Living the Dream Read online

  Living

  The

  Dream

  by

  M J Hardy

  Copyrighted Material

  Copyright © M J Hardy 2019

  M J Hardy has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the Author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction and except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

  Contents

  Have you Read

  Prologue

  Part 1 – Anthony & Arabella

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Part 2 – Anton & Fleur

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Part 3 – Miranda & James

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Part 4 – Venetia & Matthew

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Part 5 – The Ten Commandments

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Epilogue

  Note from the Author

  Other books

  Have you read:

  Living the Dream

  Would you kill a friend to save your relationship?

  If you really love someone, would you trust them with your life?

  Four women live a life the rest of us can only dream about. Magnificent homes, designer wardrobes and men that make Prince Charming look average.

  However, after a visit to a fortune teller, they are left shaken and fear the future. They are about to learn that friendship counts for nothing against the need to survive.

  What happens when the dream turns into a living nightmare?

  They are about to find out – the hard way.

  Who will be left standing when the dust settles and who pays the ultimate price?

  We all want to be living the dream – don’t we?

  Want the dream

  Believe in the dream

  Work for the dream

  Live the dream

  Keep the dream?

  Prologue

  The Day it began

  Arabella

  I watch Miranda head towards us and notice she looks a little pale. Venetia rolls her eyes as Fleur pipes up, “Well, how was it, what did she say?”

  Miranda sits in the leather seat opposite and shrugs. “Oh, you know, the usual.”

  We all look at her expectantly and I don’t miss the slight tremble to her bottom lip and the look of blind panic in her eyes. However, she soon pulls the mask in place and says brightly, “Bloody charlatan. I’m convinced she says the same things to everyone. Why don’t we compare notes at the end and then you’ll see I’m right?”

  Fleur grins. “I’ll go next and if she is a con artist, I’ll soon suss her out.”

  I watch her head purposefully towards the door and then I look with surprise as Miranda reaches for a glass of water and note the slight shake to her hand. Venetia catches my eye and the look we share tells me she’s noticed it too and not for the first time, I wonder if this was such a good idea.

  Fleur organised it as a bit of a laugh and I suppose we all thought it would be. Mind you, I’ve always been a little scared of dabbling in things like this and by the look in Miranda’s eye I was right to be concerned.

  We make polite conversation for close on twenty minutes before the door opens and Fleur exits the room. For once she appears to have lost a little of her bravado and swagger and looks well… shaken.

  She sees me looking and laughs nervously. “Total nonsense. It’s all quite laughable, really.”

  Venetia looks worried. “Maybe I should give it a miss then. I mean, I don’t want to waste money on a crook.”

  Fleur fixes her with a hard look and says roughly, “Rubbish. You go next and don’t even try to back out. We’re all in this together and nobody gets to dodge anything.”

  She fixes Venetia with the look, the one that we know to ignore at our peril and so, with a sigh, Venetia stands and says somewhat belligerently, “Ok, but for the record, I’m doing this under duress.”

  Fleur sighs as Venetia disappears through the door at the end and then looks across at Miranda. “Are you ok, babe?”

  She laughs nervously, “Nothing a bottle of wine won’t cure.”

  Fleur laughs but I can see her usual confidence has slightly diminished and wonder what on earth Desdemona Fortune is saying in there?

  When Fleur told us about the fortune teller, we were all sceptical. I’ve never been one to believe in anything not based on fact but Fleur told us a friend of hers recommended it and that Desdemona was spot on. She organised the visit for us all as a bit of a laugh, a girly day out that will end with an alcoholic lunch at our favourite bistro nearby. We envisaged laughing about the premonitions and sharing tales of coincidence and amazing predictions. However, by the looks on their faces, it was far from the laugh they thought it would be.

  For once the conversation is minimal. Instead, my two friends seem fixated on anything other than making eye contact or actual conversation. I watch Fleur flick through a fashion magazine but even I can see her eyes aren’t seeing anything before them. Miranda is checking her phone, but the screen has remained the same the entire time and it’s obvious she’s pre-occupied with whatever it is she heard and I shiver as I wait nervously for my turn.

  We all look up as the door opens and Venetia heads towards us looking angry and I look at her in surprise as she says roughly, “Hurry up, Arabella, the sooner you get your turn over with, the sooner we leave. You know, I can’t wait to get out of this place, it’s making me feel quite ill.”

  Jumping up, I head towards the door at the end and wonder what lies behind it. From the reactions of my three friends it’s doubtful I’m going to like what it contains and so, I try to keep an open mind and knock nervously before heading inside.

