“Your father is such a moron.”

The words should have been jarring but they meant nothing to me anymore. Logically, I knew that they should have been hard to hear, but my mom had said them so many times before that they’d lost all impact.

She sat on the end of my bed and threw her long blonde hair back from her face. My bedroom door was open, he could have easily heard, but I knew she didn’t care. It was probably a conscious decision, she wanted him to hear.

“He just never listens to anything I say,” she continued angrily, not seeming to care that I wasn’t listening either.

I’d learnt a lot from her tirades over the years. When I was younger, I’d tried to listen more actively, to suggest things that might help, but I’d learnt that it was pointless. She didn’t want solutions or for things to get better, she just wanted to complain about him.

They’d been together for twenty years, married after two years, had me just under two years after that, and from what I could gather, they’d never had a good relationship. Sometimes, she’d tell stories of when they first got together, how incompetent and clueless he’d been. She’d apparently been chased by so many men, all of whom were better than my dad, but she’d settled for him.

I didn’t believe her stories though. She liked to exaggerate things. She always wanted her life to sound grander and more interesting than it really was. I got that, to a certain extent. I didn’t really like my life either.

It was fine. I couldn’t really complain. I went to a good school, didn’t do too badly, was an only kid, had a pretty nice room to myself, and a couple of friends. It was fine, really. Sure, if I looked into it more, it got a little less fine. I barely slept and was constantly kept awake by the stink of cigarette smoke and the almost deafening sound of the television that came from downstairs.

They always had it on loud, that way they didn’t need to talk to each other. They spent every evening watching countless shows and movies, on their phones too, basically ignoring the other person. It was for the best. Whenever they talked, they just argued and then my mom would come up to complain about him.

She didn’t care what time it was or if I was pretending to sleep. She’d slam the door open and drop down on the end of my bed, where she was now, sometimes trailing cigarette ash with her.

I’d once made the mistake of asking her not to smoke in my room because it made me cough and her reaction had been… well. Exactly as expected. She’d accused me of trying to kick her out of her own house. It wasn’t worth the fight. I was too tired of it.

There was a lull in her conversation as she paused to draw a breath.

“Mmm,” I said noncommittally, knowing that it was all I needed to say to keep her happy.

I sucked in a deep breath, being careful not to let it out too heavily in case she mistook it for a sigh again. That had been maybe worse than when I had asked her not to smoke, she’d accused me of being bored of her. Which I was. But then she’d started ranting about how she’d given up her life to raise me and, if it weren’t for me and my father, she’d be running a very successful business by now or modelling or doing some other fantastical thing.

I leaned my head back against my headboard and stared longing at the wall of books. My dad never hesitated to buy me a book. I didn’t like asking them for anything but he always went out of his way to get me some. I don’t know if it was guilt or if he recognised my need to escape.

I yearned to be reading one of those books as Mom continued, her face turning redder and her voice getting louder, but instead, I was stuck staring around my room. It was a pretty big room. Dark blue carpets with a couple of burn holes near the end of my bed where mom sat lined the floor, complemented by the light cream walls. A huge window lay at the end of the room overlooking our garden.

The fence at the back was loose. I’d pried it away from the wooden posts years ago. It was easier to climb over it but, when I was in a rush or didn’t want to be seen, squeezing through was better. I’d run out there sometimes when my parents were fighting, slip through and venture into the wilderness beyond.

A field stretched out behind the house but beyond that was a luscious forest. Moss lined the floor and a thick canopy protected me from the light above. It felt almost like slipping into another world. One where it was quiet and I was safe.

“You know?” my mom demanded, looking at me expectantly.

“Yeah,” I agreed flatly, not bothering or needing to inject any feeling into my voice.

It didn’t matter, she wasn’t listening.

“Exactly! And yet, he never learns!” she continued but I’d already stopped listening.

