Please forgive me and come back.
Bryony
She re-read her words. This was her fortieth post on the blog. Ordinarily, each was filled with cheery conversation – thoughts and hopes she’d like to share with her sister and recollections of their time together, rather than the more recent, urgent posts that were appeals for her return. She would go through this one again in the morning and make some adjustments before pressing the publish button. The statistics graph showed 185 people had visited the blog since her last post. Searching for Hannah was gradually increasing in popularity. At first, it had seemed a crazy idea to write a blog for her sister but the more Bryony had considered the idea, the less crazy it had sounded. Millions of people wrote blogs, and having an online presence was the norm these days. The odds of Hannah finding the blog were long but the ploy might yet pay off, although time was no longer on their side.
Bryony could fight her thoughts no more. She closed her eyes and allowed the memory of the day that changed everything to play out, and like a well-watched film it rolled in her mind’s eye…
* * *
As they leave the house, Rob rounds the corner and Hannah slows to a reluctant halt, grumbling, ‘That’s all I need. It’s your fault, Bryony. If I’d stayed inside he wouldn’t have dared talk to me.’
He’s wearing a beanie hat and the collar of his coat is turned up. He puts out a hand, rests it on Hannah’s shoulder. ‘We need to talk,’ he says.
‘Not now. I have to take Bryony to the park.’
‘I’ll come too and we can chat.’
‘No,’ she says, her lips pressed together as she does when she is in a stubborn, bad mood.
Rob and Hannah are going out together. Bryony is not sure what that means but when Mummy and Daddy are out at night, Rob comes over to watch television while Hannah is babysitting. Bryony likes Rob. He doesn’t laugh at her when she has one of her twitching turns. He’s kind and always brings her sweets. She likes the little cola cubes that come in a paper bag. She knows Hannah likes him because she’s seen them kissing on the settee. They didn’t see her though. She sneaked downstairs to ask for a glass of milk one night but when she saw them lying on the settee and kissing, she tiptoed back upstairs.
It’s quite chilly. Bryony is getting bored. Hannah and Rob are still talking. Rob hasn’t brought any sweets with him today and they seem to have forgotten all about her. They are talking in low voices and Bryony can’t hear what they’re discussing, but she can tell by the way Hannah is standing that it’s serious, grown-up stuff. They’re not holding hands and kissing like usual.
Bryony’s feet are beginning to get cold now and she wants to go to the park. She likes the roundabout best. She likes the way the sky spins around and around, faster and faster when she holds her head back, eyes wide open on it. She pulls her hand away from Hannah’s.
She tilts her head back and spins as if on the roundabout, arms outstretched. The clouds whirl around her head, leaving her breathless. She stops, dizzy, and spots Tubs over the road. Tubs is a small, black Labrador puppy that lives in the house opposite. It looks as if he’s escaped from his yard again. He’s always getting out and running off to find someone to play with. Sometimes he appears in their front garden and Hannah has to take him home. He’s an affectionate, happy dog. Whenever he sees Bryony he jumps up and licks her nose. She loves Tubs. She wants a dog exactly like him. He would be a good friend like Timmy the dog in ‘The Famous Five’ books she reads. Bryony does not have any friends. Children think she’s weird now. She has moments when her hands open and close for no good reason or her eye twitches or her shoulder jumps about. They’ve started to call her horrible names. If she had a puppy she wouldn’t care about the children.
At the moment, Tubs is chasing a plastic bag. The wind is propelling it down the road and he is pursuing it, tongue lolling out and ears back. Bryony stops her spinning and heads towards the bag. She will catch it and play tug of war with Tubs. She runs out into the road; the bag is not far away. She hears a scream behind her. Tubs stops chasing the bag and stares at her in wonder as she is suddenly lifted high into the air and propelled upwards towards the powder-puff clouds, weightless.
Bryony is confused. She can feel the air whooshing past her ears and wonders if she’s on a swing in the park with Hannah. And then, the sun goes out.
CHAPTER NINE
TUESDAY, 11 JULY – MORNING
The shiny, white Volkswagen Polo pulled up outside number thirty-two Aspen Drive. Bryony felt a sense of sadness as she surveyed the front of her parents’ house. It had been her home for much of her life but she felt like a stranger when she visited these days. Her mother opened the door before Bryony reached it and greeted her with a tired smile.
She spoke softly. ‘Come in, sweetheart. He’s up and in the sitting room. He’s been looking forward to seeing you. I’ll make some tea.’
Bryony hugged her mother. She felt even thinner than she had the week before and as fragile as glass. Bryony imagined if she squeezed too hard, Geraldine would shatter.
She headed for the living room. Her father sat dwarfed in the large, leather winged-back chair he had always favoured, a blanket over his knees and an open book placed precariously on his lap. His eyes were closed, his breath almost silent, and a tiny sliver of drool dribbled down one side of his mouth. She picked up the book to replace it on the table in case it tumbled.
His eyes fluttered open. ‘Hannah?’ he mumbled. ‘Is that you?’
‘No, Dad. It’s Bryony.’
‘Bryony,’ he said, her name coming out slurred. ‘I thought you were at work.’
