She sat on the edge of her king-sized bed and for the first time in many years read the first entry, once more remembering the sixteen-year-old Hannah who’d written it…
* * *
Hannah put the diary aside. Her eyes were sore with reading and her heart heavy for the girl who was too selfish to see what was in front of her eyes and who’d made such a monumental mistake.
She clicked onto the video clip she’d watched several dozen times already and wiped away the tears that fell yet again. Was it too late? She now knew Bryony wanted her back but could her parents forgive her? Hannah clicked onto the information she’d found, carefully copied the name and address onto a large envelope and slipped the diary inside.
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
FRIDAY, 4 AUGUST – AFTERNOON
Bryony ran her fingers over the page and tried to imagine how hard it had been for Hannah. She’d read the diary from cover to cover and now waiting in the car park for the flight to arrive, she looked again at one entry that had touched her deeply.
Dear Diary,
I’m feeling very dejected today. Last night I had a dream about the events that happened exactly one year ago when Bryony was hit by a car, only this time, she didn’t recover. I woke up in a sweat, fearful that the dream was some terrible message telling me she’d died as a consequence of that accident. I wanted to make sure she was alive. I wanted desperately to tell my parents I was sorry and more than anything I wanted them to all forgive me but I know I’ve left it too long. Twelve months have passed and I haven’t made any contact with them. They’ll probably have begun to push me out of their thoughts by now and be carrying on with their lives. Recently, I’ve been thinking about why I ran away. I got drunk with my housemates a few days ago and burst into tears for no apparent reason. Vienna asked me what was wrong and I told her some bullshit lie about my boyfriend I’d left behind and how I was just having a low moment because I missed him. After she’d gone, I thought about the real reason I’d broken down. It was because finally, after several months of being a different Hannah, here in London, I actually thought about the consequences of my actions. I suddenly had a vision of Bryony’s sweet face and in that moment, I missed so her badly it felt like my heart was actually on fire and I wondered if it might burn out and I would die. I should have waited longer before leaving. I could have managed to live the lie, been the diligent daughter for a few more months until I’d at least taken my exams or until Bryony was a little older and needed me less. I was so desperate to escape the cage I was trapped in: the endless days of torturous pressure to succeed and the perpetual looks of disappointment when I didn’t reach my father’s lofty expectations, and creeping around the house like a shadow, wishing I could be like normal kids and go off with friends to town or off to the cinema, not spend day after day with my stuffy parents and sister who, as lovely as she was, was only a little kid. I hated being shunned by classmates because of who my parents were, and I was so lonely it was unbearable. I thought the loneliness would kill me if I didn’t get away. I’m such an awful person. No matter how much I hide behind this new Hannah image, I’ll never forgive myself for leaving Bryony. I hope she doesn’t hate me for everything I’ve done. She can’t possibly hate me any more than I hate myself for such selfish actions.
She tucked the diary away in her bag and checked her face in the rear-view mirror. She’d forgiven Hannah a hundred times over. She needed only to prove that to her sister and convince her to visit their parents.
* * *
Bryony hopped from foot to foot. Birmingham airport was jammed with people heading off to sunny climates. She fought through the ebb and flow of holidaymakers towards the arrivals exit where she stood outside the Marks & Spencer store with others awaiting loved ones. The screens showed that the flight from Paris had landed on time. Her heart hammered against her chest, threatening to burst through her ribcage. The arrivals doors swished open, allowing several people to emerge. None were female.
The doors opened again. A young couple with deeply suntanned faces and pulling matching purple suitcases appeared before the waiting people. Next to her, a middle-aged man in a suit held a sign marked ‘Mr Chiltern’. He wore the look of someone who was used to waiting. He thumbed his mobile with his free hand, oblivious to the crowds surging past him. She checked her watch. Surely, it couldn’t be much longer.
The doors slid apart again with a soft whoosh. A family of three with a young child came through, their cases piled high on a trolley. The toddler broke free from his mother’s hand and yelled, ‘Granddad!’ An elderly gent wearing a cricket hat scuttled forward, scooped up the boy and smothered him with stubbly kisses. Bryony smiled at the chuckling child who batted his grandfather’s smooches away.
