Chapter Ten: A Horrible Dream

This morning, I woke up to find that Alfonso, the small grey beetle (or weevil to be precise) who has made his home on my desk was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Alfonso gone?” I asked my wife, who was busy packing her briefcase for work.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Julian”, she muttered, angrily stuffing her Blackberry in on top of her low calorie cous cous salad. “I’ve got to be in Zurich for lunch, and I’m late already- do you think you might find time to actually do something today?”

“But I play with Alfonso”, I said, feeling very discombobulated. “We have adventures.”

She slammed the briefcase shut, and squeezed her eyes really tight, as if she was trying to keep them from falling out with rage. “I’m not sure how much longer I can do this for”, she said, although it came out as more of a sob.

“Where have you put Alfonso?” I said, spilling the coffee over my favourite mug. “Not to mention the wood demons”.

In her best controlled voice, which I imagine she uses for great effect in meetings with her friends in Zurich, and Washington, and Wolverhampton, she said –

“You just don’t get it, do you? There is no Alfonso. There are no – wood demons, or whatever you called them. There is just me, and your bloody children, and this flat, and your boring little real life, and if you don’t think that’s enough – well then I’m very sorry for you.”

She turned on her heel, grabbed the briefcase and stalked out, slamming the door so loud that the pile of magazines balanced on top of the TV slid off onto the floor.

I looked around glumly, at the showroom kitchen, the remains of her fruit salad, a copy of the Financial Times covered in furious notes, and at the blank white walls and oatmeal soft furnishings of a flat I didn’t recognise.

“My life has turned into some sort of surreal nightmare”, I said to myself. And pinched myself really hard. And then pinched myself again. And again. “Stop pinching yourself”, I said.

Alfonso stopped pinching and said “Are you awake yet?”

I rubbed my eyes. “Alfonso, I’ve just had the most terrifying dream”.

“Is it as boring as your usual ones? I can’t listen for long as they are re-running every episode of The Red Hand Gang on ITV8”.

“I dreamt you had gone and that I was married!”

Without missing a beat, he struck a guitar pose on my chest, and began to trill in weevilish tones:

"Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide,
No escape from reality"

As he sang, I saw the skies clear through the window, and the trees fill with chirruping birds. And for once, I didn't squash him.