‘I don’t have any classes today, Dad. Term is over. I came to see how you were.’
He looked puzzled. He scratched at the grey stubble on his chin and cheeks. His thin grey hair stuck up on his head. Bryony had never seen him so unkempt.
He struggled to speak. ‘Not good.’
Bryony felt her soul crack. To hold back the tears she looked around the familiar room. In one corner stood the upright piano, covered in a thin layer of dust. Bryony did not play the piano. The piano had been bought for Hannah. The photograph taken at Bryony’s graduation was standing in pride of place on the dresser. Bryony attended King’s College at Cambridge University, as did her father. Unlike him, she chose to study English. She did not have his passion for history. She had not wanted to take a subject that dealt with the past.
The day she graduated had been emotional. Her mother, dressed in a fashionable two-piece suit and wearing a large red hat, had cried with pride. Her father, like some eccentric professor, wore metal-rimmed glasses, bow tie and suit. He had beamed at her and yet the elephant in the room had been present all day. They had not mentioned Hannah’s name even though they were all thinking of her on Bryony’s big day.
Bryony’s mother came into the room with a tea tray. On it stood a familiar china pot, pattern faded now but still serviceable. She gave a brave smile and wiped her husband’s face with a handkerchief, removing the drool.
‘Brought you some tea, Derek.’ She spoke to him as if he were a child.
He nodded obediently and pulled at his blanket, fingers plucking at invisible threads as he waited, wanting to communicate but struggling to articulate his thoughts.
‘Bryony’s here.’
‘Yes, Derek. She’s brought another cake. It’s your favourite – lemon drizzle cake. Isn’t that nice?’
‘Dad, would you like me to cut you a slice?’ asked Bryony.
* * *
It was a depressed Bryony who unlocked her own door later that afternoon. It was becoming increasingly difficult to visit her parents and maintain a positive attitude.
Today’s visit to her parents had been painful and tiring. The need to find her sister burned in her chest and was all-consuming. With the school holidays now in full swing she no longer had to worry about her students. She poured a glass of cold water and logged onto her laptop to start a new post for Hannah, but within s
econds of sitting down her phone bleeped. She read:
Need a laugh? Come around. It was supposed to be a romantic night in but Sean is trying to light his new barbecue and we have several cows to eat. Please come help.
Bryony could not help but smile. Melinda and Sean were terrific friends. Without doubt this had been planned. Melinda would have appreciated that Bryony would be downhearted after visiting her parents. Bryony logged off immediately and, in her haste, didn’t spot the envelope icon flashing in the right-hand corner of the screen that alerted her to an email in her inbox.
CHAPTER TEN
TUESDAY, 11 JULY – EVENING
‘Hurray, the cavalry is here!’ Melinda cried, ushering Bryony through the front door. ‘Thank goodness you turned up. I need some female support. Lewis called round to see if Sean fancied going running tomorrow and got roped into helping him out. They’ve been attempting to get it alight since half past four. It’s taken several bags of charcoal briquettes, lots of matches and a few of cans of lager, so be warned.’
Melinda led Bryony through the kitchen and outside to the decking that overlooked a long narrow garden. It was a neat garden surrounded by high-panelled fencing painted in a dark green. Freshly trimmed and shaped beds in front of the fence were filled with colourful shrubs and flowers. Sean, dressed in a T-shirt, shorts and an apron bearing the torso of a scantily clad woman in only lace underwear and suspenders, was fanning the barbecue with a newspaper.
‘Hi, Bryony. Just in time,’ he shouted, racing over to plant a kiss on her cheek. He reeked of smoke, charcoal and lighter fluid and had a large, dark smut on the end of his nose. ‘I’m about to slap some steak and chicken on the grill. It’ll be more fun now we have guests.’
‘Hi, Sean. Hi, Lewis,’ she called to the figure hunched over the barbecue, tongs in hand, face scrunched up in concentration. He waved his tongs merrily. ‘Where’s Freddie?’ asked Bryony. ‘I’m surprised he’s not helping you too.’
Melinda explained, ‘He’s staying overnight with Sean’s parents. They took him to Drayton Manor Park today for a treat. I think the treat was really for Sean’s dad. Charles can’t wait to go on the rides with his grandson. He’s a big kid at heart – like Sean,’ Melinda added, hugging her husband from behind.
‘Put me down, woman. I have a serious job to do here.’
‘How’s it going, boss?’ asked Melinda, rolling her eyes at Bryony behind Sean’s back.
‘We’re ready to put the goodies on the grill. Have you prepared the marinated chicken wings?’
‘They’re in the fridge. I prepped all the food and made the salad so I’m done for the evening. It’s up to you to cook for us for a change.’ Melinda poured two generous glasses of wine and passed one to Bryony.
‘This is a man’s job,’ he answered good-naturedly. ‘Come on, Lewis, you can be my trusty assistant. Can’t let women barbecue.’
‘Behave yourself,’ Melinda responded. ‘Or I’ll go on strike and I don’t only mean in the kitchen department.’
