Heartache High by Jon Jacks Read Free Book Online Page B

we might not get
to see this Lamia after all?’
    ‘Possibly,’ I
agree. ‘But I noticed you said we; just a slip of the tongue,
yeah?’
    ‘No way!’ says
Dave firmly. ‘I said we because when you get to meet her, I
want to be there too! What about you Jassy?’
    He turns to
Jassy, his eyebrows quizzically raised behind his
glasses.
    ‘Wouldn’t miss
it – as long as you’re okay giving us a running commentary
Steph?’
    ‘Sure; if it
helps you begin to realise I’m telling the truth about these
so-called dreams.’
    ‘Okay,’ says
Dave, turning away from us. ‘I’ll get us some sandwiches – coffee
anyone?’
     
     
    *
     
     
    We’ve finished
the sandwiches.
    We’ve drunk the
coffee.
    And still
nothing.
    ‘Perhaps the
dream’s not going to tap into the visit to Lamia,’ I say
apologetically.
    ‘Maybe they
stopped off for more than a coffee…’ Jassy says
hopefully.
    ‘Or, maybe, they
have an appointment, so they can’t just turn up just like
that.’
    ‘Ah, at least
you’re beginning to talk about these dreams like they really are
connected with the real world Dave!’
    He
shrugs.
    ‘They’re odd,
I’ve got to admit to that.’
    ‘They might have
already seen her of course,’ I point out. ‘In which case, we’re all
waiting around here for nothing.’
    ‘The sandwiches
were nice.’ Dave balls up the sandwich wrappers and tosses them
into a nearby waste basket.
    ‘Perhaps it’s
because we’re here, preventing you drifting off into a day
dream.’
    ‘Jassy,’ I
laugh, ‘I’ve slipped into a dream while amongst a full class of
people.’
    ‘Ah, but you
haven’t been asked to give a running commentary; it might not be
possible to dream and let someone else know what’s going
on.’
    ‘Maybe,’ I
agree.
    ‘Let’s give it
another hour,’ Dave says, turning to urgently wave at a group of
student’s languidly making their way to the refectory.
    ‘Oi, Ben; could
you fetch us back coffee and sandwiches for three?’
     
     
    *
     
     
    It’s China Town
in Soho right enough; I recognise it from pictures I’ve seen in
magazines.
    Paved
streets.
    Elaborately
carved decorations, painted bright red.
    Oddly flattened
chickens roasting in the windows.
    Flags and
banners hanging from the buildings, fluttering and snapping in the
breeze.
    Iain’s very
subdued, like he’s angry, holding all his emotions in check in case
he’ll explode if he begins to say anything.
    I don’t seem
particularly bothered by this. Somehow, I get the impression I’m
just a little tired with his childish behaviour.
    It looks like
we’re stepping through the door into one of the larger restaurants.
But once we’re inside, instead of taking the glass door to one side
leading into the restaurant itself, we head up a narrow flight of
stairs.
    A few more
flights follow, until we must be at least five floors
up.
    I seem to
remember clambering up a similar set of stairs, but if I ever did,
it must have been in some other building.
    ‘Unless this
really is your past,’ Dave points out. ‘In which case it’s just
something you’ve filed to the back of your mind. But now your
conscience is gradually – very gradually – forcing you to
remember it.’
    I knock on a
small door decorated with whirling images of dark green and
red.
    ‘Please come
in!’
    Inside, it’s the
same dark greens and reds, giving a vague impression that we’re
underwater.
    The mainly dim
lighting seems to have been designed to add to this watery grave
effect. The only bright spots are sharp beams highlighting a
collection of samurai-style arms and armour spread around the edges
of the room.
      A woman comes across to greet us, smiling, her hand out in
readiness to be shaken.
    ‘I’ve been
expecting you,’ she says gaily.
     
     
    *

Chapter 18
     
     ‘ She’s Chinese?’ Dave asks.
    ‘No, I don’t
think so,’ I answer honestly. ‘Mixed race, probably. Very
beautiful. Incredibly glamorous.’
    Iain’s taken
aback by her