Then her focus shifted to the open door once again. Time slowed as a woman walked through it. Bryony took in the slim face, snub nose and ash-blonde hair cut into a fashionable bob that shimmered as she walked. Her grey eyes skimmed over the faces in front of her and alighted on Bryony’s. Rooted to the spot, Bryony knew at once it was her sister and recognized the heart-shaped silver necklace hanging at Hannah’s throat. It would be engraved with her name. There was a sudden welling in her chest, and a release of hot tears cascaded down her cheeks. She held out her arms and Hannah walked into them. Sisters finally reunited.
CHAPTER FORTY NINE
FRIDAY, 4 AUGUST – AFTERNOON
Bryony reached for her sister’s hand and gripped it. There were so many questions but they had time.
‘It seems so stupid now when I look back on it all. Time twists memories, fuzzes the corners of them, so now all I can recall is the sensation of pressure – the constant need to behave as they wanted me to behave, be as successful as they wanted me to be and knowing all the while I couldn’t do it. I was fighting the Hannah inside me who wanted to be somebody completely different. The accident was the catalyst that sent me spiralling into a descent I couldn’t control. I had to get away. The guilt was unbearable, Bryony.’ She squeezed her sister’s fingers.
‘I’ve been haunted by memories of that day since. You know, I hated myself for running away. I regretted leaving my little sister.’ She fingered the small heart on her chain. ‘I thought about you often. There were times when I almost tried to contact you but bottled out. There were so many times I wanted to get back in touch but I’d left it too late. I couldn’t crawl back and face you all. I couldn’t have stood the look of disapproval or the cold treatment I feared I receive from Mum and Dad for being so stupid.’ She faltered and fought a rebellious tear as it broke ranks and balanced on her eyelashes.
‘I’d no idea you blamed yourself for my disappearance, not until I watched you on YouTube and heard what you had to say. I had to come back to set the record straight. I was so selfish and naïve to think I wouldn’t hurt anyone.’
‘You saw me on YouTube? How did you find out about the show? You live in Paris. It wasn’t transmitted in France.’
‘It’s a long story. My daughter follows a cute pug dog on Instagram called Biggie Smalls. She was showing me photographs of him and there was one of you with him and a caption saying how you were searching for your sister. She told me about the show and I found clips of it online. There was one when you were interviewed and asked for everyone who knew me to beg me to come home. I was overwhelmed. I found out more about you and your address came up in one of the searches from the national register. I thought if you read the diary it would help explain some things before you met me.’
‘You have a daughter?’
‘Belle. She’s fifteen. You must meet her, and Larry, my husband. He’s an American. So much to tell you. I’ve wasted so much time. It all seems a lifetime ago. For someone who was supposed to be clever, I really have been incredibly stupid.’
Bryony saw to her horror that her sister’s eyes weren’t just sad but full of tears. Hannah clutched at her hand and said in a hoarse whisper, ‘I’ve so many wrongs to put right. Bryony, I’m scared.’
>
‘Don’t be. The past is exactly that. It’s the past. This is what matters. You must come back with me.’
‘But I’ve left it too long.’
‘None of that matters.’
‘You sure?’
‘I know so.’
Hannah lowered her head and chewed at her lip. For a second she looked like the teenager Bryony remembered, concentrating on a difficult piece of homework or glued to a passage in a book. Bryony wanted every detail of her life and to meet her family and spend hours in her company, getting to know her again, but this wasn’t that moment. It was far more important she join her and visit their parents. She waited quietly, pulse beating in her ears. This decision was up to Hannah. People rushed by them in a blur. Bryony saw none of them. Eventually Hannah looked up. ‘Okay. Let’s do this. Let’s go and see Mum and Dad.’
* * *
Bryony tapped lightly on her father’s study door. Her mother was engrossed in a book, her reading glasses perched on her nose. In front of her sat the old china tea service and a tiered plate of cupcakes, each decorated with pink and white icing. Each year she baked the small cakes especially for Hannah’s birthday. There was always one they kept aside for her. Her father was dozing in his chair, a checked blanket over his knees. His face was shaven, his hair had been combed and he was wearing a clean shirt. Her mother looked up expecting to see Bryony, words dying on her lips as she noticed the woman standing by the door. She took in the grey eyes so like her own and Bryony’s.