Sean’s mouth turned down in mock sadness as he headed off in the direction of the kitchen to collect the food.
After several drinks each and a meal declared a success by all, Sean was in the mood for some silly entertainment.
‘Time to enjoy ourselves,’ he declared and darted towards the far end of the garden carrying a set of cricket stumps and a cricket bat. About 150 metres down the garden he banged a cricket stump into the lawn with his bat, paced out a few steps to the side of it and banged in a second stump.
‘Team game,’ he announced loudly to his bewildered audience. ‘It’ll be Lewis and Bryony versus me and the ball and chain. Simple rules. First person takes a slug of their drink, runs down the garden to the stump, attaches their head to the stump with their fist.’ He demonstrated by balling up his hand into a fist, lifting the thumb end to his forehead, bending and touching the top of the cricket stump with the other end of his fist. ‘He or she must then circle the stump three times, run back to their team member, tag them and then they have to do the same.’
They lined up in pairs. Bryony was against Melinda. She took a large glug of wine and scooted down the garden where she attempted to hold her forehead as close as she could to the stump with her fist and circled it. She completed a second circle but became dizzy and lost count along with her sense of direction. The men cheered then yelled commands to encourage the women. ‘One more turn, Bryony,’ shouted Lewis. ‘Keep going. You’re almost done.’
‘Another two circles, Melinda. Go on, girl. You can do it!’
Bryony lifted her head. The garden swam before her eyes and she stumbled back in the direction of Lewis, who urged her towards him, arms outstretched. She veered off towards Sean and had to correct her path, giggling all the while. Eventually she found Lewis’s hand, tagged him and he raised his glass. Somehow, Melinda made it back to Sean, who gulped down an entire can of lager and hared towards his stump, overtaking Lewis.
The game became sillier and sillier, and before long they were tumbling into bushes, knocking into each other and laughing helplessly. Bryony ended up sprawled in a heap with Melinda, where they hugged each other, a tangle of legs and arms, and had to be separated before being escorted to the top of the garden.
Bryony hadn’t enjoyed herself so much in a long time. After a ten-minute respite, Sean challenged Lewis to a wheelbarrow race and they staggered off, arms around each other’s shoulders, to Lewis’s house to collect a second wheelbarrow from the Shepherds’ shed. Much to Sean’s delight, they discovered it had a flat tyre, but Lewis was not thwarted by this setback and hauled it back to the party where he was greeted by Melinda and Bryony, cheerleading and pretending to wave pompoms.
Sean’s new game involved each man wheeling his teammate around the stumps and back, draining a glass of beer and then following the course in reverse.
‘You need a woman with some meat on her bones, like mine,’ chortled Sean as he raced down the garden with Melinda bouncing up and down in his wheelbarrow. ‘Good for stability and control,’ he shouted.
‘Shut up, big boy, and keep pushing,’ commented Melinda.
Lewis could not control his barrow. Not only had it got a flat tyre but Bryony’s long legs hung over the side causing more problems for them. They weaved their way down the course, chuckling loudly until the barrow hit a slight bump in the grass and shot off towards the borders where it tipped over and Bryony found herself plonked in a clump of marigolds, flat on her back, weak with laughter. Lewis attempted to drag her to an upright position but being worse for wear himself and somewhat unstable on his own feet, he too fell over, landing on top of her. All attempts to rise once more were abandoned and they sat back-to-back, propping each other up in the flower bed. Bryony discovered an old plastic flowerpot so she stuck it on Lewis’s head, causing them both to laugh like braying donkeys.
Shortly after, Lewis fell asleep slumped against a cold barbecue. Sean lifted him into the broken wheelbarrow and together with a chortling Bryony they meandered off in the direction of Lewis’s house.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WEDNESDAY, 12 JULY – MORNING
A chink of light coming through the curtain woke Bryony. Her head hurt and the light stung her eyes, making the throbbing worse. She opened her left eye gingerly. Thomas the Tank Engine looked down from the poster next to the bed and gave her a cheery smile. Bryony groaned and attempted to hide underneath the Power Rangers duvet. She tried to remember why she was in Freddie’s bedroom, and piece by piece the evening fell into place. Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a text message on her mobile. She reached out, fumbled for it and peered at the screen through sticky eyes.
Why am I in a wheelbarrow in my shed and who replaced my tongue with a piece of dirty, furry carpet. You okay?
She smirked and tapped out:
Head sore. We took you home. Hope you like the special cover I made you. Drink lots of water. Your tongue will reappear soon.
The pho
ne illuminated once more:
Classy – The Times. It kept me warm. Pity it smells of fish and chips.
Melinda was in the kitchen. She looked remarkably fresh-faced for someone who had drunk several bottles of wine and was already up and dressed at seven thirty.
‘Morning,’ she called. ‘Tea?’
‘Please. Is Sean in bed?’
‘Goodness me, no. He got up an hour ago and went for a run. He muttered something about his body being a temple, said he was going to make a hair of the dog and left me in bed. He’ll be back soon. He’s got to go to a job in Harrogate later today. He’s staying over. Hence the last-minute barbecue last night.’
What Happens in France Page 6
