In Your Dreams: Chapter 1

Page 1 of 8 - first draft

I didn't choose to be tramping through tall weeds in a church graveyard on Halloween night, the sickle moon lighting my way as I moved further away from the bright glare of my children's school. I could still hear the general hubbub within, their bright voices vying with equally vocal parental chatter at the Halloween Bazaar (spelt 'Bizarre', of course) and Disco.

Somewhere in the melee of dancers would be a seven-year-old witch named Rosie and a five-year-old skeleton named Alfie, my flesh and blood, being overseen by my indomitable sister-in-law Zoe, who thought I'd just nipped out to the toilet. None of them would miss me for a while. After all, when you're nine months' pregnant, you can pee for a very long time indeed.

As I wended my way through gravestones as scattered as dismembered bones, I hoped this wouldn't take long, and I'd be back before they noticed. I also wondered at the folly of what I was doing. I mean, I could go into labour any minute. I know that sounds overly dramatic, but it could happen. I could imagine my waters breaking right there, spraying all over the last resting place of, say, 'Mr William Willard, late of this parish', giving the parched winter-flower pansies on his patch a new lease of life.

It would be truly ironic if it happened, as this baby had spurned all other tried and tested natural methods to induce labour. But I pushed the thought - and the risk aside. It was essential for me to find a place where I could be alone. The scene in the Bizarre had made this necessity abundantly clear. I couldn't do what I had to do near any other person - certainly not within range of their sense of smell, at any rate. As my feet finally found the gravel path, I stopped and looked back over my shoulder, half-expecting to see a queue of salivating mothers trying to creep up behind me, having followed my short cut through the gate that joined the school playground to the churchyard. I can't tell you the relief I felt to see nothing but darkness in my wake. A shiver of anticipation skittered down my spine. Soon, soon, I would be able to enjoy a moment's peace and open the plastic box I clutched to my stomach, a box that the baby kept kicking as if it too could smell what awaited me inside this nondescript Tupperware container.

I waddled along the path away from the church towards the lych-gate where I could find shelter against a stirring wind and a cold wooden bench to sit down on. I was also keen to put some distance between myself and the graves - but not because I was feeling particularly spooked. All that talk about Halloween night being the time when the dividing line between the living and the dead became blurred was just folklore and superstition, and a good excuse for some harmless fun. It wasn't that I expected the opening of my precious box to make the dead arise (though it was amusing to wonder whether zombies had a sense of smell). It was more that I suspected that some of my children's classmates might be lurking behind the larger headstones, awaiting some person silly enough to be wandering around St. John's after dark on Halloween night - someone like me.

Only an hour ago, I wouldn't have dreamt about doing this. Only an hour ago, I was a somewhat contented mother-of-two wandering around the Bizarre, slowly caving in to my children's pleas for tombola and raffle tickets, crisps and drinks, white elephant merchandise, a chance to guess the teddy's name and sundry other games and diversions.

Then came the innocuous request, from Rosie I think, but I truly can't remember now, for a piece of cake. I was queuing up with the children by the Lucky Dip and, as they didn't want to give up their place in the long line of impatient children, I offered to go find the cake stand.

"Chocolate" one of them said. "It has to be chocolate!"