The Connoisseur

Chapter 10 - Dreaming

“I’m there.”  Sophia beamed.  “I’m so there.”

“Wonderful.  Any preference as to the destination?”

“Oh yes,” said Sophia, bouncing on her toes.  “You’re going to think it’s silly – but oh, yes.”

*

Her Dad picked her up at the station in that battered old Volvo, hugging her and welcoming her home.  As they drove down country lanes, Sophia didn’t see the dark fields and bare trees – she saw deserts, and palms, and oases, glittering under a vast crescent moon.  Tomorrow evening.

They arrived at the village and drove past the familiar landmarks: the ancient church and the lychgate, the swing on the green where she had played as a child, the pub where she had played as a teenager.  She knew every inch of the village, every path through the fields nearby, and every secret place hidden in the woods.  Most of all she knew the old farmhouse that they drove up to – those dark eaves, those hooded windows, and the welcoming lights peeping out into the night.

“You’ll guess what your mother’s going to put on for dinner,” said her Dad, his bespectacled face dimly lit by the dashboard.

“Sunday roast?” said Sophia, wondering what they ate in ancient Arabia.

“It might be Monday, but yes.  What else?”  He smiled gently at her as the car crunched over the gravel.

Sophia quietly opened the front door – Dad wouldn’t hear of her carrying her own cases from the car – and peered around the hallway, decorated for Christmas with ivy, tinsel and cards.  The grandfather clock in the corner struck five, and the smell of roasting meat wafted through the house.

“Hello?”

There was an immediate bustle from the kitchen and her Mum bowled into the hall, aproned and busy, exactly as she had been for the last twenty-two years.

“Come here, darling!” she said, sweeping her arms around her daughter.

“Hello Mum.”

“Good journey?”

Sophia smiled, thinking of litters borne by servants and dhows on the Nile.  “Fine.  All fine.”

“Good!  Your father had a terrible train journey last week on the way to London, didn’t you dear?”

Sophia’s Dad hauled her suitcases inside.  “Oh yes.”

“It was awful.  First off it was twenty minutes late, then the cafe ran out of coffee, and then those fans...which team was it dear?”

“Spurs.”

“Those Spurs fans were getting very rowdy, drinking away!  They should ban it on the train, I know I keep saying it, but they should...”

She carried on, sweeping back into the kitchen.  Sophia looked at Dad.  He sighed and winked at her.  As he took her bags up the stairs, the blond-mopped head of Sophia’s younger brother appeared, staring down at her. 

“Cured cancer yet?” he said.  He always did.

“Not yet,” replied Sophia.  She always did.  Her brother shook his head, and disappeared from view.

She stood alone in the hallway.  She could hear the rhythms of the house; fans and a burbling radio in the kitchen; the creaks of the floorboards; water humming through the pipes to the radiators.  She could hear her brother and father moving around upstairs, and her mother moving pots and pans in the kitchen.  The hall itself was very quiet.

She felt inexplicably sad.  A heavy weight drove her head down and a chill made her shiver.  None of it seemed right, and that she didn’t know why seemed the most awful thing of all.

Next to her the large, dark door to the living room was shut.  She knew what would be on the other side – the armchairs and sofa, the Christmas tree, the long mantelpiece above the little fireplace.  She wished that it would be another world, and longed for tomorrow.

*

Sophia spent the next day in restless anticipation.  The first day of a visit home always lasted forever.  She went for an early walk around the village, the gardens draped in frost.  When she came back she found the TV channels full of the usual mix of property and cookery shows, all given a Christmas makeover, all clearly filmed in the summer.  She chatted with her Mum about her course, sipping at a mug of Earl Grey whilst discussing toxicological tests and the implications of nano-scale microscopy.  Her parents always made such an effort to talk about her degree, but it didn’t make the day pass any quicker.

The morning ended and the afternoon began.  Sophia lounged in her bedroom, still filled with the stuffed toys and picture books of her childhood.  She was browsing on her phone for last-minute Christmas presents when a slim volume on one of the bookcases caught her eye.  The case wasn’t hers, but one that her parents had put in there now she was away at university for most of the year.  The book looked old, being bound in black with little embossed letters on the spine.  The Thousand and One Nights: she didn’t know that her parents had a copy.

Sophia leapt for it.  She’d seen a stage adaptation of it once, and the pencil sketches in the book instantly reminded her of the scenes.  Here was Shahrayar, infuriated by his wife’s unfaithfulness into a terrible revenge against womankind: he would marry a virgin each night, and execute her in the morning.  Here was the vizier, despairing of his master’s demands for more victims until only his own beloved daughter remained. 

And here was that daughter.  Shahrazad, Sahrzad, Scheherazade: however it was spelt, she was still the greatest storyteller of all, using tales to save the women of the kingdom and redeem the King.  She would tell him a story each night, but always stop at the cliffhanger moment – how could he possibly kill her then?  And from there had come Aladdin, Sinbad, Ali Baba, genies, magic carpets, ten thousand imitations, a million influences and immeasurable joy for so many readers, listeners and dreamers.

Sophia wondered what Alexander would think of this dream.  He’d tell her there was no such time, no such King or Queen, but he’d think of a suitable substitute.  She knew he would.  As she stared at the cover of the little book, where bright stars glittered over the desert sands, she shivered in delight.

**

It looks like Sophia's adventure with Alexander has had an effect on her.  Why do you think she was so sad when she returned home to her family, and do you think Christmas will lift her spirits?  I appreciate all your thoughts and ideas.

The picture is of a wintry Norfolk, in the east of England.  Sophia's family lives in this part of the world.  Give me a frost-clad English countryside over adventures abroad anyday :)