My eyes fell on my desk, piled high with half-complete homework. I really needed to get it done tonight. I’d fallen behind weeks ago and just didn’t have the motivation to do anything about it. I needed to get my parents to sign my planner, acknowledging that they were aware that I wasn’t doing my homework and that they would help me with it, but I couldn’t do that now. Mom would be too furious. I’d wait for the morning when her hangover had set in and she wouldn’t be bothered to read the note, she’d just sign it.

I briefly debated telling her I had homework to do and asking her to leave so that I could work on it but there was no point. She wouldn’t care.

I stared back at her enraged face, watching detachedly as she waved her hands around, coming close to hitting the high wooden end of my bed but not seeming to notice. My eyes swam out of focus as I searched desperately for a distraction, something to stop me from being trapped in my room with her.

My eyes landed on my books again, tracing the blue spine of my favourite book, as an idea slowly came to me. If I couldn’t read to escape, maybe I could do it mentally. Just use my imagination to get away from the situation?

I breathed slowly and held it, a spark of excitement lighting in my chest.

I wanted to go somewhere completely the opposite of where I was now. Somewhere where I felt free and the world was silent.

I let the breath out slowly, letting my eyes unfocus completely.

The colours blurred, swarming together until they changed into something completely different. A vivid green overwhelmed my vision and I blinked, trying to bring it back into focus.

A wild, overgrown field surrounded me, dappled with flowers. The beautiful, bright blue sky lay above me, unmarked by clouds. A gentle breeze caressed my skin and blew my light blonde hair back. Despite knowing I was sitting on my bed, I could almost feel the soft carpet of grass beneath my feet.

It smelt so fresh.

A giggle slipped out of my mouth but it was lost in the natural symphony of the world around me. Trees rustled loudly in the wind behind me and a hare raced from the underbrush towards me. I froze, worried that my movement might startle the animal, but it seemed unbothered. It stopped right beside me, its giant ears twitching as it stared up at me.

Slowly, so as not to scare it, I leant down and reached my hand out. I half expected it to run or bite me because my mom had always warned me to stay away from wild animals, claiming they would attack if they got the chance, but the hare before me didn’t. It waited patiently as I gently stroked its soft fur, its eyes shutting in pleasure.

I stood again, watching as the hare hopped off again and disappeared down the slight hill, then wiped my hands on my dress skirt. I started to walk before stopping again and staring down at the dress I was wearing. It wasn’t what I was wearing in real life but I still recognised it. I’d seen someone wearing it online or on television, I wasn’t sure. It was an off the shoulder dress in light blue with a gently flared skirt. The small embroidered daisies perfectly matched the wild daisies around me.

I ran my hands over the soft tulle skirt, staring in wonder. From the moment I’d seen it, I wanted it but I knew there was no point in asking my mom for it. She would buy me the basics, enough so that I looked well cared for, but nothing special. I could have asked my dad. He generally bought me stuff if I asked but it wasn’t worth it.

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Mom always kicked off if I went to him for anything instead of her. She accused me of trying to drive a wedge between them or said that the only reason I went to him was because I was lying about what I wanted to do with the money or the clothes.

“Are you even listening?” Mom demanded, her voice cutting through my dreams.

“Of course,” I replied, my fantasy world taking on a blurry dreamlike quality as I forced myself to focus on my mom.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, barely pausing before launching back into her rant.

I tried to listen but the wonderful world I’d created in my mind called out to me and I slipped back into it, my heart growing a little lighter.

“Grace! It’s almost dinner time!” a voice called to me across the field.

Confusion made me stumble to a halt. It sounded like my mom but something was different. I stared towards the house in distance. I hadn’t paid any attention to it just moments before.

In fact, I hadn’t even noticed it was there.

It looked like my house but the red bricks were brighter instead of dulled by age. I could see into the back garden from where I stood on the gently sloping hill. The first thought that I was struck by was that it had everything I’d wanted as a kid. That same trampoline that most of the neighbours had, a treehouse, and a swing set. Even a climbing frame, similar to the one at my cousin’s house.

I walked towards the stile built into the fence so that I could climb it easily. I didn’t have one along the back fence of my house in real life but then I guess the field behind my house wasn’t a wildflower meadow, it was full of sheep. I still climbed the fence quite often though, when I didn’t want to risk ruining my clothes squeezing through it.

