real.
I launch off the bed, open the door and walk outside.
‘Ah, there you are, Lou. I thought I was going to have to come in and wake you up. It’s nearly six thirty, darls. You’d better get a move on. You’re normally fed and watered and out the door by seven.’
My eyes continue to travel around the lounge room and kitchen. It’s been renovated and now looks less of an 80s hangover and more like something from Belle magazine. The colour palette is beautiful, similar to my own cottage with whites, browns and aquamarine. The floors are covered in high gloss white tiles, the walls adorned with beachy abstract art and a sense of calm prevails, which is odd because calm is not an adjective that could be used to describe Mum.
God, this is so surreal! There must have been some mighty powerful magic released last night to make me feel so floaty and real at the same time .
‘Love, did you hear me?’ Mum asks and grabs my upper arm with her cold, wet, sudsy hand.
The sensation snaps me out of my dreamy fog. I reach out to touch Mum. Is she real? No one is supposed to feel anything in dreams, particularly not the wet, soapy hands of their mother. Soap suds rest on my arm and tickle as they pop.
‘Mum?’
‘No, it’s Duchess Kate. Who else would it be?’
Well, it certainly sounds like Mum.
‘No, I mean…’ I try to gather my thoughts but they were scattered around me in so many pieces that it would be impossible to pick them up again. ‘This isn’t a dream?’
Mum cackles with laughter. ‘Livin’ the dream. Yes, Dad and I certainly are. But you are not. You have to get ready for work. Mr Fancy Pants Executive won’t like to be kept waiting, I’m sure.’
I freeze, not wanting to ask the next question, but it falls out of my gaping mouth anyway.
‘What job?’
I’m a teacher, second grade at St. Andrews. I’ve been there for six years. How could I have a new job and not be aware of it?
Mum continues, ‘That agency sure keeps you busy. You must be a favourite of theirs for all this work to keep
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