Chapter 1
Nestled in the heart of Notting Hill, London, on the second floor of a mews house, lay the office of Emma Parker, psychologist to the stars turned dream coach. Rebecca glanced up at the building that looked just like the pictures she’d seen online: pastel pink with white windowsills and bright pink geraniums in the plant pots by the entrance. Tucked away in one of the quaint, terraced buildings, there was no sign of a business apart from the small plaque next to the doorbell that said, London Dream Clinic. Rebecca felt nervous as she rang the bell. Dr Parker’s long waiting list had given her months to anticipate her first appointment, but she still had no idea what to expect. Finally, the day had come, and she sincerely hoped Dr Parker lived up to her reputation as she was getting more tired by the day and waking up at five am to head for the studio had become a challenge. On top of that, fatigue was starting to show on her face, and make-up couldn’t disguise the bags under her eyes anymore.
Working as a morning TV presenter and being in the public eye, viewers had started to question her well-being, and she didn’t like the gossip that was spreading over social media. The door buzzed, and Rebecca let herself in. The narrow staircase leading up was steep and a little worn, with chipped paint on the walls and a damaged wooden handrail that had come loose in places. Definitely not an entrance to a three-hundred-pound an hour clinic, she thought when she reached the second floor and took a moment to steady her breath before knocking on the door. After trying just about everything, Dr Parker felt like her last and only hope, and desperate to solve her sleeping issues, she mentally braced herself for her session.
“Hello, Rebecca. It’s nice to meet you. Please come in.” Dr Parker smiled as she opened the door wide. Rebecca was still out of breath, and she put a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry about the stairs. It’s an old building.”
“No problem. I’m just out of shape; I haven’t had the energy to go to the gym lately.” When Rebecca entered her office, she noted the woman was nothing like she’d imagined. From the stylish black and white headshot of Dr Parker – the only photograph on her website in which she wore a simple, black turtleneck with her hair slicked back into a blonde ponytail, she was surprised to find that this woman looked quite the opposite. Dressed in an oversized grey jumper, black leggings and white trainers, and her long hair gathered into a messy bun, she could have come straight from the gym. At first sight, there was nothing remotely slick or pretentious about her. “You look so different in real life.” Rebecca looked her up and down. “I mean, not in a bad way,” she quickly added. “Just different.”
“I get that a lot. I need to update my website, but it’s not urgent so I keep putting it off.” Dr Parker gestured to a deep, white three-seater couch with knitted throws draped over the backrest. “The photograph on my website is at least fifteen years old, taken at a time when I was trying a little too hard to establish myself professionally.”
“You certainly succeeded,” Rebecca said, pleasantly surprised that her new therapist didn’t shy away from sharing such personal information.
The old, white-washed wooden floor creaked under her feet as she crossed the space with tall windows. The room felt light and romantic, as if dreams themselves were woven into the very fabric. Soft, pastel hues adorned the walls, and delicate fairy lights twinkled around the open beams, casting a soft, ethereal glow that danced across the ceiling. The scent of lavender and vanilla lingered, and a vintage sideboard was standing against the left side wall, its surface adorned with an assortment of journals and well-worn books. A huge, intricately designed dreamcatcher hung above it, its delicate feathers swaying in the breeze of the open windows. Crystals of various shapes and sizes were displayed on the windowsills, capturing and refracting the sunlight and infusing the space with a touch of mysticism. A plush armchair stood opposite the couch, and in between was a low, wooden coffee table. Thick, neutral-coloured rugs were randomly scattered over the floor, and dream-inspired artworks graced the walls, depicting ethereal landscapes and surreal scenes.
Rebecca took in every detail, fascinated by how much everything went against her expectations. “I love your office.”
“Thank you. I’ve tried to make it as comfortable and inviting as I could. I spend a lot of time here, after all.” Dr Parker grabbed two mugs from a small cabinet that held a coffee maker and a kettle. “Coffee? Tea? Or I have sparkling water if you prefer…”
“Oh, I’d love a coffee,” Rebecca said gratefully. “I didn’t think you’d have any, and the coffee shop around the corner was already closed for the day.”
Dr Parker chuckled as she turned on the Nespresso machine. “Hey, just because I’m specialized in sleep patterns and dreams doesn’t mean I’m the coffee police. I love a good cuppa.” She put two mugs with black coffee on the table along with a small jug of milk and a bowl of brown sugar cubes. “Do you mind if I call you Rebecca? Or do you prefer Ms. Pandey?”
