he came from sleep still wrapped in the dream and the euphoria it had evoked.

Desperately she clung to the fabric of the fantasy, trying to ignore the sounds of the day that intruded from the street outside. But despite her resistance, reality reclaimed her.

She lay still for a few moments, feeling the familiar weight seep into her chest. The dream had been so vivid, almost tangible. Ian had been so--- alive. She whispered the word aloud, feeling the weight in her chest solidify.

With great effort she forced herself to get out of bed and prepare for the empty day ahead

As she showered Jane’s words came back to her.

“Cass, I’ve been there, I know how hard it is, but you have to try. You can’t live with the dead. There’s a real world out there and you have to learn to live in it. It’s what Ian would have wanted.”

She knew that Jane was right, but letting go was so hard. Ian had been her world.

Throughout the day fragments of the dream came back to her, brushing against her like silky tendrils, making her heart surge with happiness.

On Friday the dream came again. She was back in the same beautiful place with Ian, totally happy and relaxed.

The doorbell woke her, its strident call dragging her from the fantasy place. For a few groggy moments she was totally confused; unaware of who, when or where she was, then her eyes fixed on the clock making her gasp.

It couldn’t possibly quarter past ten!

Since Ian she had slept badly; waking repeatedly during the night and unable to sleep at all after 6 am, the fact that she had slept so late was amazing.

The doorbell gave another nerve shattering summons as she made her way to answer it.

She opened the door cautiously, hiding her pyjama-clad body behind it Jane stood on the threshold, peering quizzically at Cass.

“Am I early, we did say tennish didn’t we?”

“Oh God Jane, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I overslept. Come in, I’ll be as quick as I can.”

She showered and dressed as quickly as she could and was pulling her thick hair into a ponytail when Jane brought her the coffee she had made.

“Have you ever thought of having it cut?” asked Jane.

“I did once,” she replied,” But Ian talked me out of it.”

“It is gorgeous though,” said Jane, reaching out to touch the rich auburn tresses

Jane had been her rock in the aftermath. She was one of the nurses who had tended to Ian in those last terrible weeks. All of the nurses had been fantastic, but a strong friendship had formed between she and Jane, as if each had recognised a kindred spirit in the other. Jane had been the one she had clung to as she tried to piece the jigsaw of her life back together.

Forty minutes later they were on their way. The warm clear day was perfect for the planned shopping trip.

For a few brief hours, the permanent weight in Cass’s chest lightened and she felt grateful to Jane for the respite.

All to soon it was time to catch the train home. They had just crossed the street to the station when Cass stopped dead in her tracks, a look of disbelief on her face. For a few moments Jane hurried on, unaware that her friend was no longer beside her. She was almost at the entrance to the station when she finally realised that she was alone, Puzzled, she turned and scanned the street behind her. Cass was standing a few yards away; there was a look of shock on her face. Worriedly, Jane hurried back to her.

“Cass what is it, what’s happened?” There was no reply; Cass continued to stare silently at a point behind Jane.

“Cass, you’re scaring me now, tell me what’s wrong.” Jane tugged at the sleeve of the other woman’s coat.

“The painting,” Cass’s voice was a dry whisper. “I have to have it.”

“What painting?” Jane turned in the direction of her friends stare and found herself facing a small, shabby, shop window. The interior of the glass had been decorated with long satin drapes. The satin had once been a deep shade of blue, but age and sun had combined to bleach the colour from parts of the fabric, leaving it with a mottled neglected appearance. The centrepiece of the display was a medium sized painting, framed in dark oak. It displayed, it seemed to Jane, a rather nondescript woodland scene.

“This one? “She asked of the still silent Cass. Cass only nodded, her eyes never leaving the picture.

Jane bent closer to the window, inclining her head to get a better view of the price tag.

“Phew! It’s a lot of money Cass.”

“I don’t care,” replied Cass, already fumbling for her credit card.

The wrapped painting was large and bulky and in the end they decided a taxi home would be the best idea.

Normally, after a shopping trip, the pair of them would go back to Cass’s flat and spend a couple of hours drinking coffee and chatting, but today some intuition told Jane that Cass wanted to be alone.

“ I might as well carry on home,” she said as the taxi pulled up outside of Cass’s building. Cass didn’t argue and Jane knew that her feelings had been right. She asked the taxi driver to wait, while she helped Cass up to her flat with her parcels.

“Cass, is everything alright?” she asked as she was about to leave. “What was all that about in town? You would tell me if you were having problems, wouldn’t you?”

For a moment Cass wanted to tell her about the dreams, but something held her back.

“Of course I would tell you,” she said with a forced smile. “There’s nothing wrong, honest. I just wanted the picture.”

Inside the flat Cass left her other packages on the floor and took the picture to the bedroom. Lying it on the bed she tore off the packaging and drew in her breath when she saw the scene before her. The painting showed a small wooded area. A path les through the trees, disappearing over the edge of what appeared to be a small bluff. She gazed at the scene in awe; it was the place in the dream. She knew that a path must run down to the beach from over the rise, because she had heard the sound of the waves in the dream. There had been voices carried in the breeze and the sound of children’s laughter. She had been content to stay in the trees with Ian, just having him there was all the happiness she needed. She couldn’t stop looking at the painting. When the light outside began to fade, she turned on the beside lamp and angled it to illuminate the scene. Eventually tiredness overtook her. She lay on the bed curled around the painting and let sleep take her to the place it depicted.

She hung the picture above the bed, touching it gentle before sleep and the dream, which came almost nightly now.

During the dreams people and animals sometimes came up onto the bluff from the beach below. The next morning the painting always seemed to show some evidence of these incursions. A lost ball, an ice cream wrapper, once, even the tail from a kite that had become entangled in one of the trees. It had fluttered bravely in the branches for days before the breeze finally freed it

When the changes had first appeared in the painting, Cass had been more excited than alarmed. Now every morning she eagerly scanned the canvas for any small detail from the previous night.

The dream had become the most important part of her life, the real part. It was as if her waking life had become vague and insubstantial, almost dreamlike in its importance and only while sleeping was she truly alive. She told no one about what was happening, afraid that the magic would disappear upon telling

She knew every inch of the scene in the painting, but apart from the sounds of the sea and the faint drift of people’s voices, she had no idea of what existed over the incline.

At first it didn’t matter to her, she was more than happy just to be with Ian. Then slowly things began to change. They were moving nearer and nearer the edge, sometimes Ian would stand atop the edge of the copse, begging her to come and see what was below. The urge to join him there was almost overpowering, but no matter how she strived, some hidden force held her back. Nightly her frustration grew. If only she could see further, then she would understand, but understand what, she did not know.

Jane looked around the silent flat. It was six weeks since Cass had disappeared and there was still no news of her.

The police had drawn a blank. Their enquiries seemed to show that Cass had no one to whom she could have gone. No relatives: not even any friends to speak of, apart from Jane.

The owner of the building had contacted Jane yesterday. He had seemed quite nice for a landlord, asking apologetically if she could possibly remove Cass’s personal belongings, so that he could re-let the flat.

She had packed up all of the clothes and personal things that she could find. She would store them at her own home until such time as Cass returned, but some intuition told her that Cass wouldn’t be back.

When the packing was finished, she toured the neat rooms looking for anything she had missed.

The picture hung over the bed and she remembered Cass’s reaction on the day she had discovered it. Besotted was the word that came into her mind and she realised that it was a word that fitted perfectly.

Jane had never really studied it before, but now she gazed at it intently, trying to see what had so captivated her friend.