What Happens in France
Page 28
Water like a heavy drizzle was running upstairs, occasional louder plops as it cascaded down the plastic screen and into the tray. Lewis was getting ready for his meeting. She had time to learn what happened next to her sister all those years before. She read on, absorbing every detail of the diary.
Dear Diary,
I haven’t written for a long while because so much has happened since the day I ran away. It all happened so quickly. One minute I was lying on my bed thinking again about leaving home, the next, I’d written a note, grabbed my bag, stuffed with what I thought I’d need, and was out of the door. I headed into town where I stole some hair dye and reading glasses with the weakest lenses in them from Superdrug, and then I cut my hair over a sink in the public toilets. It was the hardest thing imaginable and I cried as I did it, but it was for the best. I needed to become someone else – a person who wasn’t a dreadful daughter and a rotten sister, and not somebody who felt suffocated by parents who wanted her to be something she could never become. I had to get rid of the headmaster’s daughter who was never going to be the brilliant student he wanted her to be and disguise myself so I attracted no attention. I left the toilets a different girl. I instantly became almost invisible. No one turned to look at me in my baggy tracksuit bottoms and coat with my hair cut like a boy’s and my plain-framed spectacles. I hitchhiked to London and found a youth hostel. I’d taken enough money, saved over the months, to last a few weeks and I’d hoped to find work and better accommodation before it ran out. My luck was in and I discovered an advert asking for a flatmate in a newsagent’s window. I now live in a tiny bedroom on the first floor of a shabby Victorian house. My room’s next to the bathroom so it’s a bit noisy when the others who live here have a shower or bath but I won’t be here forever. I’m going to save up and rent a place of my own in time. I share the house with another girl, Vienna, and two guys, Rich and Fraser, along with various girlfriends of theirs who stop over for the night or hang about here for a few days. They’re all musicians and perform in the same group. They seem to have accepted me without knowing anything about me. I told them I’d been in a long-term relationship that had broken up and was looking to start over again. They’ve no idea I’m only sixteen. That’s one good thing about being here in this huge city; nobody knows anything about you. You can be whoever you want to be. Some days I get very depressed and wonder what I’ve done. I hope my parents and Bryony are okay. I tell myself Bryony will be fine. She’s such a tough little girl and so intelligent. She’s far cleverer than me. My parents were really proud of her over the way she dealt with having St Vitus’ dance and she was recovering from the accident when I left home. Bryony is strong and she’ll be a far better daughter to Mum and Dad than I could ever be. She won’t turn out like I did and be a huge disappointment to them. I sort of wish I could see them all again but I wouldn’t be welcome. By running away, I’ve only made matters worse. They’d never be able to trust me again. I hope Bryony can walk properly once more. I couldn’t bear it if I knew she couldn’t. I still have nightmares about that day. I wish I’d looked after my little sister as I was asked. I got a job this week at a dry-cleaning shop. I’m out the back where the clothes and machines are and the job is pretty boring. It’s hot in the shop and very noisy and there’s no chance to talk to anyone, not that there are many people to talk to. It suits me. I don’t want to chatter and I certainly don’t want to have to divulge too much about myself. At least I now earn enough to keep paying rent and for food. I no longer feel suffocated. I am trying hard to make this work. I don’t want to be the bad old Hannah Masters any more.
Each entry was a piece of the jigsaw puzzle of Hannah’s life. At last Bryony was beginning to understand why her sister had taken off and relief that she wasn’t solely to blame had flooded her body, warming it.
She shifted from one leg to the other. She’d been stood in the same position for too long, bent over the kitchen table, eyes glued to the diary. She glanced at the digital display on the cooker. She’d been reading for fifteen minutes, and her head was jumbled by emotions and the knowledge she now possessed.
Lewis appeared at the kitchen door, hair damp from the shower. ‘Hey, where’s this coffee you promised me? You haven’t even put the machine on. Bryony, you okay?’
She looked across at him, her face a mix of emotions and burst into tears. He rushed to her, held her tightly and let the tears flow. Eventually, she pulled away and said, ‘It’s okay. They’re happy tears. I understand why Hannah left and why she hasn’t contacted us before. It’s all in this, her diary.’
‘Her diary?’