The grass in the garden was less carefully manicured than in real life. Mom always made my dad mow it every Saturday morning, just in case someone was walking through the field and noticed that it was unkempt. Not that anyone ever used the field apart from a couple of farmers and me.

The big glass windows were wide open, the red curtains fluttering softly in the wind and sending the aroma of freshly baked cookies towards me. Even in real life, my mouth started to water. They smelt so good.

I’d just stepped into the house when a voice shouted at me again.

“Don’t forget to wipe your feet before you step on the carpet!” that almost-my-mom’s voice called.

I hastened to wipe my feet, worried about making her angry despite knowing that I was in a fantasy and that she wouldn’t get mad unless I wanted her to, before stepping further into my lounge.

It was cleaner than usual and the blanket on the pullout sofa in front of the television, which I normally left in a heap wherever I discarded it, was neatly folded. The room was much lighter and airier than ever, even though it basically looked the same, and the smell of freshly baked cookies had permeated the room, wafting in gently from the kitchen.

Despite knowing that it was a dream, I still felt a flutter of the usual anxiety as I left my lounge and headed towards my mom’s voice.

“Hello, darling,” the woman standing in the kitchen said in a happy tone.

I froze, staring at the person before me.

It was clear that she was my mother but at the same time, she looked completely different.

Her normally long blonde hair was cut just below her shoulders and bounced in happy waves. It was lighter than normal. Mom always dyed it a little darker, claiming that no one would take her seriously if it were too light. I always hated when she said that because every time she’d sneer at me, as if silently telling me that my almost white-blonde hair was a problem.

The woman before me smiled even wider and turned to grab a plate of cookies off the side.

“Do you want one? They’ve not set up yet but they should still be tasty even if they’re a little soft.”

I reached out numbly and took one, still unable to tear my eyes away from her. I knew that she was just a figment of my imagination but it still filled me with a sad longing as I looked at her.

Her face was much paler than my real mom’s, less sun-damaged, but the main thing that hurt was the expression on her face. There was no anger, no hatred. She just seemed happy to see me.

It almost made me want to cry.

“Is it too hot?” she asked, glancing at the forgotten cookie in my hand.

“No,” I said finally, forcing myself to take a bite.

Disappointment rushed through me. I couldn’t taste anything. I shouldn’t have expected to be able to, it was a fantasy, nothing more. I wasn’t actually in that beautiful world, I was stuck sitting on my bed and watching my mom get slowly more flushed as she ranted about my dad and how she never should have married him.

“So?” my fake mom asked, watching me chew in eager anticipation.

I swallowed and smiled, wanting to make her happy.

“It’s delicious.”

Her face lit up.

“Oh, good! Do you want another?”

I shook my head, wishing that I could taste them for real.

“I’m okay. Don’t want to fill up before dinner,” I said, glancing at the clock on the wall above the table.

“Are you sure? You’re a growing girl, you need to be eating more!” she insisted.

A smile came over my face.

“I’m sure, I’m not hungry at the moment anyway.”

“Hmm… okay, make sure you have a big dinner at least. I’m making your favourite, lasagne!”

I swallowed down a bitter lump of sadness and blinked myself back into my bedroom. My mom hadn’t made my favourite dish in years. Most of the time, the cooking fell to me to do because my dad got home too late from work and my mom was always just ‘busy’. I didn’t mind it too much, I quite liked cooking, but after school sometimes I just settled for eating plain pasta or some toast because I was too tired to make anything else.

“Honestly, he just doesn’t get it!” my real mom exclaimed before standing with a heavy sigh and striding out of the room.

I slumped back against my headboard, letting out a soft breath, my mind straying back to the fantasy I’d created before.

It hadn’t felt just like I was using my imagination, it had felt more real. It almost felt like I was actually there. It had never felt like that before. I’d been able to feel the wind against my skin, smell the delicious aroma of the cookies and feel the floor beneath my feet.