  The light in the room is dark and mysterious and I look around me with trepidation. Velvet walls add to the sense of mystery and anticipation and the only light in the room is from the glow of the many candles set around the perimeter.

  My heart starts banging and my mouth is dry and I run my tongue around my lips nervously as I make out the figure sitting at the table in the centre.

  The woman waiting is textbook Fortune teller. Her head is covered by a silk scarf and the gold hoops in her ears add to the image. Her face is calm, and she projects an air of serenity as she smiles mysteriously and gestures to the seat in front of her.

 
As I take the seat offered, she holds out her hand and says in a soft voice, “Cross my hand with silver and you shall see the future.”

  I grip hold of the shiny 50p piece that we were instructed to bring and lay it on her outstretched palm thinking that I wish it did just cost 50p because if I remember rightly, it cost ten times that when I paid online to book my appointment.

  The business side of this settles my heart a little as I try to tell myself that’s just what this is—business. This woman makes a living from theatrics and we are pandering to her by being one of the gullible idiots who pass through these doors each day.

  I dig deep inside for my courage and face Desdemona Fortune with cynicism and disbelief as my companions and steel myself for what she’s about to reveal.

  I watch her roll the 50p piece around her hands before raising it her lips. She kisses it and then places it in a money box by the side and smiles. “Thank you.”

  Reaching out, she takes my hands in hers and I look down at the tanned, wrinkled, fingers, gripping my own so tightly and try to relax.

  For a minute, she just holds me and I watch her close her eyes and almost fall into a trance.

  My heart beats frantically because the whole situation is one of theatrics and effects and despite my scepticism, I feel sucked into the whole charade.

  It surprises me to see her hands start to shake a little and I feel the vibrations through my fingers and look at her nervously. Her eyes are still closed but I see a pulse twitching at her temple and her breathing becomes hard and laboured. It feels strange watching her go through some sort of spasm and I tell myself it’s all part of her act. It almost becomes embarrassing because she says nothing and just holds onto my hands with an iron grip and I feel my sweat join hers as she grips me tightly.

  Then, when I feel totally spooked, she opens her eyes and the look she throws me drives fear to my heart. They are filled with tears and so much pain I wonder if she’s about to have a heart attack. Shaking her head frantically, she gasps and moans like a grieving widow, “Nooo…”

  She grips me tighter and I watch the tears bubble up and spill over her cheeks as she rasps, “It’s too much, I can’t deal with it.”

  Fidgeting on my seat, I laugh nervously, “Is everything ok?”

  Wildly, she shakes her head and her lip trembles and she chokes out, “Beware the Ten Commandments.”

  Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, I whisper, “What do you mean?”

  Pulling back, she turns away and reaches for a handkerchief and says roughly, “I saw terrible things, my dear. Your future is shrouded in grief and shadows. Nothing was clear except for total devastation. You’re not safe and your life is…”

  I feel alarmed and say slightly hysterically, “What did you see?”

  She leans back in her seat and visibly shakes as she looks at me with so much pity, I find it difficult to breathe. “Beware the Ten Commandments.”

  I start to feel the anger bubbling up inside me and wonder if this is what made Venetia so angry. My friends are right, she has probably said the same thing to all of us, so I take it all with a pinch of salt and say briskly, “Ok, what exactly do you mean by that? I mean, I thought you may tell me I was due to start a family, or go on a nice holiday, you know the type of thing.”

  To be honest, as I voice the words I’d hoped to hear, I realise why I agreed to come in the first place. To say I’m desperate for a child is an understatement, and I wanted her to tell me one was in my immediate future.

  She appears to check herself and leans forward, whispering. “Look after yourself, Arabella, because no one else will.”

  The knot that’s forming inside me is growing by the second. What does she mean, of course Anthony will look after me, he’s my husband and we’re mad about one another?

  Feeling annoyed, I wish I’d never come and say firmly, “Is that it? What did you see exactly? I mean, if it’s so bad, why can’t you tell me what it is and I’ll prepare for it? It’s all very easy to say words that aren’t backed up by fact but you’ve got to give me something more to go on.”

  She looks worried and nods, before her eyes fall to the door behind me.

  “The other women, they may be your friends but they hold the key to your future. Stay guarded and believe nothing. You need to be strong for what fate has in store for you and the only one you’ve really got is yourself.”

  I feel the desperation taking hold and almost shout, “Why, what’s going to happen?”

  She slumps back in her seat and closes her eyes, saying in a small voice, “A nightmare.”

  I watch in confusion as she stands and heads towards a door at the back of the room. With one hand on the handle and still with her back to me, she says in a defeated voice, “Leave - all of you! The energy you have brought is bad. I don’t want you here—go!”