“No, Rebecca is fine.”
“Excellent. I prefer to keep it casual too, so please call me Emma.” Emma grabbed a notepad and a pen from her coffee table and sat back in the armchair. “I like to use pen and paper in my sessions, then I’ll type out my notes later. You’re welcome to read anything I write if it makes you feel more comfortable, and our sessions will, of course, remain strictly confidential.” She tapped her notepad a few times and studied Rebecca with curious eyes. “I’d normally start with asking you what you do for a living, but I happen to religiously watch ‘Tails and Tales,’ so I might as well admit that.”
“Oh… You watch my show?” Rebecca’s brows shot up. “You don’t fit the profile of my audience pool. It’s not exactly highbrow,” she said with a hint of humour. She felt flattered that Dr Parker knew who she was, and even more so that she liked the morning TV programme that she presented and co-produced.
“Quite the opposite. I enjoy it. It’s cute, positive, and entertaining.” Emma shrugged. “Animals always make me laugh. I have a cat myself, and I share a dog with my ex. My cat, Penny, is an exceptionally good thief who steals all kinds of things when my neighbours leave their windows open.”
Rebecca sniggered. “You should sign her up for the programme. I’m personally involved in the selection, and we’ve never had a kleptomaniac cat before.”
“I’m afraid she doesn’t steal on command, and I certainly don’t encourage her,” Emma joked. She opened her notepad and smiled. “Anyway, enough about Penny. As much as you seemed to have a pre-conceived idea of me, I probably have one about you. That’s what happens when you see someone on TV every day. You think you know them, but you don’t, so why don’t you start telling me a little bit about yourself? Your family, your upbringing, your personal life, your routine… Just so I can get to know you a little. After that, we’ll delve into your issues.”
“Okay.” Rebecca’s nerves subsided as she stirred sugar through her coffee and took a sip. Emma made her feel at ease and the session felt casual so far, like she was talking to a new friend. “I was born in London to Punjabi parents. They immigrated from India after they got married and I’m the youngest of three children; I have a brother and a sister. My mother was a housewife, or a homemaker as they say nowadays, and my father was a physiotherapist and he’s retired now. I have a good relationship with my parents and siblings…” she hesitated. “Well, as good as it can be, I suppose. My siblings are all married with children, and I’m the only one apart from one uncle in the family who never got married.”
“Was that ever an issue to them?” Emma asked.
“Yes, it was a struggle when I was younger. They pressured me to find a husband; they’re quite traditional that way, but I fought hard to follow my own path. I studied journalism and made it very clear to them that my career came first, and they finally gave up on the idea of me becoming a wife and mum anytime soon. I dated a few men, had two long-term relationships, and was even engaged to one of them, but I called it off as I didn’t feel marriage would give me as much happiness as my independence did. Breaking off the engagement was difficult. My parents and my fiancé’s parents were close, so it caused a lot of drama.” Rebecca winced, remembering the awful fights they’d had and how she’d nearly lost all contact with her parents. “But that was a long time ago and now we’re fine. We argue, of course; I think every family does, but nowadays we bicker about insignificant things rather than big life choices.”
Emma nodded. “So, would you say your personal life is fairly stable?”
“Yes,” Rebecca said. “My sister had breast cancer, but she got the all-clear last year, and since then, there’s been very little drama.”
“That’s good.” Emma jotted a few things down before she looked up again. “And are you currently in a relationship?”
“No. Even if I wanted to, my job is hectic and I’m always tired, so I prefer to spend my weekends alone in bed.” Rebecca held up a hand. “That doesn’t mean I’m a loner. I have dinner with my family twice a week, and I often see friends or colleagues for a late lunch after work.” Leaning back and crossing her legs, she realized that, apart from her sleeping problem, her life was actually pretty good. “All in all, I’d be happy if it wasn’t for my lack of sleep wearing me down.”
“And that is why you’re here.” Emma leaned forward and shot her a reassuring smile. “I can help you with that.”
Chapter 2 – Emma
Emma liked Rebecca. She possessed a certain sweetness and innocence, a vulnerable quality not evident on TV, where confidence was her public persona. Dressed much like her morning programme attire, Rebecca appeared even prettier without makeup. Emma had only seen her shoulder-length dark hair straightened, but today it held a natural wave as if left to dry in the wind after a shower. In dark jeans, sneakers, and a navy blazer with a white T-shirt underneath, she effortlessly exuded a smart look. Yet, what truly stood out were her green eyes, even more intense in person, lighter with a speck bordering on yellow running through them.