‘I think she posted it to me. I’ve read half of it and I understand why she ran away. Listen, here’s one of her entries about a couple she lived with who ran a café. She lived above it and became very friendly with them:
‘They invited me to their house last night for a meal and were so kind to me I felt really sad. I’ve lied to them about who I am. They believe I’m an orphaned young woman who has no family. Josie gave me some curtains and matching cushions she’d made especially for my flat and hugged me. Their generosity really touched me.
‘When I got home, I wept for me and I wept for my parents and then I cried for Bryony who I deserted. I ought to be eating dinner with them and sharing my news, not with two kind strangers. As time’s gone by I’ve come to understand I let them all down. I wasn’t there to support them when I should have been, and worse still, I abandoned Bryony who adored me. I should have been braver and gone home, maybe after I left the house rather than try again on my own, or soon after I realized I’d been stupid. I should have faced up to my parent’s disappointment or anger and admitted my mistake but I buried my head in the sand and convinced myself staying away was the best course of action. I ignored what my heart was telling me and too much time has passed. I created this situation. I may have terrible regrets but now, it’s too late and I can never go back.
‘In spite of Tomasz and Josie, I feel so alone. I wish I’d never run away. Nevertheless, I can never go back. I have broken every rule and moral code installed in me. They’d never forgive me. I’m not the person they hoped I’d become.’
Bryony looked up at Lewis, eyes still damp with emotion. ‘She convinced herself we didn’t want her back.’
‘She’s sent you the diary to help you understand how she felt. Maybe she’s also testing the waters and wants to see how you respond once you know.’
‘I think you’re right. She says in this section: “It’s been almost two and a half years since I left my family and there’s not been one day when I haven’t thought them and wonder how they’re doing without me. There were so many times when I almost rang them, just to hear their voices but chickened out at the last minute, then last week, I made the call only to find their number is no longer in service. They’ve given up on me.
“It was only to be expected. I left them a note asking them not to look for me and they haven’t. They’ve probably erased me from their lives. I don’t know why I’m so upset about it after all, that’s what I wanted them to do.” Then there’s a bit about meeting a new man and wanting to tell him the truth about herself and she goes on to write, “You can’t run away and expect to be forgiven and welcomed home with open arms after two and a half years. I’ve been fooling myself to think I could. I’m going to have to try harder to forget them all and just be Hannah.”
‘I must tell her I forgive her, that we all forgive her and persuade her to come home but I don’t know how to contact her. She may have found out my address and posted her diary to me but I’ve no idea how to get in touch with her. It was posted in Paris.’
Lewis shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. ‘Check your blog again. She must have left you a comment. She wouldn’t send you the diary without any explanation or contact details. It makes no sense. She’s clearly paving the way for a return. Want me to look at the Facebook page in case she left a message to you on it?’
‘Have you got time?’
‘No. I’ll read it later. I’ll check too.’ Bryony fired up the laptop on the kitchen table. The blog came into view immediately. ‘Stacks more comments,’ she mumbled.
‘And on the Facebook page.’
A hiatus fell as both concentrated on the numerous messages, some lengthy, offering advice, names of agencies Bryony could get in touch with to help her quest, and others sympathizing with her or wishing her luck. She rubbed her forehead. There were so many missing people in the country, some who’d been gone for decades and some for weeks. It was heart-rending to read the comments from those, like her, who’d been searching for loved ones: a mother looking for her twelve-year-old daughter, a family hunting for their father, another parent whose son had disappeared leaving no note. They were all heart-breaking stories written in a few paragraphs but all the commenters shared one thing – they all had hope.
Lewis, scrolling through the numerous comments on the Facebook page, looked up. ‘Nothing,’ he said.
Bryony wasn’t surprised. She’d decided Hannah or somebody who knew her had sent the diary to help Bryony understand why Hannah had left home, but her sister was either dead, or didn’t want to come home.
She was about to log off when she noticed an unread comment flashing on the administration page. It hadn’t been placed under her last post as all the others were. It had been written under the information about Hannah. Her eyes skimmed over it and she gasped.
‘Lewis.’
He turned to face her.
She read out loud. ‘Mouse. Birthday. Birmingham airport. 2 p.m. flight from Paris.’
Bryony felt incredulity, a surge of love and immense excitement.
‘It’s Hannah,’ she cried. ‘She’s coming home at last. It has to be from her.’
‘It’s a bit cryptic, Bryony,’ Lewis cautioned.
‘No. It’s her. No one else could possibly know my nickname, Mouse.’
