A Dark Fall [ORIGINAL & UNEDITED VERSION]

Seven

As much as I like sex dreams when they happen - and since it's the only kind of sex I'm having right now and I'll take what I can get - they don't normally happen with people who I know in real life. I tend to have sex dreams about random strangers I saw on the train, or actors I didn't realise I found attractive until they appeared as confident sexy lovers in my dreams. Sex dreams about dangerous men who want to feel themselves inside me are another thing altogether.

However, maybe sex dreams are the only realistic option when it comes to Jake. Sex dreams are manageable and safe. Something real life Jake isn't. Maybe I should be thankful about this sex dream too then. What I'm most definitely not thankful for is the fact that my stupid alarm woke me up before I got to feel dream-Jake inside me.

I lie back down and beg sleep to take me back under so I can go back there, back to where he's touching and kissing me and where it's okay that he is. When I close my eyes I swear I can smell him on me and around me and it's enough to make me slide my hand down between my legs and into my knickers. I stop after a few seconds because it's not the same. It's not him.

I groan and kick my legs, which wakes up Fred who stands and stretches before immediately mewling at me for his breakfast. I try and ignore him for a minute or two and pretend I'm not really awake but he's loud and obnoxious when he's hungry and finally I swing my legs out from under the quilt. Apart from the sexual frustration, I actually feel fresher than I thought I would, the mercury and champagne seeming to have let me off lightly thank god. I do not do hangovers and I hate admitting to myself, or anyone else, that I even have one - I feel given my sensible head and profession I should know better.

It's gorgeous outside and after a luxurious shower filled with awake dreaming about him, I head out to get the papers and some fresh croissants from the bakery, which I plan to enjoy in the garden. Once out of the house and in the fresh air I try and reason out the Jake dilemma. If I could even call it that. So he wants to see me again and now that I'm not standing next to him being overcome by his face and mouth surely analyzing whether its possible should be easier.

Firstly, I don't trust myself around him. He makes my brain all soft and unfamiliar. Secondly, he's not my type. I've never even been on a date with a guy like him. I wouldn't even know where to find a guy like him - late night surgeries and nightclub ruses aside. Thirdly, he's clearly trouble. I really don't like trouble. I like safe, and distinctly non-troubling men - I always have. A voice inside my head says What? like Ben? in a sarcastic tone and I have to give her that. Ben was a whole load of trouble I never planned for.

But Jake Lawrence screams trouble from a distance and that's different. He practically has a warning label attached to his crotch. He's neither safe nor manageable and those are two things that my life is and always has been. No. He doesn't fit into my life in any way whatsoever. No, I can't see him again. Nope. Dilemma sorted.

"Morning Alex, lovely isn't it?" Donald Stephens says as I pass. He's trimming his hydrangea bush at the wall of his front garden down the road from me at number 4. He's possibly the nicest man you could meet; in fact everyone in this village is lovely. Well, apart from Mrs Knight. I literally cross the street to avoid her.

"Morning Don, yeah its gorgeous." I smile. "Perfect English summer its looking like. How's Mary?" We exchange a few words before I continue to Ken's bakers for some of his amazing, warm, freshly baked croissants. The smell of them as I walk home makes my mouth water, and as soon as I get in I percolate some fresh coffee, smother them with marmalade and take them out to the garden where I sit reading the paper as Fred sunbathes next to me on the doorstep.

When I hear my landline ring I know it's mum calling to check arrangements for dinner so I decide to let the machine to get it so I can finish my croissants whilst they're still warm. She'll only end up talking for about half an hour about aunt Janet's new conservatory or something so I'll call her back when I'm done to hear about that. It's not mums voice I hear through the answering machine though. It's Robyn's, and it's shrill and slightly panicked.