Although Emma had had many celebrity clients over the years, her disinterest in gossip magazines and limited TV watching usually made her oblivious to their fame before their first meeting. However, with Rebecca, she felt a genuine intrigue and, admittedly, a keen interest that wasn’t purely professional.
“Now that I know a bit about you – and thank you for sharing – I’ll tell you about myself and how I work,” she said, clearing her throat and taking a moment to centre herself. Commencing sessions with a new client always felt daunting, despite her long and successful career. While she typically helped clients, there were instances where some resisted opening up or weren’t prepared to work on themselves. The realm of dreams that exposed people’s deepest fears and desires fascinated Emma, and she hoped her skill at uncovering truth would guide Rebecca in the right direction. “I’m a certified psychologist with a PhD in dream therapy. I’ve practised as a psychologist for almost sixteen years, since I was twenty-six, and I’ve lead research programmes at various universities. About ten years ago, I became captivated by the subconscious, specifically dreams, and five years ago, I established The Dream Clinic.”
“And you’ve helped hundreds of people reclaim their lives,” Rebecca said. “I’ve read a lot about you. Your CV is impressive.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to interrupt. I interview people for a living, so it’s a habit.”
“That’s okay,” Emma replied with a wink. “Thank you. I’m flattered.” She put away her notepad and leaned forward, folding her hands as she steadied her elbows on her knees. “I love helping people, and satisfied clients boost my confidence. It tells me that what I do matters, and dream therapy truly works. Despite debates on dream interpretation, my results don’t lie. I believe I can help anyone, provided they’re honest with me. They need to be brave, guide me through the labyrinth of their dreams, and uncover hidden meanings. Understanding the core problem empowers them to make positive changes in their lives and, consequently, their sleep patterns. The process can be pleasant, fun, but also, in some cases, painfully difficult. Does that make sense?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Emma tilted her head, regarding Rebecca. “You’re here because you have trouble sleeping. What exactly is the problem?”
Rebecca blew out her cheeks and sank into thought for a beat. “I guess I tend to wake up in a panic in the middle of the night, and then I can’t get back to sleep. Before I started taking sleeping tablets two weeks ago, I lay awake until it was time to get up. The tablets help me sleep through the night, but they make it hard to wake up, and I look terrible in the mornings. They also make me feel drowsy, and I need to be sharp for work so that’s a challenge. They’re not a solution, but the lack of sleep was making me sick and turning me into a zombie, so I didn’t have much choice but to ask my GP for help.”
“Right. You might not want to hear this, but you have to stop taking sleeping tablets, otherwise, we won’t be able to work through this.”
“I know. I thought you’d say that.”
Emma nodded. “What is it that wakes you up? A feeling? A nightmare? Or is it something you can’t define?”
“Mainly dreams,” Rebecca said. “I can’t always remember the details, but I wake up extremely anxious, and then I can’t relax after that. I’ve tried meditation and audiobooks with sleep hypnosis, and just about every herbal medicine or tea under the sun, but nothing works.”
“But sometimes you can remember the details?”
“Yes. My dreams are very random but stressful and disturbing, nevertheless. The memory fades, but the feeling remains. It’s a feeling of unrest and dread, a sense that something terrible is about to happen. Without sleeping tablets, I get that feeling every night, whether I’ve dreamt or not.”
“Most people don’t remember their dreams, leading to the perception that they don’t dream,” Emma said. “But research suggests that we do dream every night, multiple times throughout the sleep cycle. Dreams typically occur in the REM stage, the rapid eye movement stage, which we fall into several times a night. However, dream recall can vary due to factors such as the quality of sleep, sleep disorders, medication, and individual differences in memory.” She paused, hoping Rebecca would be able to answer the following question. “Are you afraid when you wake up?”
“Hmm…” Rebecca furrowed her brows. “I’m not afraid of ghosts or scary stuff when I wake up if that’s what you mean. But, yes, I do feel fear. It’s mostly anxiety. At least I think it is because I’ll start doubting myself and my abilities. After I wake up, I’ll worry about work, about how I look, about my public perception, what my family thinks of me… everything really.”
“Okay. And is there anything you can tell me about your dreams? Any specific one you can remember? Any recent ones you felt were significant, or do you sometimes have repetitive dreams?”
