Oscar was wide-eyed. ‘What a terribly sad story,’ he said finally, when Bryony had finished telling him about Hannah.
The cicadas were chirping in the garden and the evening air was filled with the smell of honeysuckle. Bryony rested her head against the sunbed cushion and sighed. Biggie, lying on the floor between the two loungers, licked her fingers. Oscar snapped a photo of them as she stroked him.
‘Thanks, Biggie. I think he just gave me a doggie version of a kiss.’
‘He’s intuitive. He’ll have picked up on you feeling sad. He does it to me, when I’m down.’
‘I’m not really sad as such. I suppose this is my last chance to find her. Dad is so ill and I don’t think he’ll be with us for much longer. I want him to see her one last time…’ Her words hung in the air and she swallowed back the lump in her throat. She’d given it her all in front of the camera this evening. She and Lewis had both appealed for help to find Hannah.
It had been an exhausting day. The garden was a haven and respite from the frantic activities and filming. Bryony had got used to the cameras, microphone packs and constant visits from Mattie the make-up lady to dab powder onto her cheeks or move a single hair away from her face. She’d become accustomed to the waiting when no one could speak until the crew was ready to continue. It had been interesting and fun. Meeting Oscar and Jim and being with Lewis had been wonderful, yet sat in the shade of the beautiful walled garden, she wished she could pause time and stay here for longer, away from her normal world, her day-to-day existence and the ever-present guilt that enveloped her like some toxic cloud. If only she had some idea of what was happening back home. Were people listening to her pleas and had anybody checked out her blog, Searching for Hannah and left her a message?
‘Can I ask you something, Bryony?’ Oscar said as Biggie leapt onto his lap.
‘Sure.’
‘I’m getting really worked up about winning. I only came on the show for a bit of a giggle. I thought it would help raise my profile as a dancer, like celebrities who go on dancing shows or eat nasty stuff in the jungle. But after spending time with Jim, I really want to win the prize. Not for me but for him. He’s such a nice man. His family means everything to him. He could do so much for them with the money.’
He paused and stroked Biggie’s soft head.
‘I wouldn’t worry. Just being here has been a real tonic for him. I don’t think winning holds as much importance for him as you may think.’
Oscar stopped to rub Biggie’s tummy. ‘I don’t want to let him down.’
‘You definitely aren’t letting him down. Look at the difference in him. He’s completely rejuvenated and a lot of that is down to you. He obviously loves having you as a teammate.’
He gave a smile and after a moment spoke again. ‘Thanks, Bryony. I wish I had a sister like you. I’d be able to ask you all sorts of things.’
Bryony flushed. ‘Are you an only child?’
‘No, I’ve got a brother, Joe. He’s three years younger than me. We’re not very close and we don’t have much in common. He takes after Pop. He’s a doctor. Pop’s an obstetrician and Joe’s a medical doctor. You call them general practitioners here.’
‘You didn’t fancy the medical profession yourself?’
Oscar let out a honk of laughter. ‘Heck, no. I’m no good at any science. I don’t have Pop’s brains, which is no surprise as he isn’t my real father. But he is, if you know what I mean. He’s always been my “real” father. He was always there for me when I was sick or needed anything. He tried to teach me baseball and soccer. He took me out to films and even sat and watched Billy Elliot with me. He’s terrific. Always interested in everything and everybody. You’d love him. He’s awesome.’
He waved his arms theatrically as he spoke. ‘I don’t know my biological father. He left us before I was born and then Pop came on the scene. Mom told me it wasn’t worth me tracking him down. He didn’t want anything to do with either of us and Pop is everything to me. What’s the point in searching for someone who can’t possibly be better, kinder or nicer than your own father?’ He fussed Biggie some more then closed his eyes and tilted his head back.
‘I was going to insist and track him down a few years ago but Mom looked so unhappy about it, I figured it wasn’t worth it. You know, I sometimes fantasize that my real father is a world-famous ballet dancer – someone like Joaquín Cortés perhaps – except I look nothing like him with my blonde hair and pale skin so it couldn’t be him. Or Ethan Stiefel. Unlikely, I know, but it would explain my love for ballet. In reality, my real father is probably nothing at all to do with dancing and is a middle-aged accountant with a bald head who likes drinking and playing darts and who has a stout wife who nags him all the time,’ he said with a chuckle.
‘I’ve loved dancing since I was tiny. Pop’s been great about my choice of career too. Not every man would be happy to take his son to ballet lessons. Both my parents have helped me every step and pirouette along my path. I’m very fortunate.’
Biggie fidgeted on Oscar’s knee. ‘I’d better take some photographs of him here to upload onto Instagram. I seriously can’t wait to get back online. It’s awful having no access to Wi-Fi. I keep fumbling for my mobile then remember I don’t have it with me. I don’t know how everyone managed before they were invented. Thanks again, Bryony. You’re a doll.’ He gave her a peck on the cheek.
‘Any time,’ she replied.
As he meandered away, Biggie by his side, Bryony stared up at the darkening sky and silently sent a message to the universe. Please send Hannah home.