It was wonderful and it immediately made me hungry for more. If I could make a better world where I could be happy and have everything I wanted, could I do better? What if I could do something a bit more… fun?

My eyes landed on my bookshelf again, finding a small book with a navy blue cover. My lips slowly rose into a smile as a slight dizziness washed over me and I let my eyes drift shut.

The boat rocked under me and the hard plastic seat I was perched on felt cold even through the wetsuit that I was wearing. The sharp, salty tang of the sea burnt my nostrils as I slowly blinked my eyes open and glanced around at my surroundings.

The light was almost blinding but my eyes quickly adjusted and once they had, my mouth almost dropped open. The sun reflected harshly off the water surrounding our boat as we sped towards the dark coloured, jutting stone cliffs.

The balmy breeze and the way the warmth settled against my cheeks, despite how fast we were moving, made me certain that we weren’t in England anymore.

“Okay, kid,” an older man I didn’t recognise started loudly over the roar of the speedboat’s engine, “once we get closer to the drop point, I’ll bring us to a stop and then you can dive down and look for our target.”

A small trill of excitement burst in me as I looked down at the iPad on my lap which showed a grainy image of a scan of the seabed. Raised shapes stood out clearly but I had no clue what they could be.

That wasn’t in the book.

“Then what?” I asked uncertainly.

He looked at me like I’d said something very dumb.

“Then, you use the winch to bring it back up. Honestly, kid, we’ve done this a bunch of times. Are you really not used to it by now?”

His tone was concerned and his tanned face was wrinkled with worry.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I just want to make sure I’ve got everything right before I go. Wouldn’t want to make another mistake like last time.”

My lie came out surprisingly easily and the old man laughed.

“Damn right, kid. If you break one more priceless artefact, I’m going to drop you back in that bar where I found you,” he chuckled but his tone made it clear he was joking.

“Okay, so I dive down, find the thing and then attach the winch? Easy,” I said with feigned confidence.

“Good. Get your gear on, we can’t spend too long here otherwise those damn pirates are going to find us again,” he grumbled darkly.

I had been starting to stand to walk towards the scuba gear at the back of the boat but my feet stilled.

“Pirates?” I said uncertainly.

That definitely hadn’t been in the book. But, then again, the guy in front of me was nothing like the crotchety old mentor from the book I’d read. And, in the book, they hadn’t met in a bar.

I wasn’t even old enough to go to a bar, I was fifteen.

A thrill of excitement went through me as I realised that I’d made these details up subconsciously, no doubt to make it more fun than the book had been. What’s the point of living out a story if you already know how it ends?

“Pirates, mercenaries, same thing. Either way, they’re trying to get to this before us and if they do, we’ll never be able to make any money from it. Or did you forget what happened last time when those assholes almost blew you to smithereens?” he asked, his eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses.

I swallowed.

Despite knowing it was a dream, it was a little scary. I knew that I couldn’t be hurt but still, I didn’t want it to go badly. It might have just been my perfectionist streak but I didn’t want to let the man down. Plus, I wanted to see what the treasure sitting at the bottom of the ocean was.

“Hurry up, kid! I just said we don’t have time to waste and you’re faffing! Get that tank on now!” he called, breaking me from my worries.

I continued towards the back of the boat, my brain spinning with information. It was too different to the story. I wouldn’t be able to do it just based on my knowledge of how they’d found the treasure in the book, I needed to go back. Maybe to the bar where this guy said we’d first met.

I blinked my eyes open, a shiver coming over me. It had started to get dark out. I could see through my window that the sun was dropping lower in the sky, setting it alight with vivid orange hues.

My stomach growled with hunger and my legs cramped as I stretched them out, unaware of how long I’d been sitting huddled up on my bed. It had only felt like a few minutes but I was sure that it had still been fully light outside when my mom left the room.

My daydreams would have to wait. Despite how little I wanted to leave my room, I needed to have some food and get ready for bed.

But still, the fantasy hovered at the back of my mind, begging me to slip back into it.