“I’m sorry. I’m not sure.” Rebecca let out a long sigh. “It’s all so vague. The ones that stay with me most are about rejection. In my dreams, it happens in both social situations and work settings. I couldn’t tell you the exact details; they’re all different, but whatever happens always has big consequences.”
“Rejection by people you know? People close to you? Or strangers?”
“Mostly people I know, but not always.”
“And how long have you been having these dreams?” Emma asked.
“I’ve had them for years, but they didn’t impact my life until about a year ago when it got worse, and I started waking up every night.”
“Did anything specific happen in your life around that time?”
Rebecca rubbed her temple as she thought about that. “Nothing bad. As I said, my sister had cancer, but she got the all-clear, so it was actually a good year.”
Emma nodded. She didn’t have a lot to work with so far, but that was fine. If Rebecca decided to continue their sessions, they would take their time. She handed Rebecca a leather journal with The Dream Clinic’s logo on the front. “This is for you, whether you go ahead with our sessions or not. It’s a dream journal. Keep it next to your bed or under your pillow. As soon as you wake up, write down what you remember, no matter how sleepy you are. Tiny details that may seem insignificant can be important. That’s the very reason you’ll remember them.”
Rebecca opened it and traced the fine-lined, cream paper with a space to fill in the date at the top of each page. “You mean you’ll take me on?”
Emma chuckled. “Naturally. This may be an intake, but it’s not an interview. Remember, though, the more effort you put into this, the more it will benefit you. I only have a one-hour slot a week available, so if you can make it this time every Monday, that would be great.”
“Absolutely. Mondays at five. No problem.” Rebecca’s eyes lit up, and Emma saw a hopeful glimmer in them. “How long do you think it will take before we make progress? It’s just that I’m so tired, and it’s affecting my job. Especially if I have to stop taking sleeping tablets…”
“I understand you’re struggling, but it’s hard to say how much time we’ll need,” Emma said honestly. “Dreaming is a secret language of the mind, and you and I will have to decode that language together. Dreams are a window into our unconscious and often reflect emotions and experiences we’re not fully aware of in our waking lives. It’s not easy to get to them. Some clients are with me for weeks, some for months, or even years.” Detecting a hint of desperation in Rebecca’s expression, she pointed to the journal. “But as I said, the more work you put in, the quicker we can get to the bottom of this.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it; it’s my job.” Noting their time was up, Emma straightened herself. “I’ll see you next week. Don’t forget to use the journal. It’s essential in the process.”
“I won’t, I promise.” The way Rebecca looked at her, like a good schoolgirl embracing her homework, was kind of adorable, and it made Emma smile.
“Good,” she said, shaking Rebecca’s hand on her way out. “It was lovely meeting you, Rebecca.”
Chapter 3 – Rebecca
Even on a Monday, Notting Hill buzzed with activity as Rebecca donned her shades and strolled down St. Luke’s Mews. Tourists snapped selfies in front of the iconic buildings featured in famous films, while social media influencers orchestrated more elaborate shoots with props, gadgets, and meticulously coordinated outfits. Continuing down Westbourne Park Road, Rebecca noticed that restaurants had opened, and pubs were already filled with local creatives enjoying post-work drinks.
Rebecca didn’t usually walk very far in public as she disliked being recognised, but it was a sunny day, and for the first time in months, she felt hopeful about the future and a little more awake. Anyway, it wasn’t like she was a mega-star. She was a well-known TV presenter, but unlike teenage heartthrobs, famous singers, or actors, the paparazzi pretty much left her alone unless they happened to spot her somewhere by chance. She wasn’t a sex symbol or someone who drew attention to herself in the form of scandals either, so all in all, she was able to live her life in a normal way as long as she blended in.
The first time she’d been the topic of public debate was a month ago when speculations about her tired appearance had started. They were simply ridiculous, and headlines had included ‘What is going on with Rebecca Pandey? The Morning Talk presenter looks like she’s heading for a burn-out,’ and ‘Is Rebecca Pandey the victim of heartache?’
The articles were based on nothing, of course, and now she was forced to wear huge shades to hide her tired face. It made her furious, but what could she do? The only consolation was that soon, there would be someone else to write about. After all, why on earth would people want to read about a boring morning presenter who never publicly misbehaved and was in bed at ten pm every night? She was about as good as they got in her industry, and the lack of attention towards her public persona had always been a blessing. She was likeable, but not interesting enough to investigate until now.
