16
Who Needs TV
“Not your fault?” Jane’s strained voice echoed through the cottage. “How can you say it’s not your fault? You’re the one who bought this place. You’re the one who invested all our money. You’re the one who gambled everything…”
“But I wasn’t to know,” pleaded Bill.
“I thought you knew everything. At least that’s what you always make out. I must have been insane to let you buy a house without involving me.”
“You’re right about that,” snorted Bill. “Sane people don’t see giant mice and spiders in the bathroom.”
“Sane people don’t buy crumbling old ruins from people they don’t know the name of. Without hiring a solicitor!”
Bryony had already packed in readiness to leave. She sat on her suitcase in the kitchen, smiling as she listened to the grown-ups arguing upstairs. It had been going on for over an hour, and was getting juicier by the second. She hadn’t had this much fun for ages. Who needed TV?
“Then you should have said something earlier,” retorted Bill. “Instead of going along with everything and smiling like a deranged Cheshire cat.”
“How dare you speak to me like that? It’s no wonder your first wife left you for the office cleaner.”
“He was a Hygienic Cleansing Executive,” said Bill.
The argument raged on. Bryony glanced at her wristwatch and noted the time. Eleven thirty. Only half an hour till the demolition squad turned up. Only half an hour, and then she would be gone from this horrible place forever.
She caught movement over her shoulder, and saw Edwin’s freckly face peering round the door.
“Have you been listening to our parents?” Bryony grinned at Edwin. “Great, isn’t it? I’d been hoping they’d have a row for ages.”
Edwin didn’t return her smile as he stepped into the kitchen. “Bryony, I’ve been thinking.”
“First time for everything I suppose.”
“I’ve been thinking about Inglenook and Wychetts. We can’t let the Council knock the house down. It wouldn’t be right. We’re Guardians. We’re supposed to look after the place.”
“I don’t care about Wychetts,” said Bryony.
“But Stubby said…”
“And I don’t care what that stupid mouse thinks, either.”
Edwin put a hand to his shirt pocket, which Bryony saw was empty.
“Stubby’s gone,” he whispered, answering her questioning look. “Run away.”
“Then perhaps he’s not so stupid after all.”
“I’m worried the cat might have got him.”
“Then I feel more pity for the cat. Must have terrible indigestion by now.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“I don’t care. I don’t care about Stubby, and I don’t care about this house. I’ll be leaving soon, and I won’t see either of them again. Nor you, for that matter.”
Edwin folded his arms. “Your dad doesn’t have any money. Where will you go?”
“To Mum. My real Mum.”
“You think she’d take you in?”
“Of course. She won’t let her own daughter starve in the streets. I’m sure she’d even take Dad back, too. It’ll be just like the old days.”
“Will it?” Edwin didn’t seem so sure of that. “But how will you even contact your mum? You don’t have her address.”
“No. But Dad does. He just won’t tell me, for some reason.”
Edwin nodded. “Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want anything to do with her. And he doesn’t want you to have anything to do with her, either.”
“Go away,” hissed Bryony, her temper snapping. “You don’t know anything about my mum.”
Edwin stayed where he was. “I might know more than you think.”
Bryony scowled at him. “Like what?”
Edwin took a step closer. “Your stupid dad left his coat at our flat the other week.”
That didn’t surprise Bryony. “Dad’s always leaving stuff everywhere. It’s just as well his head’s bolted on because he’d leave that lying around as well. Not that it would be much of a loss. Anyway, what about his coat?”
“I found something in one of the pockets.”
Bryony was horrified. “You went through my dad’s pockets?”
“Just making sure he wasn’t a spy.”
“Eh?”
Edwin smiled slyly. “Don’t you want to know what I found?”
Bryony shrugged. “Knowing my dad it was probably just a dirty old handkerchief.”
“There was that, yes. And a half eaten sausage roll. And a gooey lumpy thing I’m still trying to identify. But there was something else, too.”
Bryony didn’t like the look in Edwin’s eyes. “Like what?” she asked, a nervous edge to her voice.
“A letter,” said Edwin. “From your beloved mother.”
“A letter from mum?” Bryony gasped. “To me?”
“To your father,” revealed Edwin. “But guess what. It had her address on it.”
“Her address!” Bryony shrieked and scrambled to her feet. “What else did she say? Where’s the letter now?”
“I have it.” Edwin took a step backwards. “Would you like to see it?”
“Of course I would,” said Bryony. “Give it to me.”
Edwin pretended to consider her request. “What’s the magic word?”
Bryony gritted her teeth. “Give it to me. Please.”
“No,” said Edwin.
“But…”
“I know your mum’s address.” Edwin chuckled as he backed away towards the door. “And I’m never going to tell you. Never in a million years.”
“And I’ve got Stubby,” blurted Bryony.
“Huh?” Edwin froze.
“I kidnapped him,” lied Bryony, amazed at her ability to think on her feet. “Would you like me to give him back to you?”
“Yes.” Edwin’s triumphant demeanour vanished in a heartbeat. “Give him back to me. Now.”
Bryony cupped a hand to her left ear. “I don’t hear the magic word.”
