27 What Bryony Wished For
Suddenly there was light.
Bryony shut her eyes, dazzled by the glare.
She stood there for several seconds, savouring the gentle warm breeze on her face and the sweet tasting air that filled her lungs.
Then she opened her eyes again.
She was back to normal size, and standing in an impressive street in front of an even more impressive house. It was the complete opposite of Wychetts: a clean, modern, stylish building with an immaculate front garden.
She didn’t have to look at the nearby road sign to work out where she was.
Mum’s house in America!
But how?
Bryony shook her head, trying to work out what could have happened. But what did it matter? She was in America, right in front of her mum’s house, just where she wanted to be.
What was she waiting for?
Bryony set off towards the impressive house, but froze at the sound of a voice from behind her.
“Wait, darling.”
Bryony turned to see her father standing there.
“Oh Dad, you made it too!” She grabbed Bill’s hand and squeezed hard. “Come on. Let’s see her.”
Bill didn’t move. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You can’t.”
Scowling, Bryony let go of her father’s hand. “But she’s my mum. I can see her whenever I want.”
“Not yet. Not until I’ve told you.”
“Told me what?”
“I’m sorry.” Bill lowered his gaze to the immaculate pavement. “I don’t know how to say...”
“I don’t have time for this,” snapped Bryony. “Are you coming with me or not?”
Bill’s head remained bowed, his response a soft whimper.
Bryony gave up on her father, and rushed up the spotless drive towards the beautiful front door of the impressive house. She was about to ring the bell, but then took a moment to compose herself. She had just fallen into a dirty toilet. She must look a right state. She couldn’t meet her mother looking like this.
She caught her reflection in a window, and realised her fears were unfounded. She was wearing nice clean clothes (a gorgeous outfit she’d seen in a catalogue and had been nagging Dad to buy her for ages) and her hair had been cut and styled. And dyed blonde, too. She looked perfect.
A smiling Bryony made a few minor adjustments to her fringe before pressing the door bell.
Bryony’s smile became a grin as she listened to the expensive sounding chimes. Seconds later the door was opened by a tall man in a grey suit, who Bryony assumed was her mother’s butler.
“Do you want something?” asked the butler, in a snooty voice.
“It’s me,” said Bryony, spreading her arms.
The man frowned at her. “And who might you be?”
Bryony was about to tell the butler who she was, then decided it would be better if she surprised Mum; the look on her face would be something to savour.
“My name is not important,” said Bryony, trying hard to hide her smile. “I’ve come to see the lady of the house. I have some very important news concerning the whereabouts of her daughter.”
“Daughter?” The butler looked puzzled. “But the child is here.”
“Huh?” Bryony’s dark eyebrows knotted together. “What do you mean…”
From behind the butler came the sound of little footsteps accompanied by a shrill, child-like squeal. Bryony peered into the hallway and saw a tiny figure tottering towards her.
She was probably eighteen months old, if that. Her hair was a shimmering blonde, and she was the living image of Bryony’s mother.
The infant gazed back at Bryony, as though she shared the older girl’s curiosity. Then Bryony heard her mother’s voice.
“Where are you, darling?”
“I’m here,” said Bryony instinctively.
“Ah there you are. ” Mum came into the hallway and scooped the toddler into her arms. “I’ve been looking all over. We don’t want you running out into the road, do we my precious pumpkin?”
Precious pumpkin? That’s what Mum used to call Bryony.
Bryony’s mother kissed the girl on the forehead, then looked at Bryony.
Time stood still. Bryony tried to smile, but for some reason every muscle in her face had turned to stone. Her heart stopped beating, and the air froze in her lungs.
“And who is this?” asked Mum, still staring at Bryony as she addressed the butler. There was no hint of recognition in her eyes, not even a glimmer.
“I’m not altogether sure,” said the butler, shuffling uncomfortably. “This young lady says she has news of your daughter.”
Bryony’s mother looked down at the infant in her arms. “What news? What does she mean? I have my daughter here.”
Bryony’s lips parted slowly.
My daughter. The girl that looked so much like Mum…
The realisation came, stabbing Bryony’s heart like an icy spear.
Mum had a daughter. Another daughter. Bryony was no longer her special one.
“Well?” Mum’s voice became irritable as she stared at Bryony. “Are you going to explain what this is about?”
But Bryony couldn’t speak. Her mouth had drained of moisture, and her tongue turned to jelly.
“I’m waiting,” sighed Mum. “Either you explain your presence here or leave my property immediately. I am a very busy person.”
Bryony just stood there.
Then Mum frowned. “Hold on. I’ve seen you somewhere before. Oh God. It can’t be…”
Bryony’s mother put a hand to her mouth.
“Is it you? Bryony?”
It took an agonising amount of effort, but Bryony managed to speak.
“No,” she whispered, forcing a smile despite the excruciating pain that wracked her insides. “I’m not Bryony.”
“Then who are you?” asked Mum.
“I’m no-one,” said Bryony.
And then, with tears burning her eyes, Bryony turned and ran. She ran down the spotless drive, out into the immaculate street, and into her father’s arms.
Wychetts Page 26