A large grin cracked Lewis’s face. ‘Mouse?’
‘I was very small as a child and incredibly quiet so my family called me Mouse. No one else could know other than my parents and Hannah. It’s definitely Hannah. She’s coming today on her birthday. Oh-my-gosh, this is actually happening. And it’s all come about because you and I went to that game show audition and then you agreed to partner me in France!’ She yelled and jumped up and down, holding onto Lewis’s hands. He threw his arms around her. She hugged him then drew away, still holding onto his hands.
‘This is amazing. Melinda. I must tell Melinda. Ah, she won’t have her phone turned on. She never does when she goes shopping. Could you visit her when you finish at the accountants? Tell her Hannah is coming home. Tell her about the diary.’
‘Of course I will. Do you want me to come with you to the airport? Be your support team? I can wait outside.’
‘As lovely as that is, I’d rather go alone.’
‘I figured as much. Go on, then. Get ready. Got to look your best. I’ll be here when you get back.’
‘You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that.’
‘I’ll always be here, Bryony.’
He drew her into his arms again and they shared a tender kiss.
‘Now. Go!’
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
HANNAH
Hannah had finished loading the dishwasher and wandered through to the sitting room where her daughter, Belle, was curled up on the settee staring at her mobile.
‘You fancy watching any telly?’
‘There’s nothing on worth watching. I looked. What time’s Dad back?’
‘Not until late.’
Hannah picked up the control and was about to turn the set on when Belle let out a squeal, ‘Aw, isn’t he the cutest?’
What’s that?’ she asked.
‘This dog.’ She lifted the phone to show her mother a picture of a pug dog dressed in a beret and striped T-Shirt with a comical expression on his face that made her laugh out loud. Encouraged by her reaction, Belle flicked through some more photos.
‘He’s really cute,’ said Hannah, smiling at the various outfits and poses.
‘He’s called Biggie Smalls after a rapper. His owner’s a ballet dancer. I’ve been following him on Instagram for ages. He’s here in France at the moment, near Nantes, filming a quiz show.
‘The dog’s on a quiz show?’
‘No,’ said Belle, pulling a face and swiping though some more pictures of the animal. ‘His owner is. It’s being shown in the UK but there are a few clips of it on YouTube. It’s really funny. Look this is one of the other contestants.’
She lifted the phone so her mother could see the photo of a striking woman with grey eyes, sitting on a sunbed. She had the saddest face Hannah had seen. Next to her was Biggie Smalls, licking her hand. Belle read out the caption. ‘“This is my new best friend, Bryony Masters, who’s on the show with my owner. She’s a lovely human who’s trying to find her long-lost sister Hannah. If you know Hannah, please tell her about this. Thanks. Biggie.” Isn’t that cool? Biggie’s helping her. Weird, isn’t it? Her sister has the same first name as you.’ The girl carried on happily swiping at the screen unaware of her mother’s reaction.
Hannah’s heart stopped.
* * *
Hannah watched her daughter, eyes fixed on her mobile and long fingers deftly typing out messages. She smiled to herself. The girl was very different to Hannah at that age.
It’d been thirty years since she’d left home – a third of a century they’d lived without her and still she thought about them. Had Bryony married and got children? Her daughter looked up from the screen.
‘You okay?’
‘Yes, just thinking.’
‘You had that weird expression you sometimes get.’
‘Lost in the past. It’s an age thing. It’ll happen to you when you are older.’
She moved away and stared out of the kitchen window onto the small front garden filled with rose bushes and watched as a blackbird chased after a blue-winged butterfly. It escaped and flew off into the brilliant blue sky. That was how she felt some days, like the butterfly who’d escaped and yet other times, she felt like one caught in a net. The past never left you no matter how hard you tried to forget it, she mused. It had a knack of sneaking back, catching you unawares and reminding you of your mistakes.
She took off to the main bedroom – a spacious, uncluttered room with large windows that overlooked the back garden and swimming pool outside – and raked through the bottom drawer of a modern unit. She found what she was searching for and removed the diary she’d written in her teens. She swept one finger over the lock that prevented anyone from opening it and stroked the maroon leather cover, seemingly innocuous but Hannah knew what horrors the diary kept hidden within its pages. She extracted a pillbox with a mosaic lid from her bedside drawer and felt for the tiny key that would unlock the diary – a veritable Pandora’s box of shocks.