Chapter Three - The House

Charlie took another deep breath to calm himself. "Well, Mr Hamilton, it was the weirdest dream I've ever had. It was more like watching TV than a dream. Only, it was me on the TV."

Scenes started replaying through Charlie's head as he recounted his dream to the headmaster:

Charlie was driving a beat-up old van loaded with tools, ladders and building equipment. He pulled off the road into a driveway, hit a pothole, and everything shifted and crashed about in the back.

For a few seconds, the noise inside the van was deafening. And then Charlie stopped, turned off the key, and the engine and din died down. He sat for a while in the quiet, staring through a cracked windscreen at the faded weatherboard house. It needed a paint job, and the guttering looked rusty and ready to fall from the roof.

A young girl peered out from behind a curtain. She smiled and waved, and Charlie waved back. He knew the girl. But how? Who was she? The van door creaked open, and Charlie got out and walked towards the house.

The path to the house seemed long. It felt like Charlie was heading in the wrong direction on a moving walkway. Or perhaps he didn't want to reach the house? Charlie sensed a looming dread but didn't know why.

Swallowing his dread, he opened the front door and entered the house. Charlie found himself in a gloomy hallway. The house smelled musty, but there was also the scent of roast lamb and potatoes, his favourite dinner. There were stifled "Shooshes!" from the end of the hallway. Charlie walked towards the sounds and into a darkened lounge room. Someone switched on the lights, and the room echoed with cries of "Surprise" and "Happy birthday".

Charlie stood, speechless and stared about the room. He recognised the smiling faces of his ten and twelve-year-old daughters, the younger of whom had waved to him through the window. And his bored-looking fourteen-year-old son. Sprawled on the sofa, ignoring him, was his sullen sixteen-year-old eldest son. And standing in the kitchen doorway with her hand on the light switch was his weary-looking wife.

The house was Charlie's home, and this was his family. He was a husband and a father, and it was his birthday.