Amy woke up with a start, confused by the soft covers and plushy pillows beneath her head. She sat up, looking around her, struck suddenly by an unexplainable clash of the familiar and the eerily unreal.
She shook her head. She had just been dreaming again. She had always dreamt like this, since she was tiny, bright vivid dreams of the entire universe as her backyard, and often woke up unsure of where she was. It always felt as if she had fell asleep somewhere different, somewhere far away, and was confused each time she woke up in her own bed.
She ignored it, as usual, and looked to her cupboard, staring at the big white dress that hung on the door. She had hoped that by now she would be sure. She had hoped that by the morning of her wedding she would know one way or another that she wanted to marry Rory. The sight of that dress shouldn't now be filling her with a feeling of sickening dread.
"It's just cold feet." She told herself, ignoring the slight feeling of claustrophobia that she could feel coming over her. "Completely normal. Everyone gets it."
She was startled by footsteps coming into the room, and gasped in shock as a woman entered with a tray of food.
"Morning!" The woman said cheerfully, though stopping short when she saw the confused look on Amy's face.
"You're my Mum." Amy said aloud in wonder. "Oh my God, you're my Mum!" She whispered.
"Of course I'm your Mum," The woman said, her Scottish accent stronger than Amy's. "What's the matter with you?" She looked down at the tray. "And this is your breakfast... which your father made, so feel free to chuck it out of the window if it's an atrocity." She looked back up to her daughter. "Downstairs? Ten minutes? Big day." She placed the tray on the bed and almost skipped from the room, her gangly figure apparent even through her fluffy pink dressing gown.
"Of course she's my Mum." She said to herself in confusion. "Why is that surprising?" She shook herself after it, and after casting a hesitant glance over the dress, she followed her Mum downstairs. She could hear someone talking through the kitchen door, a man's voice, a strangely familiar one. She pushed open the door and saw him, a person equally as baffling as her Mum had been a minute before. It was her Dad. The tiny man, with an ever growing bald patch and an undone collar was her father. He looked up at her with a smile.
"Ah, Amelia," He greeted her with an adorable Scottish accent. "I fear I may have been using the same joke book as the best man."
She squealed in delight, ignoring his words and instead flinging herself onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You're my Dad!" She cried. "You're my tiny little Dad!"
"Now why are you behaving like you've never seen us before?" Her Mum asked as she walked into the room and manoeuvred round her daughter to place a tie round her husband's neck.
"I dunno, it's just..." She trailed off, unable to answer, unable to put into words what she was feeling. "Never mind, breakfast?"
"I made you breakfast, your mother took it upstairs." Her Dad said somewhat indignantly as Amy and her Mum exchanged glances.
"What do you want, darling?" Her Mum asked, rooting in the cupboards.
"Oh, come on now-" Her Father began, but was cut off by his wife.
"It's Amy's big day, so breakfast is Amy's choice." She told him stubbornly.
Amy felt a shiver run down her spine. There was something in her words; something the Scottish woman just said had struck her with a sense of déjà vu, as if those words had been of significance at some point. "What did you say?" She asked quickly.
"What do you want? We have toast, sardines, cereal..." Her Mum reeled off as she looked through the cupboards. "What do you fancy?"
"What do I want?" Amy asked, and opened the fridge and freezer simultaneously, attempting to shake off whatever it was that had struck her before. A box caught her eye, and she pulled it out. "Fish fingers."
"For breakfast?" Her Mum queried.
"And that." She said, pointing out a tub just beside her Mother's hand in the cupboard.
"Custard?" She asked again. "Fish fingers and custard?"
"Yup." She said, turning the knob on the oven. "You asked me what I fancied, and that is what I want. Problem?"
"No, not at all," Her Mum replied, clearly intent on keeping Amy happy today. "Fish fingers and custard it is." She started to mix the custard, absent-mindedly passing Amy a mug of tea, and Amy sat down to wait for breakfast as her Mother fixed it.
She curled her hands around the warm mug, breathing on it slowly to cool it and took a sip. It was still hot, and she winced as it slightly scalded her mouth and put it back down on the table, hands still around it. She tuned out her father still talking about the speech to her Mum, instead looking out of the kitchen window to the front garden.
It was beautiful, she had always loved the garden; wide and long, variations of shrubbery and earth, flowers and trees, the rose filled archway and the tall bushes, the rusting swing set and the old shed at the bottom of the garden. She loved that shed. As a child she had spent years of her life playing beside it with her imaginary friend, exploring the undergrowth, dreaming that it was the stars, an alien planet, a space ship. Those days were gone now, but it was strange that even as an adult that longing to explore, and the strange ache that she felt as she looked out to that old shed still remained, and had even transformed into something not quite tangible, but very there. On the morning of her wedding she was looking out towards her imaginary games of far off worlds; her escapism.
"Your tea will get cold, pet." She heard her Mum say, seconds before she obscured Amy's view of the window, sitting at the other end of the kitchen table.
"Right." Amy mumbled, taking a sip to find that it now was lukewarm. She had been daydreaming for a while. She often did that, went off into her own little world for ages, not realising until someone interrupted her.
"Are you alright?" Her Mum asked her, looking at her with worry.
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Amy replied, trying to keep her tone light and carefree.
"You're crying."
Amy took a hand from the mug and touched her cheek. She was indeed crying; she hadn't noticed. "I'm fine." She told her Mother, wiping it away. The woman simply looked at her, the look of worry subtly vanishing to be replaced with a kind, understanding smile.
"The night before mine and your father's wedding, I was so nervous I threw up." She told her.
Amy placed a hand under her chin. "Really?"
"Yeah, horrible case of the nerves." She said. "I got the idea in my head that I couldn't marry him, that I wasn't ready; I almost called it off."
"What happened?" Amy asked. She hadn't heard this story before.
"Your Aunt Sharon reminded me how much I loved him." She said with a smile, reaching over and squeezing Amy's hand. "And when I walked down that aisle, when I saw him at the end waiting for me, I knew I could do it."
Amy nodded, looking down at her tea. "I do love Rory." She replied, knowing it was true, but saying it felt strange, like there was something more to it.
"I know you do, pet," Her Mum replied. "And when you walk down that aisle and you see him there waiting for you, you'll know it's the right thing."
Amy nodded again, this time with more confidence. "It's just cold feet."
"Perfectly normal." Her mother replied.
"Everybody gets it." Amy said determinedly.
"Exactly." Was the reply. They sat for a few more seconds in companionable silence before her Mother got up and went to the oven, fetching Amy's breakfast. Within half a minute it was on the table in front of her, and Amy stared at it with a strange look on her face as her mother watched in bemusement. "Aren't you going to eat it?"
Amy grinned without confidence and took a fish finger, dipping it into the custard. She stared at it for a few seconds, watching as the goopy yellow liquid dripped from the end, before sticking it in her mouth and taking a bite. She tested it, taking slow bites before swallowing it down.
"Well?" Her Mum asked. "Any good?"
She grimaced. "No, it's disgusting." She told her, re-dipping the end in the custard and finishing the stick. "But I like it."
Finally! I can have a bit more fun with the story now - less rules about what has to happen, I can play with what happens. I had fun with this chapter, expanding on her parents etc. Hope you lot are all still enjoying it!