  Before I can say anything, she heads through the door slamming it behind her, leaving me feeling like a fool. An angry fool at that and I feel that anger bubbling up under the surface as I make my way to the opposite door.

  Miranda was right - bloody charlatan.

  Lunch is a totally different affair than the one we envisaged. As we all sit gloomily nursing large glasses of wine, I wonder who will be the first one to voice what’s just happened.

  It turns out to be Venetia because she sighs and sets her glass down, saying wearily, “Ok, I’ll go first. That woman, well, she speaks in riddles. I don’t know what I thought she’d say but something at least. All she told me was my future was dark and there was no hope.”

  She laughs nervously. “I mean, what’s that supposed to mean? I tried to ask her and she just fixed me with a hate-filled look and told me to beware the Ten Commandments.”

  Fleur interrupts. “She said that to me too. I asked if Anton was going to get his transfer deal and she just looked at me as if I were an idiot. She shook her head and said exactly the same. Beware the Ten Commandments.”

  Miranda nods. “Same. You know, she kept looking at me and shaking her head. I asked her what she saw, and she almost spat the words at me. Those same bloody words she said to you about the Ten Commandments. To be honest, I just don’t know what to make of it all. I feel inclined to demand a refund because she has told me absolutely nothing.”

  They look at me and I nod in agreement. “Same. Beware the Ten Commandments. What do you think she meant by that?”

  Fleur shrugs. “From what I remember, it’s all that stuff about not stealing or committing adultery. To be honest, she must be mad because why would any of us steal? We have more money between us than most banks and as for adultery, well, does she even know who my husband is?”

  As usual, she looks around at us smugly as Miranda says somewhat cattily, “Since when was Anton your husband?”

  I watch the colour rise in Fleur’s cheeks as she snaps irritably, “That’s just a detail. He will be soon; he just needs to get the season out of the way and if I know him, he’s planning a beachside wedding in a tropical paradise just as soon as he finishes.”

  I catch Venetia’s eye and she shakes her head. Yes, Fleur is desperate to make the step up from a footballer’s girlfriend to an official wife. Anton doesn’t seem in any hurry though, despite what my friend just said. No, Anton seems more than happy with things just the way they are and despite the constant nagging of his girlfriend has yet to make it official.

  We don’t hang around and soon return home to the cul-de-sac of four homes that make up The Chase. An executive group of homes that sit behind security gates in the leafy suburb of Esher. As we all make our way to our respective homes, I wonder if things will change as a result of our afternoon.

  As it happens – everything changes.

  Part 1

  Anthony

  &

  Arabella

  1

  The door slams and I feel my heart lift.

  He’s home.

  Dropping my oven gloves, I race into the large, marble tiled, hallway and race to greet my h
usband. He flings his keys onto the hall table and opens his arms as I jump into them. As they fold around me, I cling to the man I love as if I haven’t seen him in months instead of the usual working day.

  As I snuggle against him, he strokes my hair, whispering, “I missed you, Bella.”

  Pulling back, I stroke his face and whisper, “Me too.”

  He lowers his lips to mine and we share a deep kiss that comes with the sort of love that unites souls. He is my soul mate, my love and my husband. The man I promised to love forever, through sickness and in health and I meant every word.

  Pulling back, he grins, “So, how was your day, darling? A lot better than mine I hope.”

  I look at him with concern and he shakes his head. “Don’t mind me, just the usual problems that go with being a hotshot film producer. You know the sort of things, actors forgetting their lines, stunts going wrong and catering not turning up.”

  I throw him a sympathetic look and he sighs. “I need a drink more than anything right now.”

  “Of course, come through and I’ll fix it while you tell me what went wrong.”

  He follows me into possibly the largest domestic kitchen ever built. It was the wow factor of the house we chose together and is the heartbeat of our home. Warm, welcoming and yet sleek and modern, consisting of chrome, steel and granite, designed by the best kitchen company in the country. It cost more than some people spend on a house and yet to us—it was nothing. Money has never been tight and what we want, we get. I suppose it’s one of the benefits of being married to someone who has delivered more award-winning programmes than any other and is in demand all over the world. However, to me, he’s my husband; the man I love and my best friend and we live a charmed existence wrapped in happiness and love.

  As I pour him his usual drink of choice, gin and tonic with lots of ice and lemon, he kicks off his shoes and leans against the counter while ripping off his tie and sighing heavily. “Thanks, darling, you know, coming home to you makes sense of it all. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be a screwed-up mess and probably festering in an alley somewhere.”