‘Hannah,’ she whispered. Her trembling hands released the book and it clattered to the floor. Bryony moved aside to let her sister enter the room. Her mother stood up in one swift movement and lurched towards her daughter, holding her, then pulling away to look to her and then drawing her towards her again.
Her father roused by the sound of soft sobs opened his rheumy eyes. He squinted hard. ‘Is that you, Hannah?’ he asked in a reedy, wavering voice.
Hannah released her mother and crossed the room to kneel down beside her father’s chair. She dropped a kiss on his head, lighting up his eyes.
‘Yes,’ said her sister. ‘Yes, Daddy. It’s Hannah.’
A Letter from Carol
Thank you so much for buying and reading this book. I hope you enjoyed meeting the characters and buzzing around France. I am a complete Francophile and have spent many years living and working in France. It was wonderful to be able to write about perfect Summer afternoons and the stunning countryside – all of which I remember with nostalgia.
I draw quite a bit of material from real life and this novel was no exception. As part of my research for it, I applied for and was accepted on various televised game shows, including Decimate with Shane Ritchie and Tipping Point presented by Ben Shepherd. I met hugely entertaining characters on set and at auditions like those at the audition for What Happens in…
Much of the inspiration and traits of the characters for this novel came from sitting in a country manor house in Essex waiting to film a game show called Masterpiece with Alan Titchmarsh. We began filming at seven in the morning and did not finish until almost ten o’clock. We were also all put up at the same hotel so we had much time to kill as we waited for our pieces to camera and plenty of opportunities to learn about each other. I have to say that Alan Titchmarsh is nothing at all like Professor David Potts and he did not need to retake once.
So, who was your favourite character? I'm torn between Melinda and Oscar both of whom I adore. It's been wonderful having them in my life and hard to wave them goodbye. I wonder if Bryony and Lewis will see a lot of Jim and Oscar and I hope Biggie Smalls the Second will gain an even bigger following than he already has, and Oscar will become a famous ballet dancer. I’m also curious to know where the next edition of What Happens in… will be filmed. In brief, I am sorely tempted to write more about them all, especially if it means I get to spend more time with the utterly delicious Lewis.
My thanks again for reading. If you enjoyed What Happens in… could you kindly leave a review no matter how short it may be? It would mean such a lot to me.
Acknowledgments
Much research goes into my books and there are many who help me on my journey in writing What Happens in….
My mother who has sadly passed away since the writing of this book helped me understand what Bryony would have gone through as a child suffering with Sydenham’s Chorea. My mother contracted the illness also known as St Vitus Dance in her childhood. She shared her experiences of it with me and revealed how it affected her relationship with her older brother, her education, and how it rocked her confidence. Those who suffer can become very clingy hence Bryony looks up to her sister more than an ordinary sibling might.
I am grateful to all those involved in filming “Masterpiece” and game shows “Decimate” and “Tipping Point” for helping me discover what goes on behind the scenes, in particular Laura and Helen the shows’ producers for inviting me to be on the shows, Alan Titchmarsh for being such a wonderful host, Shane Richie for making me laugh so much on game show “Decimate” I couldn’t concentrate on the questions, and Ben Shepherd who made me blush like a love-struck teenager.
I thoroughly enjoyed researching for this book, after all who wouldn’t love travelling around stunning French countryside and staying in small chateaux? I did however drive my husband demented watching endless quiz shoes and racing off to attend auditions for television shows. I met some incredible people at those auditions - too many to name but I have to shout out thanks to Mitz Patel, Pauline Yong, Pete Thomson, Becky Smith, Craig Ansell and my lovely friend Michelle Marriott who has been successful on other shows since we met on set. Being on a game show is addictive. Once you've done one, you'll want to do another.
I really couldn't have written this book without the help and advice of my superb editor Hannah Todd who kept my ramblings under control and lifted my spirits with her enthusiastic emails and cheerful editing notes. Thank you, Hannah and all the team at Canelo.
And finally, my thanks to you, my readers. Your messages, emails and support keep me writing long into the night.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
57 Shepherds Lane
Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Carol Wyer, 2019
The moral right of Carol Wyer to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788632768
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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