Her shades were too dark, and she made a mental note to buy a new pair. Some passers-by glanced at her, but most of them ignored her, and it felt good to have a little energy back again. It was purely caused by the hope Dr Parker would help her sleep again, and that tiny bit of hope was enough to make her smile and enjoy her walk while she soaked up the sunshine.
Rebecca passed more restaurants, bars, pubs, and antique and vintage shops until she arrived at the food court in front of Westbourne Grove Studios. There were stalls selling dishes from all over the world: Chinese, Thai, Moroccan, Japanese, Jamaican, Ethiopian, German, Brazilian, Turkish, Moroccan among others, and there was even a Dutch raw herring stand. People were sitting on the steps or standing around high folding tables, eating and drinking cocktails from the Margarita stand. Music from a band playing inside the studios travelled through the open doors, inviting them to dance. It had been years since she’d been in this neighbourhood, and she was astonished by how much it had changed. Amazing aromas wafted from the stalls, drawing her in, and her eyes fell upon a Himalayan dumpling stand that she recognised.
“One portion of vegetarian dumplings, please,” she said, reaching for her bank card in her pocket. “Actually, make it two.”
“Hungry?” the chef asked with a grin.
“Yeah. I had your dumplings on a market in Hampstead Heath a couple of months ago. They were so good.”
“I’m glad you remember. I’ll throw in a few extra.” He made a big show of filling the fresh dough with the pre-prepared vegetable filling and, without looking, tossed them over his shoulder into one of the big pans filled with boiling broth on the counter behind him. “Now that you mentioned it, you do look familiar.”
Rebecca gave him a polite smile and avoided further conversation. The woman next to her, who was waiting for her order, stared at her for a moment, then smiled and gave her a nod.
“You’re Rebecca Pandey, right? I like your programme,” she said. “I’ve been watching it for years.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind.” It was Rebecca’s standard reply, which was boring at best. She always hoped she could come up with something funny. She had no trouble cracking jokes in front of the camera, but until this day, being recognised was still a strange experience she didn’t quite know how to deal with.
“You’re so good with animals,” the woman continued. “You don’t have any of your own, right?” She winced. “I’m so sorry, but I might as well admit it. I googled you and I couldn’t find any evidence of pets.”
“No, I don’t.” The woman seemed friendly, so Rebecca didn’t mind her prying. In her late thirties, she guessed, the woman had bright orange afro hair that matched her orange jeans, and a canvas pride bag was slung over her shoulder. Her eyebrows were also dyed orange, and although that might have looked strange on some, it suited her. “I’d love to have pets – I love animals – but I’m out most of the day, so it wouldn’t be fair to them. Do you have pets?” As she asked the question, Rebecca wondered why she was keeping the conversation going because she rarely talked to strangers.
“Yeah. I have a dog. He’s an old boy,” the woman said. “That’s why I left him at home. I’m planning on letting my hair down for a few hours; I’m just lining my stomach before my friends arrive, and it’s too busy and noisy for him here. His name is Bernard – he’s a St. Bernard – and unlike the dogs on your show, he hasn’t got any talents apart from begging, drooling, and cuddling while he slobbers all over me.”
Rebecca laughed. “Those are the best talents.” She looked up when the chef put her dumplings in two takeout boxes. “All the trimmings, please. Extra chilli.”
“Extra chilli? My kind of woman. I’m Lakeesha, by the way.” Lakeesha turned to the chef when he held up her takeout box. “I’ll have the same.”
“I’m Rebecca, but you already know that.”
Lakeesha chuckled. “It must be annoying to be recognised all the time.”
“It’s not so bad. I tend to blend in, and I’m not that famous.”
“Oh, come on. Who wouldn’t know the woman who makes every pet owner’s heart melt?”
“Really? Is that how you see me?” Rebecca grinned sheepishly as she felt herself blush. “But I’m not a trainer, and I’m not an expert in any way. I just showcase the pets’ talents and interview their owners.”
“Exactly. And you’re adorable with them. You talk to them like you know what they’re thinking, even though you’ve never met them before. And they love you too, I can tell.” Lakeesha took her food and gestured to the little park to their left. “I don’t see any free tables. Want to join me for dinner over there?”
Rebecca would have normally declined the offer, but she was feeling good, and Lakeesha’s flattery made her smile. “Okay.” She grabbed two forks and handed one to the kind stranger. “Sure, why not?”
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Lise Gold 