“Please,” said Edwin.
“Never,” snarled Bryony. “Never in a trillion years. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
Bryony held out her right hand. “Unless you hand over Mum’s letter.”
“No way.”
“You know the convenient thing about mouse hostages?” pondered Bryony. “It doesn’t cost much to send their body parts through the post.”
“You wouldn’t!” squealed Edwin.
Of course Bryony wouldn’t, but she didn’t want Edwin to think that.
“Try me.”
Edwin bit his lip. Then he reached into his trouser pocket and produced a crumpled envelope.
“Here it is,” he said. “But first, I want you to hand over Stub…”
Bryony snatched the envelope from Edwin’s hand before he could finish his demand.
“Hey!” Edwin tried to grab the letter, but Bryony pushed him aside and turned her back to him. Then she pulled the letter from the envelope, almost tearing it in half with desperation.
It was her mother’s writing. There was no doubt about that.
Bryony held her breath, heart pounding in her ears as she read:
Bill,
I know you’ve been busy lately sorting out your move. But I was wondering if you have told her yet?
Please let me know as soon as possible (note my new address above).
Diana.
The words didn’t make sense; but the content of the letter itself was not the important thing to Bryony. Because there, at the top of the paper, in crystal clear block capitals, was her mother’s address.
Bryony read the address to herself, over and over again, committing it to memory as though the paper would dissolve in her hands any second.
“This is wonderful,” she gasped, finally tearing her eyes from the letter. “I’m going to find her. At last, I’m going to find Mum!”
“Where’s Stubby?” said Edwin, unmoved by Bryony’s joy. “What have you done with him?”
Bryony laughed. “I haven’t done anything with him, slime-brain. I didn’t kidnap your mangy mouse friend. Reckon he just got fed up with you and left.”
Edwin’s jaw dropped. “You lied. You vile, double-dealing…”
Still laughing to herself, Bryony stashed the letter into her trouser pocket, unzipped her suitcase, and fished out her small hand mirror and brush.
“Now push off,” she ordered, running the brush through her long black hair. “I have to look my best for Mum.”
Edwin didn’t push off, but stood by the door and scowled at Bryony. “Bit soon to be getting ready,” he grumbled. “You won’t get a flight today.”
“I’m not taking a plane,” explained Bryony. “I’ve got Mum’s address now, so Inglenook can send me there by magic.”
Edwin shook his head. “You think Wychetts’ magic is the answer to everything.”
“It is as far I’m concerned.”
Bryony finished brushing her hair, and gazed into the mirror. In truth, she’d always wanted to be blonde like Mum, but Dad wouldn’t let her go anywhere near hair dye. Perhaps that was something else Inglenook could fix for her? She was about to try wishing when she heard a loud sniffing noise.
She glanced up and saw that Edwin had his head bowed.
“Don’t know why you’re so down in the dumps,” she observed. “You could use Wychetts’ magic to find Stubby. Maybe get your Mum and Dad back together, too.”
“I can’t,” whispered Edwin, angling his face to the floor. “I can’t get dad back.”
“Why not? Don’t you like your dad because he walked out on you?”
“He didn’t walk out on us.” Edwin looked up, and Bryony saw his eyes were watering. “Something happened.”
“What?” Bryony wondered if Edwin might reveal the truth at last.
But Edwin lowered his head again. A tear trickled down his nose and splashed on the floor.
Bryony sighed and turned her attention back to the mirror. Her eyebrows could do with a bit of work, too.
“You’re weird,” she continued, considering whether she should get Inglenook to make her nostrils a bit smaller into the bargain. “Weird and soppy.”
“I’m not soppy.”
“I’d call being scared of the dark soppy. And getting all sentimental about this house.”
Bryony finished her preening, and slipped her brush and mirror back into her suitcase. “Now give me some room. I’m going to start wishing.”
Edwin stood back. “I was right about you. Mum said you were OK, but I knew what a selfish, low down little brat you are.”
Bryony made a wish, and laughed as she watched a large custard pie materialise from nowhere and slam into Edwin’s face.
“There. That’ll teach you.”
Edwin wiped the creamy goo from his eyes, and glared back at her. “Two can play at that game.”
Bryony saw the bowl of trifle flying towards her, but didn’t have time to react.
“You worm,” she gasped, head and shoulders smothered in a sticky combination of custard and jelly. “You’ve ruined my hair!”
Edwin laughed now, but the sound became a garbled scream as he was doused in gallons of cold semolina. “Why you…”
Six bucketfuls of stodgy rice pudding splattered Bryony in response.
“That’s it,” she growled. “Now you’re for it, ginger. I’m gonna wish you out of my life for good!”
Bryony screwed her eyes shut and wished, harder than she had ever wished before. It was a brilliantly inventive wish, involving a mechanical digger, a large hole in the ground, and twenty tons of quick drying cement.
But when she opened her eyes again, nothing had happened.
Edwin closed his eyes and pointed at her. Bryony braced herself…
But again, nothing happened.
“What’s wrong?” said Bryony. “Why aren’t our wishes coming true?”
Edwin opened his eyes. “There’s only guy who can answer that.”